Salisbury Stakeout

This is Raymond. He's a waste management worker in Salisbury and is so proud of his job that when I asked for his photo after talking with him a few minutes in the car park (a public parking lot), he headed straight for his cart to pose.

We met because I needed directions to Sarum Mound, a walk that takes about an hour and a half from the center of Salisbury. It goes along the Avon River out of town, turns through a nature sanctuary (a grassy park on the other side of the river), and then heads along a public footpath to the Mound.

"You're American," he announces with the certainty of Sherlock Holmes. "Where are you from?"

"Seattle."

"Oh, I've seen that movie."

He is grinning toothily. It takes me a moment to cotton on. "Right," I say. "Sleepless in Seattle."

"I know all about America from the movies," says Raymond. "I've collected hundreds of American movies on DVD for when I retire." He is 65 and being forced to retire in a month because his contract isn't being renewed. He wants to get a part-time job, maybe at a store, for "something to do."

"I like animal movies. They make me cry," he says as he mock-weeps and wrings out an imaginary hankie. "I'm proud of Lassie as an English film. I love dogs. I'm daft about dogs."

We spend a few minutes comparing movie notes, then I need to move on. After warning me of the trip's extensive length, Raymond tells me to watch for lots of Flintstone and Barney Rubble. He has a twinkle in his eye, and although I'm not sure I heard him correctly and whether to take this as a warning or another American joke, I play along, wave goodbye, and head out.


Along the Avon, I meet a 95 year-old lady who feeds the swans leftover bread once or twice a week. She doesn't look a day over 70. Her two daughters run a B&B in Salisbury.

Next I meet a lovely dark, short-haired golden retriever named Dempsey at the nature sanctuary. He had charged over the hill with a branch in his mouth and plunged into the river. He swam around after duck feathers and fluff.

His owner soon came over the hill. He told me about the Checkers, the part of Salisbury that was built on a grid, unlike the usual Middle Ages towns that grew up willy-nilly. That would explain the more open feeling of this city over Bath.

New (as in current) Salisbury was actually planned. It had been moved from the old Sarum Mound spot by a bishop who wanted a cathedral separate from the castle. Sarum Mound has foundation remnants of both.

The nature sanctuary is mostly along the river, and I paused to pick up feathers from wood pigeons and watch a little waterbird gather grasses and reeds for her nest. She swam so fast that she was often out of view of the camera by the time I had gathered enough wits to click the shutter each time she reappeared. A bicycle had been dumped into the river at that location, and I liked its contrast to her natural task at hand.

Once I got out from the park, the walking route to the Mound was tedious and hot. Just a very narrow, gravelly footpath running between overgrown nettles and shrubbery. Warm, still air and no view because of the tunnel of overgrowth.



The Mound itself is like walking over a manicured archeological site. The wall remnants are interesting, because it is mostly the core flint rock (rubble and flint stone--now I get it, Raymond) several feet thick. The smooth facing-stones are almost all gone, taken away ages ago for other building projects. The remaining flint stone has sharp edges and faces, and the whole thing sparkles in the sun like wads of crumpled aluminum foil.

The earthworks are impressive--deep motte and broad bailey that once housed a courtyard, well, tower, king's quarters, etc. The place has history dating from the Stone Age through Celts, Saxons, Vikings, and on forward.

The site itself, though, baffles my level of interest. There's not much here, and archeology of the 1910s has uncovered, say, one portion of a foundation wall and declared, "Oh, this was once a great hall where the Norman king would have judged his subjects," or some such. I feel like I'm viewing a dinosaur conjectured from a tooth fragment.

I wonder if someday we won't be able to tour these kinds of sites as giant walk-through holograms. I'm having a hard time putting height and clarity into this site. The interpretive signs don't include a 3-D model, and the whole place doesn't look like much more than a grassy park with a few partial, unfaced walls and spectacular views.

Frankly, I feel bored by all this, and I wonder why. My energy and curiosity and enthusiasm for life today seem drained. How could I have become so inured? Travel is supposed to be exciting, adventurous. Every moment is new. I want to see it up close. I want to take it all in from afar. I'd like to be in the middle of it, interacting.

Yet so much of what others seem to enjoy bores me at this moment. Shopping. Archeological history. Walking around this site. Being without a traveling companion.

Yeah, that's tedious sometimes. Always being alone. Sure, I talk to people. Good moments. Good reminders of my connectedness to the world. And, foolishly, I keep looking outside of myself for the partner, the companion. Are you the one? You? Or you? Travel seems to be an inefficient way to make long-term relationships. Rarely in one place very long. No time to grow anything. Except my Self from the inside out, which is the most important reason to travel alone.

Relaxed eyes. I can't seem to relax my eyes today. I’m frowning a lot. Concentration. Focus. Sunlight. Intensity.

Maybe it's the heat. I prop myself against a knee-high wall and nap in its meager 1 o'clock shade, then wander into town for a bit of shopping. I need an extra T-shirt to wear when the rest of my stuff is in the laundry. I find a bright pink one in Marks & Spencer. Got hot just standing in stores, and I couldn't take much of that this afternoon.



I hadn't really intended to, but I went to Salisbury Cathedral and wander around. This is the first cathedral I've been to that allows cameras. Took photos of stained glass and got to listen to the choir practice before they went in to get dressed for the 5:30pm evensong service.

Sign in the gift shop: "Those who look outward dream; those who look inward awaken." --Jung.

Hmmm.




The atmosphere at Salisbury Cathedral is different from Bath Abbey. I like the cloisters here. The abbey doesn't have them. Westminster in London has them. I had modeled the House of Solitaries after them in the book. The cool stone seats of the cloister felt good in the heat today. I smiled at the carving of a cat in a low wall in the cloister. Did some animal-loving monk leave this mark hundreds of years ago?

Yay--they have a 3D model of Old Sarum out here in the cloisters. Now I can see how the whole mound had acted as a village site, with a cathedral and castle surrounded by homes, workshops, etc. A right village it was.

Decided to stay for the evensong service, especially since visitors were allowed to sit in the quire (choir) area of the church, which put me right next to the singers and right across from the amazing pipe organ, which I also tape recorded. The organist played a freeform contemporary tune until the service started, and the music swelled everywhere around us.


Each person sat in a tall, elaborately carved oak seat that’s named and has a coat of arms on it. We even had needlepoint cushions to sit on. Was feeling slightly headachy from the heat, but the need to pay attention to the cues of the service--stand up, sit down, stand up, follow along from one of three music and reading books, listen to the beautiful singers and soloists--kept my attention off of it.

Ate dinner at the Red Lion hotel, which has been around since 1220, when it used to house workers while they built the cathedral. Followed instinct to go there, and ended up dining with Ken and Jeanette from Iowa. Their son is at Oxford and marrying a Brit soon. Ken golfs at St Andrews every year in an international team tournament, and they had just returned from that event in Scotland.

The last vestiges of my solitary mood lifted in their company, and my headache eased with a good dinner of salmon, capers, and fresh cream on a baguette and a refreshing Pimms (a summer drink of fruit, brandy or gin, and lemonade--think British sangria).

Well fed and fully walked-out for the day, I returned to the hostel feeling a lot better about the world and my place in it. The second fruity Pimms may have helped some, too (grin).