England, Day 2

Waking up in Cambridge, we were ready to move on and move out.  My in-laws had a plan to see as much of what they remember from England in two days.  We started by picking up some provisions from a Spar down the street from the hotel, right next to a great fish and chips place.

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I was seriously disappointed not to be able to try the food.  I’m not sure I would even care if it tasted good, these people get an A+ in naming their restaurant.

Adding to our quirky morning was Big One’s treat selection.

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They sounded disgusting to me, but tasted a little like circus peanuts.  Big One loved them, but sadly we did not see another bag for the rest of our trip.  We would have gone back to the same Spar, but that was the end of our time in Cambridge.

Honestly, there I wasn’t exactly certain where we were for most of the time we were in England.  I saw it on the map at the time, but since then, I have lost track of where we were.  There was a lot of driving, and several places that we drove by without stopping.  We took a brief stop by the base where my Father in Law used to work, and where my husband was born, but I generally make it a habit to not take scenery pictures on military bases.  We also stopped outside the now closed base where they used to live.  There was no way to actually go on the base and see their old house, but the gate where we stopped was the same location where my Father-in-law was working the day the queen came on base.

For lunch we stopped was a pub in the middle of nowhere, the Sculthorpe Mill.

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Thirty years ago, this pub was apparently a club of some sort.  People would pay a small yearly fee to be a member, and then they would come down to socialize while consuming beer, playing lawn bowl, and just enjoying their time.  As the story goes, my in-laws were the only American members for the time they lived here, but while they were here, it was somewhat of a second home for them.  When they left, around 1982, above the old slot machine was a large deer head.  My father-in-law left his cowboy hat on top of that deer, promising one day he would be coming back for his hat.  No one was really sure if the hat would still be there, but he made a promise and had to come back to find out.

Sadly, the hat was not there.  In 2002, there was a fire in the pub.  While the outside was mostly fine, the inside was not.  Eight years ago, a family bought the old place, fixed it up, and reopened as both a pub and a bed and breakfast.  The daughter was working while we were there.  There was no way she was old enough to remember the old days when my in-laws used to visit, but she did remember the hat.  It had kept its place on top of the deer until the fire had ruined both the hat and the deer.

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The outside of the pub looked great, with a beautiful garden.  I didn’t remember to take any pictures inside, but I had fish and chips to focus on, so I had my priorities straight.  Food before photos.

We took a few more stops that day, but honestly I can’t remember where everything was.

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I don’t remember where this church was, but it’s pretty, isn’t it?

We had another long drive to a place in the middle of no where, looking for a World War 2 memorial.  Like many people, my husband’s family served in WW2.  While my grandfather was in Okinawa Japan, my husband’s grandfather served in England at a base that doesn’t seem to exist anymore.  Sometime in the 90’s, he came back with many others from his unit to place a memorial.  This was about ten years after my in-laws left, so they had never seen it.

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This memorial was really in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hedges.  Seriously, if you didn’t know something was there, you would never think to stop and look.  We got a little lost, and as a result, learned a little history.

Of course my in-laws knew the name of the base where the memorial was supposed to be, but when we put it into the GPS, we ended up at someone’s house.  While asking for directions, we learned that the house was built where the old train station used to be.  During WW2, English bases were named after the closest train station, the station where the military troops would come in, not the actual location of the base.  This was meant to confuse the Nazi troops.  This way if they heard about a base and attempted to attack, they were more likely to attack a train station.  Still a horrible thing, but much less of a strategic loss.

Seeing this memorial meant a lot to my mother-in-law as her father had passed away.  It isn’t a recent death, but of course, when it comes to losing family, one day or seventeen years, it still hurts.  This memorial was more than just a reminder of fallen soldiers.  It was a memorial to a time in her father’s life, first when he fought for something he believed in and later when he came back to remember those he had lost.

After a long day of driving and things that were, well, not kid friendly, we ended at Pensthorpe Waterfowl Park.

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By the time we arrived it was 1630, only a half an hour from when the park closed.  The clerks kindly didn’t charge us for the children, as we weren’t going to be able to see much, but the money goes to preservation so we wouldn’t have minded.

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There were lots of birds, of course.  It seemed to be mostly ducks, but there were lots of other birds, both  those that I recognized and many I didn’t.  There were also plenty of bees, which sounds bad, but is actually a good thing.  Well, since none of us are allergic to bees it was a good thing.  It’s nice to look after all of the creatures that are part of our ecosystem.

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More birds.

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Pretty water flowers.

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Beautiful scenery everywhere.

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And my daughters conquering a wooden spider climber.  Peaceful all around.

We ended the day back with my in-laws English friends having a Chinese and pleasant conversation.  Their grandson was a lot of fun to talk to.  He seemed fascinated with the Americans sitting in the living room, with our weird accents, and phrasing.  Little One had bought some rocks at Pensthorpe, and he was happy to talk about them with her, letting her know the rocks that were common around that area of England.

Even in an uneventful evening, I was still able to find two exciting things.  First, my father-in-law and I walked a short distance to see the church they used to attend.  It was small, with uneven floors and benches that look extremely uncomfortable, but that was what make it charming.  I forgot to bring my phone with me, so I ended up without any pictures but it was pretty.  Even cooler, inside the church they were conducting bell ringing practice.  The church I attended growing up didn’t have a bell.  In fact, most churches I saw growing up didn’t have bells an those that did never seemed to have them ringing.  Inside this small, old, church, six devoted adults worked hard to pull the strings, ringing the bells to created a beautiful rhythm.  It was kind of beautiful.  I may not have known their names or what they did for a living, but I learned they spent every Wednesday night in a church for bell ringing practice. It was a part of their story that made me what to know more.

The most exciting thing about the night was actually something small.  Many people might not even think it is that big of a deal.  Trust me, it was exciting.  I was offered tea by an actual, real, English woman.  She brewed a pot in her kettle and gave me a piping hot cuppa.  It was both exciting (admittedly in a stupid way) and terrifying.  I drink tea all the time at home, almost every night.  I love tea, and I drink it in many different ways, depending on what kind of tea it is.  However, being offered real English tea by a real English person, I was slightly terrified.  Was I supposed to drink it black?  Was it okay to say yes to sugar and milk?  What about the little bit I didn’t quite have time to finish before we left?  Would she be hurt that I didn’t finish it, or think I didn’t like the tea?  Knowing tea is important in England, it seemed like a dangerous thing to be involved in.  I think we all remember how upset England was when those revolutionaries in Boston didn’t like the tea. The last thing I wanted to do was start another international incident over tea.

Of course, I was overthinking everything,  and she was a delight.  In fact, I’m not sure she would have cared however I liked my tea, or even if I had refused to have any.

Well, we still have more England stories to tell, so I better get moving.  Until next time.

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England, pt 1

Ah, England.  I feel as though I should preface this part of our trip with a little bit of information.

First off, there were parts of this trip that I believe were literally out of experiences in hell.  I don’t actually like road trips, as anyone who grew up with motion sickness may understand.  Additionally, my in laws and I travel very differently.  I tend to stay in larger hotels, figuring the room is an insignificant portion of why I am there anyway.  I also have no problem eating lunches or dinners in a fast food place such as McDonalds.  If saves a bit of money that can be used for more fun things, and feeds everyone quickly.  It’s an all around win in my book. However, my in-laws prefer to stay in bed and breakfasts, and eat in pubs.  It’s not like I don’t like these ideas, but it all comes together to make it a very different experience on this trip.

Now to the hell of our first day.

When my in laws first discussed coming to visit us, they made a request to travel to England and Germany as well.  It is surprisingly common for people to want to visit other countries when they visit us, even in conversation.  I guess not everyone knows what to find in Belgium, but they can see how close it is to countries.  It’s sad.  Anyway, my father-in-law is retired from the US Air Force, and was once stationed in both places.  The desire to return has been there for a while.  It’s been over 30 years since they had been to England, and they were anxious to return.  Additionally, my Mother-in-law was very excited to take the chunnel, (officially the Eurotunnel).  Approximately a decade ago she gave a speech on the chunnel and really wanted to go through.

We left early in the morning to drive out.  The plan was to drive the three and a half hours to the chunnel, cross, then drive up to our B&B and check in early enough to still see some of England that afternoon.  This first drive wasn’t too bad; a little traffic, a few stops for gas and relieving ourselves of bodily fluid, but nothing excessive.  Until we arrived at the terminal.

We had given ourselves an extra hour and a half from our scheduled chunnel crossing.  We figured that would give us an hour of extra time, plus our checkin.  With the time of day we were traveling we didn’t think we would need more. By the time we arrived, we were beginning to push our time limit, and were worried.  Buying a chunnel crossing in advance is significantly less expensive than a last minute fare, and we didn’t want to miss out slot.

As we arrived, there was traffic due to construction.  We were following the signs to where we needed to be, but somewhere along the way we got a little mixed up.  Trying to find the right lane for us we asked someone for help.  Their English was either not good, and my French is horrible.  We thought we were communicating, telling him “touriste” lane.  Somehow we were directed to the lorry lanes instead and being herded long with the large trucks.  We couldn’t get out, but we also couldn’t get through.  Eventually we found someone who could help us get out and to where were were supposed to be, but we had already missed our checkin time.  Luckily for us, the nice woman informed us that we actually had a two hour window, and we would still make our crossing.  We got in the correct lane, and on we went.

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The chunnel is a pretty cool thing.  You drive right onto this train thing, park your car, and when you drive again 35 minutes later, you are across the English Channel.  This wasn’t my first time crossing, so I was mostly just wanting to get it over with.  Trust me, if you are claustrophobic or have a very sensitive stomach this isn’t going to be very fun for you.  However, if you are my Mother-in-law, you will be giggling like a school girl.  It was adorable how excited she was.

Arriving on the other side, we continued on towards the B&B we had booked the day before.  We were out in the middle of no where, lost and looking for a place called the Brambles.  Pulling over to ask for directions, we learned that somehow we were in the wrong town.

While waiting for good directions, a nice English man pulled up next to us and gave us a friendly greeting.  It was adorable how surprised he was to discover than in spite of seeing a Belgium license plate, it was a van full of Americans.  We talked about American football, because apparently there was a recent game in London with a couple of NFL teams coming over to play.

After we received directions we moved on, driving to our B&B.  As soon as we arrived, we were greeted with a large dumpster filled with construction waste and a locked door. When we finally found someone to talk to, we were informed that our reservation had been cancelled the day before.  We should have received an email.  We did not.  We were now in the middle of England, outside a closed B&B, planning on staying for three days and having no place to sleep that night.  The only good news we received for the next four hours was a random phone call from my husbands work informing us we would be receiving his rank promotion soon.  It didn’t solve the place to sleep problem, but it still improved my mood a lot.

We drove around for an hour or so, receiving very little help from places nearby until we finally found a Travelodge in Cambridge where a very kind man named Georgi was able to get us situated into rooms for the night.  Unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted to help us, there was no way for him to book us for more than one night at at time.  In order to book a room for more than a night, we needed to go online to a faulty website which used up my 30 minutes of free internet access and still didn’t get us booked.  It was exhausting, and frustrating, but with the help of a kind person we had a place to sleep.

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The view from our room wasn’t that bad either.

From there we went out to see some of my in laws old friends.  It had been over thirty years since they had seen them, but it was as if they had never been apart.  It’s always nice to see real true friendships like that.  We went out to a pub for dinner where I began consuming my typical UK food, fish and chips.  I’m not supposed to eat them, as the gluten in the beer batter does make me sick, but I LOVE fish and chips and there is no where better to overdo it on fish and chips than England.

The pub was a cute place, slightly rustic and everything you would want from a stereotypical English pub.  Somehow I ended up with only one bad picture from inside the pub.  I guess that is a good statement on the food there.

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Seriously.  I have no idea how I ended up with this as my only picture.  I guess it wasn’t my day.

In fact the only disappointment was having regular peas instead of mushy peas.  Most people I know, whether they like peas or not, hate the mushy peas that seem to come with every order of fish and chips.  I actually love them.  With a little salt, they taste just like split pea soup.

While we had thought we might be continuing to rent our hotel rooms night by night until we left, we were also able to book a small cottage for the next two night which would cost half as much as the Travelodge.  It was too dark that night to take a picture of where we were staying, but we were able to snap this picture later.

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Adorable, right?  Everything inside was so tiny, my husband actually hit his head on a door frame.  It was like a dollhouse.

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We were informed that this house was once owned by a Mrs. Bradford, and named after her daughter Hilary when it was added to the property of a Bed and Breakfast.  While I can’t help but feel as though we wouldn’t have had any trouble with where we were staying if we had booked a hotel from the beginning, it was definitely cool staying in a house with history.

So that was our first day in England.  A mess, exhausting, but ultimately good.

And for anyone who is wondering, the story with the first B&B did have a bit of a happy ending.  Sure, it was an inconvenience having our reservation canceled almost instantly after it was made, but a couple of days later (we had a lot of internet issues while we traveled) my in laws received an email from them.  They said they had been trying to reach us, they were very sorry for the problems it may have caused us, and in addition to the refund, they refunded us the cost of an additional night, knowing last minute accommodations can be more expensive.  I can’t be sure of what went wrong, but I have to give them credit for trying to make it right.  And no, I don’t think they have an idea that I would be writing about it on a blog, or that this would reach enough people to ruin their business (which I don’t think it ever will).  They made it right simply because they felt they should.

Vaalserberg

While my in-laws were in town there were a few days where we wanted something to do, but it needed to be something small.  This was partially due to Big One still needing to attend school occasionally to complete her finals for the year.  Luckily for us, not far from her school is Vaalserberg, the location of the triborder point and the highest point in the Netherlands.

So, first things first, to clarify, we live in Belgium, yes, but our daughter attends an international school in the Netherlands.  It’s a thing, partially a thing that has her riding a bus for an hour and a half every day, but she is really happy there, so it’s all worth it.  These are the kinds of things you can do when you live within an easy drive of several other countries.

We went looking for the triborder point from her school, climbing up windy mountains in the Netherlands. It was quite beautiful, but as I get motion sickness, I took no pictures.  Our GPS didn’t know exactly where we were going, but managed to get us close enough a nice person in a cafe could point us the rest of the way.  (Thank you anonymous Netherlander!)

When we first arrived, we weren’t actually sure where we were.  Truth be told, I had never been, I just figured it would be a nice trip instead of staring at the outside of my daughters school.  The first place we found was actually a large staircase that brought you about five stories up to see into Belgium, The Netherlands, and Germany.

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I’m pretty sure this was Germany.  I think a sign said that church was in Germany.

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Maybe this was the Netherlands?  I don’t remember.  I was mostly hanging out towards the middle with Big One who is terribly afraid of heights and was being incredibly tough even going up there with us at all.

After we climbed the tower we went in search of the actual triborder point.  Technically this place is known as Drielandenpunt.  It sounds pretty impressive until you realize it literally translates out to three land place.  Somehow I ended up with no pictures of the actual spot, but my mother-in-law took a video of Little One running through three countries in a matter of seconds.  We were all very impressed.

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Sadly, I couldn’t get that video to load, so instead enjoy Big One and Little One conquering the highest point in the Netherlands.  Okay, technically the highest point is that pillar behind them, but they conquered the plaque.  That’s something, right?

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My husband and I also conquered the peak, though I could have sworn I looked better on the day than I do in the picture.  Is it just me, or do I look like someone morphed my face with Miss Piggy’s face?  Whatever.  It was fun either way.

There was little left to do as we were planning an early start the next day.  But of course, that is another posting.

Tongeren Market

Over the last two weeks, my in-laws were in town.  We traveled a lot, slept only a little, and sent them off to the airport exhausted.  I will get all of the traveling posted, but it will take a little while, so be prepared.

They arrived Saturday evening, and on Sunday morning, we started off.  Tongeren is a city halfway-ish between where I live and Brussels.  While there are many things to do there (I am told), it is best known around here for the antiques market that takes place on Sunday mornings.  I had never visited this market before, but it sounded like the kind of thing my in-laws would love.

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This market was huge.  There were vendors going in many directions, with many different things.  Some places seemed like a glorified yard sale, while others held secret treasures.

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And Tongeren is a beautiful city on it’s own.  All along the market was this cool old wall, left over from some other time.

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Here is a view from above the market.  Stalls everywhere, and only a very small portion of the market.

We found a few hidden treasures, classic beer signs for my father-in-law, and a wooden foldout cabinet thing that reminded me of my grandmother. I’m not even certain if my grandmother had one, or if it is just a feeling, either way, I brought it home. I slightly regret not taking home a set of pewter goblets that I really liked, but knew would end up in storage for a while as I have no place to keep them.  They would have been fun for my wine last night, but sadly no, they stayed behind.  We might go back, look for my goblets or even just wander around.  We might even try to see more of the city than just the market.  It’s worth it.

A Good Cup of Coffee

People drink coffee differently in different parts of the world.  Traveling though America, almost every shop you visit will make your drink in a cardboard cup.  Occasionally, you are lucky if the coffee in your cup came from real beans.  It’s not always consistent, but every coffee lover has their favorite shop.

Outside the states it is a little different.  Finding good coffee to go in Belgium is difficult, and not only because Starbucks are almost exclusively in airports or train stations.  This varies slightly country to country, but for the most part, coffee houses are an experience, not a simple stop.

It’s hard to determine which coffee shop style I like better.  I miss the quick stop to get a latte on my way to work, but I enjoy sitting and enjoying the atmosphere as well.  During my trip to Edinburgh last summer, I fell in love with their coffee houses.  Maybe it was knowing I was sitting in the exact same place where JK Rowling had worked on parts of the Harry Potter series, and the delusion that perhaps I was soaking up left over inspiration.  Maybe it simply the relaxation that comes with being on vacation.  Either way, I felt a fire lit beneath my creativity, pushing through the pieces of my broken heart, knowing I would likely never be able to visit again.

I wanted to return, or even better get my own local coffee house where I could occasionally work.  One month ago, that dream became a reality.  A short, five minute walk from my front door is a new neighborhood coffee shop, Brogela.

First off, I have no idea what the name means.  I assume it is a play on the name of my tiny town, but Google translate can’t help me.

Six months ago, this lovely little shop didn’t exist.  Instead, it was an open room with a variety of vending machines.  Looking inside now, you can slightly see the conversion.  Cement floors have been left, and imprints where machines used to live are on the floor.  However, they added a bakery, windows, and a variety of delicious coffees.

I can admit it, I was a little scared to go on my own the first time.  I had so many hopes for a place I could work when I needed to get out of the house.  There was a lot of pressure on this little visit.  My daughters were more than happy to accompany me to check the place out.

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Now, I am not exactly a coffee purist, but I did choose to keep it simple with a chocolate cappuccino.  Sure, I could have gone with a plain cappuccino, but when you are in Belgium and they offer to put their amazing chocolate in or on something, you take it.

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Big one chose a Mars Latte, delicious coffee with excessive whip cream, caramel, and miniature Mars Bars.  Somehow it still wasn’t sweet enough for her.  I try not to worry, but I think it’s warranted here.

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Little One chose a similar option, the Snickers Latte.  It was kind of cool to see the caramel melting down into the drink in little trails.

Between the three of us, we all agreed it was a great place, one we will continue to visit.  On my own, I’m almost afraid to try to work there.  I want my coffee shop work space, but it is so different from what I already do.  Trying something new could be brilliant, or it could be a disaster.  Either way, I will only be living near this particular shop for another six months.  If I hate it, oh well, it was a failed experiment.  If I love it, it doesn’t matter, because it is temporary.  Sure, maybe I could write the best works of my life, but then I would leave and always wonder if it was me or the shop.  Maybe Dumbo flew without his feather, but we’re not all flying elephants.

In spite of the potential risks, I think I’ll have to try.  After all, big risks, big results, right?  Time to get me a good cup of coffee.