A summer trip across the pond.

Because I lived in London for 4 years, I am not really a tourist when I make my way over to Old Blighty. I am very familiar with the city, the public transport (the “Tube”) and the various neighborhoods. And like any big city, London has its quirky nooks and crannies and there is always something new to explore.

This time, my trip is centered around a friend’s 40th birthday bash, to be held in his hometown of Halifax. I decided to spend about 10 days beforehand hanging out in London and then gallivanting up to Fort William in a Scotland via the Caledonian Sleeper train.

I stayed up near the British Library, near King’s Cross and Euston. Very convenient for…well, almost everything. Once again, I stayed in student accommodation, which is spartan, but perfectly adequate and much less expensive than a normal hotel. This time, I got myself a room with an attached bath. And the building had an elevator yay! It was called the John Dodgson House and is part of the University of the City of London.

London was having a genuine heat wave, and of course these student rooms have no air conditioning (most of London doesn’t) or fans. And the window had one of the those stupid locks that kept it from opening too far. But…there was a slight breeze that came through. 🙄

I spent four days in London, only it was really three days cause my jet lag was beastly this time! But once I emerged, I did some exploring of a few places I’d never been. First was the Foundling Museum, which was very moving and sobering. I did not realize that George Frederick Handel had a great deal of involvement in the Foundling Home. There was an exhibit of his music as part of the museum.

Many mothers left their children at the Home because they had no choice. Often they would leave a token with the baby, to identify their child if their circumstances improved and they wanted to claim them. However, most children never saw their mother again.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that a free concert was scheduled during my visit. This was a young clarinetist who played some modern pieces, as well as a Debussy that was incredibly complex. It was a real treat to hear him.

Another day, I headed into the British Museum. I intended to spend several hours there, but the place was absolutely packed with tourists and camp groups…plus it was stupidly hot and stuffy. However, the Japan exhibit was quite interesting.

The coolest place I visited by far were the underground “War Rooms” used by Churchill and his staff during WWII. Several hundred men and women, both military and civilian, worked, lived (and often slept) in this space. The Cabinet War Rooms provided the secret underground headquarters for the core of the British government throughout the Second World War.

The fear that London would be the target of aerial bombardment had troubled the government since the First World War and in 1938 the basement of a Whitehall building was chosen as the site for the Cabinet War Rooms. From 1940 – 1945 hundreds of men and women would spend thousands of vital hours here and it soon became the inner sanctum of the British government.

It was fascinating.

London has a vibrant theater scene and I had pre-booked several shows. I saw a fantastic production of “Richard III” at Shakespeare’s Globe…an all-female cast with many sly Trump references. (NOTE: The story does not end well for Richard. 😆 ) I saw an amazing musical called “Standing at the Sky’s Edge” with music by singer-songwriter Richard Hawley. Really unusual, creative staging and gorgeous singing.

I also saw a production of “Grapes of Wrath” at the National Theater, which is usually top-notch but…wasn’t. Very disappointing production; more like a community theater effort with very earnest actors. Scenery was non-existent and the set was not utilized well. The show committed the cardinal sin of being boring. I left at intermission. 🤣

Of course, just walking around London you see all sorts of things. I mean, history is oozing out of every pore, despite the modern buildings.

This morning, I dragged myself out of bed early enough to check out of my room and get down to Westminster Abbey for their sung Eucharist. Such a beautiful setting and the choir and organ were terrific, as usual.

After the service I walked over to Trafalgar Square and was lucky enough to see one of the “King’s Horse Guards” emerging from the livery.

I finished up the day with a traditional pub lunch of a pint and a steak-and-ale pie and a beautiful a cappella concert at St Martin in the Fields. A 6-voice ensemble. The songs were all based on the idea of heavenly wings. Madrigals, hymns and “Blackbird” by Lennon/McCartney. Just lovely.

And now, I’m in my little room on the Caledonian Sleeper. On my way to Fort William!

England swings like a pendulum do
Bobbies on bicycles, two by two
Westminster Abbey, the tower of Big Ben
The rosy-red cheeks of the little children

I love baseball. Perhaps surprisingly, I don’t have a favorite team. I love the sport itself; the history, the drama, the quirkiness of the game. I love how the game can seem to drag on interminably and then suddenly have something amazing happen. I love how it’s “not over till it’s over” as Yogi Berra once said. I love how it seems casual and fun and yet deadly serious at the same time.

For a long time, I have had a particular fascination with the Negro Leagues. I’m not sure why; maybe it was finding out about the innate prejudice that kept players of color out of what was supposed to be “America’s pastime.“ I remember reading about Jackie Robinson when I was a teenager. I asked my Dad (who grew up as a fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers) how he felt when Branch Rickey signed Robinson to the team. I remember my father pausing a moment and then saying, “Well, I felt very proud that it was MY team that was finally doing the right thing.”

There is a Facebook group called “Ballpark Chasers” where folks post their excursions to the different MLB ballparks and also minor leagues parks and historical sites. Through them, I found out that there was going to be a celebration of the Negro Leagues at Rickwood Field in Birmingham Alabama. Rickwood Field is the oldest professional ballpark still in use and was where Willie Mays got his start. A major league game between the St. Louis Cardinals and the San Francisco Giants (Mays’ team) was going to be played on June 20.

However, the listed ticket prices were astronomical…and even worse on the secondary market. But then I found out that there was a minor league game scheduled for June 18. With much more reasonable ticket prices. I checked flights; and I had points to cover. I checked hotels; and I also had points to cover. I had never been to Birmingham and I love going to new places. So…I did. And it felt like stepping back in time.

They had recreated the field as it was, complete with scoreboard and ads. The original turnstiles and ticket booths were intact, as well as an exhibit of the clubhouse and lockers. Of course, they had added some modern touches, such as a Jumbotron. And the field’s lighting was inadequate so they had brought in lights on huge trucks.

Outside the entrance, they had created an exhibit about the Negro League Players and the history of the league. They even had an original bus that the players rode from town to town in. (Often players also slept on the bus, since many hotels would not allow them to stay.)

The game was between two AA teams – the Montgomery Biscuits and the Birmingham Barons. They put on a great show and it ended up being a nail-biter at the end. The crowd was in great spirits and it felt like…well, like baseball. Right before the 8th inning, there was an announcement. In a somber tone, and with a picture displayed on the screen, it was announced that Willie Mays had died that afternoon, at the age of 93. Everyone rose to their feet and some people took off their caps as they played the “Say Hey Kid” song. Mays was Birmingham’s hometown hero and a class act. The game on the 20th was dedicated to him and he had already put out a statement with his regrets that he couldn’t be there and about how much Rickwood meant to him. It somehow seemed fitting that he should pass away during a game at “his” field.

The next day, I had planned to explore the Civil Rights museum and the Negro Southern Leagues museum, but both were closed! So, I spent some time sitting in Railroad Park and then walked up to the 16th Street Baptist church, which became the center of the Civil Rights struggles after the tragic bombing on September 15, 1963 which killed four young girls. I took a tour of the church, which was informative and deeply moving. And also, in a strange way, hopeful. The deaths of the girls was a turning point in the attitude of the rest of the country and probably the reason Johnson was finally able to get the Civil Rights act passed in 1964. We must never lose hope and we must never give up. Injustice can only survive if people don’t speak out.

And back to baseball…here is a song about the Negro Leagues by Kim and Reggie Harris called “The Stars that Didn’t Shine.” Maybe those stars are finally starting to shine.

There are many symptoms of altitude sickness, including headache, nausea, diarrhea, loss of appetite, general fatigue, trouble sleeping and lightheadedness. And I got them ALL! I had two main incidences of it; the first time in Cusco after my second day and then, surprisingly, again when I got to Lima (at sea level.) It was as if my body had been saving the “best for last!”

I had planned to use my last 2 days in Lima as a relaxing respite – to sit and gaze at the ocean, read, knit, contemplate and perhaps try some local cuisine and a few fancy drinks. Luckily, I was able to do all of that (with the exception of the food and fancy drinks…) The place I booked was called “Second Home Peru” and it was absolutely gorgeous. An artist’s home, right on the Pacific, with beautiful views, comfortable rooms and spectacular sunsets. If I had to be “laying low” this was a good place for it.

I sipped tea, ate crackers and sat outside with my knitting. I even had a kitty come keep me company!

The service included breakfast, and the last day, I had a passion fruit…which I had never really eaten before. The ones we might see here in the USA are (as the staff person said) a “little sick.” These were huge, with a hard shell that made them perfect for transporting. All you do is tap them on a hard surface, break them open and scoop the insides out with a spoon. They are delicious!

Soon, it was time to return to reality. I had a long flight ahead of me – 7 hours to Atlanta, an overnight at the airport and then an early-morning flight back to Massachusetts. What a trip…and I’m already planning my next South American jaunt!

When I got home, the bulbs I planted last fall had begun to emerge.

The city of Puno is on the western shore of Lake Titicaca, more than 12,500 feet above sea level. There are many fascinating cultural sites to see in and around the city, but when I disembarked from the spectacular train ride, I was tired, cranky and really feeling the altitude.

I got a taxi to my hotel and found out that although the hotel appeared to be right in the historic district (where I prefer to stay) it actually was a bit outside, in the more crowded and gritty section of town. In addition, there was construction happening on both sides of the place. Once inside, it looked a bit better and they had my reservation ready. Someone helped me carry my bag up to the second floor, which was when I discovered they had given me a room with an interior window (a not-uncommon feature on this trip.) I was too tired to say anything.

I had originally scheduled an all-day tour, including visiting the floating islands, but I had decided (rightly) that I wouldn’t feel like traipsing around for 10 hours at that altitude. So I searched for something shorter and found a half-day tour that promised a visit to a viewpoint where I could see the lake, a local family and a pre-Ican burial ground. I was asleep before 9:00pm.

The next morning, I decided to walk down to the main square, which looked to be about a half-mile away. Walkable. Sure!

Except…the sidewalks were crazy uneven and the traffic was…well, picture two double-lanes of traffic with NO traffic lights and cars just darting every which way whenever they perceived an opening, plus those tiny little three-wheeled things (taxis?) moving in and out of the main traffic like bugs and horns beeping constantly. AND…I was walking up a slight incline. Slight, except at 12,500 feet it felt like a mountain.

I stopped a “crosswalk”, unsure of when to go, and a woman who had been walking in the same direction said, “Stop, wait, I will show you when to go!” She took my arm and began guiding me along. She spoke very good English. Her name was Lourdes and she ran a travel agency. She said that she had lived in Puno for the past 8 years and still wasn’t used to the traffic or the altitude. She got me safely to the main square (with several rest stops) and recommended a coffee shop where I could sit and read and have a decent latte. She was my hero!

I found the cafe and ordered myself a latte. It was lovely. (The hotel had a decent cooked breakfast included…but they only served Nescafé. 😠) I sat and relaxed and read and wrote my blog. And had another latte and began to feel almost normal.

Then I wandered a bit around the main square and into the beautiful old church. Almost all the Catholic Churches in Peru were built on former Inca temple sites. One religion “replacing” another, I suppose.

My afternoon tour began at 2:00, giving me time to go back to the hotel for a quick lie-down. As I mentioned, the altitude was really having an effect and I was glad that the tour was going to be mostly driving around and standing still. Our first stop was a view point, high above the lake. There were huge representations of a Puma and a Snake. These animals, along with the Condor, are called the Inca “Trinity” and are symbols of heaven, the earth and the afterlife. They can be found in many artworks. In this case, the Condor statue was across the lake at another viewpoint.

We continued on, out of the city and into a very rural area. The houses here have been constructed in the old way, with solid stones. We pulled up to a small farm. I noticed the bulls on top of the arch…just like the ones I had painted. I was told that there were always two…a bull and a cow, to represent both aspects of the gods.

The woman who lived at the house was waiting for us. She had placed different kinds of quinoa out for us to view, plus baked several kinds of potatoes and made bread from quinoa flour. There are more than 4,000 kinds of potatoes in Peru, over 3,000 varieties of quinoa and about 50 different types of corn!

The flour was ground in the traditional way, with a stone.

The woman was spinning yarn on a drop spindle from the wool of her alpacas, which we had seen in the yard. She had a rug started on her loom and several finished pieces. They were all beautiful.

And then…the BEST thing happened. I noticed that she had a box full of balls of hand-spun alpaca yarn. I asked her if she would be willing to sell some of that to me. She agreed. Then I saw that there was a HUGE ball of yarn attached to the loom and asked if she’d sell that, too! She took a scissors and cut it right off the loom. Price? 100 soles; about $25. So now I had three small balls of yarn and one gigantic ball…enough to probably make a good-sized shawl. Hand-spun, from the alpacas I could see in the yard. I was ecstatic; it made my whole trip to Puno.

The rest of the tour was anti-climatic. When we got to the funeral tower things, I decided not to climb up to them. I sat on a little bench and let the nearby sheep “baa” suspiciously at me, read my book and occasionally touched my yarn balls. I felt very happy.

Fair warning: this will be a picture-heavy post. Also fair warning: the pictures do NOT give an accurate portrayal of this site.

Once I got off the bus, I followed everyone to the entrance where again, it was very organized. They let you in strictly according to the time on your ticket and even then, in small groups. There are no “facilities” inside the site itself, so I made sure to “go” before getting in line. I was approached by a guide named Mario and asked if I was looking to join a small tour; I accepted.

We ended up being a group of 6; 2 couples and 2 singles. Mario was an excellent guide and later I found out he was 60 years old and had been doing this for 40 years.

Our first task was to climb. And climb. And climb some more. The stairs were rocky, uneven and weirdly high. Mario was extremely helpful and let me use his arm as a stabilizer. I was damn glad I’d brought my walking cane. As we climbed, there were folks coming down the other way; these were the hikers that had reached the top the night before and arisen at 2:00am to make the final climb at sunrise.

The climb was strenuous! But I made it and the view were spectacular.

Once we got to the top of the “circuit” we started to make our way down. A little less strenuous, but still difficult. Mario described all the temples and sacred sites, as well as the lower “houses” where the workers lived.

One fascinating thing is that the Incas worked on Macchu Picchu from 1400 – about 1500 and then…they left. No known reason, they just picked up a left, leaving several buildings incomplete. The site was abandoned and not rediscovered until 1911 by an American explorer named Hiram Bingham.

Bingham returned to Peru in 1912, 1914, and 1915 with the support of Yale and the National Geographic Society. Bingham believed that Machu Picchu housed a major religious shrine and served as a training center for religious leaders. Modern archaeological research has since determined that the site was not a religious center but a royal estate to which Inca leaders and their entourage repaired during the Andean summer. Apparently, Yale still has the largest collection of artifacts from Macchu Picchu in the world.

The views continued to astonish. And of course, there were stratgeically placed llamas for our enjoyment.

I exited the site tired, hot and happy. I am determined to return.

My second full day in Cusco, I had signed up for a weaving workshop, which I was very much looking forward to. However, at 5:00pm the night before, I got a message that the workshop was canceled because they didn’t have enough participants. ☹️

I had just spent the day traipsing around ancient ruins and I didn’t want another day of walking; or a 12-hour excursion. This workshop, right in Cusco, caught my eye. “Private painting workshop with wine and snacks.” 3 hours and you got to keep your project. Perfect.

I met Nohelia in the center square…it was going to be just the two of us. She asked if I minded lacking about 10 minutes to her studio…but didn’t tell me that the walk was all up hill, including an ancient pre-Incan road. I had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath (and admire the history, of course.) When we finally arrived, I felt like I’d run a marathon.

Everything was laid out and ready and Nohelia gave me my clay bull. In ancient Andean cosmology, it was believed that these bull-like figures could ward off evil spirits and bring prosperity and harmony to the community. These small bulls are an important part of Peruvian culture and are often associated with good luck, protection, and other positive attributes.

First I chose a base color (dark purple) and then several contrasting colors (gold, teal and white.) I was shown how to use the “mandala tools” to make designs and how to create a balanced piece. I wasn’t that great at it, but it was fun and Nohelia was able to cleverly “fix” any mistakes…blobs, streaks, weird lines and etc.

A large glass of red wine helped me stay on task. 😆

After the piece was dry, she wrapped it up and I carefully carried it back to my hotel. Here’s hoping I get my lucky bull back to the USA in one piece!

After a short flight to Cusco, I was met by a smiling taxi driver, who ran up (slightly late) holding a sign with my name on it. There was a lot of congestion and construction getting out of the airport but then the scenery changed and started to appear more “historical.” It reminded me of some of the larger cities in Spain. The views of the mountains were spectacular and my driver pointed out sites of interest along the way.

I also was somewhat amused to realize how long it had been since I’d seen one of these handles to open and close the window! Worked fine.

We drove into the “historical district” and the streets became more and more narrow. Finally, we stopped at the entrance to my hotel, where several people came out to open my car door, take my luggage and welcome me to the “Hotel Hacienda.” A welcome change from my Lima digs!

There was complimentary coca leaf tea available, said to help with altitude sickness.

I was exhausted from too little sleep over the past two nights, but also ravenous. After I checked in, I took a little walk around the block and found an open restaurant that looked intriguing. I ordered what they called “minestrone soup” (but was more like the soup I had in Galacia) and a plate with chicken, rice, potatoes and salad. Everything was obviously freshly made and the chicken came with a homemade mole sauce. I devoured it. Interestingly, when I asked for water, I was given a glass of warm coca leaf tea!

The price for this feast? 8 soles…a little more than $2. 😳 When I went to pay, I discovered that they only took cash, much to my embarrassment, as I hadn’t yet had a chance to change money into cash. I promised to return and they were very understanding. Thus nourished, I headed back to my hotel and had a much-needed nap.

Then it was time to explore! I walked towards the main square…Plaza de Armas. This was the religious and administrative center of the Inca Empire, as well as being the main axis of the Inca road. In the center of the square, there is a large statue of Pachacuti, the ninth ruler of the Kingdom of Cusco and later the Emperor of the Inca Empire. 

The square was bustling with tourists, locals, street vendors, musicians, school children and families. I was approached many times and asked to buy…something. Trinkets, hats, toys, food, magnets, tiny llama key chains, sunglasses, shawls and scarves and offers of a “free massage.” Most vendors were polite and a simple “no thanks” would suffice. However, one sunglasses seller was very insistent and kept asking “¿Porque no?” as he brandished the sunglasses inches from my head. Finally I said “’¡Ya tengo!” as I pointed to the sunglasses on my face. Still not discouraged, he switched to asking “Well, a free massage, maybe?” as I walked away.

I loved looking at all the intricate carvings of the doors and windows in the buildings. I visited inside the “Iglesia de Compania de Jesús” which had a magnificent main altar…carved cedar wood with gold leaf and cherubs and angels poking out of every column. No pictures were allowed inside the church, but I found one on the internet. I sat and looked at it for quite a while; it really was amazing.

When I came out, there was a live band playing and dancing in the square. All the school children were dancing and pulling people into the circle to join in!

I decided it was time for a beer and maybe some food. I found a restaurant with a balcony right on the square. The view was tremendous. I had a couple of bottle of a local brew. They had Guinea pig (cuy) on the menu and I was going to try it, but alas, they were out of it. I had the alpaca instead! Tasted sort of like a rich pork. It was served with a kind of gnocchi and beautifully plated,

I had managed to get some cash from an ATM (with a stupidly high fee 🙄) and I headed back up the hill towards my hotel. The altitude was definitely affecting me and I went very slowly and stopped every couple hundred yards. I stopped by the restaurant and paid them and then got back to my hotel. They have a lovely bar and I capped off the evening with a “Pisco sour” – a fancy (and strong) drink popular here.

Bed felt good and I finally had a full nights sleep. This morning, I head out on a tour of the ancient ruins!

After a flight of almost 7 hours, I was glad to get out of the cramped plane and into the very busy Lima Airport. The inexpensive hotel I had booked was very close to the airport…in fact, when I asked them for a pick-up, they sent me walking directions and a picture of the outside of the place. (This in spite of the fact that their hotel website said they provided “free” airport transfers.)

Well, it looked simple enough and it would be good to stretch my legs. So I started out along the path, dragging my wheelie bag behind me. It soon became obvious that although the distance was short, the actual navigation was problematic. Also, it was very dark and there was a ton of traffic. I headed back towards the airport to get a cab.

A very nice young man showed me his taxi badge and offered his services. I accepted and told him the address. He went in the general direction of the map, meanwhile telling me that this was a “ very bad area for tourists.” In a short time, we were driving through one of the sketchiest areas I’ve ever seen. The taxi guy took several turns through the tiny streets and finally said that he wasn’t sure where the hotel was. That he didn’t think he was a legitimate hotel at all and that he could take me to a more reputable place, not too far and not too expensive.

At this point, all I wanted was a shower and a bed. So I agreed and in a few minutes, we were parked in front of a bona-fide hotel, compete with an actual sign.

Taxi guy went in to be sure there was a room available, brought my bags in and carried them up to my 4th floor room. He said he’d come back in the morning at 5:00am to take me back to the airport.

My room was extremely basic. But the bed was comfortable, it had a fantastic shower and a little balcony looking out over a park.

I availed myself of the shower, sorted out my stuff and crashed.

(Oh, and when I contacted the first hotel to inform them that I wasn’t coming, they told me that this was a “scam”…that taxi drivers pretend not to know where their hotel is so they can take the tourists somewhere else and get a kick-back. Honestly, I don’t know if that is true. But I’m glad I didn’t try to walk through the dark streets to the “illegitimate” hotel.)

Taxi guy was at the hotel this morning at 5:00am. The roads and the airport were already crowded. The domestic gates reminded me of some of the smaller airports in Africa…a huge room with people sitting everywhere, one lone coffee shop, a packed bus to ferry you out to the plane and a stairway into the actual aircraft. I hauled my bag up, found my seat and now am on my way to Cusco. Where I have arranged a pickup and ride to my (very legitimate) hotel!

After the moot was over, I made my way back to London for a few days. The new “Oxford Tube” bus was very convenient and it was easy to find my way to the “Arthur Tattersall House” where I’d be spending the next two nights. These are University Rooms….the best bargain in the city and usually quite adequate and comfortable. Usually.

I was given a key to my room by a young man in the office. Just a key, no fob or holder, with my room number taped onto it. 3rd floor. No elevator. And in England, the 3rd floor is three flights up, as the bottom is the “ground floor.” One flight, two flight…and then the third flight were these ridiculously narrow, steep stairs, like the kind you’d have for an attic. It WAS the attic, compete with sloping floors, a tiny window and a musty air. No matter. I stripped out of my clothes and lay on the bed in just my t-shirt.

(I didn’t take any actual pictures of my room because it was just too depressing! The floor did have a kitchen and the shower worked…except you had to keep pushing the button every 20 seconds or so to keep the water flowing.)

A few minutes later, there was a knock at my door. A voice outside told me that I “had the wrong key.” Kind of annoyed, I responded that my key worked fine. Then I got concerned and called the front desk. They had given me the wrong room, the young man said, but it was fine. Ten minutes later, another knock on my door. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist and opened the door. There as the same young man, holding a clipboard and looking very apologetic. He told me that I had signed in the wrong place and held out the paper. No, I responded. That’s my signature, right there, next to my typewritten name, right there. He looked confused and even more apologetic. Fine, fine, he mumbled and left.

My room was right near Regent Park and it turned out there was “Opera in the Park” that night…”The Barber of Seville.” I walked the mile or so through the park to where the stage was. Like most of Landon’s parks, it was full of flowers and very pretty.

It was basically an amateur production, but full of great enthusiasm and energy. People had brought picnics and chairs…sort of like a mini-Tanglewood.

They had some chairs available but I hadn’t brought any food and at the intermission I was cold and hungry. I meandered out to the other side of the park and found a decent looking pizza place, where I inhaled a very delicious margarita pizza and a glass of Chianti.

I took the tube back to my garret, schlepped up the stairs and fell into bed.

The next day I did something I had never done in all the time I lived in London – I took the open-top bus tour around the city. The weather was decent for once and it was nice to simply sit and listen to the commentary as the city went by.

That afternoon, I had arranged to “hold court” at Browns in Covent Garden. I’d posted my times on Facebook and was hoping some friends from my London days might be able to join me. I was thrilled to reconnect with Mark and Fay from my time at ACS and Wendy, another message board friend! I hadn’t seen Fay in more than 10 years! Philippa came, too -she was one of the Oxford Mooters. I bought a round of drinks for everyone and we had some food and some great conversation.

Philippa and I had tickets to see “Crazy for You,” the Gershwin show playing just a few blocks down on Drury Lane. (Yes, of “muffin man” fame.) It was such a fun show – fantastic songs and dancing and a cute little lot. A perfect ending to my time in the UK.

I’m planning another trip next summer!

More than 20 years ago, a group of total strangers decided to meet in Oxford in the UK to celebrate their common interest in Tolkien and The Lord of the Rings. I say “total strangers” but in fact, these people had been conversing for a while through an on-line message-board called TORC.

Everyone had an alias and everyone had opinions about…well, everything. The gathering was called a “moot” from an old English word meaning “meet” and one used by Tolkien to describe the great meeting of the Ents.

I wasn’t at that very first Oxford Moot, but two years later, after I had joined TORC as “JewelSong” and begun sharing my own opinions and ideas, I ventured to Oxford for the first time.

That was a HUGE moot, if I recall. Almost 50 people…none whom I had ever met before, all whom I already knew by their posts and screen-names. I was definitely one of the older group members at the time. However, I have never felt more welcomed and included in my life. It felt like I had “found my people” and that feeling has remained.

For a while, we had a yearly Oxford Moot as well as smaller moots both in the UK and the USA. There were relationships, engagements, marriages, children and divorces. Friendships were forged and flourished. There were feuds and fractures. The original message-board underwent several iterations and there were even spin-off message-boards. Somehow, people stayed in touch.

Our original accommodation in Oxford also changed. We used to stay at this rather…odd…hostel/dorm called “The Mitre” which had its own peculiar charm. And it was cheap! But it closed, so we switched to the more upscale Keble College dorms, which were a bit better organized. They also served a complete breakfast in the incredible dining hall, which looks like it came straight out of Harry Potter.

The yearly moots stopped for a while and with COVID, nobody was doing any traveling anyway. Life was happening, everyone was busy, the movies were 20+ years in the past and Facebook had replaced the message-boards of old. And yet…there was still a longing for those simpler moots where a bunch of us sat in a pub for hours, enjoying a pint or three and the company of other Tolkien geeks.

This year, a member of the original Moot (known on the boards as Hobbituk) decided it was time. He was 17 years old at that first moot and this year (during the moot!) he turned a respectable 39. (And we got him a cake too!) He and another original member (known as Niniel*) organized our “reunion” and we had a marvelous time. More than 25 “Mooters” showed up. We talked, we drank, we made jokes, we toasted absent friends. And yes, we often still refer to each other by our “message-board names.”

My own children often kid me about my Tolkien fandom. But I am absolutely serious when I say, “Thank God for Tolkien!” Here’s to many more moots!