26 March Sunday  Brixham   No Torquay (key) or Berry Head

It’s Sunday morning and I am up, but breakfast is late and no one is downstairs at 8 AM, There was a spring time change overnight.  We are now nine hours ahead of Oregon.  I am missing Marianne.  I feel for her in bed at night, wondering if the bed faces south like it does at home.  I have coffee and wait.  Other group members tickle in and the room gets very full.  I am able to talk to Sue about how to get an train at Manchester airport on the night of 31 March so I can get to Wrexham ( I booked a room at Premier Inn near the train station—and Racecourse Grounds)  before the train strike on 1 April. 

I go up and pack, surprised my socks are dry.  I am down in 10-15 minutes with the bags, but the bus is not here, yet.  I talk with Tara Henry (sop. and soloist) and her mom. Finally, Grant is here and we all herd downstairs to the coach.  We are on our way to Brixham and Torquay, over past Plymouth in Devon, 70 miles away.  Once we get near to the coast, it becomes very crowded—it’s a holiday area.   The decision is made to for-go Berry Head and Torquay.  Sue tells us about Sir Frances Drake and the Golden Hind.  She tells us that the Queen had summoned him to make the voyage, but had to finish a games of Boules before he went to see her. We finally get down to the harbor and unload.  It’s very busy, but the wind off the water is chilly.  I see the reconstructed Golden Hind—painted garishly.  I opt out of a spendy meal with Donna, Tonnie and the Helppies at the Old Market House and chose to explore a bit.

I stop at Fullers Pasties and order a chicken panino, water and a coffee.  It is too crowded to sit so I have to go out and huddle in entry to a bench by the water, but can’t the covered bus stop with a windshield because people are huddled there.  I cross the street and find a doorway to finish my sandwich. There are many interesting nooks and crannies in the town, and I walk up the

warmest street I can find.  I cross a street and see a big poster of a new Musical “Fisherman’s Friends”—really?  I find a Scala Theatre.  The bells of the church up on the hill, All Saints, ring out as I come back down again to the harbor.  I kind of dread walking the crowd and the massive

amount of tourist shops--lot’s of candy, fudge, ice cream(?!)  It’s Sunday so all the nice shops are closed.  I stop in a couple, but find nothing for Marianne.  The bus isn’t back, but I see some of the group and join them by the water.  Grant shows up with the bus and we are heading out of town and towards the M5.  We stop once, for a potty break and head for Bristol and Bath.  We roll into Bath and I am impressed by the ordered, planned town.  Once pale white stone, all the buildings and houses have been stained by the centuries of soot from burning coal. Recently there has been a real push to clean the city.  It is looking good. 

The Apex Hotel is sleek and modern and is the most incredible place we have stayed.  Clean sleek, modern and upscale.  I get to my room and I think there has been a mistake—how can I have such a beautiful room.  The staff have put a stack of folded white towels on the bed—with a

little blue rubber ducky on top. The bath, the bath is amazing!  So high-end with slate floors, walls and ceilings, sleek, hidden cupboards with face clothes in them, beautiful counters, spacious toilet and not just a gigantic tub, but a walk in shower as well.  I can’t stand missing Marianne so I call her (a $20 three-minute one). 

The Meyers (Paul and Kathy) and Donna and Tonnie walk to the Bath Abbey.  From the Apex we easily find the Roman Baths and move on the church.  I find a Jones Bootmakers shop.  We walk all the way around the church and then walk in through the right doors.  It is between services--waiting for the Contemplative Service.  I am so impressed by the grace and elegance of this space--it is ethereal and seems to float.  The ceiling is lace-like--a true work of art.  We are fortune enough to get a guide, George, well into his eighties and so serine and child-like. He tells us about his childhood in the church.

He also gives a thumbnail history, especially the pews—not the seats, the smell of bodies in the floor.  He says he even saw them exhume skeletal remains—the smell was horrible.  Ironically the 'cure; that everyone came to Bath for (besides finding a husband or wife) for actually killed them. 

The organist for the service joins us and we tell her that we are musicians and singers on tour.  They are both friendly, but it’s time we move and leave before the service starts.  We step out and the ladies see the shop ‘Fancy That of London’—Royal memorabilia (junk). Paul and I tolerate it and I hope I can find something for Marianne.

We move on to dinner, walking east, past the Abbey towards the water.  I love the look of this city, neoclassical architecture with a twist.   Browns Bath—an “All-day British brasserie & bar with lobster

nights & afternoon tea in a grand cafe setting” is easy to find.  How English-Parisian!  We get a table in a side room with four tables.  Ours is on the wall with a built-in upholstered banquette.  So elegant, but relaxed, spendy, but with wonderful European vibe.  There are a few items on the menu that they do not have this evening—it’s Sunday.  I decide on an excellent roasted beet and feta salad and the prawn/crab pesto linguini and wine—yum.  The talk is fun and causal and we get to know each other more.  I am tempted to play a few notes on the baby grand in the bar/lounge but refrain.  The walk back is lively and full of young people out on a Sunday night.  I listen to music and journal—enjoying my room as long as I can.