Belfast/December 23

So, I flew into Belfast the day before Christmas Eve (when I was to travel to my host family).  I've never been to Northern Ireland (for you lawyers, hereinafter referred to as "NI"), and I was excited to see the land of pots of gold, rainbows, and decades (if not centuries) of civil war. My first reaction when getting off the plane was how tiny the George Best City Airport is.  Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Int'l Airport is the busiest in the world, so actually taking the stairs off of the plane at one of the 4 gates was quite amusing to me.  By the way, George Best (the greatest soccer player ever to play the game - so I'm told) is from the same area of Belfast where the airport is, hence the name. 

Here's the view from my room at the Europa, which was Belfast's only hotel during the Troubles (more on this later).  It used to hold the title of "World's Most Bombed Hotel".  Luckily, it has not even been in the Top Ten for at least five years.  My dad would have loved this (his advice to me before going: "Don't tell anyone you're a Protestant." Similar to his advice about living among the Islamic population in the UK: "Don't tell anyone you're an American.")  Despite the title, I found it to be gorgeous and have delicious food (I ate dinner and breakfast there) and the hotel staff were lovely.  

This is the Crown Bar, a Victorian "saloon" from 1849 that had delicious food and a nice pint of Guinness.  I had the beef and Guinness pie for lunch.  Also, the lamps in the lower pub are still gas-lit.  And there's a funny sign that says if you're wearing a football jersey, you'll be kicked out (apparently Irish nationalism isn't the only thing people in Belfast are militant about).

I took the freezing open-top bus tour of Belfast, which is actually a beautiful city, surrounded by mountains on two sides, the River Lagan and the Belfast Lough (pronounced Lock, a lake/harbor).  

Okay, on to the really political/educational part (that's interesting and informative!).  All of my American readers are somewhat informed about the city of Belfast in that we remember or have heard about the IRA/Sinn Fein/bombings that occur there.  What you don't really see is what was really going on (according to our witty and very educated tour guide, Aidan).  I have always thought that the fighting that went on in NI was about religion (Protestants v. Roman Catholics) because that's how it was presented on American news.  According to Aidan, the Troubles were really a result of tension between royalist/unionists (those in favor of being ruled by the Queen/Britain) and Irish nationalists (those in favor of NI/Ulster being self-governed).  There's a lot more to it than that, and I think Wikipedia is quite knowledgeable about the Troubles, so check it out if you want more info.  

The picture just above the previous paragraph was taken while I was on the bus tour.  There are two main roads on the west side of Belfast where most of the problems took place.  One road is the Shankill Road and the other is Falls Road.  Shankill is Protestant/Ulster royalist and was seriously bombed several times.  Falls Road is Roman Catholic/republican and had its own share of casualties.  To help separate the two from sectarian violence, there is a Peace Wall (which is a fence in most places).  The green fence in the picture shows how the Peace Wall splits the street in half in some places between the two neighborhoods.  These have been in place since the 1970's and the gates between them are still closed between 10 pm and 6 am.  Due to this, the two communities have formed completely separately, which I think doesn't really create peace, it just continues to separate the two areas.  There have recently been talks to take the walls down, but it apparently creates a lot of tourism (which makes sense-I took the tour to see it, didn't I?).  

Regarding the picture above, you can also see the mountains in the background.  If you look on the side, you can almost make out the shape of a man lying down on the side of the mountains.  It was much more visible in other places, but I couldn't get a good photo.  Anyway,  that man lying on the side of the mountain was the inspiration for a certain Brobdingnagian in a little book called Gulliver's Travels by Mr. Swift.

Also very particular to Belfast are all of the murals painted on just about every blank surface in West Belfast.  Some of the murals are about WWI or the Queen or the paramilitary groups involved in the Troubles.  The link shows more pictures of the murals because I couldn't fit all the photos I took here.  There is a push to try to have more positive and less militaristic murals put up in place of the more violent ones, but again, the tourism generated by them may outweigh the peace process in the end.  The picture above shows the love and admiration that the Northern Irish people have of our president as well (there are several of these).

Headquarters of Sinn Fein (which means "we ourselves").  Headed by Gerry Adams, the political party is left wing and Irish republican.  Thank you, high school Quiz Bowl (that's what I remember that information from).

Because George Best (who's the best football player ever) played for Manchester United, there are several pubs with very dedicated ManU fans.  This is one of the most popular, in West Belfast.  There's a saying in NI: "Maradona good, Pele better, George Best."  Which, I assume, is ranking famous footballers.  

Like London and several other cities in the UK and Europe, Belfast has a Big Wheel, which I didn't ride but is a major tourist attraction.  This photo is of Belfast City Hall and the Big Wheel.  The red letters on the front of City Hall say "B(elfast) Festive" because they have lots of Christmas things going on.

This is the Prince Albert clock, a memorial to Queen Victoria's late husband.  Because Belfast is built onto what is essentially a riverbed, the Clock is sort of like a leaning Tower of Pisa and the foundation is supposedly sinking into the River Lagan.

This rundown building is the former headquarters of Harland and Wolff Shipbuilders, the famous manufacturers of the White Star Line (and numerous HMS vessels as well).  It is the world's largest dry dock, and the Titanic was famously built there.

The most famous part of the Belfast skyline is not a building but two giant (and I mean enormous - there's a restaurant in the little red thing on top) yellow cranes (H&W for Harland and Wolff) which were used to build ships.  Now they are used for other purposes.  The two cranes are affectionately known as Samson and Goliath.  To me, this did not bode well for the Titanic, as the two cranes used to build it were named after strong dudes who met a bad end.

This is Stormont, the home of the NI Parliament.  It's on very lovely grounds with parks.  They weren't in session (Aidan joked that they were on their "Christmas break" from October to March).  The NI Legislative Assembly was created under the Belfast Agreement, and the Executive Committee there is a shared cabinet, meaning that both parties are effectively ruling together in a consociational government.  Also, Evelyn got a NI Assembly cookbook from her daughter-in-law that made everyone laugh since it contains recipes from all of the MLA's.  It would be the equivalent of the Georgia State Senate putting out a cookbook (which they probably do, come to think of it).

Anyway, Christmas and Boxing Day in Moira will be in the next post.

"Crisps"-mass

I went to get another curry and bottle of cough medicine to hopefully unblock my stuffy nose, when I spotted this gem of marketing/commercial festivity:

That's right.  Turkey and stuffing flavored crisps.  Do they taste like turkey and stuffing?  To quote my dear friend Heather: "Hells to the yeah!"

Good things come in small packages.

I have bronchitis (which is weird, considering my mum and Granny just had it and they are 10,000 miles away).  I feel like crap, and the doctors here (no offense to the good ones that I haven't obviously met) are not really in the business of preventative care.  They want you to get really sick, THEN they'll treat you.  

In America, we pay to go to the doctor, some people exorbitant amounts, but the doctor usually feels as though they should provide some sort of service for that money.  In the UK, you don't pay to go to the doctor, so they really have no incentive to do anything for you.  They get paid to see patients, not help them.  "First do no harm" does not apply here.  My coursemate Vicky said that she couldn't get treatment for a chest infection (of course they wouldn't give her one of those evil, overused antibiotics), and she developed pleurisy (a very painful infection of the lining surrounding the lungs that many famous people have died from)!

Anyway, I was feeling particularly poorly, and after I dragged myself back to the dorm after my first seminar, I checked my mail.  In it was the Christmas present/package from my dad.  I wasn't planning on opening it until later, but it was heavy, and I don't think it would fit in my suitcase to Ireland. It contained exactly what I needed to feel better/home.

The Braves, grits, Sour Patch Kids, Entertainment Weekly.  Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

Christmas on crack (or brandy butter)

I've been super busy, and although I've been meaning to for weeks, the update has been a long time coming.  

Just for a bit of editorial opinion, the Brits are crazy about Christmas.  Not necessarily the holiday itself, just the season in general.  Every, and I mean every, restaurant has some sort of Christmas dinner, and you cannot go to church or class or anywhere without there being mince pies for consumption.  I don't know how they don't gain a stone* in the month of December (actually, they probably do).  The "Christmas dinner" is very popular here and every group you're in has to have one.  For example, the International 16 and the Int'l Society have had one, and I made a Christmas pudding for our Student Bible Study Christmas dinner.

Actually, Josh and I made the pudding.  I'd never had Christmas pudding, so I wasn't sure what to expect, but I think if you're going to cook, you might as well go all out, so we did.  For the US folks, a Christmas pudding is sort of a fruit cake (not a fruitcake, just sort of an improvised sponge cake packed with fruit).  Generally, you're supposed to make your pudding a month before Christmas and just let it sit in a cool dark place until you eat it, but we made it the day before and everyone at our Christmas dinner raved about it.

The original recipe and what we ended up actually making were quite different, so I'm posting the recipe we ended up with and pictures of the process.  Also, I am putting the American and British measurements on here.  Something else I learned: a British measuring cup is different.  A cup is 10 oz where a US cup is 8.  This may have been why my biscuits (scones) have turned out dry lately.  Anyway, the recipe:

Ingredients:

1/2 cup (110 g) shredded suet* (we used vegetable suet)

1/4 cup (50 g) self-raising flour, sifted

1/2 cup (110 g) white breadcrumbs

1 tsp. ground mixed spice (in the US I think you can just use pumpkin pie spice, same mixture)

1/4 tsp. grated or ground nutmeg

pinch of ground cinnamon

1 cup (225 g) dark brown sugar

1/2 cup/4 oz (110 g) sultanas (yellow raisins)

1/2 cup/4 oz (110 g) raisins

1 and 1/4 cup/10 oz (275 g) dried currants

1/8 cup (25 g) ground mixed nuts

1 small cooking apple, peeled, cored and finely chopped

zest of one orange

zest of one lemon

1 bottle (200 mL) stout (we used Guinness)

2 large eggs

1 grated carrot (Josh's Granny's secret ingredient)

In a mixing bowl, thoroughly mix the suet, sifted flour, breadcrumbs, spices and brown sugar.  Gradually mix in the dried fruits and nuts, then the apple, carrot and orange/lemon zests.  In a smaller bowl, pour the stout in, then add the eggs and beat together thoroughly (the beer will probably foam up, but it doesn't really matter).  Pour the egg/stout mixture into the dry ingredients and mix well with a wooden spoon.  It should be stirred very thoroughly and let all involved have a turn.  The consistency should be very wet/sloppy - it should fall instantly from the spoon when tapped on the side of the bowl.  If it doesn't, add a little more stout (or, alternately, the recipe calls for 2 oz of rum, but we didn't have that).  Cover the bowl and leave for half an hour (or overnight if you have plenty of time).

Pour the mixture into a lightly greased pudding basin (this is essentially a glass mixing bowl, 2 pint sized, that can withstand a lot of heat.  You could probably use a Pyrex mixing bowl in the US, but it needs to be sort of deep because the mixture expands as you cook it.).  Then, you cover the bowl with Saran wrap (the recipe said parchment, foil and string, but we were kind of lazy and didn't have that stuff).  Place the pudding in a steamer set over a saucepan of simmering water.  I don't think this part is feasible for the US people, but basically, we put boiling water into a wide, shallow slow cooker with a lid and let it steam for 6-8 hours until it's puffed up (you'll know it) and you can smell the deliciousness.  You'll have to keep adding boiling water every couple of hours as the steam evaporates.  We also replaced the Saran wrap once because it seemed to be getting kind of tacky and we didn't want it to melt.

Josh is showing off the cooking process. Note: there is a lid that goes on the slow cooker.

The lovely finished product.  It's not very pretty, really, but it tastes awesome.

Leave out overnight or until you're ready to serve it (don't refrigerate).  To heat, either steam it in the slow cooker until warm if you have time (an hour or two?) or do like we did and just microwave on half power for a while.  Be careful if microwaving because the dried fruit can get molten and sometimes pop.  Run a knife around the bowl and turn over onto a plate (something with sides is advantageous with the next part).  If, like ours, it sticks to the bottom, just rearrange it or put something on top to make it pretty, like holly.

Heat a ladle-full of brandy over the hob* and when it's hot (don't let it get too hot, or it'll explode and set you and your house on fire), set it (carefully) alight and pour slowly over the top and sides of the pudding and watch it flame to the cheers of the assembled company.  I enjoyed this part, since I'm kind of a pyro anyway.  You can't tell from the picture, but there's a lovely blue flame over the top.

Serve with brandy butter (the bestest part!!! - it's almost like cream cheese frosting): equal parts butter and powdered icing sugar (1/2 cup - 1 stick was enough for us) and however much brandy you want (Josh used just a couple of spoonfuls, but you could probably liquor it up good if you wanted).  Blend or smoosh together with a spoon and serve with the pudding.  It helps to have Christmas crackers and party poppers about (see Andrew below in the fun crown and our vicar's wife, Rachel doing the honors).

*stone - British weight measurement (14 American pounds)

  suet - vegetable or beef fat that's solid (like lard, I guess)

  hob - the cooktop on a stove or "range"

That's all for now.  I'll be in Northern Ireland for Christmas and in Dorset (southwest England) with Josh for New Year's, so expect exciting posts after my essays are finished.

To close, an English carol I find particularly poignant being in Manchester:

In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone.

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow

In the bleak mid-winter, long, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.

In the bleak mid-winter, a stable place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,

Breastful of milk and a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him whom angels fall before,

The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim thronged in the air;

But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,

Worshipped the beloved with a mother's kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

Yet what can I give Him: give Him my heart.

Merry Christmas!

Snow, yay! I mean, ugh!

I loved the snow Monday night when it fell beautifully while I was at Revolver.  When I came out with Stephen and Martin about 3:30, it was snowing sort of hard.  There was enough snow on top of Martin's car to make several snowballs and throw at folks.  After getting home, I took these pics from my window (I had to lighten them a bit).

It wasn't much, but it was enough to make singing "White Christmas" worth it.

However, yesterday, not as much fun.  It was literally below zero.  (Celsius, but still, that's cold.)  Anyway, you see the beautiful courtyard next to my dorm in the photos that they have only recently completed.  What you don't see is that the snow freezes and makes a layer of completely clear ice that makes said courtyard like walking on greased marble.  I went to get a coffee next door, and I fell right on my bum.  Luckily, I had lots of pants on and a big coat, so my fall was somewhat cushioned.  Then, I went to carol rehearsal and fell AGAIN last night.  It didn't hurt either, but I'm considering investing in those little shoes with the spikes just to preserve my dignity.

Thanksgiving...and Christmas Markets

So, I'm sitting eating the leftovers of my Thanksgiving dinner for Sunday lunch.  Not a bad idea, really.  Both involve lots of preparation, then presumably, a nap.

Thursday was Thanksgiving, which I celebrated with 3 American and 3 British friends.  The Brits obviously heard about my magnificent culinary ability and came solely for that.  It took me 3 days and about 8 stores before I finally found a frozen turkey breast, which, according to my calculations, cost me $5.25 per pound (compared to about 65 cents in the US).  They had duck, goose, pheasant, grouse, chicken, but no turkey!  I am very thankful that they were all there; otherwise, I might've been crying into a very expensive plate of turkey all by myself.

Here's a photo of my delicious dinner (thanks, Dorian, for the overhead shot): turkey (that's really all there is) on top of dressing, cranberry sauce, sweet potato souffle, green beans, biscuits (which the Brits were intrigued by and kept calling "scones"). 

I should probably give my Granny's recipe for dressing right here, because I followed it (sort of), and it was amazingly delicious.  Basically, you make stuffing/dressing whatever, then you add melted butter and salt or chicken stock.  Then, you keep adding butter and salty chicken broth until it's soupy and you're fairly sure someone eating it is going to have a massive coronary from the sodium.  Then, you add a little bit more and it's perfect!

The day after Thanksgiving I slept in (which is pretty unusual for me).  I don't think I actually woke up until 10:30!  I went to the Christmas markets in the evening.  Manchester supposedly has the best Christmas markets in Britain, but I haven't seen the others, so I couldn't tell you.  I can tell you that it was AWESOME!  I am a great lover of Christmas, shopping for gifts and food, so it was like heaven.  I went to the European one which is in St. Ann's Square behind the City Hall.  There are 4 others in the various squares around city Center.  The lights and stuff are beautiful.  Here are examples:

Nope, that's not London, that's Manchester.  Gorgeous, isn't it?  

Anyway, the food was what made it awesome, and you can buy Gluhwein, which I pronounced GLOW-wine because that's what it should give you due to the extreme cold, but instead I just drank lots of it and got really, really sleepy.  For the home-folks reading this, it was like the Mossy Creek Barnyard festival and the GA National Fair had a European baby... on crack.  

I ate (over the course of two days at the markets): a chocolate-covered homemade marshmallow, a spicy German sausage in a bun, a chocolate-covered fried Dutch doughnut, a pretzel, some cheese, lots of Gluhwein and peppermint flavored (okay I used "flavored" because "liquored" isn't really a word) hot chocolate.  Here's the fun part: food pictures!

 

Mmmm.  Candy.  Lots of it.  Covered in chocolate.  Made into houses.

This German dude is serious about salami.  My favorite part of his spiel: "I don't trust vegetarians.  Who in their right mind would give up this amazing feast of meat?"  My answer:  I don't know.  Those vegetarians are crazy!

Two years ago, my friend Cristina got me this awesome "filled doughnut pan" from Williams Sonoma.  I've made them a few times and they're awesome.  However, these people obviously are better at it than me.  They cover them in jam and chocolate.

There was a large lit "creche" (nativity) in the middle of the German market, and this woman was telling her little girls: "Please just stop running around and screaming. Here, eat some chocolate and look at Jesus in the manger."  I think that pretty much sums up my entire philosophy of Christmas.

Now, I'm going to take a nap.

Classic Dad

My dad is suspicious to a laughable extent.  He's basically a "danger" hypochondriac if that even exists.  He does not/will not have a debit card because he thinks that makes him a target for fraud.  He won't do anything that requires him to give out his social security number (this includes finally getting high speed internet - which will likely be hacked into for his identity at any moment).  I taught him and my mom how to use Skype and bought them a webcam, but he refuses to download the software because it looks dangerous.  Basically, if you combined every Dateline or 60 Minutes or 11 o'clock news warning segment, my dad is the one who believes all of that.

My friend Scott has realized the humour (OMG! I just spelled that with a "u" automatically!) in it, and constantly says my dad's favorite phrase: "You don't have any business __________."  This blank could literally be anything.

Yesterday, I called home to see what was going on, and my dad's cooking lunch (which makes it about 5:30 here).  We have the natural conversation about how it's freezing there and how school is etc.  Then, here is a brief transcript:

Dad: So what are you up to, kid?

Me: Not much.  I'm going to a friend's house tonight to put together the shoeboxes for kids in foreign countries.  Then, I'm going to a show.

Dad: By yourself?

Me: Yes.

Dad: You don't need to be going out after dark by yourself.  If you don't have someone to take you places, you just need to stay inside after dark.  You don't have any business going out after dark.

Me: Dad, it gets dark at 4:30 here.  It's been dark for over an hour.

Dad: No, it doesn't.  You're not that far north.

Me: Yes dad, we're even with Greenland or Canada.

Dad: Well, you don't need to go out.  You just need to be careful.

I know it's supposed to be sweet and fatherly concern, but it's really funny because he probably thinks that Manchester really is so dangerous that I need to stay in and not go anywhere every night after dark.  Except maybe church.  He'd probably be okay with that.

Yorkshire Dales Part the Second, or Mud and Suede don't mix.

Okay, here's the second installment of photos with my usual witty captioning.

Here's the fells looking a bit angry like Manchester.  Just before we left thankfully.

The Parish Church at Hardraw - Really a beautiful place, next to the river that flows from the Waterfall.

This is Hardraw Scaur.  I looked up the word "scaur" and it means "a precipitous bank of rock".  It is England's tallest single drop waterfall, which is kind of cool, although It's really not that tall.

In Prince of Thieves, this is where Kevin Costner (well, KC's body double, it was apparently too cold for him to actually do it) swam/jumped in here.  It was freezing outside, and there was blackish mud an inch thick everywhere, so I'm inclined to believe that someone might not want to swim in it.  That's why I stood in front.  I realize that I am very pale-looking, but I was getting over the sickness.

Here's another picture of the Hardraw Parish Church, which was very pretty to walk around.

Here's part of the group I was with (clockwise): Me, Sinamon (Kenya), Dragos (Romania), John (Hong Konh), Annis (Indonesia), Maksim (Russia), Alba (Spain - and Tori, her cute yellow lab guide dog, somehow isn't in the picture), Artem (also Russia - twins w/Maksim), and William (France).  We are an international group, no?

Okay, so this was pretty much my favorite part of the weekend.  The pub-cat!  His name is Lucy, yes "his".  He sits in all the chairs with cushions as close to the fire as he can get.  He lets you pick him up like a baby and tote him around, so I loved it!  

That's all for now.  I'm going to Northern Ireland for Christmas, so I'll probably have a lot of pictures from that.

The Yorkshire Dales Part the First, or Emily Bronte was so right.

I went with the International 16 to Hardraw in Yorkshire.  We stayed at a lovely place called Harris House.  It was a bit chilly most of the time, but the sun was shining the whole time we were there, so I think it cured my Manchester blues.  I also feel much better, having almost completely recovered from my strep throat-with-achy-joints malaise.  Anyway, it was in the middle of nowhere, but it was easily the most beautiful middle of nowhere I have ever been.  On Saturday I woke up early (I am the last morning person, I know), and I saw the sun come up over the dales* and autumn trees and sheepdogs herding sheep, and it was breathtaking.  I told Sam, our coordinator and fearless leader, that this was the England I came to see.  

To recap a bit of our experiences, we drove the two hours Friday night and stayed up late (well, they stayed up late, I went to bed at 2) eating delicious food prepared by Ulka.  The next morning I got up early, washed all the dishes, cleaned the common room, read three chapters of my book, made coffee, got dressed and took a shower before I ever saw another soul awake.  Ulka made Indian pancakes (more like omelets) for breakfast, and although I was hesitant to try them, I ended up eating three.  Five minutes later*, we set off across the fells* to go to Hawes/Wensleydale to the Creamery, home of Wallace and Gromit.  By the time we got there, my inflamed joints were hurting terribly.  We tasted lots of delicious cheeses and went through a small museum.  I bought a bottle of Sloe Gin* and some cheese and a poster of Wallace and Gromit.  Since I was so uncomfortable (and a couple other people didn't want to walk back), Sam went back and got the van.  While we were waiting, I ate a big bowl of strawberry ice cream from the creamery, and it was delicious.  

Saturday night proceeded much like Friday, except we went to the pub next door.  The Green Dragon Inn has been around for about 400 years and is the most amazing pub I've ever seen.  All stone with wooden seats and benches and fireplaces and warm rugs.  Sam has lived in England his entire life, and he says it's the best pub he's ever been in, so I imagine that's quite the compliment.  I drank several pints of their homemade cider.  I finally went to bed at three (still the first asleep though).  Sunday morning was pretty much like Saturday morning.  I washed all of the (tons and TONS) of dishes.  About five minutes after noon, we went through the Green Dragon to Hardraw Scaur, England's tallest single drop waterfall.  It was the waterfall that Kevin Costner swam in during Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.  Then, I ate a Yorkshire pudding with roast beef and vegetables.  It was delicious.  

Finally, I coordinated the housecleaning (which took exactly 45 minutes, thankyouverymuch), and we left just as it was getting dark.

*Dales - river valleys surrounded by vales (which are actually mountains)

  Five minutes - In England, with a group of all foreigners, this can mean anywhere from 20 minutes to three hours.  For example, "It'll take five minutes to get there" really means it'll take however long it takes.  Also, "We're leaving in five minutes" means "We're leaving whenever, so don't bother putting your boots on".

  Fells - Hilly pastureland

  Sloe gin - a divine liqueur made from these plummy-like fruits, gin, and sugar.  Delicious.

Here are some of the picture (the remainder of which I will put in a subsequent post):  

Picture of Sam (green shirt), Dragos, Paul and Annis at breakfast.  Taken at noon.

This is the river that originates above the Hardraw Scaur.

Harris House, our humble home in Hardraw.

From the Garden at Harris House, some fells.  They're all about as pretty as this.

The farm across from Harris House, and a man walking a baby in a pram.

The beginning of our walk to Hawes/Wensleydale.  This is the least muddy part of the entire walk.

Actually, the road is the least muddy part.  Isn't this beautiful?

I would totally marry a sheep farmer to get to live here forever. [My mum begins fervently praying for any and all sheep farmers to stay at least 500 yards away from me.]

For the record, I would also marry someone who owned a creamery, just for the free cheese/ice cream.

More pictures to come.