Driving - March 2000

8 March 2000

This morning we checked out of the Ailsa Craig Hotel, hopped in our rental car, and drove south back towards London. It was my first time driving in Britain. I drove a car on the left side of the road in Zimbabwe, but Scotland was more of a challenge, guiding our Fiat Punto through the busy intersections of Edinburgh. I damaged the front left hubcap quite badly--I'm not used to judging the width of the car from the right-hand side.

On the road.

It was a two-hour drive down to the first stop: Caerverlock, a triangular castle on the southwest coast of Scotland. The moat and front walls remained as stout defenses, but the interior of the castle was ruined, just a bit of the 17th century skeleton remaining.

Entering Caerverlock.

This bit of the castle was somewhat Escher-like.

It was a fantastic day to see a Scottish castle--wind and rain beat fiercely against us for much of the time, but the sun was never far from breaking through, sending bright swathes of light rippling across the countryside, forming a rainbow in the distance.

A lot of primary colors.

The castle's present denizen.

They had also built a full-scale model of a trebuchet, its large catapult arm aimed ominously at the castle's walls. But the arm was chained down, and the box of counterweights was empty--a useless seige weapon. Which is just as well: I don't think the castle could take any more rough treatment.

The back of the castle, and a rainbow.

At that point we switched: I took the maps and navigated while Chris drove.

We cut southeast towards Carlisle, crossing the border into England and then turning east. We finally turned off the motorway onto a narrow country road, aiming for what our map promised us was an old Roman fort along Hadrian's Wall.

We didn't find the fort, but we did find a one-kilometer stretch of wall with the foundations of two observation posts. Sheep eyed us apathetically as we climbed over the worn stones, trying not to slip on the wet rock.

Walking along Hadrian's Wall.

Here, 2000 years ago, a Roman emperor ordered a massive wall built to contain the savages of the north. The gesture was a few hundred years too late, since by the time it was completed the Empire was well advanced in its internal decay, and no one cared much about feats of engineering in distant provinces. All that we remember about Hadrian now is that he built a huge wall, the remnants being best used by uncaring sheep as a shelter from the cold northern winds.

Build it and they will come.

[Written 11 Mar 00]

From Hadrian's Wall we turned around and headed West again, past Carlisle as we drove towards the Lake District. We only had a few hours of sunlight remaining, and I wanted to see a few of the lakes and hills before darkness fell.

Chris enjoyed the hills, mostly because the road followed the twists and turns of a contour line, and it was a new experience to drive through curvy roads at high speeds on the left side. As a passengerthe trip was a bit harrowing.

We turned south at Keswick, following the road through the fells to Windermere. It was a beautiful landscape, with rolling hills and rocky crags, elsewhere covered in a lush green carpet of grass closely cropped by sheep. I pointed out waterfalls and cliffs to Chris which he glanced at while dodging traffic.

We reached Windermere long after the sun had gone down, and the sky was dark to the east. The guidebook recommended Jason' Brasserie, a restaurant in Bowness-on-Windermere, just south of the town of Windermere itself.

We were the only people in the place when we arrived. The surprised maitre'd-cum-waitress remarked that Americans seemed to eat very early. We were there at 6, and most Britons seemed to eat around 8. Chris replied that yes, Americans do tend to eat earlier. I countered that I frequently eat very late, but Chris deflected this by noting that I was extremely weird, and that settled the argument to everyone's satisfaction.

After an excellent meal at the Brasserie, I confirmed our rooms in Bakewell using a phone in a very wet phonebox on the street, and we continued south.

We entered the Peak District, named because it contains no peaks but rather, like the Lake District, rolling hills and dramatic scenery. Chris was particularly delighted, because it added a new twist to driving: winding roads at high speeds on the left side of the road, now in complete darkness.

We rolled into Bakewell around 10pm. Our rooms were in a pub called the Castle Inn, situated in the middle of the village. We walked in from the cold, and I talked to the barmaid while one of the locals' dogs humped Chris' leg.

The barmaid was also the hotelkeeper, and after she poured a few pints for the locals she led us around the side of the building, up some stairs to our room. After dropping off our bags in the room, we returned to the pub to have a few pints, and write in our journals.

9 March 2000

[Written 11 Mar 00]

The next day we got up rather early (by our vacation standards), had breakfast, and then it was my turn to drive again, this time to Warwick. We had a chance to see a bit of the Peak District in daylight, although at 60mph as I negotiated the winding roads.

We hit Warwick at noon, and we found a parking spot near the castle. Once again we were at an exquisite European landmark, audio headsets helping us to ignore the uniformed schoolchildren scrambling around the place. Warwick is a well-preserved castle dating from the 13th century, and it has a colorful 19th century history as well. We poked around for almost two hours, leaving after watching some impressive (to us) displayes of archery on the castle approach.

Looking down at one of Warwick's gatehouses.

A view of the river from Warwick.

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