The comparative difficulty of getting from one place to another in a hurry reared its head this morning. Waking early from our post-wedding slumber, we hurriedly packed people and bags amid a steady, cold rain into the two cars we’d rented while in Exeter. Since we had trains going out at 10:22 and we didn’t know where the car rental dropoff in Bath was, we figured that the sooner we could get started, the better off we’d be. We hoped to ask for help with navigation at the Residential Services office when we dropped off the keys to our room, but no luck — it was unstaffed until noon. So we headed out for the train station, dodging pedestrian streets and compensating for surprising one-way routes, and dropped the bags and everybody but me, Kathy, and Lana there. Lana slipped around the corner and asked the Hertz rental people whether they knew where their competitor was. They were gracious enough to provide a map, which got us within about 6 blocks of where we were going; a helpful passerby got us the rest of the way there. We arrived only to find it closed — a frustrating discovery, since we’d been hoping for a ride back to the train station, now several miles away. We put the keys in a drop box, parking the cars nearby as we couldn’t seem to get through the fence into the Alamo lot proper, and started a slog through the rain. We were fortunately able to pick up a bus in about 15 minutes that took us the rest of the way back, by which point we had missed both trains our subgroups had been hoping to catch to Scotland and back to London. Fortunately, the trains do run fairly regularly, and we were able to catch one to Paddington station an hour later, then to wend our way through the Underground again (a much smoother process this go-round), and make it back to the house with a minimum of (further) fuss.

Once we’d had a chance to eat, change into dry clothes, and nap a bit, I took all the kids but Emily up to Highgate Wood, a nearby park our host had suggested. While the decision to walk the whole way turned out to be a bit ambitious, we eventually made it. (My salivary glands would have been active the whole way had I not just eaten, as we kept passing interesting restaurants, including Tandoori and African cuisines, as well as several of the ubiquitous English pubs.) The park had a playground that the kids enjoyed a great deal and a cafe where we all had drinks after we’d finished on the playground. The children were interested to discover that lemonade here is fizzy. I enjoyed a Chocolate Tea, which was quite nice indeed. There were also an extraordinary number of extremely large, extremely well-behaved dogs present, every one of which the children stopped to pet. Londoners are evidently not only very careful in the training of their animals, but also very happy to have others appreciate their pets. (The relationship between Roger and Pongo in the original 101 Dalmations comes to mind.) By this time it was getting late, so we hopped on a double-decker bus and headed home for the evening.

Today was the event that was the catalyst for this whole trip: Chris and Becky were successfully wed!

The day started out pretty calmly. Kathy, Dad McMains, Lana, Meara, and Mom McMains all buzzed into Bath to see the ancient Roman Baths (built about 30 years after Jesus’ crucifixion, by best estimates) and the Bath Abbey, while I hung back with several of the kids to allow them to catch up on sleep (and peculiar English cartoons) while I worked on my best man speech, to which I had theretofore devoted lamentably little time. After a fairly leisurely couple hours, I took the kids for a stroll from the dormitory at the University of Bath where we were staying around campus. They tormented ducks and picked flowers while I perused the tome Chris had given me the previous night as a token of gratitude for assuming Best Man duties: The Earth from the Air, an astonishing (and astonishingly heavy) photo book with several hundred pages of gorgeous images by Yann Arthus-Bertrand.

After a bit of fresh air, we all returned to the dormitory to rendezvous with the rest of our group. Dad and I thought we could manage to get back to the chapel with a minimum of fuss, but our ids temporarily overpowered our egos, and we found ourselves a third of the way back to the Pub we’d visited the previous night before we realized we were headed the wrong direction. Fortunately, we were only ten minutes late, and no harm was done. Chris and I quickly dressed for the event and assumed our position in the front row of the church. As is to be expected with any production that involves the family McMains, things got off to a late start — evidently this time because Mom’s shoes had been locked in someone’s car. But eventually things lurched into motion, and we were treated to one of the most enjoyable weddings I’ve had the pleasure to be a part of.

Chris and Becky had carefully reviewed both English and American wedding customs and chose their favorites from each — only appropriate, as they had two clergymen presiding, one from each side of the pond, both of whom were special friends of the couple. Hymns, reinforced with a powerful pipe organ, intermingled with prayers and scripture readings by friends and family members as well as some well-considered words from the pastors. All culminated in the kissing of the bride, followed by the signing of the registry. In England, this is evidently done as the last bit of the service proper, and is every bit as exciting as you’d expect watching four people take turns signing documents to be. To liven things up a bit, the organist began to get a bit feisty at this point, and started into several heavily ornamented Sinatra tunes.

Immediately after the service, we had a long photo session, which was interrupted by the arrival of a troupe of five sword dancers who cavorted merrily about the parking lot. After the photos were concluded, they laid hold of me and Chris (they asked him if he was game for it — I was summarily volunteered) and had us dance along with them. While they claimed we were doing a fertility dance, it seemed the sort of thing that, if not done carefully, could have exactly the opposite effect.

From there we proceeded to the reception. After a wonderful meal, the couple cut the cake, and the speeches began. Becky’s brother Bill did the first — an exhaustively researched litany of embarrassing facts and vignettes from Becky’s early life which had everybody in stitches. Mine was next, and in spite of my lack of props, it seemed well-received. Chris wrapped up the speeches with a lovely bit about “finding a person who is in love with the universe in the same way you are” which moistened more than one eye.

The capstone on the affair was the Barn Dance, which worked very similarly to Square Dancing in America. (If you’ve even seen a video version of a Jane Austin novel, you’ve probably got a good idea of what these look like.) While everyone was a bit clumsy at first, it soon became a great deal of fun as we became accustomed to the various moves and dances. The band was even thoughtful enough to play “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” which was greeted by a resounding “Yeee-haw!” from one corner of the room. Finally, Chris and Becky took their last dance and whirled their way out of the room, into a car, and off into the night to start their honeymoon. We then whirled our way back to the University and into an exhausted, but happy, slumber.

Update: Nat has posted a collection of photos from the blessed event here.

Note: I’m posting a bit out of order, as I haven’t written everything up yet I’dlike to. Bear with me as I fill in the gaps.

Today we drove from Exeter to Bath. Thanks to Kathy’s excellent organizational and herding efforts with the kids, we were actually the first to the rendezvous point. The drive was lovely, nearly to the point of overload — “Oh, look! Another picture-perfect English countryside panorama. Anybody have more chips?” I finally feel like I’m starting to get the hang of driving in this country; though we had two small scares today, both were due to other drivers not obeying the traffic laws.

Once we got to the area, we met at a place in Bradford-on-Avon called Wooley Grange — a sort of restaurant cum family hotel cum gardens. They had beautifully manicured grounds, a very pretty formal garden with a pond, a huge open field with a tennis net, football (soccer) goal, trampoline, and table tennis, a croquet green, a walled garden, a nursery for the younger children, and a playroom for the older ones. The kids enjoyed having room to run and play a great deal — nearly as much as the parents enjoyed them having that room. Here we began to see even more of the wedding crew arrive — friends from Texas, Utah, North Carolina, and Georgia. We enjoyed a wonderful rehearsal lunch, followed by a light grilling of the couple of honor, which Chris eventually cut short so that we could get over to the rehearsal.

The rehearsal went without incident, adjourning after an hour and a half or so to The George, a nearby pub in Bathampton. It was situated on another canalside site, and was doing a brisk trade not only with those arriving by car, but also with the people who had come in the dozen barges moored in the canal next to it. We arrived just as a flight of five hot air balloons (which Becky claimed that had ordered specially for the occasion) floated overhead. Even more of the wedding mob turned up here, so we had a wonderful party going after an hour or two, to the slight consternation and ample amusement of the regular patrons. (I had worn a string tie with my coat, which one of the local englishwomen dispatched Abigail to ask me about.)

Some mention needs to be made of Becky’s family at this point. They’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to make us feel welcome — arranging housing and food for us, planning activities with the children in mind, helping us find our way around, and even taking the kids off to do a bit of paddleboating while Kathy and I were tied up with flowers and tuxedos respectively. Furthermore, they’re all wonderful people, and I’ve very much enjoyed getting to talk with each of them individually. (Liam has taken a particular shine to Nat and Bob, whom he runs off to meet and wrestle with whenever they turn up.) It’s delightful to know that the family with which we’re joining forces through Chris & Becky is one that we’d have been thrilled to befriend under any other circumstances as well.

We rose fairly early this morning to get a good start on our trip to Dartmoor, a wonderful 365 square mile national park near Exeter. As we drove into the moor, we were struck with the beauty of the place — the hedgerows gave way to stone fences, sheep littered the verdant fields (and the roads, at times), piles of granite called “tors,” placed thousands of years ago, loomed at the top of hills. I nearly drove us into ditches and livestock more than once as I tried to guide the car while drinking in as much of the scenery as possible.

I was again reminded of some of the fundamental differences in driving in Europe. Aside from the obvious issue of being on the left side of the road, getting from one place to another is by necessity a more cooperative venture than in the States. Many of the roads that accomodate two-way traffic were actually so narrow that the roadside bushes were scraping both sides of the car at once as we passed, and wouldn’t have been able to accomodate the SUVs and large pickup trucks popular in Texas at all. When we met oncoming traffic, one or the other of the drivers would have to pull into one of the semi-frequent, but very small, broadenings in the roadway and allow the other to pass. Most amusing was when a series of cars from each direction would meet, creating an impromptu Tower of Hanoi style puzzle as we all worked together to figure out how to move the two convoys past each other.

Our first stop in Dartmoor was Postbridge, a nifty little village situated along the East Dart River. We jumped out and ran around the banks of the river for a while, enjoying the natural scenery and the stone bridges that spanned the river at this point. The bridge known as the “Clapper Bridge” is made up of huge stone slabs propped up with piles of rock, and is thought to date back to the 13th century. (Once again, we’re startled by the richness of history of this place, since there are so few artifacts in America more than a few hundred years old.) I was delighted to see a few of the ubiquitous touring retirees nearby with easels and paints, diligently working on landscapes.

After we’d had our fill of Postbridge, we leaped back into our motley collection of vehicles and started off for Widcombe in the Moor. Along the way, we were startled to see that one of the sheep we passed was a startling shade of blue, rather than the more traditional off-white. Driving on a bit farther, we saw a few more blue sheep, and then an orange one, and some green ones. We initially thought this was somebody’s Dr. Suess-inspired practical joke, but eventually decided that coloring sheep served the same purpose as branding cattle — identifying the owner, and helping to keep one’s herd separate from others’ animals. Personally, I think cattle ranchers should adopt this practice too. It’s obviously more humane than branding, and it would bring joy to my life to crest a hill in Texas and see a field of bright blue cows.

Widcombe on the Moor was another lovely town. Larger than Postbridge, it had a beautiful green next to the “Cathedral of the Moor,” the local church with dual claims to fame: it’s one of the prettiest churches for many miles around, and it was struck by lightning during a church service in October 1638. One of the witnesses of the event wrote a poem about the event, now posted on huge panels at the church’s entrance.

We enjoyed a lunch on the green and then spent some time wandering about the town, searching for the wild ponies that purportedly were allowed to wander through the streets. (We didn’t see any, though a few of us did have our first experiences with stinging nettle instead.) We also enjoyed a few more culinary curiosities: Prawn Cocktail Potato Chips, which were suprisingly good, and ice cream with clotted cream on top — also a hit with those who partook.

P.S. Just in case it wan’t abundantly clear, since we weren’t in London at the time, we were unaffected by the latest round of bomb attacks.

I’m frightfully tired this evening, so this update may be even a bit less lucid than usual. (Fair warning!)

Today’s adventures started at 7:40am, when Chris came by to get me so that we could go pick up rental cars. Five things made the driving throughout the day particularly interesting for me:

1. I haven’t been driving with any regularity since starting work at the University
2. I haven’t driven a car with a manual transmission for several years now
3. Traffic Circles (or roundabouts, as they’re called here) give me the heebies. They’re abundant in England.
4. I’ve never driven on the left side of the road
5. By American standards, both cars and lanes are extraordinarily narrow, which provides a pretty constant harrowing “just missed” feel whenever driving anywhere.

We did, however, make it back from the rental place without incident, other than a few scraped sidewalls on the tires as I misjudged the distance to the curb. After picking up the rest of the family, we proceeded on to Topsham, where we caught an excursion boat out to Exmouth. Once again, the guide exhibited a good deal of wit in his presentation as he explained the history of the area, discussed specific castles and other structures we passed, and generally made the trip a delight.

At Exmouth, we went down to the beach, gobbled up the delicious sandwiches Becky’s mum Betty had provided for our lunch, and played along the water’s edge for a good while. The water was too cold for much serious bathing, but the kids enjoyed playing among the dunes and making sand castles. We were very impressed with the number and variety of shells that had washed up on the shore — far more and nicer specimens than we generally find on the gulf coast. (Pictures constructed from the shells were a common sight along the water’s edge.) As the afternoon wore on, the wind picked up dramatically. Chris and I played a game where we’d toss his hat straight up into the air, wait for the wind to take it, and then see if the person 75 feet down the beach could catch it before it landed. The kids were finally getting sandblasted enough with the dry sand and wind that we decided to retire from the lovely coast setting, take a train back to Topsham, and retire to a nearby pub.

While the process of getting to The Double Locks Pub was a ridiculous and frustrating comedy of errors, we all eventually arrived and enjoyed a few pints and some dinner. Dad ordered The Ploughman’s Lunch, a standard working man’s meal, which included chutney, salad, various cheeses, some meats, and a pickled onion, and which I’d been keen to try. The pub itself was beautiful, situated on a canal, with only a very small road with a harrowing bridge providing automotive access, but with easy availability to pedestrians, bikes, and boats. (It even catered to swans and dogs!) We enjoyed our time there a great deal, and hope to get back again before our time in Exeter is done.

Note: you can see all of our posted England photos so far right here.

Today is the day that travel ate. After yesterday’s hard-charging schedule, we took a while to wake up, cook up some quesadillas with the tortillas we’d been surprised to find in the cabinet, and loiter around the house for a bit. While Kathy, Lana, and Meara went to get some genuine English fish & chips for lunch, we were delighted to find the Delta baggage delivery man at our door — the last of the luggage had finally arrived!

And none to soon, either. As soon as we finished scarfing down the fish & chips , we made a hasty exit, leaving the house about 1:00 to try wrangle our luggage through the Underground in time to meet a 2:05 train for Exeter. This, in retrospect, was a singularly silly thing to do. It would have been difficult enough if the only obstacle had been manhandling the bags on and off the trains, but we also managed to get pretty confused by the various connections, and ended up transferring from one train to another about 5 times. We finally arrived at Paddington Station at about 2:30, missing both the train we’d been shooting for and the one after it. Fortunately, there was a 3:05, which while it wouldn’t get us to Exeter in time to pick up our rental cars, was at least an express, which meant the trip would take only two hours, instead of the 3.5 the locals require.

So we voyaged through the verdure of the English countryside, my enchantment with the views out the window alternating with attempts to contain the rambunctious junior set. For someone used to the sere beauty of the Texas Hill Country, England is a revelation. The canals that used to be a vital part of the nation’s transportation infrastructure now create a wonderful venue for a boater’s holiday. (We saw many lovely canal boats with which I was quite taken.) The hedgerows, often cultivated over hundreds of years, seem a singularly civilized alternative to barbed wire. We caught glimpses of the famous Wiltshire White Horses, which were until today completely unknown to all of us. It’s quite surprising to suddenly catch a glimpse of one of these huge chalk horses on the side of a mountain. The farmhouses and towns are every bit as lovely and charming as one’s mental image.

We finally made it to Exeter and were warmly greeted by Chris, Becky’s mom Betty, and her Uncle Frank. Betty had been kind enough to arrange a place for us to stay and provided our first taste of the pasty, an English staple which most of us quite enjoyed. We then took a walk around the block, spotting another of the ubiquitous lovely churches not a block from the house and stumbling across Abbey Road. (While not the actual famous one, the kids had been excited about seeing Abbey Road in England, so we decided to take photos here, since we were far less likely to be run over in the suburbs of Exeter than in the heart of London.) We visited with Chris for a while longer, discussed plans for the remainder of the week, and finally said goodnight.

Today, we were tourists. We rode the Underground to the Tower of London which, in spite of its name, is really more like a small city itself — an impression reinforced by the fact that it closes up its walls completely at night, cutting itself off from the rest of London. (There’s even a physician on staff in case any of the overnighters is taken ill.) It’s a spectacular place, having grown in various stages over the better part of a thousand years — a startling thing for those of us who have grown up in a country that is itself barely a fifth that span in age.

We enjoyed lunch at Southern Fried Chicken near the Tower, which aside from the inexplicably small beverages and the vague sense of guilt caused by having travelled a fourth of the way around the world to eat fried chicken, was pretty palatable. After getting chased out of the Tower at closing time, we proceeded to ride the top deck of the #15 bus — a worthy adventure, though not the one we had intended, since we chose the bus going the wrong direction and ended up at the end of the line before we quite knew what was going on. We then rode the Underground back to the house, and enjoyed grilled cheese, cereal, and other assorted comestibles for dinner. Notable among these was ginger beer, which has a much stronger ginger taste than does American ginger ale. It reminds me of ginger Altoids; I like it very much. The bets surprise during dinner came when two of our three renegade bags came home to roost, courtesy of the man from the airport.

A few observations about London so far: it’s very entertaining just people-watching here. Since the culture is several steps removed from that of the US, it’s amusing to try to figure out who seems eccentric simply because one isn’t used to the way things are done here, and who actually is eccentric. While the young man who looks like an escapee from a failed 70’s band with a severe soap allergy probably falls into the former category, I’m pretty sure the man on the subway who kept trying to drink from his water bottle through his cheek, rather than the more common mouth-based method, landed squarely in the latter.

London is also, at least to this Texan, surprisingly vertical. The buildings nearly all seem to go up at least three stories, layering apartments above the street level stores to make the most of the meagre square footage the building has been able to eke out. Towering above those are a startling mixture of classical and modern buildings, ranging from delightfully rococo to smooth shimmery glass eggs that dwarf everything around them. Then the Underground extends many stories below ground, and there are innumerable pedestrian underpasses to make traversing busy streets more manageable. Even a passing dump truck seemed like it was compressed, like a movie shown with the wrong aspect ratio, to accommodate the narrow lanes. Speaking of vehicles, it’s an interesting change of pace to be constantly dealing with traffic, but to see no pickup trucks or SUV’s.

Tomorrow we take to the rails again and ride to Exeter to meet up with some of the extended family and start the official pre-wedding merry-making. Hopefully our remaining vagaband suitcase will follow the example of Abigail’s passport and show up in the nick of time.

I’ll replace this with a more complete update once I work out some technical issues. Here, however, is the short version:

Today we were tourists, saw the Tower of London, rode the Double Decker Bus and the Underground, and generally wore ourselves out. Two of our three bags have now arrived, so I’ve just had my first shower in days. Aaaahhh…

Hello all! We’ve made it to London safely, met up with with Mom McMains, and are waiting for the rest of the extended family to show up! London’s overwhelming…more to come once we’re settled a bit more.

Today we traveled from San Antonio to London by way of Atlanta. This was the first time several of the kids had been on a plane, so the fear and nerves quickly gave way to novel excitement, which kept the young ones entertained for the first leg of our flight. The trip to Atlanta took about two hours, the trip from their to London about eight. Unfortunately, none of us did a particularly good job sleeping on the plane, the effects of which we felt rather strongly the next day.

We arrived about 6:00am GMT, loitered around the terminal for a few minutes until Mom McMains arrived, and then made our way through customs, etc. (The big bit of drama at this point was that of our three checked bags, exactly none of them had made it to the airport.) We loaded into the Gatwick Express — our first genuine English rail trip! The kids weren’t as immediately impressed with the mode of travel as I’d hoped, but enjoyed peering out the window, seeing some farmland, factories, other trains, and lots of row houses. We took a few short naps, went to a nearby park, the notable feature of which was one of the longest slides I’ve ever laid eyes on, met up with Dad McMains, Lana, and Meara a few hours later, rummaged through the stuff that Gordon had kindly left us in the fridge, and rustled up some dinner.

By the end of our meal, I was fading quickly due to the fact that I hadn’t napped earlier nor slept on the plane, and ended up drifting off in my chair a few times, much to the amusement of the assembled audience. I later moved to the couch in front of Monty Python’s Meaning of Life, nearly all of which I missed, to continue my snooze.