Castles are just really cool

When kings go on building binges, it can be tough on the masses. More taxes, backbreaking labor. But those of us in later generations certainly benefit. Because castles are really cool.

Caernarfon, built in the 13th century by Edward I (and never completed due to financial reasons, and, we suspect, problems with the contractor) is spacious and empty if you get there shortly after opening. Last night was violently stormy outside and equally restless inside our little room, with its charmingly uncomfortable beds and zippy trains passing right outside the window, which made it easy to get up and out early in the morning and be among the first to enter the big castle. See, there are benefits to bad hotels!

We may be short, but we're a lot taller than you.

We explored its towers and tunnels for an hour and marveled at the 3-way arrow slits (so three archers can lay down a path of death at once). I'm not sure what it is, but it is just really cool to clamber around an ancient castle. We climbed several towers (including the ever game Ava, who doesn't care for tight space or heights but will tolerate both if her children ask her and there is cappuccino somewhere on the horizon) and looked over the marina and out to the ocean. The morning was sunny and still, the dragon flags of Wales hung limp but for the occasional breeze, and the grandeur of this magnificent castle was still waking up from the stormy night. Later, the crowds would come. Until then, the quiet morning was simply awesome.

Our next stop, Conwy, was not so abandoned, but still a lot of fun. The kids were given a detective game and spent the next hour racing around the castle looking for clues. You know it's a good game when "stabbed" is one of the clues. It was all about some rebels who took over the castle, one of the best-defended in the land, when a single spy, a carpenter, killed three guards with a dagger one Sunday morning, called all his buddies, and closed the gates behind them. Apparently that was as far as they had planned. They could get into the castle and take it over, but hadn't figured out how to get back out. A couple of weeks later, they negotiated a deal whereby the king released some prisoners and let the rebels walk away, except for the nine of them who were given over to the king to be executed. "Gosh guys, great siege, we'll really have to do it again some time. Well, time to go home. Oh, except for you Jones. The king wants to see you. You really should have given me that extra sip from your flagon when I asked."

We leave Conwy and Wales, head north past those towns we've always heard of but never seen - Manchester, Leeds, Liverpool - following signs that say things like "THE NORTH" and "The Lakes". One of them peels us off to the west, where soon enough the sheep are climbing steep hills, penned in by ancient stone walls, looking out over vistas of lakes and sailboats. Our hotel in the village of Grasmere is beautiful, and the kids immediately sprint across the lawn with the resident dog. He likes to fetch, and we are instantly at home.

Commute to dinner

There is no restaurant at the hotel, but they tell us about a place called the Jumble Room in town, only about a ten minute walk across the field and down the street. It is completely delightful, and we sing and dance our way home under skies with clouds still illuminated by the last vestiges of daylight and stars making their first appearance. Andie and I sing King Tut, and if that seems inappropriate, well Excuuuuse Meeee!

Popular posts from this blog

Andie and Alan's New Zealand, part 1

It's not you, my blog, it's me

Too Much Gear