Second Trip to the UK

 

In July, my wife and I along with her brother and our twin daughters took a trip to England and Scotland.  My wife’s brother has traced his ancestry back to a castle by the banks of the river Wear in Sunderland in the north of England.  We set off to arrive at Hilton Castle by way of London and then go on to Edingurgh before flying home. One daughter came up to Boston from New York city to join us, and the other came from  Phoenix.  

 We left Boston on July 1, 2025 and arrived in London July 2. It was an overnight flight, and it was morning when we arrived. Our Airbnb would not be available until late afternoon and anticipating that,   Pam had made reservations at the Duck and Waffle restaurant for breakfast.   After breakfast, we dropped our things off at the apartment, which by then was close enough to the scheduled arrival time that we just stayed and all crashed and slept for a couple hours.  Our apartment was on Medway street, about two blocks from Westminster Abbey and four from the Thames.  When we first came down the street on arrival, there was a mentally ill man yelling in the street and the neighborhood did not appear to be the best, but we did find out it was mostly  apartments for office workers, 4 or 5 stories high some made of modern brick and some of the old grey stone found in the 19th century buildings and there were only a few street people

When we emerged that afternoon, we set about getting our bearings.  We walked towards Westminster Abbey, which was just around the corner.  It was open to the public for a small fee, so we decided to go in.   The building itself is austere, massive and intricately made.  The ceiling of the nave is unbelievable and even more so being entirely  made of stone.suspended several hundred feet overhead.

 

 

 The Abbey is the burial site of kings and queens, admirals, barons, prime ministers, scientists, poets and musicians.  A thousand years of British history.  I found most of it claustrophobic and musty smelling. 

Then we walked on past Big Ben, over the Thames and rode on the London Eye.  Big Ben, or Elizabeth Tower is a masterpiece of design, engineering and craftsmenship.  It is hard to imagine the audacity of the men who built such a thing. 

 

The streets around the tower and going over the bridge are crowded with people.  Bicycles in groups come racing around the corners along with double decker busses.  There are people from all over the world, Asians, Africans, Arabs, and Europeans.  The Thames is bigger than I imagined it to be, having read story after story of ships departing London for the seven seas.  We walk through the crowds and arrive at the London Eye, a giant Ferris Wheel with white pods rotating on encircling tracks as the wheel itself slowly rotates. 

 

 

It is slow enough so that you jump on and off without it stopping.  At the top you are enclosed and there is no rocking like on a normal ferris wheel so the sensation of being high is less.  I thought about what would happen if the gears broke or there was any system failure that left the wheel immobile while we were at the top.  It did not seem that there would be any crane high enough  to reach us  and the there was no way to climb down safely.  It was not an exciting ride.  Then, we walked back over the bridge and had dinner at St. Stephen’s tavern across from Big Ben.  

 Day 2

I go out early to explore a little.  There is a small coffee shop directly across the street from our airbnb apartment  In the coffee shop that there is a young Indian woman sitting at the bench and a man making green chai at one of the machines.  I assume the man is the owner and the woman, who is about the same age, is his girlfriend.  I go in to get a coffee.  I have to ask him to explain to me what the different coffees are: Americano means black coffee, latte means coffee with whipped milk, espresso is espresso.  I bring back a latte to Pam and a piece of blueberry cake which he said had been made by his mother. 

Our only full day in London, today we are off to the infamous Tower of London. There is a dry moat around the compound and a drawbridge through which we pass to enter.  The legendary ravens still stalk the grounds and there are red plastic poppies by the thousands.    

Outside the hall of the fusiliers honoring British riflemen flies the gay pride flag.  We get to see the torture chamber and some lovely implements of torture too unspeakable to talk about.  A volunteer guide, a small Jamaican woman, tells us that during August 10,000 people tour the grounds every day.  We tour the White Castle and view suits of armor, some of famous men.  Henry the VIII must have been a big man to fit the suit of armor said to be his, with a prominent cod piece.  A group of military helicopters flew in circles overhead twice while we were. 

I did not like the Tower of London.  It smelled too much of the State with its power and cruelty.

The Evening of July 3,  Our Anniversary

Larry and Paige bought Pam and I dinner at the Osteria del Angollo.  I had cod wrapped in prosciutto.

The next morning I walked down to the river Thames, only about two blocks from the apartment.  There was a narrow park following the river which was bordered by a wall about waist height on the park side and dropping down about 8 feet to a sandy beach on the other side.  The walkway was  lined with ancient sycamore trees and lead to the Palace of Westminster  visible  on the far end of the park.

  

On the way back I stopped into the nearby coffee shop.  I ordered an espresso for me and a latte for Pam.  The coffee shop owner, a young man in his twenties, told me he had just opened the shop 3 months earlier.  He said he had been born in Albania, but grew up in London.  The young woman that had been there the day before was there briefly today as well.  She seemed to have been just a customer for coffee and not a girlfriend.

Next we took an Uber to Paddington Station to catch the train for Bath, passing the walled off, topped with razor wire and spikes boundary of Buckingham Palace.  We waited in the station for 45 minutes for our train to come.  It is impressive and grand, an indoor waiting area with trains on many tracks.  Bath was 97 miles away.

We got off the train at Bath and walked a short distance into town looking for our airbnb.  It is a small and walkable city and the streets from the train station have thousands of colorful ribbons undulating in the wind hung above them. 

Our airbnb rooms were in the center of the  tourist district.  They were cubicles constructed inside an old building  with only room for a bed and a shower, and without windows.  They were sufficient to sleep in and affordable.  Up the street is the Francis Hotel, very posh.  It was bombed out in World War II according to a plaque on the side.  Apparently the Germans flying across the channel from nearby France thought that it would be good to destroy an historic town.  

Bath is the site of natural hot springs where the Romans built an elaborate bathing complex with hot pools and cold pools, massage rooms and rooms to oil up and scrape down your skin.  It was discovered buried in the 1800s and excavated and restored in part for tourism and as an historical monument.  The site was used for its hot springs before the Romans and continued on after they left in the 400s, but now the main pool is closed to bathers due to a deadly bacterium known to inhabit the waters.  A large church was built nearby and the rubble from the excavation might have been used to fill in around the ruins.  In any case, the original lead-lined Roman pool was buried some 8 feet in the ground when it was discovered.

  

 

Bath seems to be a normal small city outside of the tourist area near the Roman baths.  There are few cars in the inner city, but quite a few motorcycles and motorized bicycles.  I walked up the hill from the airbnb past the Francis hotel and found  a nice residential area.  People were walking down to the village area to eat or listen to the street performers or see a movie.   Pure white seagulls reminded me that we are not too far from the sea.  Walking downhill to to the Avon river, there was a college and some  industrial looking buildings, it was not as nice a neighborhood as that above the town. It was dark and, as I did not know where I was going, I turned back and did not reach the river.  But the next morning, very early, I did. 

The opposite bank of the river was built up with buildings at the  waters edge, with their walls dropping straight into the water.  On my side of the river were docked a half dozen or more long narrow canal boats that looked like they had people living on them.  There were potted plants on deck along with personal items like bicycles and the windows were enclosed with curtains.  Some of them were pretty and others poorly maintained.  

 

July 5

 

Pam had arranged for a tour service to pick us up and show us the Cotswalds.  So about 8:00 am a driver named Eric arrived outside the hotel with a van for all 5 of us and our luggage.  He was an older man maybe in his early 60s.  He lives in Cardiff in Wales.  He told us he had been a carpenter as a young man but had a bad accident when a series of trusses he was working on tipped over like a row of dominoes and threw him across the building.  He was badly injured and never fully recovered.

We thought he would tell us stories about the region as we drove through it but, although friendly enough, he did not go out of the way to tell us too much, and he had no specific plan of what to show us. 

The name Cotswold comes from cots meaning sheep pen and wold meaning rolling hills. It is a region of rolling hills and open fields.  Wool and textiles once were a major source of money for England especially in the Middle Ages and the raising of sheep here goes back thousands of years to before the Romans.   The names of some towns begin with Chipping, like Chipping Campden; our guide tells us that chipping means marketplace.  Chipping Campden has an ancient market building in the town square open to the weather on the sides.

An hour or so into drive Eric asked us if we would like to see the Westonbirt Arboretum.

One thing that stands out in England is that the trees are enormous.  In the arboretum there was a Redwood tree, native to California, that had been planted by the owner of the estate that is now the arboretum, back in the 1800s.  It had grown in less than 200 years to a tremendous size.  I think the climate here resembles that of northern California, it is cool and moist, not far from the sea.  There were also old sycamore trees planted in profusion and many other tree and shrub species, most labeled with their latin names.

Our next stop was Stow on the Wold, the site of a major Royalist defeat in the civil war of 1646.  200 men were killed in the town square; Eric said their were so many that the blood ran down the street.  Another 1500 were captured and imprisoned in the church.   Eric had wanted us to see The Church of Saint Edward  because he heard that Corinne, our daughter was a Harry Potter fan.  Perhaps confounding Harry with the Hobbit, he brought us to the side door of the church which is flanked by two ancient Yew trees growing so close as to seem a part of the jams.  He told us that this door and the trees were the inspiration for a scene in the Hobbit by JRR. Tolkien.

 

Pam and the girls went looking through the shops while Larry, Eric and I waited on the street corner and talked about how women like to shop and men hate it.  I told them of the theory that men had evolved as hunters and liked to bag the game and get it home, while women are gatherers and like to look carefully for useful or edible things.

Our last stop of the day is at our Airbnb in Chipping Campden.  Eric dropped us off with all our luggage and waited to make sure we could get in.  The house we had is made of stone, 3 stories high and joined on either side by other similar structures that continue along the street.  Most of the neighboring places were also being rented as airbnbs, probably as                 investments or second homes to owners who work and live in London.  It was a nice place, clean and comfortable with all the charm that Cotswold cottages are supposed to have.  It is narrow, the first floor kitchen is as wide as the house and has a sliding glass door opening onto a private patio and garden, so we had privacy and comfort and a little bit of nature.  It was quiet too, Sunday morning there was no sound of traffic.

July 5

I woke this morning early and went out into the back garden and sat at the table they had outside with a coffee.  A church bell rang faintly in the distance-4 am.  The nights are short in England in the summer.  It is light at 4am and light still at 10pm.  We are thinking of going to Saint James Anglican church for the service.  Rain is expected. 

At 10:00 am, Larry, Pam and I walked to St. James church for the Sunday morning service.  We walked in there were about 30 people gathered in the area behind the pews chatting and drinking coffee.  I talked with a retired gentleman sitting on a bench by himself.   He told  me he was a retired physical education teacher and a former porter at Oxford.  He patted his portly belly and said, “you wouldn’t know it now”.  He said he had sung in the choir as a boy, pointing to the choir seats forward in the church towards the altar.   He told me he believed that Jesus was a great man but didn not believe he was a coming back.  The pews were sparsely populated.  There were a few young families with children in a space in the back, but, by and large, the patrons were elderly.  The kids were making a communal drawing, like a long scroll telling a story, and each child had his or her part to color.

 

The pastor wore jeans.  He was an easy-going, informal man with a sense of humor,  exactly how you might picture an English vicar.    I would guess he was in his late 30s, He gave a brief reading and no sermon to start the service.  After he spoke, the congregation took seats in groups to discuss vocations, the topic of the reading.  Pam, Larry and I all joined a different group.  The three couples in my group were elderly.  There was one woman who, I was later told, was 102 years old.  She had caught my eye before I knew how old she was by her demeanor.  She was almost blind, but sharp and alert.  She had fine features and curley grey hair.  Her vocabulary was refined and educated.  You could tell she must have been an attractive young woman; which would have been before I was born.

Another woman told a story about learning on the job.  She had been a teacher, and when she began, she felt she had to do all the talking,  “I thought that was my job”, she said.  She soon found out that she was boring her students.  She put one boy outside of the school because he wouldn’t stop talking and he climbed up on the roof.  She told him to get down and he replied, “you’re boring the bloody crap out of me”.  After that she tried to do less talking and get the students involved in discussions that they could lead. 

After a while, the pastor interrupted and asked each group what they had come up with.  Only one person related his discussion ideas to the bible.  Most conversations were decidely secular and there was more a sense of community in those groups than religiosity. 

That same evening, Larry and I walked around the graveyard of the church.  There was an unusual building with minarets made of stone in the field next to the church.   

There were also the ruins of another perhaps similar building in the field, and there were sheep all across the field.  High walls went around the church and the graveyard.  As we took the road down the hill following the wall to return to our airbnb, we saw a walkway about 6 feet wide that descended between two short stone walls and then passed back to the level of the road.  The cobbles on the walkway were old and worn.  A sign carved in stone at the lowest part had the words, “Carriage Wash”, carved into it. 

There seem to be two types of stone walls, or to be more exact, two types of stonework.  Along the edges of the open fields, there are what appearto be dry laid boundary walls with small unfinished black stones.  The stone is irregular, somewhat flat and fairly sharp-edged.  In thechurch yard, some of it had mortar polaced out of sight in the interior so it was impossible to move or jiggle the top stones.  The other stone is a yellow limestone that exists in both somewhat irregular blocks in landsscape wall but as cut and fittted inall the buildings.  It is called oolithic limestone.  It looks soft and fairly easy to cut and shape, and is tightly fitted with a thin visible layer of mortar around the blocks.  All buildings, including new buildings, are made of this.  The joints range from less than a quarter inch to about 3/4s of an inch.  The house we are in is joined by a wall of these stones to two other houses one on each side. 

A couple of places we went to in Campden on the Wold;  The ancient market place where Pam bought some sheep skins, an elegant High Tea in one of the hotel restaurants where they brought out samplers of tea for us to smell before choosing one, and a nice semi-Italian bar and restaurant where we ate under an old oak tree as the sun went down.

July 7 On to Durham and Lumley Castle

There was a mixup with the car rental company and we had to take two separate Ubers from Chipping Campden to Stroud to pick up the rental car we were driving now to the north England.   The uber drivers were Somali and did not speak English well, but they were helpful and friendly.  We got the car and drove for 4 and a half hours to Castle Lumley in Durham.

I was the driver of the rental car.  It was a nice car that fit all five of us, but it was a manual transmission.  I froze a little trying to get it going, not used to having the shift on my left side and not used to driving on the left side of the road.   But, slightly anxious,  I took the wheel. We put in the destination to our gps and headed to Durham. 

There were a couple of minor incidents; One time I briefly failed to look right entering the round-a-bout and Larry had to warn me to look out for the bus about to hit us, and another time, I was looking to go into a gas station right at a roundabout, I went left, as I should, but there were two signs with black Xs enclosed in red circles.  I hit the brakes thinking they meant ‘do not enter’.   I was already on edge about going down the left hand side of the road.   In fact, those signs meant ‘do not stop’, and several angry drivers hit their horns, thankfully, they did not hit us.

We arrived at Lumley Castle late in the day.  We parked the car and we carried our luggage up a back stairway of the castle and then up 2 flights of a winding staircase to our rooms.  It is an old building, originally built by a baron Lumley around the year 1400.  Since then it has passed from owner to owner including having been used as a dormitory for first year students at Durham University.  It has now been converted into a hotel.  It has stone turrets precariously balanced on the four corners of its high walls, and an inner courtyard where guests can sit at tables and talk or have a drink.  Our room has a small circular window with a pane that opens in the center and a view out to the golf course and beyond.  The bathroom is roomy and bright.  It has a toilet with an on-the-wall water tank an an internal electric grinder, no doubt to accommodate the narrow old pipes.  In England, you can choose a light flush or a heavy flush after you go to the bathroom.  They work much better than the ones we have at home. 

The patrons of the bar at Lumley Castle seemed to be upper class and wealthy.  A husband and wife in heir forties with their teenage son.  The father is dressed in a dinner jacket, the son in nice clothes with a white shirt a step above ordinary dress clothes.  The boy was reading a book sitting in a plush chair.   The three were seated between two floor-to- ceiling bookcases which created a kind of alcove for their evening relaxation.  There was another couple.  The woman wearing a brightly colored dress with a hidjab.  All the people appear very sophisticated and refined.  When we entered the bar in our tourist shorts a woman passed near me.  I greeted he, thinking she might be the hostess.  She gave me a funny look, but smiled awkwardly and passed me by.  However, the waitstaff were friendly and accommodating to us. 

July 8

In the early morning, I went out to have a look around.  I walked behind the castle and followed a small gravel road for a bit that paralled a deeply wooded and steeply sloped incline. There was a running stream I could see down below through the trees.  I came upon a trail going into the woods which I followed  and found, not far in, some of the biggest trees I have ever seen. One had recently been felled and its sawn parts lay in the ravine below, but the biggest part lay horizontally at about 30 degrees from the trail. I tried to count the rings but there were far too many for the little time I had to count.   I hopped up and walked out on the log enjoying the solitude in the green canopy of the forest, but not for long.  A man came jogging down the trail from the direction of the castle. I went back to our rooms to get breakfast with the group.

 

 

We were to meet up with the people involved with Hilton Castle today and stay one more night at Lumley, so, after breakfast, we drove to Sunderland to meet Doris and Keith McKnight, and Susan and Terry at Hilton Castle.  My wife and her brother trace their ancestry back to this castle to the time of the William the Conqueror.

  Doris and Susan and their respective mates have devoted years to restoring the castle.  They grew up in the neighborhood and used to play around the grounds and in the ruins of the castle and its adjunct chapel.  Doris was once the mayor of the city of Sunderland.  They succeeded in getting the castle converted from a ruin to a modern museum and community center.  She and Keith and Susan have been very gracious hosts to us, especially to Larry who made all the connections and did the research to find the castle.  On our previous visit, construction had just begun, but on this visit it was nearing completion.

 

We toured the building and the grounds and walked up a short path to the baron Hilton’s personal chapel, which is actually a full sized church, now open to the weather with the limestones blocks it is made of melting away slowly.  The roof is gone, the windows are gone.  All that remains are the walls.  At one time it must have been a beautiful building. 

Our next stop was Saint Peter’s Church about three miles away near the University of Sunderland and near the mouth of the Wear river.   This church was built by the Anglo Saxons in the 7^th century AD.  It was the home to the historian and cleric The Venerable Bede.  It has survived fires and Viking raids but still stands and is still use.  One of the members of the congregation gave us an informational tour.  There is more about the church here , Fragments: 2019.

 We drove with our party to a restaurant and bar called Marsden Grotto.  There is a parking lot  at the edge cliff, and an entry to a building which consists of a short hallway leading to an elevator that drops to sea level about 150 feet below.   When you reach the bottom, you walk out onto the beach.   There is some sand, but mostly those ubiquitous yellow limestone rocks, here worn into rounded shapes by the waves.  A hundred yards off the beach is  a pillar of limestone rising straight up out of the water isolated from the mainland, covered with hundreds of seagulls. Keith told me there had once been a ladder going up to the top.   The cliffs on the mainland side are also alive with gull activity. There are thousands of them.   They fly around and land in nooks and crannies in the rocks.  The waves are strong and seem too dangerous for swimming.  In the distance, there was a large ocean going vessel heading into the port at Newcastle. For those, like myself, who feared the confinement of elevators, there is a metal staircase where you can climb back up to the road. 

 The restaurant and bar are carved into the bottom of the cliff.  It has one big room for the bar and two adjacent dining rooms.  The ceilings are fairly high and it feels roomy and open inside.  In England, often you have to order what you want at the bar and they bring it to your table there are no waiters to take your order.  Here, the food was not the best; the attraction was all in the cave-like ambience.   

Later that evening, Doris, Keith, Susan and Terry joined us again at the dining room at Lumley Castle.  Here, the food and service were excellent.  Doris is, I would guess, in her seventies.  She is the former mayor of Sunderland and was instrumental in the restoration of Hylton Castle, assisted by her husband Keith, and I believe fellow council woman  for  the city, Susan.  She seems a formidable personality.  She has a no-nonsense lok in her eyes and and expression on her face, but is quick to tell a story.  Susan is probably in her late fifties, her hair is straight blonde and thin.  She has done social work and talks a lot.  She was accompanied by a man named Terry, who is her boyfriend, and also her cousin. Susan and Terry are a good match;  he talks incessantly, and he hardly says anything, but they are both friendly and helpful to us.  Keith is quite deaf and is left out of the conversation a lot, but will engage with anyone willing to talk. He has an implant, but it does not seem to help much.   

July 8

Today is our grandson Nolan’s birthday.  We face-timed him and sang happy birthday.  He is nine years old today, and, for his birthday, is having his hair dyed yellow. 

We drove from Lumley Castle to Edinburgh.   The highway driving is less stressful and I can enjoy the scenery.  Northern England is rolling hills, grass, sheep and wheat fields.  I am surprised by how much agriculture there is.  It reminds me a little of upstate New York around lake Burlington. 

We stopped for a break at a place called Eyemouth, just over the border in Scotland.  We chose it randomly, driving off the  main road in search of a bathroom.  Eyemouth is a small sea-side town.  It has a small curved beach and a narrow harbor off the rocky edge of the North Sea.  It is kind of a beach resort, but even in July, it seems a little cool to swim.  There are ice cream shops, stores and a bowling alley, and bicyclers. The harbor is filled with fishing boats.  We lingered a while on the seawall overlooking the beach and soon got back on the A1 highway to Edinburgh. 

We had an airbnb in Edinburgh a few blocks from the famous Royal Mile. We dropped off our luggage, because our time didn’t begin for a few hours.  There was a cello and violin shop on the first floor, we were on the second or third.  Pam and I dropped off the car at Enterprise Rent a Car, While Paige, Corinne and Larry walked to a nearby bar to get lunch.  That evening, we walked dow the Royal Mile and had a late dinner at a small Middle Eastern Restaurant.  Most places had begun to shut down by nine o’clock but this one was doing a thriving business and served good food that wasn’t too expensive. 

 

July 10

Today we have a full day in Edinburgh.  The girls go off on their own.  Larry, Pam and I start the day at the Duck and Waffle restaurant.     It is in a multi-story outdoor mall, and has colored lighting and columns that light up like electric kaleidoscopes with moving patterns.  The food is good; I have avocado toast with a dropped egg and hot  peppers.  

 

After breakfast, we walk towards the Royal Mile to look at the sites. Edinburgh, like London, is a cosmopolitan city with people from all over the world walking the streets.  We stop at the monument to Sir Walter Scott at the Princes Street Gardens.  The monument is a complex dark gothic tower which towers over the center of the city.  It is not beautiful, but it is unusual.  The park looks down into a green ravine and we followed  a path to the Scottish National Gallery. The admission is free, it has magnificent paintings and sculptures in open, well lit rooms.  The light comes in from the ceiling.  This was well worth the visit.  

 

We spent a few hours at the National Gallery and then walked on to the Royal Mile where we planned to catch up with the girls, who had gone on their own for a Harry Potter tour.     

Hollyrood palace is at the bottom of the road called the Mile, Edinburgh castle is at the top of the road, looking down on the city.   We had gone to the castle the last visit.  This time Pam and Larry wanted to see the palace.  Hollyrood, although magnificent in its architecture and splendid stairways and ceilings, I found to be unpleasant with its formal settings and furniture and multitude of portraits of dandy kings.  The Abbey ruins that are adjacent to the palace were more interesting.

 

Later that night we walked to a Thai restaurant called Dusit.     This was, by far the best Thai restaurant I have ever been to, and among the best ever.  The food was varied and exotic and delicious and the service was excellent.

Paige arranged for an Uber to pick us up the next morning to take us to the airport.   The flight home was a daytime flight with bright sun coming into our windows.  We passed near Greenland and over Labrador, then Quebec, PEI, New Brunswick and Maine. 

 

 

 

Block Island and Falun Gong

 

7/5/2023

On Monday Pam and I and our friends Rick and Lane and their son Gabe took the ferry from Point Judith Rhode Island to Block Island.  It was a somewhat rainy day and we had no particular plans and we had the dogs with us so we were limited in what we could do.  We had lunch at a restaurant that was dog friendly and had some tables outside under a large tent.  We walked on the beach, perused the shops and sat for a while in a park overlooking the main street by the ferry terminal.  The street was lined with flags in anticipation of the fourth.  Nearby a table was set up with a banner calling for an end to the CCP, or Chinese Communist Party.  

 Block Island is an island made of glacial till like the Cape, Long Island, Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard situated almost exactly between the Rhode Island Coast and the tip of Long Island.  Approaching on the ferry after a thirteen mile ride, you see the outline of land and then the eroding bluffs along the seashore.  There are some big houses on top of the bluffs.   It is a small island, but big enough to have cars and roads.  It is too big to walk around on a short visit, better suited for the mopeds or bicycles that you can rent there.  There are shops and restaurants, vacation homes and hotels.  The year round residents number about 1,400, but the population triples in the summer.   The island has a history that goes back to the time of the melting of the glaciers in the last ice age.  It is possible that the first inhabitants arrived by land when sea levels were much lower.  At the time of the first European explorers, there was a significant population of native peoples.  These people suffered greatly in the Pequot war.  They were too susceptible to the sea barbarians, as the English were known as by the Chinese.  It was fought over also in the Revolutionary war and the War of 1812.  Now it is chiefly a tourist destination with all that entails as well as some wild lands and wild beaches, some historic spots and two historic lighthouses.  If you go, learn a little about it ahead of time, plan your visit, and plan to rent a moped or bring a bicycle.

On the ferry ride home we sat across from the four people who had set up near a local church with banners and flyers calling for the end of the CCP.  There was an older man in his fifties probably wearing shorts and a t-shirt.  He was the quietest of the four.   A woman with a bright yellow pocket book, probably in her mid thirties.  She was the only one who appeared to be Chinese.  A young man with glasses and a bright yellow t–shirt that said, “fa lun da fa is good” 法轮大法好!  and a young woman probably also in her twenties.  The latter two were the most communicative.  Apart from the t-shirt, they stood out because at one moment, they all, sitting there on the bench of the upper deck of the ferry, put their hands together on their laps, closed their eyes and began to meditate.  I knew my friend, who is interested in religions and in the situation in Taiwan, would want to talk to them.  We were standing by the railing talking.  Our wives, however, sitting across from them, struck up a conversation, which my friend was able to join. 

The young man with the yellow shirt spoke at length on the evils of the Chinese government.  His most alarming story was of organ harvesting of Falungong prisoners.  The young woman talked about how she was drawn to the practice of Falungong.  She had always, she said, been attracted to Eastern religions.  But she said that Falungong was not a religion, but a type of mind and body discipline, or exercise.  All of them were clearly committed and passionately believed in what they were doing.  I could see it gave them a powerful sense of purpose, but, at the same time, I recognized the danger.  I know that revolution, in China, often comes through religious movements or ideological movements like communism.  The Hong Qiu rebellion of the 1860s was the worst war in Chinese history and it began with a man, taking his cue from the story of Christ’s return heard from American missionaries, who decided to create his own religion and gathered a following that fought the reigning government for ten years, laying waste to the country.  The Boxers in 1900 emerged as a strange religion noted for the trance-like states of possession exhibited by its followers.  Those followers went on to murder Europeans across northern China, almost succeeding in driving out the long hated invaders.   Then, of course, in the 1930s, were the atheistic communists, who in a like-minded religious fervor, went about destroying all vestiges of religion and tradition in order to institute their own unassailable power structure.  The Fa Lun Gong portrayal of the communists as bloodthirsty and merciless killers will only hasten what may be an inevitable and perhaps apocalyptic great power war between the U.S. and its allies and China.  The second danger is a spiritual and individual one.  The young woman says it is not a religion, but in this I think she is mistaken.  It does have, from what I can read about it, a plan of salvation similar to if not identical with Buddhism.  It has elements of surrender to the spirit world and seeking out of body experiences.

Lemond Tourmalet Road Bike

 I love the simplicity and utility of a road bike.  My wife gave me this one for my birthday over ten years ago.  Other than a few minor adjustments needed, it still works like new.

In my teens and twenties, I was almost married to my road bike.  I took it everywhere, being, otherwise without transportation.  I would ride fifty to seventy miles a day.  My routine in the summer was to bicycle to Walden Pond in Concord to swim, walk around the pond and bicycle back.  I would take it home from Umass Amherst instead of asking my Dad to drive me.  I would ride to Hampton beach where my family went on vacation every summer.  In the early days of working carpentry, I tried to use it too, but the exigencies of carrying materials and arriving at disparate locations on time made me switch over to the internal combustion engine.  I have since driven the equivalent of to the moon and back a dozen times over, but I still feel most at home on one of these.

Summer Begins

 It has been a week since school ended.  I have 9 more and I want to make the most of them.  Already much has happened.  First, Cary died suddently.  All the kids and grandkids were here this weekend for father's day.  Brooke had her surgery yesterday.  I have customers waiting to have work done, and I have taken out permits to put in a pool and a new deck.   I have a number of books I want to read and, of course, I need to prepare for school to start again.  There is more.

Listening to Music, Then and Now

I'm riding in my car and a man comes on the radio

tellin' me how white my shirts can be,

But he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke,

The same cigarettes as me. 

I like to sit at the kitchen table at the end of the day and listen to music on Youtube, and I marvel at the energy and creativity of the musicians of, mostly, my youth: Emmy Lou Harris, Johnny Cash, Linda Ronstadt, Chuck Berry, Van Morrison, The Beatles, the Stones and Bob Dylan, Marty Robbins, Little Richard, Lightning Hopkins, Doc Watson.   I know that a person has a unique attachment to things from their youth and perhaps that is why I find little or nothing interesting about today’s popular music and so much almost transcendent about the music of the 60s and 70s.

Some of the music I like, that is not from my past: A Southern Gospel Revival,  Fulu Miziki, even Shakira.

Rap, with its in your face attitude and love for the material world, or Cardi B with her Wetass Pussy song and dance turn me off.  The whiny, soft, feely music that pervades the modern sensibilities also leaves me longing for the old times when music was not just emotion but vibrant bursting youthful energy.

The Chief End of Man

 For most men are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to "glorify God and enjoy him forever".

Henry David Thoreau explaining how he set out to know the meaning of life by stripping it to its barest essentials

It occurs to me that simple answer from the Westminster Shorter Catechism, must have been taught to every young boy and girl in New England at the time.  I started my teenage journey to find the answer to the same question by reading Walden over and over again.  I then went to college and majored in biology because it was the scientific study of life and must, I thought,  have some insight into what it all meant.  I discovered, by the end of my four years, that biology's simple answer was that it was a giant mechanistic process driven by mutation and natural selection, that had no purpose and no meaning.  Somehow that left too much unaddressed, or dismissed too much too easily.  By the time I was in my mid twenties, I had given up.  I concluded that there was no way to know and that life was just a long road down which we carried heavy burdens.  It was at that point that, through various anguishing experiences and revelations, not to be enumerated here, the Spirit of God began to reveal himself to me.  I began to believe there was something beyond the material world, but I knew nothing about it and went in search of answers in religion.  I went to the library which was, at the time, across the street from my house and read every book there on every religion I could find books on.  None of them quite matched the Spirit of revelation I was experiencing, until I picked up the Bible and began to read the four gospels.  I came to realize that the Spirit I felt directing me and the one named Jesus speaking in the gospels were one and the same.So, from there, I became and remain a Christian.  And I do believe that the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.

Enjoying him forever implies eternal life, and glorifying God means living your life by faith in what is righteous and living without fear because you believe there is a God who cares for you.  To live a life as if you are in the presence of an all powerful and perfect God glorifies him not just to other people but to a myriad of beings we know nothing about. 

Summer Rain

 It has been hot and muggy the last week in true August fashion with a thunderstorm at the end of the day.  I sat and watched the black clouds swirling until the pouring rain forced me inside.