Bye UK, Bonjour Paris

This is the 6th installment on our 8-month trip, following:

1. Colorado 

2. London/Salisbury 

3. Coastal England

4. Marple/Liverpool/Sandbach

5. Tales from Wales

Main square in Bath, England

After nearly two months in the UK, we were headed to a place I'd been waiting to experience for over 60 years: Paris. We decided to take a direct flight out of Bristol, England and build in a couple of days for the nearby historic city of Bath. Between Bath and Bristol is the village of Keynsham, where we stayed two nights in a 17th century inn that had good prices and easy access to public transport. We still had a couple of rides on our Brit Rail passes to use up.

At the ancient Roman baths

Bath is an elegant city with a fascinating history. It was amazing to walk through the Roman baths in the footsteps of people 2000 years ago. The curation of the site, including video recreations of ancient bathers, invites the feeling of time travel.

Lacock

We got a free tour of the city when two look-alike women pulled up in their tiny car, and we folded inside with their dog, Tiggy. The previous month in Sidmouth, we'd met these twin sisters, Cat(therine) and Hat(tie), and now we were reuninting in their home town of Bath.

Lacock Abbey

Cat and Hat took us to Lacock, a National Trust storybook village where scenes from Downton Abbey, Pride & Prejudice, and Harry Potter were filmed. Lacock Abbey, a gothic revival building founded in the 13th century, remained a nunnery until the suppression of the Roman Catholic institutions in England in the 16th century. After that, it became a private home. We explored the lush grounds with Tiggy romping happily in the grass. We laughed together so much, I'm pretty sure we knew each other in a past life.

Eating dinner with Maura & Anna overlooking the river.

One evening we took the train to Bristol for a sweet few hours with Anna and Maura, whom we'd met in China. This trip was becoming a reunion with people who'd taught at my university in Nanning, since we'd seen Kevin in Colorado and Paul in Liverpool. Bristol has recently been named a choice spot for expats by EatWalkLearn and Brent & Michael are Going Places. Based on the few hours we were there, I get it. The city is walk- and bike-friendly, has several universities, and is built around the river Avon.

We had considered taking the Eurostar to Paris, but the flight from Bristol was only an hour and a bit less expensive. However, after getting to the airport two-and-a-half hours before the flight, and dreamily imagining the convenience, smooth ride, and leg room of a high-speed train, we wished we'd opted for the rails. 

Oui!

But all regret evaporated when we stepped onto the streets of Paris and checked into the Hotel Henriette. I don't recall who recommended this affordable, darling place in a convenient location at the border of the 13th and 5th arrondissments, but merci whoever you are!

I was stunned to finally have made it to Paris. Can you believe I co-wrote a historical novel set during the French Revolution without having been there? My co-author was an expert in the era--and I'd done some of my own research. Because of this, I had weird deja vu moments throughout the week.

Sadly, Dave had developed a cold and a nagging leg injury, so I ended up spending a lot of time solo walking the streets. Fortunately he had been to Paris before. And while I would have loved to have experienced it all with him, I also enjoyed wandering around around 10 miles each day. I never took the metro, only a few buses because I wanted to see everything.

The first day set the tone for the week, when I discovered a tranquil rose garden behind our hotel. It was set in the Square Rene-Le Gall, a huge but magically hidden public park with shady tree-lined paths, hedges shaped like green snowmen, and a children's play area. I felt like Mary discovering the Secret Garden.

That day I wandered around a Sorbonne campus, through the Jarden des Plantes, and along the Seine where I viewed the magnificence of Notre Dame. It's under construction so I couldn't go in and in my mind saved it for another time. As I snacked on the best-ever ham-and-cheese croissant on the sidewalk at Cafe A Lacriose, it became clear this whole city is a feast.

I was stunned by the scope of it all. Everywhere I looked I saw something I could have gazed upon for hours. Every place I went, I wanted to spend a whole day there. I was already scheming on a way to return and stay for a few months.

Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin de Francuil, aka Geroge Sand

In Luxemburg Gardens, I whispered to George Sand that I'd been on the edge of happy tears all day. Then I bought a sugar and lemon crepe on the street and made my way back to the hotel. 

That night, Dave and I went to St. Julien le Pauvre, a gothic church on the Left Bank, for a classical piano and cello concert. Built in the 13th century, it's one of the city's oldest religious buildings. Hearing Handel, Schubert, Mozart, and Pachelbel in this 13th century building would send shivers through a statue. 

piano & cello at St. Julien's

The next night we attended another concert at the larger Egalis-St.-Germaine-de-Pres. My spirit rearranged itself as I heard Ave Maria and Vivaldi's The Four Seasons performed by a quintet. In our travels, we always seek out soul-enlivening music and dance and all the arts.  (At four months into our trip, we've gone to jam band shows in Colorado, a musical in London, a rock concert in Liverpool, a choir in Wales, a Fado show in Portugal, and flamenco in Spain.)

Earlier that day, I found 27 Rue de Fleurs, where Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas lived from 1903-1938. It was quite a moment standing there, imagining the domestic and creative life of these two extraordinary women. Here they held Saturday literary salons attended by the likes of Picasso, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, Guillaume Apollinaire, Marie Laurencin, James Joyce, Ezra Pound, Thornton Wilder, Sherwood Anderson, Georges Braque, and Henri Matisse.

Everything looks like an oil painting.

That day I walked through Montparnasse and outdoor markets, to Bon Marche. I visited the Hotel National des Invalides and gardens and crossed the Seine to Tuileries Gardens, where I savored a croque monsieur at an outdoor table and checked out a vintage merry-go-round that struck me, somehow, as quintessentially French. Maybe it was in Amelie? If not, it could have been. 

Dave rallied on Day 3 to go to Sainte-Chappelle, which he was looking forward to seeing again but was disappointed at how crowded it was on this free-entry day. But the push of people didn't diminish this jewel of a royal chapel.

I wanted French onion soup all day, every day!

We also went to Musee d'Orsay, housed in an 1898 glass-roofed railway station with a monumental golden clock. It has the largest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces in the world. In other words, just another day in Paris! It was crowded, too, but even so I had sublime moments alone in front of Renoirs and Van Goghs--and other paintings I remember searing into my brain as a kid when I leafed through an art book my parents had on the coffee table for years.

Luxemburg Gardens

I loved Luxemburg Gardens so much that we went back together, strolling amidst the sculptures and lush flora, while people read *real* books on green chairs scattered about. 

One little corner of Sainte-Suplice

Later we made our way to Sainte-Suplice, the third largest church in the city, built in the 17th century. A service was just ending as we walked in. The orchestral Grand Organ, which is considered a national monument, boomed as people rose from the pews to watch a procession of priests in imperial garb. The church is a jaw-dropper, with Delacroix murals and soaring architecture.

My favorite piece in the Petit Palais

We also made it to the Petit Palais to view its eclectic collection of art from across centuries. And later I roamed the architecturally complex funhouse called the Center Pompidou to see the Surrealism exhibit. Being so immersed in art made me think about how humans have forever strived to express the spirit and mysteries of life, in all its horror and beauty.

One of highlights of this trip was finally getting to see Shakespeare and Company, the famous English language bookstore that first opened in another location in the 1930s. It was closed during the war by the Nazis and later reopened in its current location in 1951. It became a meeting place for expat literary life in Paris visited by writers such as Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Anais Nin, Richard Wright, Henry Miller, and James Baldwin.

tah dah!

Ever since reading Time Was Soft There, a memoir about a writer who lived for a time in the bookstore, I wanted to visit. The place is perfect, with its stuffed shelves, reading nooks, and a piano that someone was gently playing. I wandered around for an hour and bought Barbara Kingsolver's Pulitzer Prize-winning Demon Copperhead.

That night, I met up for dinner with a long-time Facebook connection, the poet Kaaren Kitchell, who has lived in Paris many years. While rain romantically stippled the windows and I devoured lush mushroom risotto, we talked for hours like old friends about literature and politics and people we know in common. I'd love to see her again. 

My one low-light was my tour of Versailles. Ironic, given how excited I was to see it since I'd cowritten that aforementioned novel about the French Revolution. First, no maps of the palace or gardens were provided. Instead, you had to use a QR code, useless for me since my phone didn't work there. Besides, I hate looking at screens in lieu of maps and menus. I know, I sound old. 

But beyond that, the rooms were jammed with so many people that progress was slow. From afar, everything looked sumptuous, but up close, a lot of the art and furniture and flora in the gardens was unkempt. Not one of the many fountains was running. A contrarian part of my brain laughed at how appalled the royals would have been at the plebes desecrating their possessions. I can't even find a picture I took of that day, so let me offer instead this one of the Pont Alexandre III bridge--an example of the artistry available to all everywhere you look in this city.

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, budget travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel. 

Tales from Wales

This is the 5th installment on our 8-month trip, following:

1. Colorado 

2. London/Salisbury &

3. Coastal England.

4. Marple/Liverpool/Sandbach

We said goodbye to England and headed to Wales. Finding seats on the train, I was reminded what a good move we made taking only carry-ons for our 8-month trip. Although I was getting a little bored with my clothes, I liked the lightness and ease. Fewer decisions to make.

At the train station: all my luggage for 8 months
(including a small pack on my back)

It was comforting to sit back and watch the world glide by. We rode through the Wye Valley, the place of Dave's ancestors.

We spent two nights in the capital of Cardiff. My first impression of the city was bad. I didn't feel safe with seemingly drugged-out people shouting at each other on the streets at dusk. 

Cardiff Castle

Old and new Cardiff

The next morning, the vibe had shifted with people eating in cafes and strolling in the fresh air. I noticed a lot of pride flags and a rainbow crosswalk. Under a blue sky, we walked to the nearby 2000-year-old castle and climbed up stone steps and through narrow passageways. In the basement we saw the eerie remnants of a bomb shelter used during WWII. 

WWII era canteen

The vast grounds include an adjoining elegant house built in the late 1800s by a Marquess. Of course my favorite room was the library. I wanted to drop into a plush chair and read (and smell!) all the classics shelved in the antique bookcases.

library

The next day I took a solo walk to the waterfront and ate lunch overlooking Cardiff Bay. In the bus on my return, a guy in rumpled clothes sat next to me and complained about how the new liberal government wants to take away his right to smoke outdoors. When he asked where I was from, he segued into something many people want to talk about here: American politics. Most everyone we've spoken to abroad is confounded and appalled by Trump. This guy, though, took a strange tack: He asked me if Trump is Jewish. I asked him where he got that idea, and he said he didn't know. 

...by fax from Portugal

I said that Kamala Harris' husband is Jewish, and that I loved the idea of having such a multicultural first family. He asked if I thought the US was ready for a woman president and I said I hope so, given that the UK, Germany, Pakistan, Mexico and many other countries have had women heads of state. 

"As an American, you must see us as rather primitive," he said, an odd segue given that I had just pointed out that the UK was more progressive when it came to women politicians. I asked him why he thought that, and he said that in the U.S. everything is big: the roads, the houses, the food. True, I said, but I see the States as more primitive because we have mass shootings and no universal health care.

I'll be glad when the election is over, and I'm praying voters eschew authoritarianism and choose women's autonomy, racial equality, LGBTQ rights, and democracy.

Doggie snuggles

After two nights in Cardiff, we were off to a three-week housesit in Solva, a little seaside village. It turned out to be similar to our sit in coastal England: wonderful in many ways, with a few challenges.

The house was light-filled and spacious. Built in 1890 and since remodeled, it was perched on a cliff with a view of St. Bride's Bay. The Staffordshire bull terriers, Lily and Bonnie, gave us love immediately. Two year-old sisters, they reminded me of smaller versions of the Vizslas we cared for in England, strong and muscly beasts who loved snuggling on our laps. 

Our host took us and the dogs on a walk to nearby open space where the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, at 186 miles long, stretches out in both directions. The dogs tugged mightily on leashes attached to their harnesses. I worried I'd be toppled over or tweak my back. Harnesses can signal all breeds to pull like sled dogs. Once the dogs were off-leash and romping around in the field, I asked our host if she'd ever tried gentle leaders, or halties, which encircle the snout. She ordered them online when we returned home and said she was grateful that we'd try to train the dogs on them.

Dogs running off-leash.

That night, she taught us a board game called Cascadia that we enjoyed so much we ended up playing it almost every night, adding it to our Yahtzee and card games.

When the owners left, I familiarized the dogs with the halties by covering them in treats on their favorite couch. Over the course of a few hours, I playfully put their snouts in and out of them.

The first time we took the sisters out with the halties, they resisted, shaking their heads and trying to paw them off. Bonnie stubbornly wouldn't move. But after treats and coaxing, they began to understand that if they heeled, we'd easily proceed, but if they tried to pull, the haltie clamped down.

On the second walk, they were more relaxed. By the third, they were perfect. 

The owners had also told us the dogs "might" have accidents sometimes at night. Our first morning there was poo and pee in the living room. No bueno.

With the owners' approval, we borrowed a large crate from a neighbor, and with treats and blankies, they curled up inside with no complaint. They slept through the night, and the next morning they rushed out to take care of business in the backyard.

It was a reminder that dogs want direction and security. And they want to please us. We just need to teach them how. (There's got to be a parallel in politics here somehow...)

Now that our Dog Whisperer portion of the sit was over, we explored the peninsula. The owners let us use their car (and even paid for the extra insurance coverage). Dave braved the narrow roads, expertly driving an unfamiliar car in the left lane. We took hikes with the dogs to St. David's head, overlooking a boundless sweep of ocean. We went to the Blue Lagoon at Aberiddy, an old slate quarry with lucious turquoise water. I was tempted to join the few swimmers, but the cold wind blew away that impulse. 

with Lily and Bonnie at the Blue Lagoon

We checked out an old brick factory and harbor, where at a picnic beach we ate the best fish n chips I've ever had. We also made it out to St. Non cliffs, the site where Saint Non gave birth to Saint David 1500 years ago. St Non's well on this property is believed to have miraculous healing powers, but the water's grimy appearance made me think it might cause more problems than it would cure.

Primo fish n chips

On the property is a retreat center. We met Dominic, the caretaker, who gave us a tour and told us about the center's history. Dominic said St. Non's is a place of pilgrimage and contemplation that offers hospitality to all. In the Celtic tradition, it's a place where "the streams meet." A place of quiet, hope, and healing. 

with Dominic

One evening, in the nearby town of St. David's, we joined some neighbors for a performance by the South Wales Male Choir at the 6th-century Anglican cathedral. Because St. David's is Britain's smallest city, I wasn't expecting such an immense and distinguished building.

St. David's cathedral

The men's choir, comprised of dignified silver-haired men in red jackets, had been singing together for nearly 40 years in Welsh and English. Before "You'll Never Walk Alone," one member talked about how they performed it for the Americans right after 9-11. I was glad I'd brought tissues to wipe at my tears. 

I thought about how throughout the UK, we'd seen many statues  honoring those who fought fascists. And how my parents would have been appalled at the American presidential candidate who spouts division and hate. They would have loved as much as I did the poignant unity of this performance, capped off by the choir and the audience standing to sing the Welsh National Anthem. 

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, budget travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel. 

Connecting in England

This is the fourth installment on our 8-month trip, following:

Colorado 

London/Salisbury &

Coastal England.

With Brendan & Cathy in front of their house
in Marple, England (photos by Dave Rhine).

Leaving our housesit in Sidmouth, I experienced familiar mixed feelings: excited to be moving on, sad to say goodbye to the dogs and area I loved.

Boarding the train, though, I felt that "I'm traveling" high, boosted by knowing I would soon be seeing my former colleague and dear friend, Cathy Miller. In 2018, Cathy was awarded a Fulbright as Distinguished Chair of the Humanities at the University of Manchester. While in England, she met Brendan, and they eventually married.

During the pandemic, when loneliness profoundly stung, Cathy and I started Zooming every-other-week with two other friends--and we've continued to do so to this day. Also, for a year, Cathy and I exchanged writing pages, which resulted in her historical novel and my memoir, Wanderland. 

Cathy and Brendan picked us up at the train station around the corner from their house. Built in 1908, it's an exquisite Edwardian that they've been remodeling. We benefitted from the new guest en suite. The house has so many stairs and rooms and twists and turns that once I couldn't find our room--which gave Brendan a hardy laugh.

Breakfast in Cathy & Brendan's garden.

We lucked out with sunny days and enjoyed walks in their sweet village with its pretty gardens, gingerbread houses, and Britain's highest stone aqueduct and impressive Victorian arched bridge. Narrowboats floated down the canals and through the locks. Now used for recreation and habitation, narrowboats were originally built in the 18th-20th centuries for carrying goods on the narrow canals of British inland waterways.

A narrowboat squeezing through the locks.

Our friends were fantastic hosts, plying us with food and offering the perfect balance of relaxation and activity. One day we drove for miles down narrow lanes (that sometimes required us to pull over or back up for someone to pass) to Biddulph Grange Garden. A National Trust property, Biddulph is a magnum opus of international flora, pagodas, and statues. It felt like floating through a storybook.

Brendan, Cathy & me on a Chinese bridge in Biddulph.

This was not the first time we'd hung out with Cathy and Brendan. A few years back, they were traveling in California and stayed with us at our housesit in San Diego. Over the years, we've met up with Cathy other times in the SF Bay Area, Palm Springs, and once in Mexico City. 

Walking in Marple.

I'm happy that we've shared these times and places together. This has been an unexpected part of being nomads and Mexico expats: how many of our friendships have been enriched by meeting up at places all over the world. 

Sometimes these gatherings are with longtime friends--such as recently in Colorado and London. Other times they are the hosts we've befriended as housesitters or other travelers we've gotten to know in online nomad groups. Given that we also have a community back in Baja, I feel embraced by a global network of beloveds. This is a far cry from worries about feeling lonely or isolated as traveling retirees.

with Paul and John

On our next stop we had another friend to see: Paul Robert Mullen. Paul and I both taught at Guangxi University in Nanning, China and convened regularly to share our writing. He's also a musician, and you can blame or praise him for getting me into the ukulele. We did some traveling together in S.E. Asia, including seeing orangutans in Borneo and Komodo dragons in Flores, Indonesia.  (I write about all of this in Wanderland.)

It had been seven years, but when he walked through the cafe door in Liverpool, it felt like we'd been hanging out together last week. He was glad to hear we'd already been on a Beatles Magical Mystery (bus) Tour. (We'd arrived the previous day to spend two nights in a teensy, inexpensive, convenient hotel room overlooking a square boasting a statue of Queen Victoria.) I was thrilled to hear he has a new book coming out titled it's all come down to this: a retrospective, poems & writings (1999-2024).

The Beatles tour was a wonderful bus excursion. We saw the childhood houses of Paul and John, and their schools and the places they met Ringo and George. Hearing clips of their music through the speakers--especially Penny Lane and Strawberry Fields as we headed to those iconic spots--made me a little weepy. We even ID'd the barbershop mentioned in Penny Lane. I loved knowing that these seminal places of their childhood influenced their great songs. It made me wonder in what other neighborhoods in the world a merging of friends was sparking creative brilliance.

...is in my ears and in my eyes...

I was struck by the contrast between John's difficult upbringing--an absent father and distracted mother--versus Paul's happy childhood surrounded by parents who loved music, and extended family and neighbors who often popped in. The upbeat, nostalgic Penny Lane and the skewed wistfulness of Strawberry Fields reflect that contrast in their lives.

Liverpool has an expansive waterfront area downhill from the city center, which is an eclectic mix of crusty characters and hip, young people. Amid the bookstores, cafes, and music venues, I noticed a lot of welcoming pride flags.

Liverpool waterfront; that's a ferry going across the Mersey.

Of course the most famous music venue in the city is The Cavern Club, where the Beatles first played publicly, and its sister venue down the alley, The Cavern Pub. That's where Paul played guitar and sang one evening with a rocking band. When they played "Ferry Cross the Mersey," Dave and I touched hands. This electrifying, Uber-English musical moment was shot through with affectionate memories of the Ukulele Cafe in Nanning. That was where Paul played many evenings with international musicians, a boost and a refuge for us while living in a Chinese city of 8 million people.

Biggie Smalls

At this point, we'd been in England for over a month. We were enroute to Wales, and along the way we spent three days housesitting in Sandbach, a market town--meaning a small town in a rural setting that was given a historic legal right to hold a weekly market. Our hosts, both professional musicians, picked us up at the train station. 

We enjoyed their company while they showed us around and introduced us to their chill dogs, Biggie Smalls and Louie. They needed only one easy walk a day to the park down the street. That suited us fine because after so much travel and socializing, we were ready to take it easy. Laid-back Sandbach was a good place to do so.

Saxon crosses in center of town.

The house--which prominently displayed a large harp in the dining room--was a couple of blocks from the historical downtown. On the cobbled market square, two Saxon crosses, built around the 7th-9th centuries, stood tall.

Another feature of the town is the medieval parish church that stands on a low hill above Dingle Brook, the "sandy beck" that gave Sandbach its name. 

St Mary's seen in the distance past the graveyard.

I read that, amazingly, the church is mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086 (a manuscript record of the Great Survey of much of England and part of Wales). 

I wandered through the church's graveyard, peering at the headstones and pondering all those lives, and all this history that is just the passage of time. One day, we will be someone else's history.

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, budget travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel. 

Housesitting in Coastal England

(This is the third installment on our 8-month trip, following Colorado & London/Salisbury.)

Vizslas in the Byes

Oh, I loved this place: Sidmouth, named for its location at the mouth of the River Sid, where we housesat in Devonshire, southwest England.

I could live there long term. Why?

1. Small town

2. On the seaside

3. Access to nature out the front door

4. Walkable to restaurants and stores 

5. Dog friendly

6. Location of an annual music festival!

Sidmouth, a town of 14,000, sits on the English Channel. The house with a sprawling garden was a couple of miles from the sea. The air smelled like ocean, and seagulls squawked as they glided over the backyard.

backyard

We could walk or take our hosts' ebikes on the nature trails into  downtown, where we browsed books in the charity shops, ate fish & chips, strolled along the waterfront, and enjoyed live music at the Sidmouth Folk Festival that happened to be taking place our first week there. People sang, played, and danced along the ocean promenade and throughout the village. 

I had my first cream tea, an afternoon service of tea, scone, clotted cream and jam. I learned that the Devon way is to spread the cream, topped by jam, while in Cornwall, the jam comes first. It was extra special because we were perched on a cliff overlooking the sea at the Clock Tower, a 16th century former lime kiln. 

This area is part of the Jurassic Coast, a World Heritage site, so called because of its 185-million year geological history and fossilized remains preserved in the rocks. We were able to see other parts of the area with our hosts, who took us on a car ride along narrow, twisting lanes to Lime Regis, a beachy community with seaside restaurants and a little harbor. Taking a look at my map, I realized there was so much more to the English coast that I'd want to explore one day, other villages I might like as much as Sidmouth.

That night they took us to a carvery dinner of roasts, potatoes, vegetables, stuffing, gravy, sauces, and Yorkshire pudding. It reminded me of Thanksgiving dinner, or the all-you-can-eat smorgasbords of the 1970s. 

During our three weeks there, I took daily walks with the dogs while Dave tended to the garden. Across the street we accessed the trail that in a few minutes led to the Byes, a green ribbon of river-hugging parkland, fields, and footpaths. One large area is fenced in so dogs can run off leash, through trees, across the grasslands, and down the creek path lined by blackberry brambles to romp in the water.

Dave on an ebike along the coastal road.

The weather was mostly pleasant but quickly changeable. Sunny, cool breezes could switch in a breath to a humid shower. When the evenings cooled down, the dogs would climb into their sleeping bag beds, adorably burying themselves for the night.

These dogs--Neo (9) and Tracker (3)--were a new-to-us breed. Large, sleek and muscled, they liked nothing more than collapsing onto us like lap dogs. We felt special and loved, and sometimes suffocated--but it wasn't personal. There's a reason Vizslas are dubbed Velcro pets.

I adored taking them off leash to watch them fly across open spaces. They'd rustle in bushes and I'd lose sight of them, but they always found me before I could go far. As I said, Velcro.

Folk dancing for the festival.

One day the light was so golden I felt like I was walking in a picture book. Suddenly the dogs came bounding from the brush--and I realized they were passing something back and forth in their jaws as they romped. 

A bunny. 

DROP IT! DROP IT! I screamed, chasing after them.

They paused, confused, and released it. While I haltered the dogs, I prayed they'd merely stunned it.

Back at the house, it took me hours to soften again to them. I know it's their nature, and for them it was no different than playing ball--although probably more exciting. This red-coated breed was developed, after all, to hunt and point.

That evening we sat reading, the door open to the crisp air and two relaxed dogs on our laps. Dave asked if this was my dream life. I thought how yes, in a way it was. But so was the world we'd created, where we could live many lives.

One life to love.

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel. 

Sliver of Time: London & Salisbury

We finally made it to the UK together after a decade of travels!

We'd seen Nikki only once, on a video call from our house in Mexico to hers in England. But when she stepped out of her car, she gave us hugs--and so did her two girls, ages 8 and 5. Their greeting made me feel less like a housesitter and more like a long-lost auntie.

I was glad to sink into the car and the girls' happy chatter after 12 hours of travel--a red-eye from Denver to London, followed by three subway trains that took us in circles while I texted Nikki to finally figure out where to get off.

We pulled up to a brick suburban house with a bright green door. After hauling our suitcases up the narrow stairs, we took a walk with Nikki, the girls, and Sully, their black-and-white cocker spaniel to nearby Epping Forest, an area of ancient woodlands. We followed paths through towers of trees to a grassy field with a playground and coffee shop. 

Squirrels scuttled around, and swans with cygnets floated on the water. Nikki instructed us to keep the dog out of area of the lake where the swans congregated because they were known to drown small dogs. So it's not just in mythology that swans are violent. Sully was obsessed with his ball and would follow it anywhere, while always keeping us in his sight.

Sully in Epping

That night Nikki made us dinner and we fell into bed before her husband returned home from work. In the morning, they left for their trip to France. Disembodied from jet lag, we stumbled back to the park with Sully. Sipping coffees on a bench, we threw his ball and watched him zig and zag in coordinated patterns like a search party to retrieve it. I thought about how as travelers to England we would never have this experience living on the edge of the city without housesitting. 

In Epping, we met a woman walking a dog who turned out to be a housesitter, too. It was her first time using Trusted Housesitters (we've been using it for years)--and as a Brit she was starting locally to build up good reviews. That's always my advice to people: do sits in your area first.

Usually we do longer sits, but when we'd seen this four-day one, we thought it would a good UK starting point  and a chance for a low-key time to get over jet lag. We lucked out with perfect weather: sunny, cool mornings and warm, breezy afternoons. 

with Kelly & Terry in London

And more luck: turned out our longtime California friends Kelly and Terry were in England and met up with us one day. We enjoyed a park walk followed by a pub meal. It was to be on another continent with old friends--even though by now  this kind of thing isn't rare in our lives. (An aside: I've been pleased to find alcohol-free beers everywhere in the UK!)

One day, we took the train into the city. There was a lot of activity in Trafalgar Square, large groups carrying Union Jack flags and, to our horror, a couple of Trump signs. We learned it was a far-right gathering led by Tommy Robinson, a British anti-immigration campaigner. (In a few weeks, many of these people or those like them would be arrested and imprisoned for violent riots, fueled in part by online disinformation, after three young girls were knifed to death by a 17-year-old in Southport.) 

Nationalist Rally

Later, we'd have a number of people, from taxi drivers to those who struck up conversations in restaurants, expressing their concerns about that presidential candidate's hateful effect on the world. They always wanted to know who we politically supported and received nothing but kudos when we assured them we did not support him.

the Lyceum Theater

Also happening that day in London was an even larger anti-hate demonstration, as well as a transgendered and drag queen street celebration. We'd unknowingly landed in London in the middle of a cultural clash that we briefly escaped by ducking into the Lyceum Theatre to see the Lion King. 

Visually, the show was spectacular, and the singing sent bolts of lightning through me. But I was disappointed at the lack of a full orchestra. A few people hidden in the shadows of the orchestra pit created music from some kind of machine. I mourned the fullness of real instruments and learned that many orchestras were stripped back during the pandemic and never restored. What a loss.

When the family returned, seeing how happy Sully was to be reunited with his pack made it easier to say goodbye. Our next stop was Salisbury, a couple of hours south by train. In the States, we'd bought BritRail passes, which--after we figured out the confusing way to activate them--provided us with a discount. 

We stayed a few nights in a glass-and-light filled Airbnb with a queen bed in the upstairs loft. When we arrived it was hot, so we opened up the windows and turned on the standing fan. I have not seen a ceiling fan in three months in the UK and Europe--and I miss sleeping under a swirl of moving air.

Salisbury Cathedral and sheep in a sunset glow

We were in the area to see some things on Dave's list, starting with the cathedral built in the 1200s that has the tallest spire in all of Britain at 404 feet. Inside, it's a cavern of intricacies and buried bodies. I was fascinated by the monument in a candlelit corner of Lady Gorges, who came to England from Sweden in 1565 at age 15 to be a handmaid to Queen Elizabeth I. She married twice and died at age 86 with 92 descendants. I fantasized about getting lost of the rabbit hole of her life to write a historical novel. 

We also viewed one of the four surviving copies of the Magna Carta. It was stirring to see the handwritten document that is a forerunner to democracy, especially given the authoritarian threats we'd just been reminded of in London.

Stonehenge

Our main reason, however, for coming to this region was to experience Stonehenge, that iconic, prehistoric structure that I was sure would be a tourist trap but that, instead, moved me with its eerie grandiosity. Whoever erected it out on that vast plain had their human reasons more than 5,000 years ago--and I felt the echoes of their voices. 

Afterward, we hiked around the Roman hill fort of Old Sarum, the ghosts of ancient people floating by us on the breeze. My life felt like a microscopic sliver of time. 

Old Sarum in the distance

If you're interested in our life of housesitting, travel and living in Mexico, check out my books Wanderland: Living the Traveling Life and Call It Wonder: An Odyssey of Love, Sex, Spirit & Travel.