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For more information about the fen lands, go to the
following links:
May 7th: Bank
holiday Monday, there was a food festival on the Cathedral green at Ely, and
the sun was shining … so off we went to Ely. We caught the train at Norwich and
sped through the gorgeous East Anglian countryside. I’d forgotten just how
beautiful England is, with its undulating green fields and sleepy towns. I miss
the Spanish moss of Florida, I no longer look for gators when we’re near a body
of water. But, at times it also feels as though Florida – Venice - belongs to a
different phase of my life – a distant time. Did I really leave all of this to camp in
places like the river of grass? Michigan? “Michigan seems like a dream to me
now…” Could I really leave the gators and pelicans, dolphins, manatees and
palmettos to return to this? The sun has been out almost constantly since my
arrival, and yet it’s different, higher, brighter, less intense than the same
celestial object in Fl. The light is different too.
The arrival into Ely,
“Isle of eels” heightens one’s senses, and builds expectations for the “ship of
the fens” as the Cathedral
is known. The fens
are marshland, an inland waterway, reclaimed in the 17th century for
agriculture by building ditches (or dykes). If the sluice gates were opened,
the fens would be flooded within hours. As the train pulled into Ely station,
we saw the lovely old barges and houseboats on the river, families out walking
the towpath., and the Cathedral rising high above the City. We made our way to
the Cathedral passing cows in the meadow, and flowers and blossoms everywhere. We
opted for the guided tour of the 14th century Octagon tower – with its inclusive cup of tea … a well earned treat after climbing the 170 steep,
narrow, spiral steps! The views from the top of the tower – both inside and out
– are astounding. After the tour we explored the remainder of the cathedral; stunning
architecture and stained-glass windows - many of which were replaced during the
Victorian era. We snagged the last leaflet showing the locations of The Green Man carved into stone,
and RL and I having been lovers of the I-Spy books when we were
young were now on a mission! We toured the stained glass museum, seeing the
difference in colour and technique change over time, and then we ventured out
into the food festival for lunch.
The first stall we came to sold seafood. That was me sorted:
I had been passing the Norwich market every day but had not yet purchased a
tray of cockles, mussels and whelks. Now was the time! I live by the Gulf of
Mexico, seafood is plentiful and mussels can be purchased in any grocery store
or restaurant … but cockles and whelks are a childhood memory. On Friday nights
the seafood stall would open outside the Horse and Groom pub and my father and
I would walk there and share a plate of whelks covered in salt and vinegar.
Summertime often meant visiting my (great) aunty Anne in Pegwell Bay, Kent. We
would spend time at the shore, exploring rock pools for cockles, winkles,
limpets and other shellfish and bring them home to steam and devour. Oh yes, a
mixed tray please.
Gin has become ‘a thing’ recently, and there were assorted
gin vendors dotted around the green. Elderberry is everywhere and in
everything! We sampled foods, gins and wines from all the vendors, leaving
little room for a proper dinner … and then we spied, or rather smelled, the samosa
stand.
Fully sated, we made our way to Oliver
Cromwell’s house in the middle of town. The house is a lovely thatched
cottage next door to the church, but very disappointing as a museum.
Then it was back on the train to Norwich, sighting pheasant,
pigs, sheep and cattle along the way, and windmills off in the distance.
