Last night we arrived at Heathrow from Greece and made our way, by four lanes, thence by two, by one and finally by scarcely a driveway-width road to the charming hamlet of Piddletrenthide. Our choice of hire car, a Fiat 500, proved appropriate for this journey and hopefully for the days to come. It’s like an Otto bin with a motor but with less space…and perhaps a little less aerodynamic.
There are some Greek adventures we need to fill you in on, or at least fill out Di’s WhatsApp sketches, but suffice to say, ‘haaaaaaah’. A contented sigh best sums up Greece, and in particular Kalymnos, whose quiet beaches and herb-scented, rocky heights overlooking the blue, blue sea will ever linger in our memories.
We’re winging it from here. One would have thought we’d wing it in the winter when prices were low, tourists scarce, and places of rest abundant, but we’re turning it around, marching to the beat of our own drum and probably looking to sell a few things when we get home to pay for the trip. I wonder what we’d get for the unit?
Caroline, our Airbnb host, cooked us the ‘full English’ breakfast and engaged us with the psychology of managing small village politics, before a brief snooze, (we’re still 2hrs out of whack), and then a walk across the rolling hills of Dorset to the town of Cerne Abbas, where, unbeknownst to us, the Cerne Giant lives.
The Giant was etched out during the time of the Myans (similar artistry) or by aliens from out of space (how else could they get the proportions right?) or by Cromwell’s enemies to snub his puritanical tendencies and so secure his ire. No one knows. We thought it was cool. Carloline, our host, advises us that its huge erect penis confirms (amongst many visitors) its origins as an ancient god of fertility. This theory is supported by the numerous guests who have reported congregatory success, presumably in the small forests beneath the chalky hills of the Giant’s abode. Stout walking boots, plenty of water and a heads up to parents with children are advised on the trail.
Cerne’s a delightful little town with thatched huts, an abbey and a history dating back to Roman times. We grabbed a beer / wine in the beer garden at the Giant Inn before walking back home, about a 14km round trip, and taking some time out. Dinner was at the Thimble Inn about a mile away, as the Piddle Inn, (we so wanted to dine there), was closed. Fish pie, potato and leek soup saw us out. Tomorrow, south-west…somewhere.
Just so so green after the arid isles of Greece.