Today was the last day Mom McMains had to spend in England, so we asked her to chart our course for the daylight hours. She decided that Greenwich sounded like a lot of fun, so after another rather late start, we took the Underground to Westminster Pier, where we picked up a boat to Greenwich. As we traveled down the river, we got spectacular views of the Parliament Building, the Tower Bridge, the Millennium Bridge, the London Eye, and a number of other notable landmarks — it’s an excellent way to see the city.

The section of Greenwich where the boats arrive has been designated a World Heritage Site, owing both to its beauty and its historical importance in developing the science of navigation. Many remarkable buildings are included in this area, but the most exciting to me was the Royal Observatory. The Prime Meridian passes through the Observatory grounds, bringing with it a long queue of visitors who wish to stand astride it, one foot in the eastern hemisphere and one in the western. Since we found ourselves rushing to get back to the boat, we weren’t able to thoroughly explore the grounds, but did enjoy a really nice camera obscura exhibit, where one entered a darkened room and saw a wonderful panorama of London projected down on the white table in front of you. Since it’s effectively a giant pinhole camera, the image is impressively clear; it’s a marvel to watch the ships sailing by and trees waving in perfect miniature.

After traveling back to London, we split up — Kathy and I heading to the West End for a night of theater, and the kids heading back to the house with Mom, who had graciously offered to take care of them for the evening. Kathy and I had bought balcony tickets for The Big Life, which focused on the adventures of four citizens of various Caribbean islands who emigrate to England, and billed itself as “The Ska Musical.” (The plot was an updated version of Shakespeare’s Love’s Labours Lost.) It had gotten good reviews, so we were already excited when we arrived at the theater, only to find that we had been bumped up to box seats that immediately overlooked the stage. We were a bit surprised to find ourselves pretty much the only white people in the queue at first, though the crowd became more mixed as the seats began to fill.

The show itself was lots of fun — fluffy, but with great energy, smart writing, and some fine music and acting. Our favorite part, however, was Rose — a big woman smartly dressed in a purple outfit and matching hat who started in the box seats opposite us and provided commentary and monologue during scene changes, functioning rather like a Greek Chorus with a sense of humor. (She was flamboyant enough, even when sitting still, that Kathy spotted her beforehand and said “I wonder if she’s a part of the show.”) Her ribald commentary kept things moving along nicely during the first act, but rose to a whole new level during the second, as she moved into the box where we were sitting and proceeded to, among other things, get Tabasco sauce in her eyes, run off screaming, sing a tune “from my latest album”, and lose her wig during her impassioned warbling. She seemed to be a crowd favorite too, as she got one of the biggest ovations when the curtain call came.

One thing that has amused me in the two weeks we’ve now been here is that I find myself speaking an odd half-baked mix of generic American English, Texan, UK English, and even a bit of Australian. (“No worries!” I hear myself cheerfully responding as people “Sorry!” their way past me in the Underground. Then I wince.) Especially when we were spending a good deal of time with the Cunliffes, it was very easy to slip into the native cadence — or at least an American mangling thereof. Hopefully I’ll be able to shake that off quickly when I get home, lest I suffer a well-deserved skewering by friends.

On Day 12, Mom McMains, the kids, and I all boarded a train for Leeds Castle, a site that bills itself as “The Loveliest Castle in the World.” The train ride was pleasant — the kids kept occupied with card games, especilaly enjoying Muggins, a card game Mom taught them which was a staple of my youth, while I watched the passing countryside out the train windows. I can think of no way to travel that I prefer over the train — it’s much more comfortable than the sardine cans in the sky, affords the chance to get up and have a walk around whenever you like, and the scenery tends to be unmatched. It seems a wretched shame to me that trains are so underutilized in the States, though in a place as spread out as Texas is, I can certainly see how it would be difficult to make it a viable enterprise financially.

After an hour or so of travel, we alighted at Bearsted and talked with the helpful stationmaster, who put us on a bus for the castle. We enjoyed a quick lunch on the grounds and then boarded a tram that took us down to the castle proper, which may indeed live up to its hyperbolic advertisements. The castle itself is built on two islands in a lake; the walls plunge directly into the water in a number of places, and the grounds are just about as pictureque as can be. We were, however, a bit disappointed both that parts of the castle had been modernized to allow it to better serve as a conference center, and that the tour didn’t provide an opportunity to climb into the turrets and enjoy the view from the top of the structure.

That disappointment was allayed, however, by the great variety of other attractions on the grounds. There was a super falconry show, a gorgeous lake with Canada Geese and black swans imported from Australia, and an extensive aviary with the largest collection of cockatoos I’ve ever seen, one of which apparently had a taste for little girl and gave Maggie a pretty good nip. The kids’ favorite was an enormous, sadistic, beautifully constructed hedge maze. It was so tricky that it took us over 10 minutes to make it to the mound in the center from which successful navigators could watch the hapless wanderers’ progress and, if they’re feeling generous, offer help. (I saw Mom come back out the entrance 3 times after she ventured in, looking increasingly bemused each time.) From the center of the maze, one can exit beneath the maze via a ominous grotto, lavishly decorated with sculptures made of seashells and a waterfall.

As we travelled home, we noticed that there was a huge police presence. In the wake of the two previous bombings, both of which had occurred on Thursdays, the police were evidently taking no chances with this Thursday — they had cancelled officers’ vacations and called up the largest simultaneously active force of police in England since World War 2. We were further surprised when we got off the tube at our now-familiar Archway stop, and run into Lana and Meara, who we weren’t expecting to see until a day or two later. Apparently I’d gotten the dates bollixed up, and they’d been waiting for us for a couple hours already. (This, by the way, is an excellent way to ensure a warm greeting.) Kathy returned from Paris later that evening, bearing gifts, photos, and tales of fun in France. She received a warm greeting without having to use the expedient of locking everyone outside the house.

Day 13: With our full numbers reassembled, we made a leisurely start to the day, not getting out of the house until arounch lunchtime. Since we enjoyed it a great deal, and several of the travel groups hadn’t been the first time, we decided to make our way back to Covent Garden Market, where the kids rode a beautiful carousel and we enjoyed a number of street performers’ acts.

I must have a willing, fairly non-homicidal face, as the buskers kept calling on me when they needed volunteers. The first was a juggler, whose skills for berating the crowd for not being supportive enough quite eclipsed his accomplishment as a juggler. Two other men and I helped hold his giant unicycle while he climbed on top of us to reach the seat. The worst part, however, was that due to our failure to communicate among ourselves, we ended up giving him far too much money for his tepid efforts. Argh. At another location, a freakishly animated fellow decided to reenact a Village People performance using volunteers from the audience — an effort that resulted in me wearing a cowboy hat and doing vigorous pelvic thrusts in front of a few hundred Londoners. So much for English reserve. (My dad and I found ourselves later wondering why this fellow got the tips when we volunteers had done all his work for him.)

We enjoyed a number of other excellent acts, but eventually left the Market (a bit reluctantly) to head over to Trafalgar Square. There was a jazz band performing on the stage there, but we had attention for little beyond clambering all over the giant lions, ogling Big Ben down one of the streets that radiate from the square, and admiring the fountains. The square is quite a place, and I can see why it is a gathering place for Londoners when things are afoot in the city. Leaving the square behind, we caught the number 15 bus and watched the streets pass from the upper deck, enjoying the chance to rest our feet (and eyes, in some cases) as we wended through Picadilly Circus and down Regent Street. I was excited to spot Hamley’s, a gigantic toy store I’d wanted to visit, and the Apple Store. (Despite having been a long-time fan of the Macintosh, I’d never yet managed to make my way to an Apple Store.) By the time we passed the Tower of London, it was becoming apparent that everyone was tired, so we hastile leaped off the bus and headed back to the house for dinner and bed.

Wednesday is Free Museum Day for our family! After Liam and Abigail had both asked if we could take today off, we scrapped our original plan to head for Leeds Castle, and decided instead to let the kids sleep in until they woke of their own accord. We then packed a lunch and jumped on the Underground once more, alighting at the South Kensington station, where a long subway led us underground nearly to the door of the Science Museum. (Confusing vocabulary note: What we Americans would call the subway is here the “Tube” or “Underground”. What Englanders call a “Subway” is an underground pedestrian walkway — a concept for which I don’t think we have a dedicated word in American english.)

The Science Museum was fabulous. Like the British Museum, admission is free, and it’s too big to take in its entirety in one visit. The entry hall is dominated by an enormous, three-story tall brushed metal ring, the inner circumference of which is lined with white LEDs used to display a varied series of patterns and messages, some of which are entered by museum visitors at one of the exhibits on the 2nd floor. (Another confusing vocabulary note: the floor where one enters is here called the ground floor. Go up a flight of stairs, and you’ll find yourself on the first floor — what we Americans would call the second.) The ring, sadly, was too huge to be able to capture in a photo, but really appealed to the part of my brain that likes shiny objects and Blue Man Group.

Our favorite bit as a family was the Energy exhibit, which had a variety of interactive displays designed and executed by a number of different artists. Though the educational value of some of them was a bit suspect, they were all quite engaging. It was especially nice to see exhibits designed by artists, who are often a bit more sensitive to the nuances of human communication than are scientists. The kids were also intrigued by the Foucault Pendulum, which the museum staff sets going in the morning and twists around throughout the day as the earth rotates beneath it. (They were, however, a bit disappointed they couldn’t play with it themselves.) I was fascinated to see that the museum had also built several Difference Engines — the mechanical computers that Charles Babbage had designed back in the 19th Century, but had never mustered the financial resources to fabricate during his lifetime.

We then popped over for a too-brief visit to the Museum of Natural History, another vast and beautiful facility. A giant metal sculpture of the earth, pierced by an ascending escalator, loomed over the entry hall here. We walked through a dramatic exhibition of volcanism and earthquakes, including a simulation of what a quake would be like. Since everybody’s energy level was flagging a bit by this point, we decided to track down some dinosaurs and then call it a day. After wending our way through one of the most complete bird exhibits I’ve laid eyes on, we finally found our dinosaurs, visiting with them for a few minutes before heading back to the Underground for our trip home. (We had been planning to wrap up the day with an outdoor dramatic production of Treasure Island, but true to London’s stereotype, the weather was rainy and a bit too cold to enjoy such an event. How odd to be enjoying 52° weather in July!)

The more I see of it, the more London seems an inexhaustible trove. One would need to spend a week in any one of a dozen museums to really take it in. While the theater that gets top billing may not be particularly innovative, there’s a ton of other stage productions that don’t get advertised in the Tube. Concerts, opera, pantomimes, and a delightful array of street entertainers flesh out the arts scene nicely, and the beautiful parks are without compare. Quite a city, indeed.

On our first day of Kathyless existence, Mom McMains and I took the kids to the London Zoo. We hopped off the Tube at the Regent’s Park station and took a leisurely stroll from the south end of the park to the zoo’s entrance on the north side, enjoying the giant trees, a few dogs (though nothing like as many as we saw in Highgate Wood a few evenings previous), and watching the varied passersby.

The zoo seems to enjoy a somewhat indifferent reputation in London. I can only assume that this is due to historical failings, as it is currently a remarkably nice place. The vertical emphasis I mentioned earlier is in evidence even here, as the grounds are split into three sections, joined by tunnels under the Prince Albert Road and a bridge over the Regent’s Canal. In addition to the static animal exhibits, there were a number of feedings and animal shows scattered throughout the day and some great walk-through aviaries, aquariums, and the reptile house where Daniel Radcliffe’s Harry Potter set the snake loose.

The only downside to the place was that everything seemed frightfully expensive: £12 to get in, £6 for a chicken curry (which was, admittedly, very tasty), and even more for the various kiddie rides scattered around the grounds. Additionally, we once again ran afoul of two contrasting phenomena: due to the more northern latitude, it’s still staying light here until about 9:30pm (and the sun rises around 6:00am). By contrast, most businesses and museums seem to close by 6:00pm — frightfully early by American standards. As a result, we keep finding ourselves getting kicked out of places as they close without having been able to see everything therein. The Zoo was the latest example — we only got to see the Meerkat Village and the otter exhibit because we chose to leave the zoo the long way. We came home, had some cereal for dinner, and started Volume 3 in the Chronicles of Narnia (which felt like singularly appropriate reading in England).

Latest entry in the curious cuisine chronicles: Dandelion & Burdock Soda. While Maggie likes it pretty well, everyone else thinks it tastes like bilge water. There are also several condiments here in common use that are novel to us Americans: the ubiquitous and inauspiciously named “brown sauce”, which seems to be a hybrid of BBQ and worcestershire sauces, and the estimable “mint sauce”, made with ground up mint and a vinegar base. Kathy especially likes this, and plans to look for suppliers in the States.

Today I felt my first bit of homesickness. I’m not sure if it was Kathy’s absence, the demands of shuttling 4 children through a city not designed with large, boisterous families in mind, the stress of dealing with Maggie giving herself a pretty thorough head-bonking, or (most likely) the combination of all of these, but by evening’s end, I was missing my quiet corner of the ol’ homestead.

Kathy’s cousin Heather joined us from Paris, where she runs a personal shopping service, for today’s romp around London. We started with a visit to the amazing British Museum. This museum is a public trust, with one of the foremost antiquities collection in the world, and free admission. The building itself is a very nice contrast to many museums — open and airy, with lots of natural light from skylights, and plenty of space around the pieces. The first thing we saw upon entering and turning into a gallery was the Rosetta Stone in all of its amazing detail. Photos of the stone don’t do justice to the intricacy of the carvings thereon — tiny, and cut with a precision far beyond what I can manage with a pen and paper. We then proceeded through one of the Egypt galleries, with a number of huge sculptures we’d read about in a book for children on the Museum, and some of the Greek & Rome areas, which were likewise overwhelming.

By this point, we were all getting a bit hungry, so we ducked out of the building and grabbed lunch. I found the next entry in my Curious Crisp Hall of Fame: Slow Roasted Lamb & Mint flavor potato chips. The rest of the family enjoyed the peculiarly inconsistent service economy that seems to characterize London’s businesses at Burger King, where the help seemed rather put upon when asked to provide the actual food ordered, and would only grudgingly dole out a single packet of BBQ sauce when asked.

We then did a bit of wandering and shopping, spending a good deal of time in a game shop with a spectacular selection and a similarly varied toy store in Covent Garden Market, where we had our first encounters with buskers, London’s famed street entertainers. There was a human statue who would remain perfectly still until she heard the clink of coins in her dish, at which point she would come to life for long enough to pantomime her gratitude. We also encountered a nondescript looking woman in blue jeans beautifully singing soprano opera arias accompanied by a recorded orchestra on a boom box, and a charismatic string quartet which not only played wonderfully but managed some entertaining choreography as well. (The cellist was exempted from the dancing about, mercifully.)

As we were wandering in the Covent Garden area, we saw the theaters producing a number of the shows that are currently being heavily advertised around London: We Will Rock You, The Producers, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Mary Poppins, The Lion King, and more. It surprised me a bit that so few of the current big shows in London’s famed theater district are original — nearly all are derived from other media that have been adapted to the musical stage. As much as I love the movie version of The Producers, it would seem that a stage show would be hard pressed to improve markedly on it, especially without Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder involved. We plan to take in a show before we leave, but will hopefully be able to find something a bit more original than these.

Kathy has now headed off to Paris with Heather until Thursday. Mom McMains should be rejoining the kids and I this evening, and we’ll have the next few days to focus on doing things around and near the city the children will enjoy.

We’ve made our way safely, though arduously, back to London after an absolutely smashing wedding. More details once we’ve settled back in and gotten something in our bellies. (I’m a bit behind on my writeups, but will try to catch up a bit this evening.)

The comparative difficulty of getting from one place to another in a hurry reared its head this morning. Waking early from our post-wedding slumber, we hurriedly packed people and bags amid a steady, cold rain into the two cars we’d rented while in Exeter. Since we had trains going out at 10:22 and we didn’t know where the car rental dropoff in Bath was, we figured that the sooner we could get started, the better off we’d be. We hoped to ask for help with navigation at the Residential Services office when we dropped off the keys to our room, but no luck — it was unstaffed until noon. So we headed out for the train station, dodging pedestrian streets and compensating for surprising one-way routes, and dropped the bags and everybody but me, Kathy, and Lana there. Lana slipped around the corner and asked the Hertz rental people whether they knew where their competitor was. They were gracious enough to provide a map, which got us within about 6 blocks of where we were going; a helpful passerby got us the rest of the way there. We arrived only to find it closed — a frustrating discovery, since we’d been hoping for a ride back to the train station, now several miles away. We put the keys in a drop box, parking the cars nearby as we couldn’t seem to get through the fence into the Alamo lot proper, and started a slog through the rain. We were fortunately able to pick up a bus in about 15 minutes that took us the rest of the way back, by which point we had missed both trains our subgroups had been hoping to catch to Scotland and back to London. Fortunately, the trains do run fairly regularly, and we were able to catch one to Paddington station an hour later, then to wend our way through the Underground again (a much smoother process this go-round), and make it back to the house with a minimum of (further) fuss.

Once we’d had a chance to eat, change into dry clothes, and nap a bit, I took all the kids but Emily up to Highgate Wood, a nearby park our host had suggested. While the decision to walk the whole way turned out to be a bit ambitious, we eventually made it. (My salivary glands would have been active the whole way had I not just eaten, as we kept passing interesting restaurants, including Tandoori and African cuisines, as well as several of the ubiquitous English pubs.) The park had a playground that the kids enjoyed a great deal and a cafe where we all had drinks after we’d finished on the playground. The children were interested to discover that lemonade here is fizzy. I enjoyed a Chocolate Tea, which was quite nice indeed. There were also an extraordinary number of extremely large, extremely well-behaved dogs present, every one of which the children stopped to pet. Londoners are evidently not only very careful in the training of their animals, but also very happy to have others appreciate their pets. (The relationship between Roger and Pongo in the original 101 Dalmations comes to mind.) By this time it was getting late, so we hopped on a double-decker bus and headed home for the evening.

Today was the event that was the catalyst for this whole trip: Chris and Becky were successfully wed!

The day started out pretty calmly. Kathy, Dad McMains, Lana, Meara, and Mom McMains all buzzed into Bath to see the ancient Roman Baths (built about 30 years after Jesus’ crucifixion, by best estimates) and the Bath Abbey, while I hung back with several of the kids to allow them to catch up on sleep (and peculiar English cartoons) while I worked on my best man speech, to which I had theretofore devoted lamentably little time. After a fairly leisurely couple hours, I took the kids for a stroll from the dormitory at the University of Bath where we were staying around campus. They tormented ducks and picked flowers while I perused the tome Chris had given me the previous night as a token of gratitude for assuming Best Man duties: The Earth from the Air, an astonishing (and astonishingly heavy) photo book with several hundred pages of gorgeous images by Yann Arthus-Bertrand.

After a bit of fresh air, we all returned to the dormitory to rendezvous with the rest of our group. Dad and I thought we could manage to get back to the chapel with a minimum of fuss, but our ids temporarily overpowered our egos, and we found ourselves a third of the way back to the Pub we’d visited the previous night before we realized we were headed the wrong direction. Fortunately, we were only ten minutes late, and no harm was done. Chris and I quickly dressed for the event and assumed our position in the front row of the church. As is to be expected with any production that involves the family McMains, things got off to a late start — evidently this time because Mom’s shoes had been locked in someone’s car. But eventually things lurched into motion, and we were treated to one of the most enjoyable weddings I’ve had the pleasure to be a part of.

Chris and Becky had carefully reviewed both English and American wedding customs and chose their favorites from each — only appropriate, as they had two clergymen presiding, one from each side of the pond, both of whom were special friends of the couple. Hymns, reinforced with a powerful pipe organ, intermingled with prayers and scripture readings by friends and family members as well as some well-considered words from the pastors. All culminated in the kissing of the bride, followed by the signing of the registry. In England, this is evidently done as the last bit of the service proper, and is every bit as exciting as you’d expect watching four people take turns signing documents to be. To liven things up a bit, the organist began to get a bit feisty at this point, and started into several heavily ornamented Sinatra tunes.

Immediately after the service, we had a long photo session, which was interrupted by the arrival of a troupe of five sword dancers who cavorted merrily about the parking lot. After the photos were concluded, they laid hold of me and Chris (they asked him if he was game for it — I was summarily volunteered) and had us dance along with them. While they claimed we were doing a fertility dance, it seemed the sort of thing that, if not done carefully, could have exactly the opposite effect.

From there we proceeded to the reception. After a wonderful meal, the couple cut the cake, and the speeches began. Becky’s brother Bill did the first — an exhaustively researched litany of embarrassing facts and vignettes from Becky’s early life which had everybody in stitches. Mine was next, and in spite of my lack of props, it seemed well-received. Chris wrapped up the speeches with a lovely bit about “finding a person who is in love with the universe in the same way you are” which moistened more than one eye.

The capstone on the affair was the Barn Dance, which worked very similarly to Square Dancing in America. (If you’ve even seen a video version of a Jane Austin novel, you’ve probably got a good idea of what these look like.) While everyone was a bit clumsy at first, it soon became a great deal of fun as we became accustomed to the various moves and dances. The band was even thoughtful enough to play “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” which was greeted by a resounding “Yeee-haw!” from one corner of the room. Finally, Chris and Becky took their last dance and whirled their way out of the room, into a car, and off into the night to start their honeymoon. We then whirled our way back to the University and into an exhausted, but happy, slumber.

Update: Nat has posted a collection of photos from the blessed event here.

Note: I’m posting a bit out of order, as I haven’t written everything up yet I’dlike to. Bear with me as I fill in the gaps.

Today we drove from Exeter to Bath. Thanks to Kathy’s excellent organizational and herding efforts with the kids, we were actually the first to the rendezvous point. The drive was lovely, nearly to the point of overload — “Oh, look! Another picture-perfect English countryside panorama. Anybody have more chips?” I finally feel like I’m starting to get the hang of driving in this country; though we had two small scares today, both were due to other drivers not obeying the traffic laws.

Once we got to the area, we met at a place in Bradford-on-Avon called Wooley Grange — a sort of restaurant cum family hotel cum gardens. They had beautifully manicured grounds, a very pretty formal garden with a pond, a huge open field with a tennis net, football (soccer) goal, trampoline, and table tennis, a croquet green, a walled garden, a nursery for the younger children, and a playroom for the older ones. The kids enjoyed having room to run and play a great deal — nearly as much as the parents enjoyed them having that room. Here we began to see even more of the wedding crew arrive — friends from Texas, Utah, North Carolina, and Georgia. We enjoyed a wonderful rehearsal lunch, followed by a light grilling of the couple of honor, which Chris eventually cut short so that we could get over to the rehearsal.

The rehearsal went without incident, adjourning after an hour and a half or so to The George, a nearby pub in Bathampton. It was situated on another canalside site, and was doing a brisk trade not only with those arriving by car, but also with the people who had come in the dozen barges moored in the canal next to it. We arrived just as a flight of five hot air balloons (which Becky claimed that had ordered specially for the occasion) floated overhead. Even more of the wedding mob turned up here, so we had a wonderful party going after an hour or two, to the slight consternation and ample amusement of the regular patrons. (I had worn a string tie with my coat, which one of the local englishwomen dispatched Abigail to ask me about.)

Some mention needs to be made of Becky’s family at this point. They’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to make us feel welcome — arranging housing and food for us, planning activities with the children in mind, helping us find our way around, and even taking the kids off to do a bit of paddleboating while Kathy and I were tied up with flowers and tuxedos respectively. Furthermore, they’re all wonderful people, and I’ve very much enjoyed getting to talk with each of them individually. (Liam has taken a particular shine to Nat and Bob, whom he runs off to meet and wrestle with whenever they turn up.) It’s delightful to know that the family with which we’re joining forces through Chris & Becky is one that we’d have been thrilled to befriend under any other circumstances as well.

We rose fairly early this morning to get a good start on our trip to Dartmoor, a wonderful 365 square mile national park near Exeter. As we drove into the moor, we were struck with the beauty of the place — the hedgerows gave way to stone fences, sheep littered the verdant fields (and the roads, at times), piles of granite called “tors,” placed thousands of years ago, loomed at the top of hills. I nearly drove us into ditches and livestock more than once as I tried to guide the car while drinking in as much of the scenery as possible.

I was again reminded of some of the fundamental differences in driving in Europe. Aside from the obvious issue of being on the left side of the road, getting from one place to another is by necessity a more cooperative venture than in the States. Many of the roads that accomodate two-way traffic were actually so narrow that the roadside bushes were scraping both sides of the car at once as we passed, and wouldn’t have been able to accomodate the SUVs and large pickup trucks popular in Texas at all. When we met oncoming traffic, one or the other of the drivers would have to pull into one of the semi-frequent, but very small, broadenings in the roadway and allow the other to pass. Most amusing was when a series of cars from each direction would meet, creating an impromptu Tower of Hanoi style puzzle as we all worked together to figure out how to move the two convoys past each other.

Our first stop in Dartmoor was Postbridge, a nifty little village situated along the East Dart River. We jumped out and ran around the banks of the river for a while, enjoying the natural scenery and the stone bridges that spanned the river at this point. The bridge known as the “Clapper Bridge” is made up of huge stone slabs propped up with piles of rock, and is thought to date back to the 13th century. (Once again, we’re startled by the richness of history of this place, since there are so few artifacts in America more than a few hundred years old.) I was delighted to see a few of the ubiquitous touring retirees nearby with easels and paints, diligently working on landscapes.

After we’d had our fill of Postbridge, we leaped back into our motley collection of vehicles and started off for Widcombe in the Moor. Along the way, we were startled to see that one of the sheep we passed was a startling shade of blue, rather than the more traditional off-white. Driving on a bit farther, we saw a few more blue sheep, and then an orange one, and some green ones. We initially thought this was somebody’s Dr. Suess-inspired practical joke, but eventually decided that coloring sheep served the same purpose as branding cattle — identifying the owner, and helping to keep one’s herd separate from others’ animals. Personally, I think cattle ranchers should adopt this practice too. It’s obviously more humane than branding, and it would bring joy to my life to crest a hill in Texas and see a field of bright blue cows.

Widcombe on the Moor was another lovely town. Larger than Postbridge, it had a beautiful green next to the “Cathedral of the Moor,” the local church with dual claims to fame: it’s one of the prettiest churches for many miles around, and it was struck by lightning during a church service in October 1638. One of the witnesses of the event wrote a poem about the event, now posted on huge panels at the church’s entrance.

We enjoyed a lunch on the green and then spent some time wandering about the town, searching for the wild ponies that purportedly were allowed to wander through the streets. (We didn’t see any, though a few of us did have our first experiences with stinging nettle instead.) We also enjoyed a few more culinary curiosities: Prawn Cocktail Potato Chips, which were suprisingly good, and ice cream with clotted cream on top — also a hit with those who partook.

P.S. Just in case it wan’t abundantly clear, since we weren’t in London at the time, we were unaffected by the latest round of bomb attacks.