For our last day in the UK, I really wanted to find a beach. Here, they call anything that isn't swimming in a pool 'wild swimming' so I hoped we might be able to fit in a a bit of a wild swim as well if the water wasn't frigid. So I road warriored it down the Cumbrian Coast to the town of St. Bees which is well known as either the end or the start of the Coast to Coast walk which takes ramblers across The North from, well, one coast to the other, if you didn't pick that up in the name.
St. Bees is also know for its ancient priory thought to have been established in the 11th century in honour of St Bega, an Irish Princess who allegedly floated across the Irish Sea a few hundred years before in a dinghy in order to escape an arranged marriage. There are various versions of the story floating around out there, including one that she didn't exist at all and another that she built a convent after asking the local lord for land and being told she could have whatever was covered in snow the next day; of course a huge area, in midsummer, was blanketed in the stuff the next morning. Right.
We visited the priory that does exist, and it was beautiful, but more interesting was the story of the St. Bees man, a 700 year old mummified body found wrapped in a shroud, encased in lead, placed in a coffin, and then entombed in an area near the priory. It was found in the 1980s by a group of archaeology students who weren't looking for it. The most amazing thing about it was how well preserved the body was - organs and eyeballs were still there, but most incredibly, the chest cavity contained blood still in a liquid form after all these centuries. Gross!
Apparently the shroud was soaked with beeswax and the theory is that the wax enabled the preservation. Remarkably, they were able to see what he had eaten for his last meal, which was likely to be some kind of sausage and chips if the diet of the locals here is anything to go by.
Anyway, after marvelling at ancient science and being suitably impressed with how old everything else was, we had a quick chat with the local vicar who was a retired RAF Colonel who had spent time in Canada and really wanted to discuss the change in colour of the Canadian Air Force uniforms, for some reason. He was a nice enough chap but I felt that we had disappointed him by not knowing more about the specifics of the uniform. We took our leave just as a large party was arriving for a christening of a baby boy. It was all ridiculously English and I wouldn't have been surprised if Hugh Grant had appeared around the corner with a group of Morris Dancers or perhaps Sir Ian McKellar with a tea trolley.
It was clearly time for the beach but first we had some lunch at the tea room located conveniently in the car park. Lunch options are limited in St. Bees so we had to make do.
A word here about British food, in particular from The North. England has an obesity problem and if I may, I would like to suggest that the addition of a vegetable or two other than potatoes and turnips to the general diet would work wonders on the health of the citizens. A salad here consists of some iceberg lettuce, a piece of tomato, maybe a slice of cucumber and giant dollop of some sort of creamy coleslaw on top of the whole thing, which is then drenched in another creamy dressing so as to render the vegetables unrecognizable. I don't want to sound smug as I'm sure we could all improve our diets but it really is noticeable here how little vegetables are offered, and eaten. Plus, french fries come with everything, even a salad - I kid you not.
Server: 'D'ya know wot yer wantin?'
Me: 'A salad please'
Server: 'Right, chips.'
Me: 'No no - a salad please'
Server: 'A wot?'
Me: 'You know, a salad - a mix of fresh vegetables: lettuce, carrots, sprouts, cucumber, beets etc'
Server: 'Awriyte yes I 'ave 'eard of it once from me mum's second cousin's best friend's mate from Scunthorpe. 'E 'ad one once, I think'
Me: 'Great - I'll have one too, please!'
Server: 'It comes with a side of chips, y'awriyte?'
Me: 'Just the salad please, no chips this time - I had them for breakfast and second breakfast.'
Server: 'I'll just check wit kitchen....
Server (comes back from kitchen shaking her head): 'no I'm sorreh - we can only do it wit chips.'
Me: 'but..I don't want the chips...can I just have the salad, please? I'm developing scurvy over here...'
Server: 'I can do the chips on the side. Or do you want mushy peas?'
Me: 'Can I just have a cup of tea please?'
Server: 'Right, of course you can. Tea and chips then it is (leaves before I can say anything else).
Me:
Please, God, not another chip...
Anyway we were all hungry so we ate our vegetable-free lunches and went for a nap on the beach. And by beach, I mean hot rocks. The weather was perfect and the Irish Sea the perfect temperature for a swim. The only thing was how difficult it was to walk on the rocks down to the water. I started out well enough but after about three steps, it became increasingly difficult to step on the rocks with my lily-white baby feet without writhing around like some kind of deranged robot - each step I took, my foot became buried in the rocks and weight-bearing on the other foot almost impossible while I tried to remove my first foot out from under what was by now several pounds of rocks. I kept this act up for a few minutes, during which time Travis pranced past me saying 'what's the matter with you, Jane, it's not that big a deal!' I finally jerked my way to the water and made it in for a bit of a swim. On the way out, I was pleased to notice other people adopting my 'deranged robot' approach to walking on the rocks and I didn't feel so bad.
After a short nap, Travis and I left my mum and the girls at the beach and went for a walk up the headlands. It was stunning up there:
On a really clear day it is possible to see the Isle of Man in the distance and then Ireland is beyond that. When Travis isn't in the way, of course.
We savoured the drive home in the golden light of early evening. Click the link to see a clip of how we keep ourselves entertained in the car while I drive, again keeping my fingers crossed that no one is coming the other way: Road Warrior
We spent our last night at High Houses visiting the cows and wishing we didn't have to leave. We were a sad lot when we left the following morning to return the rental car and catch the train to London where we were saying good bye to my mum and the four of us were catching a flight to Luxembourg for a few days before we train it to Amsterdam.
I'll tell you about that tomorrow-
Thanks for hanging around-
Jane
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