A little Ashford on your Rye

We arrived in Ashford on Thursday night to stay with a couple whose room we booked through airbnb. This website matches up would-be renters with travelers who are looking for a reasonably priced and nice place to stay. Jeff was a bit dubious about the whole thing, but it worked out very well for us. We stayed in airbnb houses for seven nights and all of the hosts were absolutely charming and only one of the rooms was less than immaculate. The prices are a quarter to a third of what you would pay at a commercial B&B and you get the pleasure of really getting to know your hosts, which adds to the benefits, IMO.

This was our room in Ashford, on the third floor of a new Victorian-style house.

                             
After a breakfast of chocolate-macadamia muesli, we sauntered down the back alleys of Ashford. We were looking for the town library so that Jeff could research some information on his family, who reputedly lived in the area in the 1600’s.



Ashford was most likely established in 893 AD by inhabitants escaping a Danish Viking raid on a nearby village. It has historically been a market town and transportation hub for the surrounding area. It was voted the fourth most desirable place to live in England in 2005.
After confirming the existence of Jeff’s ancestors, we headed in the direction of St. Mary’s Church, but I got a little sidetracked by an open-air market. Especially the baked goods stall. I was surprised to see that they still sell loaves of unwrapped bread. And Jeff and I enjoyed a fresh cream doughnut each.
Mmmmm.
The bakery lady was very friendly and gave us lots of good tips on how to get around Ashford.

                     

Then I had a craving for humbugs so we hit the sweet shop.
The lady in the sweet shop was from Birmingham, the same area that my cousin lives, so we had a nice chat with her too. And bought several different kinds of humbugs.

We walked to St. Mary’s and explored the outside of the church…

…and then the inside. Almost all of the windows were stained glass.

Ornate memorials line the walls of the ancient edifice and many of the flagstones are epitaphs that are being worn down by the centuries of footsteps that have trodden upon them.



This baptismal font is almost certainly the one in which Jeff’s ancestors were christened in the 1600’s as it dates from the 15th century.

Another walk along the narrow alleys that border the churchyard…

…and one more wander through the cemetery…



…turned up this gem.

The remains of William Waters, commonly called OLD WILLIAM And MARY his Wife are deposited at the foot of this stone. She died 22 of March 1815 in the 77 year of her age. He died 13 of June 1816 in the 90 year of his age. They lived together as domestic Servants in the same family FORTY YEARS, RESPECTED and BEFRIENDED by all classes of Inhabitants of this Town. They passed the Remainder of their years CONTENTED and HAPPY On the Fruits of their HONEST INDUSTRY. Readers, whether thy Lot in this world be POVERTY or AFFLUENCE, Learn from the EXAMPLE of these Good old Faithful SERVANTS That the sure way to PEACE and HAPPINESS Is diligently to do your DUTY In that situation of Life in which you have been placed by your ALMIGHTY FATHER.

Words to live by.

The thing I loved about this church was that it is a living, breathing, vibrant, part of the community. The place was hopping with people in the middle of the week. It was recently renovated and most of the pews removed and replaced with chairs. Now, the town uses the church for many of its events. It was an exciting place to be, unlike so many of the old churches which are locked up all week until Sunday.

We stopped at Sainsbury’s, the local supermarket, which also happens to be an excellent place to exchange dollars. Just ask for one of their Nectar cards and you get a better rate than anywhere else that we could find. We stocked up on a few groceries and drooled over the Cadbury dairy aisle.



And that was not even half of it!
Our last stop in Ashford was the village of Willesborough, which has an Osborne Road and is most likely the location of the early Osbornes.
There was a church.
Who am I kidding? There’s always a church!
So we explored it and sat in the graveyard and ate our sausage slice (me) and Cornish pasty (Jeff).



Our destination that night was Hastings, but several people had told us that we had to stop in Rye, so we did. It was gorgeous, all hilly cobbled streets and Tudor houses and ancient buildings.

            
                 

The Tudor houses are built using the “wattle and daub” method. The frames are made of timber and the spaces in between were filled with a woven frame of small sticks or slats and then daubed with a mixture of wet soil, clay, animal dung, sand, and straw. The building method has been in use for over 6,000 years. The black-and-white look is iconic, but, personally, I ended up wanting to paint them bright blue and yellow!

After sufficiently admiring and photographing all the beauties, we drove around the harbour to a bird sanctuary and had a long walk, only Jeff couldn’t find his binoculars so we didn’t spot many birds.



And then, before it got dark, we drove on.

Canterbury Tales

In keeping with British theme songs, who remembers this one?

On Thursday morning, we caught the train for Victoria Station and picked up our rental car. The rental guy sent me upstairs to pick up the car. The test was to see if I could get it out of the parking garage. I followed the Exit arrows and it took about three circuits of the fourth floor to realize that I wasn't going anywhere. I decided to go against the arrows and finally arrived at the entrance. They wouldn't let me out but pointed me to the actual exit. Phew! By the time I pulled up on the street outside the rental agency I was all in a sweat.

Miraculously, we made it out of London without any adverse incidents. I had spent a lot of time in the bus on Wednesday studying the driving tactics on the streets, which kind of gave me a head start. London drivers must be accustomed to tourist drivers because they were very tolerant and helpful. I have to say that we found Londoners in general to be that way. 

We wended our way slowly to Canterbury, enjoying the picturesque villages but not so much the narrow country roads. Our first stop was Canterbury Cathedral, which was high on Jeff's list of places to see. After paying the exorbitant fee of one pound an hour for parking (forget free lunch, there is no such thing as free parking in England) we walked down charming narrow streets to the cathedral itself.

The cathedral is made of limestone from Caen, which deteriorates rather quickly and is in the process of being restored. Often, the blocks are replaced with new ones.

It is imposing from the outside. The first Archbishop of Canterbury was St. Augustine, who arrived as a missionary in England in 597AD. He was given the church by the local King Ethelbert, whose wife was already a Christian. Augustine's original building lies beneath the nave of the present building, which was extensively rebuilt and enlarged by the Saxons and completely rebuilt by the Normans in 1070 after it was destroyed by a fire. More about the Normans in a later post.

If you think you're going to get out of this without learning some British history, you are so deluded!

It was in this very cathedral that Thomas Becket was murdered in 1170. His tomb is prominently displayed inside the building.

The inside walls of this massive edifice are covered in stone memorials. This one was particularly poignant.

Whereupon, my camera ran out of battery.

Just as well, I can hear you thinking.

Evensong was at 5:30, so we dashed back to the parking lot and put another pound coin into the machine, then dashed back to the cathedral. I cannot describe the sublime sounds of the great organ and the angelic voices of the boys choir. The acoustics of these vaulted churches and cathedrals are like nothing I have ever experienced. The planets must have been lined up just right on this night, because we attempted to catch similar services in other cathedrals later in our travels and it never worked again. But I will forever hold that short time in my memory bank of great musical moments.

We had to leave a few minutes early to dash back to the parking lot before our hour ran out. It was a short drive to Ashford to our next bed-and-breakfast hosts. 

Space seems to be at a premium in this small island. The roads are so narrow that it seems as if the very fields resent the space they occupy. I freak out frequently when driving through villages or narrow lanes when I see cars or trucks heading towards me and I think that nevernevernever will there be enough room for us both. But, somehow, there always is, and on we go again.

More traipsing the streets of London

Here's a cheery song.

I like it.

On Wednesday. we took a Big Bus Tour, in order to see the most amount of stuff in the least amount of time. 

And I was still suffering from a mysterious stomach disorder, so walking was not my best thing.

These images are the result. Only problem is, I've forgotten the significance of most of them.

This one, we were told, is the oldest clock in London, but I just Googled it and it is not. So the tour guide must have been lying.

There is lots of building and renovation going on in the city and the structures are always gift-wrapped. 

This was as close as we got to St. Paul's. Entrance fees and tourist overload took their toll.

Crossing Tower Bridge. This is often mistakenly called London Bridge, which is the next bridge upstream.

The Tower of London.

We passed on touring this too.

Believe me, you have to pick your poison when you're in this city.

We took a short river cruise instead, seeing as how it was included in the bus tour.

Then a stop at Harrods, to marvel at the prices and selection and not buy anything.
Twenty-five dollars for a pineapple?
I don't think so, Mr. Harrod!

I didn't see the sign on the chocolate display case until it was too late.

Please do not photograph these displays.

So sad, too bad.

Drool on, ladies.

Prices run around $80 to $100 a pound.

Harrods is famous for window dressings. They were almost impossible to photograph, because of the glare, but you can see this spooky one pretty well.
She had deer antlers on her head.

We were hurrying over to catch the river cruise a second time before it ended for the day when we got caught up in this.

And if you know us at all, you know that we never made it to the river cruise.

We stood with Israel for about an hour.

I tried to claim a flag when we left, but was denied.

Which is funny, when you think about it!

There was a similar group supporting Palestine on the next block, so the Bobbies were everywhere.
One of the Israelis got beat up after a similar demonstration a few weeks ago.

We had wondered why all the police vans were parked in the middle of the street, and then we understood.

This is the scariest thing we saw in London.

Even scarier than the Jack the Ripper tour.

This person (one day there were two of them, competing for tourist coins) stands on Westminster Bridge and dances to music from a boombox, enticing tourists to have their photo taken with her/him/it.

The mask is supposed to be Queen Elizabeth, I think, but it is icky.

I'm sparing you the enlarged version.

Mwahaha!

If only they knew!

Jeff had been looking forward to his Jack the Ripper tour at twilight. Me, not so enthused considering the state of my bowels, but I went along. We started by Victoria Station and this section of Roman wall, which is almost two thousand years old.

It started drizzling, so after completing the 90-minute walking tour I insisted on refreshment.

We settled on a lime milkshake from Gourmet Burger Kitchen, which, it turns out, is owned by three Kiwis.

Jeff declined to try the Kiwiburger, which had all his favourite things on one bun.

Beetroot.

Eggs.

Pineapple.

'Nuff said!

The milkshake?

It was incomparably delicious.

I want another one.

And then we caught the train and walked home in the drizzling rain.