We Finally Made it to London!

Hello errbody. Mike here. So we woke up at 5:30 in York to pack our 12 bags of luggage into as few bags as possible. Turns out, we only made it down to eight bags. It was pretty easy once we decided to leave about 32 pounds of kids' clothes inconspicuously tucked between the beds in our hotel room. Yes, that's right. We left behind clothes for somebody else to deal with. 

Thirty-two pounds lighter, we headed off to the York train station. The cab driver who drove us from the train station to our hotel said, "This is the worst weekend you could possibly come to York because of the Christmas fayre and crowds." I brought this up to the cabbie who picked us up at the hotel and most of the conversation with him from the hotel to the train station revolved around how each cabbie has their own strategy to avoid the crowds--either from the Christmas fayre or York's famous horse races.

We arrived at the station. Or as the cabbie put it as he pulled into the station, "And here we are at the nightmare that is York train station." Cabbies don't work for the tourism association, I guess. 

Not too busy, but lugging eight giant bags of luggage around sort of makes you feel
like a freak of nature, even if you do have a family of three trailing behind you.

Merrit and Ollie are always completely unaware of the chaos and stress around them.
Here they chase each other around a pole while I get breakfast for all of us at
Burger King.

Fed and on the train now...
Ollie in his happy place: He only wanted to listen to the
White Stripes. I tried Bob Marley and the Beastie Boys.
But he had to have his "Seven Nation Army."

Merrit geeks out on Star Wars Legos.
So proud...

Yes we look like the European travelers in an Asti Spumante commercial.
Who would know that we are the parents of two boys--one of who was, just at this moment,
eating scraps found on the floor of the train while the other one continued to hit himself
in the head for no reason.

This was educational for me. Jack White, playing soulful rock and roll blues with a
steady R&B beat, puts Ollie into a blissful slumber.

Our train got to London at about 12:30. We pushed our eight bags into a cab, which
dropped us off here: The Wellington Hotel, our abode for the next three days in London.
The cage doors and aluminum safety panels were an extra feature that I wasn't expecting.
Also, didn't know ahead of time that the Waterloo subway station was literally across the
street from our hotel. 

I was really surprised by the interior of the hotel. Very classy and warm, like the
best English pubs that I've come to know. My favorite part was the painting on the
ceiling of the Battle of Waterloo, showing the tired and haggard but still
resilient and dogged British on the left and the cowardly, retreating, defeated French
on the right. 

Our room wouldn't be ready for another 45 minutes, so we took the opportunity
to hang back in the gracious bar/lounge area.

I really must say how impressed I was with the bar and lounge area. Classic art,
beautiful lighting, wood paneling, wood floors, classic English pubbery. (Yeah,
I just made up that word.)

Our room is now ready! And I get the opportunity to carry
eight bags, which weigh approximately 900 pounds each, up
three flights of stairs to room #23.

Winded and unimpressed after the second of three trips.

Trying to settle into our new room, we find that it has no heat. The thermostat
on one of the radiators is broken clean off, but is sitting neatly on the floor next
to the radiator as if to say, "We recognize that there isn't any heat in this room, but
as you can see from this porcelain artifact, we are fully aware of this--but believe
the charm of this room will suffice." Wrong.

I reached for the phone to call the front desk. Oh, there is no phone.

We also found out that there was no Internet, which makes me wonder what our
Hungarian, Polish, and Russian staff in the lobby really mean when they say "Free Wi-Fi."

Also, when you look in the bedside table drawer and find several brand-new pairs of
earplugs...that's not a good sign.

After seven trips down and up the stairs to talk with the management, we decided to
check out. I lugged all eight bags down three flights of stairs to the curb and hailed a
taxi.

We found an available two-bedroom flat just a few blocks away, and for just a fraction
of the price more. What a find! It has a little kitchenette, living room, balcony, Internet,
and--best of all--a view!

Ahhhhhhh, finally. We have arrived in London!

The view of the street below from our balcony on the fifth floor.

A quick walk from our new abode to a restaurant Mir picked out called Cubana,
a Cuban restaurant. Duh. 

This place was totally killer. Mir said, "I spotted this Cuban restaurant on the corner.
Let's try it out." She's got great taste. 

The place was full of '60s and '70s pro-labor propaganda from Cuba and
classic movie posters. Great music, warm colors, and brilliant lighting. The architecture
itself was hard to place. Obviously not a standard restaurant. Someone at some point
had a vision for this spot. It was very unusual!

Merrit enjoys his water with lime, strawberry, and mint.
Oh, and that lime-green tint comes from a Vitamin C tablet
that Mir plunged into it as soon as it hit the table. Good thing
she's always watching out for us, and our germs. And everybody
else's germs.

Mir and Ollie dig in to sweet potato crisps with fresh salsa. As good as it sounds!

Bang!

Kapow!

Spicy-coconut shrimp with rice and peppers. It was called something in
Cubanese, but I can't remember the name.

We returned from dinner to find out that housekeeping had come
through and made everything just so. Ollie inspects a towel
in the shape of a swan on the edge of his bed. 

WTF?

After we put the kids to bed, Mir and I hung out in the living room. Ah, Internet
connection. So good to have you back! Look at the city lights out the window! Wow.

Tomorrow and Wednesday, we plan to spend two very full days sightseeing in London. Stay tuned.

How to Build a Backyard Den

So, it turns out that in a country where it often rains, it’s essential to have a place to go with your mates that’s neither outside OR inside. This place is called a den. Not unlike a fort or tree house, a den can be fancy or in our case a shanty made from whatever scrap we could find laying about.

STEP 1:  Analyze your materials. What can we use this for? Nothing it turns out...too big, too much work for slapping something together to remove all the planks and nails.

STEP 2: Analyze the potential den site. If nothing else, it gives you an excuse to climb on to things you’re not supposed to.

STEP 3: Make sure you have some kind of roof, because the primary goal is to get out of the rain. This old door should work.

STEP 4: Review the in-progress construction and materials...looks fairly bleak, but the boys seem to like it.

STEP 5: Wonder about smashing things. This is important...it makes the boys feel like they’re building something, even though all they’re doing is breaking wood into kindling and fighting over tools.

STEP 6: Make sure the little ones get involved...Ollie obviously doesn’t approve. He’s thinking: “The roof overhead is full of gaps! When it rains this den will be just as wet as it would be without the rubbish roof! Is this some kind of task engineered for the silly psychological satisfaction of constructing something that has no apparent value other than keeping us busy?!!” Yes Ollie, yes it is.

STEP 7: Get a feel for the den’s potential, spotting problems to be fixed while claiming ownership of the den. Merrit seems hopeful that rain will not come through the giant gaps in the door above.

STEP 8: Get a bunch of girls to tell you how much better their den is. This solidifies a "girls only" den and a "boys only" den. Who cares if they have a fridge! We can throw rocks farther!

STEP 9: When in doubt, add carpet.

STEP 10: Look tough in your new den, it tells everyone to keep out! Secret stuff is going to happen here, secret plans and plotting. Now...we’re hungry. Let’s go inside.

Bike Bonanza

Merrit rode his bike without training wheels (or stabilizers, as they say here)! Woo hoo! Go, Merrit! Here are some highlights of his big day:






Earlier in the day, Mike went on a 20-mile bike ride. Here he is getting ready to leave:

Mike here. There's a bike shop right across the street where I got some general maintenance on my bike done. They gave me a map of bike trails all over the northeast. So I picked a trail head that was close to our house and I really didn't have any expectations. 

I just wanted to get out and get some exercise. But what I found was an absolutely incredible bike ride that I could never have planned myself. It led through quiet long stretches between farmlands and fields, under bridges, and between  hedgerows. The path is used by the locals as a general footpath and as a horsetrail. It took me further north, and just on a whim, I took a right towards the coast. I ended up in the town of Seaton Sluice. I wasn't done yet...I didn't want to turn around. 

I continued north, all along the coast which was great because I had worked up a sweat and I was being cooled off by the North Sea breeze. The view was panoramic. All along the way, I was nervously passing horses, because I had never passed a horse on a bike before and didn't know what they'd do. 

I got up to the town of Blythe, which is an old port town, where they have a long stretch of windmills built onto a pier that stretches out into the ocean. 

I figured Blythe was a good place to turn around and head back. I followed the same trail all the way back to my front door. Twenty miles in all. I hope to post a video or photos of my next ride soon.

Mike's Trip to Cologne, Germany

Mike here. So I was asked to do a talk about the art direction for Driver San Francisco at the Game Developers Conference in Cologne, Germany. Because I was at a conference, I didn't have a lot of time to take pictures, but I did take a few...

Euros and pounds.

Five hour layover in Amsterdam. See the guy in the background? He's from
Russia, but currently living in Alberta, Canada. We had about a two-hour
conversation about politics, traveling, and family. He could potentially be
a best friend, except his plane left two hours before mine. He's on his way
to Barcelona on holiday.

Flying into Cologne. 

A lucky guess. We ended up just by chance at this great restaurant
and bar right across from the conference. I'm with two co-workers, Joe
(from London) and Danes (from Hungary). This is us at 7pm. We
didn't leave until 2am. 

The English call 'em bangers and mash. In Germany it's simply
pan-fried sausages with garlic mashed potatoes and crispy carmelized
onions.  It needed a name like awesome on awesomeness. 

This was chicken, pork, and steak medallions on a bed of creamy buttered
cabbage. I don't like cabbage, but I'll eat that cabbage all day long. The
potatoes were just freakin' awesome.

Totally random. While walking toward Cologne's city centre, we walked right up
to a Driver Challenger. (The car from the game.) A classic example of the right
hand not knowing what the left was doing. A press tour of the car all over
Europe--handing Tshirts out of the trunk--and us just happening to be in
Cologne at the same time. The car owners didn't believe we worked on the game.

Me trying to look cool.

I don't know what to say about this.

Danes was our guide through Cologne.
He's just that kind of guy.

Joe is very happy about his sausage... :)

Saturday. 1:30 p.m. Mike Says, "Let's Drive West."

Saturday. 1:30 p.m. Mike says, "Let's drive west."

Okay.

Hi, Mike here....in order to keep things "real", I'm going to edit this post along the way...just so you get a correct understanding of what this day was all about. My thoughts will be in italics....because that's what my thoughts look like.....slanted.

With no real destination in mind and having done no pre-planning or preparation, I grabbed our New Members packet from the National Trust before we left the house and then we stopped at a gas station to buy a road map of Great Britain and Ireland.

My lap in the car.

Mike decided he wanted to see the Irish Sea, at the other side of the country. So we fueled up and hit the road.

 You didn't think I mean the gas tank, did you?

It was drizzly, but we didn't want to be cooped up inside the house all day. We decided to travel along Highway B6318, a two-lane road that runs through what's known as Hadrian's Wall Country. I like Mir's use of the word "decided"...what she means to say is, we drove in circles until we saw a sign that said "Hadrians Wall Thisaway----->" And we happened to follow that road through the country side.

B6318 and the ancient wall, begun in AD 122, run side by side from east to west across England's northernmost counties. There's also a footpath that many hikers and backpackers walk each year, from sea to sea. Eric and Anne, we're going to hike along the wall when you guys come out...we've already picked the beginning of the hike and the end...we won't be going sea to sea, just the best part of it IMO.

Photo source: www.en.wikipedia.org

As we drove along, we knew we were on the right road, we could see hikers on the footpath, but where was the wall? I mean, there were lots of walls. All looked really old and broken down in places and covered with moss. Does a 2,000-year-old rock wall look different from a 200-year-old wall?

We stopped for a late lunch at 3:00 at the Errington Arms.

As soon as we walked in, Mike said he felt like he was at the beginning of a D&D quest. This reference was 100% lost on me because I was cool in high school. Sheesh....OK, so yea, most games did begin at old taverns where you meet rangers and magic users and went on quests for things like the "trousers of the shimmering whale" or the "black sword of the phoenix"....oh no...I'm a dork.

Ollie is the dungeon master. Did I get the lingo right?
Can we stop the D&D references now please?

This D&D geek grew up alright. 

The food was great. Because it was between lunch and
dinner, they were only serving sandwiches.
No bother, everything we ordered was delicious.

The big boys both had Wiltshire ham and mature cheddar with tomato
on homemade ciabatta bread.

 After a great meal and a pot of hot tea, we ventured onto the Hadrian's Wall Path--just for a little bit. An entry point to the path went up and over the rock wall immediately behind the Errington Arms.

Mike helps Ollie up and over the step-ladder.
He does look a little like a hooded, dark figure from a D&D adventure, no?
For crying out loud...I was looking down because
I thought I had stepped in some sheep dip.

We walked straight through a sheep pasture.

Don't step in the poo, boys. We called this the poopath,
 also known as the turtrail.

I am the stoic sheep of the north, I will slay you with my dominant stance!

Not Hadrian's Wall.
Just one of many lookalikes.
Nice one Mir....get everyone's hopes up...yep,
 just another wall.

When we finally saw the wall, it was pretty obvious that it was different from the many old, mossy walls we'd been seeing the whole drive so far. It was much wider than any of the other walls we'd seen.

Photo source: en.wikipedia.org

Eventually, we had to choose whether we were going to go southwest, toward Carlisle, or northwest, toward--well, not much--just a few small towns that looked like they were nestled along the shores of the Solway Firth, which opened up to the Irish Sea. (I think "firth" is what they call a bay or sound in Scotland...?)

Yes, Scotland. Somehow in my awesome map-reading abilities, I missed the border. So Mike goes, "Um, Scotland?" as we pass the Welcome to Scotland sign. He looks over at me. OK, at this point I kind of started losing it...Mir was the navigator, her job was to navigate. And now we were in Scotland, which was cool, but not our intended destination. I usually enjoy spontaneous trips, but by now I'd seen enough sheep and was ready to see the water.

Oops.

And we drive into this little town called Gretna Green. We see signs for The Old Blacksmith Shop and The Blacksmith's Museum. And there are lots of little B&Bs along the main road. And a run down hotel or two that maybe, once upon a time, had been semi-grand. And then we're out of town and back on quiet two-lane road with nothing but fields of sheep. Awesome.

We try to go left/south towards the water's edge. We try it in East Rigg, then Rigg, and then Newbie. In Newbie, we found a road that went down to the firth, but were blocked by the gates to a chemical plant. 

No waterfront. Nowhere.

It's about 7:00 by this time. The boys are hungry. Their bedtime is in 30 minutes. We learned on our last spontaneous trip to Scotland to keep an overnight bag in the car, so this time we are prepared. And so we say, "Let's look for a place to spend the night and grab some dinner." ...but, there were not restaurants around, and every little town we went through was dead quiet...except for the sheep.

Our plan is evolving on the fly, which is sort of driving Merrit crazy because he keeps saying, "Where are we gooooooing?" We try to be understanding because, after all, they've been in the car now for a long time. Mir is being very gracious with the term understanding...I nearly wrenched my back trying to swing around the front seat to tell Merrit to quit whining...oh no...we're all losing it. This is where you read about the family who got lost in Scotland and all that was found was a burned out bmw, empty cracker packs and a note reading..."The sheep are all around us now, watching...WATCHING us unfold (see what I did there?), so we've decided to join them. Goodbye everyone, see ewe later..."

I wish I had some pictures of Gretna Green but, we didn't take a single photo. Why?

1. The town was sort-of run down and forgettable; not much to see

2. It was raining harder now

3. We were on a mission: Food and shelter

We did however, video this exciting moment:



I ducked through the rain to about six different lodges, inns, hotels, and B&Bs. For a small town, this place sure had a lot of hotels! And, curiously, every one of them was booked! We were flummoxed. We use this word when we play D&D too.

At one hotel, I asked the receptionist, "Is there some kind of convention going on or something? Everywhere is booked." And she looked at me like I had a second head and said, "Well, there are a lot of weddings..."

Every hotel I went into had large framed photographs (like 50 or more!) of the different brides who'd had their receptions there. At one motor lodge, I walked through a wedding reception (bride in white gown and groom in a KILT...not kidding!) to get to the reception desk. It felt like a scene from "The Wedding Crashers." I was tempted to grab a glass of champagne and start talking up the guests, but Mike and the kids were waiting in the car, so...

I said to Mike, "What's up with anvils in this town?" Every hotel I'd gone into had a huge anvil in the lobby, or propping open a door, or whatever. This was a first for me. I'd never seen an anvil in real life--only in Roadrunner cartoons. And in one day I must have seen seven. Very weird.

We decided to drive to Carlisle. Thankfully it was only 11 miles away. My map reading skills, again, are horrible. It looked, like, really far away on the map! I would like to point out that this is the time Mir chooses to confess that her map reading skills are horrible...not on a 7 hr drive through the country but here on a blog. Neato.

So we find a vacancy, but it was £100, and not even that nice of a hotel and so I say, "Don't kill me, but why don't we grab some dinner and just drive back home? Look, it only took us 10 minutes to get to Carlisle on the main highway; I bet it's not that far back to Newcastle." And, for the first time, I used the map's grid and key to work out (duh!) the distance between Point A and Point B. "It looks like it's only about 54 miles to get back home." HA HA HA....oh boy, that's a good one buddy"

So we stop for dinner.

Mike, disenchanted with England and Scotland by this point, suggests
McDonald's.

And then regrets it.

 With lead bricks in our bellies, but having spent only £9 to feed a family of four (isn't that how they ALWAYS getcha?), we get in the car and find our way to highway A69. The dual carriageway is going to get us the 50-odd miles to Newcastle in less than an hour! Sweeeeeet.

Because it stays light outside so late now, it was dusk all the way home. The boys slept, Mike and I listened to music and watched the fields pass by, enjoying the idea of the money we'd saved by skipping a hotel and the thought of waking up in our own bed in the morning.

Our mellow drive back went something like this:





Now, are you ready for the punchline?
We were talking the next morning about how our whole trip--but especially our detour to Gretna Green--was like an episode of "The Twilight Zone." So Mike googles Gretna Green, Scotland. From en.wikipedia.org:

Gretna Green is one of the world's most popular wedding destinations, hosting over 5000 weddings each year, and one of every six Scottish weddings.^[2]

Gretna's famous "runaway marriages" began in 1753 when Lord Hardwicke's Marriage Act was passed in England; it stated that if both parties to a marriage were not at least 21 years old, then parents had to consent to the marriage. This Act did not apply in Scotland, where it was possible for boys to marry at 14 and girls at 12 years old with or without parental consent (see Marriage in Scotland). Many elopers fled England, and the first Scottish village they encountered was Gretna Green. The Old Blacksmith's Shop, built around 1712, and Gretna Hall Blacksmith's Shop (1710) became, in popular folklore at least, the focal tourist points for the marriage trade. The Old Blacksmith's opened to the public as a visitor attraction as early as 1887.

The local blacksmith and his anvil have become the lasting symbols of Gretna Green weddings. Scottish law allowed for "irregular marriages", meaning that if a declaration was made before two witnesses, almost anybody had the authority to conduct the marriage ceremony. The blacksmiths in Gretna became known as "anvil priests".

Since 1929 both parties in Scotland have had to be at least 16 years old, but they still may marry without parental consent. In England and Wales, the age for marriage is now 16 with consent and 18 without.

Gretna's two blacksmiths' shops and countless inns and smallholding became the backdrops for hundreds of thousands of weddings. Today there are several wedding venues in and around Gretna Green, from former churches to purpose-built chapels. The services at all the venues are always performed over an iconic blacksmith's anvil. Gretna Green endures as one of the world's most popular wedding venues, and thousands of couples come from around the world to be married 'over the anvil' at Gretna Green.

So there you have it, we stumbled into a one-of-a-kind destination and didn't even know it. Gretna Green. Not that we'll be going back. Ever.