Friday - Chester

Quick one tonight. Looong, rainy trip to Chester. Many traffic jams due to construction. We were able to post the blogs from the past two days, but it’s too late to write much of anything about today. Check back tomorrow!

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After a good night’s sleep, here’s the rest of the story.

The day began with another tasty breakfast at Lethamhill B&B. We passed on the kippers this time, but Bruce did try a couple of the mini-haggis. They tasted like meatloaf. We told our host Jane of our fine time in Paisley, and she was surprised as she had always dismissed it as merely an industrial place. We didn’t encounter anything of the sort there! Must have taken a different road into town.

Then, despite the rather foggy and damp weather, we decided to make a circular drive that would take us up along a long, thin bay of the Firth of Clyde and then back down along the west side of Loch Lomond, the longest loch in Scotland. There is quite a naval presence along the Firth, including British and former US submarine bases. There was also a permanent peace camp across the street from one of the British bases, looking for all the world like a 1960s hippie colony. We had heard of these at other military installations when we lived in England in the early 80s.

While the fog did lift enough for us to enjoy the views, the drive itself was certainly a challenge. Roads were narrow and sometimes flooded. Oncoming traffic, always a problem on narrow roads, was made all the more difficult to deal with as a result of the road conditions. Directions were confusing as well. But we made it. Loch Lomond was certainly beautiful and dramatic in the mist.

Then it was off to the south to Chester, a journey of over 200 miles. We crossed the Erskine Bridge over the Clyde for the third time in two days. It’s one of those popular new designs with narrow concrete towers (two in this case due to its length) and a single array of cables that supports the entire roadway from the middle. The effect was so subtle that we had to look twice to realize that we were actually on a bridge.

That stretch of motorway was pretty much the end of clear sailing for the rest of the day. Beyond that there’s only one motorway heading south or west, and it goes right into the city of Glasgow. There’s no beltway or other form of bypass, so that one road is probably always a pretty busy one. But add to that a major reconstruction project along with damp and foggy weather, and traffic was barely crawling. This mix of traffic (possibly increased over normal due to a rail strike and the fact that it was Friday), construction, and weather stayed with us all the way to Chester.

There’s not much to report about the trip itself other than roads, cars, rain, fog, and road spray. Everybody seemed to be driving safely, and our minivan handled itself just fine. Lunch was a snack at a motorway rest stop, and various noshing in the car.

As is the case with many small British B&Bs, ours in Chester wasn’t staffed 24/7. Frequently the owners live elsewhere or have a life separate from the establishment, so they will go there specially to meet guests and get them settled, and then disappear till it’s time to make breakfast. Knowing this we did call ahead to advise our hosts of our late arrival. They appreciated it, and they told us that the key would be waiting for us in the Chester Bells pub across the street.

GPS got us right to the tiny road where our B&B was located. A little too close actually, as the road was horribly skinny and a dead end. The necessary U-turn was a challenge. Then Bruce stayed with the car while the others retrieved the key from the pub and unloaded the suitcases. They brought back the report that we didn't have enough tattoos to qualify for that pub, so we took it off our list of potential dinner spots. We got directions to a nearby carpark and then began a search for a place that served modest quantities of light food at reasonable prices. Friday night is big in Chester. Lots of people about, many dressed in their clubbing attire. Long lines at the ATM. Smokers gathered on the sidewalk (‘pavement’ in British) as a consequence of strict new laws on indoor smoking.

Despite the white tablecloths and elegant appearance, we settled on the Pastarazzi Italian restaurant, built into a handsome old building. A waitress lured us in with the promise that there were indeed modest but tasty offerings on the menu. Bruce had what was described as a torta of cheese, eggplant, and zucchini. We might quibble over this description, as the cylindrical stack of ingredients wasn’t bound together in any sort of a cake-like structure (as was the eggplant parmagiana that he had in Siena about a year ago), but it was artistically presented and extremely tasty. The other three folks had varying offerings of pasta or risotto. And we enjoyed a nice bottle of wine.

Grosvenor Place B&B was much, much smaller than our two previous lodgings. More typical of a lower budget city establishment. A bit worn and quite cramped. Lots of light and sound coming in from the street and the pub. But easily adequate, an enjoyable breakfast, and a pleasant proprietor. He knew a bit more about the US than some of the others we’ve met, having worked for a while in Birmingham, Alabama, but he was still a bit fuzzy as to the location of Wisconsin and New Hampshire. Though he knew Vermont.

No pictures today. Everybody knows what fog and rain look like. But here are a couple taken the next day that show the B&B and the pub across the side street. Chester is a brick city, and some of it is really marvelous!

The view from our hotel room - a Victorian era pub called The Chester Bells - Chester

Friday - October 10

Thursday - Helensburgh, Paisley

Breakfast at the B&B featured the special treat, kippers. A strong fish taste, as expected, and a challenge in separating flesh from bone. While it was an interesting cultural experience, we all concluded that we just weren't up to that level of detailed work so early in the morning. The good news was that mealtime schedules didn't work out well for us at lunchtime but the residual fullness from the kippers kept us going.

After studying the alternatives and the associated operating hours, we decided to start out with a tour of a nearby distillery. However, due to navigational errors associated with humans, not with GPS, we found ourselves well off of the intended route and already on the way to Paisley. It was on our list of places to go anyway, so that’s where we went. It was well worth the journey.

The immediate connection one makes with the name Paisley is that of the textile pattern, and this indeed proved to be an important part of what the town had to offer. But there was much more as well. We first stopped in the tourist office, where we bought a few postcards including one featuring the original, unvarnished recipe for haggis. You don’t want to know. Then we headed off to the Paisley Museum. Yes, it featured a wonderful exhibit of Paisley textiles, explanation of the history of the pattern, development of the industry, and the like.

The pattern traces to fabrics from Kashmir, hand crafted from short pieces of soft hair from the underbellies of a species of deer that live only above a certain altitude in that part of the world. (This is how they were described at the museum. An interesting Victorian history site on the Web says that the hair came from mountain goats. Perhaps they used both.) A shawl could take a year or more to weave, and commanded a price equal to that of a house. Not a product for your average shopper! Improvements in technology, especially development of the Jacquard loom, allowed the pattern to become available for the masses. Centers of production arose in a number of locales in Great Britain, France, Germany, and Russia. Due to a combination of circumstances Paisley became pretty much the major center for the industry, and the motif became known as the Paisley pattern and subsequently simply Paisley.

There was one section, not part of the formal exhibit but more of a research activity, where they had assembled a number of period Jacquard looms and associated equipment and were attempting to understand and recreate the original techniques, many undocumented and perhaps closely held as trade secrets. We had a nice chat with the weaver who was leading that effort.

Another whole room displayed many styles of Paisley shawls, especially as they evolved with changes in fashion. At their peak they had grown to over 5 x 10 feet in size! Bottom line, so to speak—when the bustle came in, the paisley shawl went out. It was just too bulky material back there. The pattern is still popular, of course, as pashmina scarfs, neckties, and other clothing.

But Paisley cloth isn't all they have in the Paisley Museum. There were a number of cultural types of exhibits, some illustrating the local scene during World War II. The featured temporary exhibit was of the Paisley born artist Alexander Goudie. He was a wonderfully talented painter and designer with a wry and clever insight, combined with a love of his materials, who died in 2004. There were over 200 paintings, drawings, and painted pottery.

Of course there was a gift shop. You don’t want to know the prices of the shawls.

Then we walked through the center of town to the Abbey. It was in wonderful condition, and we got lots of good information from the guide, a retired math teacher named Robin Craig. He was a week away from a trip to Connecticut to visit his son. We’ve met so many people here who have US connections.

By the time we finished at the Abbey it was getting a bit late for lunch and for making it to our next stop on time. So we settled for a quick snack (ice cream for SA & B, and bananas and other miscellaneous snack food for A & S) and headed back to Helensburgh.

Our next destination, also a National Trust property, was located a mere block up the street from our B&B: the Hill House, created by the architect and artist Charles Rennie Mackintosh for the family of Walter Blackie, heir to a large publishing firm in Glasgow. We had seen some of Mackintosh’s work in the National Museum a few days earlier, and Sue Anne was already familiar with him. His career was short and controversial. It marked a major break from the ornate and heavy art, architecture, and furnishings of the Victorian period, and consequently it didn’t meet with the approval of those still wedded to those concepts. He was well ahead of his time, and wide appreciation of his work didn’t really occur till many years later.

Hill House looks fairly standard from the outside. The inside is mostly white, with small squares of stained glass in pink and purple. Wow! Not saying I want a house just like it, but it was complete work of art. He and his wife designed the carpets, fireplace tools, fabrics, furniture, garden gates, street lights, you name it.

Then we went back to the hotel for a rest. The weather was starting to get nasty, so we decided against venturing out farther than downtown. We drove around a bit trying to scout out a place to eat dinner and finally settled on the Great Wall Chinese restaurant. It proved to be a Great Choice Chinese restaurant, as we all enjoyed our meals immensely.

Quick stop at the Co-op supermarket (random stuff like chocolate, a book, a few bottles, and something from your list, Alissa!), back to the hotel, gather for a wee dram to wrap up another great day.

We didn’t find any Internet places that met our schedule, so we’re running behind in posting the blog. Maybe tomorrow!

Thursday - October 9

Wednesday - Helensburgh

The day started with another not your average breakfast at the Hotel Ceilidh-Donia: Steve sampled mini haggis and found it quite edible! Then we snaked our way out to the street after the owners moved their double parked van from behind us. Really tight parking there. Lots of innovation required.

We programmed GPS to take us to Princes Street, the main road along side of the large gulch (there must be a nicer Scottish word for it) that was probably a moat providing protection for the castle. As there was major roadwork happening on Princes Street, nothing but buses and taxis were allowed. We got ourselves into a number of awkward situations as a result—pull to the side to let the buses past before we could duck out of their lane, U-turns to get out of places where we weren't supposed to be, and the like. We did get a quick view of the New Town (18^th and 19^th centuries), and it was very pleasant indeed—more green, and open with parks. But with the current construction work underway, the only way to really see Princes Street is on foot, and we just didn’t have the time.

GPS then wound us rather quickly out of town on roads we could never have found by ourselves, and delivered us to the impressive suspension bridge across the Firth (estuary) of Forth (a major east-flowing river). It was the longest bridge of its kind in Europe at the time of its construction in 1964 and is adjacent to the 1890 Forth Railway Bridge, described as the world’s first major steel bridge.

We drove for about an hour, some on motorway and some through typical countryside and a few small towns, to St. Andrews, the home of golf. We trusted the ‘distance remaining’ gas gauge on our minivan, and sure enough we reached the gas station before it was too late—though it was tight. It did take a bit of maneuvering through some rather skinny roads in this old city, but we made it. Gas mileage seemed to be up around 30. Pretty good, especially for a not so small vehicle with four passengers and luggage.

We parked at the lot by the Old Course and walked past the large granite clubhouse. Bruce had stayed there (it’s also a hotel, perhaps only for members?) when accompanying a few of his apparently well connected British and Canadian associates on a wonderfully enjoyable business trip about 25 years ago.

We marveled at the famous rolling terrain of the course, within sight of crashing waves of the North Sea. Some of the depressions are so deep that they have roads running through them for use by service vehicles. It’s certainly a shock to be looking out at what appears to be a continuous stretch of green, only to see a car or a small truck emerge from behind a barely perceptible rise. We watched a few golfers coming in to the 18^th hole and joined in a cheer as one of them sank an especially long putt.

Steve picked up a few golf souvenir items at the shop (including an Old Course scorecard which he planned to forge with an especially low score and show to his golf buddies back home!), and then we headed off on foot to the downtown area. Lots of students about, both university and high school. Some of the former were wearing academic capes, hip length, all draped in casual disarray as is the custom. Delicious lunch of wrap sandwiches, eaten at a park bench. Then we headed to the ruined cathedral (collapsed from structural failures very early in its life and never reconstructed as a consequence of the religious differences that subsequently swept the country) and back to the car along the seaside pathway.

Then we settled in to travel across the country to Helensburgh on the west coast. We programmed the GPS to take us along the north side of the Forth rather than going back over the bridge and into the congested area of Edinburgh. And in so doing we perhaps inadvertently influenced it to avoid a number of the larger roads we could have taken. The most memorable part of the resulting route was a 2-mile stretch of farm track, no more than a lane and a half wide! And we met a tractor along the way! Maybe the routing process awarded extra points to quality of views in laying out the route, as the mountains, hillsides, and valley vistas along the way were absolutely superb! It was our first view of the magnificent Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park.

We arrived at the Lethamhill B&B at a bit after 4. It is a genuine Craftsman house, with a few Tudor revival style elements. We were cheerfully greeted by the owner Jane and taken to our lovely rooms, complete with stunning views down the hill to the water. We’re not quite on the ocean but well down the Firth of Clyde. Bruce’s Scottish grandparents would have sailed right past here on their way to a new life in the New World, a bit over a hundred years ago.

The view from our hotel room - down the steep hill and across the Firth of Clyde - Helensburgh

We rested for an hour or so, and then we ambled down the hill to find dinner. There is very much a grid pattern to the town. Quite unexpected, as road layouts throughout the UK can generally be described as random. Restaurants are all lined up along the final street, facing out to the water. We chose an Indian buffet that claimed to be open till 11! It was indeed open, but the buffet appeared to have been pretty well cleared out by the early crowd so we had quite a wait before they restocked. It was worth the wait, however, as the food was delicious.

Walked back up the long hill to our B&B, with a brief stop at a supermarket. We got some of the things on your shopping list there, Karin. No Internet service here at the B&B, so we can’t publish this tonight. Will load it onto a flash drive and try to find an Internet shop tomorrow, or take the laptop to a bar down in the town that advertises free WiFi. We didn’t have time for Paisley today, but it’s along the route of our drive south on Friday so we’ll try to catch it then.

Wednesday - October 8