Our Grand Tour of Europe

Kelly had a lot of energy and took the lead to charge up the moors, climbing the rocky paths… often with steep steps. We were happy to let her go ahead as long as we could keep her in sight and make our way down together. The descents off each of the moors was tricky… it was almost easier to go up the steep paths than to go down.

Coming down off Carlton Bank, we came into a busy recreational area… a grassy area and parking lot… walkers and kite flyers… families out for a nice Saturday afternoon. We were looking for a café described as “built into the hillside” with a pay phone. Our instructions from Sherpa were to call Mrs. Cook, the owner of our next B&B, from the café—the café was then about two hours from the end of the day’s walk at Clay Bank Top. Her B&B was a few miles off the road, and she provided a pick-up service…. someone would meet us at Clay Bank Top and drive us to our night’s accommodation.

We didn’t spot the café right away, but finally saw a little sign and found the little café tucked into the hillside… and doing a very good business. The four women from the Group of Eight and Colin and Melanie from their support team were at sunny picnic tables enjoying lunch. We used the bathroom, then sat down with them while Charley and Kelly had ice cream (Charley ate most of Kelly’s ice cream). The Group of Eight is now heading off on a slightly different itinerary—spending the night in the village of Great Broughton, then walking quite a long way the next day to a village four or five miles outside of Robin Hood’s Bay. They will have just a short walk on their last day. We probably will not see them after today, and got Colin’s card so we can send them a link to my C2C blog.

Charley went inside to use the phone and found it was out of service. The woman in the café knew Mrs. Cook and kindly offered to call for us. It was about 1:40 pm, and we asked her to tell Mrs. Cook that we would be at Clay Bank Top about 4:00 pm. We built in an extra 20 minutes so we didn’t feel too pushed. Unfortunately, we were caught up in socializing and didn’t leave right away. We had to hustle to make good time after all. Charley got into a conversation with some other walkers at the café—a nice middle-aged couple. They’re doing the C2C walk in weekend stages… basing in one village and walking out in either direction, sometimes even taking a bus back at the end of the day’s walk. We have learned there are many different approaches to doing the C2C walk. We are fortunate to have this extended vacation so we can complete the entire walk in manageable segments.

After the café at Carlton Bank, we still had three more peaks to climb in quick succession in just two hours: Cringle Moor, Cold Moor and Hasty Bank. It was interesting to look back and see where we had been. Glenda and Jane (the mother and one of the other women in the Group of Eight) decided to circumvent the last two climbs and take a path to Great Broughton—at one point Kelly spotted them down below as we walked along behind Jackie and Gail. Paul and Sue were sitting on a rock at the base of Cold Moor, and we stopped to talk with them—when we looked far in the distance, we could see the sea for the first time… still three walking days away for us.

Hasty Bank was especially interesting… a mass of rounded boulders called the Wainstones covered the western side of the slope. Jackie and Gail were fascinated by the rocks, but after seeing Brimham Rocks near Harrogate, we weren’t quite as impressed. Brimham Rocks had ten times, maybe twenty times, more big rocks and boulders—though not at the top of a moor! We took some photos among the rocks… Charley watched Kelly and I closely—he is always a bit nervous when heights are involved.

We hastened off of Hasty Bank, heading down the steep step-like rocks to reach the road and meet our ride at Clay Bank Top. Clay Bank Top—the end of the official segment for today—isn’t a village… just a small parking lot. All the accommodations are off the route, which is a bit of a problem. Our original accommodation was no longer available after our schedule change, so we were now booked into a B&B run by a Mrs. Cook.

Mr. Cook was waiting for us next to his small old car as we came down the path. He must have asked the couple who came down before us if they had seen an American family because I saw them pointing back to us. He is an older country gentleman, tall and kind, with protruding ears…. we’ve decided he reminds us of the farmer in the movie Babe. He greeted Charley with a handshake and Kelly and I with a kiss. There was barely room for the three of us, the three backpacks, and our walking sticks in his little car. Kelly and I sat in the back seat, which was covered with a plaid wool blanket.

Mr. Cook—George—drove us about two miles to their cottage… Forresters Cottage. As we drove, he told us that at 7 pm he would drive us to the pub in the village of Chop Gate (pronounced in local dialect as Shop Yat), and we could then walk back to their cottage when we were finished eating. All of our other accommodations have been hotels, inns or guest houses… businesses with several rooms. When we arrived at the Cooks’ little cottage, we realized that we were staying at their house—in their guest room! This was definitely an interesting… even wonderful… experience, but I would not have wanted to stay in this type of accommodation more than the one night.

We went in through the back entrance and left our boots in a mud room. Mrs. Cook—Nancy—came to greet us. She is a small grandmotherly woman with short hair and glasses… and with a direct approach and a sharp sense of humor. There is a needlepoint on their sitting room wall recognizing their 50th wedding anniversary a few years ago, so we figure they must be in their early 70’s. Nancy immediately said, “I know you must want tea.” After a twelve-mile walk in the hot sun, the last thing we wanted was a cup of hot tea, but of course we said yes. We sat in their little sitting room. Nancy put a cloth on the little coffee table and then brought out everything for afternoon tea. She had some cake and little biscuits called butter biscuits (crackers). Kelly really liked the biscuits.

We learned a lot about the Cooks. They own a big sheep farm that we probably saw during today’s walk. George’s sheep used to graze on the moor. They retired and moved to this cottage, and their son and daughter-in-law now run the farm. George used to be very involved with fox hunting and was some kind of leader in the local foxhunting club—we saw photos of him in his hunting clothes with his hunting dogs. We had a lot of questions about sheep farming after our two weeks of walking among the sheep. How do you find the sheep to shear them when they’re so far away on the moors or mountains? (Answer – the sheep don’t roam far from where they’re taught is home, and a good sheepdog finds them.) Where are the rams? (Answer – back at the farm. You only want them around the sheep when you’re ready to breed them.) We learned about the value of a good sheepdog, the cycle of the sheep farmer’s year, and the sad economics of keeping sheep for wool. (You can no longer make any money selling the wool.) We also talked a lot about the Coast-to-Coast walk. All their B&B visitors are on the walk, and so they knew quite a bit about it. Nancy was shocked that Alfred Wainwright never stayed in B&Bs… “always stayed in hotels and never had the farmhouse B&B experience!” She also said he had never hiked the walk in succession—just went out every weekend and put the walk together in pieces. (We had heard elsewhere that Wainwright didn’t like being at home with his wife, and that’s why he went out walking every weekend.) George had several stories to tell about James Herriott (Alf Wight)—not all favorable. We listened while they expressed their concerns about Tony Blair and the European union. It was all very interesting—we had somehow stepped into another world.

The tiny backyard is filled with flowers and birdfeeders. Now that he’s not a farmer, George enjoys gardening and also does some woodwork. Nancy told us that they have hedgehogs that visit their backyard at night. Kelly’s eyes lit up. She has collected hedgehog items since our first visit to England in 1999… she must have a collection of 60 or 70 items (maybe 80 now with what we have bought on this trip!), but she has never seen a real hedgehog. It seemed that she might have a chance to see one tonight.

Nancy showed us our room—literally a guest room with a double and a single bed… with winter clothes and suitcases in the closet. There was another small bedroom that Kelly could use if she wanted her own room. (After two weeks of sleeping in the same room as her parents, Kelly initially thought she’d like to have her own room, but later changed her mind and decided to stay in with us.) Nancy also showed us the bathroom, which was off the hallway. From the items in the bathroom, I was sure we were sharing their personal bathroom. Charley thought it was our own bathroom—he asked Nancy and she confirmed that it was the only bathroom in the house, though there was a toilet out back.

We visited over tea then went upstairs to clean up for dinner. At 7 pm George drove us in the little car up the road to the small village of Chop Gate where there was one pub… the Buck Inn. As we pulled up, a girl about twenty ran out and kissed him… one of his granddaughters is a waitress at the pub. Considering the remoteness of Chop Gate, the pub had a surprisingly extensive and creative menu. There really wasn’t much for Kelly though, and she finds the pub chicken nuggets “disgusting.” Tonight she tried Chicken Satay. We were hoping it would be something like the skewered chicken she likes at Japanese restaurants, but it wasn’t. It was Indian food-- chicken in a thick spicy sauce… I’ll give her credit for struggling mightily to eat much of it. Charley had Steak and Ale pie and I had breaded haddock. For dessert Charley and I shared sticky toffee pudding, and Kelly had chocolate mousse with meringue, which fortunately she loved.

We walked back to the Cook’s cottage, maybe a bit more than half a mile. I felt like calling out, “we’re home!!” when we walked in the door. Mom and Dad (whoops—Nancy and George) were in the little sitting room watching cricket on television and invited us to join them. Even though it is mid-August, they had a fire going in the fireplace. They switched the television to the Olympics, and we watched a bit together and chatted. I went on upstairs to bed, and George and Nancy took some fruit cake out to the backyard to entice the hedgehogs out for Kelly. Kelly watched with delight as the two hedgehogs crept out to get the cake. Later Nancy called up the stairs, “Kelly, come down! They’re back!!” Kelly dashed downstairs and then crept out into the backyard. I looked out the upstairs window and saw Kelly just a few feet from the hedgehogs as they nibbled on the fruitcake. Kelly had a big goofy grin on her face. What an extra bonus of our stay here!

Sunday, August 21 - Clay Bank Top to Blakey Ridge (8-3/4 miles)

We had a relatively short day today and had arranged with Mrs. Cook to have our breakfast at 8:30 am. We decided to have just cereal and toast this morning, and I had some grapefruit. “What, no cooked breakfast!” Nancy exclaimed. I didn’t tell her that I usually don’t eat any breakfast at home. She was even more shocked at Kelly’s small bowl of cereal without milk. Kelly did like her juice though.

We continued our conversation with Nancy over breakfast. I said that Kelly had dreamed about hedgehogs (meaning this metaphorically), and Nancy launched into a complex story about how the only animal she had ever dreamed about was a bull and how many years ago when she was in the “Land Army” a bull had a fixation on her. She would sense someone looking at her, then look around and see the bull. Hmmm… I didn’t quite know what to say…

I asked Nancy how many B&B visitors she has. “A couple a week?” I asked. “Oh no, more than that,” she said. Her daughter-in-law also takes in walkers. She said we could have saved a lot of money if we made our own arrangements instead of going through Sherpa. I tried to explain that it’s much more complicated when you’re trying to handle arrangements from another country many time zones away, especially when you’re planning 13 more months of travel.

The Cooks are extremely nice people, and Kelly especially enjoyed staying with them and having a real hedgehog experience. We hugged Nancy goodbye and walked down to George’s little car, admiring his garden on the way down the path. He showed us couple of baskets of fuchsias he’s entering in a show next week and then showed us some beautiful walking sticks he had carved out of wood. We’re the only people we’ve seen on the walk with walking sticks made of wood—every one else has high-tech, lightweight metal sticks of some sort. One man we encountered on the path said, “I like those old-fashioned sticks!” They may be old-fashioned, but they’ve come in very handy many times.

George drove us back to the little parking area at Clay Bank Top and helped us get our packs and sticks. We hugged him goodbye, and he had kisses for Kelly and me. We waved and took the steep path leading from the road up onto Urra Moor. It was another really beautiful day… perhaps the first time we’ve had two back-to-back sunny days.

We had just the one climb up to Urra Moor, and then our entire walk was practically level up above 1250 feet. Most of today’s walk was along the moors on an old railroad track built in 1861 to carry ironstone down from the moors. Thousands of workers once toiled up in these hills. For the first several miles, we didn’t see another person—and we could see for miles in all directions. We did see lots of sheep, including some splashed with red, white and blue paint. The farmers mark their sheep in distinctive colors so they can tell which ones are theirs. We thought these were American sheep, but I later realized those are also the colors of the British flag. At an area called Bloworth Crossing, the Cleveland Way swung its separate way off to the let. We continued along with the Lyke Wake Walk, circling a valley called Farndale, where there are beautiful daffodils in the spring. Further down the track we passed some cyclists heading in the other direction and later we passed a few walkers, also heading in the other direction. We didn’t see any other Coast-to-Coast walkers. The official Wainwright segment today is 18-1/2 miles—all the way to Glaisdale and the second to the last day of the walk. We’re doing this long segment spread over two days.

We left Clay Bank Top about 9:30 am and got to the Lion Inn at 1:00 pm… 8-3/4 miles in 3-1/2 hours… it was one of the easiest stretches of the whole walk. We made very good time and in weather like this probably could have gone all the way to Glaisdale. However, we were glad to have the afternoon off… especially on such a beautiful day.

We spotted the top of the Lion Inn in the distance, and climbed the path alongside of it. After walking for miles through the uninhabited moors, we were shocked at what we found at the Lion Inn—a giant crowd of people!! Families, two tour buses, at least 50 people on motorcycles!! It was lunchtime on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, and everyone for miles around must have said—“Let’s go to the Lion Inn for lunch!”

The Lion Inn is an institution in the North York Moors… even described in my Insight Guides book. The oldest part of the inn was built in 1553 by monks called the “Crouching Friars” … a wayside alehouse to earn money for the order. Today it’s a big sprawling building with an old wooden pub and seven or eight different dining rooms. In the early 1970’s when Wainwright wrote his Coast-to-Coast book, the inn didn’t have accommodations… today it has about ten rooms, tucked up under the eaves all around the inn. As soon as we arrived, we sat down at one of the only open picnic table in the big, sunny yard. Charley went in to get us beers and menus. There were even more people inside. We decided to go ahead and have a big lunchtime meal. Charley and I ordered roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, and Kelly had a pepperoni pizza. Her pizza came with fries, something that happens frequently in Britain but would never happen in America. Fries with pizza!??! As we were waiting for our food, Bill and Geoffrey arrived and joined us. There wasn’t a road for Bill to take today, so he and Geoffrey had walked together along the railroad bed. We enjoyed getting caught up on our adventures over the last few days. Bill is an exceptionally engaging storyteller… I could listen to him for hours.

While we were waiting for our lunch, Kelly asked one of the waitresses where the bathroom was. The young woman gave her a strange look. “Well, we have baths upstairs in the guest rooms, but we only have sinks and toilets downstairs.” Kelly thanked her very much and waited for someone else to ask where she could find a toilet. It was a good reminder that we were in a foreign country!

We like our room at the Lion Inn… up under eaves with a window looking down over the picnic tables and the moors. There isn’t a proper shower—just a bath with a shower attachment, so we all took baths. Our room has one special feature though—a heated towel rack. I took the opportunity to do quite a bit of hand washing. Between the early hour of our arrival and the heated towel rack, I was able to get everything dry.

We hung out in the room and watched the Olympics on television—today’s big event for the British was the Women’s Marathon, where a British woman named Paula Radcliffe was a strong contender to possibly win the gold. To everyone’s horror, Paula began to fall apart and eventually dropped out of the race just a few miles from the end. She staggered around and pathetically sat down on the curb on the side of the road in Athens. This was the big news story of the day in Britain—we watched the replay of her demise numerous times. Poor Paula!

Charley and I went out for a short walk around the inn… absolutely nothing anywhere, but moors covered with heather and the ever-present sheep. The road snakes off in either direction along the top of the moors… we spotted a dead sheep on the side of the road and tried not to look. The poor sheep obviously didn’t make it off the road quickly enough.

About 7 pm we went downstairs for dinner in the pub- the Lion Inn was still doing a great business on a Sunday night. Bill and Geoffrey were waiting for Bill’s family who are spending several days nearby on the coast while they’re transporting luggage for Bill and Geoffrey. They ended up with a big group for dinner—Bill’s wife, his son and daughter-in-law, a couple of grandkids, and the big dog we had seen at Ingleby Cross. We sat at a small table and had another good meal. Then we headed upstairs to continue our own Olympic marathon.

Monday, August 22 - Blakey Ridge to Glaisdale (10 miles)

So much for our string of sunny days—we awoke to fog and rain. Even worse, the power went off while we were getting ready for breakfast… it just kind of popped off. We made our way down the pitch-dark stairs through the pub and back to a dining room we had not previously discovered—the staff was lighting candles at the breakfast tables and had called for an electrician. We chatted with Bill and Geoffrey and ate our cold cereal. Eventually, some power came back on and a partial breakfast was served… ham and sausage, but no eggs or toast.

It would have been a good day to hole up at the Lion Inn and watch the Olympics, but we suited up in our rain gear and headed out into the rain… only two more walking days until Robin Hood’s Bay! It really was a terrible day—in addition to the rain, it was cold and windy. We crossed the road so we didn’t have to walk next to the dead sheep. “Don’t look,” I told Kelly, but of course she did. The first part of the walk was along the road, and we decided to continue on the road instead of taking a shortcut across the moors. Five minutes after we left, we could barely see the Lion Inn back behind us in the fog. We were able to walk on the road for a couple of miles. There are several old crosses and stones on the moors in this area with names like Ralph Cross, Old Ralph, Fat Betty and Sister Margery. Most of these old crosses were erected as medieval way markers to give “Christian comfort to those crossing the lonely wastes.” We walked by Fat Betty (the White Cross), but couldn’t even see the famous Ralph Cross just a bit off our route. Eventually we had no choice but to leave the road and take a muddy path past the old Trough House and then along the Great Fryup Dale. Bill and Geoffrey were behind us, and when we stopped to take a short rest, we let them on by.

Our guidebook described this part of the walk as a “splendid section,” but not on this nasty day. We were glad it was a short day, because it really was a miserable slog across the moors. Fortunately, the path was very clear so we didn’t risk getting lost… the route took an old track across the Glaisdale High Moor and along Glaisdale Rigg. Finally the rain let up, and we saw Bill up ahead… talking on his cell phone of all things. He had gotten a phone call from a television reporter who wanted to do a story on him doing the Coast-to-Coast walk as part of a series on physical fitness.

We walked with Bill and Geoffrey down into Glaisdale—the guidebook called this a “splendid promenade”… obviously experienced under better conditions! Glaisdale is a long strung-out village that wasn’t very pretty in the drizzle. Bill and Geoffrey are staying tonight a few miles further along the C2C route in Egton Bridge and are not staying overnight in Robin Hood’s Bay tomorrow. We weren’t sure if we will see each other tomorrow and hoped to find a place to have a farewell pint together, but we didn’t see anything open before they had to turn off. We have traveled with these two friends for seven days and have enjoyed them so much. We’ve stayed at the same hotels, shared several meals and even more beers… we’ve even shared a bathroom! We hugged goodbye on the street. Bill was very positive to Kelly: “You’re the most pleasant little girl I’ve ever met,” he told her. “You always have a smile.”

Our accommodation for the night—a pub called the Arncliffe Arms—is on the far end of the village, actually a half-mile into tomorrow’s walk. Every little bit helps! We are a bit worried about the walk tomorrow— our longest day… officially 20 miles. With the location of our hotel, we’re down to 19-1/2! We arrived at the Arncliffe Arms about 1:30 pm, soaking wet and cold. I had visions of a bowl of hot soup, but they were installing new kitchen equipment and weren’t serving any hot food at lunchtime. The woman let us go ahead and check in and showed us to a small corner room on the second floor. The room was simple but clean… a double bed and a twin… windows on two sides of the room. Sherpa hadn’t delivered our luggage yet, so we didn’t have any dry clothes to change into other than what we had in our packs. The innkeeper offered to let us use her clothes dryer, so Charley took a load of wet things down to the laundry room while Kelly and I huddled together under the blankets of the double bed. Charley also took our soggy boots down to set in front of the fire in the pub. I heated water for hot tea and coffee… practically every accommodation in Britain has a set-up for in-room tea and coffee. Our sweet Charley then went off in the rain half a mile back up the hill to the village shop, which had been closed for lunch when we walked by. While he was gone, a woman came up with hot chocolate for Kelly. Charley had apparently asked her to bring it up for her. Kelly really enjoyed it. Charley came back with a newspaper and some snacks. We hadn’t eaten our sandwiches from the Lion Inn, so we had a picnic of sorts in our little room while we watched the Olympics. The Times had a big photo of Paula Radcliffe on the front page… sitting forlornly on the curb in Athens. We watched a live interview with Paula on television… in tears over letting the British people down.

Our luggage arrived and we were able to take hot showers and get dressed. Our room might have been bland, but it did have a good shower! At 7 pm we headed downstairs for dinner. The new kitchen equipment had been successfully installed, and there was really quite good food and a decent crowd. Although there are three pubs in Glaisdale, this was apparently the only place open for dinner tonight.

While having a beer at the bar, we met several C2C walkers we hadn’t encountered before, including two American couples—a retired couple from Wisconsin and a younger couple from Massachusetts. These were the first Americans we had met on the walk. They had come all the way today from Clay Bank Top… a dreary 20-mile walk in this weather. We sat near the retired couple at dinner and talked with them about the walk. They had taken rest days in Grasmere and Richmond. A few years ago they had done a bike trip all the way across the United States—a six-week trip with one day off a week. They said the English Coast-to-Coast walk was hard, but their bike trip across America was much harder since it extended over a much longer time. There were two other pairs of walkers at the pub… two younger women and two men about my age. We were the only walkers staying at the Arncliffe Arms. It seemed strange to meet all these other walkers so near the end of our adventure… we missed our “old” friends!

Kelly connected with the owners’ little girl… a tiny child who might have been five or six. They played pool together in the game room next to the bar, and the little girl invited Kelly upstairs to their apartment. Their son and his friend were watching television in a room down the hall from us, and we sent Kelly over to ask them to quiet down…twice. We needed a good night’s sleep for our long day… our last day… tomorrow.

Kelly studied the map a few days ago and realized that the Coast-to-Coast route circles up the coast to the north of Robin Hood’s Bay. Wainwright designed the walk so it would end much as it began—with a couple of scenic miles along the coast. It would be possible to avoid the coastline and head into Robin Hood’s Bay a much more direct way by road, knocking several miles off tomorrow’s route. I’m open to some shortcuts tomorrow, but I feel the last section along the coastline is extremely important… I want that triumphant march along the coast as we end the walk. We’ve agreed to see how we’re doing when we reach that point tomorrow… it should be an interesting day.

Tuesday, August 23 - Glaisdale to Robin Hoods Bay (18 miles)

We didn’t wake to a gorgeous sunny day, but we were thankful it wasn’t raining. It seemed we would only have to deal with the mud resulting from yesterday’s rain. The innkeeper had agreed to an early breakfast, so we had our luggage downstairs and were ready to go just before 8:00 am. We ate, made our last bathroom stop and headed out just before 8:45 am… headed finally to Robin Hood’s Bay! Just down the hill from the Arncliffe Arms, we passed the small train station and the beautiful stone arch of Beggars Bridge over the Esk River. The bridge was built in the early 1600s. The initial section of the walk was on a stone path through the wet woods to the village of Egton Bridge and then along an old toll road to Grosmont. We heard laughing behind us, and let the two British women from the pub last night pass us in the woods. Grosmont was a larger village with the depot of an old steam train that operates for tourists. Kelly and Charley stopped in the shop to get some snacks… I crossed the tracks and we were briefly separated as the gates went down and a steam engine went by.

Six of the walkers from the pub last night were sitting together on a stone wall in Grosmont—the younger American couple from Massachusetts, the two British men, and the two younger British women. They seemed to know each other well, and it turned out they’ve traveled most of the route together… on the last day they were in a celebratory mood and they all handed me cameras so I could take their photos. One of the British men had a map and suggested an alternate route by road to Sleights to avoid what we all knew would be a sloppy trek over Sleights Moor outside of Grosmont. The six of them headed out by the road while Kelly, Charley and I got ourselves organized. We decided we’d also take the road route. As we headed up the hill, we saw Bill and Geoffrey down in the village going into the shop—Bill was so distinctive due to his height. We yelled and waved and they waved back… unfortunately, we didn’t see them again on the walk.

The road to Sleights was extremely steep with some traffic. (I’m still not sure this was preferable to finding our way across the moor.) We were walking somewhat blind—and on faith—since part of the road detour was off my C2C map and we had only vague verbal directions to follow. We didn’t see the six other walkers, so I hoped they had not let us astray! When we got into Sleights though, there they were… taking a break outside a public restroom. They were consulting their map and had decided to continue on by road instead of the Wainwright route. At this point I think they were all just anxious for the walk to be over and let Wainwright’s route be damned!

We decided to make our way back to the official route. This involved heading out of Sleights on a fairly busy highway… an extremely steep A road signed for a 33% grade. It was so steep there was actually an escape lane! I was glad when the road finally appeared back on my C2C map, so at least I knew where we were. We took a side road off down through the countryside, again on incredibly steep little roads. What a trade off—a near-vertical pavement route in lieu of a flat boggy route!

Finally we reached the little village of Littlebeck… we crossed the wide stream at a road ford… I was worried the water was deep enough to come up over our boots. Jeff and Julie—the retired American couple who had done the bike trip across America—were sitting on a bench up on the hill overlooking the stream. They had watched us make our silly way across the ford. “Did you know there was a bridge over there?” they asked. They were just finishing their lunch and had come across the moors… not an easy walk, they said. They had seen us up ahead of them in Grosmont, so obviously we lost some time on the road to Sleights.

Earlier in the week, I had consulted with Geoffrey about a shortcut out of Littlebeck. The official route went along a wooded path down into a valley and by a waterfall… according to the ordinance map, we could take a small road out of Littlebeck and cut out a couple of miles. Jeff and Julie also planned to take this shortcut and set out on the last part of the walk. We took their place on the bench and had our final packed lunch. Just around the corner, we saw a road sign that included Robin Hood’s Bay. We were definitely getting close.

The shortcut worked just fine, and we eventually ended up on a busy road. The official route cut off this road across a final section of moor—the Graystone Hills. We spotted the sign indicating the Coast-to-Coast walk and climbed over the stile. Somehow though, with just a few miles to go, we ended up in a mess. The moor was boggy and muddy… and then somehow we lost the path. It was there one moment and then it just disappeared… no signs, no nothing. We spent the next hour as lost as we had been at Black Sail, though this time we could see the road to Robin Hood’s Bay and some occasional cars off in the distance above us. We slugged around in the muck, consulting our map and the compass. Charley was especially frustrated, and I learned he would have much preferred sticking to the road instead of striking off on the path. Eagle-eye Kelly finally saw a sign post way up ahead of us, and we headed in that direction… realizing that we would have to go down into a messy ravine and cross a swollen stream to get there. I started out one way and almost stepped in the bloated carcass of a long-dead sheep. Charley assessed other possible ways to cross the stream, and finally laid two of our walking sticks across the water. We crossed on this makeshift bridge, using the Kelly’s stick for balance. Finally we reached the signpost—“Coast-to-Coast Walk,” it said, pointing over a stile.

Back on the official route, we made our way down an extremely muddy path in the woods (almost a stream at points), then walked along a small road leading to Hawkser. It started to sprinkle, and we put our rain jackets back on. After crossing a busy highway (another direct route to Robin Hood’s Bay), we followed a road through two holiday caravan (trailer) parks with the North Sea clear in our sight. We passed a field of miniature ponies—Kelly and I stopped to coo over them and take a few photos. Around the back of the second caravan park, we reached the Cleveland Way, the route we would take along the coast to Robin Hood’s Bay. Three miles to go! A large group of teenagers was assembling in a clearing above Maw Wyke Hole… I spoke to the adult leader who asked if we were on the Coast-to-Coast. We must have had that look about us. “That’s a tough walk,” he said. “Well done!” His group was doing the 100-mile Cleveland Way. We rushed on ahead, anxious to be out ahead of them… 20 teenagers could create a lot of mud.

At this point, I know Charley and Kelly would have preferred to have just taken the shortest, most direct route to Robin Hood’s Bay and get the walk over with—especially after our struggles in the last bit of moorland. It was important for me to finish the walk properly, along the coastal path. I tried to explain to Kelly why I thought it was important to complete the walk as it was designed, especially since we had our problems long ago back on Day Two. To me, taking the road into Robin Hood’s Bay was like a few kids (too many kids) I knew in college—they just tried to figure out how to make it through while doing as little work as possible. This wasn’t about taking the easiest way… to me it became about doing it proudly and right.

We hurried along the coastal path, anxious to stay ahead of the young people. The path was a bit muddy but easy, and the scenery was spectacular… big rocky cliffs along the sea with grassy green farmland to the west. Most of the land belonged to the National Trust. We could see the village of Robin Hood’s Bay, spilling down the hillside in front of us. A few days before I had told Kelly that I sometimes hummed a Scottish bagpipe marching song when I was walking. Now we hummed it loudly together, raising our walking sticks up and down, and marching along the path. Charley wanted nothing to do with this silliness—he just wanted the long march to be over with! Finally, we crossed one final stile and arrived at the top of the hill at Robin Hood’s Bay about 5:15 pm. Not bad for a journey of 18 miles!

We found the Victoria Hotel at the top of the hill… a rambling red brick building built in 1897 and named—of course—for Queen Victoria. We saw the retired American couple—Jeff and Julie—just outside our hotel. After we saw them at Littlebeck, they had missed the turn for the shortcut and ended up taking the road to Hawkser. They had come along the coastal path though and had already been down to the bottom of the village to make their ceremonial trip out to put their feet in the North Sea. As we talked with them, the two British men came by… the men with the map who had led the group to Sleights. They admitted to coming the entire way by road and arriving in Robin Hood’s Bay in time for a late lunch. Shame on them—all this way, and then they missed the grand finale!

We decided to go into the hotel before making our own trek down to the sea. Our two big bags we had last seen at St. Bees had made it here and were piled up with our other luggage. We left our packs and rain jackets in the lobby on top of our bags and walked on down to the sea to complete the walk. There is almost a separate Robin Hood’s Bay village down at the seafront—they call this Baytown. There wasn’t what we would call a beach… just a small rocky harbor, a few fishing boats, and a huge mass of rocks. We picked our way across the rocks, put the tips of our boots in the water, threw our St. Bees rocks out into the sea, and took a few photos. We thought about having a beer in a pub called Wainwright’s Pub, but decided to hike on back the steep hill to our hotel. A sign on the outside of the pub announced the end of the Coast-to-Coast Walk and professed it to be 192 miles—all this way and we thought it was 190! We did find a shop that had some Coast-to-Coast souvenirs and bought walking stick mounts and patches. Kelly was especially excited about finishing the walk.

Back at the hotel, the woman at the desk said they knew we had a lot of luggage and they had given us Room 11 as a result. Room 11 was up three flights of steps… absolutely the farthest room from the lobby! It was a very large room, though, and perhaps that’s what they were thinking of. We decided to leave the two big bags down in the lobby… we’d lived without them this long, we could do without them another night. Kelly actually carried the other bags up herself. I was extremely emotional up in the room—I knew I had pressed my family to complete the walk along the cliff, and we had done it, but it was a stressful time for us, especially given our struggles in the messy Graystone Hills.

We were desperate for a hot shower, but our room had only a bathtub… not even a shower attachment! It’s quite difficult to rinse your hair when the hot and cold water are coming out of different taps! We did each enjoy a hot bath, and hung our wet clothes up to dry all around the room. We all put on the Coast-to-Coast t-shirts we had bought long ago at the Patterdale Village Shop and headed down to the hotel bar for dinner.

The Victoria Hotel pub was obviously the place to be tonight—the two American couples, the two British men, and the two young British women (teachers, we learned) were all there. We were also delighted to see three of the Group of Eight—Colin, Jane, and one of the Two Men (the shorter man, whose name we never learned, but who turned out not to be Melanie’s partner Chris). They had arrived much earlier in the day and were staying over in Robin Hood’s Bay—the rest of their group had gone on. There were 13 of us in the pub that night (that we knew of) who had finished the walk that day—we also knew that four others in the Group of Eight plus Bill and Geoffrey had finished that day… so at least 19 successful Coast-to-Coasters on this Tuesday in August.

There was a sign in the bar that said no children, but no one said a word about Kelly. We found seats among the other walkers and ordered cold beers and then a hot meal. We enjoyed this new group, but wished that other walking friends could be with us to celebrate the end of our long walk… Mike and Sue, the Lone Mike, Michele, Duncan and Tim, the Rambling Club Men, the Mother and Daughter, Geoffrey and Bill, Paul, Sue and Tammy, the rest of the Group of Eight.

Charley and I had enormous helpings of wonderful bangers and mash in a rich brown gravy—our last English pub dinner and our last dinner in England after almost eleven weeks here. Kelly had a hamburger. She talked excitedly about the walk and even told the group about her idea for the four-in-one product (sunscreen, calamine lotion, insect repellent and lotion). I saw the younger American woman looking at Kelly with amazement… something like, “is this child for real??” We were all tired but proud of our accomplishment and excited about beginning the next stage of our Grand Tour. We headed upstairs to bed… the 17th room we had slept in over the 18 nights of the walking tour.

Wednesday, August 24 – Departure from England

We let Kelly stay up in the room and watch the Olympics while we went downstairs for breakfast…. our last English breakfast! The other walkers from last night were staying at other hotels in Robin Hood’s Bay, but we visited briefly with Colin, Jane and the other man (oh, how I wish we had learned his name!!) of the Group of Eight and said goodbye.

We planned to take a train from Scarborough (about ten miles away) to Hull, a much larger town… maybe even a city. From Hull we would take an overnight ferry to Zeebrugge in Belgium. So today was completely a travel day—a taxi, a train, another taxi, and finally a ferry… but very little walking for a change!

The hotel let us stay past normal check-out time—until 11:00 am—and they made arrangements for a taxi to pick us up at 11. We emphasized the need for a large taxi to handle the three of us and all our luggage. We decided we’d stay out of the two other big bags until we got to Belgium, and we packed our daypacks with the few clothes and toiletries we’d need on the ferry.

Our taxi driver was an extremely large woman who jumped out and immediately began to work with Charley to load the bags in the back of her station wagon. She shoved one of the big bags in so hard that her car started rolling down the hill! The drive to Scarborough took about 20 minutes, and we talked with the driver about the Coast-to-Coast walk. She said that it wasn’t unusual to see walkers wandering around that last stretch of moor like we had done yesterday and that many walkers end up sneaking in by road at the very end. She often drives walkers all the way back to St. Bees… about a 3-1/2 hour drive… if several walkers split the bill, it’s not an unreasonable cost. Charley asked what the fare would be to take us all the way to Hull, but it was more than we wanted to pay and we were watching our remaining British currency carefully. It did cost us 20 GBP for the cab to Scarborough, a much bigger and busier place than we had realized it would be.

We had almost two hours at the Scarborough station before our train to Hull at 13:23. (We have really gotten used to the European 24-hour clock!) We lugged our bags into the station and bought our tickets. I walked across the street to Tourist Information to see if internet access might be nearby… it was farther away than I wanted to wander. We’ve been out of contact since Richmond a week ago. I relieved Charley and Kelly for bag-watching duty. They found a shop and spent a few of our remaining precious pounds on snacks. While we were waiting, the English Teachers from the walk came into the station with their backpacks… on their way home. We talked with them for a few minutes, and wished we had gotten to know these two young women better—they were a lot of fun. As the time of our train approached, we dragged our bags out to the proper platform. An old steam engine excursion train pulled in, and all the men on the platform went over to look at the engine. We’ve noticed before that most men like to go and look at old train engines.

The train from Scarborough to Hull took about an hour and a half. We read the paper and watched the scenery. The Hull station was an extremely busy place. A woman on Slow Travel had given me a recommendation for an inexpensive cab service to get us to the ferry dock—apparently a cheaper alternative than the cabs at the cab stand. Charley called the number, and we dragged our bags around the corner by the bus depot to wait for our taxi. Although he told them we had a lot of luggage, the taxi wasn’t really big enough for the three of us, our three big bags, our three packs, and walking sticks. One of the big duffel bags had to ride in the back seat with Kelly and me… we were thankful it was only a short ride.

We arrived early for the ferry but were able to go ahead and check in. We decided to check all three of the big bags and the walking stick bag, so we would just have the three small packs in our cabin. We were all pretty excited about the ferry trip… this was like an ocean liner trip for us. Kelly has never been on an overnight boat, and it was my first trip since I was 12 years old… even Charley hadn’t been on a boat like this since he was in college.

While we were waiting in the ferry lounge, I decided to call my parents. They are leaving on a three-week trip to Africa tomorrow, and I knew we would continue to be out of touch for a while. The timing was such that I thought there was a good chance we would catch them at home, and we did. They were totally surprised to hear from us, and the phone connection was great. Other than a call to the real estate company managing our house rental, this was the first call I had made home since we left. We told them a few highlights from our walking trip, and Kelly told about seeing a real hedgehog at the Cooks’ house.

Finally at 4:30 pm we were allowed to board the ferry. The Pride of York is a big P&O boat that crosses the North Sea to Zeebrugge one evening and returns to Hull the next evening. A sister ship makes the same crossings on alternate days. The ferry holds 1000 passengers and 850 cars. We also watched several tour buses drive on the boat and many shipping containers being loaded. We were among just a small group of foot passengers.

I had decided to save some money and take an inside cabin—I didn’t think we’d be in the cabin enough to justify the extra 40 GBP for a window. Our cabin was compact with two sets of bunk beds… the bottom bunk on one of the sets of bunks had been left made up as a couch. We had a small desk and chair, a small cupboard for luggage, and a bathroom with a shower. Kelly was very excited about the cabin. We stowed our packs and went out to explore the ferry. It really was a one-night ocean liner—several shops, two restaurants, a couple of lounges, a nightclub, even a small movie theater. Kelly lobbied to watch Shrek II later in the evening, but we decided it was too expensive. We had a drink and watched the long line of cars, motor homes, and buses drive onto the ferry. Then we went outside and watched from the deck as the boat left the port—we have truly enjoyed our extended time in England (and Scotland) and were sorry to leave, but excited to be heading to new adventures.

The ferry made very slow progress through the Hull harbor… it actually seemed a very tight squeeze. We decided to treat ourselves with the buffet dinner at one of the restaurants—a mix of English and continental food with a good assortment of desserts. We had a window table and watched the shoreline as our ferry continued to make its way through the harbor and then leave England behind as the sun set. We went to bed early in our little cabin, lulled to sleep by the hum of the boat’s engine and the gentle rocking.

Thursday, August 25 - Bruges

We had set our alarm clock and woke up in our little cabin at 6:30 am. We had all slept pretty well and liked the rocking sensation of the boat. We showered in the little bathroom and loaded up our packs. The breakfast buffet opened at 7:30 am, and we were expected to arrive in Zeebrugge just a bit later than the scheduled time of 8:30 am. The big restaurant was crowded and busy—much busier than dinner—and served the “full English” breakfast as well as European items like croissants, sausages and cheeses. We filled our plates and watched the ferry approach land. We were looking forward to visiting a new country—Belgium—for the first time. Charley and Kelly made one final stop in the ferry’s “duty free” shop to spend the rest of our British money on an enormous chocolate bar.

Other than the walking tour, our trip is almost entirely in self-catering accommodations… rental houses, cottages and apartments, all of which are booked on a Saturday-to-Saturday arrangement. The last night of the walking tour was Tuesday, and we had rented an apartment in Paris for two weeks beginning on Saturday. When I was planning the trip, I had three nights to get us from northern England to continental Europe, which ideally could include a few days visiting some interesting new place we wouldn’t otherwise see. We wouldn’t have a car until we left Paris, so that was also a factor. I had considered a variety of options—we could fly to France or take the Eurostar train. Charley doesn’t like to fly, and I was strangely paranoid about such a long tunnel under the water. I was interested in seeing Mont St. Michel, but the logistics of getting there without a car were complicated. Finally, I saw on the map that a ferry went from northern England—not far from where we’d end the walking tour—to the port of Zeebrugge in Belgium. I had seen photos of the nearby town of Bruges and thought this would make an interesting destination for two days—it would also enable us to “claim” another European country. We could then easily travel by train to Paris on Saturday. This also proved to be an economical approach—the ferry ticket included our transportation to the continent and also lodging for the night.

We arrived in Zeebrugge about 8:45 am and departed with the other foot passengers. Meanwhile, the steady stream of cars, motor homes and tour buses began driving off the ferry. Our passports were checked and stamped, and we collected our luggage. My Slow Travel friend Libbie had said we could take a bus into Bruges, and we saw the buses waiting there, but we decided to have a taxi take us directly to our accommodation instead, given our large amount of luggage. It was a 30-minute drive to Bruges and cost 30 euro. I had kept about 150 euro from our Christmas trip to Europe, so we didn’t even have to worry about the currency exchange. Once we left the industrial seaport, it was an interesting drive. We saw a couple of big windmills on the outskirts of Bruges and entered through a big stone gate. Our B&B is on a small side street, and our driver had to ask a policeman on a bicycle for directions. When we finally arrived, there was a major construction project on the narrow sidewalk right outside the front door of the house. I dodged the construction to ring the bell, and fortunately there was a side door that could be used.

Our B&B—Absoluut Verhulst—is absolutely fabulous… one of the best places we’ve ever stayed. I found this place through a posting I’d seen on the Frommers message board a few years ago… a very enthusiastic recommendation from a former guest… so enthusiastic that I’d printed it out and saved it in the event we ever went to Bruges. One of the best attributes of the place is the hosts… a middle-aged married couple named Benno and Frieda Verhulst. These people definitely belong in the hospitality business—they are warm, friendly, caring… and speak excellent English. They have a beautiful home to share, serve a bountiful breakfast, and want to make sure their guests have a great experience in Bruges. They have three B&B rooms in their home, which appears to consist of two or three adjoining old buildings.

We arrived at Absoluut Verhulst about 9:45 am on this sunny Thursday morning. I had e-mailed Benno about our early arrival time, and he had said to come on as soon as we arrived. We could leave our luggage and have some coffee until our room was available. The other guests were eating breakfast in the big great room when we arrived. Doors opened outside to a beautiful private terrace and garden. Benno and Frieda invited us to sit in the living area and served us coffee and rolls. They were especially inviting to Kelly. A couple had just checked our of room and it hadn’t been cleaned yet, but Frieda wanted us to take a quick look at our room and said she’d have it ready for us in just a few hours. We planned to do some exploring and return after lunch.

The word “room” doesn’t properly describe our accommodation… although there wasn’t a kitchen, we really had an apartment… the top two floors of the four-story house. After the tiny ferry cabin and the 17 small rooms we’d stayed in during the walking tour, we were overwhelmed to have this much space. We climbed a steep, twisty stairway to reach our door… our first floor has a big living room with two couches and a small dining table with four chairs and then a queen bed behind a partial wall. There is a huge pile of magazines, many in English. (I have pounced on some old Newsweeks…) We have a toilet room, a sink, and a small refrigerator on the first level. We climbed an even twistier set of stairs to our second level up under the eaves of the house—a big bedroom with a king-sized bed and a full bathroom. The whole accommodation is very interesting… built and decorated in a unique blend of the old and the new. We love it almost as much as we love Frieda and Benno.

Benno gave us some maps of Bruges, and we went out to see some of Bruges while Frieda fixed up our rooms. The B&B is just off a major street called Hoogstraat and a ten-minute walk to the Burg square, one of two major squares in the center of town. Bruges is a beautiful town of colorful, old gabled buildings… it reminds us of Strasbourg that we had enjoyed so much last summer. Several of the more important buildings are decorated with gold. A canal meanders through the town, crossed by many old bridges. (The word “Bruges” means bridges.) There are lots of cafes, restaurants and shops… many of the shops feature chocolates (yum!) and lace, two of the specialties of Bruges.

We had lunch at a restaurant on the other big square called Markt. Benno had recommended a few places to eat and this was one of them. It was expensive, but he had explained that it would be less expensive than most of the other restaurants. Charley had a croque monsieur, Kelly had pasta, and I had an omelet. What a change from the English pub food we’ve been eating the last few weeks—at least Charley and I had something different!

We wandered down one of the shopping streets. I had stretched the shampoo and conditioner I’d brought from home to last me through the walking tour, but now I was totally out. I found a Body Shop and bought replacements. Charley needed new sunglasses, but couldn’t find anything he liked at a price he was willing to pay. We looked at the lace and chocolates, and finally broke down and bought some of the beautiful chocolates. I bought a box with the brand name of “Kathy,” and Kelly and I decided we’d keep the box for some future use.

We went back to the B&B to move our luggage upstairs to our room. Frieda insisted on helping Charley carry the three heavy bags up the two flights of stairs. Kelly wanted to reorganize the three duffel bags and reclaim her own private bag again, but once she started she realized this was a big messy project. I convinced her to wait until are in Paris when we can completely unpack for our two weeks there. Still, it was tempting to begin rummaging in the two bags we’d been without for over two weeks and see what “new” clothes we could find.

We decided to do one of the boat trips on the canal. The canal boats all follow the same route and are the same price, but are operated by different companies and begin at slightly different places. We got on our boat near the old Fish Market—the trip lasted about 30 minutes… the canal system was much more extensive than we had realized on foot. The guide gave part of his commentary in English and we understood some of what he said. We also saw several areas we wanted to visit again on foot. Kelly would have liked to take one of the tours by horse-drawn carriage, but we decided that was too expensive. Bruges is really really beautiful… many of the buildings are from the 1600s.

There was a small internet café on Hoogstraat, just a minute or two from our B&B. (Benno had offered the use of his own computer, but I knew I would need at least two hours on the computer… not the normal checking of e-mail for a tourist away from home for a two week trip.) We hadn’t checked e-mail for over a week and I had lots and lots of messages. It took me the first ten minutes to get rid of all the spam and notices. I had a message from my old boss that was quite shocking—the woman we had hired to take my place as head of Human Resources had resigned and returned to her former company… after just three months. I liked her so much, and we had been able to work together on a part-time basis for a couple of weeks in a transition. Now there was no one there. I felt especially awful about the impact on my old group, though I knew everyone would pitch in. Suddenly I had a giant guilt trip about my job and the people I had worked with for ten years. I tried unsuccessfully to put it out of my mind.

Kelly and Charley went back to the B&B while I finished up on the internet. When I got back to our room (I don’t know what else to call it—perhaps apartment??), we watched the Olympics for a while before going out to look for a place for dinner. We wandered around the main area of Bruges with Benno’s map and recommendations, looking at the posted menus and trying to find a place that would work for all of us. Many restaurants advertised mussels… one of my favorites, though totally abhorrent to Charley and Kelly. Kelly needed something simple… she thought pasta would be a very Belgian thing to eat. And Charley didn’t like the prices at all… he just wanted something inexpensive. We circled around the restaurants, unable to make a decision and finally decided on a place called the Mozart Huis near the old fish market. We sat outside on the little square where several artists had set up displays. I had the mussels I was craving, Kelly had pasta and Charley had lasagna. Charley wasn’t happy with the service or the price. It wasn’t our most successful meal.

We headed back to watch the Olympics in our very comfortable B&B. We get the British sports channel, so we can continue on with the British perspective on these Olympic games. In an otherwise very expensive town, our huge B&B room is an excellent value.

Friday, August 26 – Bruges

Our beds were great, and we had a wonderful night’s sleep followed by an absolutely wonderful breakfast served by our wonderful hosts Benno and Frieda. Breakfast was beautifully presented and included hot drinks, fresh fruit, a basket of breads, and an assortment of jams, and cheeses. I accepted the offer of eggs and got a little serving dish of scrambled eggs with cheese, mushrooms and sausage—delicious! Charley had declined the eggs, but looked at mine enviously. He asked for an extra croissant instead. We chatted with an American couple living in Germany and enjoyed hearing about their travels. As we finished our breakfast, another family arrived to share our table… two parents from Canada (though English citizens) and their adult daughter who is living and working in Bruges. The daughter visited here while backpacking around Europe and decided to stay for a while. The parents are staying at Absoluut Verhulst, but the daughter had just joined them for breakfast.

The weather took a terrible turn for the worse today…. rainy and quite cool. Kelly and I rummaged around in the two “new” bags to find some warmer clothes. We decided to try to find an “indoor” activity and had seen a brochure for the “ChocoStory” museum… a new museum that told the story of chocolate. Kelly was pretty excited about a whole museum devoted to chocolate. The museum was in an old four story building and was really quite interesting. We learned about the history of chocolate, how the beans are grown and the chocolate is processed, and the development of the chocolate industry in Belgium. There was a display of old chocolate pots and chocolate tins. Kelly liked the chocolate demonstration—with samples—the best!

We stopped at a café on the Markt Square for coffee. We sat outside on the covered terrace, where they had big heaters going strong. I had forgotten Benno’s guidance about the expensive cafes, and we were shocked when we got our bill. Kelly’s medium diet coke was six euro!! She did get a little dish of nuts, but we were horrified at the price.

We had read that one of the old churches in Bruges had a Michelangelo sculpture and headed across town in the drizzle to find the church. There are lots of big churches in Bruges, and we circled around a couple of them trying to find the Church of Our Lady. When we finally found the church and then found the entrance, the church was closed for lunch! I had never heard of a church closing at lunch before, but perhaps if you are a church with a Michelangelo sculpture, you manage your security in a different way.

We gave up on seeing the sculpture and also on eating in the expensive Bruges restaurants. I had seen a sandwich shop just down the street from our B&B, so we walked back there and bought a bag of food to take back to our room. Our whole lunch—three sandwiches, chips, a big bottle of coke, and a packet of cookies—was just a bit more expensive than Kelly’s coke at the café that morning! We ate lunch at the nice dining table in our room.

I went back to the internet café for an hour or so and confirmed our arrangements for Paris. I was especially excited to hear from my friend Becky Verastegui from home… she and a friend are spending two weeks in France and it looks like we’ll be able to see them in Paris and then also later on in our trip. I’ve invited them to stay with us at our house in Turenne where we will have three bedrooms.

Bruges is at its best in pretty weather, and our original plan for the day (to visit a picturesque area called the “Beguinage of the Vineyard”) was scrapped due to the rain. I wish we had another day like yesterday! We had talked about going to the Folklore Museum, but when I got back to our room, Kelly and Charley were curled up on the couches reading and watching the Olympics and had no desire to go out again in the rain. We spent the rest of the afternoon being lazy… and being glad we didn’t have to walk ten miles to our next accommodation for the night! We promised Kelly an Italian meal, and Charley asked Benno for a recommendation. About 6:30 pm, we set off in a new direction to find the place he suggested. It was a nice walk along the canals, not too far… and the little place wasn’t touristy at all—very casual and you could eat in or take out. Kelly and I ordered pizza, which was unlike any pizza we’ve ever had… very strange and not too good. Charley’s ravioli was great and we were glad that he offered to share—Kelly’s now found another new food she will eat. We especially liked the prices at this little place. Of course, when we got back to the B&B, we told Benno it was wonderful. We just should have all ordered pasta.

We spent the rest of the evening watching the Olympics. We’ve gotten very interested in the British athletes, and tonight was the final sad episode of the Paula Radcliffe story. Last Sunday Paula had failed to win the marathon and had dropped out of the race with just a few miles to go. Today, she was trying again for a medal… running in the 10,000 meter race. But it just wasn’t meant to be, and she dropped out again.