"Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo?"

Quick trivia question: where was Constantine crowned Emperor of the Roman Empire?

Chillin'

Cue the Jeopardy Music and think... ?

Rome? But that would be too easy.

While sitting on a golden toilet seat lined with fur stolen from the German barbarians? That fits Will's interests, but no, that can't be it.

I know you're dying to know the answer to this question. In fact, who am I kidding, of course you know the answer—it's York!

Peppermint Patty?

Our last stop was visiting my friend Jenny and her husband Pete in York. They were absolutely wonderful hosts and took us around all around the northern countryside of England during our short stay. We got to see a bit of York where they went to school and now live. Aside from being the location where Constantine was crowned Emperor (crazy right?), it is known for its beautiful Minster, the still standing city wall's (where apparently it is still legal for Welshmen to shoot Scotsmen on certain Sundays... or is it Scotsmen to shoot Welshmen?), and more than a couple colonnades and walls from the Roman era.

Just another backyard in the Lake District.

We also spent a weekend in a beautiful bed and breakfast owned by a friend of theirs in the Lake District. 

"Emma, how do you feel about our B&B location?"

The area is a well-known English vacation spot, but the little section we stayed in was quiet and nestled in the countryside. In fact, our b&b was a converted stone barn that the owner had recently renovated. We awoke to cows grazing in the pasture outside our window—they had the most massive udders I have ever seen, I mean massive. I wish I took more pictures.

SHI-to the-ER

One of the days we were there we went for a walk. “Walk,” in the classically English understated fashion, can mean anything from a short stroll after dinner to a strenuous hike requiring boots often above vomit-inducing heights with more than a small chance of death should one, you know, trip, on their, “walk.” The hills we walked were magnificent—I don't think we have anything like it in the states, or at least I wouldn't know where it is. Large hills and mountains that have few trees and are dotted with sheep—sheep, everywhere. Truly, this is the land of Middle Earth. As we “walked,” the Shire turned into Rivendell and we climbed over stone steps laid next to a bubbling downhill brook. 

And then we saw it. Mordor, looming in the distance. “We can walk over that or we can take the alternative route,” our hosts said— "walking" in this case meant climbing with hands and knees without ropes. It was mostly okay, except for those points where we were exposed on the ridge and the wind howled against our bodies as we slowly made our way from one sure footing to another. The seventy-year-old who passed us remarked that this little bit can be “interesting”--here translated as, "this is the spot in the Lake District where the most people have died."

Maybe I'm being a little dramatic here, but actually, if Emma was telling this story she would say that I am not dramatic enough. Halfway through she was ready to throw in the towel before Jenny remarked that it would more "suitable" (read: chances of death less likely) to continue moving upwards. We ate lunch on top of the hill with the sheep, but none of our wooly would-be friends were brave enough to let us pet them. 

Then, in the middle of our meal, a sheep appeared over the crest of the hill and wandered over. We thought he must have heard the sound of our potato chips crackling, but when we threw one to him he didn't take to it. We tried our sandwich bread and our apple cores, but only a few nibbles, as if he tried it and said he prefers the grass. I have no idea why this sheep came over at all. But I can tell you this—we desperately wanted to interact with a sheep on our trip—and the fact that this stupid sheep came over means only one thing: we witnessed a miracle.

We made it to one of the oldest Abbeys in Britain. I think it was constructed sometime during the 15th and 16th centuries. After Henry VIII took control of the Church, he ransacked the Abbeys and they were left to ruin. Tourism in the late 18th century revived interest in this Abbey, as continued today.

The best part of this picture is clearly the Scot standing behind us.

More 'Redwall' than 'Downton,' and all the better for it. "Wot! Wot!"

As a final treat, Jenny and Pete took us to see a "Mystery Play" in York. These plays have dramatized the story of Christianity, from the fall of Satan to the Final Judgment, since the medieval times. It was pretty spectacular, especially because the stage was set up in front of the ruins of a former Abbey in the middle of town.

More ales and great food followed in our time with Jenny and Pete. I especially recommend the brews made by “Innis and Gunn” in oak barrels if anyone can find it. We are thankful to them for their hospitality and friendship--also for their great cooking!