SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE SIDNEY OHIO

In the almost 14 months since our marriage, our lives have taken us to what for us are some pretty extraordinary places. We’ve spent two unbelievable months in Italy and another month in the grand city of London. We’ve taken our little Ford Ranger to places all up and down the eastern seaboard from Rockport Maine to both coasts of Florida and back to Ohio. Inserted in those travels was a flight as far West as one can go without getting wet in the Pacific. (Well, I guess we even went a bit further. We got wet up to our ankles in the Pacific.) And now where are we? Somewhere about 4 miles outside of the small town of Sidney, Ohio. There are only about four or five other houses in sight and the big news of the day is a sighting of a buck running across the road while I was walking the dog or the change in the field across the road after the corn has been cut and the stalks leveled.

Speaking of the dog. His name is Pup Chik. I’m not sure of the spelling of his name, but I know it means: “Little Pup” in Russian. He’s a big part of the reason we are here for five weeks or so. His “parents” are out wandering and we are tending to the farm and to Pup Chik. He’s grown to be a part of our list of cherished friends. How to describe him. He’s no spring chik, that’s for sure. But neither is he a candidate for the canine geriatric ward. He’s a musician of sorts. Loves to sing! When the right musical tones reach his ear, he breaks out into the most vigorous and sustained, if not exactly harmonious, howl. He loves to sleep in the living room sun and eat his ¾ cup of food three times daily. And walk! He loves to take walks and so we do – once in the morning and once in the final moments of the evening sun. He’s been a perfect teacher in the ongoing discussions my wife and I have on how our own lives are or are not productive and meaningful.

When we walk up and down these peaceable country roads, he is always with us at the end of his leather leash. He’s apt to go the distance between two telephone poles just proudly directing us from up ahead, happy to be in charge. Then, without notice, he pounces into the side grass and eagerly spends the next few minutes rooting around, parting the grass with his nose, tail reflecting the intensity of this search of his. I’ve never seen whatever it is he is pursuing. Again he will interrupt the forward pace because his nose has informed him that there is something unusual and uncataloged in the air. He’ll strain at the leash and press in the direction of the scent. Maybe the invisible trail will lead to some other animal’s droppings, or just along a path that some creature must have traveled a short time ago. I wish these excursions (that seem like detours to me) would always lead to something that I could identify as a logical and rational reason for the time spent, but more often than not, they don’t. I’ve been known to become impatient with what seems so irrational from my wise, seasoned, and educated perspective. I pull on his leash. “What’s the matter with you Pup Chik? There’s nothing here! Give it up and come on!” And then this morning it hit me. As incomprehensible as it seems to me, he’s just doing his work. He’s doing what he is called to do and what he is designed to do. It makes no difference if I don’t understand. It doesn’t matter a wit that grown adult humans scoff at him. He’s being faithful to who he is, this teacher of mine and that is all that matters.

CALIFORNIA

DON: Iwish I knew how to sum up my experience of these past 8 days in and around the Los Angeles area of California. I suppose the best and easiest place to start is to say that our time here with Mary Ann’s daughter, Sarah, has been wonderful. She lives in a very attractive 1 bedroom apartment in Riverside with “Ginger Ann,” her Husky/Shepherd mix. The four of us were joined on several occasions by an enjoyable young man who is not only a friend of Sarah’s, but was a delightful addition to our team as we took in a number of the things that this part of L.A. has to offer.

Our excursions covered the range from noisy and crowded to quiet and spacious. Sunday we headed for Newport Beach and breakfast at Mutt Lynch’s. Now, that’s a stand-out experience for this man who has had his AARP card for several years now! The place was packed with twentysomethings and conversations were held at shouting level. You had to elbow your way into a place in the crowd which was wholeheartedly engaged in a sense of camaraderie with those closest around them, and halfheartedly engaged in watching one of the five different Sunday football games shouting from boxes in the upper reaches of the room. I was clearly out of my element, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything! And besides, the food was extraordinary. Afterwards, we walked the beach, envying the surfers and the thrill of skimming along the surface of a white-capped wave.

Another day we opted for a moderately quieter outing to the San Diego Zoo. No wonder the place has been rated near the top of the nation’s zoos! One exhibit after the other gave evidence of a deep respect for the precious gift of the diversity and uniqueness of our world’s animal inhabitants. It reinforced for me the importance of doing what we can to reduce the things that harm those who share this earth-home of ours.

In radical contrast to the dizzying pace of Los Angeles, we headed east into the dessert and Joshua Tree National Park where the average rainfall is less than 5” per year. (They haven’t yet had one inch this year!) The dry and open spaces were stunning. Most of the few people who had joined us in the enormous spaciousness were there to climb the occasional and dramatic rock formations. Even wildlife was scarce but the silence was abundant.

In the middle of the packed and tension-filled freeways, the inextinguishable lights, and the constancy of the noise of Los Angeles, I found myself craving spaciousness and silence. What is the price that one pays for living with a constant diet of breakneck speed and nonstop sensory stimulation? How can you hear your own deepest inner voice in the middle of it all? I am in awe of those who can manage it, but I wonder what it does to the many who cannot. Which sounds or lights do you follow?

Mary Ann: Here we are in Florida, almost ready to end our month-long stay here and we've sure had lots of wonderful experiences. The most exciting event was the wedding of Don's daughter Terri and her fiance Darin last weekend. It all happened on the Fort DeSoto Island beach during a most beautiful sunset. The miles long beach was voted by Dr. Beach as 1# in North America and it earns it's ranking with it's huge stretch of powdery white sand. We had a hard time tearing ourselves away afterwards, and as a matter of fact, Don and I will be heading back that way tomorrow for our last taste of the warm ocean for a very long time.

Since leaving New York in late September, we have traveled over 2000 miles and enjoyed the wonders of Charleston, S.C., St. Augustine Florida and of course this whole Tampa Bay area. We camped a few days on the beach and, I have to admit, the ocean still stirs my soul more than any other landscape I know. The rhythm of the waves pounding the shore, the warmth of the sand under my bare feet, and the salty smell of the ocean breeze settle inside and restore me like nothing else.

We've also been eating a good share of seafood and have feasted on shrimp, scallops, crab and lots of fresh fish. One of our favorite places was Saltwater Cowboy near St. Augustine which was an old fishing camp in the middle of a salt marsh, turned into a restaurant back in the 1970's. It was just down-homey and funky enough to be fun, while serving great meals.

In between trips, our days here in Lakeland are pretty quiet. We often start our mornings at Kona's Coffeeshop where the server from an island off Madagascar greets us like we're old friends, and always remembers our favorite drinks or asks us about our latest news. We sit and sip while writing in our journals or reading some novel, and then make a leisurely exit out past the group of retirees (5 men and 1 woman) who sit outside the door at tables while shooting the breeze and smoking hand-rolled cigars. Later that morning, we work at our computers, sometimes writing, sometimes exploring the Web for places to go or things to do. After lunch, we might do some chores that need doing around here, or go shopping, or we've even been known to take a nap. We`eat dinner between 5 and 6, and then almost every evening we go for a walk, usually in this neighborhood, but sometimes we tackle the beautiful 3-mile loop around Lake Hollingsworth.

Our time is quickly coming to an end here and we'll be heading off to other places, including Kentucky, California, and finally back to Ohio in mid-November.

Mary Ann: The months have gone by so quickly, as they always do in the summer and early fall, and here we are in Florida after having traveled through many beautiful parts of the country during these past many weeks. I think it might be time for an update for those of you who might be wondering where we are and what we've been up to.

After having spent much of the summer in the Troy area and in Kentucky, we headed out in mid-August to southern Maine to stay with friends in a small town about 45 minutes from Portland. Those two weeks were filled with one wonderful experience after another. We attended an authentic "bean hole" supper in an area brimming with weekly bean suppers. What made this the real thing was that the day before the event, the church members prepare 3 baked bean dishes using a secret recipe and a different kind of bean in each. Meanwhile, a giant pit is dug in the backyard where wood is burned until the pit is filled with hot embers and ashes. The huge pots are lowered into the ground and then covered with these embers, a heavy steel door to keep the lids tight, and finally they are mounded over with earth. It sits like this, simmering in the hot coals, overnight. Very early in the morning, everything is dug up, the beans are checked and the seasonings adjusted for exactly the right flavor, and then they are reburied for several more hours. Even though all tickets are presold, around 4 PM the diners begin to line up at the door for the first seating at 4:30. (That's because the first ones in get the best choice of the homemade pieces of pie) At exactly 4:30 the doors are opened and everyone rushes in, going to the dessert table first and then sitting down to a meal of 3 kinds of beans, cole slaw, potato salad, red hot dogs, and steamed brown bread, all homemade and delicious. Don and I left filled to the brim and now acquainted with a number of the locals, including a whale boat captain who later in the week would lead us 20 miles out into the Atlantic on a whale watch.

During those 2 weeks in Maine, we were also able to watch an Amish barnraising at the Carpenter's Boat Shop; to camp on Pemaquid Point where we were lulled to sleep by the waves crashing on the rocky shore; to watch the sun go down over the Portland Head Light; to wander the many piers where fisherman gathered to sell their lobster, crabs, and mackerel at the end of the day; to explore the lively Portland art scene and enjoy the excellent seafood dishes that seem to sit on every street corner.

TUORO (UMBRIA) ITALY
Mary Ann: It’s hard to believe we’re on the last leg of our European adventure and only have 10 days left of what was once only a dream. However, we couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful place to spend our final weeks. The house we’re living in sits high on a hill in Umbria, right on the border of Tuscany. We’re surrounded by a wild landscape of oak and pine trees, bright yellow buttercups, lilacs, tall grasses and some lovely white flowers that tumble off the edges of the rock walls. Best of all, the entrance to our villeta is shaded by an arbor of cascading lavender wisteria that gifts us with an amazing perfume each time we open our door. A stone stairway and sidewalk leads down a very short path to a magnificent view of Lake Trasimeno, the fourth largest lake in Italy, dotted by three islands and surrounded by the Tuscan hills.

Allison, who owns this property, built this house as well as the larger house she lives in, 35 years ago when she and her late husband moved here from New York. They are both built of local stone with large windows and high ceilings that accent the wonderful views. Our house has a sunny breakfast area with a round table topped with bright orange and yellow Italian tiles, decorative terra cotta tiles on the entire floor of the first level, a unique tile fireplace that reaches to the ceiling in the living room, and a bedroom with two walls of windows that allow us to peer out over the tree tops. The birds are amazing, here where there are so many untamed places for them to hide. They awaken us in the morning with various songs, especially the cuckoos who sure enough sound just like cuckoo clocks.

Several hours each day we do work around the property. We’ve scraped and painted door gratings and two fence gates. We’ve pulled weeds and potted plants. We’ve cleaned out gutters and sidewalk grates. We’ve washed windows, attacked cobwebs, and prepared meals. The rest of the time we wander through the local villages (Allison drops us off on her way to doing errands), sit beside the lake, sample some of the local tratorias, or just settle in the living room and read. Tonight we walked a couple of miles up and down hills to the nearest eatery—a place called Lo Scoiattolo, The Squirrel, which sits high above the lake. We sat out on a balcony with a beautiful view overlooking the water and watched as the sun set and the lights of neighboring villages began to decorate the shoreline. Our meal was delicious—maybe the best we’ve had in Italy. We started off with a wonderful local white wine and freshly-made bread dipped in olive oil. We shared two dishes: one was perfectly-done pasta smothered in a tomato-hare sauce, the other was a pork scallopini topped with fresh mozzarella and a flavorful ham slice. For dessert, I had tiramisu and Don opted for panne cotta, a sort of custard topped with—what else?—chocolate sauce. Needless to say, we had an unforgettable evening.

Don: I suppose you’ll all think this blog site has gone to pot, but there’s just something that has been "doing a number" on me (in a way of speaking) for some time now and the urge to sort-of eliminate it all from my system has finally come to a head. So, here goes. What is with the toilets over here? Even back in the states, it has seemed to me that designers of toilets just have way too much time on their hands or maybe they just get cranky from having so much time when their work suffers from, well, serious irregularity!

I have several complaints about these "necessary rooms." To start with, why can’t there be a common name for these places? How do you finish the question that begins…"Excuse me, but can you tell me where the ________is?" Do you ask for the bathroom, the toilet, the toilette, the bagno, the loo, the water closet, the W.C. or what? I hate it when you really have to go and you finally ask a proprietor where the bathroom is and he/she doesn’t understand. Then you have to try to figure out how to explain what it is that you want! When you are asking directions to the bus station, you can use gestures to illustrate, but in this situation, that’s a kind-of awkward way out of the dilemma.

Once you get into these rooms, another whole array of problems confronts you. The first issue is just to understand what the equipment before you actually is because here in Europe it can be something you’ve never in your life laid eyes on! I’ve seen some that were no taller than a Chihuahua. Why, just the other day, I left my room in the morning fairly early, so by the time I had reached the train station, my bowels were saying that they had waited long enough and it was time for me to pay them some attention. I was directed to an unattractive and smelly place thankfully some meters from the station. The section with the urinal was free, but entrance into the inner sanctum required a coin. I had no choice. I paid my money and was allowed to enter. You won’t believe what I saw – or more accurately, what I didn’t see! There was nothing inside but something that looked a lot like a white ceramic paint roller tray imbedded in the concrete floor! Midway back the thing was a hole not much bigger than a corn cob! Can you believe that they actually expect a man to squat over a thing like that while he tries to keep his trousers and underwear from touching the foul floor and at the same time keep an eye on the hole and aim for it? I still cannot believe that I PAID for the privilege!

You might think that after you had struggled to find the proper location, then strained your brain to figure out how to use the equipment that your problems would be solved. Not a chance! Bathroom designers are much too devious a lot to let you off the hook so easily. There’s the matter of flushing! In Europe, you never know where you’re going to find some devise that will flush your toilet. The whole idea of actually flushing must be so embarrassing that they stay up nights figuring out more obscure and baffling devices to flush with. They are seldom so obvious as to be on the tank where the water is stored. They can be on the floor or on the wall, behind the toilet, above it, or under it. They can be a hook, a rope, a chain, or a button designed to look as much as possible like the buttons that call the maid. They can be camouflaged into the design of the tank, over your head or replaced by one of those wonderful new sensors that are designed to flush every time you turn the page on the newspaper you’ve taken in to read. The most amazing of all are the new "spritzers" that are supposed to disinfect the toilet after every use, but seldom have the patience to wait until you are actually out of range. In Harrad’s in London, they actually had assistants assigned to their luxury bathrooms to answer any questions patrons might have. What a great idea, but why hire people like that in England where everything is logical and proper? The problem could be solved if only the Brits would just send a few of those guys to Italy where they are actually needed!

I’m sorry if all of this caused you consternation, but I just had to get it out of my system. I feel better already.

VENICE
Mary Ann: What can you say about Venice!!?? Whatever it is, it isn’t enough. This city of waterways, ancient palaces, gondolas, Murano glass, 200 churches, Vivaldi concerts, and San Marco piazza is truly a city of romance and magic.

We’ve spent a week here, arriving last Tuesday afternoon, and every day has felt like a wonderland. Mostly we just walk around leisurely,looking in shop windows, eating gelato, strolling along the many canals, or taking a vaporetto (water bus) ride across the lagoon. We always pick a destination for the day, and then take our time getting there, often being diverted by some unexpected pleasure. Today for example, we started out on what could normally be a 45-minute walk to the train station to buy tickets for our next leg of the journey. It was Sunday morning and things were unusually quiet with few people out and about in the non-touristy neighborhood where we were walking. As we entered one of the many campos (plazas), we heard some beautiful operatic music being sung by a high soprano voice. Though it was a bit unusual, it is not at all unheard of to come upon quite talented musicians entertaining crowds of onlookers. However, when we looked around, trying to discover where the voice was coming from, we spied a rather portly and unexceptional looking man, sitting alone in the middle of the square, who appeared to be doing the singing. We couldn’t quite believe that a man could be making that high sound, and it was only after a good deal of time and attention that we spied his CD player and realized he was only mouthing the words, though in a very realistic fashion. After that, we had the best time just watching the faces of all those who stopped, and finding them doing exactly what we had done, look in amazement, then in disbelief at this incongruent scene. It gave us quite a chuckle.

Another thing we have so enjoyed is watching the tourists in San Marco Piazza as they buy bird seed for the pigeons, and then find themselves overrun with pigeons. People react in a wide variety of ways, but mostly we’ve noticed how they let down there guard, and seem to be so carefree and childlike. I’ve seldom seen another activity that seems to free people from their inhibitions and lets them have a moment of pure joy.

Besides people-watching, we’ve also taken time to see a few of the sights. We’ve been in more churches than we can count; saw a wonderful exhibit about the life of Vivaldi and the history of violin-making in Venice; visited the island of Burano where they make wonderful, hand-made lace; watched the orchestras play each night after dark in San Marco’s; and seen art work by great Renaissance painters such as Tintoretto, Donatello, Bellini, and Titian.

I think our favorite thing is spending the evening at San Marco’s. We listen to the orchestras play the romantic classics; we dance; we wander up and down along the two- football-field-length piazza; we look at the art work painted by talented local artists; we enjoy the wonder and amazement of Venice. It truly is a special city and I highly recommend it to everyone in need of a little magic in their lives.

BACK TO ITALY PART 2: FLORENCE

Mary Ann: We wanted to spend several more days in Cinque Terre, but since another Italian holiday was coming up (Labor Day), we weren’t able to get a room there through the weekend. After calling around, we got a place to stay in Florence, and decided to head off in that direction. We found a lovely hotel called Hotel Bargellino with a wonderful large patio off our room. It had beautiful roses blooming, a covered gazebo and lounge furniture, and even a couple of canaries to sing us awake in the morning.

We spent most of our time there walking the streets and seeing what there was to see along the way. In other words, we didn’t set out to see the typical tourist sights and didn’t even tour any of the many museums there. However, because Florence is so filled with Renaissance architecture, art and history, even walking the streets was a fascinating and educational experience. Just during casual strolls, we were able to see the huge Duomo with the Gothic façade of white, pink and green Tuscan marble; Giotto’s 270-foot bell tower; the Baptistry with bronze doors designed by Ghiberti; Orsanmichele Church with the magnificent canopy; Palazzo Vecchio, once home to the famous Medicis; and Ponte Vecchio, a bridge lined with shops of gold and silversmiths. (Many of these names and places I only learned about while in Florence, surrounded by all these ancient and influential Renaissance works). It’s awesome to walk down the street and “run into” some 500 year old statue or church. One of the neatest sites I saw was a church called Badia, built in the tenth century and attached to a cloistered area where a community of religious still live. It is only open to the public 2 hours a week and it happened to be on the day we were wandering past its doors. I was amazed at the cloisters in particular, which have walls covered with very well-preserved murals depicting the lives of the early monks.

The other very fun thing we did while there (besides eating gelato), was shopping at the San Lorenzo market. This is an area of the city where the streets are lined with stall after stall of merchandise, especially leather coats and purses, scarves, shoes, and T-shirts. We got some great bargains there, and had a great time talking with some of the merchants. In amongst the stalls, along the street, are unlicensed folks selling sunglasses, cheap handbags and watches. One day while we were strolling through the market, a cry went up and about 40 of these illegal sellers took off running through the alleys with their wares flying every which way. It turns out the polizia were on their way and someone had put out the alert so everyone scattered quick before they could be arrested. Just another ordinary event in Italian life here..

BACK TO ITALY PART 1: CINQUE TERRE

Mary Ann: We decided some really relaxing seaside time was in order so we headed to Vernazza where we spent four wonderful days and nights. The girls and I had been there in 2002 on the recommendation of a friend (and Rick Steves) and I was anxious to share it with Don. It was very crowded when we arrived on Tuesday since it was the end of a 4 day weekend. April 25 is Liberation Day in Italy, the anniversary of the end of World War II there. By the next morning the crowds had all cleared out and the rest of the time we shared the town with only a few hardy hikers, some “day trippers” and the locals.

Vernazza, a town of about 500 people, is on the northwest coast of Italy, along the Ligurian Sea, and traditionally was a fishing village and grape-growing region. It’s also the home of pesto, that yummy mixture of basil, olive oil and pine nuts. It sits right on the water, with a harbor hugging the coast and the colorful stuccoed houses making there way up the hillside from there. We stayed, except for one night, in a camere (room) owned by Francamaria which was up 83 stone steps which wound through alleys and around buildings right off the main street. It was a lovely room, with large green shutters which could be opened during the day to catch the sea breeze, and the clothesline hanging beneath the window where we could hand our towels to dry. A very Italian thing to do, we found.

We spent two of our days hiking. The first day we climbed a high hill which overlooked the town and which led to the cemetery. Along the way, we were able to view some of the area’s 300 million cubic feet of unmortared stone walls that define the terraces filled with the grape vines and gardens. The terraces are still used today and we marveled at the difficulty of climbing up and down the hillsides to get to the vineyards and gardens.

On the second day we hiked between three local towns. Cinque Terre is composed of 5 villages which make up a national park with a trail spanning the total distance of about 9 miles. We took the train to the southernmost village of Riomaggiore, then an elevator to the top of the town where we began our hike. We walked along a seaside cliff, far above the water, at times barely a couple of inches from the edge. It was breathtaking, and we were awed by the color of the Mediterranean and by the villages which glimmered on the shore. Manarola was the second village which is the smallest, and we stopped there for our lunch during a brief rainstorm. Each of the towns has a number of restaurants and tratorias serving typical northern Italian fare of fish, pasta, mozzarella and tomato dishes. We finished our hike that day at Corniglia, an ancient and isolated village high above the water.

During our evenings in Vernazza, we strolled, ate gelato, drank wine, sat by the sea and listened to the sound of the waves slapping the rocks. Not a bad life at all!!!

TIME IN THE COTSWALDS
TRIP TO THE COTSWOLDS

Don: When we first decided to travel to the part of England known as the Cotswolds, we did it primarily on the basis of a couple of things. One, we wanted to leave England with a broader experience of the country than London. In our minds at least, one cannot think of England without thoughts of both London’s grandeur and the green of the rural hillsides. Second, several people had told us that the Cotswald area was absolutely beautiful and so peaceful. Perhaps, too, it had something to do with the quaint names of the little villages: Chipping Camden, Morton-in-Marsh, and Stow on the Wold, How could places with names like that not be great places to see? We were more right than we could have known.
So we made reservations in a small Bed and Breakfast called “Dragon House” in Chipping Camden. As soon as our bus pulled into the area, we knew we were in for a wonderful couple of days. The houses are all made from beautiful sandstone and many of them are roofed with bricks. Many years ago, The Dragon House was a little Ale House where men would gather in the basement for refreshment after a hard day’s work. Its history goes back about 500 years! Our room overlooked one of the most delightful gardens I’ve ever seen in a Bed and Breakfast. British people know how to make the most of small areas. This garden was narrow but very long. The place was coming alive with Spring flowers and birds that get up early and sing to awaken you. Valerie, the owner, serves you a hearty English breakfast and you are ready to head out and see the countryside.

The Cotswald area is laced with footpaths that lead across fields, by hedgerows, along stone fences, and through meadows filled with sheep. Since the villages are close together, these footpaths are perfect for really getting a feel for the place. A popular feature of these pathways is a unique kind of gate called the “kissing gate.” For the picture, I had Mary Ann stand inside the gate alone, but we tried not to do that often! On a trek of about 6 miles, we saw three villages. The highlight of the walk was popping out of the hedges in a fencerow to find ourselves right in the middle of a beautiful green meadow filled with sheep and their lambs that were only 24-48 hours old. The farmer came by with his sheep dog and rounded up tiny lambs from mothers too young to nurse twins and allowing “mums” who had lost their young to adopt one of the twins. He spent quite a bit of time with us, telling us the story of the land and of the sheep business in the Cotswolds. It is the ancient way of making a living there, but after the invention of synthetic fibers, things have been hard. Mostly the wool goes to the carpet business these days.

As you walk through the rolling hills, the towns with their church steeples are easy to spot. Most of these impressive churches were built with money from wool, so they are called “the wool churches.” They are either Anglican or Catholic, but we did see a Quaker Meeting in Broad Camden with a date of 1669! I was not able to confirm it, but surely George Fox must have worshipped there!

Chipping Camden itself is a vibrant village coming alive again because of the tourists who regularly visit it. The main street is full of little shops and some extraordinary pubs and eating places. Perhaps the most surprising feature of the town is the use of thatching on a few of the roofs! I had no idea that such a thing was still in use! It is absolutely a beautiful roofing technique and there are only a few master thatchers still in business. We spoke to the master thatcher on one job and he said it would take him (and 4 or so helpers) about 14 weeks to finish the job. I can’t imagine the cost, but the homes where it was being done were some of the most elegant in the area probably selling for near to 1 million pounds (about $1,750,000). In case you are wondering, we didn’t put a down payment on any of them!

All I can say is: Don’t miss Chipping Camden on your next trip to England!