When I began planning my 2024 travels, I pretty much made a commitment to myself that I’d stick to the Western Hemisphere. Yes, I would also be planning for 2025, as there was a booked land tour in Greece set for late May. So when the transatlantic crossing for spring 2025 had an itinerary change, I was peeved. For the second booking, Holland America had dropped a stop in Bermuda, which I have high on my bucket list. So, deciding to bag HAL, I sought out an economic crossing with an interesting itinerary. Finding one on Princess, I delved a bit further into its offerings, and liked the October 2024 transatlantic repositioning of the Regal Princess, and booked both cruises.
Having booked the cruise, it backed up closely with a following trip I would be taking – a 2-week land tour in Cuba. Terminating the cruise in Galveston, I considered heading from Texas to Havana. My annual travel insurance covers trips of up to 45 days, so I had to be careful with my flight to Britain. Using American Airlines frequent flyer miles, I booked a non-stop from Tampa to Gatwick on British Air for 3 October. Then I rethought the extra time in Texas and made arrangements to return to Florida after spending my birthday in Houston.
Participating in the Facebook group for the crossing, I planned on hiding a few ducks and joined the gift exchange. My offers to join me on my planned excursions to cathedrals went unanswered. Meanwhile, I had been striving to find local driver guides in the ports of Le Havre, Bilbao and Vigo, as I had easily lined up a guide in Funchal, Maderia. And there was the issue of getting from London to the ship in Southampton.
GetTransfers seemed to be a go-to site, as they handled transportation needs all over Europe. However, for both England and France, those bidding for my ride wound up coming back with demands for extra funds as they hadn’t read the details. Fortunately, my France-based concierge has a driver in England, so I was able to make arrangements with Nikola. Le Havre proved to be seriously expensive and out of my range. Bilbao wound up with a guide working outside the firm I’d initially contacted, while Vigo had several options, before I found a driver who wasn’t a guide.
Here in Florida, it was much easier with drivers: my neighbor Dave was able to put me in his calendar for rides to and from Tampa and Sarasota. He picked me up half an hour early on Thursday, October 3 and we began our ride to the Tampa International Airport.
Unusual, traffic was stop-and-go and then we had a thunderstorm, which slowed things as well. My 7pm flight saw me arrive in Tampa at 5:30, only to have a delay to 10pm. The equipment had attempted to land in the storm, and had been redirected to Orlando, pending cleared weather. Clearing check-in, TSA and the airport crowd, I headed to The Café by Mise en Place for dinner. Crispy Brussel sprouts, pan seared salmon with asparagus, and a double Glenmorangie filled me up and left me mellow for the return to the podium where BA agents were giving out $9 meal vouchers.
I chatted up a couple heading to the Cayman Islands. She was from Vancouver, BC and he from NYC: they were set to move to Sarasota. Reflecting on my departure, I realized I’d left the garbage as well as some perishables, as well as forgetting my readers in my checked luggage. I call my neighbor Alan who took care of the refrigerator and trash. Boarding began at 8:45, with the doors closing half an hour later. Push back was nearly immediate, but it took another half hour to get off the ground. I had a bulkhead seat.
4 October – London
The British Air flight landed at 10:40am. I appreciated the later arrival, as it was easier to negotiate immigration and customs, find luggage and maneuver to the ThamesLink. The train was full of University of Utah students on a one-week break. They were wired, most on their phones, many taking selfies. They continued under the Thames, while I exited at the London Bridge stop. After wandering around the station for 15 minutes, I went to the taxi stand and had a hack take me to my lodgings. The Bridge Hotel sits on a corner on Borough Road, and they had a check-in time of 2 – I was 75 minutes early. So I left my bags after pulling my camera out, and walked across Blackfriar Bridge.
My first London objective was Temple Church. Back in 2019 during my extended stay in London and 9-week trip in Britain, my brother’s mother-in-law Kay had asked that I visit it and bring photos back for her. While she has since died, I wanted to honor my promise. (It had been a Saturday, and was closed in 2019.) I was completely lost on the grounds, taking about a half hour to finally find my way into the church.
My first impression was that this was a much-restored building – it felt more commercial (₤5 admission) than religious, and my anticipated Templar experience was nowhere to be felt. It is a bright and airy fully functional church, wonderful glass and fixtures, with some spiffed up remanents of the historic olden days. Of special delight to me was the trip up the circular stone stairwell to the balcony. Magnificent tile work on the floors, with the ancient feel on the actual stairs.
The Temple District is the land of jurisprudence. The zone is full of law libraries, partnerships and offices, attorney abodes. The borders run from the riverbank north to the Strand and Fleet Street and the Royal Courts of Justice. Temple Church was founded by the Knights Templar in 1125. It lies within “The City,” at its western edge.
Following Fleet Street as I left Temple, I was heading to St Mary Moorfields, a replacement for a former pro-cathedral, albeit the site had been relocated to Eldon Street from Finsbury Circus and Bloomfield Street with the construction of the Underground station. I’d been by in 2019 prior to the lost camera, but it was closed and I was unimpressed enough to not return then or in 2022. On this visit it was open, the entry placed between two shops. Walking through the vestibule, three banks of wooden pews face a main altar and a side Presence altar. Over the center aisle a bowed vault includes square leaded-glass clerestory windows. High wooden wainscotting lines the side walls, below carved marble Stations.
Learning of the building’s history, I left the ex-pro-cathedral and hunted for the plaque memorializing the actual location of the pro-cathedral. With luck, I found the blue enameled marking at near sidewalk level close to the designated corner. With the pro-cathedral’s 1870 relocation to Our Lady of Victories in Kensington, until the completion of Westminster Cathedral in 1903, I felt good to have returned, and learned that St Mary’s does bear inclusion in my collection.
Taking the Northern line back to Borough, I proceeded to walk Borough’s length before determining I was not on Borough Road, so I returned to Borough Market and found my way to my hotel. (My sense of direction, particularly in London, is abysmal.) After checking in, I was up to the top level and into a rather small room with a single cot. Unpacking, I discovered I’d forgotten my sleep apnea appliance in my rush to leave home. Accustomed to its presence when I slept, it meant an adjustment for 4 weeks.
At the front desk’s recommendation, I headed back up the road to the Duke of York pub. Requesting the special from the board, my sweet chili chicken burger arrived with the baked cauliflower cheese side. Tired from my flight, I headed back and was in bed early.
5 October – Chelmsford and Brentwood
Up about 8 and downstairs, I perused the buffet breakfast. I opted for wheat toast, a (mundane) croissant and two cups of coffee, bypassing the cold cereal, yogurts, muesli and hard-boiled eggs. Back to the room to clean my teeth and grab the camera, I was soon walking to the Southwark tube station and the Jubilee line to the Stratford stop. There I purchased tickets and rode the GreaterAnglia train to Chelmsford.
From the Chelmsford station, it was an easy walk to the cathedral close. Intrigued by the facing of the exterior façade, I moved around the yard looking for “that shot” as I studied what I thought was flint rounds imbedded in mortar. I was approached by a shorter, older man (83yo) who asked if I knew what stone it was. Further questioning by this parishioner proved I hadn’t done my homework!
He walked me inside the Cathedral Church of St Mary the Virgin, St Peter and St Cedd, proceeding to point out many highlights of the interior. He related about an early nineteenth century woman, an entrepreneur, who had a formula for a stone replacement which was used in the church’s columns. (Five letters, ends in a E) The cathedra, altar and font are all Scottish blue slate, he related, and it became evident he had a geological focus. We looked at the Tree of Life stained-glass window, the roods on the side altar, and the silver cross mounted on the wall. At the altar, he stopped by the ornate older organ, which could work both the pipes surrounding it as well as those in the rear above the narthex. A second console in the back was limited to playing the rear pipes.
As he was parting, he pointed out that this was a small building for the diocese which was both largest in population and geographic area. I remained, taking pictures of the many elements he’d pointed out. I was approached by a woman who was head of the volunteers, who added to my newly acquired information, this time from her perspective. She pointed out the skeleton in the Tree window, and acknowledge that the stained-glass was limited, as the building had collapsed in 1801 and had been re-ordered in 1983.
Back outside, I spent another 15 minutes walking around the building and getting more angles. Walking into the town center, I found the bus stop I needed, noting that I had about 20 minutes. This gave me a chance to investigate the Chelmsford town center, with the streets full of pedestrians, food trucks, information tents and produce booths.
Back to the bus stand, the #351 arrived and brought me southwest for 40 minutes to Brentwood, dropping me off on the High Street, just around the corner from the cathedral.
With an Italian Renaissance architectural style, the Cathedral of St Mary and St Helen has a blocky, Greek-cross feel. Outside, white columns embedded into walls of blocks of cut stone look stolid, with a lantern rising from the raised roof at the center of the squarish building. Inside, each “arm” of that cross is filled with rows of singular chairs facing an altar raised two steps on a dais. The lectern faces the altar, with the marble cathedra opposite. A dozen circular medallions fill the space between the curved arches supporting the raised vault, with three more off in a darkened extension – these modern art plackards proved to be the Stations. Bright and airy, the muted light blue walls with the slate gray ledge and columns, it gave me the feeling of a New England Congregational church.
Trying to determine which of the medallions was the thirteenth, I approached a gentleman who was apparently researching on his phone. Named Peter Jackson, he was from Northern Ireland and his passion was to visit all the cathedrals in the United Kingdom. He’d even heard about me from one of my visits to Irish cathedrals! We talked at length, sharing our histories. His goal was to get inside the cathedral in Achrony (near Sligo) which I’d tromped through a grass field after climbing a stone wall to photograph. I shared the London Churches website, as I thought he might find it useful.
Leaving the building, we parted in different directions. I walked a bit along the High Street before descending to ride the Elizabeth Line back to the Stratford station where I changed to the Jubilee line to get to the hotel. My room had been serviced, and I tackled some emails. I was still trying for a driver in Normandy. Both my phones needed charging, so I headed down to the front desk to borrow an adapter – I’d neglected to bring mine, as I would have needed it for just a weekend.
Having enjoyed my dinner the night before, I returned to the Duke of York pub, this time ordering the slow braised minted lamb and vegetable pie with mashed potatoes and mushy peas and a Sessions IPA followed by a Triple IPA. It was a good meal, and I headed back to backup my photographs and read a bit. Apparently, I had neglected to take my “meds”, as I was kept up most of the night with acid reflux and leg cramps in my right leg (dehydration?)
6 October – Transit via Dorchester Abbey to Southampton and the ship
Rising at 7, I was ready and downstairs forty minutes later. With the rough night behind me, I stuck to water all day. To add insult to injury, my plumbing decided to loosen up, so I kept an eye out for facilities. Niko, my driver recommended by Paul, was punctual, loading my bags in the boot and insisting I sit in the back seat. He claimed it was more comfortable and had more leg room, although I do prefer to sit up front for the better view.
It was a long ride to Dorchester Abbey, about one hundred minutes. We arrived at the Abbey Church of St Peter and St Paul, it had been a Saxon cathedral from 634 until 1072 (?1085), and I had missed when I was developing my list of English cathedrals. [Subsequently, I’ve found another list of former cathedral sites, adding about 25 to my UK-country list.] The day was gloomy and gray, overcast, and rain had darkened the stone façade. I entered the grounds through an arched gate, and entered the church via a small portico to the side. Vestry were preparing for the 11am service, and permitted me to roam freely. Seemingly comprised of two structures, the rear was used as a narthex, promoting services for the indigent and offering information for the visitor.
Through an arch was the crossing, chancel and sanctuary. This arch contains all that visibly remains of the original cathedral, but still I was delighted to add it to my collection. A simple altar stood in the front of the sanctuary, with an older, elaborate high altar back in the apse surrounded by glorious stained glass. The organist practiced the entry hymn, and I decided it was time to leave. Out into the churchyard, I wandered until my camera and I found my angle.
Back in the sedan, Niko drove through the beautiful Wessex countryside. He rolled into Southampton about 11:30. Another church had popped up on my new list which was in town, so we began a search for Saint Joseph’s Catholic Church. It had been a pro-cathedral for the diocese of Portsmouth for 1882, so I guess it deserved a visit. An A. Pugin church, it parallels Bugle Street with seven arched pairs of stained-glass windows and a narthex door along the sidewalk.
Inside, the priest was just concluding a baptism, so I bided my time knowing Niko was sourcing a loo and food before his return north. St Joseph’s has an altarpiece of dark red marble featuring six saints, below a stained-glass window depicting Christ walking on a storm-riled Sea of Galilee. The priest did confirm Wikipedia that the church had briefly been the pro-cathedral.
Back to the car, Niko soon was pulling up to the Princess boarding station. Pushing my roller luggage, I began the inefficient process of queuing, sitting, queuing again, etc. I noted I should have arrived later, as the process took 1½ hours from my noon arrival before boarding the ship. Fortunately, my room was ready and I was able to deal with my “accident”.
An inside cabin, the bed had been set up as a queen, centered on the back wall. An ample-sized desk had 4 drawers and the mini-frig beside it. The bathroom had plenty of surface, as well as three rounded glass shelves in one corner. Opposite it was a full closet with loads of hangers. Behind a narrow door, more shelves and the safe. My cabin attendant Jack knocked and introduced himself to me as he rolled my big bag inside. We discussed my “requirements” – a warm room, no blanket, a willingness to get items for him from shore – and I then headed to my muster station having watched the required video twice. I took a few pictures of the ship before sitting in Crooners for sail-away. The Facebook group had planned to gather there, so I got to meet a few of those I’d chatted with online.
I had an assigned dining spot in the Allegro Dining Room for 7:40, which resulted in me being placed around the corner at a table for one. That had to change. My meal consisted of a caesar salad; crawfish stew, Cajun-spiced cream, steamed rice, roasted cauliflower; with a club soda and bitters. The latter was to help settle my stomach. Plus I realized I might have skipped my omeprazole during my travels, something I can’t do more than twice in a row! The chocolate souffle was overcooked, with a thick hard crust in the pastry dish.
7 October – Le Havre
The email I’d received the on waking had another GetTransfer offer at more than double the accepted cost for a different driver in Normandy. I declined the “highway robbery” and requested a refund. Fortunately, I’d planned alternative actions for just this situation. Once my phone alarm woke me, I had to rejoin the ship’s wifi (when booking, I’d opted to upgrade to Princess Plus, which gave me wifi, gratuities, the drink package and two desserts daily) as it seemed to have dropped me with the time change – we lost an hour going to the continent.
The weather in Le Havre was gray and overcast, a bit chilly. I walked off the ship with the sun rising, and opted to not taxi or shuttle into town, instead walking 2.4km in 45 minutes to the train/bus stations. After checking with Information, I purchased a round-trip ticket to Lisieux and headed to the bus platform. At 9 the #111 Deauville bus took me over the Pont de Normandie, a spectacular bridge I first saw in 1999, dropping me in Honfleur. I had enough time in Honfleur to get a coffee and croissant at a corner café. The #123 pulled in to bring me to Lisieux.
While rolling through the French countryside, I realized that my soul was joyous to be back in France. My “little kid” was giggling, grinning wide from ear to ear. My spirit was lifted to great heights as we passed through green verdant valleys, with little villages gleaming – it was superb. My stop was just up the hill from the Lisieux Cathedral formally known as the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Lisieux.
Walking to the west through the churchyard, I noted that the beige covering over the red blocks used to build the cathedral walls was in need for attention. I suspected that because it isn’t one of the tourist circuit buildings, French patrimony wasn’t being invested in its upkeep. (Post the Revolution, all church buildings belong to the Repubic, and are leased/rented back to the Church.)
Lisieux Cathedral is very large, with the rear chapel off the ambulatory and the sanctuary being about the same length of the nave, with a proportionately wider transept at the crossing. Flying buttresses support these tall walls. It is now a co-cathedral in the diocese of Bayeux. In the nave, the columns rise to support a gallery, above which clerestory windows continue to the vault. Moveable wooden pews line only the central aisle. All along the nave side aisle, chapels with paintings and statues are behind iron gates.
At the crossing, a square wooden platform, up 3 steps from the stone floor, is the focus for worship – the altar and seats for the celebrant and servers. A rectangular lantern emits light from directly overhead. Behind this platform, on either side backing up to crossing columns, are two matching dark wooden seats: the cathedra for a bishop of Bayeux and a seat for a visiting or adjunct bishop. Behind the platform is the quire, which is surrounded by the ambulatory. A chapel to the virgin extends the length of the long axis.
After about an hour, I exited and began the search for my angle. Built on a slight incline, with trees and buildings crowding the eastern portion beyond the transepts, it was hard to include its great length, the two mismatched towers in the west. A circular circus tent next to a fountain in front was yet another obstacle.
Lisieux was the home of the Martin family, a nineteenth century couple who raised 7 daughters, all of whom took the veil. One, the now canonized St Theresa of the Little Flower, has caused Lisieux to be a pilgrimage destination. A massive basilica has been built to the southeast on the next rise, its dome looming over the town. Guessing incorrectly, I took the Avenue Jean XIII beyond the parking entrance and wound up walking well past the complex. Once I could cross the road (I was hoping for good photo angles), I managed to slip in through a fence to approach the shrine from its rear.
As I walked down the slight incline, I first encountered a calvary, an outdoor Stations of the Cross. Continuing, I came around the back of the building and entered the brightly-lit space. This is a rather new structure, completed in 1951, with most surfaces covered in story-relating mosaics. Along the nave and transept walls are chapels, dedicated to countries. (I had found similar chapels in the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, DC.) In the windows of these chapels were yet another Stations, and when I was downstairs in the undercroft, another set were mounted on the walls. I felt frustrated as the golds were not being captured adequately by the cameras.
On exiting the basilica, I checked to find that my buses back would leave in about an hour, and that I needed to find the train station. Google Maps and I only made one wrong turn, and I approached the bus stop. Interestingly, there was an unstaffed kiosk, which offered to make, cook and sell pizzas in 3 minutes!
Instead, I opted to head to the Café de la Gare where I ordered a croque madame with a Leffe ruby. Open faced ham and cheese with a fried egg, the fries were delicious. Exiting, I circled the fenced parking area and boarded the waiting bus. I was the sole passenger back to Honfleur, and the driver knew about the deviation occurring midway. We had to make a few stops as he was ahead of schedule. Fields of trees, overbearing with red apples, would soon be picked to make the local cidre and eventually, Calvados. In Honfleur I had some time, so I walked up the canal-side and found a good vantage point to capture a picture with both piers supporting the bridge over the mouth of the Seine River.
