July 25, Henley

 Now that I have seen more of the town, I am not sure that the preppy designator is warranted, except maybe at the wharf:

where the dark, grey-blue-boats-for-rent are all lined up. Not that it has to do with anything, but it is not very nice that the ducks, waiting very patiently, are not being given a boat to take out, however, just around the corner, they are treated with greater consideration, as are their four-footed distant relatives....very distant:

I went on a mostly very nice circular walk through the Chiltern Hills:

though I got lost in a forest...very disconcerting....but obviously I got found, and I had to crawl under a barbed wire fence.  First I slid my backpack through, then I lay down and slid underneath the wire getting stung by nettles for my trouble.  Granted this exercise would not qualify me for Sayeret Matkal, but I was pretty proud of myself.  

A highlight of the day was being able to photograph a rabbit.  The reason for this success was that boor bunny was scared stiff:

Then it was utterly paralyzed with fear:

I could say he was posing just for me, but he was not!  After a few seconds, he got up the courage to run off!

Back in Henley, I mozied on over to the Rowing Museum.  Let's say it did not float my boat.  But the town is VERY PROUD of Steve Redgrave and Matthew Pinsert for winning gold at the 2000 Olympics.

Victory at Sydney 2000 gave Steve Redgrave his fifth consecutive Olympic gold medal, and Matthew Pinsent his third. The two oarsmen rowed together from 1990 to 2000.

To celebrate their unique achievement, the River & Rowing Museum commissioned the sculptor Sean Henry to create a major work of art. Henry set out to honour both the achievement of winning medals and the years of dedication and training undertaken by these sporting heroes.

Dressed in clothes they might wear en route to a training session, the oarsmen are portrayed in classical pose. They are partly inspired by two 2500-year-old Etruscan bronze figures known as the 'Riace figures', who are believed to have been Olympic athletes.

The two 2.25m cast bronze and painted sculptures carry large bronze oars and stand in poses chosen by the artist and the rowers themselves - contemplating the river prior to rowing.

Sean Henry says

'I was struck by the thousands of hours both men have spent training on this stretch of the Thames over the years, when compared to the few hours of competition. It made sense to me to portray them here, on the edge of action - about to go rowing - both as individuals and as a team'.

They do start rowing young here:

Back at the Museum, there was an exhibit of artwork in various mediums done by people who had suffered brain injuries.  According to the artist, this piece represents life and growth after a brain injury:

Less intense for sure was this ginormous inflated slide in the park nearby.  Is the reason no one is using it is because it costs about $2.00 per run?  Oh No!  I got that wrong!  Bruce S., eagle-eyed editor  that he is—and I am visually untrustworthy—pointed out that it is £1.50 for 6 trips down the slide, a bargain for sure.  So why no takers?  Maybe the other attractions, like the merry-go-round, and the loud music to dance to, were more attractive!

July 24, Pangbourne to Henley

 I was anxious about today's walk because it was supposedly 16 miles, which means 18 (I walked over 20) and heavy rain was predicted.  What does worry do? It keeps you from sleeping is what it does just what you don't need as a primer.  Out the door at 5:20 and for the first two hours it did not rain; I was feeling lucky under a very grey sky.  But, at 6:40, my phone rang.  It was the taxi driver to whom I had given d e t a i l e d instructions, which he claimed to have read and approved, and who, being a friend of the owner, was, apparently, familiar with the property, asking if I was still there.  When I told him that no, I was not there—he already knew I would not be— he seemed mildly miffed.  It all went well, though, and my suitcase was waiting for me at Henley even though he had taken Rojita and her sidekick, the red backpack, to Heathrow for a spell.  (Probably had another booking.) The tracker is great!

Hanging out in the rain:

This one was a real honker:

Also hanging out in the rain:

Biding their time in the rain:

But Big Mary here is coming through!

I don't think trees can get arthritis, but if they can, this one has a terrible case:

I arrived in Henley at about 2:15, after almost nine hours or walking.  Part of that was my fault:  I missed a bridge crossing and was walking on the wrong side of the river for about a mile before my favorite adage, "If it doesn't make sense, it is probably wrong" kicked in.  How do you know you are on the wrong side of the river other than by looking at your app...which had gone silent, by the way, so no help there? Because the grass is long and thick, overgrown big time, which was not characteristic of the walking heretofore. Then when I gave the app a nudge and got it going again, my hunch was confirmed.  Two extra miles.  Could I not just have crossed over farther down?  No, desafortunadamente.

Then there was a bridge that was out.  That always requires a detour, but that added only about 1/2 a mile  Henley is just as one would expect, preppy to the max!  This has to be the birthplace of prep!  The hotel is lovely....very old building; the beams and such have been preserved, but painted over:

—looks great that way— and there are elegant touches such as warm, wool carpeting:

 and handsome decor:  a desk chair with an upholstered velvet seat, e.g.  My room is small, the descriptor was "snug," but it was expensive so I did not feel justified springing for anything more grand.  Fortunately it is 55 degrees or else one could suffocate in here.  No fan, no mini frig, but close to two grocery stores.  There are always +s and -s

Walked over 20 miles today, but was not especially tired at the end.

July 23, Pangbourne

 Yesterday, when I got to the Air B&B, I had a list of codes to deal with.  One for this gate, one for the other gate, one for the lockbox to get the key to the unit.  It was a bit befuddling. (This is one major downside of Air B&Bs.) I see a large gate for cars and beside it a people-sized gate.  I tap in the code at the people gate, hear a click, but nothing happens.  Try again.  Code, click, nothing.   I try to tap the code for the big gate but the surface is so worn, I cannot distinguish all the digits. I am standing there like a complete ninny, not knowing what to do. By and by, a woman drives up to the big gate from within the complex, the gate swings open, she drives out.  Taking advantage of that opening (ha), I dash in and head for "The Studio, immediately to the right." Figure out the lock box—they are not all the same—get inside, see the key fob with the remote for the big gate and decide to keep it on my person at all times.  But the fact that the pedestrian gate did not "open on command" really bothered me. 

 This morning, after I left to start my walk in the hills, I had to return because I had forgotten my waist pack within which was a nectarine that had been incubating in my suitcase for about a week; I was all excited to see if it had developed some flavour.  You do not want to be some eight miles into your walk, crave that piece of fruit and not have it, do you?  Even though I had the remote, I decided to try the pedestrian gate again: code, click, but this time I gave it a big push.  And guess what?  It opened!  Then, when I was leaving, I noticed a big green button on the wall.  "Oh, that must be the device that opens the gate from the inside."  But it did nothing.  I stuck my skinny arm through the metal slats of the gate, punched in the code, heard a click, and pulled.  Exivi.

The circular walk today, though the Chiltern Hills was lovely, even though punctuated by spells of rain.

There was...

that had a little gate (not like MY little gate!)

But it was not a little house:

Speaking of houses, I mistakenly turned into someone's gorgeous property, and would you believe there was an elephant roaming the grounds?

Path:

Flowers along a path:

When you are in woods with paths going hither and thither and yon, a little direction is such a comfort:

Except when it isn't:

On the way down from the hills to the Thames:

Hat-eating thorn bush, very common and aggressive species in these parts:

Preening time for the whole family:

Best GPS instruction of the day, "Sharp left at Blackbird's Bottom."

Did not eat nectarine until about 4:00 p.m.; it had matured to perfection, and was delicious!

July 22, Abingdon to Pangbourne

 No trouble looking for the start of the path today.  Yes, I know it is a river but you'd be surprised that it can be complicated around bridges and locks.  But "The Boathouse" where I was staying, was right on The River, so out the front door, turn left and you are on your way.  If you turned right, you would also be on your way, but I had already done that way.

Not much to say about this stretch: pretty, not long, but it is distinguished by having a short hill.  This is not the hill:

Not going in:

Going in:

Not a day goes by without a body being warned of danger:

Upscale neighbourhood:

I am going to guess that the Audi Sport is parked in back.

On the way into Pangbourne, an honest-to-goodness toll booth:

But nowadays pedestrians do not have to pay the 1/2 penny!  We go for free.

It is about time:

It was worth almost getting hit by a car to take this picture in the rain and all.

Arrived in Pangbourne at 10:45, way too early to call it a day, so I set off for the Nature Park, about two miles away, but most of the walk was on an awful road....cars whizzzzzing by one after the other. 

Since it was raining, or maybe because it is their custom anyway, few animals were to be seen.  The ones that were, were, for the most part, not real.  Can you spot the one(s) that is/are actually alive?

If you guessed these, you were wrong:

The grounds were gorgeous:

On my way back to Pangbourne, I saw a clump of onions on a chair with a sign reading: Surplus veg Please help yourself:

so I did!  After a wash and a chop, they were a fine addition to my egg and potato concoction.  I am staying in an Air B&B, a really nice one, by the way.  Alex and Alex, this one does deserve to claim the designation "luxury," even though it does not have paper towels or a microwave.  

There is a small Main Street with the oddest collection of shops.  Tomorrow, I must go into this one to see the chocolate and shampoo:

Uh oh, tomorrow is Sunday everything except the Co-Op, and the Londis will be closed.

July21, Wallingford

This was a circular walk day, supposedly 10.5 miles, and granted I did a few tributary paths, but did not think I would log over 18 miles.  I walked bits of the Ridgweay, the Chiltern Way, Swans Way(!), and a few other Ways.  For a change it was not all flat.

One long stretch was in the woods, sort of:

But these woods are maybe fifteen feet wide with huge, cultivated fields on either side.  It was the strangest thing.

All dressed up and no place to go:

Fields of flowers:

Not exactly a field of flowers.  It is a crop of some sort:

It didn't rain:

today.

The last portion of the walk was on asphalt (the worst) and you will never guess where I was!

Since this is a slow news day, there is time and space to talk about money and how it works here.  Some places won't take cash; some places will only take cash (the minority), and some, like grocery stores, will take either, if you are lucky.  I discovered that no one likes £50 and I have quite a few, so I went into a bank in Oxford, not exactly a backwater town, to exchange some notes for smaller denominations.  "Are they paper?"  "Yes."  "Paper is no longer legal tender."  I show the guy the £50s.  "These are OK.  They are plastic. Do you have an account with us?  "No."  "We can only change bills for account holders.  Try the Post Office."  I leave and go to another bank.  Same story, only this guy takes longer at the computer to then say NO.  By chance, I pass a Post Office.  I go in.  It is mobbed.  They do a zillion things there.  You take a number and, like at the DMV, hope it will be called before the turn of the century.  But, aha, I see a woman who seems to be answering someone's query.  When she is finished, I make a bee line over to her, tell her my story, she is sympathetic, explains that the problem with £50s is that there was a counterfeiting scheme a while back that focused on 50s, which is why no one wants to take them.  She tells me that the Post Office can't really exchange bills, but she does it on the Q.T.  I now have ten 20s. in lieu of four 50s.  It is a start.