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. 

Donut Queen

In March I went to Portland for work.  It was only the second time I'd left the state since Before the Advent of the Plague, but it went quite well; despite having heard dire tales of unruly passengers who refused to wear their masks, my travels were smooth.  Since I'm three and a half years older than the last time I made a cross-country journey, the toll my travels took on me was greater than I remembered.  But the work part was informational and encouraging, and my travel was grant-funded.

Please ignore the fact that I couldn't get the freeway to line up when I stitched these photos together

I had been to Oregon before, albeit briefly; it was on that trip that I bought my favorite Adidas sweatshirt.  Portland, however, was new to me.  I stayed near Old Town, on the western shore of the Willamette River, and traveled every day to the convention center on the east side.  Walking around downtown Portland was not unlike being in any large city full of towering buildings; many of them dated from around the turn of the century.  The odd thing was looking back at downtown from the east side.  From across the river you can see that just beyond the normal city there are evergreen-covered hills.  They're a reminder of the natural resources that contributed to the area's growth, and of its relative youth as a city.

One of the things that Portland is known for is do(ugh)nuts.  Voodoo Doughnut is probably the most well-known shop, but there are bakeries throughout the city and its suburbs.  Some of them are local chains, like Coco Donuts, and some are specialty places, like the vegan Doe Donuts.  In my pre-trip research I tried to determine not only which shops were nearest to my hotel and other spots I might be visiting, but which were recommended, or not; most lists, for example, are topped by Voodoo, but others claim that it's just for tourists.  There was in fact a line outside the Old Town outpost of the shop, one I chose not to stand in.  The most salient opinion I turned up in my scouring of the Internet was that the best (and biggest) apple fritters in Portland were at a place called Donut Queen.

I had an apple fritter—at the top in the photo to the left—from one of the other shops listed above and it was lacking in two key elements: the number of apple chunks, and a crispy exterior with lots of little crannies in which the glaze can settle.  These are the key elements to the apple fritter.  I have suffered many a lackluster and disappointing fritter in the past, but, knowing that some of the best I've had were from California, I had high hopes for another West Coast state.

From downtown Portland I got on the 20 bus and headed east to the Mount Tabor neighborhood.  I used public transportation throughout my stay; it was a welcome change from having to drive everywhere.  The light rail system especially was fun, because who doesn't like riding a streetcar?  Invest in mass transit, America!  After a ride of about 20 minutes I got off the bus and walked a block or two up the street to a little yellow house.

A sign outside Donut Queen calls their offerings the "best donuts in town!!"  If they put that design on a t-shirt I would buy it, as I can attest wholeheartedly to the truth of this claim.  When I arrived the bare-bones shop had no other customers, though a father and child showed up as I was leaving; shortly after I walked in a cashier came out from the back to help me.  I got two apple fritters (one to bring home) and a maple old fashioned for just over eight dollars.  

My friends, these are probably the best donuts I've had in years.  YEARS.  (This is not a sponsored post; all opinions herein are my own, without outside influence or monetary sway.)  The icing on the maple old fashioned was thick and the whole thing was a good three and a half inches in diameter, and the apple fritters were as long as my head is tall (though not as wide as my head).  The fritters were the rich mahogany that indicates they'd spent the perfect length of time in the fryer, and their lumpy surface was evenly coated with glaze.  As a stalwart apple fan, I could have done with perhaps a bit more fruit in the dough, but there were enough to lend flavor to the fritter.  Still, it was delicious, and well worth the price and the trip out there.

So when you go to Portland you might be able to see some cherry trees in blossom, and giant sequoias, and cool buildings, and PNW-themed graffiti, and that's all good.  But do yourself a favor and go to Donut Queen.  You won't regret it.