White knuckle driving, Blenheim Palace, Agatha Christie and an Owl Tree
The first part of my last morning in Amsterdam involved searching for stamps to send some postcards. I was completely foiled and discovered that anybody I asked looked at my quizzically as if I was talking about some medieval form of money or something. I don’t even think one woman in the grocery store had any idea what I was talking about. Apparently nobody goes to a post office or sends letters with stamps? Even google maps couldn’t come to the rescue and just sent me to mailboxes, not post offices. So, I now have all of these Amsterdam postcards that will have to be mailed if ever from England. Or stuck on my bulletin board.
Today was a total slog of rushing to the train station in Amsterdam and going up and down stairs, in and out of very small elevators between floors, going through customs in Brussels and security checkpoints, going up and down more stairs as the track numbers were changed at the last minute and trying to keep track of passport, phone, credit card, camera bag etc etc. The usual things people who travel often just do without complaining, probably. It all seemed more stressful because of the heat and humidity and that the train was delayed and we had to rush to our connecting train to London. The eurostar trains are like 3 Amtrak trains put together. There were 30 cars on the one I rode today and I was in car number 2 which involved epic suitcase pushing, lugging and camera bag choking and backpack jouncing along with the chafing of the money belt against my stomach to get up to the front end of the train. Onwards to more interesting things.
Once I arrived in London at St. Pancras I hobbled and pushed to the underground towards Paddington and then eventually found my way to the Tudor House Hotel where thankfully a man took my suitcase up four flights of stairs since there was no elevator. The room is like an oasis of calm and it has A FAN. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and decided to walk along Kensington Gardens to find a cafe for dinner and then to see a movie in Notting Hill. I watched all of these people coming in and out of the gates to Kensington Gardens and noticed that unlike in Amsterdam, many of the men were wearing very dapper suits with sort of shortened pants. It was especially fun to see men in suits standing on the bike pedals and rounding the corners with panache. The movie was called The Bikeriders (about a motorcycle gang) and I really only wanted to see it because of the actors in it. Tom Hardy seemed to recreate Marlon Brando in a mixture of the Godfather and On the Waterfront and his character and accent seemed so perfectly fused that I was astounded to learn he is a British actor. I noticed that the movie was a dog friendly show. How awesome! Just some contrasting styles of menswear below.
I successfully managed to arrive at Oxford Rail Station and was so touched that two of the cab drivers there dissuaded me from taking a cab to the Europcar rental spot because they said it would be much cheaper if I just walked because of all the construction happening on the route. Another interaction which renewed my faith in human kindness. It was another slog over bumpy sidewalks pushing my suitcase ahead and balancing my knapsack and camera bag but I made it twenty minutes later. After signing all the paperwork there was the moment of truth when I needed to actually drive the car, using my left hand and driving on the left without stalling out the car in the middle of the road. There were some white knuckle moments and a bit of a learning curve for the first 15 minutes where I managed to take the wrong turn twice at two roundabouts and drive on the highway in the opposite direction. Thankfully google maps was talking to me and getting me back on track.When I finally hit my stride on the long straight stretch for ten miles I lowered the windows and whooped with glee. I had made it to the heavenly Cotswolds.
But first, Blenheim Palace.
I parked in a huge field after entering the gates, scanning my ticket and then thought it would be a perfect place to practice figuring out how to drive in reverse. After asking a couple parking next to me who couldn’t figure it out, I checked google and discovered a video showing how to do it. Is google making me and all of us complacent? It’s like a group brain at our fingertips, that is, when the cell service is working, which it isn’t here at my Airbnb in Lower Oddington.
But back to the majestic Blenheim Palace, considered the grandest palace in all of Britain. It never ceases to amaze me how completely anthropocentric these wealthy palace building families were with their (multiple) 5 to 10 to 20 foot high portraits of themselves and their ancestors filling all inches of wallspace, and in between, busts of Roman emperors and various cabinets full of things that everyone needs and wants? A huge collection of white china Fu-Kien Blanc-de-Chine probably costing thousands, an entire cabinet of over a thousand lead toy soldiers, a leather chair with a huge 10 foot high encapsulating dome which confused me as to its purpose. I was very impressed, though by the oil portrait of Churchill by Edith Grace Wheatley that was about 10 by 10 feet and masterfully intertwined scenes symbolism and his portrait in one.
But really the two exhibits were what were so beautifully done - the exhibit all about Winston Churchill, whose ancestors built the palace and who was born here and then interestingly became Prime Minister during WWII. (it helps to be connected) and then a multiroom exhibit of British Fashion with various rooms showcasing shoes, hats, dresses with certain rooms for various designers sometimes with soundtracks playing for ambiance. The platform shoes were fascinating and I also appreciated the enormous silk flowers in some of the rooms. The fashions worn by the mannequins were in stark contrast to the very staid portraits on the walls behind them. I imagined being terrified wandering these huge rooms at night with the mannequins there, all looking strangely individualistic.
I was interested to see that one long room with a wooden floor and a library in one section and an organ at the other had been a dormitory for WWII soldiers. I admired the organ at the end and wondered what it sounded like now. Apparently it needs a lot of work. I wondered it the soldiers here had ever sung together hymns like Jerusalem or I Vow to Thee My Country (two of my favorite Holst hymns) and what their experience was between these walls. I followed two British women in hats and long dresses outside, one coughing phlegmatically, down to the chapel which had another organ, much smaller.
I successfully perused the gift shop without purchasing anything, despite really wanting to buy one of these dachshund scarves and made my way across the enormous courtyard to a cafe for lunch. I sat outside and admired the bonsai olive trees in pots.
Over lunch, I listened to the audio guide to the extensive gardens around the palace and then headed out into the hot sun in search of beauty and the unexpected.
Along the paths I discovered the Temple to Diana where Churchill proposed to Clementine, saw an oak tree that looked about twelve feet wide that could have been as old as 600 years, wandered down to the water where there was a swan floating near lily pads and gaggles of canada geese with one orange footed goose amongst them. Later on the walk I ran into the posse of these orange footed geese. I guess some geese just want to hang with another crowd.
And then I saw a pheasant come out of the reeds as I returned to taking many photos to hopefully turn into paintings.
At this point I was ready to leave and drive to Lower Oddington to my airbnb and relax so I figured I would take a short cut to the car park instead of going back into the palace and through the courtyards. This was not really the best idea in the hot sun and with sketchy cell phone service. A large area next to the palace was gated and under security because apparently all the European leaders will be assembling there for a meeting in July and they are building seating or who knows what.
This meant that I was off on paths that seemed to have no signage and curved around corners with no clear sense of direction. Once there was a little shuttle bus that passed me by and I ran into someone working security and asked how to get to the car park and he told me to follow a path and speak to a woman at the end. Unfortunately this was about a half mile and when I finally reached her she told me to go back the way I had come because it was blocked off for security. I was feeling slightly woozy from being in the hot sun and dehydrated, and thoughts of an Agatha Christie scenario popped into my head
“American middleaged woman disappears mysteriously outside Blenheim palace, last seen by the butterfly pond and the high maze.”
And then miraculously a couple appeared trying to do the same thing but emerging from another path at the same big moveable and impregnable metal gates. The woman told all three of us to go back the way we had come to the palace in order to get to the car park and I asked if I could shadow them in case fainted from the heat and sun. Probably overly dramatic on my part but again, I’ve seen too many Agatha Christie movies. Still, strength in numbers.
At the palace I said goodbye to the couple and dragged my way back to the car and set off towards my little shepherd’s hut next to a field of very curious but skittish black sheep that have been munching steadily on grass while I write this.
I love the Winnie the Pooh nature of this spot. At the entrance to the farm was this sign “Under the Owl Tree” with arrows to the right. I realized that my mini house aka Shepherd’s Hut was actually next to a perfectly domed tree that must be the owl tree mentioned. According to the binder with information in the hut, the owl comes out and visits at dusk.
Could this be more idyllic?
I discovered that there was no wifi here and that my phone service wouldn’t work either so that I couldn’t access the internet. If I weren’t staying here for four nights I would be totally relaxed about it, but for planning the day and using google location it was a problem. So, I set off in search of the nearby pub which I figured could only be in one direction on the one road through the village.
The woman waiting tables there told me not to worry and set me up with wireless and a place to charge my phone while I waited for dinner.
After a delicious fish pie and a British style lemonade unlike any I’ve ever tasted before, I came back to Under the Owl Tree and met Georgie the airbnb host and her large poodle/wolfhound who was very friendly but very hot and slobbering from the heat. Nevertheless I enthusiastically greeted them both and she offered to get a fan for me for the rest of the time here since it is so hot.
I went off to take photos at dusk and get a sense of where I was. It did indeed feel like a little village from an Agatha Christie or from Midsommer Murders. But I am happy and tired and going to sleep in my cozy bunk by the owl tree.
