click for blackbird movie (1.2 mb)
Sitting on the balcony looking through centuries old wisteria at the croquet field, sipping a cup of tea.
There's a bird perched on the chimney across the lane singing the most beautiful, complex song. (Later learned it was a blackbird.) He sings a verse and I can barely hear a distant response, then he repeats it. The odd thing is that he was sitting in the same spot last night singing the same song.
click for blackbird movie (1.2 mb)
We slept surprisingly well, considering the circumstances. I was awake until nearly midnight (0:00), hours later than previous days, and woke around 7:00. Barbara had the continental breakfast. I had herring and poached eggs. The herring were like two trout sized filets of anchovy. Pretty good until the herring burps on our walk.
| We followed the Cotswold way to Painswick Beacon. The official Cotswold way is much nicer hiking than the county trails I followed yesterday. We passed through ancient residential areas, through fields, woods, along a quarry and into a golf course. The beacon is the highest point around and 4500 years ago was the sight of a fort. The views were amazing - we could see Gloucester and Cheltenham, the golfers were friendly - apologized to us for playing through our trail, rather than the other way round, and the man in the black turban with the standard poodle (who aggressively herded me up the hill) was very interesting. |
We decided we needed more and continued to the Popes Wood - a lovely old growth forest. It was cool and dark in the woods, but there was a challenging hill.
The Royal Oak Inn and their ploughman lunch began calling us and we retraced our steps to Painswick. Today's soup was tomato (toe-mah-toe - I actually said it that way!) and lentil, although I didn't find any lentils. It was almost as delicious as yesterday's mushroom soup. Barbara had the ploughmans lunch with stilton and roast beef. I had a toemahtoe, cheese and onion panini. They were very busy so they couldn't sit and talk with us.
We went to the library to use the computers. They only had one free so while I checked my email Barbara went exploring. She discovered an active bowling green and we returned there when I'd finished sorting my spam.
 | We walked up behind the Falcon Inn which I remembered had been famous for its cockfighting. They were probably bowling over the bones and beaks of chicken martyrs. It looked like a very exclusive country club and I felt like a gawking Yank intruder until a man noticed us and told us to take a seat on the only empty park bench. Two games were going on. It was very much like horseshoes except that the shoes were balls (really more like fat tires - they roll on the edge and fall over on the flatter side) and the stake was a small ball (the jack) they roll to start the game. The simple object (I'm sure there were subtleties we missed) is to come closest to the jack. |
 | One team played very quickly, the closer players took their time. Near the end of one game the round pink man with his belly showing through his half-tucked shirt rolled very close to the jack. His opponent hit the jack moving it away from the pink man's ball and closer to his. Guns would be drawn if that happened in horseshoes, but these men took it in stride. Actually a man waiting for another game to begin told us that there were leagues all across England and games often become very heated. He said that the games were war or bowling. He hadn't fit in in Gloucester where it was war but thoroughly enjoys the friendly games in Painsick. |
Most of the people there came by to talk to us, to marvel at the fact that we were unfamiliar with the game. The pink man told us that when he was in the states he saw many signs for Bowling Green but he never found one. A man came out offering a plate of biscuits to the men sitting by a tray of tea. They declined so he offered them to us. We accepted and he urged us to take the chocolate one as it was beginning to melt.
Nearly everyone here (except the tourists) are very friendly. If I tried to nod or mumble good morning in Oxford, I was ignored. I'm accustomed to making brief eye contact and mumbling good something. Here they loudly greet you with the appropriate time of day and smile. I'm sure they'd stop and talk if I could think of something to say. They're very helpful when I ask if we're going the right way and they seem a bit disappointed when I just thank them and continue on.
Barbara was eager for more walking. She'd fallen in love with the Cotswold Way. I was feeling a bit revived. I'd planned to nap all afternoon and let my muscles relax - but that's not what we're here for. So we tried again for the circular walk I'd screwed up the day before.
We found the correct starting point, even the official Cotswold Way seal, and headed for Ham Butts. As long as we stayed on the CW, we had few problems. We travelled between stone fences, through fields and woods. We couldn't tell if we were supposed to turn after this stile or the next, so we crisscrossed a field a couple of times disturbing a flock of sheep. Some had just been shorn and looked like naked people trying to look inconspicuous. A small nappy lamb was marked with green, probably to be clipped tomorrow. When I reached the stile to leave the field I realized Barbara was still in the middle of the field with the sheep. I think she was contemplating a new career as shepherdess, watching over the flock by night. I introduced her to her new charges, "Sheep, this is Baaabraaaa."
We walked by 4th century roman ruins (conveniently stored "beneath the ploughed soil") and along paths that were probably used by 4th century romans, and those avoiding them.
We missed one of the last turns and came back by the route I'd mistakenly taken earlier, but we did pretty well for two Enlow senses of direction.
 | We sat on the balcony with the ancient wisteria waiting for dinner, although we would have happily waited hours since we weren't hungry. We were joined by a couple we assumed were English but later discovered were from Colorado Springs. We should have guessed his nationality by his eyes, they were red, white, and electric blue. He is 83 and white-haired. They had great stories of their travels and more stories about their children and grandchildren. They were thrilled that Barbara and her son were teachers but couldn't quite get their minds around the idea that we were siblings. They had gone for a nice hike along the stream. |
I tried the Truffle Brulee with madeira jelly for a starter. I thought truffles were mushrooms but it tasted like more guts to me. We both had the seabass with vanilla gnocci, which was excellent but why they wanted to put vanilla in gnocci I'll never understand. Barbara had the rhubarb cheesecake which she claims will be her dessert from now on. I had the mixed cheeses, hoping for a wedge of stinking bishop. There was a very mild brie and a very pungent one so that could have been it. (It was!) The hard cheese with a dark rind wasn't aromatic at all so I know that wasn't it. The tiny jar of some sort of chutney was forgettable.
I almost went for another walk after dinner. I discovered a map of a walk along the mill stream we had briefly seen the night before, probably the route the Coloradoans had taken. Barbara wanted to watch football and was very disappointed there wasn't a sports pub in town. I laid down to think about it and woke up after two games were over.
Mileage - 11.5
