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.