A Fly Monitors Our Return

As great as the beach was -- and it was great -- I am so happy to be home! I just had the best night's sleep I've had in several days. The dog didn't get me up at 4:20 a.m. (unlike yesterday) and our bed here is much, much bigger than the ones at the cottage. I think our drapes are better, too. All I know is I slept like a rock from 10 p.m. to 7 a.m. and it felt like a miracle.

Our trip yesterday was smooth but long. We got home about 2 p.m. Olga was well-behaved on the trains but you could tell she was exhausted:

I think she's happy to be back in a familiar environment, too.

(I'm pretty sure that woman sitting across from us was taking Olga's picture. We heard her phone's "shutter" go off several times, with the phone pointed downward. I suppose she could have been making screenshots or something but I suspect Olga is now on someone's Instagram feed: "Look at this adorable but decrepit dog on my train!")

We got a late-breaking surprise last night when my old friend Dan, from New York, came through town with his partner Jimmy. They're traveling in Europe and got in touch with us to have dinner. Dave was too tired but I haven't seen Dan in 12 years, so I jumped at the chance. They came up to West Hampstead (bless them) and we had drinks in our garden. Minus Dave, we then moved on to a local pub, The Alliance, which I've photographed but had never visited. We had a great time and it was wonderful to see them both. I can't believe it's been so long.

Speaking of the garden, it has continued to prosper during our brief absence. So much is blooming! Pictures to come!

(Top photo: A preview of garden blossoms -- our Alstroemeria, or Peruvian lilies. Can you see the fly?)

Leisurely Last Day

Yesterday was a pretty quiet day, spent mostly at our beachfront cottage. I walked Olga on the sand in the morning, at low tide, and spent several hours reading "Crossroads," which I like and I've almost finished.

This pretty much expresses the mood:

I did see a hummingbird moth on the valerian in the garden, which was exciting, but it moved quickly and I couldn't get a picture with my phone. I've also seen a handful of bees and red admiral butterflies out there.

It's been liberating just using my phone for photos on this trip, but there have been moments -- like the hummingbird moth, or when I wanted a picture of the distant lighthouse on the horizon, or of the moon over the ocean, when my big camera would have been better. The phone doesn't do distant objects well. It reduces them to the size of a pinhead.

Still, I'm not sorry I left "the monster" at home.

In the afternoon, we took Olga up to Pevensey on the bus, and walked around the open fields behind the castle. That area is marked on the map as a dog park, and we thought she would like a grassy space to run -- and as you can see, she did. The ramparts of the castle were peeking over the treetops (they were behind me when I took the photo above). That's as close as I was able to get Dave to Pevensey Castle!

Today, we're headed back to London, catching a late morning train. We should be home by 1 p.m. or so.

The Practical and the Medieval

Yesterday I had a little adventure that combined practicality with sightseeing. We needed to buy Dentastix dog treats, because someone (me) forgot to pack them. We've been getting by on a bag of beef liver chips that Olga likes, but we ran out. So yesterday I set off on a municipal bus for the grocery store.

The bus stop is practically right outside our cottage, and I could buy a £5 all-day pass on board. So that's what I did, and rode a winding route for half-hour or so to Tesco, in a rather downtrodden brutalist shopping center near Eastbourne.

Inside, I felt like I'd stepped back into 1986 -- Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" was playing over the sound system. I grabbed what I needed and checked out, and then visited a couple of nearby charity shops. I was amused that I found a mug from Sea World in Orlando among the detritus there. Florida follows me everywhere.

I left the mug behind, but for £1 I bought a DVD of the first couple of seasons of "The Inbetweeners," a puerile comedy that I nonetheless like. I bought it mainly because I'd failed to get a bag in Tesco and needed something to carry my dog treats, peanut butter and blueberries. Then I went back and waited for the return bus and began some sightseeing.

I got off the bus in the village of Westham, where St. Mary's Church has sign out front that says, "Sharing Jesus' story since 1080." How many churches can say that?

Inside, among more traditional stained glass, I found an interesting window dedicated to the memory of Lt. Col. Charles William Owen and his wife Mary Elizabeth, who died back in the 1920s. Apparently Owen was a physician in the Indian Medical Service.

Perhaps his wife was a nurse? Is that her? I'm not sure.

Anyway, from there I walked through streets lined with rose-draped cottages and baskets of flowers to medieval Pevensey Castle.

Here's a panoramic shot from one of the castle's towers, showing the outer bailey at left, surrounded by the ruins of a Roman wall, and the inner courtyard at right, with the foundation of a chapel in the center. Apparently the castle used to be right on the coast, before the surrounding marshes were drained to make farmland. (I guess where we're staying was all underwater back then.) It was a Roman and then a Saxon fortress until the invasion of William the Conqueror, and afterwards played an important role in a long series of conflicts all the way up through World War II. (Its history is quite extensive; if you want more detail you can read about it here.)

I got an audio guide and spent about an hour wandering among the ruins, examining windowless dungeons and excavated Roman hairpins. Let me tell you, it may seem that our modern society is mired in unfairness -- and indeed it is in many ways -- but at least we're not lowering people into oubliettes to starve. Medieval life was brutal. Humanity really has made progress.
 

From there I visited St. Nicolas Church in Pevensey, which in its existing form dates from the 1200s, although there were apparently churches on the site before that.

According to the church's Wikipedia page, "The three Lancet window openings above the High Altar are perfect examples of their period c.1200." Both of these churches are still in use. I sat in St. Nicolas, enjoying the silence, for about half an hour before catching the bus back to our flat with my bag of groceries and my puerile DVD.

Dave, who had stayed behind with Olga, said she was quite stressed at my absence. But she was happy to get some Dentastix!

The Unpronounceable Castle

Here's a shot of Olga on the beach yesterday morning, which shows what I mean about the sand -- down near the tide line, the shingle turns into hard sand that's good for walking. So if you're out on the beach at low tide, that's the place to be.

Yesterday we took a little trip away from our beachfront cottage to go to Herstmonceux Castle, a restored medieval castle about six miles away. I found it while scouting around for things to do in this area, and I talked Dave into going, though he wasn't thrilled with the idea. I felt a little like Hyacinth Bucket dragging the long-suffering Richard to yet another country estate.

But we all piled into a taxi and made the short journey, and we even brought Olga, which I'm sure Hyacinth would never have allowed.

Surrounded on at least two sides by a watery moat, the castle is owned by Queen's College in Canada and is used for events and educational programs, so the interior wasn't open to the public. But there are gardens and forests surrounding it which are good for a ramble.

The list of owners of the manor goes back to 1066, when it was owned by Edmer, a priest. Around 1200 its owner was Idonea de Herst, who married Ingelram de Monceux. (Hence the name, which, despite my post title, actually is pronounceable -- the web site says the correct way is "HERST-MON-ZOO.") Sir Roger Fiennes built the castle in the early 1400s, and it was passed down through a series of noblemen before being bought by George Naylor in 1708 for £38,000. (Nowadays, enough for a mid-range automobile.)

After the 1700s the castle's interior deteriorated and the whole thing became an ivy-covered ruin, popular with Victorian day-trippers. It was restored to its current form by the 1930s and eventually became an outpost of the Royal Greenwich Observatory.

We saw this pair of peacocks wandering the gardens. Olga, who was kept on her lead the whole time, was mesmerized. We imagined her thinking: "Those are the BIGGEST PIGEONS I've ever seen!"

On a woodland trail we saw chestnut trees that were planted back in 1700 -- well before the USA existed (as I pointed out), and when Bach was still a teenager (as Dave said).

At the distant end of the gardens and fields stands this architectural folly, which looks like a little house -- as Dave said, "where they put Grandma." The interior is actually just a narrow empty room with gates onto a pleasant, enclosed back garden. There's a sign on the front door asking visitors to keep it closed so rabbits don't get in.

After wandering around for a short time and grabbing unremarkable sandwiches in the cafe, we caught a taxi for home. Here's Olga and Dave waiting for the car near the entrance to the castle grounds, where the former observatory has now become an educational science center. We saw one of the domes -- which house the telescopes -- revolve and a bunch of kids came out.

Here's a history of the Royal Greenwich Observatory's location at Herstmonceux, which is interesting. Basically, London got too crowded and light-polluted, so it moved here for several decades, and subsequently moved on. (That's the short version!)

Fearsome Olga at the Pub

Yesterday, after a lazy morning of reading and hanging around, Dave and I walked Olga into what passes for a town in Pevensey Bay. It's a pretty tiny place, almost just a crossroads, but there are some shops and a handful of restaurants, as well as a few picturesque old cottages (above). We went for a pub lunch at The Castle Inn, where I got ham and eggs with chips. For some reason I was starving.

Olga, still on her leash, lay near our feet beneath the table and charmed most of the pub guests. One woman, in a black pantsuit with a blonde coif and a conspicuous sparkly brooch, was not charmed. She not only didn't approach Olga, she went to great, theatrical lengths to avoid her, asking us to restrain her while she circled other nearby tables in order to stick close to the wall and keep furniture between her and the dog. I don't recall anyone ever going to such great lengths. Olga just watched from her prone position on the floor. If a dog can be bemused, she was.

Dave whispered, "I wish we'd taught Olga a command that would make her leap to her feet and growl."

But hey, you never know. Maybe that woman had a bad experience. As I said, everyone else seemed happy to have Olga there. (There were also other dogs too, as is common in many pubs.)

When we got back, I took a walk on the beach on my own. That's sea kale, above, a fleshy plant that grows in the shingle. It's pretty amazing anything can take root. When the tide is out, there's a firmer layer of fine sand for walking near the water -- a more conventional "beach" -- and I walked down there as much as I could. I've discovered that the sandals I brought aren't the best for walking on these shifting, clattery pebbles. Note to self: Next time, bring closed-toe shoes.

I tried not to pick up every interesting rock I found. I did pick this one up, though.

I walked down to the community of Normans Bay, which is just east of us. I found this bizarre, silo-shaped structure on the beach. It's called a Martello Tower, and it's one of many built for coastal defense back in the early 1800s. (There's also one in Pevensey Bay which we somehow missed while walking through town.) The one above appears to have been converted into a house.

Another architectural oddity that we can see from our cottage is an offshore platform known as the Royal Sovereign Lighthouse. It's waaaaaay out in the water, on the horizon, and we couldn't quite tell what it was. Dave thought maybe it was an oil drilling platform, but that seemed unlikely along this stretch of coastline. Finally I did some research and identified it. Apparently it's been decommissioned and is supposed to be dismantled sometime soon.

As I walked back to the cottage I passed this bulldog sitting serenely on a picnic table beside the beach path, watching the world go by. Do you suppose he climbed up there by himself?

We have Internet!

Well, my dream/nightmare of five days offline has evaporated, as our cottage has Internet after all. According to Dave it wasn't listed in the amenities shown on the web site, which said if something isn't specifically listed it's not available -- but there's an exception to every rule, I suppose.

Anyway, here we are!

We arrived with no problems, though it seemed like a long trip (about three hours, door to door). We took the overground from West Hampstead to Clapham Junction, where we caught a train south that came straight to Pevensey (with other stops along the way, of course). There was some confusion in Clapham Junction about which train we needed to catch -- I asked a railroad employee on the platform who acted like I was speaking a foreign language. "Pevensey?" he said, repeating it back to me. "I haven't heard of that before." He dug out his mobile device and ascertained we wanted the train to Ore via Eastbourne, and that train was crowded and hot for the first part of the journey. Olga and I had to sit on the floor -- with Dave electing to stand -- until Gatwick Airport, when a load of people got off and we finally got seats.

Sleepy Olga let out a big yawn, which prompted the same reaction in Dave:

That just makes me laugh so hard.

When we finally got to Pevensey we caught a cab to the cottage, which is FABULOUS. As I told Dave, "It makes me feel so adult!"

It has glass bifold doors that essentially open up the entire wall to the beach. We have a little walled garden with hardy plants like cardoon, globe thistles and valerian, not to mention lounge chairs, a grill and a fire pit.

It's the ideal spot for coffee or martinis!

I took Olga for a walk on the shingle beach -- she seems uncertain about all those pebbles -- and found a beach-worn glittery geode.

Dave, meanwhile, ordered groceries and had them delivered, which eliminated our need to get another taxi. Yay for grocery delivery! Now we're equipped with all my essentials: milk, cereal, coffee, peanut butter, gin and wine. (And some other incidental nutrition, too.)

Today will be a laze-around-the-cottage day, with Poseidon (I think?) standing guard.

Ike

At midday today, Dave and I will be heading down to Pevensey Bay with Olga on the train. Of course the weather is gray and damp, because we're going to the beach! There's even rain in the forecast on Tuesday and Wednesday. But we'll make the best of it.

It's not like I won't have anything to do, because I'm bringing Jonathan Franzen's book "Crossroads," which I've been meaning to read for a couple of years and which, being a Franzen novel, is typically HUGE. (Actually, now that I'm looking at it, it's only 580 pages, which isn't that bad. Besides, as I always tell kids, a long book will seem short if it's good -- and the inverse is also true.) I've liked his books in the past so I'm not dreading it.

There's a possibility the house we rented doesn't have WiFi. So this may be a wireless holiday, in which case I will be scarce in blogland. I can always post on my phone, but they may be very short posts -- maybe even just photos. We're not sure what we're getting into. Dave is a bit anxious about it, but I think five days unplugged would probably do us some good. How long has it been since I've spent five days without going online? I can't even remember. Maybe not since we went to China back in 2014.

There might be a cafe or some public place with WiFi, but I get the impression our house isn't close to much.

Last night I watched a PBS documentary called "Dear Ike: Lost Letters to a Teen Idol." Any readers around my age will remember Ike Eisenmann, a child actor in the late '70s and early '80s. He was in a lot of Disney fare like "Escape to Witch Mountain," which was one of my absolute favorite movies as a little kid. The documentary tells the story of a nerdy boy in Ohio -- about my age -- who was obsessed with drawing and eventually wrote a whole movie with invented characters that he intended to animate. He became convinced that Ike Eisenmann should be part of his project, and he wrote Eisenmann letter after letter, trying to get him interested. Some of his letters were returned by the post office and somehow he still has them -- as well as his childhood diaries, drawings and the storyline for the movie -- and they form the basis of the documentary.

An added twist is that this boy ultimately grew up to be gay, as did one of his current friends, the documentary's producer (who is from my hometown). So there's also an element of having an early and innocent crush on a teen movie idol, even though they may not have entirely understood it as such at the time. The movie "Escape to Witch Mountain," which is all about kids who have supernatural powers that make them outsiders, had a special appeal to kids who felt different from all their friends and didn't quite know why. (I can attest to that myself!)

Anyway, it was an interesting documentary, and Eisenmann himself participated in it. You can get it on the PBS streaming site if you want a poignant shot of '70s-'80s nostalgia.

I have to gloat once again about our rescued ficus tree. Remember how terrible this tree looked when I found it on the street? I don't want to get too excited because I might jinx it, but seriously, it looks much better than I ever expected.

Coming to you tomorrow from Pevensey Bay, one way or another!

(Top photo: A ladybug on a teasel in the garden.)