Day 5 • Sept. 3

Our day began with breakfast at 8:30 a.m.—the usual British fare (Tang for orange juice).  Afterward, we showered, packed, and checked out of the Penny Lane.  We loaded our belongings in the car and ventured off on foot to the Royal Pavilion.  The weather was quite warm and sunny, splendid in fact.

The Royal Pavilion is a gaudy palace built by King George IV, who was then (c. 1820) the Prince of Wales.  The exterior features Indian architecture and the interior is in the Chinese tradition—sort of.

Following our tour of the Pavilion, we returned to the beach and headed a mile or more from our car (which was still parked where we left it the night before) to the Brighton Marina.  Once we got near the marina, I kept a lookout for nude bathers—having read in one of our travel books that the beach west of Brighton Marina was England’s first and only official nude beach.  I spotted none.  At the marina, we walked out on a long, concrete breakwater pier, looked around, and then headed back to the beach.  We considered taking the miniature train up the beach toward our car but decided to walk because another train was not due for a spell.

At the outset of our walk back, we encountered nude bathers, consisting for the most part of old men.  Sharon wanted to take the high road, in others words near the roadway and away from the sunbathers, and I wanted to take the more scenic low road.  She finally conceded to walk along the beach but quickly lost interest in doing so and headed back to the sidewalk.  I gradually began drifting that way myself.  (There are, after all, only so many old nude white men I care to see.)

So it was—back to the car and on the road westbound.  Our first destination and stop was the tiny town of Beaulieu (pronounced Bee Yoo Lee by the locals).  Beaulieu is a wee but charming village and offer rather little to do.  We walked around a bit, bought a sandwich and a couple of beers, which we consumed in the car, and drove out of town toward Salisbury.

The drive to Salisbury featured a brief and unintended tour through Southampton.  Once we righted our bearings, we drove to Salisbury, where we parked the car in a municipal lot and set off on foot to explore the town.  Our exploration was soon interrupted by a torrential downpour that had us scrambling back to the car for rain gear; however, by the time we reached the car, the rain had abated for the most part.  So we set off again by foot to see the town.

Our first destination, and the only one of note, was the Salisbury Cathedral.  Like most of the ancient relics in the country, the cathedral was under renovation.  The steeple was shrouded in scaffolding, and workmen were busy doing their thing inside.  All the same, it was (and is) a magnificent architectural structure; I particularly liked the cloister.  Sharon was so fond of the place that she donated one pound sterling towards its restoration, at the urging of Prince Charles, so that her grandchildren may someday visit and enjoy the place.

We returned to town in search of the great local shopping district we’d heard tale of.  We never found it.  Daylight was running out, so we had to conclude matters in Salisbury if order to make it to Stonehenge before sunset.  We grabbed some fish and chips and a beef kidney pie to take away, along with four bottles of Samuel Smith’s lager, and took to the road.  Exiting Salisbury, however, proved to be challenging and frustrating, but after our third circuit around the same roundabout, we found ourselves headed toward Stonehenge.

Arriving at Stonehenge, we parked in the nearly deserted parking lot and ate our dinner.  Entrance to the ancient monument was closed for the day, which meant we were deprived of getting about 40 feet closer to the stones than one gets from the road.  It also saved us a few pound sterling.  As dusk fell upon the Salisbury Plain, we took our pictures and beheld the monoliths.  There were no Druid priests sacrificing virgins in the vicinity, just some Japanese tourists and a few bikers.  Yet still, Stonehenge in twilight is an awesome sight.

We packed away our awe in our vault of memories and returned to the road after we drank a beer and decided to forgo Dartmoor in favor of Bath.  The road to Bath at sunset featured its own bountiful share of awe-inducing scenery. 

As we neared Bath our primary concern was to find lodging, and as usual, find a nice yet inexpensive place to stay for the night was fraught with frustration.  Round and round the city of Bath we drove for an hour and a half.  There were scads of hotels all right, but at $90 a night, we were compelled to keep looking.  Our guide book, Let’s Go Britain, recommended the B&B’s along Pulteney Road; alas, we never could find Pulteney Road.  The hour neared 10:00 p.m., and my mind neared delirium when I encountered a double roundabout that required negotiating a U-turn and then a sharp right in the middle of it in order to pull into the restaurant.

We wanted to visit this restaurant, so I had to make the maneuvers described and somehow succeeded in doing so without smashing into anyone or anything.  Once safely inside, we drank a few pints of lager and a cup of coffee until we were rushed out of the place at 11:15 p.m. by a rather surly waitress.  I felt much better.

Following the advice of a bartender at the restaurant, we drove toward a town called Keynsham instead of back to Bath.  Hotel prices in Keynsham, however, proved to be no more of a bargain.  So be it—we paid 40£ for a room.  It was a very lovely place.

We settled into our room, where we drank some of the complimentary coffee, watched the telly, and did some laundry in the sink.  Sharon fell asleep about 12:30 a.m., and I stayed up for another 45 minutes or so drinking beer and watching what I can’t remember.

Notes:

• Sharon seemed to enjoy Brighton considerably more than she expected to.