Nottingham, England
Day Off
Even though we had the day off, the drive to Nottingham was a “long and winding road,” as the Fab Four would say. Pasquel’s GPS tracking system accurately directed us to the ‘correct’ address on Talbot Street, a dead end road surrounded by rows of small townhouses in a, shall we say, ‘quaint’ little town. We contacted three of god’s children (I think they refer to them as juvenile delinquents in this ‘quaint’ town) and interrupted the stimulating conversation of them debating whether the female was or was not a “skank.” When we asked whether we were near the ‘Rock City’ club on Talbot Street in Nottingham, they immediately started laughing and informed us that we where on Talbot Street, alright . . . in Pinkston, approximately an hour away from Nottingham. Well, I just about died, as this was fodder for teasing Pasquel for the next few days (“Hey Pasquel, are we in Pinkston, yet?”)
Well, by the time we got into Nottingham, on our “day off”, it was already 3:00. So, I quickly checked into my hotel room, rinsed off, and walked the 10 minute hike to Nottingham Castle. Unfortunately, the walk took 30 minute because of the photo ops that I encountered on the way. By the time I arrived at 3:55, the gate keeper was closing up for the day. Looks like I’ll have to wait for tomorrow to storm the castle. The gatekeeper, nonetheless, referred me to the “Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem” pub (‘trip’ referring to ‘stopover’ in old English), which was around the corner and a the foot of the castle wall. Now, this place was a proper pub. Small and multileveled, with low ceilings and caves, built right into the sandstone bedrock that makes up the natural fortifications for the castle.
It is claimed that the pub dates back to the 11th century and is the oldest in England, but research informs me that there are 20 such pubs in England that make such a claim. Nonetheless, whether it’s 800 or 900 years of patronage, I’m not going to interrupt the lineage. I'm headed to the Promised Land, but not before I have a ‘right proper pint’ and toast those travelers before me.
Luckily, on my way back to the hotel, I met up with Brian, Jeff, Steve, Honorina (Steve’s wife, who met up with us in London) and Pasquel (our driver, who has now become one of the gang) Unfortunately, I had to inform them that the Castle was closed. “However, I know this little place . . . . ” This time Pasquel bought the round of drinks at the ‘Trip.” He and I had a pint, while the rest had coca-cola, as part of a “dry tour” compact the band members have with one another. (Years of experience have proven that alcohol or drugs, and touring can have disastrous results for the group.) After hanging at the ‘Trip,’ the six of us walked into the middle of town to search for the best Indian food (they say England is the best place to find it.) Brian happens to be a expert when it comes to Indian food and was helping everybody with the menu. Not only did we have a great meal at Chutney’s, it was definitely great company and conversation. One of the best nights I’ve had on the tour.
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