It is Thursday evening. We are prepping for our departure from the Isle of Wight, tomorrow morning. A ferry from the island, and a train to London will leave us with about seven hours to explore, before another train takes us to Harwich, where we board an overnight ferry. Dinner, a room (with complimentary mini bar!) and breakfast on the ferry, and we land at Hoek van Holland. Yet another train takes us to Amsterdam. Three nights there, and a plane to Rome for two nights. A train to Florence for two more nights, before again rail, to Pisa; long enough for the obligatory Leaning Tower pic, hop a plane for a last evening in London, Saturday...home Sunday. With a whirlwind week ahead, we took it easy today. A drive to Godshill, where legend has it that the building of a church at the bottom of the hill was interrupted with a mysterious tele-transportation of the early beginning construction, for three nights straight, until the locals decided that the hill to which everything kept appearing must be Gods Hill (get it?!) so they built the darned church at the top of the hill instead. We picked up Yvonne, Nigels Mum, whose quiet demeanor and heavy accent require close attention to pick up on her wry humor. Her home is a short walk from the town of Godshill, an old village that is laden with touristy shops. The people-watching was top notch, and we alternately sat and observed the crowd, and perused the shops and purchased curios. But the real reason for our trip was a destination known for its cream teas, as English a tradition as Coneys are tradition in Detroit. The Willow Tea Garden is a plot of land thick with flowers and fountains and meandering walkways. It is off season for the full color of an Isle of Wight garden. Despite that fact, this place was still alive with botanical awesomeness. Hanging baskets of colorful fall bloomers highlighted trellises of spring and summer greenery that are beyond their colorful primes. The serenity of the nature and the liquid chatter of numerous fountains provided a fitting canvass on which to paint an early tea. Fresh scones, moist, soft, with a hint of sweetness provided themselves as fitting vehicles for the delivery of clotted cream and home made jam to anxious taste buds. Another unseasonably sunny and warm day, blessed us the entire time. I sipped tea with cream, compelled to extend my pinky, all the while feeling quite British. We further strolled and shopped. The leisurely pace was welcome after consecutive days of challenging walks. We ended the excursion with a pint (of course) at Taverners Pub. I recorded my first official, must do for a hopeful return trip to this magical island. It was only 4 pm, and Taverners didnt begin serving food until 6. The pub was one featured on a program I had seen on the Food Network. Their menu looked delicious, a special for the evening being a locally shot partridge with pig face bacon. And that future meal will be the beginnings of my hope to some day return. But now, an attempt to sleep. In the morning we pack up and head to Amsterdam, via London.
Posted on: Fri, 26 Sep 2014 06:39:45 +0000
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