Still Striving For that Elusive Halo

I had never been to Salisbury Cathedral before and what a joy it was, even though our visit was somewhat rushed. It is a splendid example of Medieval architecture, and the start of the restoration to the once colourful roof reminds me of an old fashioned carousel, in a good not a bad way, in case you were wondering.

One of the joys for me at least was the number of angels, both inside and out, here are just a few examples.

The rederos in the Chapel of St Michael and All Angels is magnificent!

We paid a quick visit to the chapter house too - no photographs allowed in there - one of the original copies of the Magna Carta is housed in that grand setting, the document itself however is small and rather unassuming. One day I hope to get back and spend some more time there.

While most of the newer buildings are built of concrete, to offer some protection from the earthquakes, Iceland’s older buildings reminded me of the buildings we had seen in Norway, and indeed we discovered that orginally like those in Norway they would have had turf roofs and in poorer areas were wood was a premium turf walls also.  This, the oldest house in Reykjavik, is now a craft museum.

Reykjavik is dominated by two buildings, the Pearlan is one.  It was built utilising four storage tanks for the water from the hot springs around the area and has stunning views over the city, the actually building itself being a glass structure in the middle of the tanks.

We were there just as dawn was breaking 11:30ish, and later on in our visit we would drive through the 4 mile tunnel underneath the stretch of water you can see in this picture.

The other building which dominates can be seen in the picture above, it is Hallgrimskirkja Church, often wrongly referred to as the Cathedral, which is situated elsewhere.  It is supposed to look like a volcano erupting, and while for me it doesn’t quite capture that image it is a stunning building.  Inside is it without embellishment but magnificent, you can climb the tower and get great veiws of the city, but we didn’t have the time, don’t think Hubby was too dissapointed about that!  The font is striking representing the three states of H2O, ice, water and steam.

What do you expect, or maybe the question would be better put, what would gladden your heart most when visiting a Cathedral?

An unlocked door?

The stained glass?

Happening upon the choir or organist practising?

The welcome?

Readily available information about the building, diocese, history?

Maybe a shop or opportunity to buy postcards etc, or some other opportunity to make a donation to the upkeep of the building?

For me I always look out for the angels and interesting grave yards, mind you such hunts are not restricted to cathedrals.

During the past 10 days Hubby and I have been in all but one of the Scottish Episcopal Churches dioceses, we have travelled through towns and cities, grand mountains and along beautiful coast roads, virtually all in wonderful Scottish autumn weather with ‘Baby’s’ top down.  Hubby has become adept at spotting the ‘piskie pub sign’ and Episcopal churches big and small have land marked our journeying.  It is a visit to one of the Cathedrals in this land I wish to now recall for you, one which for reasons that will soon become clear I am going to not name.

Going in through the door, first hurdle over the Cathedral was indeed open, some of the items listed above were in evidence, but it was another separate sight altogether that gladdened my heart.  There sitting anonymously was the diocesan bishop, privately praying.  I have visited many cathedrals in my time but never before happened across such a joy, a bishop praying in his cathedral, not whilst preparing for a service or taken some time out after a service, but just praying.  I am not saying it doesn’t happen, just I have never happened upon it before, well I might have but not known (after all I recognised the bishop in question but not all visitors might have been unaware of who he was, and in the past I might have been that visitor who didn’t know who was in prayer), this time however I did.  I always offer up a silent prayer, when entering a cathedral for it’s people, it’s clergy, it’s bishop and it’s diocese and on that day it was grounded and had an echo in that bishop’s presence.  A Cathedral gets its title from the Cathedra, the Bishop’s throne which it houses, how wonderful it was to also see more than a throne as a sign of his presence in that place.

Okay so the break wasn’t a very long one, but it was a break and it was enjoyable.  Hubby thought he was just off for a Sunday afternoon drive, but I had a surprise in store for him.  It is a long time since I had been to the Border Abbeys, and Hubby had never been so seemed like a good idea, so off we set across country down the Clyde Valley, in fine weather with ‘Baby’s’ hood down, destination Melrose Abbey.

On the way we stopped off at Neidpath Castle, a borders tower which I have driven past on many occasions but it has never been open.  It has a lovely honesty about it, you can see work in progress.  Unfortunately it would appear that this is the last season it will be made open to the public which is a shame, however on the other hand, if it means it will once more be used as a home for someone then that is all to the good.

Back in ‘Baby’ we headed once more towards Melrose and it’s Abbey, debating as we travelled what we might do on our return home that evening. 

Melrose Abbey is a glorious building, while much of it has long since gone, the stones raided for the construction of later buildings in the town and surrounding area, it is still an impressive building.  It was the White Monks who called Melrose home, and while there own lives were austere the Abbeys in which they worshipped became very ornate.

The wonderful stone vaulted ceilings have fine bosses many of which are still clearly identifiable, such fine work for something most people who worshipped in that place would never see.

Of course like all the border Abbeys and many other church buildings up and down the land Melrose suffered at the Reformation.  Melrose was fortunate in many respects though in that it was adapted rather than destroyed.  A new plain barrel ceiling and square pillars with an industrial feel were added, however much of it’s beauty remained.

A lot of the stonework has survived in remarkable condition and I was slightly surprised, but delighted, to see that some was still in its original places out braving the elements.  St Peter surviving in remarkable condition, will St Paul who stands not far from him has been less fortunate with weather damage clearly taking its toll.  Meanwhile on the roof a statue of Mary and Jesus also remained in place, although both have been defaced, there is little other damage.

Again there were spiral stairs to climb this time not only for the views around but also for a view of the roof itself and the bell which the monks had once climbed daily to ring the steps worn by countless feet. 

Then of course there is the gargoyles, and one in particular, a bagpipe playing pig!

Melrose is certainly a fine Abbey and well worth a visit, you could easily spend a day there, in the gardens, exploring the graveyard and museum - a fine building which I could happily live in - as well as the Abbey itself, we will doubtless be back, in fact we nearly never left as we were locked in as it was past closing time.

Getting back into ‘Baby’ the discussion about what to do that evening resumed.  Time to put the remained or my plan into action, I suggested driving a bit further on to Dryburgh Abbey, just for a look, by which time Hubby might have made a decision.  Following the signs we neared the Abbey only for me to take a wrong turning at the last minute, or so he thought.  Next to the Abbey is a hotel where I had booked us in for the night, to make the most our Borders Break.

Dryburgh Abbey Hotel is a lovely place to stay if you are visiting the borders, with views of the Tweed and the Abbey through the trees.  We had what can only be described as an excellent dinner, which if we had paid for in Glasgow or Edinburgh would have meant the room was free!  Cheese in oatmeal with apple compote and vension carpaccio with beetroot for starters, then apricot sorbet and celeriac and thyme soup, then I had the most wonderful melt in the mouth piece of beef and plum tart while Hubby had whole stuffed grouse the meal was rounded off with creme brulee and a walk in the night air down by the river.  The morning saw a fine breakfast - Hubby used to think kippers were orange since meeting me he now knows they aren’t and he tucked into Arbroath Smokies and scrambled eggs with great relish.  Then it was time to check out and investigate the next door Abbey.

If I had to chose I think Dryburgh Abbey would be my favourite of the three Abbeys we visited.  It has a very calming and peaceful feel about it; our first proper glimpse of the Abbey was across the wall through the trees in the morning light. 

The man in the Historic Scotland shop said that it was the trees that were the important thing about the place, I think he got that wrong but didn’t want to engage in a debate about it, although the trees that surround the Abbey are fine indeed - will post a separate picture blog of them later - so we left the wooden hut and walked out into the Abbey grounds.  Although the Abbey is smaller than that of Melrose, it seems far more complete, you can walk up the night stair (the lower half is wooden and not original), the day stair is also still visible and several other features which are usually long gone and left to the imagination or a line drawing on a fading board are still there to see.

As you wander across the cloisters you hear the sound of chanting coming from the Chapter House, a wonderful cool room, but it isn’t just the music that draws you in, the place is inviting and peaceful, I found myself wondering how the man in the wooden hut could call the trees the most important thing about the site.  You can still vaguely see some of the Chapter House orginal plaster work and painting.

There was another surprise in store in here, but this one was not man made, there is one of the high arches were the window cut into the ceiling a swallow had made a nest and the parents were constantly flying in and out feeding their young.

 The Abbey has the most charming of grave yard surrounding it, I know some people just can’t understand why I like graveyards so much I just do, Hubby is getting used to it now and I think secretly is starting to get just as interested.  I can hear the man in the wooden hut even now saying - it’s only charming because of the trees!  

If you look in-between the trees you can see, what for me, was a new style of headstone.  On one side there is a craving of a person reading, I am presuming the Bible, with an angel’s head looking down on them on the other side is the back of the angel and the details of the person whose grave it is.

I could have happily spent the whole day just wandering around Dryburgh Abbey, sitting and doing nothing much, but it was time to move on, Kelso was calling with its Abbey and two Castles!

As we drove towards Kelso and being suckers for brown signs (it doesn’t always pay off), we diverted off the main road and headed towards Smailholm Tower the home of the Pringles, no not the snack that once you start you can’t stop.  The Pringles were a border family who lived in this tower for over 200 years, it had to be easy to protect due to raiding parties from over the border, and while we visited it on a lovely clear day it must be a miserable place to be in the winds, rain and snow of a East Coast Autumn and Winter. 

The house feels quite claustrophobic inside, but clambering past the cows and up the spiral staircase is rewarded with magnificent views around the borders.

It wasn’t a long detour as there isn’t actually a lot to see at Smailholm Tower so soon we were back on our way again, daring the threatening clouds by keeping ‘Baby’s’ top down. 

We arrived at Floors Castle in time for lunch, their Courtyard restaurant rare beef bap is highly recommended!  The castle is the home of the Duke of Roxburgh and sits overlooking the Tweed and Kelso in grounds surrounded by a very very very long wall which we had to drive around once to get in and then again to get out and back were we wanted to be.  Although it looked rather plain from a distance, is fairytale when close up.  The battery had died in my camera by this time, and I had forgotten to bring the spare, so the pictures from now on are thanks to Hubby.

The Castle has some wonderful items inside, the Pentecost tapestry for one, and while the Bird Room is a lovely room it being full of over 400 stuffed birds, some of them extinct, was not my cup of tea.  As we neared the end of our walk round inside the Castle we were caught up by a coach party and decided it was time to leave, so off we headed for Kelso. 

As I have already blogged about Kelso Abbey I don’t intend to add anything more about it in this particular posting, suffice to say, unless you are really keen and have some time to kill you wont have missed anything much by missing it out.

Then it was back in the car to hunt for Roxburgh Castle, the ruins of which we had seen from Floors Castle on the other side of the Tweed.

Roxburgh Castle is not an easy Castle to find and is not signposted so after driving past it and finding no road we took the next turning and headed towards the village of Roxburgh down narrow country lanes with no passing places.  Fortunately we didn’t meet anything and the drive alongside the river was a very pleasant one, but try as we might we were having no luck in reaching the Castle itself.  Then we saw a sign, not for the Castle but for a wood turner and decided to go and have a browse.  The browse was well rewarded when Hubby was able to pick up two wonderful pieces of Bur Maple for a couple of shelves he has been planning for a while now, they also do wood turning courses and I picked up a leaflet, maybe one day.  As we left we explained how we had happened upon them only to then be told that the Castle was in the field behind the workshop and the farmer didn’t object to people going to have a look as long as they didn’t disturb the cows.  I took one look at the field with its long grass, nettles and thistles and decided against it, but Hubby climbed the gate and strode off to bring back these pictures for me.

Then it was back home, if you have never explored the Scottish Borders then we can highly recommend them, we had managed to have ‘Baby’s’ hood down for the whole trip which was an added bonus but even if the weather hadn’t smiled on us it still would have been a good weekend.

As I had managed to miss my day off and Hubby was off for the Bank Holiday on Monday, we took the opportunity to go down to the Scottish Borders and visit the Abbeys.  We didn’t manage to get to Jedburgh and I will blog later about Dryburgh and Melrose, and the other places we managed to see, but for now it is Kelso Abbey I wish to turn my attention to.

Those of you that know me or have read my blog before will know that I enjoy visiting old buildings, I like finding hidden treasurers in among the ancient stonework, marvelling at the craftsmanship and learning the stories behind them, and I am happy to help pay for their upkeep, so what I am about to say might seem a little strange.

Kelso Abbey is set in the pretty border town of Kelso, but is not sign posted possibly, maybe even probably, the majority of people who drive through the town as visitors are unaware of it, we were looking for it and still it wasn’t simple to find and then park, but find and park we eventually did.  Like many other Abbeys it has suffered the test of time, through raids, the reformation and the weather, but somehow Kelso has fared far worse.  Kelso Abbey is a sad place, not because of what it once was and is no longer, but because of what it is now.  It reminded me of my father, how he struggled to die in the last years of his life, but how medical science forbade him the privilege of dying with dignity.  Kelso Abbey was once a fine building, aparantly with two transcepts and two towers, but no one is quite sure how she would have looked, now what little remains is covered with netting, no doubt as much as to stop birds nesting as to catch any pieces of stone falling as she continues to erode, and there are great metal pins hugging her once grand pillars stopping the remains toppling down, (there are plenty of other old sites that have been pinned but before they have always seemed sympathic and right, not this time).  Although there was still something of wonder about her, her space has been invaded by roads and other buildings and from nowhere can you stand back and look and imagine how awesome she once might have been.  She is cared for by Historic Scotland at no doubt some considerable cost, I know there are those that would argue that because of her place in history she should continue to be cared for, especially as, Kings were crowned in her, her Abbot was the only one allowed to wear a mitre, and a prince was buried in her, however as I stood there it felt more like she was endured than cared for, and I was left wishing she had been left to fall into gracious ruins.  I couldn’t help thinking piles of stone covered in moss and lichen, her great pillar bases mounding the earth and acting like some ancient footprint marking were she once stood, would for me have been a far more honest and far more beautiful.

We awoke to a lovely cool room still dark from the metal shutter, first job of the day collect our case from reception and unpack, or so we thought!  Our case as you might have already guessed wasn’t at reception and what we thought would be a quick phone call to the Spanish call centre, which was dealing with lost luggage, to find out if it was on it’s way proved to be less than quick this time around.

The case which we had been told was at the airport only had not been delivered because they didn’t know were the hotel was, was now apparently maybe not even at the airport at all, and the jobs worth on the other end of the phone couldn’t or wouldn’t try and find out when it might actually get to us as he wasn’t authorised to do that!!!  So we suggested that he get someone who did know to phone us back.  We waited, and waited and waited, 30 minutes later we phoned them back again, this time it was a woman who just kept on repeating that according to the system it should be at the airport but she couldn’t say for certain when our case would arrive as she had no control over when dispatch might deliver it.  She couldn’t even say if it would be that day or not!  So we got dressed in our still damp clothes (I had rinsed them through before climbing into bed, just in case) and walked down towards the main road and the taxi rank we had spied the day before.  On the way we popped into a local greengrocer and bought apples, pears and satsumas for breakfast, the satsuma in particular was delicious.  We had decided the only way to make sure we got our case before we got back home was to go and track it down ourselves.

Of course this meant another hair raising trip in a Galician taxi, one who thought that as we were British and going to the airport we were in a rush for a flight so speed and risks were increased!  As we clung on to the bumper of the car in front through one of the small villages we approached a dip in the road with a bend the other side and a bridge overhead.  The car in front of us brake lights lit up - to give this taxi driver some credit I do think he might have taken his foot of the accelerator, he certainly didn’t brake until after the car front stopped and we could see a tree making its way under the bridge in the other direction!  There was much squealing of brakes and swerving but somehow we managed to miss both the tree and the car in front, the taxi driver was looking totally unruffled and turned to speak in Spanish making some sign to us which translated roughly as - what a stupid time for someone to be moving a tree!  Ahhh so it was the trees fault we had nearly been killed that was alright then.  Soon we, and the tree, were moving again.  At this point I would like to write that the taxi driver now slowed down a bit, but I can’t, he continued to play chicken with on coming vehicles for the rest of the 50+ mile trip, no wonder he had so much religious tat on his dashboard - I closed my eyes.

Now you might think seeing our recent experience the next thing we did was somewhat short-sighted, but you would be wrong.  On arriving at the airport we struck up a bargain with the taxi driver that he would wait for us and take us back, we had no idea how long it might take, but by now had realised that one Galician taxi driver is much like another and we might as well give the custom to a driver who would need to get back to Melide anyway, and were not convinced that the taxi drivers at the airport would even know were it was!  He parked up and left us to go inside refusing even an interim payment.  Our trip was rewarded when some 30 minutes later I was led out to the dispatch depot to view a mountain of lost luggage and spied our case.  After explaining that I would take it now rather than wait until this evening for it to maybe be delivered and signing a bit of paper I was allowed to trundle it out of the depot.

The trip back was uneventful, and on arriving back in front of the hotel we were prepared for the worse, having got more euros out of a ATM at the airport.
‘How much?’ we asked.
The taxi driver explained it was a long trip; he had waited, preparing the way for the final crunch.  We nodded.
‘60 euros.’
He got 80, but it was a fight to make him keep it.
Back in our room we unpacked the morning was nearly over and soon it would be time for the wedding rehearsal, but not before we discovered something else was missing - US!

We emerged from our room, feeling a whole lot better with fresh clothes and headed for a well deserved drink at the bar.  A new member of staff came running towards us, and this one spoke English and turned out to be the owner of the hotel.
‘You are with the wedding party, yes?’
‘Yes.’ we replied.
‘We thought you were missing, everyone has been looking for you they thought you must have missed your flight.’  Then, rather accusingly ‘You are in the wrong room!’
We were in the room they put us in.
‘You need to change rooms, you need a better room, that one is no good.’
There was nothing wrong with the room, it was on the ground floor and was obviously their disabled facilities, but it was cool, bright, clean and spacious.
‘I give you a new key for a better room; Roberto (the groom) said you were to have the best room.’
So we took the key and moved our stuff up a floor into the new room, slightly smaller and this time with a bath as well as a shower and a balcony.  On returning back to the bar, we agreed with the owner it was a better room and she complained about her son putting us in the wrong room.
‘It wasn’t your son, it was a young woman.’ we told her.
‘He was in charge, he knew about the wedding she didn’t, son should have made sure you were in the right room.’

We sat and enjoyed another glass of the local wine as I waited for the bride and groom to arrive for the trip to the rehearsal, surely all missing things were now located and found.  But when Karen the bride arrived we discovered it was far from the case.  Her dress was still stuck in customs were it had been for the past week and she didn’t know if they would release it in time for the big day tomorrow, the orders of service had totally confused the Spanish printers and were being printed as we spoke, if only I had known.  For the rehearsal all we had was a soft copy on a lap top and one hard copy which was incomplete, what with the language barriers too this was going to be interesting!

After a short journey we arrived at Pazo Vilar de Ferreiros, the ancient castle and prison were the wedding was to take place, and what a beautiful place it is in a glorious setting.

The chapel is small not as elaborate as the church we had seen the previous day but charming never the less -

Although there is a rather scary nun statue inside!

The rehearsal went off without a hitch, although everything had to be explained in English then translated into Spanish, French and sometimes Italian so that everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing.  I could tell the next day was going to be challenging to say the least!

On the way back to the hotel Roberto recommended a restaurant to me for our evening meal it was famous in the region for its octopus, something Paul had been wanting to try.  He had spent the afternoon sitting at a pavement table reading and sampling the local beer, of which he totally approved, and absorbing the local atmosphere.  So Roberto and Karen headed off to try and find a new wedding dress at very short notice and we headed off to do our own shopping.  We had seen a leather shop the previous day which had been shut, but now with the afternoon heat starting to wane we knew it would be open again, also we need to buy something and Paul thought he knew just the shop that would provide us with what we were looking for.

The wedding, as is the Spanish custom, would take place at 6pm, with the legal paperwork being signed at 11am which only the bride, groom and Spanish witnesses attended.  Our original plan had been to make a trip on the Saturday to Santiago de Compostela, however during the rehearsal I had discovered that Karen and Roberto had plans to go and set up particular things in the chapel and banqueting hall after in the afternoon and had put down my foot, telling them they were to do no such thing but rather to get some rest and I would do that for them, roping in at this point an unwitting Husband who of course was more than happy to help once I told him.  So with the plans for our own mini pilgrimage cancelled we now had to go shopping for something, and that something was a Christmas tree ornament.  Everywhere we go we try and buy something that will hang on the Christmas tree, it doesn’t always work as sometimes there isn’t anything that is suitable, it is rarely an actual Christmas tree ornament, but rather something that can be used as such.  We have pewter trolls from Norway, velvet and embroidery Celtic saints from  Lindisfarne, a silver charm bracelet from Paris with Notre Dame on it to name a few, and now from Galicia a thurible, a key ring sized one.  In the leather shop Paul got a very nice belt which was hand fitted for him and we also bought a leather mask, of the type they are used for plays put on outside.

That evening Paul dined on what he described as the best octopus ever, not rubbery in the slightest.  I had grilled langoustines and then we both shared a salad and the most wonderful gambos - prawns cooked in garlic and chilli, the local bread did a fine job of sopping up the juices and the local wine, served in bowls, washed it all down wonderfully.  It was the kind of meal I love having when on holiday, in a restaurant were the locals eat, nothing fancy just good local fare.

After checking the hotel menu and deciding we would give it a try later we set out to explore.  Melide is a charming place, and while it is on the pilgrim route - we saw lots of people with their backpacks and hiking sticks - it has not succumbed to the tourist trade, something for which we were grateful.  At the centre of the town is one of the stone pilgrim crosses, several villages have them in the area, one side is Christ crucified on the other Christ reigning, this particular one had been moved at some time and sat outside a simple small church which we never saw unlocked, something unusual for the region.

 As we explored the cool side streets we discovered a gem of a church, Parroquia San Pedro – the Parish church of San Pedro - this is one that the pilgrims make for and was open.

Inside it was wonderfully cool and the colours breathtaking much like many churches in provincial parts of the continents the riches it contains contrasted deeply with the relative wealth of those who live in and around it, although there was an obvious lack of money in trying to upkeep the building.

Try as we might we could not find out whose relics were now hidden beneath a shroud of gold lamme from the sensitive eyes of the 21century pilgrim, but I am supposing it was most likely an early pilgrim or even relics of San Pedro himself, but we might never know as even doing some delving using the internet has produced no information.

Back out into the quiet street, most of the shops were closed and it was only us and a handful of other visitors and pilgrims who walked about in the heat of the afternoon, as the locals sat in pavement cafes or stayed indoors. More a habit of a lifetime than due to the heat as it was only in the low 20’s.

Those who read my blog regularly will know of my love for old buildings especially ones which are heading towards ruins, Melide had them in abundance, house and shops just shut up and left, no vandals graffiti or burning them down just nature slowly reclaiming them. There was some although not a lot of new building going on to, mostly homes for the locals although they still use high cranes to move the slabs of concrete, which they now mostly build in, about.

Even the electricity sub stations had charm about them:

While these drying huts, unique to the region where a common sight especially once you were out the town.  They use them mainly to dry and store corn but also to dry other things.  Some were basic others were elaborately painted or had fine masonry on the two ends, and some were very grand indeed, although unfortunately I don’t have any pictures of them:

And if you didn’t have one of those, you just found an old pallet, and a spare bit of ground and laid your garlic out to dry in the sun!

Getting hungry we headed back down the narrow cool lanes to the hotel, for us it had been a long day and we hoped to be able to unpack and eat. The unpacking was going to have to wait until after dinner though as when we arrived back at the hotel our case still hadn’t so we had a drink in the bar while we waited for the restaurant to open and then at 7:45pm headed into it. As I said in my pervious post the hotel were not used to tourists and this meant a mad flurry – I use the term loosely as the Spanish do everything at a sedate pace – of activity as lights were switched on, staff were found to man the kitchens and eventually after some linguistic confusion a menu was found. Most of it we managed to understand and quickly decided that I would have the langoustines, Hubby the cold meats, followed by the paella and squid. Well that was the plan at least. The bread arrived, the local bread is full of air and similar to the Italian panni only three times as thick and six times as chewy, but unlike in Italy there was no oil to dunk it in so after the initial tasting it was left in it’s basket as we waited for another burst of activity from the hotel staff. Eventually someone arrived and with her limited English and our limited Spanish we soon discovered everything we wanted including second and third choices was off the menu. We could have tomato soup and a pork chop with potatoes! It was now 8:30pm and as hungry and tired as we were we had lost all faith in whether these would even turn up and neither of us really wanted them anyway, so we decided to head back out into the town and try our luck at one of the local cafes.

Looking along the now busy high street we choose a table in the shade at the blue tables to discover we had picked a pizza restaurant, not having the will to move and look again we stayed put and were rewarded with the most delicious bowl of local green olives and one of the regions wines. The wine was glorious best likened to a white rijoca and came from the southern most tip of Galica, Ribeira. It is made using grapes which are local just to the region and the type we were drinking is not exported at all, even from what we could gather to other regions of Spain. It is delicious and if you are even in the region a must to the at least try. The pizzas were good too, made using the local bread and with fresh vegetables and a local tangy blue cheese, the tiredness of the day was washed out from us and we relaxed in the pleasant evening sun. Finally we decided it was time to head back and were shocked at how cheap our evening meal had been, about a third of what we had been expecting!

We arrived back at the hotel to discover that our case had still not arrived, so a quick phone call was in order.
‘We are waiting on our case we were told it would be delivered this evening.’
‘Oh yes, we couldn’t track were the hotel was can you give us the address?’
The address was given.
‘Where is that?’
They were told.
It would appear that even the locals didn’t know of this town and certainly didn’t know of the hotel.
‘We won’t be able to get it to you tonight, but it will be there first thing in the morning between 7 and 8am.’
We weren’t pleased, we hadn’t travelled with any hand luggage – bad mistake won’t be doing that again – but we didn’t really have an awful lot of choice so climbed into bed slightly annoyed but totally charmed by Melide and Galica.

Fortrose Cathedral is hidden away in what is now a small hamlet and while it was once a big, although not large, cathedral what is left gives it a sense of being very small, maybe that has something to do with the fact you can not get inside the remains, but have to simply peer through bars. The whole feel of the place is still set in Cathedral Square among what would have once been the cluster of buildings that gathered around a Cathedral - some showing there ecclesiastical roots with crosses etc craved into the stone - although these are now mostly used as housing; deep in Scotland it has a strange English feel about it. It is believed that it was built some time in the 13th century and was the Cathedral for the Diocese of Ross and another of those Cathedrals that was eventually abandoned at the Reformation, the lead from the roof being granted to Lord Ruthven, in 1579, while in 1650 the stone from the rest of the building was moved to Inverness to build Cromwell’s Citadel, leaving nothing bar the South Aisle, which had continued to be used for burials and the small square unimpressive chapter house, possibly left because someone was living in it at the time. Once more there is an impressive stone ceiling, however, the surprise of the visit however was to see a font, not in the place a font would usually be nor as grand as a Cathedral font would be, although it is obviously made of the same red sandstone, so I am presuming it was moved there at a later date for some reason.

Well that is the popular name for Elgin Cathedral - The Lantern Of The North - situated on flat land known as the Laich of Moray, it is said that when services took place its lights could be seen for miles. By all accounts the Cathedral was a spectacular affair, in fact even in its ruined state it still is.

The original cathedral on this site was built in 1224, but a fire decimated it and in 1270 a larger one was started, that Cathedral in turn was all but razed to the ground in 1390 when a raiding party led by Alexander Stewart destroyed much of the Cathedral and the surrounding town. Again it was rebuilt only to then be abandoned as a consequence of the Reformation in 1560.

Its West end is still magnificent, complete with a carving of an angel, although the face has long gone. I can’t help wondering which statues were in all those niches.

You can climb up the towers to get a fantastic view of the surrounding area and the rest of the Cathedral, including the high walk ways and the carcase of a rose window on the east elevation.

The once stately pillars are all but gone but still speak of the stature of the building:-

The octagonal chapterhouse, which boasts the accolade of being one of the finest in the world, is a joy to behold with its delicate central stone pillar, an incredible stone ceiling and tall windows.

There is an extensive and fascinating grave yard, I do like wandering around them and reading the head stones, it is something I have done all my life and now Hubby finds himself equally engrossed in the social history contain there. One gravestone had a long poem on it that I will need to do some research into before posting it, but for now here is a very unusual headstone in a design I have not seen before - although there was a later and not as fine version also at Elgin Cathedral. Carved out of stone with passion flowers wrapping around a cross, it is in memory of Marie Lousie Bolanger.

Beauly Priory, now hidden behind trees back from the main road is a wee gen, founded in 1230 by the Valliscaulian Order but becoming part of the Cistercian Order in the 16th century.  It is one of those buildings that the additions in later years can be clearly seen, three different types of windows can be seen in the nave. Those were the days without Historic Scotland telling someone that they could only put the same type of window!  Remains of the once Holy Cross Chapel added in 1416 by the Frasers of Lovat can still be seen peeking out of the outer north wall, while on the South side the remains of the cloisters can be seen.

For those who are intrested in such facts - Robert Reid, the founding father of Edinburgh University was Prior in 1541.