H.M. Elizabeth II: the diamond jubilee

Yes, it's true, she has been the queen for 60 years. The last monarch to have a diamond jubilee was Victoria. To celebrate they did lots of things: 12,000 people from the kingdom were chosen by lottery to go to a picnic on Buckingham Palace lawn. Each one received a basket with a carefully catered lunch which included Jubilee chicken, a sort of spicy chicken salad invented for the diamond jubilee. There was the river pagent, the queen parading to church, etc. And last night there was a concert to celebrate at Buckingham Palace. 10,000 had tickets, but the Mall leading up to the palace had big screens and speakers for those not fortunate enough to get tickets.

When I got off the bus I was walking to my hostel and inadvertently ended up walking through the Mall. I want to head out to go to a thrift store so I will just give a few memories and thoughts on it. And sadly my phone died before I could take any pictures but I have included some from the Mail Online.

- people wearing red, white, and blue look funny and endearing when they are waving the British flag.
- the English ladies are pretty into Prince Harry. He was handsome in a sophisticated frat guy way.
- Prince Charles is even more boring and charmless live at a concert.
- one of the announcers kept making the awkward mistake of asking people where they were from and getting an ominous silence when he reached Northern Ireland. I think the might have been 9 or so there.
- will.I.am looks awesome in British military red.

- there are a bunch of pop stars in England I've never heard of.
- it sounds really absurd when someone says "60 year reign " at a rock concert. Actually the concert which had a mix of classical, real timeless modern musicians like Elton John and today's hits was bizarre. I mean will.I.am was there. It really brought into focus how incongruous the royal family is with the modern world.
- the fireworks display looked amazing although I only saw it on the TV back at the hostel.

- I love Sir Elton John. Such a cool dude.

Worth matravers to south haven point: the end of the road

I got up quite early to get on the road for my last day. There were loads of old seaside quarries which are now big ledges the locals treat like beaches. Although the weather continued to be dismal so no one was swimming or sunbathing. My mood soured a bit towards mid day and the town of Swanage as my hangover progressed along its course from slap happy jubilation toward the over-arching greyness that normally follows any over indulgence of alcohol. I called the couchsurfing host to let him know I'd be arriving a day early since the previous day I'd covered what I had planned to do in two days.
After Swanage the way was easy and would have ended in 3 miles walk along a beach but I opted for an alternative route through the dunes. I only found out later that this choice meant that I missed seeing a notorious nudie beach. Ah, well. After a strenuous walk through the dunes, I finally made it to the end of the coast path. I had planned to sit there and mull over my experience,  but the wind was blowing sand into me like needles and the ferry was just leaving, so with hardly a glance backwards I boarded and crossed away from the path and the end of my long journey.
The couchsurfing host sighed a lot on the ride to his house, seemed very uninterested in me but was perfectly accommodating. He even offered me some of his microwaved, fake meat and veg soup mixture he made and wouldn't take no for an answer when i declined. He did get a little disgruntled, however, when I called the UK flag "Union Jack". No, that's a slang name for it, it's the union FLAG! Okay, cheers man. Then I told him our flag had a nickname too: Old Glory, and it was okay for him to call our flag by her nickname if he wanted. Americans are very informal.
I went to a pub down the street and had a terrible jacket potato with baked beans on top and a fully mediocre glass of cider (all now pale in comparison to the home pressed one I'd had at the Square and Compass). And either that lovely combo has made me a bit sick or the tick I found on my arm a while ago did give me Lyme disease because even a day later I'm not feeling so hot. Or perhaps it is 9 days of eating fried food, scones and clotted cream, and bread and cheese with hardly a vegetable in sight. Can you get a vitamin deficiency in 9 days?
After a surprisingly good night's sleep, despite being in a strange house, my host gave me a ride to the waterfront so I could have a full English breakfast. A mistake I'm afraid. Talk about a horrendous grease bomb: fried egg, potatoes, "bacon", sausage, fried bread, and a few grease drenched mushrooms and tomatoes. It was horrifying. I only ate some of it and brought the rest away with me, but-- I can't decide if it's fortunate or unfortunate -- I accidentally left it at my hosts house when I left to catch my bus to London.
When my post alcohol doldrums pass I will post some closing thoughts about the walk in general, but for now I will say: it was beautiful, difficult, fun, and quite rewarding. I walked 100 miles over rough terrain on my poops foot and only ended up limping at the end of one day. In retrospect it occurs to me that my assumption that shoes designed for running would naturally be good for walking may not have been that well reasoned. And English old ladies are my new favorite. Have fun.

West lulworth to worth matravers

Despite the noise at the holiday park I slept much longer than I intended and after breaking camp and boiling the 6 eggs I bought I didn't head out until after 10. The first several hours were spent in the lulworth ranges, an army artillery range that is only open on the weekend. In fact, I was going to walk in the other direction but went in the direction I did so that I could arrive at the ranges on a weekend. I don't know whether it was the anticipation or the amazing sights of the previous day, but the ranges walk failed to live up to my anticipation. It was beautiful, of course, but I am surprised it was touted as one of the most beautiful on the coast path. The coolest part was the giant holes in the landscape which were obviously the result of artillery fire. And the numerous bombed out tanks laying fallow in the fields. I wished my husband had been there because I think he would have liked that part especially.
Half way through the ranges I was coming down toward a beach and I saw the lights of an ambulance. I dreaded what I would see as I drew near. Not someone with a heart attack. A drowning. Someone mangled after a fall from a cliff or an accidental artillery explosion as the result of an unwise wander off the marked path. I did not want to see what the crowd of onlookers were gathered around. The hypochondriac in me tends to latch on to accidents and tragedies and make unhealthy obsessions of them. Two ambulances became six, four EMTs, twelve. Oh god, I won't look. But everyone milling around farther from the hudled group was happy, acting carefree. How can these people be so unconcerned? Surely if it were some dire calamity they would look more upset. I sat down well away from the crowded people and emergency workers to eat my lunch. When I glanced over I noticed that some of them were laughing. But six ambulances, so many emergency workers... then I heard one of them on the radio, "yeah, quite a bad sprain. We are going to take him into East Lulworth." WHAT? 6 ambulances for a sprained ankle? Seriously? Well I guess its good to know that there is so little for them to do that they are sending the full fucking cavalry for a sprained ankle.
After the ranges, I passed kimmerage bay, where the mom and son from before had told me they were going to camp. It was only 7 miles from where we started though, and even though it was already 4pm, I decided to walk the other 6 to Worth Matravers. Sure the guide I had called those six miles severe and hairy (I don't think that's the right kind of hairy, but spelling isn't really one of my strong suits). Sure the wind was blowing and clouds were looming and the campground was really a few miles past Worth Matravers. Would that stop me? No.
Right away the roller coaster path started climbing steeply. And where there is many times a fence between you and the cliff, this time the path was squeezed between the fence and the cliff, close enough that if I fell over I would pitch over the side. Normally I don't worry about suddenly lurching off balance, but the wind was strong, and the kind that blows in different directions and with unpredictable gusts, blustery I think you would call it. And it was raining as well. No doubt it was perfectly safe, but it brought to mind another rainy cliffside experience and with a heavy bag making my balance comprised I decided to crawl under the fence and walk in the neighboring field.
Unfortunately it wasn't possible to walk parallel to the path in fields the whole way so I ended up further inland and so I missed out on St. Aldhelm's Head, which is a shame, but on the bright side, I was not paralyzed with fear or flung to my death, so not a total wash. My inland detour added a few miles and after hours battling the wind and rain I arrived in Worth Matravers. After concluding there was nothing to eat or do there and I was going to have to continue on to the campground several miles away . Then I realized that what I had taken for a fossil museum was also a pub, the Square and Compass. Tired, cold, and hungry, I was glad to find anywhere, but when I set my backpack down under a table to protect it from the rain and went in, I realized I had stumbled upon an amazing place.
Low ceilings and an uneven floor gave it a cave like feel, clearly unchanged from earlier days. They served several home pressed cinders and meat pasties (I had both) and there was a large crowd of happy revellers dancing to some proper English folk music. It was an absolute dream come true at the end of a long day. I went outside to drink my cider and wait for my pasty. A sort of strange looking guy I had seen making his way through town as I had been was there. I talked with him for a bit but when I got my food I moved to a neighboring table next to a very handsome 20 year old. Sweet, at that age. But after 5 minutes of his boastful accounts of the climbing problems he was going to face and the sweet arret next to his amazing bivouac cave he would roll out of and onto the rock, I decided I'd really rather talk to the weird guy. He turned out to be not at all weird and Dimitri (names have been changed to protect the innocent) and his 'partner', Katie, invited me to stay at their place so I didn't even have to walk any more. A good thing as I was not that steady on my feet after 3 pints of strong home pressed cider. All and all a very happy close to the day. To top it off, Katie had lived in Eugene one summer in her youth during some 70's north american grand adventure and loved it (I think that connection was what really sealed my invitation) . Oh eugene, I heart you,  giving me gifts though time and across space.

More from weymouth to west lulworth

I took so many pictures I can't post them all but here are a few more.

Weymouth to west lulworth

Nothing really entertaining happened on this days walk. I put one foot in front of the other and took the most pictures in any one day. My husband asked me if i had had any epiphanies on the phone the night before and seemed surprised and disappointed that I had not so I spent the day trying to have one. I didn't.

Near the end of the day I came to the Durdle Door, the limestone arch that is the most photographed place on the Dorset coast. Then headed to Lulworth cove and the town of West Lulwtorth. I walked around looking for a campground that Google maps lied about and then doubled back to the Durdle Door where I knew there was another large holiday park and campground. I paid a horrendously high tariff for a very crowded and noisy pitch and headed down the the protected beach by the arch to cook my dinner. Apparently even beautiful surroundings and great hunger were not enough to make the only can of soup they had at the store in West Lulworth, chicken and vegetable, taste good, but the meal was none the less enjoyable. On the way back I met the mother and son from the day before wearing identical silk button up shirts. She called me Lavinia, which was close enough, and her son actually smiled a little and muttered unintelligible things that might have been a greeting.

West fleet to weymouth

I woke up quite early and headed out of the camping ground. In half a mile I came up on Moon Fleet Manor, I have no idea what its function is, it was alone next to the lagoon bounded by chesil beach. For some reason it brought to mind an expensive mental institution. Someone should write a story about that. After I passed it, I caught up with the first two fully loaded walkers I have seen. A mother and son who had walked the rest of the path in pieces and were on their last section, to finish in Poole like me. I walked with them and talked to the mom while her teenaged son alternately glowered at and ignored his mother. She added a few things to my list of thing to try: whiskey, cake and a strong cider with a funny name I don't remember now (strumpy I think it was). She also told me that the coast path was originally a series of paths between villages that locals used to warn their smuggling neighbors that the tax man was on his way.
It was a short and easy 7 miles to weymouth. Except on bit when I fell down and twisted my ankle because I was talking to the mum instead if looking where I was going. I wasn't really hurt though, so that was lucky. We parted ways at weymouth where I went to find my hostel and they carried on walking.
Weymouth was full of seagulls and men. Twice I barely missed being hit by a shower of Seagull poop. I live a charmed existence I guess. Weymouth is a very touristy town with fish and chips places every other building and ice cream places in between. Once you get off the beachside and main streets however, it is less picturesque. A bit dirty, really. And every person I saw on a side street was a man. Alone or in pairs skulking down the street. Either there are no women there, or they are staying in to avoid the men.
When I got to the hostel I entered the keycode they had sent me and went in to reception. No one was there, no one was in my room of 4 beds, no one seemed to be in the hostel at all. Later in the afternoon, when I heard footfalls on the stairs outside my room, I hoped I would be the only one in my room. I went out to get some food and wine from the grocery. When I got back there was quite a strange man in the downstairs lobby area. I can't explain how he was strange, just got the feeling he was very aware of my presence even though he studiously ignored me.
When I went up to my room, sure enough, I saw one other bed had been claimed, a mans pullover sat on it. I took a shower then sat on my bed considering all the terrible things that a weird man might do to me once we were alone in the room. What if I woke in the night to his face right above mine staring?  When I went doewnstairs to eat I was relieved to see two very blond Swedish girls in sailing team jackets eating curry at the table. The strange man was watching the TV, ignoring them. They Swedes were there for the sailing world cup, not part of the Olympic national team they had been relegated to a hostel while their country men and women were staying in a posh hotel somewhere else in town. We discussed their royal family and they explained that their king, Karl, was really the youngest child, but when he had inherited the thrown, queens were not allowed to rule. They have since changed the law and Karl's eldest child was a girl, and her first child, recently christened, is also a princess, so they will have 2 queens in a row next.
After our conversation and several glasses of wine I decided I would bring a knife to bed with me and if the weirdo decided to make an appearence over my face in the night I would use the knife and yell very loudly and the Swedes would doubtless come to my rescue. I fell asleep in a wine induced stupor, the knife next to my bed. In the morning I discovered that it was not, in fact, the strange man I had seen downstairs who was sharing my room, but a very small man with a bad leg and a crutch who had long grey-red hair and a bushy white beard. I'm afraid to say he reminded me strongly of a leprechaun gnome cross, and when I saw him in the kitchen he told me he was in weymouth for the folk festival. The previous night he had been to a laser light show, but he though the lasers had been broken because it was rubbish. He seemed very disappointed.
I didn't take many pictures on the way and none in weymouth.

Seatown-Bridport, bus, Abbotsbury-West Fleet

Feeling tired after the previous day's long walk, I decided to take a little break and give my feet a rest. The guide I downloaded said that the interesting parts of the days walk would be at the beginning (mostly looking back with a sense of accomplishment on yesterdays hard work), and at the end at chesil beach and the town of abbotsbury. I decided to skip the middle bit by walking inland after a few miles to bridport and catching a bus. 
I have a sort of list in my mind of things, food and drink, that I'd like to try while I'm here. Things get added as I go, but fish and chips was probably the fist thing on my list. I finally had some for lunch in West Bay, before heading inland the Bridport and the bus. It was cod and chips and I watched the lady actually batter and cook the fish while I stood there. To accompany the deep fried food I got more deep fried food: freshly cooked donuts. They actually plopped the dough into the fryer (a different one than the fish thank god) while i was waitin, from this funnel donut machine that makes a ring of dough, then dredge them in sugar. The battered cod so far surpassed and fish and chips I've had before, I can hardly understand what we are doing wrong. The 'chips' were only okay though. The first three donuts they made me were "a bit overcooked," according to the man who handed them over, so they had to make three more. They gave me all six. Sad.
After eating --I only ate one donut with lunch, sheesh-- I headed to catch the bus. It was a double-decker. Abbotsbury was exceptionally quaint and loomed over by the 14th century chapel I mentioned previously.  In my mind I was camping there, but in reality I had to walk another 7 miles to get to my campsite. Oh well, I guess it was really a stroke of luck that I got lazy and trimmed off the 8 miles from West Bay to Abbotsbury or I would have walked 18 miles again instead of 10.