Highlights-Portsmouth to Lymington
Driving straight to Lymington (“limb-ing-ton” according to the ladies I met the previous day) from Portsmouth would have had me arrive far too early to check-in so I made a side trip to Southampton. The SeaCity museum there had a thorough interpretation of the city’s connection with the Titanic (the Captain and large numbers of crew lived there). In Lymington, I checked-in to the Angel and Blue Pig, a pub with accommodations. The room there was small, which wasn’t a surprise, rooms above pubs often are. What was strange was not having a single horizontal surface in the room, no: clothes locker, dresser, or desk (even the VSC room had one of those!). Another curiosity (quirk?), my bag kept falling over after several attempts to stand it up. I slowly realized (I don’t think as fast as I used to) that the floor wasn’t flat. Anywhere. It felt like I was in a museum’s “room of illusions” (fun at museums, but for overnight stays …?). Post check-in, I stopped for toast and coffee at a bakery. I learned about the experiences clerks have with some customers (not good). There is much research suggesting that pleasant customer behavior isn’t memorable (it’s a brain thing). This is why I discuss Nietzsche in bakeries when I have the opportunity. That’s memorable (see 16 April entry for Winchester in case it wasn’t for you).
Anti-Litter Psychiatry
I wonder if it works?
The Angel and Blue Pig
You can’t make this up
Loos?
That means “bathrooms” in that other English
Notable Items
On British freeways (their term is “motorway,” suggesting you have no business being on one without a motor), most of the signage is immediately recognizable: speed limits, exits, upcoming highways, etc. One that is unique to the U.K. is “No shoulder” possible with a distance ahead or length of motorway without one. When there are shoulders, they are much more narrow than the breakdown area of U.S. freeways. I don’t see what you’re giving up when they are missing. Given the frequency of such signage, it must be an item of major coverage in their driving schools.
The model of the SeaCity Museum was familiar. Entry line (huge entry line if it’s the Picasso Museum or Uffizi Gallery), ticket desk, bored-looking person at entry control, exhibits, gift shop, and possibly a café. Sometimes, I start in the gift shop. It feels slightly subversive (“who does that?”). This is a fun move, although the largest thing I can fit in my luggage is a fridge magnet. I use this strategy to counter the “I’m too tired to look in there” feeling one can have after the exhibit halls. I concede that this is an “old guy” problem.
Besides the pencils and fridge magnets, the SeaCity Museum gift shop had some intriguing books. Not the “How the Titanic Sank” genre (lots of those), but rather books on how to be a good husband, a good wife, or a well-behaved soldier in Britain (the last courtesy of the U.S. Army). They were all from the 1940s and very British. One might think the advice would be stodgy and old-fashioned (“Don’t pick your teeth at the table,” which isn’t that old-fashioned). I didn’t see anything about cell phone use at restaurants (natch), but the good husband advice I skimmed was spot on and timeless (“Don’t comment on your wife’s figure,” “Be grateful for the meals she cooks and don’t criticize,” “Pick up after yourself.”). A gold mine.
Finding the parking area after checking in at the Angel and Blue Pig was another unexpected adventure. The directions were clear. “Make the first right past the coffee shop, right again, then it’s behind a red and white barrier.” They were also short enough that the final steps didn’t sound like “blah, blah, and watch out for …, blah.” I was grateful for that, but I still had problems.
I went down the “right again” street and saw no red and white gate. It was a one-way street so I kept going. On my second pass, I was thinking, “I just wasn’t looking carefully” so I inched down the narrow street behind shops and the pub. No joy. On the third loop, I parked in the Carrefour parking area. No more careful looking from the car while driving (or inching). I ignored the “pay and display” box (I felt like such a scofflaw), and walked around until I walked into the gate. I missed it the first two times because it was located so far down a driveway that the tiny red and white marks on the barrier weren’t visible without binoculars! I left those at home. It seemed like a good idea to gently mention the “you need a telescope to see the stripes” issue to the barkeeper at the pub. His response was pure resignation, “The town council won’t let us have a sign.” Sigh. In an alley? How would that detract from the “quaint English village” vibe? No wonder some people turn into Ugly Americans overseas. I was starting to feel ugly myself!
Parking trial by fire completed, I popped into a bakery and coffee shop. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but I like the idea of going into bakeries when I have the opportunity. Toast seemed like the smallest thing I could eat. The visit was an excellent opportunity for sociological data collection. It started with a sign, as these things often do. The sign on the wall behind the counter had a warning about no tolerance for rude and impolite people. Rude and impolite seemed redundant, but I didn’t write the sign. “Does the sign work?” I asked. It did not (shocker!). I asked the ladies behind the counter for examples of non-tolerated behavior, but they weren’t forthcoming. Was it rude to ask? Uh-oh. They informed me that there was a noticeable uptick in bad customer behavior after the COVID quarantines ended. “It’s like people forgot how to behave.” Maybe polite behavior is perishable, and the only thing that keeps some people civil in public is frequent practice.
Post data collection, sourdough toast and latte, I strolled down the main street in Lymington. It might have been a saunter; the difference is fuzzy for me. Entering a bookstore, I decided to browse the travel book section for inspiration. I was seeking ideas that might improve my travel writing (you wish!). There was a new book by Michael Palin on his travels in Venezuela (talk about adventure travel, not for me). I like his travel videos because they are strange and quirky. He met many nice people, all bearing up well under the adversity of living under difficult conditions in Venezuela.
What did I learn? Nothing. He has a video team and production manager like Rick Steves does (I like his videos too). Both have people to arrange conversations, tours, and suppers with interesting people. My conversations occur when I bump into women on the sidewalk! I don’t have a crew to find parking either.
The bookstore visit made me think about my own travel. The features of solo travel that stand out to me, not having a producer and video crew, are:
You have lots of freedom. There is no one to consult or keep happy. If you want to go through a museum backwards, you can!
There is no one that says, “I wouldn’t do that” just before you mess up.
No one asks, “Why are we doing this?” This is spousal code for, “This is stupid.” You might have a little voice inside asking similar questions. Sometimes you have to listen carefully to hear it, but you never have to answer. In fact, you shouldn’t.
There is no one to share reactions with. That’s why I write these posts, but they aren’t real time.