The Forgotten Vacation

More than a year after DW and I started dating (before she was DW), we went on a trip to the UK, where we visited a friend in London before we rented a car and made a loop around the countryside that included stops in Stratford-upon-Avon, much of Wales, and the southern regions that included Bath, Salisbury, and a slight detour to Oxford, before returning our rental car to London and flying to Paris for a week.

On this trip in 1990, DW and I learned that we travelled very well together.

As much as I remember the trip and some of the spots in which we stayed, my memory of details of the vacation are beginning to fade.

For example, I have vague recollections of driving to a camp site and arriving late at night, when the gates into the site were closed. DW and I had to sleep in our little Ford Fiesta, reclining our seats and trying to make ourselves comfortable. It was a damp, rainy night and with the windows rolled up, moisture developed on the inside of the windows. I have faint memories of the water drops running down the inside of the car and having a rough night sleeping.

But I couldn't tell you where this was. Possibly Wales.

There are so many vacations where I can remember every detail on every day, but this trip has large gaps, and I think it's because the photos that I shot of this trip are still held on slide film, stored in one of dozens of photo albums that I had accumulated before digital photography.

Bits and pieces are starting to come back to me, as I complete my virtual challenge across England and Scotland. As of last night, I stopped in the city of Salisbury, one of the places that DW and I visited in 1990. And my memory of this city is partly lost in the fog of my brain.

I seem to have memories of driving into the city. We approached from a road, coming perhaps from the north, and I seem to recall driving down a slope, where we could see the massive spire from the cathedral as the major landmark. It was late in the afternoon and a warm glow lit the landscape.

I vaguely remember the place where we stayed. It was a farmer's field, just on the edge of town, on which he had allocated spots for caravans and tents. We had the latter. But I don't remember details and I don't remember what we did for dinner. Did we cook food at our camp site or did we dine in a restaurant?

I don't remember that evening. I don't remember the next morning or where we went from there.

There was a stop along the road, next to Stonehenge. I remember that neither of us wanted to park and pay the fees to get up close, so I got out of the car, put my telephoto lens on my Minolta X-700, took one shot, got back in the car, and continued on our journey.

My only photo of Stonehenge.

Today, as I continue my LEJOG trek, I'll be virtually stopping at the historic site once more. I'll use Google Maps to virtually explore the site.

I'm going to find my old photo album, pull out the slides, and digitize them. Maybe then, this vacation will come back to me.

One thing that I clearly remember is this: the trip was too good to stay forgotten.