Getting Beyond the Familiar #2: We End Walking

After a restless, largely sleepless night, somewhat spooky night, I lie in bed and feel both sad and happy that this is the last day of walking. The previous days' walking and exploring were exhausting, exhilarating, exciting, and, well, a bunch of other things. Today's distance should be only about 10 miles, a distance that seems short, a minor hop-skip-jump down the path.

Breakfast, alone again, is at a large table; this is my last day of being pampered and served, and my feelings are mixed. As someone who feels guilty at being waited on by servers at restaurants, I've had a bit of difficulty having someone prepare my breakfast each morning. When Monica, my host, greets me, we talk about my day ahead, and we talk about how she's not sure of how much longer she'll be hosting anyone, a quandary brought about in some way by her brother's illness. The table at which I'll eat and the food I will consume look like this:

There is enough food for several people. I eat some of it, wrap the meat in a napkin for lunch. Not much later, I say goodbye to Monica, thank her for taking care of me when she would rather have been taking care of her brother, and I head out the door. I look at the churchyard I passed through yesterday, and I wonder if the time I'd spent roaming the graveyard--and peeking into crevices and crypts--contributed to the previous night's sleeplessness and thinking that someone was in the room with me.

The weather is, once more, superb: sunny, warm. Some of the terrain looks like this:

The walking is fairly easy as my legs legs and lungs have adapted to walking. Along the way I pass through (and even around) the fields where the Battle of Lansdown took place in 1643. The path takes me over a wall, which looks like this:

The flag-markers I encounter for much of the morning delineate the battleground's boundaries, and I am reminded of a trip years ago to Battle, England, where the battle of Hastings was fought in 1066. As I get older and turn into more of a pacifist, I tend to also become more pessimistic about the our species' bent toward self-destruction. Battlefields make me think of these things.

The miles pass easily. From a hill, I see the first traces of Bath in the distance:

I walk through the town of Weston, and I stop at a Tesco Express for a sandwich and a drink, which I consume while sitting on a stone wall just up the road. I have just a couple of miles left, according to the signpost, and I'm torn between hurrying along or simply lingering in Weston for a while longer. I split the difference and walk slowly, easing into the commotion that is Bath. It is not long until I am somewhat lost and disoriented as I find it nearly impossible to find trail markers. In the shade of a large tree near a park, I consult my guidebook and find the note that the trail "signage is small and difficult to spot," which makes me feel better. I am searching for the Bath Abbey, the traditional start/finish of the Cotswold Way, but I finally give up and navigate to my lodging, where I check in, shower, and relax. The room is comfortable and large, as is the bed on which everything I have carried for the last 5 days rests:

I am staying about a mile from the Abbey, so I head back into the city and find the place, which looks like this, outside and inside:

Finally getting here is, predictably, anti-climactic: no trumpets sounding my arrival, no committee of angels to welcome me. Quickly weary of the crowds of tourists (yes, I know I am one of them), I head out again and find the Sacren's Head pub, where Dickens reputedly wrote sections of The Pickwick Papers. The pub even has this:

It is a nice touch, especially because Dickens is one of my favorite authors, and I started this trip to England with a visit to the Dickens' House (a small museum) in London. I order a Guinness from the bartender, find a seat near the window, and let myself sink into relaxation. This adventure is over.