UK Tour 2026

 

1.       Thursday, September 3^rd - Hampton-Hilton Hotel Edinburgh - When we went to the baggage claim we found that one of our bags had been "delayed".  We told them where we were staying and they said they would send the bag to the hotel. (Kristi's two bits): This is our tenth tour ten years since our last and as of the 11th of September, the 25th anniversary of our first (okay, figure that date out folks; needless to say that's a story of its own).  It does feel to our small perspectives a bit momentous.  It will probably be our last though we have no reason to see any doomsday scenario ahead.  We've deliberately avoided stomping our carbon footprint too hard with this kind of travel.  But how sweet it is to be still able to do it!  The British Airways baggage snafu has me wondering about the entire scenario since the receptionist staff at our hotel Hampton by Hilton at the Airport were way too familiar with the routine.  But lest I give the impression they're remiss in their intentions to get the bag to us yet, I should refrain from criticism...so far!  

2.      Friday, September 4^th - Visit Malcolm & Mary LeMaistre – see Malcolm’s trees and out to Indian Dinner.  It was really great to see Malcolm and Mary.  We first met them in 2001 at a festival in Scotland.  Malcolm casually invited us to visit him at the performers party at the end of the festival.  I don't think he really thought we'd come, but we did and we're still friends after all these years with many visits to hear about his projects, and watch his forest grow.

3.      Saturday, September 5^th - Leave Hampton-Hilton Hotel without the big red bag.  We were at the hotel for two nights and stayed a good deal of the day waiting to get the bag but it did not come so we left without the bag.  It is a 50 pound bag and it contained Kristi's amplifier, two stepdown transformers, extension cord, ProCo 9 camera, Tascam DR40 digital recorder, and much more.  We drove to Guisborough to Fox and Hounds Hotel.

4.      Sunday, September 6^th - Meet Val Monteith-Towler for dinner & play Guisborough Folk Club @ Rugby Club.  Val brought an amplifier for Kristi to use – We also found a phone charger to work with 220 V.  It was great to see Val - long conversation and she was terrific helping us with our sound, and generally being supportive.  It was our first gig in the UK this year.  (Kristi's two bits):  Kudos also to the members of the Guisborough Folk Club for a lovely turnout of receptive, friendly folks, and in particular, Anne Wilson, club coordinator, for all her help.  I believe this was our sixth year performing for the group.

Rugby Club  before performance

Val Helps

Val & Kristi

5.      Monday, September 7^th - Drive to Odiham to Air BnB – stopped in rest area to sleep in car for an hour and a half.  It was a long drive from Guisborough.  (Kristi's two bits):  Steve is doing a fine job driving these wiggly, narrow roads that seem to get more congested every time we come.  And while I'm being ethnocentric, I'll carry on with more insignificant things that seem to me to have changed in twenty-five years here (as if you're interested): 1.  Colas I order come cold now instead of warm, and frequently have ice.  2.  Chain hotels with reasonable prices are everywhere now, replacing the more expensive bed and breakfasts that were our only choices in 2001.  3.  Adults now openly reveal their knees in the form of shorts, which were nowhere to be seen in 2001.  Maybe an exceptionally hot summer has had something to do with that. 4.  I have yet to see clothing drying on a clothes line.  That was the way most people dried clothing from the wash ten years ago.  Of course these are strictly superficial observations easily disproven by anyone wanting to take issue with me.

Air BnB Odiham

6.      Tuesday, September 8^th – order and pickup stepdown transformer so I can use this computer – in the evening I ordered a new bass amp for Kristi that . . . but that evening we had a radio interview in Alton, which was a short distance from our air b n b.  There were two guys who did the interview, one actually doing the interview (mostly just playing some songs) and the other guy who we had a long talk with.  You can see some of it on our Steve and Kristi Nebel Facebook feed.  (Kristi's two bits): This show is called Acoustic Cafe, hosted by Brian Player, and airs on the community station, Wey Valley Radio.  They're tireless volunteers with a loyal local following, much appreciated by us and others in Hants.

7.      Wednesday, September 9^{th  -}  Waited for the amplifier to come  - when it got here we had to try it out and thankfully it works well – good enough to do the job.  Also the airline proxy was found and they are going to get the big red bag to us when we get to Sawbridgeworth and are visiting Geoff Leeds.  We went for a walk which buoyed our spirits a bit.  (Kristi's two bits):  The entire saga of the missing bag has caused enough consternation, panic, and anxiety to make me recall the simple, sage advice to a high school classmate from her mother as she faced career changes and identity crises: "When you have problems that overwhelm you, just figure it out!"  That was my credo in dealing with the missing parts of our required elements which were in that big red bag.  We did figure it out, so that now, with or without the bag, we can and will manage with what we've got.  Thus we're able to sleep at night knowing I have an amplifier for my electric bass guitar, and we have an electric stepdown transformer enabling us to use all of our electronic devices in this country.  Needless to say it's a big relief.

A dog begging attention from strangers.




Thursday, September 10th - We spent the day enjoying our location and the Air BnB that we had rented. We went for the longer walk that our hostess had suggested, visited Odiham Castle, and walked by the canal. My only complaint came later when I discovered I had bruised the bottom of my feet as the shoes I've been wearing have very thin soles.





This is a house with a thatched roof. It's something you don't see often in the USA.






These are sloe berries. I didn't know what they were. When I tasted one it had a pit and a sour taste. They are not blueberries, but they are what you make sloe gin from. We saw several bushes full of them.

Friday, September 11th, Saturday September 12th & Sunday, September13th

Friday was our last day in Odiham (Pron. Odium). We got our groceries out of the refrigerator, packed our suitcases, threw away the box that the amplifier came in. We took out the trash, and after breakfast cleaned the dishes. The next step was getting everything into the car, which we did. As we were just getting ready to go a gentleman walking his dog stopped and we had a conversation. It turned out that he had lived in the area all his life, and he had brothers who lived within walking distance of his home, which was near. He mentioned that people around there were known as "Hampshire Hogs".
We got in the car, ready to head off but our power plug for our GPS was shorting out. We spent such a long time trying to get the GPS to work that the fellow on his walk came back again, this time just a greeting as he walked on. We were then off to Bogner Regis and the Carlton Hotel. We stopped in Chichester to get a new power adapter for our GPS, which we did and we're much happier now. Oh, that happiness should be so easily accessible! Then on to the Carlton Hotel. The proprietor was named Rom, a serious Indian man. He helped lug our baggage up to the third floor. Kristi says she was glad of the exercise, and that's a good thing because we did a lot of up and down in the two days we spent there.



The room was tiny and there were few amenities provided, but it did have a bed and an air conditioner, which we needed. It had a loud fan which was handy to mask sound from the beach and the bar while we slept. We took a little time to find out where we were scheduled to play the next night. In town there was a walking shopping street. I suppose you'd call it an outdoor mall. Kristi had been looking for a "Greggs" bakery, which is her go to for sausage rolls and caramel shortbread. There was one in the walking mall. We bought a few things and stopped and sat on a bench across from a couple of women drinking beer on the bench across the street from us.



This is a view of across the street from the hotel. Kristi noticed that there were a lot more short pants than we had experienced in earlier years in England. Wardrobes have migrated with the times. I suppose I dress differently now too. Driving around that central part of Bogner Regis was a challenge. I suppose not as bad as center Edinburgh, or Leicester, but tight with plenty of one way streets, and lots of cars.



This picture is of a booth that sells "cockles, mussels" not alive though. We didn't sample their wares but were amused at their presence. Saturday was performance day for us so we went over to the RAFA club to check it out, and managed to arrange to get a permit for parking while we performed as our instruments are quite heavy with the original cases. We had meant to have gig bags, and Kristi's amp is small and fits in a rucksack but all of that stuff is still with British Airways so we had the new amplifier, and two guitars in really heavy cases (they protected them well while enroute).


We met the sound guy in this first exploration of the RAFA Club. He was nice enough and assured me that they had plenty of microphones. We stopped at a little restaurant on our way back to the hotel and had a bite to eat. There was a sea shanty group across the street singing sea shanties. There were performers in the streets all day. We saw a fine group of Irish dancers a block away from the sea shanties.


Finally we got dressed and drove over to the RAFA Club early for our performance. We were really early so we put our instruments in storage with the festival personnel downstairs, got ourselves something to drink and waited for the ukuleles to cool off a bit. When it was a bit before our time we escaped downstairs, picked up our instruments . . . (we could have take the lift) and walked upstairs. The sound guy was named Steve so I thought we'd get along OK. The first thing the staff did was take all the concert seating away and left an empty dance floor. Steve was taking the mics and mic stands off the stage before I pointed out that we were going to need them. We then had a conversation about how we would be set up. The mixer was at the back of the room so I had no access to it. There was a snake, but no direct boxes. When I asked about direct boxes Steve was a bit indignant telling me,
"it said in your directions that you were to provide all the backline". Well, in my book that meant that if I was going to need a guitar amplifier I would have one. Kristi had her amp, but I prefer to have all the instruments in the mains speakers with the vocals, but Steve . . . well he didn't see it that way. They did have a guitar amplifier. I noticed, however, late in the performance that some of my guitar strings were more or less transparent in the amplifier. I probably could have fixed that if I had been prepared to use a guitar amplifier, but I wasn't. Then, of course, there was the matter of no stage monitors so Steve turned the mains speakers (the budget version of Mackie SRM350s) towards us so we could hear ourselves. The next thing, when we did a sound check, Steve tells me to turn down the guitar because with the mains pointed directly at us he can't get the vocals up where they're supposed to be without feedback.


After we played there were a couple of people who said they'd told the customers who were talking to shut up, apologized for their rudeness and said how ashamed they were of people who just couldn't behave themselves. Generally the response was overwhelming good. We were pretty good for a couple of jetlagged Yankees. There's a good chance that the rest of our performances will be completely acoustic performances (except for Kristi "Boom Boom's" bass amp).


We had a drink in the bar downstairs in the hotel and retired to our room for a bit of Netflix entertainment. I'm amazed at how easy Netflix has made it to hook up with our account wherever we travel. If you know British television well enough the entertainment value can be excellent, however if you don't, you may well miss all the good TV for some programming that is less than optimum for you. I guess I'm missing out on my cultural immersion by using Netflix, but back home on Netflix we often do watch British programming.


On Sunday we stayed around for the Jez Lowe Show. It was a free concert so we got there early and as it turned out there were plenty of seats, although it did fill up late. I think I got some hints about what I could do to spice things up a bit with my guitar playing. I'll have to write some new songs though. No problem.







The drive to Sawbridgeworth was uneventful other than the tiny roads which was the last bit we drove to get to Geoff's house. I wouldn't call it scary, but maybe a bit "nervous"?






Kristi's voice now:

Sam's death was a blow. Having lost a brother too I am well aware of the pain of losing the only one we will ever have. This loss will never part us. From where I see it, many moments of bonded brotherhood are lovingly behind us both. We will share more tears for Sam yet.

South Downs Folk Festival ended well. We performed Saturday night in a RAFA Club, meaning Royal Air Force, much like the fraternal organizations we played dance music for during several decades of our career as a cover band. It's by my experience a bit unusual, expecting a crowd of drinkers to sit quietly for a concert of original music, so we had the expectations to match the situation. A number of them were in fact just waiting for another such band to follow us. The group was mixed. We had some who very attentively responded and others who didn't. Afterward we were approached by three who were very enthused about us, and later by two more the next day. And we had a roaring request for an encore when we finished, so by my standards were well received.

Bognor Regis is one of the many seaside towns in the U.K. drawing tourists with casinos, game rooms, all manner of food both British and international, and an esplanade upon which to promenade. In my travels I must confess I've been a bit less than adventurous in a culinary sense. In Nome I politely declined the offer to share muktuk with newfound Inupiaq friends. I still have a twinge of guilt in that rude ethnocentricity, knowing what it took that group to harvest that whale. And still I've not visited one of these quick-stop food huts selling these oddities. If you look closely at the photo above you'll see they're selling cockles, mussels, jellied eels, and whelks. I may yet, though. What say you? Should I? The little huts selling beach chairs for rent are a bit of a curiosity not seen in the U.S. But none were in business this late in the season. Nobody gets wet, apparently; no swimsuits to be seen. Then again, the English Channel isn't exactly tropical. It leads me to wonder what's the draw for all these people. It has been speculated by minds more astute than mine, that possibly it got rolling in the industrial revolution of Victorian England, when the working class families finally were able to save a few pennies to get away from their little homes for a new thing, the holiday. And where was there to go? The only true escape on this densely populated island is that wilderness of the sea. At least that was so before air travel. And then there was the ever-present problem of the air, so universally sullied by coal dust. We all know the sea air is better, right? So all roads eventually reach the sea. And once there, folks recline under cloudy skies and stare at the wild waves, mesmerized by the gentle roar.

Monday, September 14th

A couple of days ago I got the word that my brother Sam passed away. Kristi and I had made one last trip to see him before we headed out for the UK. He had passed into hospice before we left, but I was sure he'd still be there when we returned to the states. I was in denial. Now he's gone, passed into memories. There was always some conflict in our relationship, not outwardly, but at a more subtle level. I found this poem on this computer today from a few years ago. I added to it. I wonder about the wisdom of sharing it, but I guess I just need to have someone bear witness to my feelings.










Dose Meadows



Does it matter if they listened?
At that time, I thought it did.
Until I said those words,
You in firm denial
The forest was closing around me
I was bathing in the sound of
The mountain streams
The green of the devil’s club.
I know. It’s a spikey plant,
Unfriendly like I am sometimes
Yet, I find the plant architecture
That is there . . . attractive.


The horses were behind us
We were going at a fair pace
Then you said, “no, that’s not how it happened”
You, with no experience
Never spoke to him about his life
Telling me no.
The forest blurred as anger filled
My head. I walked on ahead.
Now you don’t remember me,
Asked me if I watched the Superbowl
If you actually knew me
You would know
I never watch the Superbowl.


We spread our parents’ ashes in the meadow
On the mountainside,
The horses grazing peacefully
There was a stillness in the air
I was left without words
As I am sometimes without words
When I am with you
Today.


Now you are gone.
The last time we saw you
You were well disabled.
We took you in your wheelchair
For a walk (for us), a wheel
Around the block for you.
I was no longer angry.
My anger burns slow most times anyway.
The death squad showed up
When we got you back to your room.
The chaplain, social worker, and RN.
They could have just as well
Been carrying a scythe
Told us they’d come back later.
For me, you were still alive,
Maybe not kicking,
But certainly you were my brother.
We tried to share
Our lives.
Maybe I was just as guilty
Of not listening hard enough,
Not paying the attention
That needs to be paid.
For now, if I have a question
I can speak into the ether
Can be assured of no answer.


I should have always known better.
You stayed home from family vacations
To play baseball.
You missed Yellowstone, Yosemite,
Disneyland.
I remember you had a violin
But I never heard you play it.
You lettered in football, basketball,
And mostly baseball.
I was inside my head,
A book I was reading,
A different world.
Still, I should have taken the time,
Made the effort to see your world,
Or maybe not.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty,
And now the future
Will continue
Without you.

As for us, we're in Sawbridgeworth at Geoff Leeds home. Geoff is coming home today from a folk festival. We're looking forward to seeing him. We've been here many times before. It has been one of our stops when we have no place to go. We drove here yesterday after staying in Bogner Regis to see a Jez Lowe concert. He was every bit as good as his reputation, funny, a fine voice, and an excellent hand with his instruments (left hand guitar, cittern, and mandolin). He sang a song that was notes from his stolen mandolin. The mandolin spoke quite eloquently of the slob who had stolen her. The song is on the cd we bought from him which I'm looking forward to listening to.

September 16, 17 & 18 - Time with Geoff Leeds

Geoff & Kristi

Hardly a few moments passed after we rolled into Geoff Leeds place when the "big red bag" showed up on his doorstep.  It was a great relief even though we had already replaced the essential parts of the bag.  It did have our hats in it, and an audio recorder.  I haven't used the GoPro camera in it yet.  It does take up a substantial place in the car.  FROM KRISTI: For some reason the bag arrived with a sticky film covering all the surfaces of the zippers, inside and out.  We spent a bit of time scrubbing away at them to enable functionality, which has not yet entirely returned.  Why or how that happened is still a mystery.  

Chris, Kristi, and Brian

We left Geoff alone one night and dropped down to Southampton to play the Foc's'le Folk Club.  We stayed with Brian Hooper and his wife Christine.  We had a lovely political discussion with Brian, and they were really great company.  The club had a number of very good floor spots, and we saw Paul Clarke who actually MC'd the night.  Paul shows up at our Victory Music open mic now and again.  It's always a great pleasure to see him.  FROM KRISTI:  The experience of spending quality time before and after a performance with our hosts is an incomparable contribution to the overall measurements we treasure in creating valuable memories.  Chris and Brian were generous, thoughtful, lovely and put forth their best efforts for us with food and the comforts of home.  The gig went well with folks showing up who miraculously remembered us from ten years ago, well enough to sing along on two songs.  We were forewarned that the club has fewer members now, so the turnout was as expected, modest yet appreciative.  I tell people in my audiences in the U.S. that I believe the innate ability to sing along on a chorus of a new song by the time the second chorus has come around, is lost by about the age of eight, due to peer group pressure.  But in the U.K. that is not so, thankfully.  People love to sing along here and do so with gleeful abandon.

Geoff fed us every night we were there (and breakfast too).  We also went to a folk sing-a-round, and one night a melodeon and accordion session.  The melodeon and accordion session made us feel like ducks out of water, but there was some fine playing there, and we saw a harmonica player that was truly exceptional.  He also played melodeon.   This took place at a pub that you would never find by accident.  It was out in the countryside in what I suppose would be called a village.  It's a session that takes place weekly and has a large subscribership of very fine musicians.  It was all instrumental music except for the few songs that Kristi and I sang.  FROM KRISTI:  It would appear to me that there's some kind of squeeze-box magnet that brings together these extremely and oddly different animals, the melodeon, concertina, and accordion, to play Morris dance traditional tunes.  I'm encouraged by the mutual admiration between them that will hopefully continue to nurture this music.  It also somehow feels right that the dancers as well as the instrumentalists. are of varying ages, sexes, and skin colorations.  For all who would believe that folk music is dying out, come here to see the phenomenon burgeoning.

Geoff at the George Pub (melodeon session)

The sing-a-round at Waltham Abbey was mostly really old people, old enough that someone who was in their fifties, or sixties seemed young.  That club had deteriorated since that last time we had visited it, but they were a fun variety of singers.  There were a couple of guys with classical guitars playing Americana songs (maybe because we were there), a man Geoff said was 92 years old who played a plastic recorder and sang traditional folk songs.  There was one woman who may have been around 50 who was a good singer and played Americana, and one of her own songs.  

Sawbridgeworth condos by the canal

During the day we took a walk along the Sawbridgeworth Canal.  It really wasn't all that long a walk, and we had brunch at a restaurant by the canal at the end of the walk.  We also visited an antiques store, which was fun (isn't it always?).

Antiques

The last sing-a-round Geoff took us to was at a Friend's Meeting House (Quakers).  It was all acoustic, and I inappropriately tried to plug Kristi's bass amp in, but couldn't find an outlet - was made clear I was committing a faux paux.  It was the only time we sang with just my guitar for accompaniment.  It made me plenty nervous as I'm just used to having Kristi's bass lines to go with our performance, but I soldiered through and they seemed to appreciate my songs.  There was one guy with a concertina who played for his wife to sing, and also for himself.  There was one other guitar there, but most of the singers were unaccompanied.  Geoff did both unaccompanied and he also did at least one with his melodeon.  There were lots of interesting songs sung, a few laughs - a fun night all in all.  FROM KRISTI:  The sing-along was facilitated by someone Geoff kept referring to as a lady of high esteem, which I didn't understand until later.  She was a very attractive young redhead with an equally attractive and skilled sultry, deep voice on traditional a cappella English songs.  She finished the session with high praise for all singers.   But in every other respect she seemed pretty ordinary to me.  Finally I coaxed out of Geoff the information that she was in fact the leader of the "East Anglia Traditional Folk Music Trust", funded by the National Trust.  To me the very existence of such a thing is an indication that traditional folk music here is very much alive and well after all these years.  I know of no equivalent in the U.S. that addresses and nurtures very specifically local music with funding and activities

Geoff really kept us busy while we visited, and he's a fun guy who knows a lot about traditional English music.  He plays for a Morris Dance group and filled in a bit of information about Morris dancing that we didn't know.  When we went to Waltham Abbey we took a guy (Jeremy) who lives on a narrowboat full time.  It was interesting hearing him talk about that life, and also about Morris dancing, which he had take up recently.  The Morris dance group does rehearsals in Waltham Abbey but Geoff had permission on sing-a-round nights to miss the Morris dance sessions.  The Morris dancers showed up at the pub to talk and drink after the sing-a-round.  FROM KRISTI:  Just a few more words about laundry.  With only a few changes of clothing we naturally run out of clean clothes pretty fast, meaning the need to launder comes up every few days.  Our hosts have been generous in lending their homes to the cause, and it quickly came back to me how fast clothing can dry on the clothesline.  The only down side is that British washing machines are so small that clothing will come out quite wrinkled.  You can see by the looks of my black jeans in these photos, that there's a reason we are known as the Great Un-Ironed Americans. 

We finally left Geoff's house on Saturday, September 19th.  We played at the Orpington Liberal Club that day.  That club was booked and sponsored by Paul Green who was too ill to MC and shockingly we just got the news that Paul passed away from his sickness.  David Gilmour (our good friend from Tacoma) came to that gig, and Geoff also made the trek from Sawbridgeworth to Orpington to hear us play.  The sound guy did an excellent job and we sounded like we like to sound.

Ross Jacques & Colin Brunton

Ross (in above picture) and Colin sounded very good, Ross being a very experienced blues harp guy.  Colin was our soundman, for whom we were (are) very grateful.

After Orpington we headed up north playing first in Hartlepool where we had an absolutely great reception, then on to Croxdale.  That's a location we've been back to numerous times in the now fairly distant past, having been hosted by a dear friend, Fred Brierly, who was the organizer of the club and an important contributor to the County Durham folk community.  I felt a swelling of warmth from the few remaining members of the club from those years, who chimed in on Steve's sentimental tribute to him, "Durham County", singing along on the chorus.  The turnout was fairly good and seemed appreciative of our music.

Dunfermline was next where the organizer said, 

"a big Thankyou for coming along last night and entertaining us so well. We all thoroughly enjoyed your set. Great songs and music.  We hope to see you again before too long."

We'll have more to say about it all when I get a little more time.  Thanks to all of the folks who hosted us with beds and meals and great conversation!

September 20, 21, 23 - Hartlepool, Croxdale, Dunfermline

We spent the night in Orpington after playing at the Orpington Liberal Club.  The next morning we got up and got out to go to Hartlepool.   After a six-hour drive from the south to the northeast of the island, we stayed with Bill Andrew there.  He's a really great guy and we really enjoyed his company.  One reason we arrived there a day early is that the Hartlepool Folk Club meets at 12:30pm at the Causeway Pub - an exception in timing.  We very seldom play folk clubs during the day.  Bill was all ready for us with a steak dinner and long conversation about his days working on oil drilling rigs.

Steve, Kristi, Bill & his friend Jill

The next day Bill took us out to the Railway Cafe for breakfast and I had black pudding with my eggs and sausage.  We went to his friend Jill's house to print a setlist I had prepared.  By then it was time to get to the Causeway Pub and get ready to play.  We went to a small room (Bill was thinking it might be a sparse turnout), then decided to go to a slightly larger room.  There were a couple of floor spots then we started to play.  As we played the room filled completely up.  I made a joke about how nice it was to play to a standing room only crowd but then some more folks showed up so we took a break and moved to the big room in the pub where we finished another set after some more floor spots.  We sold CDs there, which was great.  After we played we went grocery shopping and Kristi fixed cashew chicken for dinner.  It was a nice evening with Jill & Bill.  Bill's house was a fixer when he moved in and it was great to have conversations with him about all the improvements that he had built into the house.  He has a friend who has an antique shop where Bill buys things to put in all the nooks and crannies at his house.

Our next stop along the way was to play the Croxdale Folk Club.  

September 28

(from Kristi): The Bridge Folk Club is in a spot I previously rhapsodized on in a past tour blog but can't resist doing so again.  It's location is par none spectacular, nestled below and between trains on one side, with the Garth smack dab in the middle of them, and the great and mighty Tyne river on the other.  The Garth is the priory of the "new" castle of Newcastle.  The rest of the castle is mostly rubble, being 946 years old.  The Garth remains intact, albeit partially rebuilt.  It's a gargantuan Garth and looms large over The Bridge.  Someone pointed out to me that the castle is so named because it was built over the old one, which was built in 1080.  Yeah, you got it; the town is named after the NEW castle which is only 946 years old.  That was a bit mind-boggling to one whose home has buildings going back around 175 years, max.  That's what WE think of as really old.  Anyway as night fell on Newcastle we watched from the windows of The Bridge, the elevated trains on their bridges from two angles of the view, go zipping by high in the sky, seeming to fly into the distance.  Meanwhile an eerie red ground spotlight began to overtake the ancient Garth, making it loom in some kind of bloody theatrical mood.  As we walked out into the night the 1832 bridge off to the left, a pretty stone design, was flanked by another arched sandstone bridge of equal beauty, again unlike any of the steel-reinforced concrete ones in my hometown.  Behind me a full moon shone on it all.

October 1st

(from Kristi): Round and round and round we go, maneuvering on the left side between white lines that seem sometimes to be too narrow for a skinny kitten.  Of course I'm exaggerating but I know for a fact that the kind of driving Steve did isn't normal here.  Folks look askance at the distances planned in our itinerary knowing the pitfalls possible on these roads with their heavy traffic, slowing roundabouts, and squeezy peripheries around cars parked in travel lanes.  It's both tiring and a bit stressful to put too much of it in a day, and to British eyes we definitely did that.  And that would be on me, the tour manager who made these plans knowingly facing such "issues" (a word in vogue to mask the word "problems").  Steve was complicit with these plans though I HAD originally promised to share the driving, and in the end chickened out.  I was continually aware of the toll it might be taking on him in addition to the jet-lag and our advancing ages.  But he weathered the storms quite well with no accidents nor incidents, and drove over 2,000 miles in our thirty days.  I'm grateful.  

I'm the tour manager, which has it's own level of stress as far as I'm concerned.  Maybe for some the tasks of booking gigs, negotiating pay, decisions on paths between gig locations, connecting with overnight folk club hosts, choosing accommodations for the days between gigs, making of hotel reservations, getting plane and car rental reservations, is all a breeze.  It's not for me.  I find that the more I plan, the less I experience stress while on the road.  And in this case I feel redeemed by the overall successful results, now that it's over.  But I also am not easy-going enough to relax into crossing every "t" and dotting every "i" for every day of the trip.  So I began plans over a year ahead of the tour, and the details didn't end until we left SEATAC.  And it didn't end easily.  Our guitars finally made our way to our door thanks to British Airways who put them on a flight the day AFTER we arrived.  HMM.  Is this how they always roll?

The hospitality we experienced from our six hosts was incomparable and humbled me as a sometime hostess in my own home.  Three of them were prior friends from previous visits to their respective folk clubs, and three were newly generous volunteers to their positions.  Typically home stays are offered by folk club organizers, though I in some cases have had to ask for them. In every case I had to appreciate the levels to which the planning was made to make our stays memorable as well as comfortable.  We in the retrospectives of our ten visits have cherished the varied memories of these privileged inside looks at the people and their communities all over this island.  The warm conversations with them stay with us long afterward, as well as the images of how they actually live.  It's an especially and uniquely immersive way to travel.

Excellent Exciting Excursion Exploration Expedition and Escape on Six Trains

Feb. 20 through March 3rd

"The earthquake was 5.4 on the Richter Scale and there are reports of cracks in roads so the bridge may be damaged", said our Canada Via Rail activities director.  This pulled the rug right out from under my magical mystery tour.  We had just left Vancouver after riding Amtrak up from Seattle, spending the night in a hotel, and visiting the wonders of the Vancouver Art Gallery https://www.vanartgallery.bc.ca/.  

                                               Vancouver Art Gallery: Firelei Baez

Steve and I took advantage of the tour package tickets to ride the elevator up to the Vancouver Lookout https://vancouverlookout.com/.  Things thus far were living up to my escape plans which were to cut the elastic on my ties to all that may seem stressful or humdrum in my life, and experience something excellent and exciting.  Hope springs eternal.  I left behind the work to make bookings for our music, meal preparations, housekeeping, phone messages, and more.  Now the man continued, "We may need to wait a while before we can leave".  As we sat for two and a half hours with nothing to think about but news of an earthquake, the elastic pulled me back psychologically to a wee bit of stress.  Finally we lumbered ahead onto the trestle over the great and mighty Frazer River.  At mid-span Steve said, "Here's where the bridge might collapse under us!"  Maybe he was channeling his great-grandfather's train wreck recorded in his song, "Great Grandfather": https://steveandkristinebel.bandcamp.com/track/great-grandfather.  Someone else from another seat piped in, "They've done some work on it recently so maybe it will hold up".  The redheaded burly young man next to him said, " I'm an engineer.  It will be fine!"  I say with over-confidence, "I believe  you!"  The he sheepishly admitted, "I really don't know that".  By now we've made it over the river safely.  

The trip to Vancouver disgruntled me as we had reserved seats facing eastward toward the industrial effluvia of the cities of the Puget Sound, as opposed to the beauty of the sound itself.  So after taking about as much as I could of it, I wandered to another car full of empty seats and we relocated.  By then we were taking in the waterfront glories of Everett, Bellingham Bay, and Vancouver.  I'm not letting trivialities like reserved seat assignments keep me from enjoying the matchless beauty of our Washington coast, even on a cloudy day.  The next morning we awoke hungry, and the three of us made our way to breakfast in a Turkish bakery down the street from our hotel.  I ate a sublime cake-like pastry with feta cheese and luscious spices leaving me happily sated.  Few things delight me more than tasting a wonderful discovery I may never learn how to cook or find again.

                                                      Selfie on the Vancouver Tower 

                                                       Vancouver from the tower

Then off we went on Via Rail Canada to the next leg of the package.  The first order of business was the attempt to make ourselves at home in the sleeping berth.  We each got a bed and three hot meals every day on the trains, as part of our package.  Ideally perhaps I'd have worn one set of clothing throughout the twelve days of travel and laundered them nightly but then who knows where I'd hang up the undies.  As it was I took three full sets of clothing to alternate and couldn't fit my roller bag  under my seat, meaning it had nowhere to go but on my armrest and then at the end of my bed at  night.  Hence the mess you see in the picture.  As well we were assigned a small bench seat that folded into a bed at night, and somehow wound up in two upper bunks, meaning the lower bunks and opposing seats were assigned to two other people.  

You're looking below at Steve on his bench with his guitar near the ukulele of his bunk-mate, Aaron.  Don't ask me how Amtrak Vacations found two bunkmates for us who were a married couple of folk musicians, about our age with similar political ideas, but it worked out unbelievably well.  We didn't ask for that; it was pure serendipity.  The second photo is what my bunk looked like.  I thought it somewhat too cozy until I moved to the American version of the same thing on Amtrak and then cozy went to quite cramped.  At least here I could sit up to squirm around while dressing in the morning.  

Steve and I bought guitars especially for the purpose of playing on this trip.  They're both very small.  Mine is a bass-uke, with a fret board so tiny I have to stare at it lest my muscle memory takes my fingertips to the wrong places. 

                                                             Me and my UBASS

 Aaron started strumming on his ukulele, inviting us to join in.  One thing led to another until he and his wife Barb invited us to perform just for them.  Soon the very narrow corridor was plugged up with nine listeners as we continued for about a half-hour, pulling together all the train songs we knew plus a couple more.  We had decided not to bring the guitars out to perform in one of the two community spaces in the cars, unless we were invited by the management.  This it turns out was wise.  We let everyone in our listening audience know that we wouldn't be asking for permission ourselves.  But several of our fans did so.  Then the activities director gave us a cheerful but adamant talk all about how and why we can't under any circumstances, play in "public".  Canada Via Rail has an application procedure for their hired musicians and, you see, how can they otherwise know how bad we might be?  Even after we explained this to people, one of our fans continued to harangue the poor guy.  We take no responsibility for that, but it was kind of flattering.  Steve and I are no strangers to the difficulties of performing in Canada as Americans.  Still, people kept presenting us with Canada Via Rail's web page for musicians to apply, which we know would do us no good because we're not Canadians.  That was the only performance we did on the trip.  Barb with her lovely voice sang duets with Aaron on a couple of folk songs familiar to me from Bill Staines.  Our connections with our bunk-mates seemed to transport me back to my memories of college dormitory conversations between bunk roomies.

                                             Typical dome car view on Canada Via Rail

Meals are a particular pleasure on Via Rail Canada, and undeniably a social experience.  The food is hand-prepared by a chef each day, with fresh-cut vegetables and fruits.  All meals were great, with desserts especially spectacular.  I totally threw caution to the wind and gained three pounds.  The waiters usher passengers into a small table for four and almost instantly usher a couple of strangers to sit across from each other.  In such circumstances introductions and conversation ultimately follow.  By the end of the trip I was on first-name basis with about a dozen riders.  

One of them had listened to our music in the corridor and found her way to our dinner table to pepper us intensely with questions.  She cut a striking figure, a thin and willowy Canadian with a shock of gray hair pulled back from her inquisitive bright blue eyes.  She had heard one of Steve's songs that seemed to launch a difficult dialogue within herself regarding the limits of capitalism, and Steve and I were quite willing to take on one side.  The song is "Dark Days", and she loves it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HmSz0dIPFFk.  She reluctantly answered a few of our questions revealing that she's an actress preparing for a lead role in a movie soon to be shot in Edmonton.    We got out for a short stroll in Winnipeg and while clutching my arm as we navigated the icy road, she explained that movie producers take out insurance policies on the health and lives of their leading actors, making them promise to avoid specific risky behaviors.  So we quickly found a safe spot to walk, and as we passed a parking lot I couldn't help noticing Canadian flags on car antennae, no doubt making their stand against American trade tariffs and other such nonsensical intrusive hubris.  Anyway she was a bright spot in our memories on Canada Via Rail.

  

Train song lyrics hound and haunt me.  "And the sons of pullman porters and the sons of engineers ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel" [Steve Goodman, City of New Orleans].  That's Steve, the great grandson of the engineer who among others took Lincoln's remains across the country for the public to view after his assassination.  "Mothers with their babes asleep are rocking to the gentle beat and the rhythms of the wheels are all they feel".  I woke up one morning when that rhythm stopped as we waited in Cleveland.  It should have been perfect for sleep; no sound and no movement, utterly still.  I guess something deep inside connected that rocking, rolling and gentle jarring to the comforts of the womb.  I wanted it to begin again, partly because in my position lying on my belly, I felt so directly connected to the earth below me.  "From the great Atlantic Ocean to the wide Pacific Shore...as she glides over the woodlands on the hills and by the shore" [Box Car Willie, Wabash Cannonball].  

Via Rail Canada has no internet access, probably in part due to cars that remain well-preserved and just as they were when built in  1955.  The experience throws one into interior ponderings, or if you will, trains of thought.  With many hours to pass, the alternatives are reading books, playing board games, wine tastings, lectures by the activities director, or just being alone with ones' thoughts.  It feels like a throwback to culture before obsessions and addictions to digital electronic devices.

We made it, after our first night on board, to the peak of the Rockies past Jasper.  The activities director warned us that Jasper's housing had half burned down last summer and that the town was in grief, with many residents having left town for good.  We saw signs out the window of the thousands of black tree corpses still standing yet burnt, right up next to the train tracks.  The remaining green ones at this latitude and altitude in many cases appeared to me kind of scrawny and underfed, though that's just the natural appearance of alpine firs.  Still I'm grateful for their greenery after the dismal vast expanses of mountains with nothing left on them but what appears from a distance to be thinning black hair on these giant mountainous heads.  So far we were only two hours late due to the earthquake which made no difference to us since we had two days to kill in Toronto before catching our next train.  The rivers and streams were frozen and the snowy peaks towering over us right and left reminded me of why I was making this trip.  

It included several stops for embarkments as well as dis-embarkments.  The first stretch to Winnipeg seemed to have an international array of passengers from England, Germany, New Zealand, America, and Canada.  The last stretch to Montreal seemed to usher in a younger demographic of Canadians using the train for utilitarian rather than entertainment purposes.

                                                        Rolling through the Rockies

                                                                   Burnt Rockies

                                 Valemount Hotel where we played music a while back

In Toronto we had two nights to spend in a comfortable hotel suite downtown, and tickets to take another trip up to an iconic landmark designed by the same architect who created the one we went up in Vancouver.   It's called the CN Tower. Taking the taxi across town we drank in the beauty of the city's buildings.  

                                                                   The Mall

We went looking for a nice sit-down dining experience, following signs through a mall that seemed to be enormously tall and long; witness the ceiling on the above photo.  Just the search was a big adventure.  It took us so long that by the time we found a place that sunlight pictured above was gone. We finally settled on an elegant-looking Italian place, not the one we wanted which was closed for renovation.  Steve ordered what he thought might be an interesting meal but due to translation difficulties turned out to be plain old macaroni and cheese.  Oh, well, seize the day!  It was our last day in Canada before catching another train to New York.

                                                              Toronto CN Tower

We arrived in the big apple at around 10 pm with just enough time to make our way to our hotel and turn in.  Our schedule was a bit packed.  The connection left us barely enough time to take in the sights of the city.  We had tickets as part of our package, to the "Hop-on, Hop-off" bus, which we mistakenly assumed would pick us up at Penn Station.  Instead it required us to walk a mile.  After sitting on a train for six days no doubt it was just what the doctor ordered to regulate our systems, but made me plenty nervous, as I didn't really know where we were going nor whether we'd have time to do this and make our connection for the train.  It turned out to be at the M & M Store.  Yes, you read that right; a three-story big store devoted to nothing but M & M candies and swag.  Fortunately it had a bathroom too because after spending three hours of walking and touring we were about to wet our pants.  The tour was fine, though a might chilly on the roof of a bus in the winter, and as one might predict, pretty slow-moving through downtown Manhattan traffic.  Then we quickly walked back another mile.  That stress took some enjoyment from the experience though the sun came out and the tour was otherwise reasonably worthwhile.

                                 Knish for breakfast in Penn Station 

                                  The chilly top of the bus tour of NYC

                                We love the message, "Stop Wars" vs "Star Wars".

On the Amtrak American side now, we glided through what looked like Bible-drenched other-side-of-the-tracks humble abodes.  It's Hoosier Country and we were due to be in Chicago in an hour and a half, waiting for the Empire Builder to carry us home.  

                                      Note the Amtrak red stripe now we've left Canada         

                                         Sunset on Amtrak

 

                                              Hoosier Country

                                        Slightly different look to Amtrak "Roomette"

                      In Canada it's called "Dome Car" and on Amtrak "Observation Car"

The train stopped in Spokane in the wee hours of the morning to take on riders and release the back half of cars for a separate train going to Salt Lake City.  Knowing I'd missed the beauty of Glacier Park in the dark, I was eager for one last glimpse of mountain scenery before arriving home.  So I forced myself out of bed to head for the observation car to watch the Cascades roll by.  It was then that I felt the shock of amputation as it had left us.  It was a rude awakening.  But in the dawn's dim early light the great and mighty Columbia River began to show herself out our roomette window, and then the Wenatchee Valley wherein there are no bad views in any direction, even from my north-facing dining car window.

                                    Dawn's early light over the Wenatchee Valley

For the last few hours we glided past many lovely views of the Skykomish River raging and cutting through the steep banks of the North Cascades.

Then we're back home again!