As you move through this life… you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life and travel leave marks on you. – Anthony Bourdain
We arrive in Weymouth Bay near Portland, England about 2 PM. We aren’t scheduled until tomorrow, so our berth is not available until morning. The storm that fought us across the English Channel has abated, but the sky, land, and water are all grey. A sullen rain comes and goes.
Suddenly the setting sun bursts through a narrow gap beneath the clouds. It is magnificent. This colourful strip of sky in the grey landscape is like a costumed Flamenco dancer on a bus full of nuns.
The Captain announces that due to nation wide general strike, our call to Le Havre and trip to Paris is cancelled. None of the ports in France will be open. So no sitting at a cafe sipping expresso and gazing at the Eiffel Tower in my future.
Instead, we will have an extra day in England. We are going to Dover. As soon as excursions come up, I book the one to Leeds Castle and Canterbury. Actually, I’m happy to have another day in England. Frankly, I could do with more.
Tomorrow will be long, and come early, so it’s off to bed.
After an early breakfast, David and I get ready for a tour to Stonehenge and Salisbury. On the ship, we are in Dorset. Stonehenge is in Wiltshire. We get to cover some territory today!We have a good seat in the bus today, right behind the rear exit with an expansive view. Our guide, Patrick, gives a continuous commentary. There is a big berm of pebbles to our left leaving port. It is too high to see over. This 18 mile berm is called Chesil Beach. It was formed over millennia by the Atlantic pushing pebbles up onto the beach.
This 50 mile stretch of coast is known as the Jurrasic Coast. This is due to the dinosaur fossils found in this stretch as the cliffs erode into the sea. In medieval times, these huge stone bones were thought to be the skeletons of dragons.
We drive past miles and miles of tree lined fields and farms. The landscape reminds me of growing up in southern Ontario, and the farmland near Guelph.
The buildings though, that’s different. There are big stone houses and small stone cottages. They have mullion panes windows and tiled roofs. Some even have thatched roofs. Thatched roofs offer superior insulation, but require constant and expensive maintenance.
Spring has come, in spite of the cold. Trees are coming into leaf and blossom. Gorse and hawthorn bloom in the hedgerows. There are daffodils and primroses by the side of the road. Some of the sheep have lambs at their side.
As we near Stonehenge, Patrick points out low mounds in some of the fields. These are barrows, burial chambers of the Stone Age. The more important you were, the closer to the henge you could be buried.
We reach the car park, get down from the coach. The parking area and visitors facilities are not within sight of the stones themselves.
We all pack into a shuttle bus, which drives us to the sight I’ve dreamed of all my life. That said, I’ve been warned by many people not to expect too much. You can’t wander around the stones anymore. They are fenced, and you view them from a long way back. I’m braced to fight the crowds for a chance to peer at the stones through a chain link fence.
As the shuttle tops the rise, I get my first look at Stonehenge. It stands clear and fenceless against the sky. People gather in clumps at points some distance from the stones. There are also wide gaps, where the henge can be seen with no crowd at all.
The fence I was dreading turns out to be a single piece of rope knee high at most. It is more of an indicator than anything else, and doesn’t obstruct the view in the least.
We walk up from the shuttle drop as Patrick tells us about the history and significance of Stonehenge and its surroundings.
Although it sits on a grassy hill, the earth below is chalk. At the time Stonehenge was built, it was on a gleaming white chalk hill with no grass. There is also only about a third of the original stones left. Over time, vandals and souvenir hunters hauled away masses of rock. Most of what is missing though was taken as building material by local farmers. The National Trust own the site, and a great deal of the surrounding farmland. Standing there, I can see sheep, pastures, woods, and a little bit of road. No other reminder of modern times is seen.
The fields are dotted with barrows. Some barrows have sheep playing and grazing on them. The dead may own the darkness below round, but the sun and life own the surface above.
There is an arrow on the ground, marking the path of the rising sun at summer solstice and winter solstice. Although people aren’t allowed within the circle, there are two exceptions. At Summer Solstice and again at Winter Solstice, up to 700 practising Druids, or Wiccans as they are now called, are allowed to conduct a ceremony inside the henge. I’m not sure what the proof of credentials are for attending. It’s not just the first 700 at the gate go in.
Patrick shows us the ditch around the stone circle. He also explains some building methods used. The huge standing stones sit partly underground. They were rolled on logs, like the figures on Easter Island. Once they were slid into their pit, it was easier to stand them up. The stone tops were moved up a ramp of earth, which was later removed.
The top of each standing stone had a round stone nub. The top stone had a corresponding hole. Fitting these together helped lock the stones together.
But in the here and now, most of the stones are badly weathered. Ravens perch on the standing stones and fly around them. One comes close to my feet, staying just inside the rope they know humans can’t cross. Another has twigs in his beak. I watch as he, and another raven, carry twigs to a space between a standing stone and its cap stone. They are building a nest!
In spite of the number of people, I’m enchanted to be here. The crowd is much less intrusive than I expected. When you look at the henge, the people sort of melt away. But we have to return to the bus. Time is passing and Salisbury awaits.
As we approach Salisbury, the out outstanding feature is the tall spire of Salisbury cathedral. Built in the 13th century it is the largest and tallest church tower in England. Other attempts to build, as large aspire resulted in collapse.
Patrick takes us to see the cathedral. On the way, we meet the Right Honourable Mayor of Salisbury. He is wearing the gold chain of office, which is well over one hundred years old. He is coming from an event hosting other mayors from surrounding areas, and was crossing the square when he saw us.
We continue on to the cathedral. As we enter the outer wall of the cathedral grounds, the bell begins to ring. I am here, in England, as the spring blossoms open, listening to the bells of Salisbury Cathedral. Into the cathedral we go.
The cathedral stands on a one foot foundation, and otherwise sits on gravel which is full of water. This water rises and falls with the river levels. A change in water level under the cathedral causes the foundation to expands and contract. Patrick shows us narrow stone pillars that show warping from this happening in the past.
There is a spot in the floor of the cathedral where the water level is measured, like taking soundings on a ship. A woman is taking a measurement while we are there. The river levels are high right now, so the draft is carefully monitored right now. The river level can be raised or reduced as needed by use of canals and sluice gates.
The inside of the cathedral is beautiful and ornate.
There are a LOT of people interred inside the cathedral itself. I try desperately NOT to walk on grave stones, but it is simply not possible. Eventually I give up.
The original Magna Carta, signed by King John, is kept here. I go into the small, dark chamber it is kept in. Photography is not allowed. This is to minimize exposure to light, which would damage the document.
Now we have free time to shop and find lunch. David and I head back to Main Street. Patrick had talked about Cornish Pasties, and we head to the Cornish Bakery he had pointed out. They have a selection of fresh baked pasties, and they smell divine! David orders a traditional Cornish pastie, and I get something resembling a frittata. I also get a GF brownie.
We eat lunch on bench around center pillar of the last remaining Market Cross of Salisbury. As we eat, we watch the people and traffic along the streets of Tudor buildings. These are the real thing, not replicas.
Nearby are some market stalls, which wecheck out. The Saturday market is just starting to close, although many stalls are still open. One vendor sells olives. An olive has somehow escaped, and is pursued by a determined pidgeon. Whenever he pecks the olive, he doesn’t like it. When he drops it, it rolls away and the pursuit begins again. That is his olive, and he’s not giving up easily! One lady is about to pack
Up, but shows me a variety of umbrellas with unique designs, and that sensible inside out way of opening. They are double layered, and very sturdy. I buy one with a large daisy on it, my souvenir of England. It opens backwards, which is easier going through doors or getting into cars.
We return to the bus for the drive back to Portland. Fields and hedgerows, sheep and thatch roofed cottages flash by.
Patrick tells us of Portland’s past as a smuggling center for highly taxed luxury goods from overseas. In later years, and today, it is famous for Portland stone. This comes from Portland Island across from where we are docked. Many famous, and Royal, buildings in London are made of Portland stone.
We say goodbye to Patrick on the pier, where the Portland Rock Choir are performing to say goodbye. So now I have been to Stonehenge. All the stories, all the legends, and we have seen it now. All in all, I’d much rather lose Paris than Stonehenge. All’s well that ends well.
The Zuiderdam sails away while we’re eating dinner, not long after we get back aboard.
Tomorrow should find us in Dover, and on a trip to Leeds Castle and Canterbury. Come help me watch for those famous white cliffs!
Senses of Stonehenge / Salisbury:
The sight of the big stone ring of Stonehenge. The sound of the bells of Salisbury Cathedral. The feel of the cold morning air, even with several sweaters! The smell of Cornish Pasties in the bakery. The taste of the fresh baked chocolate brownie eaten under the Salisbury market cross.
Today’s Tip:
Local currency! Some countries don’t take foreign money, and some market vendors don’t take credit cards. A little local currency sometimes goes a long way!
A Passport in my Parasol 
That sounds like such a special visit – and all packed into just one day! Incredible. I’m so glad you got to see all of that, and that it seems very homey. I also suspect that after months in the southern hemisphere and near the equator, your idea of a chilly morning may have shifted slightly.
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