Trip to Wales

We just spent four days on the Pembroke Coastline in Wales, near the city of Cardigan. It was so beautiful- but cold, windy, and rainy for most of the trip. We wouldn't have expected anything else! We saw lots of early Christian monuments (crosses, stone carvings), and old churches. This part of Wales is really known for its concentration in early Christian historic sites (5th century +). We also visited the beach to explore some rocky caves- Quentin and Emil even did some impromptu rock climbing. Wales is full of prehistoric sites, too. We went to an old burial tomb that was erected around 3500 BC. All that remains is the entryway which is constructed of three gigantic monoliths, the same bluestone used in Stonehenge (over 200 miles away). The pictures of this site do not demonstrate to any degree how windy it was that day!

We stayed on a farm with six cottages, an indoor pool, farm animals, and a playground. We were really close to all the sites, too, but still felt like we were in a remote location. I would love to return to this exact spot, but there's so much to see in Europe before we move back to Richmond next summer.

The pictures of Wales are available, including several short movies at the end of the picture file. Enjoy!

By the way, it's snowing here in Nottingham as I write this post!

Remember, remember, the fifth of November

Sound familiar? I've heard that phrase before, but never knew what it was about. It's from a poem, or nursery rhyme (?), about Guy Fawkes Day, otherwise known as Bonfire Night. I had been forewarned by another American that this is a crazy holiday in England. She was right. Starting around November 1st or 2nd, the English begin celebrating the foiled plot to blow up Parliament in 1605, and continue celebrating for almost a week.

Guy Fawkes and a few other conspirators had intended on blowing up the Parliament building while King James I and his family were inside. At this time in England, anti-Catholic sanctions were restricting jobs, freedom of worship, representation, etc., and Fawkes thought if he killed the King, a new monarchy might be more sympathetic to his religious background. So the plotters accumulated a massive amount of gunpowder over several months and stowed it in some rented cellars under Parliament. (I actually read they had planned to dig a tunnel under Parliament, but decided to rent the available cellars when they couldn't figure out what to do with all the dirt...) An anonymous letter warned the King at the last minute and Guy Fawkes was arrested in the cellar with match in hand. Needless to say, he and the other plotters were dragged through the streets of London to where they were hung, drawn, and quartered as examples for their treasonous plot.

The English love this night, and it has thankfully evolved from the original anti-Catholic bonfire celebrations in Victorian Times to a community get-together. (I actually feel kind of weird about the whole thing in general). Apparently some bonfires in Victorian times featured the Pope on a Catherine Wheel, or other anti-Catholic demonstrations. That's all blown over, of course, and now you just have lots of random bonfires and fireworks. And usually some bloke running across the kindling dressed as Guy Fawkes before the lighting of the fire.

We went to a community bonfire that also featured kiddie rides and a half hour firework show. I was not prepared for the size of the bonfire- we're talking absolutely huge! It seemed really unnatural to be close to so much fire. And the fireworks display was a little crazy, too. I can't say I've ever seen a 4th of July show go on as long as this one did. We were so close to the staging area, too, that debris rained on us the entire time. Quentin and Mallory loved it.

The fireworks have been everywhere almost every night since. Tonight, November 10th, is the second night of Divali, the Hindu celebration of lights, so more fireworks are popping in the distance. My kids have gotten accustomed to sleeping through them, so it's not a big deal. I just feel like I'm in a warzone.

Halloween in an English village

I wasn't quite sure what to expect of Halloween here in England. Even though it developed here in Great Britain (All Saint's Day and All Soul's Day were inserted into this time of year by the Catholics uncomfortable with the pagan celebrations of harvest; Jack-o-lanterns evolved from an Irish story about a guy named Jack and the devil), it still seems very American to me. So I started asking around Quentin's school what people do on Halloween. Most people said it's not a big deal and occassionally some children will trick-or-treat in their neighborhoods. The stores had a few decorations and costumes, but no candy...yes, no ailes full of Halloween candy that we are used to. So I figured we would have a quiet night and trick-or-treat next year in Richmond.

Then I heard that a friend of ours, an American who has lived here 20 years (a "lifer"), has persuaded her small village over the last few years to organize a Halloween event. They hold a small disco early in the evening in the village hall with music and treats. After an hour or so, the children all leave the hall and trick-or-treat around the village. We knew we had to go!

We arrived after meandering carefully down winding dark roads (Sleepy Hollow-esque) to the hall which was appropriately across from a old dark church and graveyard. At the disco we danced a little, then made a few stops in the village.

Not all villagers were on board with this idea- some had "No trick-or-treating" signs in their windows, or the lights turned off. But several houses were decorated and gave out candy. One house gave out single gummies, unwrapped, and that was it- they need some more Halloween guidance. Another house gave out cupcakes (fairy cakes in England), unwrapped as well. That could of gotten messy. And my favorite: one house had a stuffed puma on the front porch. Creepy, but not in a Halloween kind of way.

But, overall it was just right for us. The kids left with a few pieces of candy, not the giant bag that one usually has to haul home after American trick-or-treating. And since the candy was mediocre at best, Quentin's bag is still hanging up on the coat rack barely touched.

Ordinary Life...

We went with some friends to a Country Faire (which means lots of camoflauge and dogs) at Belvoir Castle. Zoe is on the swings next to Quentin- her family is American and she goes to Quentin's school. Mallory wanted a turn, too.

Other than that, I can't say that we've done anything too exciting lately. We've been adjusting to school, work, and getting over the many illnesses that are going around. It seems we're going to catch everything since we're in the mildew capital of the world and all the germs are unfamiliar. Except for Quentin, who's around germs all day long, all week long, but has managed to escape the recent family epidemics.

Quentin is on his "half-term break" which is a week off of school after about eight non-stop, crazy weeks. Since children go to school around here until late July, they get several week-long breaks during the school year. I love it. I think American children would benefit from this kind of schedule. Basically everyone parties like crazy for the six weeks between school years. It sounds just right to me.

The school where Quentin goes is a typical state-supported primary school. He wears a basic uniform everyday, and changes into indoor slippers when arriving. There are no school buses, so everyone walks or drives. I love this part of the English schools: there's such a sense of community when you see the same parents every day. It promotes school involvement, too.

This school (Edwalton Primary) is pretty unique, however, because it boasts the only working farm of any primary school in England. Children and adults look after the many animals daily, including two Kune pigs, six goats, one old sheep, and a dozen or so rabbits. The school will soon have chickens (which means fresh eggs!) Honey bees are also raised, but on a secluded part of school property, so fresh honey is always available to purchase. Edwalton has received several environmental awards due to their recycling and composting efforts. Children and adults are also encouraged to have a garden plot- there's a vegetable area, wildflower area, and various spots for children to tend on their own. Recently the cafeteria served corn from the vegetable plot.

This may sound like a state of the art, modern school, but really it's a small campus with average resources. And many walks of life are represented at this school. It does have its problems, like any other school. A few kids have been bullied, including Quentin when he tried to join in a soccer game during free time the second week of school. He was just trying to find a niche, and it broke my heart that he was rejected in such a horrible way. He's also friends with an American girl in another year 1 class and they have been taunted for being "lovers" by older kids. But these problems have passed and Quentin has found a really good friend in his class named Reilly. They are perfect for each other. I'm really glad that he chose a positive friendship over some of the not-so-good characters he was hanging around at first.

But overall, given the other school choices, Edwalton is the right school for us. I like that there are many clubs available to children; Quentin joined the soccer club which meets for an hour once a week just to play soccer. His class also goes to an indoor pool once a week (this has been really good for Quentin, but he still doesn't like to swim!) Last week the school held a "disco" fundraiser. "Fancy dress" was optional- I found out later that means costumes- and a DJ was on hand to entertain the kids. It was so much fun. Mallory went, too, and cut the rug with Quentin and friends on the dance floor.

The English schools are really different in how they are so laid back. For example, the children are just dismissed at the end of the school day. It's just assumed that if there's no grown-up for the child, and the child doesn't walk home usually, then someone will notice. There's just this assumption of best intentions by everyone. And the children are given three playtimes each day, one of which is after they eat school dinner (lunch). They can go anywhere on the school grounds with minimal supervision. (The school grounds include two large green fields, the animal pens/gardens, black top, and small wooded area. No playground except for monkey bars and a tunnel through some astro-turf. Lots of little niches in between trees, bushes.) This was confusing for Quentin at first- he got lost on the first day of school and reported to the office for help. But now he has the hang of it and really enjoys it. The kids get to pursue what they like during this time; in fact, some school clubs meet during these times for those who are interested. I like this attitude that children need "down time" and aren't over-scheduled. Quentin has utilized this time to be the ultimate Pokemon trader champion and he's made many friends this way.

Quentin's teacher, Mr. Jaycock, has been really supportive through this transition. It's been hard for Quentin, although he definitely likes school, to adjust to an all-day school with 250 students. His class alone has 30 students, some of whom have been to school for a year and a half. His class is a combined "year1/year2", so if we stayed here next year, he'd still be in this class with this teacher. (In England, you can enter reception- or kindergarten- the September or January after you turn 4. And Quentin has never been to kindergarten because of his November birthday. He's going to school for the first time although he's turning 6 in another month). So you can imagine that the other students know the routine! Quentin's doing great, but he's pretty exhausted and over-stimulated by the end of the day. I'm incredibly proud of him- I know he can do anything!

As for Mallory, she's pretty happy. She just turned 2 in September, and definitely acts that way! We attend two playgroups a week for toddlers and caregivers. One of them is at a church that was founded in the 13th-century! You can still see the original 13th-century walls! Next week she'll start two mornings per week in a playgroup for 2-5 year olds. (Not with caregivers.) I'm so excited- mommy needs a break! And she's ready, she just doesn't know it yet. She's so funny- and loud!- I wish you all could see her. You probably can hear her. She's definitely related to my side of the family.

Emil's staying busy at work. We're hoping that he can take a week off in November so we can travel. For Christmas we'll spend a week in a furnished apartment within the medieval walls of York. Then it's home for the kids and me! Yes, I'm coming to the states in early January for about two weeks. Most of the time will be spent in Lynchburg, but I am definitely going to come to Richmond for a little bit. I'm going to shop, shop, shop, because things here are SO expensive and a few things are hard to find.

I'm feeling homesick for my family, friends, and house, but I do like it here. We just need better parking, longer hours for shopping/services, and few more restaurants that are child-friendly. We've made friends and live in a good location. I did have mouse poop in my laundry recently- my laundry room is separate from my house- so I could do without the critters, but even this house is turning out to be a good thing.

Much love to everyone!

Not to worry

We've not been sitting idle, and we've got many more pictures and tales to share. Just been busy!

We've been out to Chatsworth (gorgeous ducal estate in the Peak district) and Clumber Park (lovely National trust park with a small gothic church weirdly plopped into it's middle. Also home to the longest lime tree avenue in the world. In case you were debating that at dinner.)

Anyway, more to come!

We're still here!

OK, it's been another long while between posts.

I have an excuse: I've been cleaning the toilets.

EVERY DAY.

You see, here in Europe the people are very, very environmentally aware. It's quite nice, really. People consider impact to the environment when making their daily decisions, and manufacturers and retailers have followed the market with environmentally friendly products.

At this point, you're asking one of two questions:

1) What does this have to do with toilet cleaning?

or

2) Wow, I know Emil and it is AMAZING that he went this long without talking about toilets on his blog.

OK, technically number 2 isn't a question, but it did give me the chance to say "number 2". Get it? I kill me.

Anyhow, everything here is environmentally friendly. People buy tiny gas efficient cars. (The Mini Cooper is consider a large car. Seriously.) They recycle a lot. Etcetera.

Unfortunately, environmental friendliness also exhibits itself in some less savory ways.

1) Tip to the crowd I share the bus with on the way to work: your "musk" is not attracting the ladies.

2) The dryer has half the capacity of the washer. Which saves energy, I guess, but also means you have to line dry half your clothes. Line dry... in England, the world's mildew capital.

3) The legal limit on the flush volume of toilets is apparently one microliter or one hectare or three bushels and a peck or whatever it is in metric. Not a lot.

Thus we get to frequent toilet cleaning, and I will leave you with that!

Sherwood Forest

After returning from London (and before Elaine and the kids encountered the Hissing Bulls of Laxton), we went to Sherwood Forest. Yeah, that Sherwood Forest.

We took a short drive up to Edwinstowe (the village where Robin Hood and Maid Marion were married). Beautiful countryside on the way up, weather was great. Grabbed a quick lunch at the Craft Centre, which was a really neat place with a coppersmith, glassblower, etc.

We walked past a small carnival along the treeline and into the woods proper. We did the "Major Oak" loop, which runs along a distressingly well cleared trail out to the Major Oak - purportedly the place where Robin and his Merry Men would meet. Today the oak still lives (it's about 800 years old) but needs a series of steel tube supports to keep its massive limbs from all snapping off. It came off as a bit sad, like Sly Stallone doing that last Rocky movie.

The forest itself is lovely. The undergrowth in some places is pretty clear, which made it a great place for the kids to romp around.

As pretty as Sherwood can be, the truth is there are probably a million forests in the US that are prettier or more impressive. Sherwood, however, had three really big things in it's favor:


1) Freaking Robin Hood
2) Several really, really old oak trees, just scattered about among the smaller oaks and birches like bullfrogs in the middle of a flock of sandpipers.
3) freaking Robin Hood

Par for the course- a vist to the countryside with the kids

Now that we have a car, and far fewer people are honking at me when we leave the driveway, I decided to take a trip with the kids for the afternoon. I found this great book about kiddie-friendly hikes in the county of Nottinghamshire. Some are nearby, and others are an hour or so away. So we decided upon visiting the earthwork remains of a medieval castle in the small village of Laxton, about 40 miles from our town. I should have realized the remoteness of the village when my satellite navigation system couldn't find it in its database. But I managed to get directions to something nearby and we were off!

After sitting in stalled traffic for twenty minutes, we had a very pleasant drive through the countryside. Mallory napped and Quentin snacked. It was great. I've even reached the driving level of eating, cell-phone dialing, and radio-station scanning while driving- all with a stick shift!

When we got to the town, we drove up the one street to find the visitor centre. You'll be very surprised to hear that it wasn't clearly marked. But we found it. The visitor centre was just an open room in an old house with pictures. An elderly man followed us in. I think he was the town historian, given he was born in the village in 1925 and has never lived anywhere else. Between my American accent and his hearing aid we understood roughly every third sentence. But it was so delightful to talk to him! As we walked off to find the castle trail, he mentioned a small footpath behind the old church.

I found out later- and I'm kicking myself for not reading this before out trip- that the church possesses the 12-century tombs of the family that lived in the nearby castle, one of which has the oldest OAK effigy in the county (most tomb effigies are stone). How cool!

We eventually located the public footpath that I thought went to the ruins. My book literally said, "turn right at the old phone box near the church." The path looked more like a tractor trail, but we marched on nonetheless. At the end of the trail, we noticed a fenced area with horses. My book said it was a cricket field. Really? That sounds messy. We actually turned back, disappointed. The kids were complaining about being hot and Mallory refused to walk on the trail. Plus it was lined on one side with stinging nettles- I guess it's the English way of deterring trespassers. A "No trespassing" sign would be too obvious. Both kids were stung of course and cried. I"m sure the whole village heard us.

I admitted defeat when we found a second path- a bridleway- that ran parallel to the first one. It too ran into a cow pasture. So I gave in and we turned to leave. At the church gates, a villager walked by us and I asked him about the earthworks. He pointed to the original trail...and blah, blah, blah, we were on the right track the whole time. But you have to enter the cow pasture to find the ruins. Really? He also warned me of having kids in the cow pasture, and I thought he meant because of the steep ruins, etc. So we turned back to hike to the cow pasture. At this time, I noticed the small sign hidden near the man-gate.

Once through the gate, we spotted the earthworks in the distance. Then we noticed the cows. They had calves. The cows stood up and fanned outwards in our direction, suspicious of our intentions. (Refer to "Adventures at Wollatan Park" in the June blog archives.) Mallory screamed, "I scared of the cows, mommy!!" So I held her, and we scaled the outer earthwork farthest from the ferocious beasts. We took some pictures to prove we had been there. Then Quentin noticed a brown cow by itself nearby grazing. He astutely asked, "is that a bull, mom?" Silly boy, of course not! Not one minute later we heard some kind of hissing. I turned and it's the cow! It's hissing at us! And yes, I observed at this time, it's a bull. We exited calmly. I stopped to read the sign. Within the text that mentions the school groups who visit the land,etc., there's a small phrase, parenthetically: "beware of the bull."

Even though it was kind of a crazy visit, I still loved it. I've been really wanting to go somewhere off the beaten path. Everything is so crowded here. So Laxton was just the right thing for me, just not my kids. The village itself is really interesting: three large fields have been commonly shared among farmers since the 12th-century. They use a system of crop rotation to maintain the health of their fields. Other common land is used for grazing- hence the cows in the castle ruins. I like the adherence to tradition- why change a good thing if it works?

What Emil didn't tell you about London...

I think Emil's fatigue in London caused some mild amnesia about the trip. I loved London, don't get me wrong, but my memory of the trip is a little different! We actually almost didn't make it to London, or I didn't anyway. Because the cab was late picking us up from our house, we almost missed the train to London. In fact, we entered one train that was totally crowded. We were told to jump on the train connected in front, but we had to exit the first train to do so. I was holding Mallory, a suitcase and a shoulder bag. Emil had the folded stroller, a very heavy backpack, and a large suitcase. I vaguely remember Emil yelling, "I can't get out with a stroller, two children and luggage!" (The English don't know the word luggage, actually.) A train employee said to just leave it and get it later. We virtually ran to the front train while it was starting to move. It was actually empty. We sat down, amazed that we had such luck to be on an empty train. It didn't take long for the panic to set in: this was the wrong train!...But then I realized we were connected to the first train on the same track, so yes, we were on the right train. But some of our luggage was still in the first train. The ticketmaster told us to jump out and grab it on the next stop. So I did. But so many people were getting on. When I got on it was clear I couldn't grab my bag; too many people. When I got back off, the train started moving again. I shouted, "This is my train! Wait!" Someone in uniform curtly called out, "You better get on or we're going to leave you!" So I returned sans luggage. I could just imagine being left at this desolate train station while my family pulled away- luggage, purse and all. No cell phone, no money, difficulty communicating with the natives. I still shiver at the thought. Eventually, our luggage was retrieved for us at one of the stops. Shew!! Crisis averted...for now. Everything all went mostly as planned once we arrived in London, except Emil couldn't find his passport when checking-in at the hotel (which we really don't need for ID because we're residents of the country) and we left all the directions, reservation numbers, and hotel information at home. No big deal!!! And did he mention the $100 breakfast? That was with a discount for Quentin. Gee, thanks!



But I can't wait to go back. (I'd live there if it wasn't so expensive, and well, if Emil had a London-based job with lots of incentives, financial cost of living support, and a lake house in the north.) It's an amazing hodgepodge of people and cultures. This history is well-preserved and appropriately revered, and the modern architecture is stunning. (Mallory noticed the "big egg" near out hotel- the Swedish bank that is so noticeable in any London skyline shot). Can't wait to go back and see the other 99% of the city!

Ah, London

We stayed in London for four days last week for our first extended "holiday".

First a word on "holidays". Unlike the US, holidays are vacations. Vacation is a word you never hear, unless you happen to be talking to another American. The exceptions to this rule are Bank Holidays, which are really holidays but have nothing to do with banks. Still, there is something to be said for an entire nation keeping banker hours.

Anyway, we originally planned to go to London for four days, Windsor (just outside London) for two days and Wells (southwest of Windsor, near Bath) for a day. After three nights of the four of us sleeping in one room together, I was ready to either go home, pick up a substance abuse habit, or investigate the magical world of acute psychosis.

Holiday Tip #1: Get a suite or get two rooms.

London was fantastic. And expensive. Fantastically expensive.

For the first two nights we stayed at the Grange City hotel, which is a stone's throw from the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge (which is the cool bridge, not the London Bridge which is really quite dull). Very nice hotel. Great room. Very expensive. Breakfast for four? $100. Laundry service? $100. Coke and a Kit Kat? I don't know; we failed the credit application process.

Holiday Tip #2: Don't eat at the hotel.

Still, the location made the expense worthwhile. It was really great to just walk out the door, cross the street and bam, there are two of London's most recognizable landmarks. We learned our lesson at breakfast and ate outside the hotel for our remaining meals.

We spent most of a day at the Tower. It was pretty incredible to walk through tower rooms covered in 600 year old graffiti carved into the walls by prisoners. Getting a sense of the history of the place was almost overwhelming. We did see the crown jewels (no picture) and a horse's rear end (picture), among other things.

That afternoon, while Elaine and Mallory napped, Quentin and I popped west a few miles and rode the London Eye. THe Eye is an absolutely ginormous ferris wheel that projects out over the Thames directly across from Parliament. The view was incredible. Quentin remarked on how the people looked like ants (trite, but cute) then proceeded to pretend to stomp on them through the glass floor of the ferris wheel car. That's my boy.

After we rode the eye, Quentin and I bypassed Madam Tussade's and the Salvador Dali museum to hit a place of real cultural importance: The Star Wars exhibit at the Town Hall. We got off to a cracking start - as we entered, an actor dressed as the Emporer was leaving. Quentin naturally turned and ran. That set the tone for the rest of our visit: Lifesize Hoth snow-creature - Run! Darth Maul - Run! Lifesize wookies - Run! Darth Vader - Run! Nothing says wholesome family fun like barely controlled panic.

The next day we checked out of the Grange City and checked in to the Premier Travel Inn, which was apparently named by people completely unaware of the definition of the word "premier". The staff was very nice and the room was clean but the room itself was cramped for four. The Premier Travel Inn is located near Hyde Park, Kensington Palace and several museums. None of which were high on our list of things to see. Hyde Park is pretty tame, the museums aren't really a great spot for a two-year-old and Kensington Palace looks distressingly like the Colonial Williamsburg Visitor's Center.

Holiday Tip #3: Spring the extra bucks for a nice room near the sights you want to see.

We went to the Natural History Museum. We were delighted to see that about 30 million Londoners had the same idea. After waiting in line in the rain for an hour, we got inside and elbowed our way to the insect exhibit. This portion of our trip ended about when Mallory saw the seven foot robotic scorpion. We spent some time in the mineral exhibit (quite a nice collection), then went to see the dinosaurs. Apparently all 30 million people from the line outside were now queued up for the dinosaur bones. We left and got pastries and coffee from a nearby patisserie.

Holiday Tip #4: Avoid free indoor activies when it's raining, unless you like the smell of 30 million damp Europeans crammed into a building.

Next day we're supposed to go to Windsor. Elaine catches me sitting in the empty bathtub in our hotel room, rocking back and forth and quietly mumbling about personal space, so we agree to cut our visit short - but not until we visit Westminster Abbey.

Westminster Abbey is awesome. And not in the "Break Point" sense of the word - it actually inspires awe. So many key figures in British history are buried there. Some of the tombs and crypts dated back over a thousand years. You couldn't take two steps without bumping into some King or Queen's remains. Henry the 2nd, Mary Queen of Scots... they even have the "coronation chair" on display, where many Monarchs sat as they were crowned. We thought it was funny that built into the coronation chair is a space to hold a rock that the English stole/captured from the Scots.

The abbey itself is beautiful - particularly Lady's Chapel (where many monarchs are buried). The cloisters, with the ancient chapter house (and the oldest door in Britain! so strange that a place that boasts the tombs of kings equally promotes the age of its door) are beautiful. The windows were replaced in the 50s (after WWII's bombing) but the tile floors were 800 years old, and the statuary as old or older.

Sadly, photography isn't permitted inside the minster, but we got a few shots outside and in the cloisters.

After our visit we picked up a rental car at Heathrow and drove back to Nottingham. It was good to just rest for a few days before heading back to work. We'll need to make another trip or two south (to Bath, Salisbury and points west once, and again for Dover and other eastern sites).

Holiday Tip #4: You can drive really fast on the M1, if you tell your wife the numbers on the speedometer are kilometers per hour (they aren't).

Why the French hate the British

OK, we're a few weeks behind the posting schedule (there is no schedule), so here we go:

You might think that the English-French rivalry is due to their long history of warfare (Napoleon, 100 years war etc) or the fact that a French dude (William I of Normandy) came in and kicked the Anglo-Saxons around and founded modern Britain.

You might think that, but you'd be wrong. The primary cause behind the rivalry is language.

Specifically: The French revere their language. There are strictly controlled rules that define what constitutes proper French, from the grammar to the pronunciation.

The English on the other hand have absolutely no respect for anyone's language. We witnessed this firsthand a couple of weeks ago at beautiful Castle Belvoir.

Any Francophiles among you (lucky bastard, that Frank) probably know that Belvoir is French for "Beautiful View". And Castle Belvoir's view is indeed beautiful (more on this later).

The English, however, couldn't be bothered to learn to pronounce Belvoir as the French would (think au revoir). Instead the English decided it was easier just to pronounce it as "beaver".

That is not a joke. Castle Belvoir (going forth referred to as the English pronounce it) sits atop a hill at the edge of the Vale of Beaver. The view is stunning. From the castle's grounds you can see miles and miles of English countryside... rolling hills and quaint villages with old Norman churches.


Anyway, the castle itself is quite lovely - much nicer than Nottingham Castle (which does have a better cafe). It's much larger - Beaver is actually a castle-looking house built on top of what used to be a 14th century castle. The current building is much newer but the interior boasts a nice collection of 16th century paintings and recovered 14th century tiles and the like. I'd post pictures of the gorgeous sitting rooms and dining rooms but we forgot to charge the camera and it died about 30 seconds before we hit the really nice areas inside. I did however manage to waste battery power on a couple of pictures in the Queen's Royal Fusilier museum.

Outside was nice too, once you got used to the half-dozen peacocks wandering around. I guess it beats pigeons. The grounds include a really big terraced garden that leads down to a woodland path. The woods have clearly been there a while, because we saw there the single biggest oak tree ever. The trunk must have been over 7' in diameter. Again, no pictures.

The kids had a good time romping in the nearby playground and trying to climb into the 17th century bedrooms. Mallory was scared of the peacocks, which I can understand because 6 peacocks begging for breadcrumbs is probably really intimidating when you're smaller than they are. Quentin had a great time running amok and didn't even seem aware of the time that he almost fell off the 20' ladder at the playground. It was a moment of glory for me, as I caught him in midair as I climbed up behind him. I expect my official action-hero badge in the mail any day now.

My secret dream: Backhoe Operator

I was very much nose-to-the-grindstone last week at work (and now resemble Voldemort*), so not a lot to update.

We're still waiting on the car to arrive. We had a bit of an ONO moment when we realized that I ordered a manual shift. No big deal, we both know how to drive manual. Right?

I didn't consider that the wacky right-side drive cars here means that you shift with your left hand. So we will soon be shifter-ambidextrous.

Naturally, that lead me to think of different situations where being able to shift with either hand would be.. uh, handy. That illustrious list started and ended with one occupation: Operator of Earth Moving Machinery.

I haven't yet told Elaine of my plans to quit my job at the bank to pursue my dream of digging really big holes.


*Not really, Voldemort looks like a snake and I look more like a skink.

Who doesn't know HTML? That's right! Us!

Click on the horrendously large link below to visit our snapfish photo album for lots of picturey goodness.

Eventually (no, not really) I will learn how to replace the horrendously large link with some much shorter and more descriptive text. Eventually.


Phillips-in-Notts Album

Edit: Our vast network of techno-spies comes to the rescue (thanks fritty)!

Good News: No pictures for this post!

We've seen a fox in our back yard.

Foxes in your yard aren't precisely commonplace in the US, so I didn't immediately realize what I was looking at.

There is a park in Richmond that has foxes in a pen. You can stand above the pen and stare down into its weedy recesses, hoping to spy one. Then, finally, you notice a patch of gray among the green. The fox! You stand and stare some more, feeling strangely peaceful.

Then you realize that you've been staring at a piece of wood for 20 minutes.

The fox in our yard here was much larger than the US variety. Not quite "Dear God, it's going to carry away the children" big, but certainly bigger. So I figured that I was probably hallucinating.
The fox didn't sprout wings, or stand up on its hind legs and do a shuffle step so I realized it was a real fox and pointed it out to the rest of the family. This led to all sorts of stimulating conversation which mostly went like this:

Quentin: "Ooooh! A fox! Did you see the fox, Dad?"

Me: "Yes, Quentin. In fact, I told you it was there."

Elaine: "How cool. I can't believe there is a fox in the garden."

Mallory: "SWIPER, NO SWIPING! I'M NOT SCARED OF THE BOX"

Me: "I can't believe there is a fox in the garden"

Quentin: "Did you see the fox, Mom?"

etc.

This morning as I headed off to work I realized that I had stepped in what I assumed was dog poop.

Then I realized what it had to be: fox poop. Cool. Fox poop.

More pictures. Who do my children take after?

Niki emailed these pictures to me recently. Thanks, Niki! They're awesome!

What time does General Hospital come on, Grandma Nana?

I heard Mallory "calling" Grandma Nana today. We just got our landline hooked up. I'm sure she was calling Bangladesh.

Friends we miss...

We miss our neighbors the Hancocks so much! Despite having sold our house, they will always be our neighbors. We were so lucky to have been next door to them! When I was pregnant with Mallory, they watched Quentin so I could rest. They supported us during Mallory's homebirth, and took all of us under their wing whenever we needed something. Niki used to take care of Mallory two mornings a week. She used to take Quentin to church every Wednesday night with she and Ayana. She mowed our lawn after we moved to England, and even cleaned out my stinky refrigerator! She is so full of love! I'm sad that we are far away from the Hancocks, but they're in our hearts.

Bless you, Hancock family! We love you!

Getting settled in the new house...

Here's what happens when you leave your toddler alone with art supplies for more than 20 minutes!

Or this:

But she's a happy girl, despite the long face in the above photo!

Disaster Strikes!

We're in the new house and getting settled in, but the DVD player we bought won't play our American DVDs.

Elaine has the kids penned in the kitchen and is throwing them bits of raw meat to keep them calm until I can work out a solution.

We only hope that I can figure it out before they chew through the rebar barricade.

We've finally moved. Well, sort of. We're doing it in shifts. We've managed to almost triple the stuff we have in the month that we've been here. It will take a couple of cab trips to get it all there. And there's not TV yet, so naturally we can't live there yet.

Katie helped us acquire some nice furniture cheap, and some not-so-nice furniture that she probably paid too much for.

The house is in the busy town southeast of Nottingham called West Bridgford. We can walk to lots of things- playground, public indoor pool. Town centre is a 20 min walk, probably. We're on a busy road, but a hedge lines our yard completely, and we have a driveway gate, so we can be completely separate from the traffic. (Very safe for kids). The backyard is also entirely enclosed by a large hedge. The English really like their hedges. We'll probably never see our neighbors. There's no such thing around here as curbside appeall- it's all big hedges.

Moving this weekend

We're moving into our new house this weekend, as planned.

Of course, the house is not the one we expected to move into. Apparently the landlord was using our lease agreement to bid up the price on their current tenants. So even though he/she "agreed" to lease the house to us, they never really intended to do so.

We found this out on Tuesday, which meant we had three days to find a new house. A quick glance at the listings indicated approximately nothing available for a family of four.

Fortunately, we had the assistance of one Katie Aungles, who knew someone who was selling their house, talked them into renting it to us instead, and then found us an entire house worth of furniture for 4000 pounds. Which will be delivered on Saturday. Needless to say, Katie is way up on my list of favorite people right now.

If you're keeping track at home:

1) Guitar stolen at Heathrow/Dulles? Check!
2) Relocation consultant fails to arrange for transportation from London to Nottingham? Check!
3) Relocation consultant fails to inform temporary housing that we're coming? Check!
4) Relocation consultant fails to arrange for a bank in the UK? Check!
5) Payroll deducts my cost-of-living increase from my salary instead of adding it? Check!
6) Landlord rents house out from under us? Check!

On the bright side, I got a truly excellent haircut today, so at least I have that going for me.

Yes, that's really the statue.

Really!

What To Do in Hucknall When You're Dead

Apparently, play Bingo.

Or go to the cinema.

But I get ahead of myself; last weekend we decided we'd take the tram out of town to visit Hucknall.

Hucknall?

Yes, Hucknall. The ancestral home of Lord Byron (really) and his daughter Ada (who is famous for computer languages. Seriously)

So! We grab the kids, head down to the merchant square and hop on the tram.

Hucknall is about 10 miles north of the Notts city center. We figure that means a 15-20 minute tram ride.

35 minutes later we pull into Hucknall. I would elaborate on the picturesque countryside and towns we passed on the way, except there were none. The areas we passed looked more like Teaneck or Yonkers than Stratford-on-Avon.

The first thing you see after leaving the tram station is a 20 foot tall statue of a shirtless coal miner. I know what you're thinking... I LOVE THIS TOWN!

We walk down the main drag in Hucknall and soon see the reverence with which they regard Lord Byron. This is of course embodied by the Byron Bingo and Cinema building. Again, I know what you're thinking... what could better embody the spirit of a romantic poet than a bingo parlor in a coal mining town?

Unperturbed, we continue to the church where Byron is buried. The church is 16th century, and I'm eager to see the architecture and stained glass.

Of course, the church is open for tours... for two hours per week. In an astonishing coincidence, we are not there for those two hours.

Disappointed, we decide to get some food. We pile into a local pub and wait. And wait.

It occurs to us that we don't know how to order food at a pub. We can't tell the "waiters" from the patrons. So I go to the bar to ask. The bartender tells me (partially resorting to charades due to his accent) that they actually aren't serving food today.

Of course not! Clearly the menus on every table were there to describe the food that you might get another time. Today we feast on companionship and warm beer!

We leave, companionship and warm beer being what we had for breakfast (kidding). We spy a grocery store and spend our strange british coins on some snacks and take the long ride home.

I never really liked Byron anyway.

Health Care, elaborated

Emil here!

First, a health update:

As Elaine mentioned, Mallory and I both went to the"Travel Doc" and are on the road to recovery. Feel loads better already.

There are a few things to note about healthcare here:

1) You generally apply to the National Health Service for a General Practitioner, who will do just about everything for you and your family. Pediatric needs? GP. Allergist? GP. Orthopedist? GP. The backlog for specialists is over a year.

2) If you don't have a GP yet (like us) you go to a private practice. This is absurdly expensive: My 10 minutes with the doctor cost $420. Not counting the prescriptions. But it does count the prescription fee. And the look-in-my-throat fee. And the breathe-in-this-tube fee. And the listen-to-you-breathe fee. And the pay me scads of cash fee.

Sadly, I only made up the last one.

3) The receptionists were clearly a high-powered superspy team. I wish I had the foresight to take a picture, but it's probably for the best. They undoubtedly would have been forced to kill me.

There were two: a stylish young blonde girl and her counterpart, a tall lanky guy with a Ben Wallace afro and a smart black suit. I'm used to the medical staff wearing Elmo scrubs and generic reeboks. The suit probably cost more than my car. Or it would if I had a car.

4) The decor at the doctor's office was this: leather couches and chairs carefully arranged around an art-piece coffee table. The walls were adorned with quite well done pop-art and expensive looking sconce lamps. A bit of a change from the wooden bench and eight-year old copies of Field & Stream at the doctor's back home.

Getting sick, windmill, teeth, and artwork

It finally happened. We got sick. Emil was terribly sick over the weekend with a cold virus/asthma. Mallory woke up Monday morning with a fever. We went to a nearby doctor and had a great experience. My Richmond doctor could learn a thing or two from this practice! She has pharyngitis. Emil's going later. So we're hunkered down in our apt. on a sunny afternoon. Oh well, at least Wimbledon's on for now...


The kids and I visited a windmill recently- Green's Mill- in nearby Sneaton. Great kid activity area- all science based learning for toddlers and young children. Ghetto-like playground next door. Of course my kids noticed it and wanted to play. Threatened rain the whole time. I get nervous when it's cloudy- we were stuck in a torrential downpour recently and Quentin and I got soaked. It was miserabile. Mallory's stroller has a plastic rain cover, so she was dry as a bone. We were cold, too; it was low 50s. It's also hard to tell what the weather is going to do, so I get anxious and don't like hanging out far from our apt. or the bus stop. Didn't stay long at windmill. Got soaked on way home, too.

My little guy is growing up!! Quentin lost is first tooth yesterday. He said there was something hard in his chicken. As I looked at him saying this, I noticed a space and some blood. Luckily, he hadn't swallowed the tooth!


Here's a shot of Quentin's artwork from last few weeks. This doesn't count his block-building and toilet-paper roll creations that don't stand the test of time. What a great way to spend the time!

Who knew?

We walk everywhere. I walk to and from work, which is about a 20 minute walk going there (downhill) and 30 back (uphill). It rains a lot.

I know this will come as a shock, but walking in the rain for over an hour a day in 55-60 degree weather WILL result in getting sick.

But I'm feeling much better!

Adventures at Wollaton Park

Some of you won't be surprised to hear about the absurd adventures I've had at Wollaton Park with my children. I told Emil at the end of my first visit that I was ironing out the kinks so that when we go as a family, I'll know all ins and outs.

• Wollaton is a huge deer park near Nottingham city centre. It's a 10 minute bus ride.

Here are the highlights of our visits:

• Locate bus stop after visiting tourist center to obtain bus info. Get on bus. Can't find where to put money. Feel really stupid.


• Bus driver turns and says something to us en route that I can't understand. Repeats himself three times, sounds louder and more irritated each time. I heard "you" and "passengers" in his diatribe.


• After bus driver gestures at stroller, I figure I should move it.


• See small sign that says Wollaton Park. I guess this is where we get off??


• Bus driver points to small driveway- yeah, go in that way.


• Notice the sign says "vehicle entrance only"....Hmmm... should we go in here anyway?


• Notice metal grate/bridge over dip in road and metal fence lining drive. Where do you walk?


• After quick thinking on my part...we decide to go over metal grate. Quentin has to scale bridge sideways while holding the metal fence. I gingerly pull stroller over each groove- just wide enough for almost entire stroller wheel to fit into. How lucky! This was the kind of grate that if your foot fell through, you'd break a bone easily. Ground was about 12" down. So I tell Quentin to hold on tight and don't fall through.


• We make it! Luckily no cars drove by at this time.


• Where do you guess the pedestrian entrance was? Well, we notice on the way out someone walking through a little black door next to the vehicle-jaws-of-death-entrance. Unmarked.


• And I actually panic at the bus stop thinking we won't know which one to take back...but think about it...yeah, it was a long day. I had some wine that afternoon.

Visit 2 is less exciting, especially since we knew where to go in and out...

• After noticing how difficult the stroller moves through grass- I mean lots of grass... and deer poop, I tell Quentin we have to use the sidewalk from now own. We start walking toward the exit closest to the bus stop. There are signs everywhere indicating to not approach the deer because it's calving season and they can be aggressive.


• Guess where about 50 deer were hanging out that day? Yeah, in the field right along the sidewalk. I mean close to the sidewalk, too!


• We start walking naturally, no big deal. But one kept staring at us! Quentin asks why the deer keeps staring at us. And these are not small deer- they're like freaking moose over here! I get spooked, so we turn and take this detour into the grass and circle back to our small unmarked exit door avoiding the herd.


• I turn around and notice some people walking casually up the sidewalk behind us, not a care in the world for those deer. I hope we gave them something funny to talk about!

It's still raining....

This is my first blogging experience, and I have so much to say. Hopefully I'll be organized about it! The blog is part journal for me, as a record of what we do and learn, but also a connection to loved ones back home.

It is still raining here in Notts. Every day has some rain, and some days the sun doesn't come out at all. The weather forecast from the BBC is just a mere suggestion as to what may happen during the day- the high temp, the amount of sun or rain, is so vague that you can only be prepared whenever you go out for really warm sunny weather, or torrential downpours.

The country as a whole is having a weird week: the unexploded bombs in the London area, the extensive flooding in the north and Wales, and a new administration taking office.

We are camped in our tiny temporary apartment watching Wimbledon, in between rain delays, and trying to keep the kids busy. Quentin has been non-stop with the crafts: he's doing lots of "Bindeez"- little plastic beads you organize into a design then spray with water and they stick. Lots of painting, clay work, and the latest is a plastic tile design of a tiger. Mallory loves it, too. I should photograph some of the stuff.

Our apartment is in this great area, up on one of the highest hills in Nottingham. We have such a great view. We can walk to shops, theater, restaurants, etc. It's been challenging figuring out what businesses are child-friendly. We just look for other strollers in the windows, or notice a child menu displayed out front of a restaurant. It's really not a child-friendly city, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's really a child-centered culture. I'm looking forward to getting into our house (soon). We need some breathing room. We keep running into each other, and our stuff is piled up everywhere. The kids need some outdoor space. There's really nothing for them to do here: we've been to the Nottingham castle twice, and a few places by bus, but overall it's been hard. We just do a lot of walking, shopping, and eating.

One of the cool things about Nottingham is the great history, like most places in England. There's a pub near the castle called "Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Pub" which was the meeting place for King Richard and his supporting knights before taking the cross for the Crusades in the 12th century. It's the oldest pub in England. We haven't been yet- not sure about taking children. Another pub nearby is 13th century, and one pub called "The Royal Children" dates to the late 15th century. The Nottingham Castle itself has one exposed wall from the 12th century, but mostly the other structures are later. William the Conquerer built a wooden castle here when he conquered England (1066), but no traces of his fortifications remain. There's an extensive maze of caves under the entire city, in a limestone outcrop, and some were used during periods of invasion/evasion throughout Nott's history. We walked through one near the castle in some crazy museum (more later on that) that was used by residents for protection from air raids during WWII. Quentin and I plan on going on a cave tour as soon as we have a good weekend for it.

We also read somewhere that one of the pedestrian shopping areas near the old market square is one of the busiest thoroughfares in all of Europe. It's incredibly crowded all hours of the day.

Anyway, here are a few initial observations about England, or at least Nottingham:

1. We may speak the same language technically, but sometimes I need an interpreter.
2. The toilets don't have a lot of water. We Americans like a good flush.
3. The washer/dryer (all one unit) takes several hours to do one load, and it's still not completely dry. I'm starting to lower my standards for what "clean" clothes are.
4. There are screaming children, nice people, rude people, and red necks all over the world.
5. British people love to shop, I even think more so than Americans. You would not believe how busy the shops are! It's so crowded in the market square area, you can hardly walk. It's challenging with children/stroller.
6. They do eat peanut butter, ketchup, and mostly french fries are french fries. Potato chips are called crisps, however.
7. The food is good. Don't let the reputation fool you. They love sausages wrapped in pastry, or next to mashed potatoes. How can that not be good? And chicken/ham salad is really chicken or ham with lettuce and tomato. I've been fooled with this one. Milk is cream, or milk, depending on the context. Also, I love how people sit and enjoy coffee or tea in actual mugs at the coffeeshops or cafes. And if you get a bottled drink, there's always a cup with it. People don't tend to drink or eat on the move. The culture moves incredibly fast- walking, working- but they definitely enjoy down time, too.
8. There's a Starbucks on every corner here, too. Actually, this city is really not unlike an American one.
9. Shops close at 5:00 every day. Many restaurants, especially pubs, stay open later. But you can't run any errands or shop after 5:00. How do professonals get their errands done? Actually, one night a week most shops/stores are open until 6:30 (usually Wednesday).

Someone is rocking out at Dulles

My wife and kids are great. I really have the best. I'm not self-centered enough to say "I don't know what I did to deserve them". Clearly I did nothing, the universe is a fickle place and somewhere some paragon of a father is stuck with a harpy for a wife and two snakes for kids.

To avoid boring you with a narrative, here are the hilights of our departure:

• Leave far too much to be done at the house (thanks Judy & Hubert, I can see where Elaine gets her wonderfulness from)
• Return Dollar rent-a-car van... to the Budget lot at Dulles. Whoops!
• Check 7 bags and 1 guitar case
• Quentin gets waved up to the cockpit and impresses the staff with his braininess
• Get situated in our seats (Premium Economy on Virgin Atlantic was quite nice)
• Stewardess brings Q a candy bar, compliments of the captain "to that smart lad"
• Mallory falls asleep halfway through the flight. Q falls asleep right before we land. Elaine and Emil don't sleep
• Land, go to baggage claim and collect 7 bags and... nothing. Guitar case is nowhere to be seen
• London is foggy. Go figure.
• Get to managed apartments in Notts to discover that the relocation company didn't tell them we were coming
• Panic
• Nice property managers get us situated anyway
• Later that night, after being awake for about 39 hours, sleep.
  

If you see someone playing a wine red Stratocaster at Dulles, punch them in the nose for me.

Hello from sunny (ha ha!) Nottingham!

More (much much more) to follow, but here's a quick hello.

We've been in Nottingham for an eternity (ok, two weeks) and have a ton of observations and stories to share. I'm sure we'll get them all typed up in the 4.8 seconds we have between the kids going to sleep and Elaine and I collapsing in a semi-conscious heap on the floor. We'll have pictures to post here as well.

Why a blog? Well, we are terrible about emailing or calling people regularly. So this seemed like a really good way to communicate to all those we love.

Next up: Flying across the Atlantic with 2 small children (or: I haven't slept in 36 hours)