We found the Snowshill Arms – which I kept saying “is on the green” but I couldn’t find the green (as I remembered it.) I say this because it was so clean and scrubbed, the charm of the old had not settled in. Few people were on the island today. So we inched on. I was about to pull up, ask him for directions, when Lana whispered “He’s got a gun!” Surreal! With a return to lockdown and remote learning, it’s more important than ever for our community to stay in touch … Hippies everywhere. Rocca was perfect: a lovely little Italian restaurant right down the street where we decided to eat our combo lunch/dinner. Fabulous bruschetta…both Diane and I devoured it. We cleaned out the fridge, cleaned up the kitchen, checked all the closets and tried to resecure the door key in the lock box. The winds were so tempestuous, they needed to grip the cliff face to avoid being blown off the ledge. Sip into Dunkin'® and enjoy America's favorite coffee and baked goods chain. Touring the Cotswolds villages – stepping back in time, Up at 7:30…another yummy breakfast, this time with rhubarb yoghurt…organic, natural – absolutely fab! Our bedroom was, of course, charming – all chintz and prints – as was our bathroom across the hall. until we finally had to assure him we’d do it all…once we were in the hotel. After the first night, we moved – to a room across the hall. Martin is one of the best chefs – I’ve never had such wonderful food. Reaching town, we stop for a quick gelato, then catch a train and are soon back at our hotel. Bracelet Bay was also exactly as I remembered it when I was a child…a wide curve of smooth yellow untrammeled sand, surrounded by cliffs covered in yellow gorse and purple heather. The sky was bright white, and the longer we hiked, the hotter we became. After a hot bath and the obligatory hair washing, we all convened in the bar for drinks. Sweetwater Organic Coffee Company is a coffee roaster in Gainesville, Florida. New York has fascinating people: just a terrific amalgam of all and every kind. We looked down into the beautiful valleys surrounding us, dotted with tiny villages and isolated cottages, set in the greenest of green fields, or amid trees on gentle hilly slopes. Price: $ 25.00 – $ 100.00. The views were incredible! We ate quickly, and were glad to be back in the car. Anyway, we made it back to Number 31, I packed my bags for the next morning, and we crashed. The air is clean; we’re still having beautiful weather, and the breeze was brisk and evergreen-scented. Shanklin, with the beautiful church and wychgate. It was sourced and roasted by Terroir Coffee, a company created by one of the most respected names in the trade: George Howell. Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day Not too bad going down: narrow trails, stony, mossy, and damp. All is heartbreakingly beautiful in the clear golden light. One of our goals this day was to see a stave church, built with no nails but supported by tree trunks, or “staves” which are felled and left to dry and naturally resinate for eight years, and which are then used to build the church. She made me a cup of hot tea, and drew a hot bath – bliss!! By the time we got our taxi, there were about 50-60 people in line. Never has a motel room looked so inviting. Since it was a beautiful day, we had tea in the garden, and I took a deep breath. No matter what we did, the stove was either in flames, or exhaling gas. Impromptu walks through fields and woodlands is a wonderful way to see England. the glorious fields, farms and far vistas seen from the road. The flowers were rioting color – orange nasturtiums, yellow gorse, purple heather, hot pink petunias, white daisies, orange-red geraniums, purple-white freesias, white and purple lilac, smelling like heaven. The weather changes here almost hourly – one minute it can be glorious sun – then clouds appear – blow away – then come back – the sky darkens – then again, the sun is out full blast. Jan, the proprietor, was a charming woman who was so busy she hadn’t much time to do anything but show us the bedroom and bathroom, and ask us to write down our breakfast requests. In Maine, you get the entire lobster, with something green and black attached to it…urgle! Breaking glass being bundled, brushed, crashed, bashed, shoved, collected, pushed and dumped. In retrospect, that was a mistake, as there’s always something hidden behind the touristy buildings that make a visit worthwhile. Skye fulfilled all expectations. A magical world. In the Highlands on a beautiful day, you were totally at one with nature; it was a spiritual experience to be alone here. On the way back to Old Orchard, as usual looking at everything and anything that crossed my path, I saw – to my delight – what looked like a conker. (Before dinner, we had a drink in the pub – so by the time the day was over, we were out like lights. Once back at the Villa Pagoda, we meet the rest of our small group in the garden for drinks and hors d’ouvres. The bathroom also had oak beams, on which I had already knocked my head, and a step-down, which had sent Lee crashing into the tub. Our hike took us down to a pebbled rock beach across gorse and heather, through tussocky boggy grass, and finally to the top of a small tor overlooking the loch. As we our paying our bill, one of the other guests come by to say “someone has a flat…” It’s us, unfortunately. “California Dreamin’” played on a radio somewhere. We pulled in for directions; the store was closed, and a very large dog was taking care of the premises. I bought a white wooden picture frame, the book “Midnight Farm“, and some powder and lavendar spray, but the shop had some marvelous overstuffed furniture which caught my eye. The day was just about perfect…the skies clear, with little or no wind. Over the ocean bright and wide… An old man who lives alone (except for weekly visits from his wife), he is an artist whose canvas is his marvelous garden. Being rather damp and chilled, the first thing that crossed my mind was a hot bath. The scent of the pines, the green ferns, the moss that covers the rocks and boulders, and below us, the silver-gray fjord, like a living mirror of the sky: all was so beautiful, so pristine. Description: The gift that keeps on giving! Although we forget a bag, and have to turn back, the driver narrowly missing the back of a row of parked cars, we are soon on our way over the Ligurian Mountains. The balcony of The Sand Bar overlooked the main street. Only three of us choose to go on this hike with Mario (ah, Mario! I love it (but when I tried it on back home, I realized I’d lost weight and it is rather big. Mysterious and brooding, green and beautiful…a land never to be forgotten. I will never drive in London again! Naturally I drifted off a short while before I was due to get up. We were told to lock our bikes to the railing and drop the key in the mailbox slot on our return (I’d like to try this in Houston.) After which, it started raining steadily and strongly. We hike for three hours – through deep green ferny woods forever climbing the mountain -the path initially difficult as it is studded with boulders, but soon, less so. At some point, I discovered – after calling him “Gil” for about a day and a half – that our host’s name was actually Martin – and “Gill” – with whom I’ve been e-mailing – was actually his wife, pronounced Jill but spelled Gill. Overheard on one of the steeper and rockier slopes, an English woman remarks to her companions “I’m just looking for a little flat place.” And she is wearing heels! We ran down to the coffee shop for breakfast, and as we were finishing, the smog began to lift. Many of the houses were white clapboard with black shutters. So a roast beef dinner in the lovely restaurant was just the thing to warm us up (after the usual Ubu IPA!) Five of us – all women – chose the “long walk,” challenging and quite grueling. It was so peaceful and quiet, quiet, quiet. The film was a commercial success and received numerous … What seemed a short jaunt at the beginning was in actuality quite a climb – and the smoothness of the grass, deceiving. It was so quiet. Nicola and Jean-Pierre were NOT amused, as they spent all morning trying to dry it out. And after a couple of hours, despite the thickness of my boot soles, my feet began to feel every stone beneath them! I was so happy. I am thankful for that visit because it was our last. We kept ice in our mouths as much as possible to offset the drying heat, gulping juice a mile a minute as the ice melted. In Bergen, we said goodbye to our small group, then Diane and I rolled our suitcases to the Admiral Hotel, overlooking the fjord, dropped off our luggage and rambled round for a final farewell. Then we inched back across the ledge – and drove to the most famous castle in Scotland for a brief tour – the Eileen Donnan. The one thing we hadn’t wrapped our taste buds around so far was the Cotswold ice cream, so seeing a vendor’s cart on the street, we stopped for a cone. After about three hours, we were very glad to see the ferry! So we enjoyed a pleasant trip through the most beautiful sunny countryside, the fields laid out on either side like a rich green quilt. At this point, we packed our things, bought a cup of coffee, decided coffee shops and restaurants were the way to go in the future, and left the poor bellboy to get on with it. Shera, Beate’s dog who accompanied us on this hike, was truly a picture as she crossed the bridge, legs splayed, eyes beseeching! According to our guide book, this is “a temple of the sun where the sea, sky and pastel colored houses are so intensely luminous as to instill optimism and joy of life in its inhabitants …a mythological place where eternally young beings conduct a happy existence in adoration of Beauty. A knock on the door is the maid, who (naturally) speaks no English. We bought some pretty soap at the shop, and had scones in the tea room. The green wall-to-wall carpet, the pink-striped bedspreads and green velvet wing chair by a potted plant and huge wardrobe all made the room comfortable and inviting. At 9:45 AM, a sharp-looking little red Rover rolled up to the front door. Sitting across from the glacier, we stopped for lunch at a small hut built of boulders and wood. In direct contrast, the horses and carriages were all out and driving around Central Park. I, of course, could get lost in a parking lot (as I have). We were in constant contact with friends and family back home, and luckily for the most part, they emerged unscathed, as did our homes. The cast stayed on stage after the performance and asked the donations for the homeless HIV- and AIDS-positive. No lukewarm stuff for us! A view from our room at the Charlotte Inn. As I sit there alone, face turned toward the sun, a woman on a terrace waters her plants, while another hangs clothes on the ever-present clothesline. But I’ve gotten over that! And the bread – and the Cornish butter – a deep, rich yellow with flavor unlike anything over here in the States (at least anything I’ve eaten). We ignored all this, and walked to the headland, covered in purple heather and yellow gorse. We had ten minutes to spare, so dashed inside, where I bought a framed print of a snowy winter’s day in the surrounding fields , which I loved. Here we stop for a quick coffee break. If you do something without a second thought, you do it without first considering if you should…. Very few people were in this car, but once we were seated, an older woman embarked, looking for her reserved seat and carrying on a conversation with herself– quite loudly. Carpeted in purple heather and yellow gorse, the cliffs stretched as far as the eye could see. Streams crossed our path, across which we leapt from stone to stone, or boulder to boulder, or we inched across tiny wooden bridges – all slippery and wobbly. A sanctuary is situated on the high ground of every village. The coast drive was so beautiful, it was hard to be anything other than in awe of the spectacular scenery. People are so kind here. ), After all this, we had about 45 minutes to find a place to eat before we had to get to the play, so we took a cab to the Minskoff Theatre, picked up our tickets, then ran across the street to Lindy’s, a little landmark deli with the best sandwich I ever put in my mouth, a Sid Caesar (all the sandwiches are named after old-time comedians). Pure, and fresh, and sinless Chris, the proprietor and owner, ran the B&B with his wife Sue. We stood on the dock, looking across the bay and up the hills thinking how lucky some were to live in the midst of all this stunning scenery. Which was fine. Fields of bright yellow sunflowers spread out around us. I cleaned myself up, we called a taxi and we were off. And even though it was August, the temperature had dropped a LOT, so it was cold to boot. Our mornings mostly followed the same easygoing pattern, since we didn’t want to be constantly meeting some deadline or other. Lana had bought a denim coat here, which I coveted…but I was now running low on funds. At which point, the conductor came down the aisle and quietly (!) We made it to about 2,000 feet and the countryside spread below us like a patchwork quilt, all shades of green, everything so sharply etched, so you could even see a small black cat snoozing on gravel below. All we wanted by this time was to get across the border into New Mexico and find a decent place to rest. David had remembered a special visit there in 1979, so that was next – it’s a charming town with a lovely long ascending high street, bustling with shoppers and tourists. Once again, hopelessly lost. It was enveloped by farms, hills and orchards. Finally, we took a twin bedroom at a tiny B&B with a bathroom the size of a pea. With a sigh of relief, we saw Rose’s Restaurant appear like a mirage on the highway. Our group meets at 2!! It is history. An hour’s ride through the fjord to Balestrand – and there was the beautiful gingerbread hotel on the water, surrounded by the loveliest little town: small colorful Norwegian houses, all painted in pastels and alive with flowers in gardens and pots. That night we ate at an enchanting new restaurant, and had some of the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life. Small streams crossed the paths, tiny bridges forded the streams, statues dotted the landscape, and all was quiet and peaceful. Finally pulling ourselves away, we looked into and around the various small shops. The old grade A-listed church, St. Kenelm’s, dates back to 14th-15th century. To get to the ledge, we scrambled along a small trail about an inch wide, leaped across a small space (with nothing but air below) and perched on the rock just wide enough for two people. Back in the car for Broadway, finishing at the Horse and Hounds for shandies before saying goodbye. This looked down to a crystal clear blue lake with white-sailed boats skimming the surface. Pulling on our backpacks, we began the hike – up, up, up to a small settlement on the mountainside – buildings built centuries ago which are now part of a farm. The sky was the bluest it had been since arriving in Scotland. Based on “La Boheme“, all of the characters (or most) have AIDS or the HIV virus, and are dying… I began to appreciate it much more by the second act; in the first case, I began to better understand it! After hiking miles across mountains, we circled back. What did we know – we kept driving in. The road through the village of Snowshill to our B&B. The piece de resistance was a sampler with a little of everything from the dessert menu. Ten years later in 1663, there were over 80 coffeehouses within the City and by the start of the eighteenth century, this number had grown to over 500. Once she found her seat, she proceeded to take out her cell phone and start another conversation at the top of her lungs. We sat in the sun under a sky so vividly blue it reminded me of driving on the highway to Taos in New Mexico, where the sky looks like it’s painted blue every day. It’s completely satisfying. And once again – more cows! We walked along the River Ness (not too far away from the Loch – which, when we asked – yet another – taxi driver if anyone still sees the Loch Ness Monster, he replied: ‘I don’t think it’s a monster, but I think there’s SOMETHING there.’ Eerie! Again we walked through the market and town, then rode the funicular to the top of the mountain. Now how nice a way is that of completing the trip! But time was running by us, and after a quick coffee, we were back on the train, and got to Sandplace at 8:40… then we had dinner at The Plough. our first view of The Old Orchard country house took us into Jane Austen territory. Not a peaceful night. Grounded in the ideals of service, hospitality and entrepreneurship that inspired our founders, a Mercyhurst education encourages the development of lifelong passions and engagement with the larger world. Something moved on the grass verge, and a highway patrol car pulled swiftly and silently up behind us. David wanted to end our English sojourn with drinks in The Kensington’s bar, which was dim and cozy, very library-ish…so adorable. Absolutely nothing like it. the vine-covered houses and manors and small church with its graveyard, and the sign for the cricket club. We found the church and graveyard. Several of us decided to continue. His paintings lined the walls of the castle’s hallway. After breakfast, we rambled over to Bergen’s fishmarket…just down the road and on the edge of the fjord, where fishing boats, cruise ships and ferries all dock. We met two delightful couples. The kitchen held every conceivable appliance, including a hot water tap that gave us steaming hot water for tea and coffee…immediate satisfaction! The room is nice: two double beds, big window, fireplace facing the beds, wonderful big – echoing – bathroom, huge closet, big armoire housing a huge tv, and best of all, lots of alcohol & food in the mini fridge! We padded around the sand, noticing how the cedars were bent double with the ever-prevailing winds. We’d packed the night before, but when it came time to leave, it was so hard to say goodbye to Gill and Martin and Cornwall. Around midday, we noticed the empty gas tank; an Exxon station loomed on the horizon, and we pulled in. Upper and Lower Slaughter(s), Naunton, Stanton (one of my favorite villages), Fillkin, Bourton-on-Water, Chudleigh, Dartmoor National Park – mysterious, rolling moors peopled only by wild ponies –, Warren House Inn – at the center of Dartmoor atop a low hill, the only building for miles around. Many flowers showed tiny heads along the track: Ling, a heather-like bush with tiny, tiny purple bells; buttercups and celandines; and an occasional violet, poking its head through the grass. Anyway, I’ll stop here and read for a while, then ….to sleep! The vaccine came too late. So after a brief rest, packing & unpacking, etc. Which we did, until a swarm of bees decided to dive bomb us. Passing through many small villages, we pulled over for a few minutes off the beaten path at Elmley Castle for photographs of the Tudor-style cottages and ivy clad shops and restaurants. St. Juliana was represented by a mask carved over her skull – with the skull still in the mask. As we moved on, a small plane appeared from nowhere and flew through the Canyon, looking like a miniature bird. Arriving at the station, we took various detours through other trains, in one side and out the other, finally finding “our” train only to discover it had engine trouble. We spent time in the beautiful, historic Church of St James, with its old, old carvings, stained glass and memorials, and wandered outside to take a walk amongst the ancient tombstones. Bonnie Prince Charlie, sailing over the sea to Skye, is an old folk song that was sung by my mother when I was very young. I knew mine was called Kettle Cottage, but being blind as a bat when I start to panic, I couldn’t see anything that remotely resembled my house. After planting the luggage, we walked into town for a light supper, and caught up on the news. Eventually our guides were able to drive the vans through the roadblock and catch up with us. The trail-less ground became more and more treacherous – as well as boggier and boggier. A tiny white ribbon of trail threaded its way through the Canyon floor; the river itself was hidden in the deep gulley in the depths of the Canyon, too far for the eye to see. The top of this mountain led to yet another mountain, and up and up we went. We got to the foot of the mountain, got our rain jackets and hoods on just in case, buckled up our backpacks, took about 100 steps…and it started to rain. The weather held, and it was a lovely lovely time. ), A street in Invernesse alongside the River Ness. Carpe Diem … seize the day. Maine is a bit like something out of a movie. With little time to spare, we washed our hair, packed our luggage, carried it downstairs, grabbed a bowl of cereal, then it was on through Bergen to catch the train to Myrrdahl. Here we are in Nervi…a beautiful town. I followed the road to a bridge that was blocked from crossing, so turned another way, ending up outside of another part of Broadway, a little more modern, not quite so picturesque and old. Floor, walls, ceiling of the bathroom were totally refinished in white marble. The sand on the beach was churned up in giant mud flats, and the day was overcast and dreary. In a sheltered corner, we stopped to eat our lunch, bought at the tea shop. A short step away from home led me into a small but intensely green park – the Ernest Wilson Memorial Garden. Then…on our merry way to California. Our first view, from high atop a hill: narrow walled paths, starred with daisies. Ecstatic is not too broad a term for how we felt! Still Items Things. At one point, we debated returning to Bakersfield, but decided something had to turn up in the way of a motel or hotel…or… something…anything? A quick dinner of fish and chips (excellent! I was one of the few who opted to go on! After window shopping and a brisk stroll, I stopped in the Noel Arms for a half pint of Guinness (or two!) Our dinner menu: duck fois gras, lobster etouvee, rack of lamb and fresh berries. It was charming. Eventually we came to Carmel, but (as seems to be our destiny), no rooms were available at any inn. We were told that the oldest inhabitants of Scotland come from here, (at least, their bones were found here.) It had its moments, but discovering the countryside did it for me. A longtime member of First Baptist Church in Corpus Christi, she has served on committees and boards of the Baptist General Convention of Texas and the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship. The weather this first day was just great – although cold, the sun was shining and the sky blue. After the museum and farm, we continued our hike through the woods towards the ferry. I entered their (again charming) sitting room and read and waited, read and waited til I thought my eyes would fall out – or in. I was called to the stage to sing “Galway Bay.” I’d had a glass of sherry, but even so I could hardly sing above a whisper…I had terrible stage fright! But for the life of us we couldn’t find Perranuthnoe. Again, we overslept: breakfast is between eight and nine, and we woke at ten to nine. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world! We wanted to take our time, stop along the way to look at the amazing views of the Pacific Ocean, and try to spot celebrity homes nestled in the cliffs. Marigolds, roses, daisies – all in full, riotous bloom. We hike back to the hotel, clean up, pack for the next morning’s move, and leave for dinner at an outdoor café. You can see for miles, because The Cloisters is actually on cliffs overlooking the Hudson. After lunch, we set off for Stanway, walking “The Cotswolds Way”, an historic 100+ mile long footpath, which runs through the heart of the Cotswolds. The church clock chimed the hour of nine. The room had two low, low, low diamond-paned dormer windows with inset window seats. On this particular hike, I didn’t join a hiking group…Diane and I had decided to work out this hike ourselves, and it really did turn out incredibly well. So managed to spend 30 minutes searching for it – we are so directionally impaired! I’ll read for a bit, then- to sleep, perchance…etc. The first stretch took us up a steep and winding hill to the Bone Caves, where we sheltered from the wind and had some refreshment (water). We then walked around Polraen’s garden, so intensely green it almost glowed…the day was overcast, cool and fresh with a few spits of rain, certainly not enough to prohibit our day in Polperro. A couple of us actually thought it over, but in the end, common sense prevailed and we all opted to return to the boat, in the hopes of maybe getting in a little shopping – sounding more appealing by the minute! Once we made it into the gas station, we discovered our air conditioner was not working –we were out of Freon. From the sanctuary above Riomaggiore can be seen the “panorama of the islands of Elba, Corsica, Palmaria and Tine as well as the entire coast from the Cinque Terre to Punta Mesco.”, Look at that beautiful backdrop…sheer heaven (really!). David and I made ourselves sandwiches for lunch, pottered about, and then strolled back to Broadway where we continued the search for “something lavender” for his friends back home. Hmm. I loved her: Hennaed hair, about 65 years old (maybe older), and fairly small-a typical New Yorker, born and bred, and funny as hell “Let me see ya in that sweater, honey I’m waiting out here – let me see it – is it on yet?”, Me: “I’m trying on the cargo pants, Gloria.” Gloria: “Oh, yes, those look good – no, honey, you don’t want to get them tailored here- too expensive. From our view on the hillside, we look down to the sea – azure and glorious. We stopped at an inn for coffee, then turned back to the car. In retrospect, I realize that perhaps I set my sights too high. The whole experience is a view into another world. Except for one solitary man, we were the only people on the causeway. So special and lovely. ), t-shirts, an immense variety of wonderful fresh fruit (more raspberries and cherries), postcards, sweaters, cheese…and much more. We arrived around 10AM at Gatwick and in a very short time, we’re on our way to Cornwall. We ate lunch at the Garden Centre – Cornish pasties again…nice! Apparently really screwed up, having booked our room for Friday and Saturday nights; no rooms were available tonight! Up around 9:30for the usual yummy breakfast, ready for the road to the Cotswolds. The round table where Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley et al met to eat, drink and be merry, was right there in the middle of the lobby/cum/dining room. The deeper in-country we drove, the more ye olde England it became. We dropped our suitcases then walked around the town and down the road to The Square Rigger, a tiny restaurant splot in the middle of the road fork. ... For our Thanksgiving break we tackled an item on my 45×45 Carpe Diem List: TAKE THE BOYS TO DISNEY WORLD! Once atop this hill, Brian read us some tales of Scotland, and had us act them out. Although it is Monday, many people are hiking the trails – Americans, French, German, all sorts of nationalities. Paths are as wide as a footfall. And then a lovely thing happened: when we reached a leveling out of the trail, the sun broke through the clouds, the sky became a deep, clear blue, and the fields stretched before us, emerald green and literally glowing in the sunlight. Monday August 21…on way to airport at 11…I am SO ready. Two deep green club chairs in the corners. From Cornwall to the Cotswolds, there hasn’t been a day that wasn’t fully pleasurable, from the moment we each awoke to the glorious weather, to every view, village, country lane and stile. We immediately began a wonderful hike over the cliffs. The morning started off cloudy, but ended sunny and hot. Glastonbury – King Arthur and Camelot http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glastonbury, Days of Wine and Roses – from the Cotswolds to The Kensington Hotel – Chapter 7. The next day (Thursday), we packed our bags, and then took off for a four hour hike around Glendalough…two lakes, surrounded by mountains…wild, isolated and incredibly beautiful. Although hard to believe, it does still exist, unspoilt, fresh, and utterly satisfying. We planned to be up at dawn to watch the sun come up…ha! Finally, I staggered to the front desk. The visit to the museum was followed by a two-hour walk around the town, which included inching across a hanging – and rather wobbly – bridge, one at a time. Dark paneling, half-way up the wall; then wallpapered to the ceiling. It took us about an hour to get to The Bridge. A little over an hour later, we finally found the Hempstead Highway, a rather blighted thoroughfare, which would lead us out of Houston and onto the main highway to our first destination, the Grand Canyon. Breakfast in L’etoile, the inn’s beautiful little restaurant; the menu: spinach, feta and tomato omelet, fresh orange juice and coffee. Afterwards, several of us cross the grassy stretch behind the hotel in the silvery moonlight. (Many good memories are food-related!). The Haight was not what it had been – mostly, no-one was there! I found a bottle containing two gulps of blended Scotch in a cupboard in the miniscule kitchen, and it went down a treat. you’ll have the most marvelous view to the sea! Once in a while, we passed a house. Navigating these lanes by car, so narrow with the highest of hedgerows, was an adventure by day; a real challenge by night. All had pots of red geraniums in the windows, and the interiors were set up as museums, with old instruments, stoves, sinks, beds, all as used in days gone by. The weather had cleared, and it was cool and fresh walking. After this slightly decadent lunch, we rented bikes at an adorable little bike shop. No tub!