Castle Acre Priory and Castle Acre Castle

We had a great time when my Mom visited a few weeks ago. We took a day trip into Norfolk and visited 3 different historic sites. The first was a Neolithic flint mine called Grimes Graves. It was in operation around 3000B.C. We donned hard hats (all except Eliot, as he was too small) and climbed down into one of the many shafts they've found and saw the pre-historic tunnels where flint was mined using the antlers of red deer as pick axes. This place was in the middle of nowhere and a bit creepy, I thought. Colin was pretty sure he spotted some Neolithic men loitering about some run down cars just off the road before we entered.

Next was the Norman town of Castle Acre with a Cluniac Priory established in the 11oos. The ruins were impressive and Eliot and Olivia found lots of places to run and hide in. After lunch and a visit to the local church (which had a door big enough for a knight in full armor to ride through on horseback to receive a blessing before battle) we moved on to Castle Acre Castle also constructed in the 1100s. Very little of the castle is left there, but the earth work defenses are quite dramatic. Eliot and Olivia continued their running around while we 3 dashed after them hoping they wouldn't fall into the huge moat or ditch or off a ruined wall.

We stopped off on the way home and picked up groceries (taking advantage of actually having a trunk to carry our groceries home in instead of on our bikes) and made a quick visit to Olivia's school, so she could show it to Grandma. After a quick dinner of frozen pizza we hustled the now very tired kids off to bed. Eliot thanked God for ruins in his bedtime prayer. We continue to be so happy here.

How We Really Kept Olivia and Eliot Happy in Spain

The secret of our success in coaxing our offspring from one cultural moment to the next - rip off rides, playgrounds, ice cream, and let us not forget the old "play with a rotten orange in a public fountain" trick.

Grazalema

A few photos from Grazalema. This seemed to be one of the more prosperous "White Villages" we visited. At least it seemed in a slightly better state of upkeep and it was the one mountain town we found other tourists in. All of us sat around in the plaza and waited out the day's siesta.

Walking the Roman Road

We were hoping to visit Ocuri, the site of a Roman town, but when we got there we found our way blocked by a huge gate, tall chain link fences and barbed wire. The combination of insufficient funding and vandalism had closed it down. We settled instead for a walk down a Roman road between Benaocaz and Ubrique. We wanted to do something specifically Roman since Olivia had studied the Romans this past term in her history class. Eliot found a good walking stick which entertained him, and both of them enjoyed scrambling among the rocks in the pasture on either side of the road--probably more than walking this historical road itself. The pasture was much easier on the feet than the actual Roman road, which is cobbled and tricky footing now. Still, I think it's the oldest road I've ever been on.

The White Villages of Andalucia

My favorite part of our stay in Andalucia were the days we drove east towards the mountains and visited various 'pueblos blancos'. Most of these towns were founded by the Moors, some built on Roman foundations. Most of the buildings are painted white in order to deflect the summer heat. The towns are striking from a distance because you spot them as you round the corner of a mountain road or dip down into a valley and they show up looking like foaming water cascading down the mountain sides.

Our general approach was to park on the outside of the town we were visiting, thus avoiding the narrow, steep streets and unexpected one-way signs, and walk into the towns. After wandering around for a bit soaking up the sun and that town's particular atmosphere, we would rest in the main plaza, bribe our children with ice cream before going on to the next town. We spent time in 5 different towns over the course of 2 days - El Bosque, Grazalema, Zahara, Ubrique, and Benaocaz. The 2 pictures above are from Zahara and the Moorish tower there that we climbed up the hill and peeked into.

Sun and Spain

Andalucia is the southernmost part of Spain. Parts of it get 320 days of sun a year. And having survived a couple of month’s worth of English winter—which isn’t harsh, just very, very, grey—we decided we needed some sun. Europe is full of these wonderful discount airlines that will whisk you anywhere for just a couple of pounds; the one we flew, called Ryan Air, is typical in that there’s no assigned seating—everybody just piles on board and sorts it out. When you’re flying with a family of four, and you want to sit together or at least within shouting distance, it can be a bit stressful—but we managed to secure seats near each other, and last Monday we flew to Jerez (pronounced “Hereth”) a moderately-sized city near the coast known for sherry (“sherry” is actually an Anglicization of “Jerez,” and the English have historically imported tons of the stuff), flamenco dancing, and horses. We didn’t get much experience of the first two—in fact, I don’t really like sherry, and flamenco dancing usually happens after midnight—but we got the third, in the form of the Andalucian School of Equestrian Arts. This doesn’t mean pictures of horses, but rather the art of getting horses to do things they don’t naturally want to do, like arch their necks in a particular way and dance on their hind legs. We watched them training some of the horses. We knew Olivia would love it, and she did. It’s all very beautiful, and stylized, and, well, Spanish.


This the part of the Spain that was under the control of various Islamic dynasties from about 750 to 1350, so there’s an amazing blend of architectural styles and cultural traditions still visible. In fact, Andalucia is probably one of the few places on earth were Christian, Jewish, and Muslim peoples lived together in relative peace. Jerez has a modest—though still impressive—complex called the Alcazar (a much smaller version of the famous Alhambra in Granada), which contains a Moorish castle and baths, a mosque, and a beautiful garden that’s been restored to what they think it looked like a thousand or so years ago. On our last day we spent a peaceful afternoon there, basking in the sun and absorbing the feel of the place. It’s striking to be reminded that while the Islamic dynasties in southern Spain were installing running water and heated floors in Cordoba, creating extraordinary works of art, and reading Aristotle, the rest of Europe was mired in the Dark Ages, basically grunting at each other and eating with their hands. Certainly Eliot was impressed when I told him all this.

Snow in Cambridge

Last week it snowed, and everybody freaked out. London pretty much shut down; Colin's parents, who were staying in London at the time, reported that they couldn't get any food, the buses and the tube shut down, and all the shows in the West End canceled. Well, it was the biggest snowfall in 18 years, all five inches of it. Colin walked in to town on Monday and came back shaking his head: our bank was closed, and the sign in the window said: "Due to circumstances beyond our control, we are unable to open the bank today." Given the current financial meltdown here, Colin said he thought maybe the bank had run out of money. But he looked around and nobody was rioting. Just a few inches of snow, and a few kids throwing snowballs.

There's a general sense of having survived a traumatic event, like living through the blitz. The normally emotionally reserved British got all emotive about things, too, especially on the radio. The local BBC radio station turned into a massive self-help exercise, with the announcers pleading with people to "tell us your story." How were they all managing? Where were the trouble spots? Had they gotten to work? We deeply needed to know.

No one owns a snow shovel in this town. In fact, I took an informal survey of my British friends and none of them had ever even seen a snow shovel for sale - anywhere. I had to describe it: "It's a shovel with a wide squared edge, used for shoveling large amounts of snow. No, not a garden shovel. These have a flat edge. No, not a spade, much larger, with a flat edge. No, not a trowel. You want to pick up the snow with it, not weed with it." You get the picture. The end result of the snow shovel shortage was that all the side walks became slushy and then froze, becoming absolutely impossible to navigate, especially when holding a 3 year olds' mittened hand. Especially when your 3 year old thinks sliding on the ice is really what walking is all about. We did manage to get Eliot to and from nursery without any major mishaps, just slogged through the slush and slid through the icey bits, and put our boots under the radiator to dry out when we got home. We were both wishing we had wellies!

What's interesting though is that people just accept this mess of slush and ice. None of the walks are cleared and so people will have to walk on ice for weeks, but instead of doing anything about it people just carry on. The circumstances are just beyond their control, I guess. On my way to yoga class last Tuesday night, I almost fell a couple of times on some black ice along the sidewalk behind the church. When I left my class an hour later, I decided to walk on the crunchy snow so as not to fall. Ahead of me, 3 British women walked single file, carefully placing each foot on the ice-covered walk. Crunch, Crunch, Crunch! I walked confidently by, stepping on the snow covered lawn. As I passed them one of them said, "Why didn't we think of that?" And I said (and thought later I really shouldn't have), "Because you are all well trained British women and when the signs say 'Keep off the Grass' it's hard to change."