In terms of how my cold was treating me, this was probably my worst day, but I really, really wanted to participate in one particular element of the holiday, and also the prospects of being able to sit down from time to time were good. So heavy-duty masked up in the bus, I joined my companions for a trip to the west of the island, furthest point Sigri. Here’s a reminder of the map of the island.
S = Sigri, My = Mytilene, SK = Skala Kalloni, Mo = Molyvos. Map by Vetta Kelepouris-Agnos
On the way, we stopped near Andissa, and were dropped by the bus such that we just walked just the final kilometre or so, on a fairly gentle slope, towards the Ipsilou Monastery, which stands on the highest peak of the Ordimnos mountain range.
[A large] thistleBlack-eared wheatearFemale black-eared wheatearAn alternative way up to the monastery – not much used!Violet carpenter beeNorthern wheatearThey said it was a Short-toed eagle, and I was determined to get a picture…The monastery comes into viewPhilip thought I should appear in my own blog.So I return the compliment. He’s off checking where the bus might be – it went up by a different route
We continued the last few yards/meters to the monastery.
Snake-eyed lacertid
It wasn’t intended that we should eat our packed lunch there, but we were invited in, and facilities were opened up to us. It was lovely to sit in the cool of the chapel’s porch.
This slope was steeper than the whole of the previous climb – or did it just seem so?
Like the others, I wandered around after eating. I did not go into the museum.
We moved on to Sigri, to visit the Natural History Museum of the Petrified Forest. This is at one of the four sites on Lesvos, all in this region, where trees fossilised 20 (as we were told) million years ago by volcanic activity may be seen. This was the reason I had particularly wanted to go out with the group that day, but had also been very happy with my morning.
Beside the entrance steps
A few minutes after our arrival we were given a short talk, then invited to go round the small geological museum, and the garden.
Those teeth were in the museum. They were e-nor-mous. Sadly photography was not allowed inside but it was in the garden.
I was very pleased to sit down for a while in the café there, feeling done in by now.
The day was still quite young, so Philip decided to add an hour or so to the programme, a naturalist walk in olive groves nearby, where lots of good things were seen. I stayed in the bus, where the sleep I craved eluded me.
The first time I went to the Roman villa, ‘Villa Ventorum’, at The Newt in Somerset – I have now been four times, each with a different friend – I felt rather sorry for a bunch of volunteers, the Avalon Archaeology’s “Hands on Heritage” team. These, I knew from their blog, had been slogging away for years, every Wednesday, at a project under the auspices of the South West Heritage Trust, a not-for-profit whose work was formerly part of Somerset County Council’s responsibility, and which is now still mainly financed by Somerset and Devon councils.
At the Avalon Marshes Centre those volunteers are now creating one room of a Roman villa, on a limited budget. Although the aims of the project are very different from those of the villa at The Newt, I was concerned that they might be rather envious – to put it mildly – of the millions poured into the extremely rapid and professional job just 20 miles away.
On subsequent visits to the Roman villa at The Newt, I was delighted to learn that the SWHT had played a large part as consultants in the planning and execution of the Villa Ventorum. They also wrote almost the entire text of a beautiful book about the new villa, which covers the background history of Roman presence in Somerset (there were loads of villas), the decision to imagine a brand new villa, and enormous detail about the planning, sourcing, and construction of it. I can only hope that, given the millions that were poured, evidently, into The Newt’s project, the Trust benefited financially to a very substantial extent!
The Avalon Archaeology project has this month started offering guided tours to the public, and I joined a small group last week. It was a bitterly cold day, and I had not covered myself sufficiently, unfortunately, but the visit was still very enjoyable.
I was early, and studied the map of where I was. The area is principally known for its wildlife.
There were four items to see, and we were guided around them in chronological order, before being left to explore individually and take a longer look at various aspects. The following pictures consolidate the two ‘tours’.
The visit started with the early work by the volunteers of an Iron Age roundhouse. Natalie, of the SWHT, explained that the Hands on Heritage project is not designed to build exact replicas, but that what they carried out was experimental archaeology, that is, in this case, trying to find out by experimentation what building methods were and might have been used at the time. Although many roundhouses have been found, none has left traces much above ground level, so reproduction can only be conjectural. It was known that short stouter posts were first inserted, some weaving done, and then longer uprights added. Wattle and daub was applied, finished with a wash, and then a roof extending well out would largely protect the walls. But rot would set in from the ground, and the life of a roundhouse was only about ten years. The model for this one was those of the Glastonbury Lake Village, just a few miles away.
It was not known, because of the limited height of remains, whether roundhouses had windows, but boards of this size had been found near excavations, so these were included, in accordance with the experimental archaeological approach.
To illustrate a Roman villa, a typical dining room (triclinium) and anteroom were being built here.
Only those rooms and the bathhouse would be heated, by means of a hypocaust. This fire (the opening is about 12 inches/30 centimetres high) would heat air that would be spread underneath the rooms and through their walls.
The roof’s end tiles are purely decorative, and are based on found examples. The part of wall is left unfinished so that internal construction can be seen. It is not wattle and daub but not dissimilar. The two dark plates serve to prevent the smoke from the fire from being blown back into the house. The need for them was discovered in accordance with the experimental approach.
Laying the mosaics is slow painstaking work, and not without the occasional error – itself authentic.
Each section is shaped with a temporary ‘form’. Without such, chaos would result. The small oblong section had taken two or three people the whole of the previous day to complete.
A modern dish provides useful separation of the tesserae, made of local stone and (red) brick.
Among the wall decorations would be portraits of the mistress and master of the house.
Flora, goddess of flowersBacchusThe chi-rho sign would indicate that the house had adopted the new religion, Christianity.Part of the ceiling in the ante-room left bare to show construction technique
The third building was Saxon long hall, home to the local lord perhaps, and also used as (my term) a sort of community centre.
Showing two kinds of wall constructionNatalie is disappointed that the fire she laid for us before our arrival has gone out. So are we – its freezing!Gives me goosebumps to think that we can copy King Alfred’s own handwriting!
There were seven panels altogether.
I think the dark blue triangle, centre-right, may be Glastonbury Tor, with perhaps a holy thorn planted on it.
After the tour, Natalie got the fire going again. But before that there was one more thing to see.
This is full size waterline replica of a Viking trading ship from Denmark. It was built of oak by a specialist team of Viking boat builders from Roskilde. It was originally displayed in the National Maritime Museum in Falmouth. See here for a photo of it being delivered.
Finally, we learnt some etymology. This is the stern of the boat. On its side – and always on its right-hand side – is the steering board. Thus ‘starboard’. And ‘port’ is because a ship was always moored at its left-hand side, in order not to damage its steering-board. (And come to think of it, so did MS Trollfjord on my recent trip up the coast of Norway.)
When I visited early in 2012, I had been waylaid by a large and very comprehensive ground floor geology room in the Grand Hall of the castle, and seen almost nothing of the rest of the museum. I had never been back. Now I was aware that a temporary exhibition that had caught my eye had only a few more weeks to run, so, my regular first Friday walk having been cancelled yesterday, 3rd February, I seized the opportunity to use my bus pass to get to travel free for 80 minutes (50 minutes by car) to the county town, and spend a few hours there.
After an obligatory coffee, I popped out to the courtyard for a photo,
then made straight for the room showing the display previously advertised as:
In Fashion: How a Changing World Shaped What We Wear
‘In Fashion’ explores how changes in society have shaped fashion from the late 1700s to the present day. Long-lasting traditions, social status, new technologies and media influence have all had their part in shaping what we wear. So too have the disruptions of war, the landmarks of birth, marriage and death, and the human desire to escape from old constraints.
Sadly, I felt it did not live up to its promise, so it was as well that there was no charge. From the description above, and that of the welcoming volunteer, I was expecting a chronological display and information covering more than two hundred years of developing fashion, and explanations of why. Instead, in only a certain discipline of chronology, the story was that of 20th century fashion with a few other items tacked on. I could remember three-quarters of it myself – and it was, to be fair, quite nice to nostalge.
Afterwards I had plenty of time, so spent the rest of the morning walking round at those parts of the museum I had not seen on that one earlier visit, and after lunch in the café, I went to visit the splendid church I had noticed (I don’t know Taunton well) on the short walk from bus stop to museum.
Here then is a selection of the photographs I took on my way round, of a large proportion of the items in the fashion exhibition (in the order they were displayed) and then a small selection of those I took in the rest of the museum. The splendid church will be the subject of my next post.
19th and 20th century christening and wedding garbThree-year-old boy’s silk mourning dress, c. 1860. Singer treadle sewing machine, early 20th century. My grandmother had one just like this well into the1950s. This one is displayed the wrong way round – c.f. the name in wrought iron below the table – or for use by a left-hander.
I can remember the times when making one’s own clothes was quite normal, and much less expensive than buying them ready-made. And this mid-fifties shape is very familiar.
Mass production and standardised sizing came in during WWIand requisitioned manufacturers continued to use the methods they had learned during it. Far end, cotton motoring dust coat, 1920s. Rayon and crimplene dresses, 1940s and 1960s respectively.Glass beaded silk chiffon dress c.1926Silk evening dress 1950s, and Teddy boy suit 1959Mini skirt and hot pants, late1960s. I wore both to work in Whitehall, and was the first to wear a trousers suit in H M Treasury. Nothing was said, and it was pleasing to see much more senior women follow suit – in trousers that is, not the hot pants.Silk sack-back dress, c. 1760Embroidered waistcoat, c 1760Silk crinoline dress, c 1860 (( think)Cavanagh evening dress, faille and tulle, c 1959, worn by Raine McCorquodale, later Countess Spencer
I spent just a few minutes in the military history part of the museum.
Bugle, 1888. ‘The bugle has long been the symbol of light infantry and rifle regiments’.I was interested in the fate of this woman. Florentia, wife of General Sale, was taken prisoner during ‘the British Army’s disastrous retreat from Kabul, 1840-41’, and suffered much hardship thereafter.
There were many more rooms to the museum than I had realised.
The Frome hoardThe Low Ham mosaic, c 359 AD/CEtelling the story of Dido and AeneasTaken from the upper gallery of the Great HallCapricorn, emblem of the Roman army’s Second Legion Augusta (in Britain during Boudicca’s revolt), found close to the Roman lead mines on the Mendip Hills, 50-200 AD/CE
Every now and then, a reminder one was in a very old castle.
Thomas Lyte of Lytes Cary, 1558-1638, jewel given him by King James I in thanks for having traced his ancestry back to the RomansVirginals, 1675The philosopher John Locke, born in Wrington, Somerset. Studio of Sir Godfrey Kneller, c 1704.
A small, beautiful, very high-ceilinged circular room was decorated with many sayings associated with Somerset in some way.
This saying was one of four, each for a season, on the huge Taunton Cabinet, made by John Steevens for the Great Exhibition, 1851.
A few things were ‘discovered’ by Somerset people.
List of 514 rebels tried at these Assizes, of whom 144 were sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered
This was the church I had already decided to visit in the afternoon, the, now Minster, church of St Mary Magdalene. There’s very little greenery around it now.
On Friday 30th December, three busfuls of passengers got off at 08.00 at Harstad to take a drive through the lovely Vesterålen islands, and to meet up again with MS Trollfjord two stops further on, at Sortland at 12.30. At that time, I was due to get off there for a bus ride to Stokmarknes in order to have a decent amount of time in the Hurtigruten Museum before reboarding the boat there at 15.00. I had a late breakfast as I didn’t know that I’d get any lunch, and took away with me the means to make a cheese sandwich and an apple.
The day before we had been told we would, hopefully, pass along the Risøyrenna, the 4.8 kilometre Risøy Channel.
It had been dredged and opened in 1922 to allow the Hurtigruten ships through, giving them access to its eponymous stop, and other places on the Lofoten Islands. It was narrow, and part of a beautiful passage. The channel was 7 metres deep, our boat having a draught of 5.5.
At 10.10 we were invited up to deck 9 to observe our passage through.
When I arrived:
I missed most of the opening English introduction, but did catch that we were hovering to see whether it was going to be safe to go through, given the very strong winds. Heinz then embarked on a long spiel in German.
After a minute or so I saw and felt that the boat was making an about-turn of 180 degrees. Heinz broke into English to explain that the captain had decided that the very strong winds meant that, especially with so little difference between the boat’s draught and the depth of the channel, it would not be safe to proceed. We would go straight to Svolvær, arriving at 12.55, via Harstad, missing out Risøyrenna, Sortland, and Stokmarknes. And this also meant we would not be seeing the entrance to the beautiful Trollfjord, after which the ship was named. But here’s an account (subject to permission) I’ve just found by, apparently, a North American, of their passage through the channel in 2014 at a different time of year.
A screen map showed us to be on our way back to Harstad.
We had to go there to pick up the turned-back passengers who had left for the Vesterålen excursions, and to deposit those ‘ordinary’ passengers who were due to leave the ship at one of the three ports now being missed. They would be bussed to their destinations. Later in the afternoon it was announced we would not be calling at Svolvær, but would go straight to Bodø, missing out Stamsund as well, arriving at 22.00.
All these changes meant that the trip to the Hurtigruten museum on which I was booked would not happen, nor for others, from Svolvær, three hours of horse-riding, nor another fishing village visit, nor an evening trek.
Back at Harstad, it was time for a twilight tour around the promenade deck, 6, before I returned to my cabin and had my picnic lunch. When going round deck 6, I always started on the starboard side and worked anticlockwise.
It would appear that Harstad is flourishing economically.
The English-language daily briefing was bought forward 45 minutes, to 14.15.
The team had clearly hastily remade the ‘slide’ to amend the time of arrival, normally 02.30 the following day.
We would be crossing back over the Arctic Circle tomorrow.
Hege sought to reassure those of us who had been on the northwards journey that there would be no ice down the backs the following day, instead we would be invited to take a dose of …
That’s Heinz grinning at the anticipated ‘pleasure’.
A short presentation about life on the ship followed. It’s a good job there was no space for questions – I would have had far too many.
A film taking us around the lower decks was fascinating.
I can’t remember why I went up to deck 8, but for the Nth time I saw progress on the two jigsaws. One had been completed. I saw two people on the very final morning desperately trying to get the last 50 or so pieces in position before disembarkation.
At 16.30 an additional talk was programmed, the history of Hurtigruten, a sort-of replacement for the visit to the museum. It has been interesting to learn that ‘hurtigruten’ was sort-of lower case, an idea, an integral and essential part of Norwegian culture, less the name of a company, more a description of the journey. It means ‘express route’. It has been exploited by many companies over the years, but at its heart is Richard With’s initiative. The Hurtigruten Group finally came together in 2006. (Additional information from Wikipedia, inter alia.)
The afternoon was scattered with exchanges of emails with my French friend, Christine, I knew she would be following the ship’s progress on an interactive map, MS Trollfjord being ‘TF’, which, at the time of writing, is at the northernmost tip of Norway, on her second full trip since the one being described here. At the least Christine would be puzzled when she saw it way off the appointed route, so I kept her up to date with the various tergervisations. (There was also a mystery of a missing ship which apparently was going to be waiting for us a Bodø, but wasn’t and disappeared from the map, but that was never solved.)
Some time in the evening, it was announced that because of the extremely strong winds, the ship was now travelling more slowly, and we would not arrive at Bodø until 23.00. That was still 3.5 hours earlier than the official schedule. I have to say, other than feeling the gales up on deck 9 in the morning, I was very little aware of the winds. Perhaps the occasional need to steady oneself when walking around the ship, but that was all.
For some people, Day 8 started at 01.20. They had left the boat at Mehamn and rejoined at at Kjøllefjord at 03.25, having travelled some of the distance between the two by snow-scooter. I was not among them. The first announcement most of us heard was to explain a delay – we had taken on 130 tons of fish during the night at one of the stops! (Some reckoned that they could see the boat listing, but given the overall tonnage of the boat, I couldn’t – and didn’t – see that it made any difference.)
We were still at the very ‘top’ of Norway. This was taken just before 11.00.
The only lengthy stop that day was at Hammerfest, around 11.15. This claims to be the northernmost town – or was it city? – in the world. So does Honningsvåg. It seems that both can be true since one is technically a city and the other a town. This I found out when, cussedly, I said privately to ‘Onchel’ (pronounced ‘Onkle’) Heinz that I had visited the town of Longyearbyen on Svalbard, way, way to the north of mainland Norway. Ah, but that, being very small, was neither a town nor a city. OK.
The options here were: – to take a very short walk from the boat,
in order to see this;
or to take a bus to see it, then visit the town and its surroundings, including the Museum of Reconstruction of Finnmark and the Northern Troms regions;
or to go on a mountain hike.
Or of course to stay on the boat, which the majority did. I had booked on the second.
The monument was to mark the Struve Geodetic Arc, which started at Hammerfest and ended at the Black Sea. This was a chain of triangulations carried out between 1816 and 1855, which helped to establish the exact size and shape of the planet.
We were taken to a high viewpoint of the harbour, passing a much enlarged former Sami dwelling.
As we were taken back to the town centre, I grabbed a few photos from the bus.
Our whistle-stop tour of the museum provided a very natural and just as sobering sequel to the visit to the bomb shelter in Kirkenes the day before. It picked up from the scorched earth policy of the retreating Germans in 1944, and covered the plight of refugees in their own country, and subsequent reconstruction of their homes and other buildings. Much of it was text and most of the rest was old photos. With little time to read and study I just hastily grabbed images to read later. Here are some.
Simulation of a cave dwelling‘Life as a refugee’‘Life in the fallow period’Mock-up of a brand new home for returning refugees, reminding me of my childhoodA brand new home for a Sami family
And we were rushed on, back to the boat.
I reflected on the words of the Norwegian boatowner over breakfast a couple of days earlier, who had said that Norwegians remembered the war. And I also noted the different approaches of our local guides: the passion of that of the previous day in Kirkenes, for whom the period had been lived experience, compared with the matter-of-factness of this day’s guide, half his age, for whom all this was history. (That Norwegian referendum on whether to join what became the EU had been back in 1972, with 53.5% against membership and 46.5% in favour. They had another, I have just read, in 1994. On an 88.6% turnout, 52% were against, 48% for – no, I’ve not got my referendum results muddled. The Wikipedia article suggests that it’s fishing which for many Norwegians is a great obstacle to EU membership.)
Not UFOs but reflections from inside the coach
At 15.45 we had a talk on:
with its painful reminder that the British expedition under Scott had been ill-equipped and very under-experienced compared with the Norwegian Amundsen. Indeed it’s amazing just how much Scott achieved in the circumstances.
Later in the afternoon was the English-language briefing for the next day, but how the next day panned out is a completely different story.
We would be pulling in to Tromsø at 23.45 that evening , for a nearly two-hour stay. A concert in the ‘Arctic Cathedral’ I had walked to on the way ‘up’ had originally been scheduled, to which I had much looked forward. But there was to be no concert there that night, instead another being scheduled at a theatre/cultural centre. A little bird indicated to me that the music would not be up to much. I would have coped with this just to see the inside of the church at midnight, but I decided against in the circumstances. I was tucked up in bed and fast asleep as those who went left and came back. Feedback the next day was that my choice had been a good one.
At 09.00 I was normally having breakfast. But on Day 7, along with many others, I had to be ready to disembark at that time. In the next 15 minutes, six excursions were to be underway, everyone sorted into their different buses on the quay, and another bus would be taking those passengers leaving the ship permanently to the airport. In addition to the excursion I was to do, people were variously: visiting a snow hotel, going dog-sledding, having a ‘King Crab Adventure’, hiking with the expedition team, and riding snow scooters.
The trip I was doing was a historical/political one, taking in a WWII bomb shelter, the Russian border, and a beautiful view.
Kirkenes is further east than both St Petersburg and Istanbul. It is the nearest town to the Russian border. The role of Kirkenes in WWII, second most bombed town in Europe after Valletta, is described here, as the Germans, who had occupied Kirkenes almost unopposed in June 1940, tried to take Russian Murmansk, 200 kilometres away. (They didn’t get further than halfway there.) The bombing was by the Soviet Union, resisting the German advance. The Russians were greeted with open arms as they liberated Kirkenes on 25th October 1944, and, as our guide kept emphasising, relations have been most cordial with the local Russians ever since, across the border which had been fully open until very recently. Recently, that is since Putin invaded Ukraine. Now the inhabitants of the town were very, very afraid.
Our visit was to the Andersgrotta bomb shelter in the centre of the town. Our guide, born in 1940, while not recalling much of the war but growing up in its aftermath, was passionate about his town’s history.
After showing us a short film – we sat on ranked benches with blankets he provided from a chest – in English with German subtitles, he spoke for some 10 minutes in English, followed by the same length of time in German, about the town’s experiences during and after the war. He felt that the Norwegian government had ignored the needs of north Norway – Finnmark – for reconstruction, and said that only in the 1980s did the town receive a royal visit and apology for neglect. He emphasised several times the cordial relations between the townspeople and the Russian, and indeed the many other nationalities living there, including an influx of Syrian refugees who had entered the country via the Russian border in 2015. (Imagine the desperation.)
He said that books about Norway in the war ignored the experience of the north of the country. He himself had sought to make up for that by writing a short book, translated into three languages. I regret not buying it. I have now read the whole of the Wikipedia entry on the German occupation of Norway, from which this is an extract, ‘By the end of the war, German occupation had reduced Norway’s GDP by 45% – more than any other occupied country.[7] In addition to this came the physical and patrimonial ravages of the war itself. In Finnmark, these were considerably important, as large areas were destroyed as a result of the scorched earth policy that the Germans had pursued during their retreat. Moreover, many towns and settlements were damaged or destroyed by bombing and fighting.’
It was good to be outside again.
We now drove for some 15/20 minutes from Kirkenes to the Russian border. We were entering a different kind of vegetation, the taiga forest. I took these photos through the bus’s window. It’s interesting how the human eye accustoms itself to different light conditions, as it really didn’t seem this dark.
We got out of the bus, and were told we could go anywhere – except beyond the gateposts (though I noticed one or two did, just, with no ill consequences).
This sled appeared from I-don’t-know-where, and unfortunately I felt obliged to accept, when offered, a very short ride on it. Not short enough for me – I felt most insecure. And I’d have preferred anyway to walk on that lovely crunchy snow. The ride was to a solitary shop, which was as unattractive as most gift shops are.
The previous passenger appeared to enjoy it…
By the shop was tethered this husky, and a jar of treats, which our guide dipped into – for the dog that is.
The main road signs in the area were in Cyrillic letters as well as Roman.
We were driven back towards Kirkenes, and arrived at a viewpoint over the town.
My camera zoomed, MS Trollfjord takes centre stage again.
Today’s English language briefing, mentioning excursions for the next three days, was at 14.30. Telling us again about the walk to the Vauban-style fortress at Vardø was a bit a question of left hand and right hand. The timing would already have been tight, but this scoot had already been cancelled by the rather late departure of the boat from Kirkenes. This was again due to the non-arrival on time of some passengers, but in no way was it their fault this time. Two planes bringing passengers has been late arriving at Kirkenes Airport. The boat had waited for one, but could not wait for the second, ‘so those passengers have not joined us yet’. That was the last we heard about them – presumably they were bussed to a later port.
At Hammerfest it would be possible to see this monument to the Struve Geodesic Arc, about which more in the next post.
The trip to the Hurtigruten Museum would happen on Day 9. This slide is of SS (DS in Norwegian) Irma, a Hurtigruten steamship on the coastal route, and controversially torpedoed in 1944, between Bergen and Trondheim. It received a memorial in 2002, seemingly another very belated acknowledgment by the Norwegian government of wartime suffering.
Leaving Vardø at 17.05, from my cabin window. We’ve caught up.
This voyage had been in my sights for at least 15 years, the Hurtigruten ‘Original Coastal Express‘ cruise. And what better time to do it than in the winter festive season, when the chance of seeing the Northern Lights was at its peak, and in a year nearing maximum flares in the solar cycle? 12 days on board the MS Trollfjord, one of the larger ships in the company’s fleet, with 297 cabins. So not too big and not too many passengers!
This is a simplified version of a map of the voyage, not showing all 34 stops in each direction but clearly serving as a reminder that Norway goes right over the ‘top’ of Scandinavia and has a border with Russia. (This will become of interest halfway through the voyage.)
My day’s journey (which started by my rising at 4.30 a.m.) was considerably eased by my being taken to Bristol Airport by my walking friend, Zoe, at whose house, ten minutes from the airport, I was able to leave my car. I arrived at the Hurtigruten terminal, Bergen, at 17.30 local time (= GMT + 1 hour). After a shipboard safety briefing and general welcome on shore I was in my cabin around 18.30.
My home from home for 11 nights, and very comfortable I was too. (If I had nothing else to do, I had podcasts, BBC iPlayer downloads, knitting, reading and even access, live, to BBC Radio 4to entertain me.)Obligatory photo of Bergen harbour from cabin window, through rain plus saltwater-streaked glass
After a buffet dinner there was a welcome and information briefing in English at 21.00, Norwegian and German speakers having been briefed at sessions earlier. Every day, briefings about what we could expect in the next 24 hours or so were given in German and English (about 2/3 of the passengers were German-speaking). When numbers on board, 15 minimum for each, justified it, there were also sessions in in Norwegian and French. (This working service being for passengers, cars, and goods for delivery at any of the 34 stops along the Norwegian coast, as well as for tourists, people could be on board for a few hours, a few days, or for the full coastline in one direction only, as well as those of us doing the full 11 + two half-days round trip. The language order for on-board announcements was always Norwegian, English, German, French.)
The ship had departed, imperceptibly, at 20.30.
We met the people in charge of us and of the ship. The captain, first left, was a woman – hooray! The chef de cuisine was given special applause, unsurprisingly.
We were also introduced, by means of their photos, to those who would look after our excursions and entertainment on board. I am pleased to say that ‘entertainment’ did not mean shows and suchlike, but information, talks, celebrating the arrival of 2023, and a little fun as we we crossed the Arctic Circle twice.
I had booked all my excursions in advance, but these briefing sessions were also used to advertise remaining places on them. I was a little concerned that the one I had booked for the following day, a visit to the Sunnmore open air museum, was not mentioned this evening. I found that it had been cancelled as there had been only two reservations for it, so I booked instead on to a walking tour of Ålesund. Other options were a longer excursion, including lunch (this was to be the longest stay of the whole voyage) on ‘Taste and traditions in a typical Norwegian fjord’, a visit to a lighthouse, or a trip to an aquarium.
But before we reached Ålesund, we would stop, for just 10 or 15 minutes each time, at three further ports, during the night. I had been concerned that these overnight stops might disturb sleep with clanking and other noises, but not at all. The only noise in my cabin was the gentle sound of ventilation and heating. I did wake up just a handful of times at night during the whole voyage, due to a little juddering and revving. I think it was the bow/stern thrusters as the ship was expertly moved sideways away from the quays. Whatever the cause, I was soon asleep again.
From my window at 09.20 on Day 2, 23rd December, just before arrival at Ålesund
It had stopped raining by the time we docked, and all excursions were to start at 09.45. Disembarked, we had a first chance to take a real look at the boat we had joined in the dark the evening before. There was the goods/car entrance…
… and the passenger entrance. My deck, no. 4, was the only one to give its guests a window. Cabins on all other decks, even the most expensive, had portholes.
No cabins on Deck 5, and Deck 6 was the only one you could walk all around.
I was the only one in the walking excursion not to speak German, and I’m afraid the guide increasingly forgot to repeat his spiel in English. I tired of reminding him, but I got the gist of our visit, even if not of each stop. The whole town had burned to the ground in 1904. The guide said it was because some drunken sailors had been (mis)using oil lamps. Other sources said that no-one had any real idea about what had caused the fire. The place was rebuilt in three years (!), in the art nouveau style then current. The whole town is considered to be Norway’s’ open air museum of art nouveau.
The sun does rise at this time of year at this latitude in Norway, but with hills and mountains all round, it may not reach some parts!The former custom house
We were invited to sit on this and similar seating. It was warm! The pipes are filled with hot water in the winter season.
We visited a building which until recently had been a pharmacist’s house and business. It is now the Art Nouveau Centre. While all the others went into a room to experience an account of the fire and the town’s rebuilding in German, I went directly into the exhibition. I was blown over by the beauty of some of the exhibits, particularly the engine-turned enamel work. I could have stayed much longer but was given just 15 minutes until my turn in the English-language version of the experience (while the others would view the exhibits). I had great difficulty selecting which photos to include here.
The experience, in a darkened room, was series of photos and moving images of the devastating – though only one life was lost – fire, its consequences, and the reconstruction story.
I was astonished to find that the others were already waiting outside for me – had they been hastened through the exhibition? We continued our walk through the town, noting various art nouveau features.
At this point we were taken into an art shop. I thought it was to encourage us to buy the lovely prints on show there. But in due course I understood that we were being invited to choose, as a free gift, one each from a large selection on offer. I like mine a lot – and will have to get it framed.
We moved on.
It was lunchtime when I got back to the ship, via an ATM. I had completely forgotten to look for one at Bergen airport.
In complete contrast to my visit to the Museum of Brands the previous day, the main purpose of my short visit to London last week was to visit the Cézanne exhibition. Mary and I went on the Overground to Blackfriars station, from where I took this picture, looking down the Thames to Tower Bridge.
Zooming in to our right, I saw some mudlarking (for definition if necessary see later) swans, humans and pigeons. No not really mudlarking; Mary tells me that the swans are fed regularly at this spot.
Arriving exactly at 10.00, we entered the Turbine Hall with the gathered crowd,
and made our way to the café for the obligatory refreshment, from where I zoomed in on the two towers of St Paul’s Cathedral.
I love an audioguide, and the bonus this time was that it was free. Opening the Cézanne exhibition (if you see what I mean) was the man himself.
Paul Cézanne, (1939-1906) early self-portrait
Given his proclamation about Paris and an apple (see heading), it was hardly surprising to find them everywhere, though the selection here does not reflect the extent of their proliferation.
The Basket of Apples, c 1893
And indeed it was not apples everywhere.
The Murder, c 1870The Battle of Love, 1879-80Auvers, Panoramic View, 1873-75The Conversation, 1870-71Madame Cézanne in a Yellow Chair, 1889-90 Portrait of the Artist’s Son, 1881-2, considered to be unfinished. I rather like it like that. A clear resemblance between him and his motherThe Bay of Marseille, seen from l’EstaqueStill Life with Plaster Cupid, 1894-5Man in a Blue Smock, (recently identified as a farm worker called Pere Alexandre, but I think it looks like Mark Rylance), 1896-7Mont Sainte-Victoire, 1902-6Bathers both male and female. I didn’t get the dates.Still Life with Apples and Peaches, 1905Seated Man, 1905-6Mont Sainte-Victoire, seen from Les Lauves, c. 1904Two of his last works, described as ‘ominous compositions with skulls’ by the curator
Returning to the Turbine Hall, I was struck by the serendipitous artistry of this view.
It was not yet time for lunch, so we went along the South Bank for a while, hoping the forecast rain would keep away. While I had walked along the other bank many times, and much of this, I had never in my entire life seen the sights along this particular stretch before, to my own and Mary’s surprise, though I do recall singing a concert in Southwark Cathedral, half a century ago.
Looking back to Blackfriars station, from which I had taken the first photo. The swans are still there, though the tide has mounted.Virtually all that remains of the Great Hall of (the Bishops of) Winchester Palace, ruins rediscovered in the 19th century. The Shard behind.Full-scale replica of The Golden Hinde, the first English ship to sail round the world. The Shard and Southwark Cathedral
We found this attractive pub, The Mudlark, right by the Cathedral, to have a bite of lunch in. It was very noisy and crowded inside, so we opted to eat outdoors.
Here’s the definition of ‘to mudlark’.
We sat first here,
then here, seeking the least windy spot.
(Perhaps my decision to drink Guinness was influenced by the museum exhibit the day before.)
We walked on, in the odd spot of rain.
“The Queen’s Walk is a promenade located on the southern bank of the River Thames in London, England, between Lambeth Bridge and Tower Bridge. The creation of pedestrian access along the south bank of the Thames was seen as an integral part of the creation of the Jubilee Walkway to mark the Silver Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II in 1977. However, the last section was not established until the completion of construction of London Bridge City c.1990. In 1996, the Walk was recognised as a foundation for establishing the Thames Path national trail through London.” Wikipedia.
It was a pity some of the buildings opposite (I wasted no pictures on them) were so hideous. Looking at you, Cheese Grater.
The Tower of London, HMS Belfast, and Tower Bridge.
We would have gone right up to Tower Bridge, but underfoot were some beautiful slates. Not so beautiful to walk on when wet. So we turned back, and in Hay’s Wharf sought the coffee we’d not had with our lunch, In the event it was accompanied by some delicious lemon drizzle cake.
It was time for me to be making for my train home. In order to get the Circle Line round to Paddington – and en route to pick up my overnight bag from Tate Modern – we walked back to Blackfriars Bridge, just yards beyond the station, where this caught my eye.
Needless to say, my train was delayed, this time by 25 minutes because of points trouble. The day before it had been damaged overhead electricity lines. But it had been a most enjoyable mini-break. Thanks to all concerned.
Yesterday’s blog about my visit to the Museum of Brands ended at the late 1940s. There was much more to come, though I took few pictures towards the end of the Time Tunnel. Nostalgia was giving way to distaste at consumerism!
The 1950s. A symbolic grocer’s shop of the time. How I recall those endless queues, as my mother and I waited to be served, while tins were fetched, goods were weighed out and advice given. No supermarkets yet, but they were coming.
Anastasia: was the woman genuine who was claiming to be the escaped youngest daughter of Russian Tsar, so a survivor of the Romanov assassination, carried out by the Bolsheviks in 1918? Conclusively proved in 2007 that no member of the family escaped.
Ah, that ‘contemporary’ style!
More than once towards the end of the 50s my friends and I were allowed to ‘go up’ to London to be in the audience at the BBC Riverside Studios as ‘Six-Five Special’ went out live on Saturdays, at the time specified, and to ‘Juke Box Jury’. I remember being disappointed at how short Adam Faith (‘What do you want if…’) was as we crowded around afterwards to get autographs.
But Tommy Steele (‘Singing the Blues’) was my real idol. (By the time The Beatles came along I had lost interest in pop music, but meanwhile had had a bit of a pash on Cliff Richard.)
‘Don’t forget the fruit gums, Mum!’My grandmother had the Brownie on the left, my parents the one on the right.
The 1960s.
I think I tried all of these hairstyles, bar perhaps bottom left.My mother’s culinary salvation (sorry Mum!). Quick dried peas, Vesta instant dried meals, and Birds Instant whip. And yes, she saved Green Shield stamps.
The 1970s.
A coffee set the height of sophistication1975. Sigh…Yup, I had one of these, two-tone beige1977, Silver Jubilee
1980s.
I had my own first computer, a BBC B, in 1984, and joined the internet in 1997. I was living in France by then, and learned all the jargon in French.
1990s. I didn’t take many photos from now on.
This window was the last, to represent the 2010s.
By now, I was in real need of a sit-down, while there remained much to see. So I was pleased to find myself in the cafe. My intention after refreshment was to explore the Memorial Garden, but it started to rain at that very point, so after a quick photo I immediately turned back inside.
There was one more room, with a roomlet off, yet to explore, covering a variety of themes. Immediately to my right there were three tapestries, each about two metres high, dedicated to London, Rome and Amsterdam. They were true tapestries, that is, the pattern being woven into the fabric, not applied later. Each tapestry had taken about a year to complete, and contained 100 motifs.
Nearby was an apology and indeed an apologia for displaying the exhibit, which contained a reference to ‘Zwarte Piet‘.
This next display gave interesting details on how various products had fared in the light of lockdown and the pandemic.
Some well, some less so.
So far in this room, it seemed that the exhibits had been temporary, but I think the next series of displays were probably permanent ones They showed how packaging of various products had changed over the years, sometimes centuries. I’m disappointed that the images are sometimes not sharp.
I don’t now Frijj and have never used Stergene.Gales honey, Ritz biscuits and Sunpat peanut butter
The ‘roomlet’ was dedicated to several windows about Johnnie Walker, advertising packaging, promotion, sponsorships, which presumably also sponsors this display, and to those shopping lists which had originally drawn my attention to the Brands Museum.
I am particularly disappointed that the lighting (and perhaps my lack of savvy) has made the photos of these, at times amusing, shopping lists, gathered by one woman and then her friends since 2016. One I especially liked, but which is too blurred to show here, had clearly been written by one person to ensure that the person actually doing the shopping bought the precise things.
There were three displays this size.List as written by a child!Four different shops on the left. Very healthy on the right.Very neatThe week’s meals, and ingredientsPresents and food for ChristmasThis shopper knows where to get best value: Waitrose, Tesco and Aldi all to be visited. I hope they didn’t drop the list before visiting the last.Vodka, Rum, Coke and Beer. Hmm, wonder what they’re planning…Packing and shopping for a holiday in Norfolk.
I spent a happy evening with Mary, including a meal out with her sister, Susan, who herself did a blog on this museum in 2019.
The third and final post in this series will cover the next day’s visit to the Cézanne exhibition and the area surrounding the Tate Modern.
Time for another visit to The Newt in Somerset. I’d done the Cyder [sic] Tour there a month previous, and had come away with samples. I’d then taken the opportunity to walk down to have a quick look at the exterior of the new Roman Villa Experience (they’re all ‘experiences’ these days, aren’t they?) and back along a vast new area that the enterprise had opened up.
A few days ago, I met Mary off her – delayed – train at Castle Cary station. Arrived at The Newt, we started with the obligatory coffee, and did a bit of setting the world to rights – it’s a big job these days.
This merged seamlessly into lunch.
We were booked in to the Roman Villa for 3p.m., so set off an hour earlier to make our way there via the newly opened area. This involved setting off from the pergola and its many different members of the gourd family.
Going ‘the long way round’ it was about a mile to the Villa, but there was plenty to entertain us on the way, including The Grotto with its Wyvern. The difference between a dragon and a wyvern?
First of all, dragons have four legs, while wyverns have only two. Their front legs are fused to their wings, so they cannot move their wings as easily as dragons. Dragons are also a lot larger than wyverns, and they are believed to be the most powerful creatures in the world. Indeed, it’s very impressive: dragons are very hard to kill and, unless they are killed, they will live for thousands of years.
Still, wyverns, who are considered to be one of the breeds of dragons, can’t be called harmless in any way. Though smaller, easier to attack, and with fewer powers, wyverns can move around a lot faster than dragons, thus making them a big advantage. So, you can never underestimate a wyvern: due to the fact that it’s so swift, it might attack and kill even more efficiently and effectively than a dragon.
When I’d visited in July I had heeded the advice below. I really am too literal-minded – children were actually being encouraged to be disobedient, when they would have had a flaming surprise!
Sadly, by the time of this visit, the Wyvern had no head – some children had been too violent. Safety, electric wires and all that, had led the management to remove it entirely. (It is to be replaced.) But here’s a picture I had taken of it on my previous visit.
We moved on, and were amused by these parallel sheep, all moving towards our right.
Even on my first visit to The Newt, in January 2020, I had seen, in the inaccessible distance and from another angle, what looked like a dovecot. Now we were able not only to approach it but to go inside.
Through the, evidently unglazed, windows, were several views, including this one of the Roman Villa for which we were heading.
Reception and the museum
The Newt’s website said to allow 90 to 120 minutes for the tour of museum and villa. Reception said not to linger too long in the former, as the house alone would need at least an hour to be appreciated. We only had two hours before they would close – and we had ordered Roman food for the end.
We were issued with GPS-guided headphones. In the museum, one pressed a lit ring by an exhibit to learn more. In the house, commentary was stimulated by proximity to any given area. I love audioguides – but there is a huge disadvantage in that you have to rely on your memory a few days later … So there are many lacunas now …
The reconstructed Roman villa is by the site of a real one, burnt down in the 4th century, and first re-discovered in the 19th. Part of it is incorporated into the museum and part of it has been returned to the ground.
More historical information is here and here. The latest archaeological excavations took place after Koos Bekker, the South African billionaire owner of The Newt in Somerset, had acquired the property in 2013.
I was frustrated not to be able to tell which exhibits were originals and which reproductions. (But these surely were all the latter.) Only on examining some of my pictures have I realised – I think – that there were symbols by the captions which would have told me. (Next time – which is soon.)
The villa, seen from the museumThis was the spa/bathing area.These light fittings are made up of small shards found on the site.From the games exhibitsPart of the food and cooking exhibit
More time would have allowed a more in depth perusal of the exhibits, (and outside the holidays would have perhaps avoided some rather noisy children, but they were having enormous fun). We moved on to the villa, through vineyard and orchard.
We were welcomed to the ‘Villa Ventorum’ by Diana, in Roman dress. She explained that this room is the furthest most visitors would have been allowed, a place where business transactions would have taken place. From then on our visit was led by the audioguides.
They told us the route to take. There were no stewards, no barriers, no ‘do not touch’s (though our headphone commentary made that polite request) and no – conspicuous anyway – CCTV. And I should mention that the visit is entirely free once entry to The Newt is paid, either by annual membership, or as a guest of a member.
I wondered whether a 21st century person had modelled for this portrait.Indeed, could it be Karen Roos, joint owner of The Newt?
Recognisably the British Isles, though Scotland’s round the bend.
No detail has been missed in the development. The Villa has only been open to the public for a couple of months. My assumption would be therefore that this scorched effect has been added artificially.
We met this cheery fellow in the peaceful rear garden.
A child’s bedroom, and a child’s collection
Parents’ bedroom, and parents’ jewellery
The ‘bibliotheca’ was always in a mess, we were told through our headphones.
The route from Villa Ventorum to London and beyond
Next, to the linked music and entertaining rooms
I cannot imagine how one could eat recumbent, propped up on one arm.
Round to the front of the villa again, and down to the lower courtyard to be served our Roman street food.
This young man told us that the stall was totally authentic, apart from the stainless steel serving pots. We each had what could be described in modern terms as a vegetarian wrap – containing broad beans, asparagus, coriander and a few other lovely things – delicious. I had cider with mine and Mary a sort of cold mulled red wine, the name of which I couldn’t retain.
View from the room in which we ate
We walked back the direct way to the hub of The Newt, still about a kilometre, wondering whether we would see any of the deer.
We certainly did, and they seemed, untypically, to be herded to an area which was inaccessible to the public (possibly because the rutting season is coming up?).
I had never seen so many of them together.
This beech tree fell during Storm Eunice on 18th February this year. As the panel beside it says, it is being left there to become a home for fungi, beetles, and bugs, and, in due course, to become compost. Such shallow roots for such a tall tree!
We had some time before Mary’s train back to London, and, since all refreshment facilities had by now closed, we sat for a short while on a conveniently placed bench, with Newt Lake and the young apple orchards ahead of us, and Hadspen House, the Long Walk and the kitchen garden at 2 o’clock.
In due course we made our way back to the car park.
Just yesterday, when a friend called to offer me some plums from her garden, I was telling her about the Villa. We have arranged to go together in about a month’s time, when I will hope to fill in some of those lacunas, and indeed to observe more.
Footnote: Never – £500, £600, £700 and rising per night! – will I be in a position to take photographs of those parts of The Newt reserved to guests in its hotels, Hadspen House and The Farmyard. But here is a short article by those involved in the interior design, which will show a little of how the Other Half lives!
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