Hipster Pictures of Chicago

"Life moves pretty fast.

You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
—Ferris Bueller 

The last weekend in December I traveled to Chicagoland for a family event.  I left work just after 1 on Saturday and got home around 3:30 on Tuesday.  So many things that could have gone wrong along the way didn’t, by the grace of God.  

I’ll admit that I experienced some stress while preparing for this trip, because if you’ve ever been to the Midwest in winter you know that it’s usually pretty cold, and it often snows.  I checked the weather quite a bit in the days leading up to the trip.  While snow wasn’t forecast, rain was; still, I wanted to be as prepared as possible while also not taking too much stuff.  As I contemplated my choices, I thought more than once of the time I went to Prague and wore the same pair of jeans for five days straight, though that was in the spring.  Alas, now that I am no longer a young adult with a big backpack, I feel that I ought to pack more than one pair of trousers for a trip.  The night before I left it was about as cold at home as it was forecast to be in Illinois, so I stood outside in a couple of different coats and combinations of layers to see how they’d work.  I’d hoped that a wool coat over my beloved Adidas track jacket would be warm enough while imparting the coolness of Bender from “The Breakfast Club,” but it was not to be, on either count. An old coat of Dad’s turned out to be the warmest and most waterproof.  It didn’t fit in either of my carry-on bags (one of which was a new spinner that Mom got me for Christmas), but no one objected to me just toting it along on the plane.  

My seat assignment on my first flight got changed at least once after I checked in, and for some reason I ended up in an exit row.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining; I’m just curious about what internal airline machinations led to this. 

In my great wisdom I decided that I would not take my digital camera, but my instant camera and a regular 35mm film camera.  This meant that I took a bunch more photos with my phone than I’d expected to.  It also made me wonder, to myself and aloud to Pal, “Am I a hipster?”  (No: see above about my lack of fashion sense.) 

Chicago seems most like itself when it’s overcast and cold.  It was dark by the time I arrived, but that was close enough.  Though the weather in the suburb all Sunday was drizzly and chilly, I was inside, with good friends and mango lassi.  The weather couldn’t possibly have kept me from enjoying the day.  

(While I was getting ready I caught part of Mass broadcast from Mercy Home for Boys & Girls, and it did my heart good to hear the priest’s accent.) 

As fulfilling as it was to attend the event and see friends I hadn’t seen in one whole year, it would have been a quick turnaround to come back on Monday or even Sunday evening.  I’d done a similar short jaunt before, and even though the flight is less than two hours, I found it rough flying so much in such a short time.  I also thought that fewer people might be traveling on New Year’s Eve itself, rather than the weekend or day before.  So I elected to return on Tuesday morning, meaning I had all day Monday to fill, alas.  I even roped Pal into coming to Windy City to explore. 

With her penchant for staying in historic hotels, Pal booked a room at the Chicago Athletic Association.  If you want to do anything in the Loop, you can’t find a better-situated hotel; it’s on Michigan Avenue, opposite Millennium Park, where the Christmas tree was still lit and a skating rink erected in front of the Bean, and therefore just a tiny bit north of the Art Institute.  “Labyrinthine” seems a fairly apt descriptor for its layout.  The Library of Congress actually has architectural plans for the building available online—they even include detailed drawings of some of the woodwork, tiles, and stairways. 

It seems to me that the present hotel must include some real estate that was not part of the original 1893 building, but I may be wrong about that.  Much of the interior design is inspired by the building’s sporting past: the parquet paneled-elevators feature the logo of the city’s fencing club of years ago, key cards are printed with photos and names of famous athletes associated with the association, and the guest bathrobes are modeled on boxers’ robes.  The view from the terrace of the bar on the 13th floor, while rather chilly at night, despite the fire pits, was a great one of Millennium Park, and down toward the Field Museum and the Shedd Aquarium.  They didn’t even make you buy a drink to check it out!

Though the forecast called for overcast skies, even as I lay in bed Monday morning, by the time we made it outside it was almost completely clear and sunny.  I appreciated the lack of rain and ice, and can’t deny that the cheerful weather was beautiful.  We’d gone to visit the Bean—Cloud Gate, if you’re being pedantic—the night before, but stopped by again to see it in daylight; then we proceeded to the lake, the great inland sea, which from the terrace the previous evening had been a disconcerting void beyond the city lights.  After a walk along the lakeshore we turned inland again and took the Red Line (sadly at an underground stop, though we were elevated by the time we reached our destination) to Cermak/Chinatown.  A few blocks from the stop is Ping Tom Memorial Park, dedicated to a local businessman who helped revitalize the Chinatown neighborhood.  The park has great views of the city, and features murals with traditional motifs.  While we visited, a group was practicing a dance with parasols, perhaps preparing for a Lunar New Year celebration. Props to Pal for finding the park. 

I, meanwhile, found a place to eat.  Chinatown Square is full of them, but we went to the enigmatically-named Saint’s Alp Teahouse and Gourmet.  I’d expected it to be more of a beverage place with incidental food, but it turned out to have a full food menu, with extensive drink options, as well.  Since they had scallion pancakes I had to get those, and decided that two appetizers would be a good lunch, so also ordered potstickers.  Pal got a normal meal.  While the scallion pancakes were not as good as I’d hoped (doughier and less scalliony than I wished), the potstickers were both really good and quite hefty.  I didn’t finish either and ended up toting them around for the rest of the day.  I also got a frothy milk green tea with boba that I kept thinking about after I’d finished it.  I have even now paused writing this to read a recipe on how to make boba pearls at home. 

We headed back to the Loop and stopped into the Chicago Cultural Center, where I waltzed right in, despite not having finished my tea.  The center has exhibition spaces, an artisans’ shop, and meeting rooms, but I think for most visitors the main draw is the dome.  They say it’s the largest Tiffany glass dome in the world, and it’s surrounded by mosaic work and quotes celebrating books and the written word—after all, the building was originally the city’s main library.  They just don’t design public buildings the way they used to. 

Once done ogling the architecture we walked back the block or so to the hotel, collected our bags, and got on the Blue Line to O’Hare (though after years of flying into Midway, I always immediately associate traveling to or from a Chicago airport with the Orange Line). Pal’s flight home was Monday evening, so once I dropped her off there I headed to my third hotel in as many days, where I ate leftover scallion pancake slices and a potsticker for dinner. 

Next time, we’ve vowed, we’ll go to Chicago when it’s a little warmer, and the days are longer, and we’ll have deep dish and time to visit Bohemian National Cemetery.  But I have complaints or regrets about this trip, much-needed and much-appreciated as it was.

As Seen On TV

Two drifters, off to see the world

Back in November Pal and I met up at JFK to board a Turkish Airways flight to İstanbul.  It was her first time crossing the Atlantic, and the first visit to Türkiye for both of us.

(Part of the reason this wasn't posted sooner is because I've been trying to post pictures as a rotating gallery on here.  I sort of figured out how to do it, but there were issues with the image sizes and it was a whole thing.  As you can see, I've stuck with the tried and true format for now.) 

I'd wanted to go to İstanbul since at least 2011, if not earlier.  I think one of the particular features that led me to add it to my wish list was the Norse runes in Ayasofya/Hagia Sophia (at left), as well as the general historic character of the city.  You know me: I'm happy to go look at old stuff and not engage as much with contemporary culture.  While Pal is also interested in history, she, being younger than me, is more engaged with modern life.  That led us to some different destinations than I would have chosen on my own, ones that I really enjoyed seeing.

This was the first trip I'd taken to an entirely new country since about 2010.  Every other foreign country in the past decade-plus has been a repeat visit.  That was the source of some trepidation beforehand.  I wasn't much worried about my lack of Turkish language skills; I knew some polite phrases, and figured in tourist destinations people would speak enough English that I'd be okay.  The world political situation being what it is, we discussed whether or not we should actually travel to the area; the State Department's advisory was (and still is) at Level 2: Exercise Increased Caution.  (For reference, the other levels on their scale are 1: Exercise Normal Precautions; 3: Reconsider Travel; and 4: Do Not Travel.  Currently Denmark is at Level 2 and Jamaica is at Level 3.)  To be on the safe side we registered online with the Smart Traveler Enrollment Program, and, as the State Department advises, tried to exercise situational awareness and avoid crowds.  We actually arrived on a national holiday commemorating Atatürk, so saw the town festooned with many a flag, banner, and bunting; on top of that, the hundredth anniversary of the republic had been at the end of October, so there was still much decoration up for that.  The holiday didn't affect our arrival at all, at least as far as I could tell.

(Though I think about the Armenian Genocide a normal amount and rarely have cause to discuss it, part of me was certain that I'd get to Türkiye and be unable to stop myself from talking about it, which I feel would not have gone over well.  Türkiye still doesn't acknowledge that the event was a genocide.)

Some things I read online and others that Pal tipped me off to made me a bit anxious.  One was that tap water from the city's pipes is not potable--and not even just unsafe for drinking, but for brushing one's teeth or washing fruit with.  The idea of having to put so much effort into something I usually do without much thought was almost tiring, even before we left.  Also tiring was the idea of the 11-hour flight from New York, particularly since I'd just been to Slovakia in September and therefore hadn't had time to forget the rigors of that journey.  On top of that, Turkish Airlines' website lists different restrictions for carryons on different pages of its site, which caused me some confusion and angst.  They do, however, have a generous checked baggage policy, even for economy.  I also really liked the amenity kits we got on the way over; the fabric was a colorful Türkiye-themed print, and while I can't wear the little slippers or socks in there, I've put the included eye mask to good use.

(I promise I didn't compare Türkiye to Slovakia the whole time.  If anything, I more often compared it in my mind to Spain.  It's the Islamic arches and tiles among palm trees.)

(BUT I was intrigued to learn that the Turkish word for sour cherry is vişne, not unlike the Slovak višňa.  What is their common root??  Something Proto-Indo-European, no doubt.

Sour cherry juice was one of the options on the flights and not only did I have that with my meals, but I also bought a carton of cherry juice at the mini-mart we frequented and enjoyed that at the hotel for several days.)

Before this trip I did the usual looking up of sites to visit, but when it came to modern Turkish culture I'd gotten most of my information from Turkish media.  I've seen a couple of dizi (TV series)--all of "Maral: En Güzel Hikayem," "Yüksek Sosyete," and "The Protector" and "50m²," the latter two both on Netflix, and some of "İçerde" and "Sen Çal Kapimi"--and movies, like "Paper Lives," "Delibal," "Miracle in Cell No. 7," and the Turkish Top Gun.  (Did you know there was a Turkish version of "The O.C."?  It truly was an iconic show.)  (Also, given the aforementioned holidays, we saw many advertisements for a movie or possibly miniseries about Atatürk, starring an actor we enjoy, as well as a Netflix movie starring one of the country's biggest stars.)  Upon reflection it turns out I've seen more Turkish media than I thought.  Anyway, it was where I learned a few phrases and got a basic feel for the city, where most of the dizi are set.  Of course TV could not completely prepare me for everything we saw and did, but if it could, there would be no point in traveling.

That I'd learned so much from watching media seemed somewhat lowbrow to me at first.  The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that that was silly at best.  There's a lot of ambient knowledge around about places like Italy, and some of that comes from TV and films, whether they're factual or fictional.  Why should it make a difference how you're first introduced to something if it leads you to seek more knowledge and a greater understanding of it?

in the harem at Topkapı Palace

Pal, who's watched even more dizi than me, did a lot of research to find filming locations.  Some of them were obvious, like Sultanahmet Square, while others were further afield.  One of my favorites was a café that was featured in "İçerde."  It's a small place, apparently popular with university students, as it's in the area of Kadir Has University; the menu is limited to a few dishes each day, and the food is inexpensive, plentiful, and extremely tasty.  We had a chicken stew served with pilav, and while the chicken was good, I don't know if I've ever had rice as delicious as that pilav.  Plus, there were a few photos of the scenes that were filmed in the restaurant, and it was exciting to realize that we were sitting in nearly the exact same spot as some of our favorites.

(I've thought often about the İskender kebap I had for dinner one night.  A CNN Travel article describes the dish thusly: "Thin slices of doner meat are reverently laid over pieces of plump pide bread, smothered in freshly made tomato sauce, baptized with a dash of sizzling melted butter and served with a portion of tangy yoghurt, grilled tomato and green peppers.")

Things we saw that I recognized from the shows (apart from sites/locations):

• çaycılar delivering hot tea
      (I've seen çaycı (singular) variously translated as tea server, waiter, or porter.  If you use my foolproof method of consulting Google Images to literally see what words mean, though, you'll notice that a çaycı, besides being a person, also seems to be a teapot.)
  
• men counting on prayer beads
• toplayıcılar (collectors) hauling giant bins for collecting recyclable waste
• young women who looked vaguely familiar
• cats and dogs roaming free
• simit, a common and inexpensive snack sold from carts
  

Things the shows neglect to depict:

• traffic: cars at a standstill on city streets, with pedestrians weaving through them to cross; and a total disregard for things like turn signals and lane markings that somehow does not lead to mass carnage
  
• the hills...  It's not like I didn't see any pictures of the city before I left, but I severely underestimated the hills.  Some of them are STEEP.  Even though there are public transportation options to help avoid having to trudge under one's own power, there are times when the hills simply must be ascended.
  
• trams at rush hour, which apparently starts at around 3:30 PM
  
• the general mass of humanity that fills a metropolis
  
• the call to prayer from several mosques overlapping 

One evening I was sitting on the roof terrace of the hotel when the evening adhan began.  I heard it from Sultanahmet, the closest mosque, and Ayasofya, as well as at least one other mosque nearby.  In the short space of time that we were visiting I got so used to hearing the call to prayer multiple times a day that I expected to hear it when I got home, and assumed that noises I heard in the distance were the adhan.

It should have come as little surprise that Türkiye is full of mosques, and yet I was still amazed at how many there were in the city.  They range from magnificent grand edifices surrounded by towering minarets to humble neighborhood temples whose minarets barely rise higher than the buildings around them, though the former are more visible. 

Despite the number of opportunities, we only visited three mosques: Süleymaniye (pictured here), Sultanahmet, and Ayasofya, in that order.  Just as some cathedrals enforce modest dress codes for their visitors, the mosques require modesty of dress and head coverings for women.  The modesty did not seem to be a problem for anyone as it was, as previously noted, November, and not particularly balmy; I can imagine summer visitors having to be asked to cover up.  In terms of head coverings, there are plenty of vendors around Sultanahmet Square selling scarves, for those who want a souvenir with immediate practical use.  The mosques and the Relic Room at Topkapı Palace will also loan visitors scarves, if necessary.  Pal and I both brought scarves with us, just in case we needed them before we were able to purchase some.  This worked out well.  I enjoy putting things on my head (and yet am somehow not a hat person), so I appreciated being in a place where it was socially acceptable and not unusual to do so.  In addition to the modest dress, worshipers and tourists alike must also remove their shoes before entering the mosques.  You can carry them with you if you have a bag big enough, or stow them in cubbies near the entrance.

All three of the mosques that we visited are very large, to say the least, and very beautiful, yet Ayasofya is the most popular with tourists; it's the only one we had to wait in line to enter, and the only one with any kind of security screening.  We managed not to have to wait very long, though.  Ayasofya seems the most well-known of the city's mosques, and one of the best-known of the world.  It, like many in İstanbul, was originally built as a church and was converted to a mosque during Ottoman rule; in fact, the massive Hagia Irene on Topkapı Palace's grounds is the only Byzantine church not to have been converted, though it was used as an arsenal. 

I found this article a cut above the usual encyclopedic information, as it also discusses the decision to convert Ayasofya from a museum to an active mosque again.  Since our visit it's changed further still; now visitors can only access the second story mezzanine and not the mosque floor, whereas for us it was the opposite (meaning I didn't get to see the runic inscription).  It now costs 25 euros for visitors to enter, too.

I'm used to reading reviews of Christian places of worship that say things like "I'm not Christian/religious, but [place of worship in question] is really beautiful/inspiring/whatever."  To be honest, I've often rolled my eyes at this.  But my uppance has come, because I experienced the same reaction in the three mosques.  I'm not Muslim, but seeing the detail and enormity in the architecture and decoration--the very small and very large manifestations of believers' devotion--was awe-inspiring.

Recommendations:

Hotel Sarı Konak: A relative actually recommended this hotel and because of that I thought we might not be to afford it.  But we could!  True, the Sultanahmet area does seem to cater to tourists, so you have to run the gauntlet of restaurant hosts and shopkeepers trying to entice you into their places whenever you step out of the hotel, but despite that, it was a fairly quiet neighborhood (in November; your mileage may vary in peaker seasons).  The breakfast was abundant and tasty, and the views from the rooftop terrace, including of Sultanahmet, at left, were better than I ever could have imagined. 

Albura Kathisma: We ate here twice and the ball mahmudiye was so delicious that Pal ordered it both times (I got köfte the second time and it was very good, too, but I need to find a recipe for ball mahmudiye).  Ball mahmudiye is an Ottoman dish of chicken with apricots and almonds over rice, all drizzled with a honey glaze.  The restaurant touts itself as a "hassle-free zone," meaning that the hosts don't harangue passers-by to get them to come in; once you've decided to join them, you're in the company of attentive waitstaff and Madams Sylvester and Gold, as well as other cats.

Dubb Ethnic Restaurant: We also ate here twice!  Several restaurants we went to offer a dish that's cooked over a fire in a tall clay pot with a lid; at some places, the waiters make a show of the cooking by raining what I assume are coals over the pot while encouraging diners to clap along.  The show at Dubb Ethnic Restaurant was by far the most impressive, as you can see if the video below works.

I think both restaurants asked us to review them online, on places like Yelp and TripAdvisor.  While I look at the latter quite often, I don't have accounts on either site; so here I am, reviewing them on my blog.

Welcome Pickups: While the Internet assured me that it would be manageable to get a bus from the airport to somewhere near our hotel, I was not keen on trying navigate a new big city after a long overnight flight.  Instead, we opted to book a driver with Welcome Pickups.  He contacted us over WhatsApp, and when we landed he sent us photos of where he was waiting and of himself.  I greatly appreciated having someone take us directly to our hotel and not having to lug my suitcase over uneven streets.

eSIMs: Speaking of WhatsApp, after my last two trips I am fully converted to using eSIMs for international travel.  No more paying the phone company a daily fee for international roaming!  The eSIM I bought to use in Slovakia included a phone number, while the one I got for Türkiye was just data.  But that allowed me to use WhatsApp to call home, and to look up directions and times while we were on the go.

the hop on-hop off bus: Recommended if only for the cleverness of the company's name, Bus for Us, being a play on Bosphorus.  It's the only hop on-hop off I've ridden that drives between two continents, and allowed me to snap a photo of the sign that says "Welcome to Europe."

Piyerloti/Eyüpsultan: When we were first thinking of going to İstanbul I of course searched the Internet for historic cemeteries to visit.  One of them, unfortunately, had been the site of a murder and a few robberies; though those were years ago, it did give me pause.  We decided that if we didn't linger in the cemetery, and went during the daytime, it would probably be safe enough, and it was.  Eyüpsultan Cemetery covers one of the city's steep hills.  Luckily, a cable car makes a short ascent to the top of Pierre Loti Hill.

There seems to be no shortage of places in the city where you can get a wonderful view, and the plaza there showcases the Golden Horn all the way to the Bosphorus.  Get a table at one of the cafés and have a tea before you walk down the hill through the cemetery, admiring the Ottoman-style gravestones.

public transportation: Get yourself an Istanbulkart and get riding.  The reloadable cards are easy to buy at stations, from machines with several foreign language options.  Most rides we took cost 15 lira, or about half an American dollar, and you can add money to your card whenever you need.  I occasionally had difficulties getting the tram station entrance gate to read my card, but I think that was user error.  We mainly took the tram, but also the metro, two funicular lines, two cable cars, and the ferry, with fares on all of those various methods of transportation paid by Istanbulkart.

so much history they just leave it lying around (outside the archaeology museum, at least)

on the ferry on a bright, beautiful day

Sultanahmet/the Blue Mosque at sunset

On top of all of the things we saw and did and ate, I got to wake up in a room whose window opened onto cool air, seagulls calling, and the smell of salt water.  That small thing always fills me with contentment and gratitude. 

 

Footnote: I thought of "Moon River," probably because of the line quoted above, while on the trip, and listened to it several times there.  Here are three versions I enjoy.
one, two, three

Ice Cream Index Appendix

After I finished the Ice Cream Index I started thinking about places where I've visited churches and how that compared to countries where I've eaten ice cream and, after several attempts, created the following image.  It illustrates the relationship between countries where I've visited churches, worshipped in churches, and eaten ice cream.

 

 

I leave you to draw your own conclusions about what this could possibly mean.

 

 

The Ice Cream Index

The week before last I saw an ad for a product that let you record and display how many countries you've visited.  This led me to ponder the eternal question of what counts as having "visited" a country.  Is it:

• passing through an airport?
• eating a meal?
• getting a stamp in your passport?
  
• buying souvenirs?
• spending a night? 
• something else?
  

And it came to me that the appropriate way to gauge whether or not I personally have truly "visited" a country is if I've eaten ice cream there.

(I'm using "ice cream" as an umbrella term for frozen treats eaten with a spoon or from a cone, regardless of local names or variations in recipe.)

I feel this is a good gauge of whether or not I've "visited" a country, because the longer you've spent in a place, the more opportunity you've had to eat dessert.  One could counter that not having eaten ice cream somewhere could just mean you weren't there during ice cream season; the fact that I ate gelato for dinner in Florence in December should make clear that I believe that there is no such thing as Not Ice Cream Season (sell me ice cream all year round, you cowards).  To that end, I have categorized all of the countries I've "visited" based on the likelihood I consumed ice cream there.  Feel free to use this system in discussing your own travels.

🍦🍦🍦 (three cones): I definitely ate ice cream in this country
the US
Spain
Slovakia
Austria
the UK
Italy
Türkiye

🍦🍦 (two cones): it is possible that I ate ice cream in this country
Portugal
France
Canada
Gibraltar
Croatia
Poland

🍦 (one cone): it is unlikely that I ate ice cream in this country
Hungary
Switzerland
Germany
Ireland
Czech Republic

🥦 (broccoli): I definitely did not eat ice cream in this country
Andorra
Vatican City
Liechtenstein
Morocco
Romania

Flashback: UK 2022

One year ago we were in the UK.  When we returned I, in order to acknowledge that we had been out doing cool things, posted somewhat vague but sincere shoutouts on Facebook.  Hereafter they are belatedly expanded upon. 

Shoutouts for this trip, in no particular order and probably leaving things out, to  

the people of Wales: You might remember that on my last trip to Wales a nice family drove me from the train station in Bangor to my lodgings in Caernarfon.  On this trip, the Welsh continued to be the best.  A helpful service that the Cardiff council offers is the Mobility Buggy, a golf cart that will take people who need a little help getting around between two prearranged points in the city center.  They have a handy online form that you fill out in advance, and when you arrive at your pickup point the buggy is there waiting.  I submitted the form on Sunday evening, so less than 24 hours before we’d need the buggy, and didn’t receive a confirmation email before we left; but when we strolled out of Cardiff Central train station there it was, an unmissable purple cart with a jovial driver.  We piled in and were off, zipping through mainly pedestrian streets while our driver chatted to us about where we were from, sharing that his wife had recently returned from a trip to the States.  He was also one of those people who knows everyone, because he greeted several people we passed on the way.  Mum, who was riding in the front, was especially impressed by his remote control that let him make traffic-control bollards retract.  I was sitting facing the back, and found that it was the most purely fun part of the trip.  (It being fun is not at all meant to detract from the fact that this is a great service to help make the city more accessible, and one that more places should emulate.  It was one of several accessibility efforts that I noticed in the UK; another was that many restaurants there are diligent about informing diners about allergens, much more so than I’ve seen anywhere in the States.)  

The first driver of the hop-on-hop-off we got in Cardiff unexpectedly and kindly sold me a discounted ticket, in addition to the concession fares that the older members of the party were actually entitled to.  And the women who worked at the Welsh cake shop and tea shop we visited were both pleasant.   

 

Bath Abbey: I wasn’t expecting much out of Bath, to be honest.  Novels make it sound like kind of a nightmare—although, to be fair, those mostly focus on the interiors and social situations, not so much on the city itself.  It’s also so modern (says the medievalist).  And true, the Royal Crescent is boring; the shape of it is unusual, but the enforced uniformity of the individual homes on the facade represents a rigidity that is all that I don’t care for in the Georgian era.  So I went into Bath Abbey with low expectations.  The building has been renovated several times since the 16th century, and many of the memorials inside are from recent centuries.  (It has one of those old threadbare American flags that I always love to see in British cathedrals, because it reminds me of our shared history, particularly of the World Wars era.  Regimental flags, heraldry, and some beat-up old Stars and Stripes.)  Many of the churches that we went in on this trip were decorated for their harvest festivals, which added a charming autumnal element; at Bath Abbey there were further installations.  One, in a side chapel, was a tree made of branches and decorated by children with rag pennants and recycled ornaments to call attention to environmental issues.  I wish they’d made replicas of some of the ornaments to sell, because I would have paid good money for the slice of wood with a helpfully-labeled bear drawn on it.  Sincere props to the kid who made that.  The other was simpler: just four white freestanding letters that spelled HOPE, lit with colored lights.  

 

One of the things that I appreciated about Bath Abbey was that there was at least one clergy member roaming about.  He talked to me briefly as I admired a memorial stone set in the floor, and Mum said she saw him praying with other guests.  Most great churches have staff or volunteer docents around to answer questions; I don’t know that I’ve ever seen actual spiritual leaders interacting with visitors to share their faith and the meaning behind the architecture and art.  

 

Andy the cab driver: We took a lot of taxis on this trip.  Andy picked us up at the Cam & Dursley station, and on the drive to Wotton-under-Edge he told us about growing up in the area.  Like many of the people we talked to, he was down-to-earth and pleasant. 

 

Jeff and Janet Walshe at the Wotton-under-Edge Heritage Centre: Wotton-under-Edge is a lovely town in the Cotswolds.  Though I hadn’t heard of it before, it turns out plenty of other Americans have; it’s located along the Cotswolds Way, a walking route from Bath to Chipping Camden.  The town has architecture that runs the gamut from medieval to modern.  Perhaps its most famous building is the Ancient Ram Inn, called one of the most haunted places in the country.  It now seems to cater mainly to ghost hunters.  We had tea and, later, cider in the bar of the Swan Hotel, a 17th century coaching inn, and the nearby Star Inn, from the 16th century, was getting a fresh coat of paint while we were there. 

The Heritage Centre in Wotton is run by volunteers, among whom are the Walshes.  They gave up their day to take us on a tour of the area, including a visit to Newark Park, a National Trust property not far from Wotton.  Newark Park began as a Tudor hunting lodge, and additions were built in subsequent centuries.  Inside they have a model that’s a 3D puzzle; each addition is labeled with its time period, so it’s easier to see how its owners changed the shape of the building.  I thought that model was genius.  Since the last private owners in the 20th century used it as their home, Newark Park isn’t decorated to any one time period, but with a mixture of furnishings from various eras and countries.  It’s set in extensive grounds, and the top floor has views of the surrounding countryside for miles; should you not care to venture far afield, the formal garden near the house is beautiful, and blooming even in October.  

 

Something Wotton had that I’d never seen before were its almshouses.  The town has not one but three sets of almshouses, originally designated as dwellings for the poor.  Visitors can walk through the courtyard and chapel of the Perry & Dawes almshouses, where people still live. 

 

Wotton is one of the smaller towns I’ve been to in the UK.  On previous trips I hadn’t had much time to get out of bigger cities and towns, so the opportunity to simply ride a bus through the countryside was welcome.  Wotton is picturesque, the English village as you imagine it.  I went into a greengrocers to buy some apples and had my purchases rung up by a preteen who was learning to work the till, guided by a woman I presume was the proprietress.  A storefront had a Union Jack bunting and a cardboard cutout of the late Queen in her younger years.  It was a wonderful place, with kind and generous hosts.  

 

Welsh cakes and chai: Over the road from Cardiff Castle is one of the city’s arcades.  These are narrow Victorian-era covered streets, lined with shops and offices.  At the entrance to Castle Arcade is Fabulous Welshcakes (they also have a location at Mermaid Quay near Cardiff Bay).  I don’t know why I wasn’t aware of Welsh cakes when I first went to Wales; I knew of and had bara brith then, but not Welsh cakes.  They’re small lightly-spiced cakes cooked on a stone or griddle.  Traditional ones have currants in them, but nowadays bakeries make them in different flavors—chocolate is an obvious choice—or to fit different dietary needs.  We had both traditional and white chocolate cakes; both were very good, though it had to have helped that they were still warm from the griddle.  As I write this I have a Welsh cakes recipe open in another tab, so I might try my hand at making them sometime soon. 

 

Further into Castle Arcade is a tea shop called Bird & Blend.  They had an almost overwhelming number of tea choices, but I got a spiced pumpkin pie matcha chai latte.  That and the chai latte I had at New Cut Coffee Co. in Bristol were better than the regular English breakfast teas I had other places.    

 

the striking rail workers: ASLEF, the Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Firemen, had planned to begin striking in September.  They pushed back the strike until after Queen Elizabeth’s funeral.   

 

(Maybe I just didn’t visit a tacky enough souvenir shop, but I was expecting to see at least a postcard of King Charles.  A couple of places had knickknacks commemorating the late Queen; I vacillated over buying one of them, and ultimately did not.  I didn’t see anything with KCIII on it, though.) 

 

Unfortunately for us, that meant that union members wouldn’t be working while we were there.  At first the strike was only planned for October 1st and 8th; then they added the 5th; and finally it was the 1st and 5th through 8th.  As most of the day trips we’d planned involved a return (that’s “round trip” for our American friends) journey on the Great Western Railway (GWR), the strike dates were daunting.  With the power of the Internet, though, we were able to find alternate transportation to all but one of our planned destinations. We made it from Heathrow to Paddington Station in London and from Paddington to Temple Meads in Bristol at the end of September with no problems; the next two days we spent getting acquainted with Bristol.  Then on Monday the 3rd we got the train to Cardiff and back, and on Tuesday to the Cam & Dursley station en route to Wotton-under-Edge.  Wednesday was a planned buses-only day, to Glastonbury and then Wells, and on Thursday we got the bus to Bath.  Friday was meant to be a visit to Gloucester, one that I’d been looking forward to in part because of the Slovak import store I found online there.  It was not to be, though, because there was no efficient way to get there other than the train. 

 

As we made our way to Temple Meads one morning to catch the hop-on-hop-off bus, one of the strikers made sure to let us know about the possible interruption to service.  That was the only time we saw any of the strikers; and we made it to all of our most important destinations without problems.  

 

As of October 2023 some ASLEF union members are striking again.   

 

cider: My favorite one was the first I had on the trip: Thatcher’s Rascal.  The runner-up goes to the cider slush that the kind young woman at the Cider Box at Wapping Wharf let me sample. 

 

(I don't know if it’s generational or geographical or what, but I noticed more people using “lovely” as an endearment rather than “love.”) 

 

a Slovak chocolate smuggler who will remain unidentified for their safety: Thanks to them, and a not-so-clandestine handoff in front of Buckingham Palace, I came home with six Studentska bars.  This person also endured almost three hours round-trip of travel on the Piccadilly line to have dinner with us at our hotel near Heathrow, which was very kind and patient of them.  Almost a decade had passed between the last time I saw them and this, which was far too long, and hopefully will not happen again.  (Spoiler alert: I got to see them again in September 2023, not even a whole year later.  This is a pattern I would like to continue.) 

 

Bath Aqua Glass: Not far from the abbey and Roman baths is this shop filled with beautiful glass objects.  It was one of those stores that’s full of ethereal, awe-inspiring things that you’d like to live among.  The white and blue-painted exterior of the shop contrasts with blue glass ornaments hung in and around the windows and doors, and is just beautiful. 

 

Bristol: I’d never given much thought to Bristol before.  We chose it for this trip because it was a central location to other places we wanted to go, with good transportation options.  I liked it—it seemed easier to get around than London can be, and was welcoming and laid-back. 

 

Bristol is home to the Anglican church of St Mary Redcliffe (Redcliffe being the name of the part of the city, and appended to help distinguish it from any other churches dedicated to St Mary in Bristol), which Queen Elizabeth I visited and called “The fairest, goodliest and most famous parish church in England.”  We toured the church as visitors on Saturday, and then worshiped there on Sunday morning.  If you’ve never worshiped in a historic building of your faith, then I encourage you to do so.  As I’ve said before, I’m always humbled by and thankful for the continuity of faith that I feel at those times.  And though perhaps less majestic than St Mary’s, Bristol Cathedral has a truly beautiful garden, one of those that exists in that state between manicured and wild. 

Bristol is a fairly big city—the population is almost half a million—though not in the top ten of the UK’s most populous areas (Wikipedia has its greater metropolitan area as #11).  Banksy is allegedly from the city, and there are several of his works around.  It’s got a university.  Aardman Animations, home of Wallace and Gromit, is there, and there’s street art featuring Wallace, Gromit, and Shaun. 

 

One of the things about Bristol that was unexpected and interesting was its perspective on the slave trade.  As a port city, much of Bristol’s wealth was from trade, and that included trade in people.  Though the UK abolished the importation of slaves and slavery itself before most of the New World, it still benefited from the institution.  You might remember that in 2020 Black Lives Matter protesters defaced and then tore down a statue of slave trader Edward Colston; that was in Bristol.  A set of stained glass panels commemorating Colston were also removed from St Mary Redcliffe, with a contest held to design replacement panels.  The new panels, though not yet made, are illustrated here. 

 

In St Mary Redcliffe and Bristol Cathedral there are informational texts about the city’s role in slavery.  For someone living in the American South, the British perspective on the issue was not so familiar as the perspective and narratives we hear here.  I also appreciated that places around the city were so forthcoming in discussing slavery and its legacy.   

 

One thing that I read about slightly too late before we left was The Matthew.  The first Matthew was the ship sailed by Zuan “John Cabot” Chabotto from Bristol to the New World in the 15th century; there’s a small model of it in St Mary Redcliffe, and a statue of Cabot near the Floating Harbour.  And moored at Princes Wharf is a full-size replica, called The Matthew of Bristol.  Not only can you walk aboard the ship, but they also take it out for tours through the Avon Gorge.  By the time I learned about the cruises the only sailing that we could make was sold out, and though I emailed to get put on the waiting list for tickets, none came available.  Next time we go we’ll have to book our spots in advance, because that cruise on a sailing ship would be SO COOL.  

 

the pelicans: Who knew pelicans lived in St James’s Park in London?  Not me.  But the Royal Parks website says there have been pelicans in the park, one of those adjacent to Buckingham Palace, since the 17th century.  

 

Isambard Kingdom Brunel: The man, the myth, the legend.  He’s all over Bristol, as one of the premier engineers of the Industrial Revolution: the SS Great Britain, Clifton Suspension Bridge, and Temple Meads station were all designed by him.  The latter even has a statue of him outside of it, and he’s featured in mosaic work inside.    

 

This photo is a great depiction of him.  We should all be photographed at our jobs looking so hardcore. 

stained glass rearrangers: Some of the medieval stained glass windows at St Mary Redcliffe and Wells Cathedral were damaged by Cromwell’s troops in the 17th century.  (Cromwell is, of course, right up there with Henry VIII as a wretched and accursed iconoclast.)  Despite the damage, pieces of glass were somehow preserved until the 19th century, when they were reassembled; Joseph Bell is cited as responsible for this work at St Mary Redcliffe.  This was not generally a case of putting a puzzle back together, though.  Likely because pieces were broken or lost, the windows have not been restored to their original state; instead, they’ve been fit back together however possible.  It was not a technique I remember having seen before, but some of the results, while not what the original glaziers intended, were cool.

 

and every person in Britain who has tended a garden or window box or hanging planter this year: More than one person told us that the flowers looked better earlier in the year.  Meanwhile, I was blown away by how many were still blooming.  I’d been thinking that there probably wouldn’t be much in the way of flowers around in October, so seeing so many was a welcome surprise.  The dahlias in particular were going strong, and some of them were massive.