Blenheim and ducklings

14/11/12
We got into Blenheim about four and booked into the Top Ten park, which by the time night fell was fairly full with campervans. Not so many tents - in fact, ours is just about the only one, it think - but it's a very tidy, and large, site.  Only disadvantage is that the bridge on which all the main road traffic travels is over the stream that runs through the caravan park and the traffic noise echoes and reverberates around the place.  When the trains go past, and there seem to be plenty of them, the noise is fortissimo!  In spite of that we both slept pretty well, so that's a plus.  I'm over in the kitchen typing this because Celia is still asleep.  I was awake at four, prayed for a while, and went back to sleep at five I guess, woke again at six, and have been over here pretty much since then.

We did a bit of a tour around Blenheim on foot last night, getting some idea of the place.  Quite a different town to what I expected, though it was very deserted last night.  We'll check it out further today.  The weather has got past its wet and heavy cloud stuff, so it looks as though it's going to be a decent day, always a relief when camping!

Feeding the ducklings, while the
mother duck looks on unconcerned.

Last night we cooked and had our tea outside rather than dragging everything over to the kitchen - the kitchen is up a little rise and then up some stairs (for some reason the facilities near us are in a building where everything is upstairs and nothing on ground level).  While we were eating, a mother duck and her six ducklings - we'd seen them down by the stream before - came over to see if there was anything going food-wise.  I went and got some bread, and while the mother looked on, her six ducklings scrabbled for bits of bread right out of my hand,  I've just passed them again coming back from the kitchen. They show absolutely no fear.

Later. We had a very quiet day all up, spending the morning mostly either reading, snoozing, or doing the puzzles we got from 1066.  I managed to complete three of these including one I hadn't been able to do the other day, but this afternoon I couldn't get my head round them at all.  Maybe I'd worn my brain out.  I finished the latest Ian Rankin tonight; very good read with a nice red herring running through the greater part of it.  I’m not sure that the solution to the serial murders is handled as much of a surprise: the killer is a character who doesn't turn until late in the book, and there's only Rebus's hunch to undo him.

This afternoon we drove into the town centre and wandered around doing our own thing separately: Celia at the op shops, me taking some photos and visiting the Millennium Gallery, which had a couple of exhibitions on (with paintings all for sale) but had no room for any of its permanent collection.  An ongoing problem apparently.

We were going to have potatoes for tea (along with some other things) but the potatoes had vanished out of the car.   Must have left them at my daughter's.  Tomorrow we're aiming to go to Picton and then round the coast road to Havelock and so to Nelson.  We're told that the coast road round the Queen Charlotte Sound is good and not too hilly.  Let's hope that's right!

Celia puts a brave face on it

Today we managed two trips out, in spite of Celia’s sore foot. She bravely walked along at a snail’s pace, and eventually we got to where we were going.
First trip was to the covered Market, [see photo] which is reputed to the be the largest covered market in Europe. It may be, but it wasn’t somehow as pleasant as the market in Barcelona, which was only a couple of blocks away from our place of residence. The Valencia market is very spacious, and things are divided up more clearly, so that the fish market is isolated from the rest. Yet it didn’t have the friendly feel of the Barcelona one, nor the exuberance of the Melbourne one we saw three years ago. Never mind, we bought plenty of food there, enough to keep us going until we go home. It’s the first time we’ve actually had food on hand to any extent. We had a cup of coffee each in the café across the road - a real blue collar café - and the coffee was very black.
On the way back I found that there was an art exhibition in the building next door. I think the place is called Obras Sociales - or it could be Caja Mediterráneo. Both names appear on the two catalogues they gave me for free. Entry was free as well.
There were two exhibitions, one related to mental health in the community (related very loosely, but that’s by the by), and the other by Marlén Ramos, about whom I know nothing really since the text is all in Spanish. Both were good exhibitions: the first had paintings collected together from a variety of 20th century artists, many of whom are now dead. Ramos’ work came under the cover of ‘Patchwork Paintings’ and were carefully crafted abstract pieces. Both the catalogues have reproductions of all the paintings in their respective exhibitions. That was a bonus.
Our second trip out was to the Aquarium. We got the 95 bus as far as we thought it went and then found that it went all the way. Unfortunately this meant Celia had to walk some distance, from in front of the Science Museum, past the next building and the covered garden and right down and around the corner to the Aquarium entrance. In due course we got there!
Pluses. The walruses were a delight, swimming on their backs right under where we were watching from, and huffing and puffing and grunting and making rude noises in their usual fashion. The something-or-other whale (I’ll really have to take a notebook with me) was equally enthusiastic about swimming past us, as was a single penguin in a large area that had lots of other penguins preening themselves. The first area we went into had fish from coral reef areas; two huge tanks with hundreds of fish of all sorts swimming around. There were seats between the two tanks so you could just sit and relax. (After our walk it was essential.) The hypnotic tank of jellyfish, and of course, the seahorses and seadragons were a delight.
Minuses. In spite of this being touted as the biggest aquarium in the world, it isn’t the most exciting. It’s spread out over a large area, but includes three restaurants in that area. The walruses and that whale are in tanks that really aren’t big enough for them long-term, and having an aviary in an aquarium seems a bit odd. The flamingoes and pelicans have a lot of room, but there are only ducks in another pond (!) and what are they all doing in an aquarium? The tropical fish aren’t particularly colourful - in fact, there were far more colourful fish in the shop we went to in Norfolk (for free) than there were here.
I think the aquarium in Melbourne, though not so large in terms of space, is actually better value for money. Presumably the Valencia one has plenty of room to expand!
Worst Minus: the terrible music that accompanies you wherever you go in this place. It's monotonous and trivial.
And so back onto the 95 bus, which we thought would take us in a loop back around to the Towers of Serranos, which are at the top of our street. When we got to the bridge across the riverbed that leads onto the towers, Celia said she didn’t feel like walking across, so we stayed on the bus assuming that in ten minutes or so it would come back closer to home. Half an hour later we finally got there, having gone into the depths of suburban Valencia, and sat for five or ten minutes while the driver had a break. In the meantime it had got dark, which made seeing the Towers more difficult. And we were very hungry.

Potter Heigham

Yesterday we went to Potter Heigham, which is famous for two things. Firstly, it’s on the Norfolk Broads, so that makes it special to Celia, and secondly, there’s a bridge over the River Thurne at Potter Heigham beside which Celia fell in the water when she was a schoolgirl. (We have a photo of this bridge, but on the laptop, and I can’t upload from there at the moment. However, the link I've just given has a very good picture of the bridge on it.)

Why did she fall in the water? She was on a week’s boating experience with her school, and when you get to the bridge at PH (there are now two of them, in fact) you have to lower the mast on your boat because the bridge isn’t very high above the water. In lowering her mast she knocked herself into the water. Historic.

Potter Heigham isn’t pronounced Potter Heigham, by the way. Try something along the lines of Potterhyam? I put the question mark there because Celia always gives it a kind of upward lift at the end of the word.

It was packed with people having a day out yesterday, (although not so much as Wroxham, which is further along the road). We went for a walk along the bank of the particular arm of the Broads that comes into the village, and walked, and walked – and walked. Our intention was eventually to cross a bridge and walk back on the other side, but the bridge proved to be over yet another arm of the Broads, and there was a considerable body of water between us and the other bank, so we didn’t try to cross it. In the distance we could see the boats sailing through what appeared to be fields, with cows munching away. It’s an odd visual thing because it’s only as you get up close to some of the waterways that you can see they’re there. If it wasn’t for the boats on them you wouldn’t realize they existed.

Our long walk took us past a now disused (and dis-sailed) windmill, one of about half a dozen in the vicinity, past the backs of dozens of little holiday houses (virtually cribs or baches as we’d call them at home) parked right on the bank of the water, past marshes and smelling ditches where the water had become green and stagnant, past odours whose origins we didn’t want to think about, past brambles and stinging nettles and reeds and, best of all, wild blackberries. Which were ready to pick and exceptionally delicious. One of my great regrets in New Zealand is that the blackberry is considered noxious; here it grows where it pleases and passersby can pick as they please.

Most of the holiday homes were for rent, I presume, or were owned by people who came year after year. One of them was up for sale: £120,000 was the asking price. £120,000! The building was in a pleasant spot, but it was also run-down, and would need repairs to the walls, the roof, and probably things we couldn't see. The notice on the window did admit it needed a bit of a sorting out. That didn't apparently stop them asking what seems to me to be a phenomenal amount of money for what would be a crib back home.

Curiously named places

After making rude comments about Roade earlier in this blog, we’ve since come across a small village (barely more than a street, it seemed) called Bridge Street. It was somewhere between Bury St Edmunds and Sudbury.
And there are several streets called The Street. I’d always thought the High St was one of the most popular names for a street, but I don’t think I’ve seen a High St since I was here.
And then there’s the very curiously named Unthank Rd in Norwich. Unthank? Turns out that this isn't named after some ungrateful person, but after a particular family. You can get some more information from this article on the History Page.