Sassy American in England Part Two

Blenheim Palace. Crews were prepping the Grand Court for a Lionel Richie concert.

Sassy American in England Part Two

I may not be a rich American princess. Yet, the British, especially those of nobility, love my tourist dollar.

I’ve always wanted to see these country estates, especially after watching Downton Abbey. When I was planning my trip, I wanted to see Highclere Castle, where the series was filmed. I tried booking for June, but unfortunately the castle was closed for that month.

However, Rick Steves’ Europe (RSE) offered several alternatives. One was Blenheim Palace, Winston Churchill’s birthplace. Like Highclere Castle, it is a working country estate where the 12^th and current Duke of Marlborough lives.

“A lot of these estates have fallen on hard times,” said Mike, our guide. “Tourism is the number one industry in England right now.

“Most of England’s country estates receive some financial backing from the government under the guise of ‘historical homes’,” Mike went on. “But Blenheim Palace is controversial because who is paying to keep it running? The current duke? Or the government?”

It turns out that Blenheim Palace has been under a cloud of controversy from the beginning. General John Churchill earned the title the 1st Duke of Marlborough through Queen Anne, who rewarded Churchill for his military victory against the French and the Bavarians in the War of Spanish Succession, resulting in the Battle of Blenheim.

The palace was saved from financial ruin when the 9^th Duke of Marlborough married American railroad heiress, Consuelo Vanderbilt.

The current controversy is who is paying for the upkeep of the palace? Technically the land which the palace sits on belongs to King Charles the 3^rd, while the palace building is under the control of the Board of Trustees. Ironically, the current duke, James Spencer-Churchill, a.k.a Jaime, pays the Royal Family a monthly rental fee.

In other words, he must pay rent like the rest of us.

This is where our tour group comes in.

“I contacted Jaime yesterday to remind him we are coming,” said Mike as our bus was making its way to the Blenheim Estate which is also a park. “But for some reason he hates big tour busses on his property.”

I did detect a sense of sarcasm in Mike’s voice but had no idea why he said that.

I had two reactions to Mike’s comment. This was before we arrived on the estate.

My first thought was his house, his rules.

This place is huge. The palace itself is at least three times larger than Buckingham Palace. It is also the only non-royal palace in the U.K. There are at least three sections of the palace, with the Main Hall being the largest, flanked on two sides by two wings. There is also the Grand Court, several gardens on the palace grounds as well as meadows and lakes on the estate.

As we pulled into the parking lot area, which was nothing but dirt and gravel, we were assigned a parking space farthest from the park entrance.

But across from the relatively small parking lot was a large, green lawn as large as five football fields.

That field was quickly filling up with private cars.

“There is a Lionel Richie concert tonight,” said Mike as we pulled into our space.

So let me get this straight I thought to myself. Jaime hates tour bus companies driving on his property (I did not know who owned what until I did the research for this blog), but thousands of private vehicles on his perfectly manicured lawn?

Incidentally, there were a lot more cars on the lawn than big ole tour busses. Our presence was just a drop in the bucket compared to those concert goers who wanted to see Lionel Richie in concert.

Before disembarking, Mike gave all of us Blenheim Palace tour wristbands. Security was tight. There was a security blockade in front of the arch that leads to the palace grounds. Volunteer docents were asking visitors to show their wristbands before being allowed to pass.

After going through security, our group continued heading through a second arch on our way to the palace Grand Court. There were vendors selling Lionel Richie merchandise, snacks, and drinks. There was even a bar! And there was one stand selling nothing but local fudge.

Eventually I would have to check these places out because I was sure to get hungry after touring the palace.

The first thing we set foot on when we entered the palace grounds was the vast Grand Court. According to the Oxford Mail it can house at least 10,000 people.

Unfortunately, we could not walk on the court because crews were prepping the stage and seats for the concert. Mike had to compete with drills drilling and hammers hammering.

There was a dispute between the 1^st Duke of Marlborough and his wife, the Duchess of Marlborough regarding who should be the architect for the palace, according to Mike.

One wing of Blenheim Palace.

“The duchess wanted Christopher Wren, the man who built St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.

“The duke, however, chose an untrained architect named John Vanbrugh.”

Unfortunately, Blenheim did not help Vanbrugh get the recognition he wanted. There was fighting and accusations about the extravagance and the impracticality of the design. The duke was not much help because he was going on so many military campaigns, thus leaving his wife to level all kinds of accusations and criticisms. Eventually, Vanbrugh was banned from Blenheim.

Then Mike turned our attention to the entrance of the Main Hall.

“Unfortunately guiding is not allowed,” he said. “So, I will have to leave you here.” He had everyone look at their watches and cell phones. “It’s now 2:15. Let’s meet back at the bus at 3:30. That should give you enough time.”

We were allowed to wander the Main Hall on our own. There were docents available to answer questions. But essentially, it was a self-guided tour.

The Main Hall was at least three floors high. The room and walls were dripping with opulence and extravagance, even though this family is no Elon Musk or Mark Zuckerberg. There were portraits of the various dukes and duchesses hanging on the walls. Many of them were as big as a human. There were carriages and mannequins dressed as ladies-in-waiting. There were crowns (probably replicas), fine china, teacups, and silverware that were used only once.

A historical procession on display.

I grew tired of this show. It felt like the family was showing off its penis and saying size does matter.

The one part of the palace I did enjoy was the small exhibition of Sir Winston Churchill, located on the ground floor behind the concert stage.

What a contrast of personalities I thought.

American visitors, like me, come here because this is where he was born, even though he was not in line for the dukedom. To me, his contributions to the world outweigh all of those unknown dukes, including the current one. Yet, the prime minister had only a small wing, compared to the rest of the family who get this extravagant monstrosity of a house. I thought the prime minister deserved more respect. If you ask an American what we know of the 1^st Duke of Marlborough, you’ll just get a blank look.

But if you ask us what we know about Winston Churchill, that is someone we all know.

The Churchill exhibit was much smaller and more manageable. It showed toy soldiers and dolls he played with as a boy. It had an exhibit of a war tent in South Africa where the young Winston worked as a journalist. There was a sound system emitting the clackety-clack of typewriters, which Churchill hated.

There was also a display of a dining table where he ate with VIPS as prime minister.

Sir Winston Churchill’s dining table.

Finally, at the end of the exhibit was his own Number 10 Downing Street door in a display case.

By the time I left the Churchill exhibit I was hungry. I walked around the palace lawns where there were more vendors selling their wares and making money off tourists and concert goers. There were picnic tables dotted all around the nearby greens, so I got myself a raspberry Magnum ice cream and sat at one of those tables.

Palace grounds and lake.

In front of me was a lake. To the left of the lake was a bridge. Where did it lead to? I don’t know. I was too tired to cross it.

I left the palace grounds around 3 p.m. after browsing more vendor stands. On my way out I happened to bump into a couple in our group. Jerry and his wife Claire were also heading back to our bus. They were in their seventies and Claire, who uses hiking poles to get around, needed more time to get to the bus.

By that time, Jaime’s precious lawn had more cars parked on it than when we arrived.

And they kept on coming.

We walked on the left side of the tree lined dividers in the middle of the road to avoid the cars. It was extremely hot, so we tried to walk in the shade as much as we could. Along the way we bumped into two, middle aged British women who had collapsible beach chairs. When they saw Jerry and Claire, they got up and offered their chairs to them.

“Oh, please sit down!” said one of them.

We thanked them, but Jerry and Claire politely refused their offer.

“Where are you from?” Jerry asked them.

“Oh, we’re from Bristol,” they said. “We’re here for the concert. What about you? Where are you from?”

“We’re from California,” said Claire.

“I’m from Hawaii.” I replied.

“We’re a part of a Rick Steve’s tour,” said Jerry. “We want to see the best of England.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.”

That conversation with two local women, along with the Churchill exhibit, was the best part of my visit to Blenheim Palace.

The rest of it was just absurd. A duke who needs the help of Lionel Richie to bring in concert goers and who needs tourists to make his monthly rent, is laughable.

In the end, I only paid the duke £16.50 (around $21) for my entry ticket, and £3 ($4 USD) for my ice cream.

That is all the 12^th Duke of Marlborough got out of me.

The Prime Minister’s own Number 10 Downing Street door.

For more information on Blenheim Palace, visit https://www.blenheimpalace.com/

Sassy American in England

Sir Winston Churchill’s portrait at Blenheim Palace.

Sassy American in England

I don’t have the gift of comedy. My timing is off and I don’t know what makes a good punch line.

But if I were a gifted comedian, I would point out there are at least three things the British cannot do without Americans.

1. They will always need our help solving international issues.

After World War I ended (ironically it was called “the war to end all wars”) Americans, as a whole, decided that they had enough fighting Europe’s wars and saw themselves as isolationists. This was even more pronounced after the 1929 stock market crash and the onset of the Great Depression where millions of Americans lost their jobs. The mentality was  that we needed to look after ourselves and take care of our citizens first before we help others.

Meanwhile, Adolf Hitler came to power as Chancellor of Germany, while in England Neville Chamberlain became Prime Minister. The Allies, under Chamberlain’s leadership, favored appeasing Hitler. As a result, Hitler was able to annex Austria (called the Anschluss) without resistance or consequence.

Hitler’s next target was the German speaking area of Sudetenland, bordering Germany and the former Czechoslovakia. In 1938, Hitler and Chamberlain met in Munich to hammer out the Munich Agreement in which Hitler agreed not to annex or attack anymore countries if he is given the Sudetenland. Chamberlain went home with a copy of the agreement to show his critics that the Fuher had signed the agreement.

“It’s peace for our time,” Chamberlain claimed.

One of those critics was Winston Churchill, who was not in office at the time. Churchill had warned Chamberlain of appeasing Hitler and warned the prime minister that war was inevitable.

It turns out Churchill was right. In September 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Chamberlain was forced to declare war on Germany, thus starting another European war. In 1940, Chamberlain left office and was succeeded by Churchill.

Under Churchill’s leadership, England was able to fight off a full ground invasion from Germany, thanks to the heroic efforts of the Royal Airforce (RAF) pilots. Churchill was able to save his country from a Nazi invasion.

But he was not able to save Europe on his own. France and the low countries of Belgium and the Netherlands, had fallen. To the north, Norway was under Nazi control.

Churchill needed help from the U.S. But Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s (FDR) hands were tied because 1940 was an election year and voters favored staying out of Europe. All FDR could do was send weapons to Britain in hopes that that effort would be enough.

Then came December 7^th, 1941 in which Japan, Germany’s ally, led a surprise attack on the U.S. Navy fleet stationed in Pearl Harbor. Suddenly, the U.S. had entered the conflict in both Asia and in Europe.

Slowly, the tide turned. Allied forces, including U.S. service men, were landing in north Africa, a staging ground for the invasion of southern Europe. They were storming beaches in France to liberate that country. They pushed into Germany and liberated those Nazi death camps in Dachau and Mauthausen in Austria.

I got to see the working conditions in which Churchill had to run his war operations. On the day of my visit to the War Rooms and the Churchill Museum, it was extremely hot. It was even hotter underground where the War Rooms and the museum were located. I had the luxury of looking at the displays through a window. But in those days, when this place was fully operational, there were no windows and no modern plumbing. The heat and the smell in those days was unbearable. But it kept Churchill and his staff alive and safe from Hitler’s aerial attacks on London.

I also got to see the communication rooms where messages were sent via telegraph, across the Atlantic to the U.S. In addition, I saw the telephones and typewriters that sent those messages to the U.S. president, asking for help in fighting this war.

Churchill’s toy soldiers.

This war was not a joke or a fabrication. Churchill’s War Rooms was a major, full scale operation in its heyday, and I’m grateful that I had the chance to see the War Rooms and the Churchill Museum.

But I am even more grateful that Churchill had the sensibility to ask for help. And I’m glad the U.S. did come through.

2.They love our million dollar princesses.

Downton Abbey fans, this one is for you.

After the show aired its last episode, film executives confirmed that two movies were in the works.

When Downton Abbey: A New Era was released in 2022, PBS started re-broadcasting a series called Million Dollar American Princesses, hosted by none other than Elizabeth McGovern who played Countess Cora Crawley in Downton Abbey.

It was the first three episodes of Million Dollar American Princesses  that I remember watching. All three took place between 1870 and modern day royalty. At the time, the British aristocracy were facing financial difficulties in keeping their estates afloat. They had to find ways to earn an income to keep their way of life. Many of them went bankrupt. But there were a lucky few who found an alternative source of income.

American cash.

On the other side of the Atlantic, in places like New York, were the nouveau riche families like the Vanderbilts and the Rockefellers who made their fortunes in transportation, oil and the banking industries. They were looking to improve their status, but were snubbed by New York’s elite.

So they looked to England. Rich families would marry off their daughters to the British aristocracy and earn titles like “Countess of Grantham”. On the other hand, the British would get an infusion of cash to support their estates.

The first of these rich brides was a woman named Jennie Jerome, whose father Leonard Jerome, made his fortune in the stock market. He also had interests in the railroad industry and was also partnered with Cornelius Vanderbilt.

In 1874, Jennie was married to Lord Randoph Churchill, the third son of John Winston Spencer-Churchill, the 7^th Duke of Marlborough and Lady Frances Anne Vane. They had two sons; Winston and John.

The second American that married into the Spencer-Churchill family was a woman named Consuelo Vanderbilt, the great grand daughter of Cornelius Vanderbilt. She married Charles Spencer-Churchill, Winston’s cousin and the 9^th Duke of Marlborough in 1895. They had two sons; John Albert William who became the 10^th Duke, and Lord Iver Spencer-Churchill.

Perhaps this may be why Churchill was comfortable in approaching the U.S. for help when he needed it the most. He understood Americans because there were at least two of them in his immediate family.

And in the third episode of Million Dollar American Princesses I found out that Churchill is a distant relative of the late Princess Diana who had her own American connection. Her great grandmother, Frances Ellen Work, was the daughter of Franklin Work, a stock broker and a protégé of Cornelius Vanderbilt. She married James Boothby who became the 3^rd Baron Fermoy and was a member of Parliament. They had four children of which their son Maurice, the 4^th Baron of Fermoy, was Diana’s grandfather.

And the trend continues with Diana’s son Harry, marrying another American, Megan Markle.

So the British love rich and famous American women.

And they still love American money.

Sassy British Tour Guides

The London Eye, or as one tour guide put it, the London Eye Sore.

Sassy British Tour Guides

I’ve had several tour guides during my trip to England. My Rick Steves’ Europe (RSE) guide, Mike, was at least in his fifties and very much a stiff-upper-lip Brit. But as the tour went on, he started loosening up and joking around with his American guests.

While in York, we visited York Minster, the second largest Anglican church in England. Mike showed us where to go to attend Evensong, an Anglican tradition. Evensong is an evening church service focused on singing psalms and biblical canticles. During the day, Mike showed us where the choir would be sitting for the service.

The next day at breakfast I sat with two other women, Lavern, and Margaret from Florida. Mike joined us at our table.

“Did you attend Evensong?” he asked the two women.

“No,” they said. “We came back to the hotel and called it a day. We were just too tired.”

“Oh, you heathens!” Mike pretended to leave the table. Then he sat back down.

“How about you?” he asked me. “What did you do?”

“I’m a heathen too,” I sassed back. “I went to York’s Chocolate Story.”

York’s Chocolate Story is the teaming of three of York’s chocolatiers; Terry’s, Craven’s, and Rowntree’s. This is where Kit Kat was born.

I went there because it was featured on another travel show, Curious Traveler. I wanted to go on the museum tour because I could make my own chocolate lollipop.

Mike was not the only one who cracked jokes at his guests’ expense.

I noticed that there are two things British guides make fun of when it comes to entertaining their American guests. One is language. The other is culture.

Let’s tackle the language first. Yes. Toh-MAY-toh versus toh-MAH-to. Fries versus chips. Chips versus crisps. Center versus centre.

You get the picture.

We had one guide poke fun at our American English. We were on a tour boat on the River Thames (or is it pronounced TH-ames?) with a wiry tour guide named Jake, who wore a white and blue sailor uniform that was two sizes too large for him. Most of the visitors on board his ship were American, but there were other tourists from non-English speaking countries on board.

“I speak only one language,” said Jake, addressing the non-native English speakers. “So I will speak very slowly.

“And if our American friends care to join us, they are more than welcome.”

That got a lot of laughs from everyone, including me.

My chocolate lollipop.

After my Rick Steves’ tour ended, I had a few extra days in London before my flight back to Hawaii. So, I had booked a day trip to Windsor, Oxford, and Stonehenge with a tour company called Evans Evans Tours.

My guide for this trip was a guy named Jason.

Jason was a dapper fellow. He wore a brown felt hat with a feather, a purple shirt, and red suspender shorts. Jason also had a goatee that made him look very distinguished and serious.

Yet even he poked fun at his American guests.

When one of us brought up the issue of being dropped off at a certain London district, he said this:

“We can drop you off at Glou-ster or Glou-CES-ter Street, since that’s how you Americans say it.”

It’s spelled Gloucester. But the British pronounce it Glouster.

Another visitor made a comment about the British driving on the wrong side of the road.

Which brings up the second thing British like to tease us about: culture.

“It all depended on which side you had your scabbard for your sword,” Jason explained. “In medieval England, we carried our sword on our left. So, when we encountered a potential enemy, we would draw the sword with our right hand.

“In Europe, they had their scabbards on their right and would draw with their left. That is why in the rest of Europe they drive on the right.

“But you Americans? After the War of Independence, you wanted nothing to do with England, so you chose to drive on the right.”

That got many of us laughing, myself included.

But that got me thinking.

What could I use to tease the British?

They Feed Us All

Children enjoying the fountain at the Victoria & Albert Museum.

They Feed Us All

I enjoyed watching this year’s Wimbledon, the third leg of the tennis grand slam season. At the start of the tournament, I was laughing.

Why?

Rain.

Several matches on both the men’s and women’s sides were stopped in the middle of play because of rain. Subsequent matches were postponed and as a result, one day could have several rounds of play.

It rarely rained when I was there.

On my previous trip to Europe, I was caught in the Austrian Alps in the rain without a raincoat. All I had was a flimsy windbreaker and an umbrella. Neither of them did me any good. I was still cold even in the summer.

I swore to myself that before my next trip to Europe I would get a proper raincoat. I got myself a raincoat in the fall of last year and brought it to England because London is notorious for its rain.

Or was.

The whole three weeks I was in England it rained only twice. It rained on my first day in Bath, and it rained on our way to the Lake District.

As we toured an English garden in Bath our guide Mike, explained to us that the English are having to find plants that are water resistant due to climate change. The garden we were visiting looked like half of the plants were dying of thirst. They were turning brown because of the lack of rain.

An English Garden in Bath.

Several days later, we got to visit a farmer named Gareth in Wales.

Gareth is a celebrity in the U.K. He has been a judge on shows like Fferm Ffactor, and has been on a reality T.V. series called Snowdonia 1890. He even has a YouTube channel featuring clips of him working on his farm.

Rick Steves’ Europe sends tour groups to Gareth’s farm in the Cardennau Mountains in north Wales to learn about sustainable farming. The star attraction is that we have a chance to try our hand at herding sheep with the help of one of Gareth’s sheep dogs. In this case, it was Max.

Two members of our group volunteered to herd four sheep into a pen. To do that, Gareth taught them the whistle commands and the Welsh commands to give Max. Then, the four sheep were released and my two friends, along with Gareth and Max, herded the sheep into a pen. The rest of us stood back and watched as our friends tried to command Max, who darted back and forth before they successfully herded all four sheep into the pen.

But that’s not the thing that impressed me most.

After the sheep herding show was over Gareth invited us to his man cave to share what life is like to be a farmer.

“Everyone loves to blame farmers for the climate change problem,” he complained. “But we’ve got to be a part of the solution.”

As Gareth was giving his talk, he was also looking at the sky. Indeed, it was overcast, and I did have my raincoat on just in case it rained.

“While it is a good day for you to visit, I’m keeping my eye out on the sky. We need the rain.”

On Gareth’s farm in Wales.

As Gareth was sharing his woes as a farmer, I kept thinking of some of my farmer friends back home at our farmers’ market where I sell my books. One farmer I thought of was Aunty Joey, my neighbor and fellow vendor at the Wednesday Mid-Week Market.

In December of 2022, we had a major winter storm in which roads flooded and rivers overflowed their banks. I remember being stupid enough to go Christmas shopping in such dangerous conditions.

At the next Wednesday market, after Waimea had somewhat dried out, I noticed that Aunty Joey did not have her usual vegetables for sale. All she had were a few bags of macadamia nuts and a bucket full of flowers.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Flood wiped out my entire crop,” she said.

So, one farmer is praying for rain in an area that should have lots of rain, while another farmer has lost a crop due to too much rain in an area that is famous for its warm, tropical climate.

Courtesy of the Library of Congress (https://loc.gov/pictures/item/2003690771/). This poster was inspired by the 1875 Granger Movement in which midwestern farmers banded together to fight against the monopolistic practices of the railroads and grain elevators.

I also thought of a campaign poster from the 1870s that I had seen in my history books as a child. It depicts men (yes, only men) in various occupations. The phrase under each occupation was this:

I (blank) You All.

But the farmer was front and center in the poster. It depicted a farmer in his field with two horses tethered to a plow.

His phrase was also a bold statement, which read as:

            I Feed You All.

Gareth and Aunty Joey are trying to feed us all despite whatever Mother Nature may throw at them.

So, it helps to know where our food is from as well as those who grow our food. We should know our farmers and their stories. The phrase “essential worker” has become a catch phrase in our COVID world. We don’t need politicians, movie stars, athletes, or (God forbid I should say this) writers. They are not essential.

But farmers are essential workers. Indeed, they are essential to everyone’s survival. They must be a part of the solution to climate change policies because they feed us all.

The world’s cutest cucumbers are grown right here in Waimea.

For more information on Gareth’s farm, here are the links: About – Tynllwyfan – A Place for the Soul to find Peace

About

And here are links to our local Farmers Markets:

Waimea Mid-Week Farmers Market: Waimea Midweek Farmers Market

https://www.waimeamidweekfarmersmarket.com/

Kamuela Farmers Market: Kamuela Farmers Market – Open every Saturday from 7:30 a.m. to 1 p.m.

Home

Waimea Town Market: Waimea Town Market – A Saturday Farmer’s Market – The Heart of the Waimea Community!

Exit Brexit

Memorial stone at Dover depicting the Allies crossing the English Channel to liberate France. Despite their ties to continental Europe, the Brits chose to leave Europe.

Exit Brexit

As we were leaving England for Wales, our guide Mike talked about Brexit. The United Kingdom officially left the European Union on January 31^st, 2020, after Brits voted in 2016, to leave. So, we wondered how things were going three and a half years on.

“We were never really integrated into the E.U.” he said. “We never adopted the Euro, and we could never understand why we had to drive on the right. We are perfectly happy to drive on the left.

“And we never adopted the Schengen Agreement.”

Schengen is an agreement compromised of twenty-seven European countries that have agreed to open up their borders, allowing people to move freely without going through a border checkpoint. I went through the border of Germany and Austria on my previous Rick Steves’ Europe tour last summer. The only thing that served as a checkpoint was a rest stop with bathrooms, a restaurant, and a convenience store. No taking out my passport to show a border guard.

The U.K., including Scotland, is not a Schengen member.

I noticed that Mike did not share his own opinion. He never said, “I don’t feel European,” or “I don’t want to learn how to drive on the right.” He always couched his answers by saying “we.”

“We never adopted the Euro. We like our Pound.”

So why did the U.K. leave the E.U.? There were several reasons, but according to Mike, there was one main issue.

Poland.

When Poland joined the E.U. in 2004, this changed the way Brits thought about immigrants, especially those from eastern Europe. According to E.U. immigration law, a citizen from one E.U. country can live in another E.U. country. Since Poland did not have the social infrastructure after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact alliance, many of its citizens left their country. Most went to England where they overburdened the National Health Service (NHS).

As he was talking, I remembered watching a British police procedural on PBS. where the cops walked into a Polish owned shop. The owner’s daughter was a clerk in the shop who knew why the police were there. She goes to the back of the shop to speak to her father in Polish.

Both were reluctant to speak to the police.

I had also heard about Polish immigration to England on NPR and on the BBC prior to their departure when Brexit was still up for debate. Many immigrants, especially those from other European Union countries, wanted to remain. Businesses that used immigrant labor, like hotels and construction, also wanted to remain for fear that they might lose workers.

Sure. Blame it on the Poles  I thought. But I kept that sentiment to myself. Afterall, I am the granddaughter of two immigrant families to the U.S. And in this age of COVID, I’ve heard stories of Asians being attacked and blamed for the virus because people fear what they don’t know.

When I heard the results of the Brexit referendum on NPR, I was shocked.

Wow! They actually voted to leave!

But what was even more shocking was how close it came. It was a very narrow victory for the leavers. According to one poll it was 51% to 48%.

Scotland was that 48%. They lost simply because England had more people.

Back in 2014, Scotland held their own independence referendum. It failed. Scots voted to remain a part of the U.K. but by a narrow margin.

Then Brexit came in 2016. Scotland voted to remain in the E.U. There was talk among commentators that Scotland could bring up another independence referendum, and that those who voted to remain in the U.K., could change their votes.

Llangollen, Wales.

“Wales closely watches what Scotland does,” said Mike.

Wales, like Scotland, is a country in the U.K. They have their own flag and their own national language.

“Scotland can probably leave the U.K. and re-join the European Union,” said Mike. “They have the resources and the infrastructure to do it.

“Wales, on the other hand, doesn’t have the infrastructure or the resources. They are too dependent on Westminster.

“So, perhaps in the near future, we may need to go through border checks if Scotland does leave the United Kingdom,” Mike lamented. He said this because several of his guests visited Scotland before heading to England.

I listened intently while sitting in the back of the bus.

Many native Hawaiians were also watching how the Scottish independence referendum would go. They were looking for ideas on how Hawaii could regain its independence from the U.S. Hawaiians and their supporters would refer to the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy in 1893 by the U.S. as cause for independence. Many think of the State of Hawaii as the “fake state.”

Unfortunately, Hawaii is more like Wales than Scotland. We just don’t have the infrastructure or the resources to leave the U.S.

As we got closer to the Welsh border, Mike started focusing more on Welsh history. Some in our group wanted to know how the British monarchy came up with the title Prince of Wales, a source of controversy for the Welsh.

The first Welsh ruler to claim that title was Owain Gwynedd in 1165. Owain Gwynedd’s grandson, Llywelyn ap Iorweth, also known as Llywelyn the Great, assumed the title in 1218, after the Welsh and the Scots forced King John of England to sign the Magna Carta and to return Gwynedd’s son to him.

Llywelyn the Great’s nephew, Llywelyn Gruffydd, a.k.a Llywelyn II or Llywelyn the Last (geez, my head was spinning by now) was chosen as the Great’s air to the Welsh throne and gained the title with Scottish backing.

All that changed when in 1277, King Edward of England conquered Wales. Llywelyn II was lured into a trap at the Battle of Orewin Bridge and was killed.

“When King Edward heard this, he loaned Llywelyn the Great his eldest Welsh born son, Edward of Caernarfon, as heir to the Welsh throne.”

Hence Edward of Caernarfon became the first English Prince of Wales.

“In 1969, Queen Elizabeth held an investiture ceremony of her son, Charles, at Caernarfon Castle, which we will get to see tomorrow,” Mike went on. “There are no plans for a similar ceremony for his son, William at this time.”

The Welsh generally welcomed the 1969 investiture, but there was controversy about Charles not being Welsh.

It is a controversy that continues to this day.

Caernarfon Castle, Wales. Site of the 1969 investiture of then Prince Charles.

Guarding Sanitizer

Guarding the Hand Sanitizer.

A sign of our times.

Not My Cup of Tea

A tea market in Kunming, China.

Not My Cup of Tea

It has been a long time since I’ve had British style tea with cream and sugar. The first time I had it was as a child when my Dad taught me to add milk and sugar to my tea. As a kid, I would always drink it that way.

Then I went to China, another country with a deep tea history and culture. They do not add any cream or sugar to their teas. They believe that by drinking it straight, the drinker would get the full flavor of the tea. Adding anything to it dilutes the flavor.

It’s not their custom to add anything other than hot water to their teas.

China also produces some of the most expensive teas in the world.

So, how did my family get introduced to drinking British tea?

My Dad’s father, my Gung Gung, had worked for the British Merchant Marine on their ships as a carpenter. Gung Gung got to sail to India, Iraq, South Africa, and England before landing in the U.S.A. Presumably, he’d watch British sailors drink Chinese grown tea with cream and sugar.

I wondered how Gung Gung felt about these sailors drinking tea grown in China. Nearly fifty years before he was born, China and England fought the first Opium War so that England could get what they wanted. One product they desperately wanted was tea.

Qing officials denied England trading rights on the premise that China did not need European made goods. Yet, there was a strong demand in Europe for Chinese tea.

So what do the British do?

They smuggled opium from India to southern Chinese ports like Canton (now Guangzhou) and start distributing it using local Chinese merchants.

This was all illegal under Chinese law. When the Qing government found out what was happening, they sent an envoy, Lin Zexu, who seized all of the opium in Canton. The British, under Charles Elliot, the chief superintendent of British trade, paid for all of the opium before it was destroyed.

Elliot was not pleased. He wrote to his government in London advising them to use military force to resolve the dispute. In 1839, a small skirmish broke out in Kowloon in Hong Kong between British and Chinese warships. A year later, Britain decided to send a military expedition to impose reparations for their financial loss due to the destruction of their opium, and to force China to open ports for trade.

One of my friends described the British as the first modern drug cartel.

As a result, in 1842, the Chinese were forced to sign the Treaty of Nanking in which they were forced to make concessions to the British and pay war reparations.

But the biggest humiliation for China was the loss of Hong Kong  which they were forced to cede to the British. Eventually, China was forced to give up not just Hong Kong Island, but all of the New Territories for ninety-nine years.

That lease was up in June of 1997. As a foreign teacher in China at that time I kept hearing about China’s humiliation at the hands of the British. To them it was an unfair treaty.

British cream tea at the Jane Austen Center (or Centre in England) in Bath, England. Bottom left is clotted cream. Bottom right is jam. Middle of the plate are my two scones. Top is my mango tea with a strainer.

I was in Bath, England recently, at the Jane Austen Center Tea Room looking at a list of teas to go along with my scones. As I was looking at the list, I thought of this conflict with China and wondered how their teas were sourced.

Eventually I chose the mango tea.

I hope the British have learned their lesson. You cannot bully a country into getting what you want.

In addition to ordering my mango tea, I also ordered two scones with clotted cream, and jam. I also ordered a bottle of orange juice because it was hot and humid and I was having stomach cramps due to eating so much unfamiliar food.

When the food came I poured myself some tea. I drank it straight like a Chinese. No cream. No sugar. I could definitely taste the mango. For a second I forgot that I was in England.

You are here to enjoy British tea I thought to myself.

So I poured another cup of tea. This time, I added two lumps of sugar and cream. I could still taste the mango. But the flavor was diluted with all that sugar.

Not my cup of tea.

I still, however, did enjoy the overall experience at the Jane Austen Center and the Tea Room as my tea and scones were served on fine porcelain dishes and fanciful tea cups. I also saw that several of my fellow diners had ordered trays of cakes and sandwiches served on traditional tiered trays.

I returned to Hawaii in late June. The first thing I did was to stop at Foodland and headed for their import section where they sell mostly European food and snacks. I was specifically looking for shortbread which I had enjoyed while visiting Wales.

I didn’t find any. Instead, what I found was Tea Pigs, a company that I had seen on shelves in gift shops in England. There was a sentence that caught my eye.

Back of a Tea Pigs box.

“Ethical tea partnership. Improving the lives of tea workers and their environment.”

Tea Pigs, a European based tea company, claims that they give back to the communities there the tea is grown and that they give farmers a fair price.

But I was still skeptical.

Next to Tea Pigs was another tea company called Hobbs Tea Company, Hawaii. I looked at the back of the box and saw the location where the tea is grown; Waikoloa. I realized that I probably know this family as the name was one I recognized.

I put Tea Pigs back on the shelf and instead chose to buy my friend’s tea.

One day when I have a strong craving for imported tea, I’ll purchase Tea Pigs. But for now, I’ll support my friends and not have to worry about whether their tea was ethically sourced.

Artistic Pursuits

Aloha Readers,

No, I haven’t dropped off the planet. I’ve been fighting several health issues and dealing with my health insurance company regarding new medication for my psoriasis. I’ve decided to take a break from writing to pursue more artistic pursuits. Here is a sample of what I’ve been working on.

Home

Mondsee.

Home

About a week after I returned home, I got a message from Rick asking me to give feedback about my trip. The last question on the survey asked me what was the WOW portion of my trip.

“Driving over the Bavarian Alps on our way to Salzburg. I was just gob smacked by the sheer beauty of the mountains and the lakes. Absolutely stunning!”

I wish I could add something else; a trip down memory lane.

The day after I returned home, PBS had started promoting Ken Burns’ latest documentary series The U.S. and the Holocaust. I made a mental note to myself to make time to watch it to see if what my guide’s tour matches with Mr. Burns and his team’s research.

They were identical. They both mentioned Hitler’s failed coup in Munich, and they both mentioned Dachau was the first concentration camp.

Of course Mr. Burns could go a lot further than my guide’s tour because it not only focused on what was happening in Europe, but it also focuses on America’s role in the Holocaust. Through this documentary I learned that Hitler’s favorite U.S. state was Mississippi, and that Franklin Delano Roosevelt, in an effort to get into Hitler’s head, read his book, Mein Kampf, in the original German.

I had no idea Roosevelt could understand German.

Dachau Memorial wall. Never forget. Never again.

I have more pleasant memories about Germany and Austria every time I watch Rick’s shows. His show, The Art of Europe, had me glued to my T.V. to see if I’d recognize any of the places featured in the program. Rick’s fellow traveler, Christine van Blokland of Curious Traveler fame, had several shows about Austria. Her Christmas markets in Salzburg and Vienna got me screaming at my T.V.

“I’ve been there! I’ve been there!”

I even get excited about what I hear on the radio or online. This past fall, I read online that Red Bull’s founder, Dietrich Mateschitz, had passed away at seventy-eight.

Just before Christmas, NPR interviewed an actress named Vicky Krieps, star of the film, Corsage, which had been released in Europe at the time of my visit, and had just been released in the U.S. It’s about Empress Elizabeth, “Sissi”, at the age of forty.

Krieps talked about how Sissi’s beauty and diet regimen and about her carefree childhood. At one point in the interview, the reporter commented on how Krieps looked exactly like the empress in paintings. I had to see the promos for myself and compare them to the posters I saw in Vienna. The actress, when made up as Sissi, looked exactly like the empress.

When I was in Vienna, I saw so many of these posters of Sissi’s portrait, advertising the exhibit I saw. I had no idea all things Sissi were being showcased in Austrian culture.

The reporter also said that while the empress was a well-known historical figure to Europeans, not many Americans know about her.

In the theater district of Vienna.

I am not one of those Americans. If it weren’t for my visit to Vienna, I would not have heard of Empress Sissi. As Mark Twain, Rick’s favorite writer, once wrote:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.”

But the biggest walk down memory lane was the beginning of this New Year, 2023, I made the time to listen and watch the Vienna Philharmonic’s New Year’s special – twice.

I heard the live broadcast on HPR 2, our local classical music. It was live on Austrian radio, as well as its U.S. affiliates. I did not get much sleep as our neighbors were popping a lot of illegal fireworks in our neighborhood. As a result, I slept in and did not go to church. I was just too tired and decided to just stay home.

At 11 a.m., I turned into the live broadcast from Vienna. I was dancing to the Blue Danube Waltz and I was clapping to Radetzky’s March along with the audience. I didn’t care if anyone heard me or was watching me.

The icing on the cake was yet to come with PBS’ Great Performances, where they broadcast the exact same show, only this time,  Downton Abbey’s Hugh Bonneville was the host. Once again, I was dancing in my tiny apartment to the Blue Danube and I was clapping with the audience to Radetzky’s March.

They also showed scenes of the Hofburg Palace and Schonbrun Palace (I didn’t see that palace because I was tired of seeing too many palaces).

But the kicker was Bonneville inside the library of Melk Abbey standing in front of a camera.

Melk Abbey.

“I’ve been there! I’ve been there!” I shouted while pointing at my T.V.

When I first arrived in Munich, my first thought was I can’t believe I’m here! This is a dream come true for me.

When listening to and watching any program about Europe, I can now say I’ve been there and that travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.

And as Rick always says, “Happy travels!”

Our guide gave us a map of 1860 Prussia — modern day Germany.

Wien (Vienna Part Four)

Cafe Konditorei Aida, a.k.a. The Pink Cafe.

Wien (Vienna Part Four)

My last day in Vienna was mostly spent trying to find the best route to the airport. I was due to leave the next morning and I didn’t want to lose time getting lost.

I also spent some time trying to find the Volkstheater where the Mozart & Strauss concert was to take place.

But one the things I had yet to experience was dining at a Viennese café.

On my first day in Vienna, while touring the Saint Stephans area with Tomas, we passed by a pink café called Aida Konditorei Café. I called it the Pink Café for obvious reason.

The founder of the café, Josef Prousek, an immigrant from present-day Czech Republic, moved to Vienna where he met his future wife Rosa. Together they bought and ran a pastry shop called Bonsaing & Sohne. It was Rosa, who came up with the iconic pink color scheme.

In 1921, they expanded and changed their business name to Chocolaterie & Grosskonditorei Aida.

World War 2 caused a temporary stop in business. Thankfully, the founder and his son, Felix, wrote down all of their recipes, so all was not lost.

In 1945, father and son started rebuilding their business, branch by branch.

In 1974, Josef Prousek died, and his son Felix took over. Felix’s son, Michael, joined the family business in 1982. Together, they continued to expand and innovate. In 2015, Michael’s son, Dominik, joined the family business. They continue to expand in Vienna and Austria.

There so many open-air cafés in Vienna that I could have tried. But since pink is one of my favorite colors, this café just stood out on the very busy Stephansplatz. I had to try the Pink Café.

Luckily, I found a socially distant table outside, underneath a pink umbrella with the logo, “Aida.” Prousek eventually realized that he would have to change the name if he wanted to expand. As an opera lover, he chose the new name Aida.

The waiter, a young man, gave me a menu. It was a bilingual menu, so I didn’t have trouble ordering. I got a quiche and a soft drink. But the thing I had to try was a decadent treat. The one that caught my eye was the Mozart cake.

I had never had so much marzipan in my life. This cake is a Sacher cake, named after the family that created such rich treats. It is a layered cake of chocolate and is covered in a smooth layer of chocolate marzipan and topped with a round, chocolate with an image of the composer.

I left that café feeling gluttonous.

Inside the cafe.

My last night in Vienna ended at the Volkstheater and that Mozart & Strauss concert. Once again, I was stumped about the start time.

In Vienna, as in Salzburg, times never seemed to correlate with the actual amount of daylight. In Hawaii, 6:15 p.m. means that the sun, at least in the summer, is setting, and 8 p.m., the moon is out.

In Germany and Austria, daylight hours are stretched in the summer. Both countries are also much farther away from the equator and closer to the north pole. For someone like me, who is from a tropical paradise, this would take some getting used to.

My ticket listed two times; 18:30 (6:30 p.m.) and 20:15 (8:15 p.m.). The second one was circled as the start time.

Why list two times?

I left my hotel around 5 p.m. I walked to the nearest subway, (yes, I did learn the route and I got an English language map) to the Volkstheater. I figured I’d get something to eat before heading to the show. I remember the meal I had missed at the Hohensalzburg Fortress in Salzburg, so I didn’t want to go to this concert on an empty stomach.

I was still digesting my rich and decadent Mozart cake from Aida Konditorei Café earlier that day, so I wasn’t too hungry. I just wanted something light.

I took the train to Stephansplatz Station where I found an underground restaurant selling Chinese food. There were no customers inside, so I felt completely safe, COIVID-wise.

I had no idea what language the cashiers spoke. They were all immigrants from Asia. I knew they could speak some German because their menus, which were on display above them, were in German. I, however, don’t speak German and I had no idea if they spoke English.

Now is a good time to use my Chinese I thought.

“Qing get wo Yangzhou chao fan,” I said to the young lady behind the counter.

 Please give me some Yangzhou fried rice.

“Da de haishi xiao de?

The large size or the small size?

“Xiao de,” I said.

The small one.

“Haiyou ne?”

Anything else?

“Gei wo yi ting kele.”

Give me a can of Coke.

The woman smiled. I think she was happy to hear her native language.

“Ni shi nali lai?”

Where are you from?

“Wo shi meiguoren.”

I’m American.

“Ni de zhongwen hen hao.”

Your Chinese is very good.

I expected that response because I got a lot of that while living in China. I thanked her and took a seat to wait for my order.

I’m glad I came to this place. It reminded me so much of my life in China.

I arrived at the theater around 6 p.m. The door was closed. 6:15 came and went. The door remained closed. I was pacing up and down the street. I didn’t know if I should be angry. But I was definitely impatient. Oddly, it was still daylight and the sun had not yet set. I even thought about just forfeiting my ticket and going back to my hotel to pack.

At around 7:15, the young man that sold me the ticket, arrived with a friend. Both were carrying music stands for tonight’s performance.

“I’m confused,” I said, showing him my ticket. “What time does it start?”

“It’s at 8:15,” he said. “Just stick around an hour. You’ll love it.”

I think he detected a hint of anger in my voice. I gave in.

When I was in China, I have learned that being angry at my hosts is rude and that showing my anger won’t get me what I wanted.

What I wanted was the best concert experience I could ever have in a musical city such as Vienna. I also wanted bragging rights. PBS Hawaii broadcasts the Vienna Philharmonic’s New Year’s Day celebration every New Year. I wanted to be able to say “I’ve been there” when I see them on T.V.

So I thanked the young man and decided to hang around the theater district, take photos of classical buildings, and have another bottle of Coke from an outdoor food truck.

8:15 the doors to the Volkstheater opened and I, along with a large group of foreign visitors, were let in.

The theater was a two storied rotunda. To our left were the ticket offices which were closed and roped off-limits. There were stanchions and signs with arrows telling visitors which way to go. All were pointing to the staircase.

When I got to the second floor, theater employees were selling programs and glasses of wine. Apparently, guests have to pay for a program guide, unlike in the U.S. where they are given out freely.

And as tempting as it was to have a glass of champagne, I opted out because I’d rather return to my hotel safely since I am traveling alone on the subway after hours.

I donned my mask. I looked around and could see very few people wearing masks. Only about three quarters of the seats were taken and most of the guests sat in the middle. To keep my distance, I chose to sit on the far left of the semi-circle of chairs. I would not get a good view of the performers. But I didn’t care. I was here for the music.

Then the musicians walked on stage. They started off with Mozart, playing some of his concertos and operas. They even had several dancers and singers join them. And unlike the concert in Salzburg where they played mostly concertos that I’ve never heard of, this group of seven musicians played Ein Klein Nachtmusik (A Little Night Music) and the overture to The Marriage of Figaro.

Then then moved on to the Strauss family where there were more dancers on stage. They played Johann Strauss II’s The Blue Danube Waltz and ended with Johann Strauss I’s Radetzky March. They encouraged the audience to participate by clapping their hands, just like they do at their New Year’s celebration. I felt like I was in a PBS program.

I returned to my hotel a tired but happy concert goer. What a way to end my day.

What a way to end my trip.

The Volkstheater district.