Category Archives: Travel

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Go Directly To Jail

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This morning I was stuck. WordPress was not working properly for me and even though I kept deleting and starting over, my photographs would not go up in the order I wished. After trying a few times, I got irritated and then I thought, Right, I’ll just put them up in reverse if they won’t load the normal way!

What you see below is what I wanted in the beginning. It did require thinking about it differently and going at it from another direction which is interesting if you consider the images and subject for this post.

Bodmin Jail, also known as Bodmin Prison, probably didn’t allow much deviation from their standard way of doing things. Rules were necessary to maintain order and it was funny that today’s post would not behave properly.

Bodmin Jail is a collection of old buildings that are mostly falling apart. A few have been restored and you can have a meal in the restaurant or stay overnight as part of a ghostly evening, but most of the buildings are not in use. Unlike historical ruins in America, walking and exploring are permitted and John and I stepped through an old main door and into a former cell without any problem.

Standing in a cell built for one, I wondered what prisoners thought when they stared out through the windows. I found it scary and confining as you might expect a prison would be especially one with such history. Bodmin prison was the first British prison to have individual cells and I wonder if that was better or worse than sharing with another person. They were keen on punishing with silence and isolation and I was surprised to see they had windows. I wondered if prison officials thought that watching others walking free might increase the pain of incarceration.

You can get an idea of the size of the space in the cell by the photo above. John had just stepped out and I was shooting from very near the window. I looked online trying to discover what the long narrow trough was used for. John suggested it might be for waste disposal since there was no indoor plumbing.

As Bodmin Prison was built in 1779 I’m not surprised by the lack of facilities, but it is odd that I could not find anything to tell me why the trough was there. There’s a good bit of info on this site, but be prepared to have to decipher a bit as John and I both agree that it could use some editing.

This same shot appears on the website I mentioned above and I took it in one of the first cells you see once you are inside the main hall. I can only assume that the photographer was as nervous as I was about being in a place where people were once publicly hanged for their crimes and like me, did not feel like photographing the other cells. I did poke my nose in a few others, but I was moving fairly quickly.

This was just one building that housed prisoners. I can’t imagine the despair at being sentenced to serve time here especially when you read about how minor some of the crimes were.

There was no one about guarding the area and one could easily climb around if feeling brave. John never seems to need as long to absorb the details when we see new places and I’m not usually bothered about lingering behind to snap a few more photos before hurrying to catch up with him, but on this trip when I heard him say he’d had enough and was going on, I decided I’d seen enough too and left with him.

 

 

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When Your Name Is Irene

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Bodmin Moor (Click to Enlarge)

Even though we are a long way from the threatening fury of Irene’s arrival, it has been the topic of conversation here. Last night at the pub we shared a table with some friends from the village chatting over the week’s events with, Ian and Irene.

You may remember Irene from the photo below. It was taken at the pub back in January and she’s sitting in exactly the same place as she was last night while we talking about the hurricane that has so many Americans now running for cover.

I know Hurricane Irene has been spreading herself around and she’s caused millions of dollars in damages as she’s blown through the Caribbean, including Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic and the Bahamas in her flight plan.

That Irene and our Irene have nothing in common, but she did share a few of the comments and jokes she’s had to endure since Hurricane Irene made the news.

Irene & Elizabeth

John is the weather watcher in the house. Most days, I barely pay attention to what’s happening weather-wise. That seems to have changed since he gave me Dora and I find myself feeling a bit grumpy lately that the weather has made it so uninviting to ride.

Living in Georgia, I took good weather days for granted. In Cornwall, we have a fair amount of rain and it’s usually not an issue for me, but it’s been cool and wet for the last week and I find that despite a long hot summer in Atlanta, I am not ready for summer to be over here.

Summer Flowers - August 2011

We’ve got a break in the clouds so I’m heading out in a few minutes to squeeze in some exercise and move my moodiness out the door. I’ve got loads to do today and no reason to whinge on about weather and inconvenience when so many are in such a scary situation.

Thank goodness we have ways to track deadly storms and prepare for them. I have friends scattered up and down the eastern coast of the US and I’ll be tracking their movement, watching as they hopefully provide updates on Facebook and Twitter or blog about their experiences with Hurricane Irene.

Here’s hoping you stay safe and dry wherever you are today.

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What Do You Mean I Can’t Drive Your Car …

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Mini Driver No More - Elizabeth Harper

I’m grounded.

After 35 years of getting into a car, fastening the seatbelt, and turning the key in the ignition, I no longer can do that … at least not in this country, for now.

Moving to the UK has its challenges and some are easier to understand than others. I can understand why I should have to take a written test to prove I know the rules of the road here, but having had a valid driver’s license for 35 years in the US, I would think I might be able to skip the driving part of the exam.

I know you’re probably thinking, ” Oh good grief Elizabeth, just take the test and stop moaning about it! ” I might think the same without knowing the rest of the story.

While I was stuck in Atlanta this summer John opened the annual bill from his auto insurance company to find that it had jumped from a reasonable 180 BPS (about $295 US) to over 700 BPS which is about $1150 dollars.

Calling to discuss the huge increase, he discovered that my provisional license which is like a learner’s permit in the US had caused the rate increase. It seems after 35 years of driving I now have more in common with a teenage boy than the other 50 year-old female drivers out there.

Being a sensible man when it comes to money, John did what I would have done and took me off the policy grounding me until I can pass the test and be eligible for a more reasonable rate of insurance. I have to wonder if my 35 years of driving will be acknowledged by the insurance company when I do pass or will that part of my life be as non-existent as my credit rating.

That’s right, I have no credit rating anymore either. I still have one in the US just not over here, but that’s another post that perhaps I can combine with a one titled, ” What do you mean I’m not qualified? ” or maybe one I’ll call ” What about my university degree and years of professional work experience, doesn’t that count? ”

Sorry, I think I slipped over into the beginnings of a rant for a second. I’m back now.

Getting behind the wheel with no car insurance means hiring a driving instructor. Yes, I did say a driving instructor. Never mind that I’ve driven from Scotland to London three times in a rental car and loads of places between Cornwall and London, I can only drive on my American license for a year before being required to get a UK one and that year is long gone.

So I’m grounded for now until I hire an instructor and pay more money (my learner’s permit or provisional license) cost about $82 dollars. The test fees will be another 93 BPS or about $150 US and don’t even ask what an instructor will cost. Just know that it’s enough to go away somewhere nice for the weekend or a week depending on how many days you can squeak by with before being tested. I haven’t called yet so I don’t know if there’s a required minimum.

When you have an instructor you drive their car for the driving portion of the test and I assume that may drive the cost up a bit. I’m so unenthused about the process and the cost factor that my Highway Code Handbook is still largely unread. I move it from one place to another around the house ignoring it as I can’t help feeling a bit offended by my loss of mobility and parts of my previous identity.

It’s like being 16 again only this time I’m a high-risk teenage boy.

Today’s challenge is to read and study the book and maybe call the instructor to see when I can get back on the road again. Ugh!

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Busy As ….

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I hate to use a cliché, but take the title above and mix it with the image below and you’ll soon sort out how things are here.

Even though I made it home on August 2, I’ve still not found a place for all the things I brought back with me. Disorder generally makes me stroppy, grouchy, or cross, you can pick the word that best suits depending where you live or leave a few you use to describe how you feel when you’re having an off day.

I could use a few worker bees right now, but I’d likely run them off with my bad temper. I’ll be back when I’m more agreeable. 😦 Humph!

Hidcote Flower With Bees - August 2011- by E.E. Harper

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Angela Jardine & The Write About Love Project

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Paris - 2010

Last February I announced ‘ The Write About Love Project ‘ and then promptly seemed to forget about it. I assure you that like most things that compete for my attention, TWALP has not been forgotten but only tucked away for a bit waiting for a chance to showcase the stories of someone new.

In July I received a gentle inquiry from blogger and writer Angela Jardine, or Angie as I’ve come to know her. She sent me an essay that I had overlooked and later a followup email to see if I’d received it. After getting over my embarrassment for being so slack with email, I found her essay a nice fit and hope you’ll enjoy it too.

One of the best parts of blogging is when we have an opportunity to meet people through a chance online connection. While I’m not completely sure how Angie found ‘ Gifts Of The Journey, ‘ I would guess it had something to do with Cornwall.

She and her husband live in Devon now, but will soon be moving to a village near mine. We’ll be connected by the Camel Trail and the idea of riding my bike to see her has me impatient for her to arrive.

I’ve nicked a photo of her from one of the sites where she writes http://angiejardine.hubpages.com/ and you can also read what she has to say at http://thisisangiesblog.blogspot.com/ as well.

Click here to read her essay for TWALP and find out what she loves and why.

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Risking A Fall To Get What You Want

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Elizabeth Walking Her Path - 2011

That was me yesterday standing on the edge of bridge so I could get a better shot. I felt pretty safe up there especially as it wasn’t my first time. I climbed up back in May of 2008 right after I had rented my house to strangers, quit my job, turned down another job offer, and sold my car and most of the stuff I’d spent my whole life accumulating.

You see I had a plan for a new life and there was no room for excess stuff. I was traveling light which meant hanging on to only the things and people that mattered most to me.

John and I were still a new relationship back then having only met in person three months earlier, but I knew I was doing the right thing in leaving for love like I did. Having lived a pretty full life for my then 47 years, I knew that sometimes risk was necessary even if when the outcome couldn’t be predicted.

Some folks back home in Georgia thought I was crazy for selling off my stuff and essentially moving to a country where I would be considered a visitor and only allowed to stay for six months out of the year, but I believed that no matter what happened I’d be okay.

I have always believed the Helen Keller quote that, ” Life is a grand adventure or nothing at all ” so off I went … following my heart to Cornwall all wide open with the possibility that the risk involved might yield the best possible results.

And as most of you know, it did!

If however, you’d had a window into my life and events the year before I met John you might be surprised that I had ever been willing to risk a single thing for love. What happened then is an old story with a modern twist and not one you’re likely to read here, but I’m sure it will turn up in the book I’ve been working on recently. I haven’t gotten very far with it yet. Most of it exists on index cards right now as I run through my memories mining for the events that have mattered the most.

There’s all kinds fear in writing memoir such as who might read it and get upset, who might remember it differently, and the really big one, what if revealing the past affects your present in ways you can’t control and ways you don’t like.

Having heard my stories since we first met, John has encouraged to me write them down. By stories I mean my true life stories, not the fiction ones which may have a thread of truth through them, but come mostly from my imagination.

During my recent summer of  ” Lost and Found ” a few other people echoed the same message to me. Some of them were only repeating what they’d said before encouraging me once again to put my real life into words more permanent the occasional musings over coffee or a shared meal.

My longtime friend Patrice, and newer friend Greta Jaeger are two of the people I’m referring to. Both of them not only gave me ” the talk ” about writing my story, but they paid for dinner too. Greta works as a life coach and did such a good job over appetizers that I jokingly said I felt as if I should write her a check for a session as she left me with so much to consider.

My friend Carla Johnson did the final wrap up a few months later when she asked me some pointed questions about writing and my goals. Carla can cut to the heart of something with the skill of a surgeon and after years of working with medically fragile people, she knows how to help expose the truth without leaving you bleeding.

This post finds inspiration from many people, but the biggest push came from reading the revealing email below that I received from Marianne Elliot this morning.

I subscribe to more than I can read these days so most things like this go into the trash pretty quickly. This one caught my eye because I was interested to read about an event she had to cancel, one that for whatever reason did not work out and how she choose to see it as an opportunity to try a new way rather than an excuse to dwell in the negative messages that most of us tell ourselves when we feel afraid or overwhelmed by circumstance.

I’ll leave you with her email (along with another photo of me from 2008 ) and hope you find some encouragement if you need a little today.

Marianne Elliot’s email,  Subject: Ever fallen flat on your face? I just did. And here’s how I’m dusting myself off.

” You know the Creative Flow workshop in Berkeley I’ve been telling you about for the past couple of months?

Well, it just didn’t take. 
Maybe it was the wrong workshop. Maybe it was just the wrong time. Maybe I’m terrible at marketing. Maybe no-one likes me (I know, I know. Lots of people like me. But I did wonder that for a moment. I am human after all.)
Whatever the reason, we just didn’t get the sign-ups and had to cancel. I felt like I had really put myself out there for the first time in the US by offering up an in-person workshop, and had fallen flat on my face. In front of all of you. And all my creative friends. 
I felt a bit like I used to in school when I would try a new trick with my skipping rope and end up tripping myself up, landing on my ass. Face flushed. Heart racing. Ashamed. 
But I’m not a little girl any more. Thank goodness. These days I can recognise my own shame and fear, and I know that we all share those experiences. I also know that sometimes things just don’t work out and even though you might have something to learn from it, it doesn’t mean that you are a failure. 
It might just mean that you should try it a different way. 
So I’m trying this a different way. Instead of the weekend workshop I’m teaching a 90 minute Creative Flow yoga class at 10am this Saturday at the Teahouse Studio, 1250 Addison St, Ste 20, Berkeley.
I understand that an entire weekend was a lot of time, and $380 was a lot of money, to commit right now. So instead lets practice together for 90 minutes. You just need to bring $25, a yoga mat and a journal and pen. We are going to do a little bit of writing to explore how opening the creative flow in our bodies can support our creative work. But you don’t need to consider yourself a ‘writer’ to do this. I promise!
If you’d like to come do a 90 minute class with me this Saturday please RSVP to teahousestudio@gmail.com
On the other hand, we’ve had great sign-ups for the Off the Mat, Yoga in Action workshop atYoga Pearl in Portland next Wednesday. There are a few places left though, so if you were thinking of coming and just hadn’t registered yet, you do still have time. That one runs for three hours (from 5.30-8.30pm on Weds 17th) and costs $50. You can learn more about it here and register here.
And thank you – for being here to witness me as I learn these lessons and for being so encouraging along the way. 
Love, 
Marianne “

Elizabeth On The Edge - May 2008

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When Things Are Exactly What They Seem

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John and I skipped off to the picturesque village of Knowle for few days for a family celebration about 48 hours after I arrived home last week. I’ve been to Knowle before, but this was the first time I had a chance to explore it on foot with my camera in hand. This darling cottage caught my eye when we arrived the night before and the next morning I made a point to photograph it. I tried to find out more about it with an online search, but found nothing of interest. It looks as if it was one of several known as The Artillery Cottages.

What was most interesting to me was the milk and juice delivery looking as if it was waiting to be taken inside. I showed John my pictures when I got back to his brother’s house and asked if it was real or a prop designed to add to the look of the cottage. I think he found it funny that I could not decide whether if was really there for drinking or to enhance the image.

I remained slightly skeptical until later that morning when John and I went for a walk together and I took the image above. I couldn’t help thinking that in Atlanta this delivery would have likely been snatched for some stranger’s breakfast. As it was, it sat out there for more than a few hours and while it was cooler outside than the cottage cheese creating temperatures of Atlanta, it was warmer than I’d like my dairy products to linger in for long.

Thanks to all who added their thoughts on my post yesterday regarding the riots we’ve had here in the UK. My blogging friend Sarah at Texpatsabroad had a look at the situation from her London-based expat perspective that you might want to take a moment to read. I’m still thinking about what she had to say and the conversations John and I have had around the unrest.

John and I have distinctly different viewpoints being from two countries, but we disagree respectfully which more than I can say for many of the comments I’ve read in some online forums. 

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Hidcote – A Birthday Stroll Through One Man’s Garden

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I often wish that my step-mom Cullene could be by my side as I explore new places during my travels with John. She’s content to travel less these days although you would never guess it based on what she manages to accomplish while out helping others.

We had a chance to talk about all the places we would go if I could persuade her to cross the ocean just one more time, but she feels the need to stay closer to home. She gives so much of herself to those around her and both family and friends are the recipients of her loving attention, but it does leave her with less time for herself.

Today is her birthday and without giving away her age (not that she’d likely care) I am glad to note that this is the 39th birthday I’ve had the privilege of sharing with her even if from a distance. I wish I could be there to make this day special for her or even better if she could be here with me. I’m stealing a bit from the children’s book author, Dr Seuss, ” Oh, the places we would go … ” in order to tempt her.

I left her a gift that will be appropriate for the photos in the birthday post today, but I misplaced the card and did not realize it until it was too late so I’m hoping that this post will act as a substitute for a more traditional birthday card. It is sent with great love and a not so subtle hope of enticing her over when the time is right for her to fly again.

Happy Birthday, Cullene.

You can go here to read about Lawrence Johnston who was often described as a ” self-taught gardener ” and spent much of his life creating the gardens at Hidcote. (Click to enlarge photos)

Can you guess where Cullene might use the birthday gift I left for her?

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And The Winner Is …

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John Biking On Bodmin Moor

When my sweet husband bought me a bike of my own, he gave me a gift that made my heart very happy and I’ve had the wildest thoughts while zipping through the lanes or pushing hard to make it up hills. Due to having only three gears, I love how this little beauty makes me work a bit harder to get up the steeper places. Somehow the success at the top feels more like I’ve earned it. I could not have done it half so well without my season of spin classes and think this new bicycle and I shall become the best of friends.

That said let’s move on to the naming and why I chose the one I did. I tend to assign meaning to most things in life so I should not be surprised that the idea of a name for my new ‘girlfriend ‘ seemed important.

Thanks to everyone who offered a suggestion yesterday. They were all lovely in their own way and I appreciated the explanations as well. Angie came closest to the name I chose … offering something similar, but not quite what I had in mind.

I’m calling her Dora and here’s why …

When I was riding so hard up the hills around our village for the first time, I could almost hear the music playing when the bad witch rides by during the tornado scene in the Wizard of Oz movie. Although not the actual scene I’m referring to, this video link has the music I was hearing in my head on those hills.

Counter the witch imagery with the thrill and excitement of flying down through the lanes and you have some of the childlike enthusiasm I was feeling the rest of the time even going so far as to let out a few ” Weeeee, I love this biiiiiiiike” screams in places where my joy could not be contained.

Given the visual imagery, music, and my struggle to go home, how could I not think of Dorothy, her ruby slippers, (my bike is a deep shade of red) and the witch who had to be conquered. Even though Dorothy was was a front-runner, I knew I wanted something shorter and more racy for my girl. I thought Dora might work and when I checked online, I found it was a nickname for Dorothy and that it meant ‘gift’ which seemed just about perfect since she was gifted to me by John.

I know in America that ‘Dora the Explorer ‘ has been a favorite of young girls in particular for some time and while I had no thought at all about that Dora, I feel sure that my Dora and I will do quite a bit of exploring as we spin our way to new adventures.

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Choosing A Name For My New Baby

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Elizabeth Dodging Sheep On Bodmin Moor

Thanks so much to everyone who commented on yesterday’s post and celebrated my return to Cornwall and John. What a great welcome back it was to have such a thoughtful gift from him. I love how he listens to my not so secret dreams and surprises me with an action.

Now … I need a little fun help from you.

I’ve never really been someone who gave names to things like cars and bikes, but with my lovely retro looking ride, I find that I am thinking of a special name for her. I have something clearly in mind, but I might change it (although not likely) if you leave one that wows me.

I’ve got my reasons why I’m leaning in the direction I am, but I’d love to hear what you think before making a final decision. Thanks for your help!

I’m putting my vanity aside and leaving the photo above one you can enlarge even though my hair looks a fright. I want you to be able to see the sheep on the road and the moor. This is one of the roads we drive on regularly to get to our village. When you meet an oncoming car you have to pull over which is easier than meeting in the mostly narrow lanes where someone must backup.