It is Sunday. It is the best weather.
I am up and down the stairs by 7AM. I cross the street to the "pastry" shop. I am humbled.
We have been traveling since the middle of September. I have communicate with people in London, Scotland and Ireland. This morning, the young lady behind the counter defeats me.
I have no idea where she is from. But, I cannot understand a word she says. It is me. Obviously, she interacts with the public all day. But, after several polite back and forth, I have my coffee and gooey roll with cherry on top.
My decision is which way to stroll this morning. Betty expects me back around 11AM. I have about two and half hours. I have been to the beach, the pier and the town. I decide that I will investigate outside the town. I return the cup to the counter and turn to my left as I leave the shop.
There is construction on the outside of town. I find a small lake with homes around. I cross a bridge. There is no traffic. The road bends to the left. This is a residential area. At split in the road, I bend to the right. Workmen are working on new townhouses on Sunday.
It is a pleasant walk. These are newer homes. My guess is that they were built within the last forty years. I pass the Randolph Hotel. The Randolph is a small country Inn.
I pass a gentleman walking his dog. I say "hello". He ask if I am a "yank". Obviously, he is older. I answer "yes".
We have a short conversation. He is retired military. He fought in several British related actions. He does not go into a lot of details. I mention my service. So, there is a bond.
I continue to walk up the road as it bends to the left. It remains residential with smaller well kept homes. As the road leans more to the left, the landscape is turns agricultural. It is fall. Corps have been harvested.
There is a church up ahead. I wander the cemetery. Again, personal histories are there to imagine. The older grave markers are from softer stone and erosion blurs the inscriptions. The newer gravestones tell stories of long lives and lives that ended early.
People begin to arrive for Sunday services. I wonder in to see the interior. Since the church is being prepared for services, I take a pew in the rear and look around.
My first thought is that English country churches do look like they do in the movies. I believe the style is referred to as "perpendicular" style. The churches are surrounded by the parish cemetery.
As I sit, the parishioners fill in the empty pews. As you might expect, the congregation is strongly female and older. It is the early service.
The people are very pleasant. The vicar approaches me. He politely ask who am I. I do not think they see many tourist at their church on early Sunday morning.
I tell him that I am - as I am sure he knows as soon as I open my mouth - an American. I ask if it is alright to stay. He says "of course". He ask if I am Anglican. I answer, No, I am Catholic. He nods knowingly. that answer always kills the conversation.
There are "bell ringers". They are younger men (forties) and take their skill very seriously. They are impressive. As you enter the church, you pass the bell ringers to your left.
The service begins. I stay until the collection and place a few pounds in the collection. I quietly leave. I know that I will have to quick step to be back by eleven.
The walk back is quicker. I have a better idea of the distance. I am more focused on pace.
The town is more active. The favorable weather has brought a few more weekenders to Southwold. I imagine in season the streets and shops must be crowded. Southwold is a small place.
Betty is eager to start the day. Her foot has recovered. She has been remarkable.
We walk towards the sea and turn right. We have no specific destination in mind. I think Betty has some idea. She has been reading on the internet.
We pass my marker, the Southwold Surfing School, on Ferry Rd. At the river Blyth, we turn right. I stop for an ice cream bar. I am hungry. It is about 2PM and I may have already walked 8 miles.
There are still boats at the docks. It is still mid October. I doubt that there is a hard freeze. By December, I am sure the docks will be empty.
There is a walking path to our right. Nothing interesting ahead of us, so we walk back to the path to return to Southwold.
It is a pleasant path and well used. We cross parents with children, dog walkers and other trippers. We can see the Southwold Water Tower to our left.
The Southwold Old Water Tower is one of the "must see" sites of Southwold. Don't believe me, do a google search on Southwold. Built in 1886, the tower is 40 feet high. In 1886, that is quite a feat for a small town. Of course, there is a tragedy, an engineer caught his waistcoat in machinery and was crushed leaving a poor widow and children destitute. I note that in Southwold, there is never a happy ending to these stories. And, Ghosts.
We cannot see the Old Tower. The location is marked on the horizon by the new water tower built in 1937 and looks like a creature from a space monster with four legs and long tube into the ground. Both the old and new are no longer used due to contaminants.
On our left is Sacred Heart Church. It is Roman Catholic and quite impressive. I am surprised. All I have heard is the history of St Edmonds - the reformation and Puritians. Built the Tudor style, the church was completed in 1916.
At path ends, we exit to Constitution Rd. It is about four in the afternoon. We have walked about 5 miles maybe more. There is a Pub. The Red Lion. There is something about that last days of our trips that we find those specials places. This is one of those.
The Red Lion is a local's Pub. We find a table. The couple next to us begins a conversation with Betty. I go the bar and order a pint of bitters and a gin and tonic for Betty. Remember I am an expert with the British monetary system and flash my expertise.
It is an Addams. The Gin & Tonic is made in the pub manner - short push on a hanging dispenser and tonic added. There is to be entertainment tonight. A local singer begins to set up in the corner. we decide to stay. The Pub is starting to fill up. There is dining to the rear of the building and those guests begin to move into the bar.
I have expectations of some local music. Something lively. Something reflecting the local experience. We have another drink. The first three songs are as anticipated. The audience is appreciative.
Then the gentleman begins to sign a mixture of folk style laments and rather strained verbal pictorials of someone's unhappy moments. After the first one, the audience is willing to give the guitar player leeway. It is free after all. He is an artist and should display his songs. After the third song and no reprieve, the crowd begins to leave.
We stay a little longer. We have dinner reservations at the Crown. We did so partially because we deserve a nice dinner and it is the end of our journey. Also, the staff were so nice to us yesterday. Tomorrow we leave for London and on Tuesday morning, we fly home.
It dark when we arrive at the Crown. We have early reservation. We start early tomorrow.
The dining room is very comfortable. It is Sunday. We expect that the room will not be full.
We are presented the wine list by our server. I have been looking for California Wines throughout our journeys. I am in Southwold and there is Pali Wine Company's Grenache Blanc., Paso Robles, California. I know nothing about Pali Wines. I do not have the Grenache. And, why do I not have the Grenache Blanc.
I am having the Uncle Ned's Pork Belly as an entree. Come on, could you pass up Uncle Ned's? I have never had Pork Belly. Another good reason to have the Pork Belly.
I ask why it is called "Uncle Ned's" and the server answer is direct "his pigs".
It was a great meal. I am not certain that I would order Pork Belly every time I see it on a menu. I would judge the place and time. But, this was great. As was the entire meal.
After desert and coffee, we return to our room. We have several adventures ahead of us. I have inquired where to wait for the bus and how to pay. There is no bus station. It is a local shop. I have a copy of the bus schedule. But, it is written for locals who know where they are going.
We know we need to get to the Halesworth Station. We have a train schedule from the google search. But, we are not certain how this all flows together. Moreover, we have yet to determine where we are staying for the night in London and then to Heathrow in the morning.
Tomorrow - our last day.
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