England, with White Horse Pilgrim

We woke up Sunday and enjoyed our hotel's traditional English breakfast, noticing how English the English people look*, speaking German so they wouldn't understand us saying how English they all look. There was one table of German guests but as usual they were difficult to eavesdrop on because Germans natrually speak much quieter than the rest of us.


* - Not as skinny as the Germans, not as ubiquitously white, and not too concerned about dressing to impress.


The breakfast buffet was one of the best I'd had in Europe. You know what Europeans eat for breakfast. Toast and Nutella. Cereals. A soft-boiled egg in a designated egg cup. Brotchen (rolls) with sliced cheese/meat. Not saying it's bad, just, no bacon. Belgium was the worst for breakfasts, there was no protein on the bar at all, just white bread and jam. I'm like Funder, I need protein at all meals.

Well England was unique, and you won't believe me cuz I didn't get a photo, but they had baked beans on the breakfast buffet. Baked beans!!!!! Every morning, that was my breakfast. The sausage tasted awful (like it was mostly bread) and the eggs were messed up. But the baked beans were exactly as they should be. I even put HP sauce on them - what generically is known as "brown sauce" in England. I love HP sauce. I took a handfull of the packets back to Germany with me, and always filled my pockets with the mini cheese packets for snacking. The cheddar wasn't what I expected, but the Gloucester tasted awesome. I later learned, at the grocery store, that you can buy "British Cheese" - which, I have no idea, is probably like our American?

WHP offered to take us to church, and we were both delighted. We actually brought church clothes, can you believe it?

This is his octagonal church building. I wish I could show you the inside. Truly it was the most uniquely unexpected church service I've ever attended, but you don't take photos in church. It's a Russian Orthodox church, as you can see from the triple-barred cross. A lot, a lot of liturgy, and not only in Latin, but Russian and Romanian as well as English. Bells and incense, I sometimes thought I was going blind from the haze. The several pastors were dressed in different elaborate gowns with gold buttons going down the sides, and they were all doing several tasks simultaneously, mostly in this little back room behind a curtain, partially hidden, and often the pastor speaking at the time would turn his back to us and do things. The communion was different from anything I've ever experienced, as a protestant. The combination of formal and informal behavior was the most compelling for me. The congregation was free to move around in the room as they wished and light candles (oh my, the candles!), or pray in front of a podium, I wish I could properly explain it, but it was wonderful to see the children do it too, reverently lighting their candles and praying. The pastor even made a humorous remark during the announcements at the end that we chuckled about days later. There were only a few chairs in there, so we literally stood still for 2 hours. The Lord's Prayer lacked the doxology ending, which WHP later explained is not in the Bible. I should know that. We were so compelled by the experience, and the sermon was (in English!) very, very good. I wanted to thank the pastor but there was a huge line to receive blessings from him afterwards and we had things to do. Visiting this church was a high point of my trip. For all its formality, the message itself was so user-friendly. "Forgive us as we forgive" has a deeper meaning for me now.

After church WHP took us to a special restaurant called The Blowing Stone where we had lunch in an atrium, no, conservatory. I ordered the haddock (a cod relative). I have very high standards for fish (not as high as New Englanders perhaps) but this fish tasted like it was raised in a sea of butter, not water. I shared some with J and WHP and still could not finish it because it was so big, and later ate it cold and it was really, really good, cold too. The tartar sauce was not what Americans are accustomed to, and the peas were completely bland, but the fish, oh, that fish. Afterwards they gave us these exquisite minty chocolaty cookie wafers, like a little Girl Scout cookie. How I miss those!

I sat in the passenger side (I love it, on the left side!) and took photos as we drove to Mars. As you can see, the weather on Mars was abysmal that day. I was so glad to be in a sturdy truck because WHP drives like a bat escaping hell and I knew we'd be fine in a rollover. (The roads were amazing, barely room for two cars to pass each other, and no shoulder, instead of shoulders, there were muddy embankments going up about 12-18 inches, so the road was like, carved into the hillsides. The roads were in bad shape too, there's no money to keep them up.

OK it's not Mars, can you guess where we were? The photo cannot show the severity of the slopes, but since there was an Earthcache here, we were required to answer the question how deep is that valley in front of us in this photo.

I was pretty happy to be here, but J was completly soaked in only a few minutes from the horizontal, blasting rain. I don't remember the last time I've been in such weather. We had to walk with our bodies slanted into the wind, or else we would have fallen down. My coat failed in the right arm, but J was way worse off.

Now you know where we are. The 3,000 year old White Horse of Uffington. From Google Earth, you'd think the horse was laid out on a gentle slope, no, it was "sketched" onto treacherous cliffs.  How those Iron/Bronze age people created this is beyond my understanding.

The white dot near the center is the eye of the horse, where I stood and made friends with the wary sheep who live there. I kept throwing horse treats at them until they finally got brave enough to try them. I was having so much fun, and my poor husband was trying to stand upright, completely soaked through.

WHP at the White Horse. He's impervious to weather.

I imagined this as Weathertop, but WHP explained this is where Saint George slew the dragon. Hence the name Dragon Hill. I like how it's just "the dragon" and not a particular dragon. I think WHP must think we're illiterate, there were so many literary and historical references he made that we had no idea what he was talking about.

After the White Horse, we met Brena. It took me a while to get over to her stall, because I'd just discovered a horse with a mustache - WHP explained that some breeds have mustaches.

I loved the stalls, they were massive and sturdy and somehow did not drip condensation despite having a metal roof. The barn is kinder to the horses than the people though - WHP had all his tack in his truck, so they must not have a good place for tack.

She's only 15.2 but is massive. And she loves him very much.

Yes there are some treats leftover from the sheep on the hill. I love her unruly mane and forelock, and the warm brown color of her face. She really has a lovely shaped face, but you should see her legs in RL. Tree trunks.

She wasn't rude, just hoping there was more. She also nibbled my man's coat, hoping.

She's the kind of horse you can see a farmer putting his 6 children up on, arranged by age, to take a photo. 6 kids on her back would be no problem.

WHP invited us over to his place for dinner and he made me a special meal I'd requested, a steak pie. There was also some wonderful mashed potatoes, and a unique tart for dessert. He had to give both J and me pants to wear, we were so miserably wet and cold. Our pants went into the dryer. (Dryer!) His wife is American and I kept thinking, "Who does she remind me of?" and then I realized, yah, she reminds me of *all* my friends, because she shares my culture and has my own mannerisms and style of expressing herself. J decided she looks like a young Sara Gilbert. She has a Star Trek starship collection on the living room wall, each ship (and DS9 station) lights up individually. I was so jealous! She sent us home with more of that tart, which we enjoyed after we got home. Neither of us could identify the flavors of the tart - it had the texture of a pecan pie but had a slight citrus flavor.

I have to mention the cats - WHP has three grey tabbies and they were so sweet, they kept climbing on us and cuddling. One of them would ride around on WHP's shoulder. I want three grey tabbies!

The next day was our drive-home day, but we were early so we went for a geocache in the countryside of Dover. This is where J made his first driving error, and he felt so, so bad about it, because he almost drove left-side flawlessly. Strangely, it wasn't a roundabout, it was just a normal intersection, and he made a right turn, but oops, into oncoming traffic. It wasn't serious, they were coming to a stop anyway at their red light, but it was shocking, as he made that turn, too late, I said, "Um, J, you need to stay left."

When I drove, he said it repeatedly, "Stay left" "Stay left" "Stay left." The thing is, after a weekend of being in that system, it does become easier, and you fall into that pattern. Coming back onto the continent, I noticed immediately that I had to remind myself to drive right. Weird huh?

We listened to local radio and watched local TV. When the Pet Shop Boys came on as we drove, I was so happy to be singing along with one of my favorite English bands, in England.

We went to a grocery store and I kind of regret it - their grocery stores are American-style large, the aisles were so wide I think you could have had 4 shopping carts abreast. Also, they had bacon (called "rashers") and it wasn't prosciutto-thin. It seems like they had a lot of American stuff, but sadly, no root beer for me. So I grabbed a four-pack of that beer I liked. I noticed there is no Pfand symbol, of course not, in England there is no bottle buy-back, and you really see a difference. Not that Germany is litter-free by any means, just, there is a distinct lack of cans and bottles strewn about. Those are worth at least 25cents to bring back, so no one tosses them.

I have to mention the horses - in England horses live perched on the sides of steep hills like sheep, it's remarkable. And 99% of them are wearing blankets against the weather. Good, sturdy United Kingdom-made horse blankets with high necks. The weather is quite bad, exactly my cup of tea. Not much in the way of snow, no requirement for Winter tires, but rain and grey, enough to crush a lesser man than me. Coming back to Germany, I decided to count the number of sunny days. So far, 7 for 7.

Entering the customs area, but there were no questions this time. I think they had our car in their system and knew who we were.

I hope you can see how intimidating this is, the ferry dock. You're sharing these lanes with multiple semis who know the routine and do it fast.

Our Prius did it - 2 12-hour drives (including the 3 hour ferry break each way). I washed and waxed it the next day, poor thing. I also wrote in the PriusChat forum, "5 Countries - 1 Tank of Gas." (That's Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, France, England.)

Thank you White Horse Pilgrim for showing us your land and giving us these wonderful memories. Please come visit us. Probably should drive the Audi though :)