Our next venture took some of us down to Durham. More accurately, it had us dropped of on an uninhabited train station with a train full of passengers fading into the distance with confused looks directed our way. That station is called Bardon Mill. Our destination: Houstead, largest ruins left of Hadrian's Wall, the Northern most border of the Roman Empire. The end of civilization. The frigid border of the most hellish perversion of hyperboreans the good citizens of Rome could imagine. The one wall we could not seem to locate. I'm not even going to attempt a map for this. The level of lost we managed and the amount of back tracking we did borders on madness. But we got there. Three snow storms, untold sheep sightings (literally enough to see at least one flock of each of the colors of the rainbow), over a dozen looks at the compass, and a few limekilns later, we made it. We very well may have doubled our walk, but we made it. Luckily, I brought a compass (and someone was helpful enough to remind me that red is, in fact, North), and we all brought a good sense of humor and a hefty amount of desire and resilience.
From Housetead, we took the cheapest taxi ever across the most frightening terrain of any taxi ride known to man (what they don't charge you in pounds, they make back in sadistic amusement they get from the look of fright on your face) to Haltwhistle, a pleasant little town that our taxi driver (an amiable individual despite his capable and terrifying driving) assured us was geographically sound. By that I mean, "You'll not get lost in Haltwhistle. This is main street. That is all." He couldn't have said it any better. After being dropped off at the train station, we went up to the closest pub. I wanted a pint, and I wanted it badly (there were others in agreement). Upon walking in, all the middle aged men- and dog- stared at us until we left. As badly as I wanted beer, I also wanted food (which was on the top of everyone's mind), and that pub was a bar. So we went to the tea-shop next door and had a lovely little meal with some friendly people who made me feel like I had stepped into the Mad Hatter's tea party, but without the flying china. We made it back to the train in another small wintry storm, and most of our small band hid under the walk over to the next platform: next to the 5,000volt death trap. Then we found the waiting room.
From there, we headed to Durham for evening song where we were able to sit in the choir loft (actually, in the Masters' seats) for a lovely service. We managed to see the Venerable Bede's remains (rather, the container housing said remains), then grabbed some Indian food before heading back to Leuchars. It was a long and fulfilling day.
Our first sign. A welcome and rare sight.
The looping, stalking, winter storm to the right.
Our desperate moment of hiding in a limekiln
while trying to figure out our lost way.
"Home stretch" to Housestead.
Hadrian's Wall! I managed to touch it. That's about all
The cathedral in Durham. Built in the late 11th century.
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