We're going to try and get to the Cadbury factory in Birmingham this week. We're going to watch Willy Wonka on the telly to get geared up for it this afternoon. Talk to you soon, and remember how much we hate the Florida Gators....sigh.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Recovering from London
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
A Kid's Eye View of London
I'm turning over the reins of the blog to the younger Grizzards this week, enjoy....Glenn
Click here for the photo album from London
LONDON by Savannah Grizzard
Hello, this is Savannah Grizzard. I will be talking about London.
On Wednesday I went with my mom to a concert. It was fun! After the concert, me and Lisa Grizzard had to get back on the tube (subway) to Stratford. We had to walk from the station to our hotel. On the walk, Mommy had to carry me, ‘cause it was cold. When we got to our hotel room, we knocked on the door, and Sawyer answered. Then Sawyer started chatting away about this dumb comedy show he watched while she was at the concert. Then we brushed our teeth, and went to bed. On Thursday, I went to Waterloo. I saw the London Eye, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Regents Park, and Trafalgar Square. You know what the London Eye is right? Good, Big Ben is a famous clock tower in London. Westminster Abbey is next to it. Abbey Road was not too far away, so we went there. Regents Park is a flower garden. It’s very big. Trafalgar Square has water fountains and lion sculptures. We ate at Garfunkel’s. It was very good. Then we went to the London Eye to ride it, but it was closed. So we went home to the hotel.
On Friday we went to the Tower Bridge, Tower of London, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and a Lion King play. First we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral .It has too many stairs—more than 500 of them! After that we went to see the Tower of London, and we walked around it to the Tower Bridge. Then we walked back to the tube (subway) to the hotel to clean off. Then we got on the tube again to go to the Lion King play. It was good, but the costumes were a bit cheesy.
On Saturday we went to South Kensington, The British Museum, and the London Eye. First we went to South Kensington, where Lisa Grizzard was taught in a basement. Then we got on the tube (subway) to the British Museum. At the British Museum, they had the Rosetta Stone . It was big. They also had Egyptian, African, Mesopotamian, Greek, Roman, and a lot of other stuff. Then we got back on the tube (subway) to the London Eye to ride it. We stood in a short line to get our tickets. After we got our tickets, we waited in a line to get to our cart. Our cart number was 32. In fifteen minutes we were at the top. In another fifteen minutes, we were done. Then we went to a tube (subway) stop but it was closed so we got on another line to the hotel.
THE END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LONDON!
Written by Sawyer Grizzard
Hey Everyone,
This is not Glenn, the guy who has been updating the blog so far. This is Sawyer Grizzard, the cool guy in all the pictures. We have recently gone to London, the capital of the United Kingdom. This is, obviously, what will be written here. So, let’s start with some jokes. So, there are three bandits, who are running from some policemen. The bandits- you probably want me to tell you about London now. So, it started like this: we went to the train station on the bus at about 3:00pm, we got our train tickets to go to London, we got on the train to go to London, we rode on the train to London, we got off the train in London, we went to the subway station in London, we got subway tickets in London- you probably know where we are by now. But, just in case, I’ll remind you. We are in London. So, after that, Savannah and my mom rushed off to a Selena Gomez concert, which is the reason we ended up in London in the first place. My dad and I just hauled the suitcases up to the hotel.
The next day, we went to Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, and Abbey Road. If you don’t know what Big Ben is, you should go see a doctor. Trafalgar Square is this place with a bunch of lion statues. Abbey Road is the place where the Beatles recorded a bunch of their songs. If you don’t know who the Beatles are, then you should really see a doctor. We also saw the London Eye. Now, if you don’t know what the London Eye is, the hospital is the place for you. We were going to ride it, but the dang thing closes at 8:00, and it was about 8:01 when we got to it. So, that’s the end of that day.
On Friday, we went to St. Paul’s Cathedral. St. Paul’s Cathedral is this church thing. It is very famous, apparently. It’s really cool, and it’s really tall, but you can’t get to the top without climbing a zillion stairs. So after that, we were all pooped. Then we ate lunch, and after that we walked around the Tower of London and across the Tower Bridge. After that we went to the hotel, changed into fancy clothes (NOT my idea!), ate dinner, and then went to this Lion King musical. It was good, but the costumes were horrible. Ex: Simba’s costume was just a lion hat and a tail tied to some guy’s butt (He had other clothes on, of course). That was Friday.
On Saturday, we went to South Kensington, which is where my mom went to school when she was over here, The British Museum, which is a British museum. And to end it all, we did the London Eye. It was really cool. And that, was the trip to London.
THE END
Monday, October 18, 2010
What’s the Buzz? Why, It’s the Second Coming and the Fab Four
Talking about my “favorite musical” is not completely unlike talking about my “favorite terrorist” or my “favorite green pepper dish,” but albeit surprisingly, I do have a favorite musical and it came to the Liverpool area this past weekend. I have known Jesus Christ Superstar backwards and forwards since my mid-teens. (Feel free to challenge me anytime on my Judas vs. Mary vs. Jesus imitations in “Everything’s Alright,” or make a request for my King Herod, I’m told it is a treat.) The production just across the Mersey River from Liverpool was too tempting to miss, so we made arrangements for a return trip to the home of The Beatles. John Lennon and Jesus in one weekend, how can you pass that up?
We got up on Friday in time to check in and drop our bag at our hotel by the Albert Dock and ventured over to The Beatles Story museum, which we had not had time for when we took the Magical Mystery Tour our first weekend over here. As much as we learned on the Tour, I think the museum lets you get to know the boys even better. I take that back, neither one is better than the other, but they really support each other and I feel like all of us are ready to go on a Beatles trivia show by now.
Our family ticket at The Beatles Story was good for 48 hours, so we decided to continue the intensive with another session on Saturday morning, along with the gimmicky “4D” movie that they added on, before we grabbed the bus to take us to the Wirral. The Wirral is the peninsula that lies on the other side of the Mersey and juts out into the Irish Sea. We grabbed some fish and chips as we looked out over the sea at a huge collection of windmills that I can guarantee were put there for a good reason, but the wind was taking an appreciated break while we were there.
The play itself was excellent: An amateur production with a minimalist set, a passionate Jesus, solid Mary, and an overweight blonde Judas who was almost up to the challenge of the gut-wrenching solos. We brought the average age of the audience down considerably, there couldn’t have been one elderly person left at home on the Wirral on Saturday afternoon. Speaking of which, there was a sweet old lady in a wheelchair a couple of rows in front of us and I couldn’t help noticing the brand name on the side of the chair. It struck me as spectacularly odd, especially in light of my intense George Harrison over the previous 24 hours, it was a “Karma.” If you don’t know why that’s a completely inappropriate name for a wheelchair company, we can discuss it in my debriefing after the new year.
We’re doubling up on homeschool work this week, so that we can take our first major trip since the Wales fiasco. We load up for London Wednesday afternoon, Savannah and Lisa get to spend the evening with Selena Gomez, and we are going to hit some other highlights of the big city over the weekend. Hopefully, the Tube workers won’t go on strike again, because apparently you want a free-flowing, functioning Tube when you’re in London.
Y'all stay cool, remember "Everything's Alright, yeah, everything's fine, let the world turn without you tonight..."
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
From Thor's Cave to Manchester
We’ve had a busy last few days, but I’ll try to be quick.
On Friday, we visited briefly with the head teacher of St. John’s Primary School in our local village (which is called Keele and is the town our University here is named for). The school was having what they call their Heritage Festival at the church right up the hill from them. This is not a festival like we would think of it, but rather a church service where people bring extra bounty to the church to share with the less fortunate. She invited us to come visit the school on Monday.
After that meeting, we headed to the bus station for the day’s adventure. We took one bus to the big City Centre in the town of Hanley, then took another to Leek, and then a third to a tiny town called Waterhouses. As the name might indicate, it is a little settlement by a little river. We were hoping to rent bikes at a ‘cycle hire’ on the Manifold Valley Trail, but it was closed. Luckily, we had called the week before, and Lisa still had the number for another place in her phone. By a second stroke of luck, that place was closed as well (a slow time of year in Waterhouses!) but the owner lived on site and he told us to come on down and he would let us have some bikes.
We saddled up and headed north on the Manifold Valley Bike Path in the edge of Peak District National Park in eastern Staffordshire. It is a lovely jaunt through the woods along an old railroad bed. By far, the most amazing thing to see on the trail is a place called Thor’s Cave. We hiked up and got some pics and videos up there that you can check out along with the ones from the valley floor…
CLICK HERE FOR THE PICTURES FROM THE MANIFOLD VALLEY AND PLAYING AT OUR LOCAL PARK
Well, after all that bikin’ and hikin’ we were ready for a chillout weekend. We caught the train in Crewe and went through Chester to the town of Frodsham in Cheshire. It was a pretty easy trek except that the mile walk to our hotel turned out to be straight uphill, and partially on a road without a sidewalk. Just as we came to that part, we asked a passerby if we were still on the right trail, and he insisted on carrying us the rest of the way in his motorcar. This is just another example of how nice the people are around here. They won’t hear of you being distressed or unhappy with their country.
It turned out to be worth the work to get to the Forest Hills Hotel. It was on top of the mountain we had partially climbed, and had amazing views. But is also had a Spar! What’s a spar? That’s how you say Spa over here. We had a giant heated pool, big spar hot tub, sauna and steam room, all inside a giant wooden room. It was decadent. Lisa even got to do the weights in the gym, but I stuck to the sixteen ounce curls at the poolside pub. They also gave us a big buffet breakfast before we took a cab back to the train station in the morning. We checked out a bit of the ancient Roman settlement of Chester on our way home, got some excellent Thai food (the Pad Thai came wrapped in a pancake), and made it home for a restful Sunday evening.
We had our tour of the school on Monday morning. They have almost 200 students from age 3 to 12, and it had several similarities to Mountain Pathways. It was sort of in between public school and Montessori. They were separated into grades, but they also sat at tables instead of desks, and they all wear uniforms. The kids were pretty impressed with their playground, but the head teacher is looking to make it better. She asked us to come and present an assembly for their whole school after their mid-term break in a few weeks, so we’ll keep you posted on that.
Tuesday, we forgot the camera again as the kids and I rushed out the door to catch the train to Manchester. We didn’t expect much as we haven’t heard great things about the UK’s second largest city, but it is really nice. We spent several hours in the Manchester Museum on the campus of the University of Manchester. It is in a beautiful building and has an amazing collection. We really loved the mummies in the Egypt section, and their natural history stuff is unbelievable. They also had a stuffed albatross in the bird section. I knew they were big, but had no idea how big. That got us talking about Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s ‘Rime of the Ancient Mariner,’ so we’re reading that today. We got to ride in the top of a double decker bus, which Savannah had been wanting to do, but mostly gave Sawyer and I flashbacks of riding to and from the car park at the Ryder Cup.
Of course, we had curry Tuesday night after Sawyer’s Tae Kwon Do class. Did I mention it’s two meals for six pounds at the Sneyd Arms on Tuesday? I highly recommend it. We’re hoping to get tickets to a production of Jesus Christ Superstar up near Liverpool this weekend, and we’ll be in London the last half of next week, first for Savannah to see Selena Gomez at the Apollo, and then to tool around until Sunday. We’ll let you know how all that turns out!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Garden Party Rocks On
After homeschool this morning, we went on a field trip. We took the bus into Newcastle-Under-Lyme and then transferred over to the 99 bus to Biddulph (aren't we just the locals?). Then we grabbed a short cab to the Biddulph Grange Gardens. It was a home in the mid 1800s where a fellow named James Bateman blew his family's fortune on beautiful gardens and a fossil museum. There is a section devoted to China and another to Egypt, and he had folks bring him floral specimens from all over the world that he added to his collection.
Check out the pictures of this place, it was really beautiful, especially after the sun came out this afternoon!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
A Second Chance for Wales
So you have probably determined by now that we survived Wales. In fact, the day after All The Evil happened (sorry, that was a nod to my new favorite book ‘The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo’ – highly recommended for the strong of heart and stomach!). Saturday was a huge improvement and served to reinvigorate our excitement about the little sub-country. With the help of our next door neighbors, the farm's godforsaken roosters, we got out of our mountaintop cottage early and strolled down to the main road in hopes of catching a bus to a town that is honestly called Mumbles. It is named for the two islands (THE Mumbles) at the tip of the point that marks one end of Swansea Bay. We had been looking at the Mumbles for two days from our cottage and were struck by their beauty.
(That's the view out the front door of our cottage!)
Mumbles is also famous as the stomping ground of the poet Dylan Thomas, who I have always been fascinated by as someone who actually drank so much that he finally just fell over dead like poor ol’ Nick Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, but that I had never officially read anything by. We found our way there with no problem and took in the remains of their local castle, the equally well-named -- but currently under renovation -- Oystermouth.
We grubbed at the pub and strolled along the Atlantic, pausing to get a little feel of that water I had seen so many times from the other side, but never from this angle.
The kids got some playground time and got to share their crazy accents with some local jokers and another fellow visiting Mumbles from across St. George’s Channel in Ireland. We toyed with the idea of heading even farther from home this Saturday and finding an island where they claimed we would see puffins (a lifelong and quite hopeless quest for me), but we decided instead that we should amble back to the train for Crewe in hopes of getting home before bedtime. I had to climb Mount Rooster to retrieve our hopelessly overpacked valise, which allowed me to cut through one of the most beautiful parks I have ever encountered. There is a private castle right in the middle of it where someone lives. I retrieved our rolling bag and set out upon the journey down by way of the horse manure dappled driveway as carefully as possible. Remember that if you ever want to borrow a suitcase from us.
The train home was a welcome break for my legs that Wales had been so hard on from Celtic Manor to Rooster Mountain, and we were home at a decent hour. All in all, given the chance, I would go see some more of Wales. The people (not counting the shagsters that planned and controlled the Ryder Cup) were unequivocally delightful and happy to have us in their corner of the island. It’s one of the greenest places I’ve ever seen, but I suppose it would be in a place that gets so very, very much rain.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Ryder Washout…
I have to apologize ahead of time, this blog entry is as much therapy as it is a chronicle of events. I hope you have time to get through it, it took over my writing soul. I did my best to let you enjoy my misery more than I did. It will be quickly followed by a much more pleasant day.
When we saw the “Heavy Rain” forecast early in the week, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. This is the UK, after all, heavy rain is just part of the deal. Surely the folks at the Ryder Cup would have thought of the possibility and be ready to ‘play through,’ as it were.
We bussed back over to the rail hub at Crewe and took the direct train south through Shrewsbury (pronounced Shrews-bree rather than what you just said as you read it, you dumb AmericanJ), and then through western England and across into northeastern Wales. If you don’t know, Wales was its own separate land that matured independently of their neighbors to the east, and they also developed their own independent language – and, boy, is it independent. It is the craziest language you’ve ever seen that still uses the same letters we do (I can’t go into the history of it without the internet, and as I mentioned, we don’t get much internet time), but I’d be willing to bet that did not use the same letters when they first started writing it down. Anyhoo, we rolled through the lush, green countryside full of sheep and hedgerows, and through quaint towns with cathedrals and tightly-packed dwellings, and then right on through Newport, site of the Ryder Cup itself, and out to Swansea, where we had booked our accommodations at a cottage on an ancient working farm. We walked Swansea a bit, checking out the remains of the castle that still, well, remains, downtown...
and then we cabbed it in a drizzle up the mountain to our farm. Our cottage had been converted from an old farm building and had beautiful stone walls, but was otherwise pretty modern, you can see the beautiful glassed in living room with the view of Swansea Bay. It was altogether spectacular. It continued raining through the night, but again, what would you expect?
Sawyer and I got up at 5:35 to get a cab back to the train station. It was raining and windy and dark, but we had our raincoats, rainpants and Georgia hats, so we felt prepared. The first tee-offs were set for 7:45, and Bubba Watson wasn’t starting until 8:30. We made the 6:30 express train, and were in Newport by 7:40. This was the last good thing that happened to us all day…
We had packed a backpack with some dry clothes, and we took the camera. We didn’t have a cell phone because the website made it clear we couldn’t bring it in. I had slept poorly the night before trying to decide whether cameras were okay, and decided that the cellphone ban was because of potential rings, but that I always heard cameras at golf tournaments, and I didn’t want to miss a chance to get a picture of us with Bubba. We’ll call this mistake number one, just to be generous.
So, back at the station in Newport (or Casnewydd for those of you following in Welsh), there was a free shuttle to and from the VIP dropoff by the eighteenth green. If you already had your tickets in hand. Our tickets were at the East Car Parking outpost 15 miles away. The only way there was a 25 pound ($40) cab ride. So, we got a cab…and sat in traffic with everyone driving from the England side. At about the time Bubba was teeing off, I was handing my backpack and camera, neither of which were permitted, to yet another person who could not understand what I was saying in my crazy America-talk. We now had our claim checks for our goods, our tickets around our necks, all our clothes on us, our umbrella, and a 20-minute bus ride ahead of us. But, don’t forget that now we can’t take the free shuttle directly back to the train station at the end of the day because my stupid bag and camera are trapped in Bmmmdeffyddgddzle Car Park completely in the opposite direction from where we needed to go. Wait, it gets better (and by better, of course, I mean infinitely worse).
We did get to ride in the top of a double-decker bus, which was something we wanted to cross off the list anyway, but we couldn’t really see out because of the driving rain on the front windows. They don’t feel the need to put wipers up top, I guess. We disembarked at the bus drop to which the non-VIP visitors to Celtic Manor were relegated. It was raining. We started walking.
And walking.
And stopping.
And walking.
And stopping.
And finally, after about a mile and a half, we saw a fairway of an actual golf course. After another soggy half-mile, we stepped into the muddy walkway that connected this road to where someone might actually be playing golf. We slogged through, past the 16th, where no one was playing yet, and 15 and 14 and 12 and 10, and finally got to a hole that people were watching people play golf, in the rain. We crammed in next to the 5th green and tried to spy through the sea of umbrellas to determine who might actually be on the course. Could it be Bubba, could he see our ‘G’ hats? Wait, they are both under our double hoods. Pull those off. A ball just landed by the green, an actual shot by an actual Ryder Cup golfer. Here they come, and they are wearing USA rainsuits. It is not Bubba. In fact, it is the team of Stewart Cink and Matt Kuchar. The two members of the team that went to the same college, Georgia…Tech. OK, fine. At least they’re players. Cink bends down, and places two tees on either side of his ball and picks it up. A car pulls up behind us. The Yellow Jacket team walks past us, doesn’t see our hats, gets into a car and drives away through the crowd. Play has been suspended due to the course being water logged. It is 9:30. There will be an announcement about further activity at noon.
One shot. By a Techie.
It rained. We walked in the rain. We walked up the enormous hill to the tents above the 16th hole. It was a long way up a steep hill. We couldn’t get in, VIP only. We walked to the other tent alongside the 17th hole. We couldn’t get in, VIP only. We went and stood in line, in the rain, for a Fish and Chip breakfast and took what would be a good spot by the 5th green when they started playing again. Our rainpants were great, but you can’t really expect to sit in them without your butt getting wet. Our butts got wet, but the food was hot. Time passed… s l o w l y. Occasionally, it would stop raining for a minute, and you would think, “Why aren’t they out here playing now?” Then it would start to drizzle, then it would start to rain, then it would pour, and you would think, “They are never going to play today! Why are we still here, just cancel it!!” Then it would let up a little…you get the picture.
Noon – beg pardon, Midday – arrived. The announcement came on the screen as we stared. “Play is still suspended due to water logged course. The next announcement will be at 1300 hours.” So we waited for 1 p.m. to come, in the rain.
Sittin’, Waitin’, Wishin’
We brushed off some plastic seats in some stands where we could see the 5th green. We huddled under the umbrella. Sometimes we held the umbrella sideways to block the wind and rain that was coming horizontally from our left. We had to make a move. There had to be a tent somewhere with a little space, not occupied by Very Un-Important Persons. Up past the first hole on the other side of numerous lakes in the cartpaths that we had started just plowing right on through in our saturated state, we found another long tent building with covered balconies with dry people sitting drinking both warm and cold beverages. We got to the door ready to walk in. We were stopped by a large Indian man. “I’m sorry, VIP only.”
I am not so radical as to believe that one should not receive a higher level of goods or services after paying more, but my nerves were fraying. My non-VIP tickets had cost over 300 American dollars. My son was soaked and chilled to the marrow, and though still not complaining, definitely learning to hate golf more and more by the second. How about you just look the other way for a second and let me just go buy an overpriced hot chocolate and stand dry for a minute. He pointed further along the way we had been walking and turned away.
At the end of the course, as far from the bus drop off as you can possibly be and still be on the property developed by Wales’ first billionaire, was a large white tent. And there were no guards. You could see open doors – full of unimportant people. We squeezed by and into the blissfully covered open room. I am certain it was as close to a refugee camp as bunch of middle-aged, multi-cultural, but completely Caucasian people had seen since the last days of the Battle of the Bulge. The soaked and huddled masses were scattered about standing, sitting and sleeping on the hard carpet, and they were still happy, because they were not ‘out there.’ 1300 hours came and went, there would be another announcement at 1400 to let us know when we be able to stand around and watch those golfers as they resumed their stupid games.
We sat as long as we could without claustrophobia completely overtaking us, before we went to check the skies again. It was raining. That was it. Sawyer was obviously done, and I was done too. There was no way they were conceivably restarting in this. We started the three mile hike to the bus drop. We had to walk past the train station bus on the way.
Beaten and broken we ascended the hill that had not seemed nearly so steep on the way down, where we actually got to exchange barbed comments on the fools who had chosen October in Wales for this greatest of team golf tournaments with some other folks with Georgia paraphernalia and normal accents. This was the highest point of the day since we made our train. Then we collected our camera and bag and were about to start the search for our second $40 cab of the day when we noticed another fellow who shared our plight, so we shared his cab. He was a businessman from London who couldn’t stay off the payphone he had just gathered from the car park. This allowed us to learn that his name was actually Ringo, and he seemed quite successful. This made it much easier to allow him to pay 20 of the 25 pound cost of the cab. The warm, dry train was like a resort, it’s position next to the bar car made it heaven itself.
Heaven didn’t last. The rain had slacked again as we were getting on, we stepped out of the station in Swansea to SUNNY skies. We trudged to the nearest pub to see Bubba Watson teeing off on the 5th hole. I turned to Sawyer with the only thought I could muster. “I hate Wales.”
We sat and watched a couple of holes, but simply couldn’t restrain my disappointment, much less muster enthusiasm for the activity. We grabbed some pizza and a cab. A hot shower was nice. The morning had to show some improvement; little did we know that we had left the farm cottage Friday morning before the roosters outside our window woke up.
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