England Adventure Day 5 & 6

{{Disclaimer: My dinosaur computer, iPhoto, and the new Blogger format have engineered the perfect storm designed to drive me bonkers. I can't waste any more hours trying to upload photos that won't load after a whole lot of spinning rainbow wheels. Sorry. Maybe down the road I'll put more photos up. For now, this is what I've got.}}

Driving was blissfully uneventful during our trip until the fifth day. On that day our GPS (or sat-nav, as they call it) led us astray when we traveled from York to Haworth, home of the Bronte sisters. Instead of telling us when we turned a wrong way, it simply thought, "Okay, you want to go off-roading. Fine by me." And then it sent us into unchartered territory. One road we found by accident took us over sheep-studded moorland and was aptly called "Black Moore Road." When I saw the sign, I yelled, "Blackmoore! That's the name of my next book!"

But name coincidences aside, frustrations got the better of us, and we only found our lodgings with the gracious help of a receptionist at a medical clinic in Haworth. (Thank heaven for nice English people!) After settling into our B&B, we walked up the narrow cobblestone road to the top of the hill where the Brontes lived in all of their gloomy glory. It was dusk, and there was fog, and a super creepy graveyard, and loud black birds cawing in the skeletal trees overhead, and a black cat that followed us through the graveyard and rubbed itself against my legs when I stopped to peer at weathered headstones. I was in writer's heaven. Atmosphere galore!

The next day we toured the Bronte museum and learned all about their terrible, gloomy lives that led them to write such gloomy books. Then I said, "I've had enough of the fog and gloom. Let's head to the coast." 

I was excited to get to Scarborough, where I had booked a room at the Grand Scarborough hotel for two nights. I thought it would be a great home base for exploring the coast. But the grand, elegant, old-world exterior of the hotel belied the truth--it was a mini Las Vegas for old people. There were hundreds of them, dressed up, gambling, drinking, smoking, and listening to a bad lounge singer. To make matters worse, our room was located in the BASEMENT. The window looked out onto...nothing. A stone wall was in front of it. We could hear the drunken roar of other guests through the walls. It was wrong in every way possible. This was my tour into history! And how could I immerse myself in history when I was in the midst of so much modernity?

The Grand Scarborough Hotel

We settled into our room then found the stairs to the beach, where we discovered neon lights, arcades, and waffle and hot dog stands. It was too late to see anything historical, and we weren't in the mood for arcades. We definitely didn't want to go back to our dingy hotel room. So we saw The Hunger Games movie. It was awesome, except for the part where, right while Katniss is being chased by fire bombs, the screen turned red with the words "intermission" and people got up and walked around. What the...? It kind of killed the dramatic tension.

We did NOT stay the second night, as we intended, but instead made our way to Robin Hood's Bay, which I was very excited about. It was a famous smuggling town for over a hundred years. It was perfectly quaint in a red-roofed, steep cobbled streets, chilly north sea way. Walking along the beach, I found a real, legitimate fossil (a belemnite), which I brought home for my husband, who thinks it was the coolest part of my trip.

Finding my fossil on the beach at Robin Hood's Bay

Robin Hood's Bay--the tide was out, and people were playing all over this marshy beach.

Then we drove up the coast to Whitby. In the daylight hours, Whitby has a busy, touristy feel to it. This is, I gathered, a favorite weekend diversion for locals. But when the sun sunk low in the sky, we made our way up the 200 or so stone steps to the cliff overlooking the bay, where an old church and a ruined abbey stood guard over the bay.

Whitby from the east.

The church at the top of the hill in Whitby. The daffodils!

It was lovely and peaceful and ancient. These were the sites I loved the best. These were the places where the ghosts of the past mixed with the ghosts of my imagination and gave them stone and brick, grass and hill, sky and wind. Things got fleshed out for me--important things, that can't be observed through an online photo, but must be imbibed personally. It was the chilly coastal wind and the sun glinting off the water and the crowded angles of red roofs and chimneys. It was the daffodils that grew everywhere and the absolute quiet of the ruined abbey. These were the sources of inspiration that imprinted on my imagination and fed my creativity. These were the reasons I came to England.