Castle on the Hill

I slept terribly last night. There’s too much energy flowing through me right now. We had to leave London and head west. Amanda found a breakfast spot close to the hotel, so we could run out then come back and pack up. We ate at De Vine Restaurant. Very filling English breakfasts and large tea cups with too small finger holes. We ate with purpose and walked back to pack. 

Amanda hung her Downton Abbey dress up in the shower to try and get wrinkles out. We bumped into each other as we packed, and finally grabbed a taxi downstairs and went to get our rental car at Heathrow. Amanda wouldn’t have to do her first European driving in the jam packed city, fortunately. The cabbie had the back window open on my side. When we got on the motorway I considered asking to shut it, but I was wearing my new coat and it was an opportunity to test the new coat and myself - see how tough I was. 

The first left turn we drove over the curb of the exit kiosk. Impressively smooth sailing since, however. At one point she said she was made to drive on the left side of the road. I suppose that’s entirely possible. 

We pulled off the road at the brown Highclere Castle sign. The hype level was peaking as we drove down the twisty, tree-lined road. Any moment the famous castle would pop out above the trees. I remember going to the Cape looking for the Bourne Bridge to appear above the trees. I’ve probably seen the bridge hundreds of times. This was likely the only time I’d ever see Downton Abbey. Some things only happen once in a lifetime. It’s nice when you know ahead of time, but I reckon most of the time that’s not the case. The theme song played in my head, and on my phone. 

There she blows! Did I expect it to be bigger, taller? Slightly taller, I guess. It’s a two story building, so I should have thought about that. 

We parked the car and I finished putting on sunscreen. Amanda has perfected the technique of applying lotion. I slather it on like Guy Fieri with bbq sauce. 

I took some photos as we walked up the path. We stood in line to go inside, figuring we had time to go through the residence before our 230 tea sitting. We went through the front door. Photography was prohibited inside. We went from room to room on the lower level first. One photo of Lady Carnarvon I found particularly striking. I remembered scenes from the show taking place in some of the rooms, but nothing I could remember specifically. We proceeded upstairs. There was mostly bedrooms and attached sitting rooms. In one room was a desk used by Napoleon. It was crowded and people were moving slow. Too slow. It was getting close to our tea time, so we hustled passed the last few rooms, including Lady Edith’s from the show. 

Afternoon tea was located out back on the upper level of the converted carriage house. First we were served champagne. Neither of us drink, so I sent it back before I spilled it, after I took a sip just to experience it. Apparently, it was Queen Victoria’s favorite. I probably could have guessed that. We were served tea. Then they brought a tower of sandwiches and baked goods. Wow. Now, we were living like lords and ladies, or at least eating like them in an old barn. 

There were sandwiches - smoked salmon and roquette with caper lemon mayonnaise, marinated cucumber with lemon dill cream cheese, coriander chicken with a sultana, apricot and mango mayonnaise and egg and mustard cress. The bread was the freshest and softest I’ve ever had in my life. No question. There was baked goods - mini scones served with clotted cream and jam, mini Victoria sponge filled with butter cream and strawberries, mini baked carrot and ginger cake cream cheese topping, and chocolate fudge pudding with salted caramel topped with popping candy. We had eaten fish and chips at noon, but we weren’t about to waste these treats. We decided to skip dinner and eat everything. It was heavenly. 

After stuffing ourselves, we had to go back inside to the cellar, perhaps there’s  fancier name for it, to check the Egyptian exhibition. Evidently, the resident of the house is the 8th Earl of Carnarvon. The 5th Earl funded the dig in Egypt that discovered King Tut’s tomb. The dog was about to close down shop just before Howard Carter made the finding. The Earl had to fly back to Cairo before they open it. The Earl died of an infected mosquito bite in Cairo a short while later. 

When we headed back inside, I was just about ready to leave this place, so I was there for the king. If Tut wasn’t there, I was walking out, literally. People were slowly moving through the exhibit. Reading every single placard. I can’t do it. My time is limited. I don’t give a shit about every piece of carved rock or clay pot. I can’t. I sped through like a locomotive then I stopped dead in my tracks. There he was. Laid before me in a glass case was King Tut’s 3,300 year-old sarcophagus and mummified body side-by-side. That was amazing. It was gorgeous. The sarcophagus, that is. The body was disgusting, but considering the age, not too shabby. The ancient Egyptians worshiped cats. I respect them for that. The Great Sphinx is a cat. I know because I see cats lying in that position in my house every day. It’s a woman’s head, it’s a lion, it’s a mythical winged creature. Don’t overthink it. It’s a cat. 

We walked around the gardens on the way out, and tried to take a selfie, but I kept fucking it up because she was on my left where my blind spot is and I kept cutting her out. Oops. 

We spent the night in Bath. We were both tired. I showered. We couldn’t connect to the WiFi at the B&B, which was annoying. I wanted to march down to the desk and tell them your WiFi is bullshit, but I just went to bed.