Not far from The Little House is a narrow road, snaking its way over the hills.. The White Way.. an ancient road first travelled by humans, in the Neolithic period, wearing a track with constant use over time. Then, used by the Romans in subsequent years and so on down through history.. and it is still an exact route as walked by those people in Neolithic times. can you imagine....
if you believe in ghosts of times past, can you imagine how many generations are travelling this road at the same time, just in different dimensions? the mind overloads with that thought. For me, anyhow.
So, our plan for today: to visit Bath
we left The Little House about 9am, with the intention of driving directly to Bath, have morning tea, see the Roman Baths and spend some time doing some Christmas shopping
what really happened:
we arrived at the turnoff to Bath and the traffic going in was absolutely horrendous, so we decided then, to turn around and go back to Bradford on Avon instead.
So, I don't get to see Bath, but I am ok with that. Crowds and traffic don't do either my psyche nor my energies any good, so a very wise decision.
we drove down into Bradford on Avon, snaking our way down in light traffic, due to the narrow roads.. and found the park and display area
grabbed our raincoats and walked towards town..
to find the Avon River in flood
what a delightful, charming, quaint & quirky little village this is.. Laneways leading here and there, back on themselves.. narrow, narrow roads and a bridge over the river Avon.
my kind of place found somewhere in some little laneway...
Joe and I have been buying little gifts for each other as we travel and we will fill a stocking each to gift to each other on Christmas morning..
we then went back to the same tea room for lunch.. I wanted to taste their soup.. broccoli and Stilton and let me say, that it was the most delicious soup that I had tasted for awhile...
then home via the navigation lady..
who took us backroads that were flooded
or we took a wrong turn and found ourselves driving up a track towards somewhere called
which looked more like a driveway leading to a stately home,
my journalings as we drove along:
"it is such a shame to see the rock walls falling down in disrepair. And not being mended. what a waste of history.
The leaves fall from trees and it is like they are dancing in the wind
I don't particularly like the people here in the Cotswolds, the land yes, but not the people. The farmers may be lovely but you don't get to meet them like you do in the Dales. You seem to meet those aforementioned wellies and tweed coats set, who talk like they have a plum in their mouth and drive like ratbags along the laneways as if they are the only ones here.. who don't have time for tractors that are on the backroads, forgetting that the farmers are the backbone of a country. Nor do they have time for pheasants that run across in front of them... but the quails and pheasants still go on breeding, despite the invasion of their territory by the big Range Rover monsters that tear by in a hurry."
so our time in the Cotswolds has come to an end and while i haven't embraced the area, as I did the Dales, I am glad that we did stay here.. it has helped me alot in knowing that Australia is the place that I belong.