Weekend Next the Sea

So, E surprised me with having Ciara's car for the weekend and got to Norwich Friday evening after work! Being the beneficiary of the Driving Miss Amrie show was great fun.

Yesterday's drive began (once we got to the coast -- about 30-40 minutes' drive) at Cromer and toodled along coast road to Wells-next-the-Sea, where we headed inland and back and forth until making it back to Norwich. There was no map involved in this weekend's expeditions, as a) my atlas is in Cardiff and b) E wanted to meander. At first I was slightly doubtful of this method of travel, but it was probably a good thing as there was quite enough to see without my being ooh-ey and aah-ey over something seen on the map and directing us hither and thither in a schitzophrenic manner. Just driving by following our noses, we stopped when we saw something interesting and E made several u-turns after loud shrieks from the passenger seat (most notably with signs of mills and unforded roads).

The rape fields are in full bloom and they are so very, very brilliantly dramatic yellow, patchworked amongst the different greens, windmills, sand dunes and sea. However, the payback for this loveliness is a smell something akin to a large number of dirty dogs. Perhaps dogs that have rolled in carcasses (as dogs seem to go in for that sort of activity). Rapeseed oil is used to produce animal food and vegetable cooking oil and also biodiesel; it is also known as Canola. To (r) in distance of picture is windmill; brilliant yellow is not as clear here as was cloudy.

A sudden (r) turn in, I think, Weybourn, took us to a pebble beach where people were surf fishing. From the main road, as one is driving, there is suddenly a sign that says 'FLOOD' inside a big red triangle and the road just goes off into a massive pool of water; however another road turns to the right and leads to the car park :) There was not a speck of sand to be seen on this beach. When the tide goes out on a pebble beach and another wave is coming in, it makes the eeriest sound of screeching like the world is ending. Pebbles are terrifically silky smooth and are the flint from which buildings are constructed.

Another slightly alarming thing was this little hillside of dirt on the crest of the hill of the beach. On the back side (away from the water) are hundreds of little holes. There are black buzzing things going in and out of these holes. E says they are solitary bees, but I cannot find anything about them online. They certainly look like bees. It was v. bizarre.

We drove past the Cley Marshes, which is a nature preserve. There are road warning signs with a picture of a duck. (Signs are so amusing to me! There are ones with a cow, a stag, and even one in Norwich with a frog! tee hee hee.). The numbers of twitchers are legion -- all these people walking around with large viewing or camera devices of various sorts attached to poles and wearing (UK) bum bags/(US) fanny packs -- amusing thing about both of these terms is that they sound rude to the opposite culture, although the second is slightly ruder, I suppose.... hahahaha.

Off the main road, there is one green field with a huge swan sitting in the middle of it. It has been there three times now as we passed yesterday and today and I assume it is nesting. It certainly did not select a subtle place for its nest, although perhaps this was good as it can watch for predators. Cley-next-the-Sea is a quaint village, with yet another windmill. There is a pottery studio there called, 'Made in Cley' -- smile. (sorry about the stupid power lines)

I have also learnt the difference between a Free House and Public House (pub). A Public House is an establishment that is able to serve beer and other alcoholic beverages on its premises (as opposed to an Off-License, or Offie, which is basically a shop where consumption is not allowed). A Free House means that it is an establishment solely owned by an individual, instead of a chain or a certain brewery, and therefore is able to make its own decisions about ales to serve, etc. If a free house is purchased by a chain, it can no longer call itself Free.

A sign-spotting shriek induced a u-turn and drive down a lane to Skulthorpe Mill, which is now a pub converted from an 18th century mill. As you may see if you visit the link above, this would not qualify as a Free House, as it is owned by the Green King chain. It was closed after lunch, so we just stopped and looked around a bit. The road there goes over an unforded stream, which means one would need a Rover or something. I wanted to wade in the water, but it looked rather like bovine urine had contaminated it, and it was cold.

Here, you may see my reason for suspicion of contaminated water. Fuzzy Wuzzy Was (apparently) a Cow.

As well, it might be noted that spring has sprung. My mama has inquired about this and indeed, it is just absol. gorgeous and has been steadily getting gorgeouser (hee hee) for more than a month. All the trees are blossoming, there are showers of some sort of pink petals, which look like pink snow; there are white-flowered plants with waxy leaves -- two kinds -- that smell like confederate jasmine; the daffodils are all gone, but the tulips are just insane; and I have seen a few poppies as well -- no fields of them yet, although tourist shops have poppy postcards, so I have my suspicions.

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Today was much sunnier than yesterday and we headed, via Cromer so's we could find it, to the steam trains. The Poppy Line runs between Sheringham and Holt. We stopped at Sheringham yesterday, but that was only our first reconnaisance mission, you see. After breakfast at The Unthank Kitchen this morning, we made it to the station at S'ham in time for some tea and a rest before the 1200 train arrived.

Once the train arrived, there was much toot-whooing and commotion. And a lot of steam! It was all very exciting and males with cameras were walking madly up and down the platform to get the best pictures. There were quite a lot of good pictures to be taken, as they remove the engines from one end of the train and toodle them down the track and around to be at the front when the train goes the other way.

Don't know if you can tell how the brasses are gleaming on the top of the 6619. That was impressive. As well, the 6619 was a Welsh train, which would have originally run on the GWR (Great Western Railway) between London and Cardiff or Swansea. It has the town Abercynon stencilled on the front in the red part.

Walsingham was the next stop. This is a pilgrimage spot and has been one since 1061, I think (will provide more accurate and detailed information when visit it properly as a destination rather than information gathering for future journeys). It is a lovely little village full of guest quarters for visiting pilgrims. The Shrine itself has an amazing garden, which also seems to serve as a place for church celebration since there is an altar in the middle of it and Stations of the Cross along the winding garden path(Station and flowers to L). When you walk through the gate into the garden, the sounds of the world outside the walls immediately disappears and you sense it is a place of contemplation. People are just sitting or walking quietly (except for two GasBags, who incensed Eamonn by their inobservance of the request for silence and apparently ruined his peacefulness). The village itself is incredibly intact for being so old.

By this point, feeling peckish as had not eaten since breakfast, so headed back to Wells-next-the-Sea. Had roll mops from the fish vendor on the harbour front (this is still an amazing concept to me -- you buy fish like you buy ice creams... but it is soooo cool! This picture was actually taken at Sheringham market yesterday. Eamonn walked on, so as not to be obviously with strange person taking photo of fish vendor's counter. You can see the little styrofoam pots of various fishy things at the other end and maybe even the menu if you look hard enough.)

Anyhoo, a rollmop is an utterly divine fresh food product and I could gorge myself on them. Although that would have ruined my dinner of fish and chips cooked properly by a sea-side fryer -- mmmmm! Rollmops are apparently of Scottish origin, and are pickled herring rolled around shredded onion and closed with a toothpick.