Strangers on a train

Ah, the train. It’s a lovely way to see the country, catch a quick refreshing nap and catch up with the news.

Scotland offers wonderful views in between its ancient and majestic cities. These views often featured lots of sheep.

Those specs of white are sheep. The paper is in the reflection. This pretty much captures the first leg of the trip from Edinburgh to York.

At one point we also saw the shape of a woman being built into the land – her face and um … bra jetting out of the landscape. A local on the train pointed it out and said a rich landowner is having it sculpted onto his property for some reason. (Sorry, we weren’t quick enough with the camera to get a snapshot).

But the best part of the train is getting to talk with people.

We met a lovely couple from Wiltshire -- Peter and Kit Tate, who shared our booth on the train.

Our new friends kept us company on the train. 

Mr. Tate, a Briton, turned 17 in time to serve on a ship bound for the South Pacific in World War II, where he would spend some evenings sitting in brand new jeeps from the United States. After the war, he knocked on the door of the Range Rover plant and got himself a job painting the undercarriages with gray rust-proof paint. He then worked as a salesman of women’s undergarments, although he said his mother was never quite pleased with him travelling across England for the job, preferring instead to tell visitors he was an engineer like his father. A mystery enthusiast and fellow Columbo fan, Mr. Tate offered numerous recommendations for movies.

His wife, Kit Tate, is an American whose father, a Russian immigrant, was co-author of the Ellery Queen chronicles that were stories in the 1930s then became radio programs in the ‘40s. Mrs. Tate is now a modern day Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, having grown up in the Constitution State and becoming an English citizen 11 years ago when she married Peter Tate. The two met while Mr. Tate was working as a custodian in a museum north of Stonehenge while Kit was visiting with her brother on holiday. Both Kit and Peter had lost their spouses years before.

They were wonderful company and taught us a few new phrases, such as “carrying coal to Newcastle” – meaning doing something unnecessary, considering Newcastle was known for its mining. Cheers to the Tates. 

Beasts of Burden: The journey to St. Andrews

We took the train over to historic St. Andrews on Wednesday morning, and it wasn't the smoothest of journeys. Our train was actually "delayed by cow." Apparently, the poor creature was hanging out around the track, so we had to proceed slowly in case it meandered back to the track. Which led me to wonder, is it somebody's job to move the cows personally?  Ryan thinks they just honk the train until it moves. I'm not convinced cows would know what that means.

At any rate, we had to stop completely at least once, traveled slowly for long stretches, and were treated to several "cow delay" updates during our trip from Leuchars to St. Andrews. The updates got a laugh out of everyone on the train, even the natives. The conductor sounded rather perplexed himself.

A Scottish cow, aka Highland cattle. This is not the cow delaying our train. But I picture it looking like this, only with a more defiant expression.  (Photo by Gaizka Portillo / Flickr)

The delay caused us to miss the first bus into the city, and we met with several other annoying difficulties as we tried to find our hotel (note to self: remember to print off Google directions to all hotels next year). To add insult to annoyance, Ryan's head got in the way of a pooping seagull. We did the best we could with tissues before we finally, finally got to our lodgings and Ryan was able to shower. He handled it rather well, honestly. Much better than I would have.

Ryan spent the rest of his day a little wary of the seagulls above. 

Fortunately, our day improved considerably after that. We walked around St. Andrews Links, the town center and down by the coast of the North Sea. By dinner, Ryan's opinion of St. Andrews had improved considerably. (Although I think the oak-aged beer he discovered with dinner, called Innis & Gunn, helped a lot. )

Happier times in front of the North Sea. 

Departing for Dover

Today, Ryan woke up and said "We're going on a train today!" And to think he didn't even grow up being brainwashed by Thomas the Tank Engine.

Ryan checking out the English countryside.

However, it was fairly exciting to head to Victoria Station for the 2-hour train trip to Dover.

And then we arrived in Dover ... which was less than exciting. Every shop closed at 5, and the entire town has the feel of one of those Ohio Rustbelt cities that just hasn't quite figured out what to do with itself in the 21st century. So we entertained ourselves by picking from among the three open pubs (The Prince Albert was the winner), and having a few pints. So now Ryan is "asleep" on the bed and I am ill-advisedly blogging while slightly intoxicated. We are looking forward to viewing Dover Castle on Tuesday, as well as getting a better view of those famous white cliffs!

(Ryan's note: I was merely resting my eyes ...

What Elizabeth wrote about our first impression of Dover is accurate -- there is a certain saddness to it, which was unexpected. But the folks in the pub were friendly enough. The food was tasty. And I tried some local Kenton beer, called Wantsum, which was quite good.)