Category Archives: Travel

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Day Three – Margaret Breaks The Rules And I Get Into Trouble

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Growing up I always thought of my sister Margaret as the one who could be counted on the follow the rules and I think that is generally still true. You can reasonably expect her to be pretty well behaved until it seems, she has a camera in her hands. Now I’m not saying I’ve been embarrassed in any way by her public behavior, but she has been as they say here, ” told off ” quite bit. That said I want to give you an example of what I mean using a combination of our images.

Remember yesterday when I talked about our trip to Buckingham Palace … follow the picture trail below for the rest of the story.

We arrived a bit later than we should have for the changing of the guard and came right in time to be in the middle of a police officer on horseback working to keep the gates (that open) clear of people. She was not alone in this task. There were other officers on foot shouting to clear the path.

Margaret took this one of me (with the backpack to the left) as I sauntered across trying to catch a photograph of the guards at the gate without stopping. Be sure you click on this to see the police officer in the upper left corner trying to move a woman on who seems to be trying to take his picture.

Margaret managed to snap this one while the officer was shouting, ” Madam, Madam, MOVE ON Madam! ” I was watching thinking she didn’t hear him, but she later told me that she had heard him. This is where I began to think I might need to keep my eye on her.

Okay, I did climb up on the wall but lots of people do that … right?

The next thing I know Margaret is taking pictures like this one.

And a few more like this one.

Hmm, I wonder what she is thinking here.

Uh oh?

Why is she looking at this?

Margaret ?  Hello I think you’re being watched!

Pssst … I think that Guard on the right is looking at you!

Yes, I’m right he is looking at you!

Good grief, Margaret … you are so going to get us in trouble. I’m happy to pay the 17 pounds it takes to get the tour. Leave that lock alone!

One little push here and …

…. we’re in!

Seriously, this is the real way we took most of our photographs of the outside of Buckingham Palace, all except for the one after our tour where I got told off for taking a photo of her too close to the exit door into the garden.

I was so startled that it came out blurry. Hanging out with Margaret I may have to get used to being told off for trying to get the odd picture or two. Wait until I tell you what happened during our trip the V & A Museum yesterday. All I can say for now is, there’s a new way of spelling trouble and it begins with an M and ends with T.

* Update: Based on some on the concerned comments I received below and through emails, I want to clarify that this blog post was meant to be funny and in no way did Margaret do anything wrong at Buckingham Palace. She was not picking the lock at the gate, she was taking a photograph and the gate was open afterwards which enabled people to step up and pose with the guards and Palace directly behind them which the guards seemed to have no problems with at all. So as you can see, there is nothing to worry about it was  just me trying to make the story more fun than the typical series of tourist shots documenting the changing of the guard.

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Day Four – Elizabeth & Margaret See Buckingham Palace From The Outside – In

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My dad would have been really tickled (chuffed, excited) to know that his girls paid a visit to The Queen’s home in London. If you remember from an earlier post, my dad liked the combination of Elizabeth and Margaret and chose our names accordingly. I think it must have been because he grew up in a time when he saw more images of The Queen and her sister together especially since she was born only about eight years before him. I wish I had asked more questions about his reasons before he died.

I feel sure The Queen never even thinks about all the strangers trouping through her grand and glittery State Rooms, but I certainly had a few thoughts while viewing this spectacular part of the palace which is open each year for viewing during the summer.

I have some interesting insights into our visit yesterday along with some funny bits too which I will talk more about in a later post. I promise not to to share all the photos though because it turns out that Margaret shoots as many as I do. Between us I think we both ended the visit to Buck House with a combination of over 700 images. I’m including only a couple of mine from yesterday along with an image I took towards the end of our day when our tourist fatigue was beginning to show.

Elizabeth & Margaret Taking A Break

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Day Five – London’s Covent Garden Where Some People Go To Connect

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Elizabeth Harper - Mac Store Covent Garden -London 2010

After arriving early yesterday in London, Margaret and I spent a short time figuring out a few transportation details and made our way to Covent Garden to see the impressive new 3-story Apple/Mac store and to check our email.

Most people would probably head for a more famous and historical destination like the Tower of London, but with a week of exploration before us we thought a quick email check and Facebook update (mine) was the thing to do first. We had an impromptu photo shoot outside the store later after noting a few things inside that we both coveted.

She took this creative snap of me on her new ( the very latest ) iPhone which is way cooler than the antique one (the first one released) that I still use. She has a cool app that can make images look a variety of ways and I chose one that made my photograph look old and a bit dated which seemed appropriate for a place where people have gathered for hundreds of years. Of course, I mean Covent Garden silly … not the Mac store.

So there I am with my Macbook in hand, coming to you almost live from London.

A quick note before we begin our adventures for today, I am able to check in from time to time so please leave a message or comment if you’d like especially with any last minute things we should not miss on our trip. I printed out all of your suggestions from this previous post and have it with me now.

Thanks again to each of you who took time to share some of your own London experiences and I want to add that do I intend to respond (after London) to the very kind comments you have been leaving me over the last few days especially those from this tender post. I’ll be back later tomorrow with Day Four in the countdown towards my big birthday and likely some stories about today.

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Day Six – The Birthday Girls Go To London

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Elizabeth, Cullene, & Margaret-February 1973

The other day my sister Margaret and I were talking about our birthdays this month. If you have been reading my posts over the last few days then you know I’m having my 50th birthday this Friday and Margaret will be right behind me with her 48th on September 28th. It almost doesn’t seem possible that both us are now significantly older than our step-mom Cullene was in this photograph. Sitting demurely between me at twelve and Margaret’s smiling ten year-old self, I am sure she had no idea the direction her life was about to take.

She was a new bride in this photograph and at thirty-nine never expected that she would give birth to my youngest sister a little over a year later. It’s been 38 years since this picture was taken and several things strike me about this image. Margaret still laughs in the same way she did back then and I still smile large enough to see my back molars most of the time. I don’t think I ever noticed that Cullene is sitting in front of my favorite flower which as it turns out is Margaret’s favorite too.

Two years after this photo was taken and not long after our birthdays in 1974, we were separated by bad circumstances for a ten-year period where celebrating our birthdays was not something we were able to share. In fact, the last time we had a chance to celebrate our birthday’s together in the same year, we were twelve and fourteen and let’s just say right now that 36 years later, we plan to make up for all of those missed birthdays.

We are off to London in a few minutes to spend the next week celebrating the chance to see more of the world together along with sharing a room … something we haven’t down since we were about as old as we are in the photograph above. Watch out London!

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My Sailor Comes Home From The Sea

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John has been away for the last few days sailing across the English Channel with his eldest daughter and his brother, David. It is his second trip across the Channel this summer as he helped David sail his boat over to Guernsey when I went home to the US in July for a visit.

Even though I was back in Cornwall and could have gone with him when he left for the return last Thursday, I opted to stay home and get some down time before my sister Margaret arrives on Friday. Okay, I did have a coffee catch up with Tina after my run one morning and a lovely girls night out dinner with Jean and Helen, two local ladies from the village who are killer quiz players. Plus, I spent some time picking berries and making my very first blackberry jam which John loved, but I am still not too sure about so although I was pretty busy, I did keep a fairly relaxed schedule here on my own.

John came back late yesterday having jumped ship at a port close enough to catch the train to within five miles of home. It turns out he was only home for one night as we are driving to meet up with the boat in nearby Fowey in a little while where he will rejoin David along with his daughter to sail the boat on to Falmouth in the morning. I am once again passing on the sailing experience. It’s not that I don’t enjoy sailing because I do, but I dislike being in a small space with other people for most overnight experiences. This was definitely an issue during my time in the army and one I am glad I have some control over now.

I have such empathy for the 33 miners in Chile who are “2700 feet underground in a space the side of a large living room.” If it were me, I would be eating those antidepressants they’re sending down by the fistful and to top it all off some of those poor men have to lose weight to even fit through the two foot wide exit tunnel. Gracious! I cannot imagine the nightmares they must be having. I wonder what I would do to make it through the four months they say it might take to reach them. Can you imagine it … four months underground, limited contact with the outside world, and the stress of such a small space. I want to hear their stories when they reach the surface … don’t you.

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I’ve Been Here Before – St Michael’s Mount

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I just spent far too long putting this post together only to have it disappear so I’m afraid you will have to make do with a shorter version as I have blackberries in the kitchen calling to me to turn them into jam.

When I knew David and Steven were coming to Cornwall, I suggested we pay a visit to St Michael’s Mount and as they were going to be here on a Sunday, we made a plan to attend the Sunday service.

To reach the church you must cross the cobblestone path you see in the photograph above.

This is easy enough as Steven demonstrates above until the tide comes in.

Here you can see the exterior of the church nestled with the castle around it. I took this on an earlier visit.

I managed to snap a discreet photo just before the service began. After the service David photographed a few of the stained glass windows with two shown below.

David is in the photo below with Marazion in the background.

Can you see the tide coming in the photograph below? People are hurrying to get across.

Below is a another look at the water and people … it’s partly under water now.

You can see a close-up of what the stone path looks like as the water spills over it. John took this of me in 2008 and I altered it a bit for this post.

Elizabeth At St Michael’s Mount – 2008

You have two ways to cross as I said earlier and this trip we came back in the boat below. I wrote a post about my first church experience at St Michael’s Mount in 2008 and thought some of you might find it interesting.

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Elizabeth - August 2008

Sit Down You’re Rocking The Boat

Originally posted – August 13, 2008

I have thought a good bit over the last few days about this post. What to call it and how to write it. Sometimes it can be difficult to say what is on my mind. My internal editor tends to call out from the back of the room where she sits in my head. Arms crossed over one another she has a defensive posture she likes to assume when she feels as if I’m stepping off into a place of too much controversy. She’s there now, shaking her head giving me the look that says, “ Are you sure you want to talk about this?” “ Shush, I say … get lost,” and with that I step off into the murky waters of spiritual questioning.

I don’t like church services or organized religion. I dislike anyone telling me what I must think or do in order to know God.

In England where many I’ve met consider themselves to be atheists, saying those words out loud doesn’t seem to have the same effect as it would in the bible belt part of the US where I was born. Mind you I feel that I have been to enough church services to speak from a place of experience as to why I don’t care for them. It’s pretty simple really. The only voices I hear in any house of worship are those in my head. Cynicism, skepticism, and judgement, both of others and myself tend to make so much noise that the voice of God is never present there.

So I don’t go anymore.

Recently I made an exception to my usual avoidance of church attendance when I spent an hour or so in a historic chapel attending the Sunday service. The Chapel on St. Michael’s Mount was completed in 1135, although much of it had to be rebuilt after an earthquake in 1275. I had mentioned to John that I would like to see what a service was like there when we had visited it originally a month earlier. I said it was for the experience you know … I mean how many times does one get a chance to hear scripture quoted in a place where souls have gathered for a same purpose for almost 900 years. I said I wanted to go in order to see how a Church of England service might differ from the Lutheran beliefs that I’d grown up with.

That’s what I told him and that was the truth at least in part, because the core of who I am is a woman with an insatiable curiosity. In most situations I have a strong desire to experience things firsthand, but the rest of the story is that on some level I thought in a worship service held where people have come together for hundreds of years I surely might find some whisper of God’s voice.

I wasn’t necessarily looking for direction communication as in a voice from a burning bush, but I thought just maybe …

So early one Sunday morning we made the trip to St Michael’s Mount and I took a small boat with a few strangers across the causeway. The castle and chapel are perched on an island that must be reached by boat except at low tide when a cobblestone pathway appears from the water inch by inch.

Once my feet touched dry land I was off at a brisk pace up a steep path of large uneven stones to the top of the mount to claim a seat in the tiny chapel next to the ghosts of the Benedictine Abby established on St Michael’s Mount in 966. On my way to the top I passed a group of woman who looked to be of retirement age chattering their greetings to one another and largely blocking the narrow path. “Ugh!” I thought as I nodded a tight polite smile to the four women who seemed oblivious to anyone else.

The sound of their voices stayed with me as I walked on a bit faster in an attempt to hang on to the place of stillness and contemplation I was trying to encourage in my head.

The ladies chattered on like the magpies who hang out in John’s garden as they followed behind me more quickly than I imagined they could for women with walking sticks. Suddenly, they seemed right behind me as I stood in the short aisle deciding where the best seat might be for seeing and hearing the service. Hearing them talk over the sounds of the pre-service organ music I decided on a seat as far from them as possible.

The ladies settled down as the service began and I adjusted my average-sized behind on the tiny cushion meant to provide a bit of padding. The small seats of the individual chairs were placed in tight rows possibly anticipating the crowds of people the church hoped to welcome, but the church interior remained largely empty with only fifteen to twenty people dotted round the sanctuary.

As hard as I tried to have an open mind and heart so that I might feel some spiritual connection, I could only think of the historical issues that have and still plague the religious institutions that try to minister to souls in need.

That would be me you see in the boat at the top, always questioning, but still searching. Somewhere there must be a community of people like me who are looking for something simple and honest that may only be found I think, in silence.

Don Henley, one of the members of The Eagles, a band I grew up with in the 70’s sang a song called, Sit Down You’re Rockin the Boat! These are just a couple of verses of the song so you can get the picture.

I dreamed last night

I was on the boat to heaven

By some chance

I had brought my dice along

And there I stood

And I hollered someone fade me

But the passengers they knew right from wrong

And the people all said sit down

Sit down you’re rockin the boat

The people all said sit down

Sit down you’re rockin the boat

Cause the devil will drag you under

By the sharp lapels of your checkered coat

Sit down Sit down

Sit down you’re rockin the boat

Oooh Oooh Oooh (scat)

Oooh Oooh Oooh

I suspect I’m not alone in my little boat so I’ll just keep on rowing for now.

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When Friends Come To Visit Part II- Climbing Rough Tor

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As I continue sharing our three-day visit with friends David and Steven, I want to show you our trip to Rough Tor. David took the photo above as we struck out for Rough Tor.

John went on with ahead with Steven while I lagged behind a bit with David as he and I took time to snap a few photos along the way. The three images below were taken by John. In the one just below you can see two tiny dots in the center. ( click to enlarge )

In the image underneath you can see the tiny dots a bit better. I am the dot on the left and David is the one on the right.

Do you recognize the pile of stones below? Oh wait, there’s someone missing … look at my border at the top and you’ll see me standing on the same pile of rocks. Steven has long appreciated that photograph and wanted his photograph taken there above all else during his visit to Cornwall. Due to the fierce wind and the slipperiness of the wet rocks he had to use another stone as a stand-in.

See the rock above David’s head (he’s in the blue jacket ) … that’s the one Steven wanted to stand on.

Even I didn’t want to risk it this time, but I did slip my shoes off to climb up on the one next to it on the back side. (two photos below) Can you see the moorland pony down left of Steven … it’s a long way down from the top of the rock. (click to enlarge)

After I slipped off my shoes, I felt much more secure climbing up the back side of the rocks below. My neglected rock climbing skills came in handy and I’m glad I was still in shape ( hah!) well, at least well enough to get as high I did below.

Yep … that’s me. The wind was wicked.

From my lofty advantage I managed to get a photo of John ( ant-sized figure in the center)  as he was taking pictures of me.

Did you find John? He’s down there with his arms outstretched. I had to step back to show you the cool impression carved out by weather on the rock .

Here’s a photo of me with Steven after I came down off the rock. I’m wet and bedraggled from wind and rain along with still being barefoot.

Steven & David

John did a bit of climbing himself.

I think by the time this one was taken John was ready to go.

I couldn’t resist finishing with David and his runaway brolly. It’s a long way down although easier than the climb up and about halfway back to the car David decided he’d had enough of the rain and decided to find his own cover. His umbrella clearly had other plans.

I’ll be back with more later if you’re interested. Sunday took us to St. Michael’s Mount for a service in a church built in the 14th century and I have some good pictures from our last day to share with you.

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No Word From Evansville, But Gifts Of Another Kind Instead

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When you choose to swim in a public place it can be a bit crowded. You may already be friends with some of the people swimming with you while others are strangers to you and content to watch the activities from the dry land. It’s useful to have a wetsuit as an extra layer of protection from the shockingly cold water, but not everyone watching is interested in swimming or in some cases even dipping a toe into the water to see if it might be fun to join the others.

Sometimes there are people with less life experience who may be watching more closely than others as you consider the risky moves … the moves that might not be so easy or could make you feel a bit scared when you consider that you might get hurt if you actually take a chance and jump.

Of course there will be people who will be shocked by your actions and watch in disbelief as you dive in with your eyes wide open to the possibility of pain or even perhaps a lasting injury.

But you do it anyway … because long ago you told yourself that life was for living even with all the fear and sadness and the chance for heartache and that no one was going to keep you from feeling the everyday joy that was as tightly woven through your being as the need to try new things. You open your arms wide before slipping into the water and feel the cold more intensely on your wet face as you surface than you did when you hit the water thirty seconds before.

Others who’ve been watching decide to take the leap as well and while they seem fearless in their actions they feel afraid in mid-air when they realize what they’ve done.

As they break the surface of the water and their head appears safely in sight, a loud wail of pain echos back up the cliff to the watchers along the edge causing a mix of kind strangers and family and friends to move through the water to offer help and concern.

They hold the young girl child up supporting her and offering comfort and a safe ride back to shore.

So she goes back to land having been helped by a group of people … some there by design and others just passing by.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone who took time to share their thoughts and kind comments on this post and through email. The things you said were uplifting and healing and once again remind me of how thoughtful and generous the blogging community can be. So many of you have become friends (or were old friends already) and even though we may not have met yet in person and perhaps never will, I value the gifts you share with me and with others who may find comfort or something else they need in a comment you leave behind.

As for my reader in Evansville, I saw Evansville, Indiana on my sitemeter Saturday evening which was the day I posted this request, but they left no message and have not been back as far as I can tell. It is really okay with me now and the substitution I’ll do if I see Evansville again will be the images above from Sunday when John and I took a walk and saw the brave souls leaping off the cliff into the safety of folks down below.

Your sweet comments made me see the connection between taking a daring jump and revealing a painful past and how much easier it is to risk both when you have friends at the ready to offer kind assistance if it turns out to be scary or too painful.

Thanks for listening and even more … thanks for helping me find a new image to wash away the old one.

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Oh Atlanta – An English Rock Band Sings Me Home

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Georgia State Capital

In March of 1979, the English rock band Bad Company released their fifth album, Desolation Angels which contained a song that many Atlantans may recognize called, ” Oh Atlanta.” For those born too late to have caught the Bad Company version, Allison Krauss included it on a CD of hers in 1995 along with covers of some of her other favorites.

By April of 1979 I was on my way to basic training leaving home at eighteen after joining the US Army right around the time ” Oh Atlanta ” hit the southern airwaves. The irony now is not lost on me that a song I fell in love with 31 years ago was written about my hometown by an English band that I loved as a teenager. While I dreamed a lot of dreams growing up, the one I am living now was never one I considered back then.

As my flight leaves my home in England for my old one in Atlanta, there’s at least one song I know I’ll be listening to once we are airborne. I’ve been humming it for days now and if you’d like to have a listen you can click on the link below.

” Oh, Atlanta, hear me calling, I’m coming back to you one fine day. “

~ Mick Ralphs

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Power Shots & Love Lines

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Earlier this year while John was driving us to Tenby Wales, I spotted this sight and I shouted something like, ” Stop, please … I want to take a picture! ” Being the patient and accommodating man that he is, John pulled the car over so I could take a couple of shots that would probably not appeal to many.

I pulled these two photographs today because they reminded me of how often John puts my needs first even when he’d rather be doing something else. He’s been busy lately helping me get ready for my upcoming trip to my home in Atlanta, Georgia where I’ll soon be for the next few weeks.

He’s been patient and calming even when travel worries have left me a bit stroppy. I love some of the new words I discovered after moving here. Stroppy is a perfect description for my mood lately and I think it’s because I’m really going to miss him. As an independent, space loving woman, this represents a big shift for me.

Even though we’ve only been together for about two and half years I’ve come to love sharing my time with him. I still need of lot of time to myself, but there’s something really easy about the way we move in each other’s lives and space and if we were dancing, I’d say we had definitely mastered the steps.

Of course I’ll have fun on my trip home to the US and it’s going to be good to spend time with Miranda and Cullene and the rest of my family and friends, but now while any family gathering is still sweet, not having him there to share it makes it feel a bit incomplete.

I’m not gone yet, but soon I’ll be writing from the other side of the Atlantic where the high temperatures and humidity may be just enough to distract me from missing him too much.

I’ve already scheduled a run/walk/hike with a blogger friend, Jules who John and I met on the TMB a couple of years ago along with her husband. If you’re reading me from Georgia and want to meet up to say hello, you can leave me a message here and I’ll get in touch with you. We don’t have to brave the heat like Jules and I will be doing … I am content to sit in a cool air-conditioned space and drink iced coffee with you instead.