Of Portland and Maynard Five Star B & B

So it was back to the shores of civilization at last. And a proper shower. And a real bed. And even a chocolate on my pillow.

Ah ha! Watch out, Ellen's B & B! The Maynard Five Star is trying to outgun you!

It was lovely to spend time with my Aunties and Uncles and my darling cousin, Reann. We had a most delightful BBQ involving hoison chicken and delicious grilled courgettes. Er, I mean, zucchini.

Returning to Portland also gave me the chance to check out old haunts and new. One of the new things I discovered was Portland's obsession with food carts. Believe me, I can understand why. Yakisoba? Yes please!

Also tasted were Stumptown coffee and chocolate from Cacao. My foodie heart runneth over.

I'd like to say it was restful, but it very definitely wasn't, despite Auntie's cosy bed. All the running about had me practically comatose. And the best was yet to come...

On Old Friends and Mexican Train

Of course camping gave me the opportunity to catch up with old friends who have left the Shires of Portlandia for the calm, slightly chilly waters of Seaside. Please note that these friends aren't "old" either. Slightly matured, perhaps, but most definitely not "old".

I spent four years working for Dr. Seth Goldstein at Dragonheart Family Healthcare and became great friends with the Doctor and his wife, Margaret Hammit-McDonald (Now a Doctor, herself.). It was great catching up with them while taking a stroll along the beach. Bonnie and the Doctors got along like a house afire.

It was a wonderfully sunshiny day, something we don't get a lot of in good old London Town. Nehalem Bay looked especially beautiful.

After doing important things like buying Elk Droppings and cantaloupe, we headed back to camp for the evening meal. Lili and Bonnie went all posh with steaks (Where did they think they were? The Ritz? HA!), while Mom, Dad and I contented ourselves with cheeseburgers. Call me low-class, but I'll take a really good cheeseburger over a steak just about any day of the week.

While camping I was also introduced to the most enjoyable off pursuits: Mexican Train. Now, I don't know how much Calvin Ball is involved in the Meliza version of the game, but it's a hoot anyway. I may have to start searching eBay for domino sets.

We had finally reached the last night of MFC. Hurrah for no more camping, but wouldn't have minded more time with the family. I offered Paris as the next venue, but I was thoroughly ignored.

How rude.

On Italian Endeavors

I wouldn't say things looked better in the morning. It was still cold. There was still sand every where. My coffee wasn't hot enough. There was too much dagnabbit smoke from the dagnabbit campfires and it was making my throat sore.

But it sure was pretty.

And mom cooked a nice breakfast. It's been a long time since my mommy cooked me breakfast.

Also my father and uncle amused me greatly as they messed about with their toys. Men. (Rolls eyes.)

And then I saw this:

Pot, meet Kettle.

After breakfast we had a rousing came of Bocce Ball.

For those of you uninitiated in Le Grande Traditione, it is a game of Italian extraction involving balls not unlike croquet, but bigger. And heavier. And there's a lot of heaving them hither and thither. In fact, I'm relatively sure the International Bocce Federation would never recognize what my family plays as Bocce at all, but rather more similar to a particularly fine game known as Calvin Ball.

All I can say is it was a great deal of fun. And in a setting like this, who can be a grump?

I still hate camping, but I really love Calvin... er... I mean Bocce Ball.

Freezing One's Bewtox... Continued

Now those of you who know me know I loath camping. If you look in the dictionary under "city girl" you'll find a picture of me. Right next to my Auntie Charline, my cousin Julie, my other Auntie Mendy, my cousin Reann... I think you get the picture.

In other words. I come by it honestly.

I don't just loath camping, but loath with a Grande Passione. In fact, I’ve managed to avoid it entirely for a number of years now. My idea of roughing it is staying at a 2 star hotel.

So, you will understand that, perhaps, I am a bit biased when I recount my tales of MFC. But I made a conscious decision to go this year despite my extreme dislike of this particular type of recreation. I wanted to spend time with my family, see the beach, and visit some old friends who now live in Seaside.

I think I had tried to put out of my mind the downside of camping: bugs, sand everywhere, nasty bathrooms, smoke, and freezing one's bewtox clean off. Though I tried very hard not to be a Whiner, as the evening progressed I was quickly reminded of all of the above. Especially when I got into my tent and found everything damp and covered in sand. Oh, yes, and I shivered the night away instead of sleeping.

Now I remember why I don't like camping.

Also, camping and jet lag really don't mix.

Maybe things would look better in the morning...

Of Sand, Surf and Freezing One's Bewtox

Before hitting the Dusty Trail toward the beach and MFC (Meliza Family Camp), I had one last

hurrah in civilization with my old friend, Jenn.

Not that Jenn is old. (Please don't kill me, Jenn!) Jenn is not old. Jenn is young. It's just that Jenn and I have known each other for more years than either of us cares to admit to.
Bygones.

Jenn and I met for coffee and a chat and had a generally brilliant time. Because we are awesome like that.
After coffee, Jenn dropped me by Ellen's B & B so I could meet up with my parents for the trip out to the coast. It was a mostly uneventful trip other than the "traffic". Apparently anything more than 3 cars on the road is akin to a traffic jam in the minds of my parents. Though in future this would all become clear to me (as to WHY they considered such minor traffic a "jam"), at that moment I found this hilarious. After all I come from, well, London. And anyone who has wandered the streets of London more than once knows that Portland traffic ain't got nothin' on it. Even the worst traffic jam in Portland history can't hold a candle to an ordinary commute in London.

We managed to make it to Tillamook Head and MFC in time for a quick chat with my cousin, Jerry, and to meet his kids for the first time. We also got the tent set up before the sun went down. Well, the elder generation got the tent set up while Bonnie and I stood there and shook our heads.
It brings to mind the old joke: How many Melizas does it take to put up a tent?

On Elegance and Charity

And so the day dawned at long last when this lone traveller would wend her way over hill and dale and ocean vast toward home.

Or something.

The flight between London and Houston actually paced quite quickly. God bless Direct TV. And those little telly screens on the backs of everyone's chairs. Three movies and a couple TV shows later I'd landed at the Houston airport amidst cheers and fanfare and ticker tape.

Not really.
I arrived to the WORLD'S LONGEST LINE EVER at immigration. Fortunately when you're (semi) short and cute and innocent looking and have an American passport, they tend to let you into the country fairly easily. Even in Texas.

The flight from Houston to Portland was less comfortable and seemed to pass at a snail's pace. Though we did have the excitement of bagel dogs and vanilla ice cream to break our boredom. Not together. That would have been gross.

As I trooped through the terminal toward freedom, I saw three familiar faces beaming at me from across the way. The Del Melizas had stormed the castle to rescue the fair maiden. Sir David was most kind as to treat his poor, weary cousin to a delicious Red Robin burger (Blue Cheese! Yum!) before we headed to the Sheer Elegance that is Ellen's B & B.

The excitement continued with the World's Biggest Breakfast followed by Le Grande Toure of Charity Shoppes (aka thrift stores). I managed to find a great jacket for camping, as well as a flat iron usable in US electrical outlets. Score!

I tell you, no stay at Ellen's B & B is complete without Le Grande Toure. Trust me.

In other exciting news, I had my very first Voodoo Donut. Delish. My favorite was the Blueberry. Scrummy!

So, well watered and fed, I braced myself for the further adventures of...

MFC!!!!!!!

In Which the Earl of Don and His Lady Marylee Conclude Their Travels to the Far Shores of Englande

Our final port of call, B & B wise, was a tiny hamlet just outside Cambridge. The rambling farmhouse was jam packed with gorgeous antiques, a hostess who could talk for Texas, and a dog named Lily.

Outside were surprises around every corner from cosy patios...

... to ancient mill stones.
The following day we hit the hallowed halls of Cambridge. Well, the streets anyway.




And the river Cam. No trip to Cambridge is complete without a bit of punting!

Our fabulous tour guide and captain of the ship. Whose name I've long since forgotten.

A Really Really Olde Bridge. Like super old. Like 400 years old. Or something.

Not really. Seeing as how it's wood and all.

It's called the Mathematical Bridge and the original was built in the 15th century for some clever reason by some clever person. It's been rebuilt several times since. The current bridge is only about 20 or 30 years old, more's the pity. Fortunately there's lots of other Really Really Old Stuff to ogle.

After all our punting, we were famished, so where else to partake of Afternoon Tea than Auntie's Tea Shop!


The scones weren't nearly as good as the ones at A La Ronde in Devon, but they were still darned tasty.

And that, my dear friends, was that. We headed back to London to recover before the Noble Parents boarded their winged coach back to the Shires of Idaho. Back to bumbling about the country on my own.

Suddenly I find myself craving scones... hmmm....

In Which the E of D, LM and LP Visit the Shires of Yorke

For those of you still in disbelief about my parents stepping food inside pubs, here is proof:


They even ENJOYED it.

I know. Shocking.

After walking over hill, dale and Hadrian's wall, we were knackered. We headed straight for York and our guest house.


No, unfortunately it wasn't this guest house. Would of been nice, but I think it was a bit rich for our budget. However, our guest house was on a nice quiet street and was clean and comfortable, which suited me fine. It was also in close walking proximity to City Centre, which suited me even better.

Naturally, we had to hit the Roman Baths in York. A trip, any trip, wouldn't be complete without visiting the Baths!

These baths were quite cool because they had an interesting collection of items from the Roman Occupation, such as weapons...
...writing implements (In keeping with the theme of our entire England tour.)...

... graffiti (No Roman settlement is complete without it. "Gladius Maximus is gonna kick Harius Minimus's backside", etc.)...

... and toilet paper. You read that right. Toilet paper. It's reusable. Good for the environment. The Romans were all about Green living. Who knew!

While we were there, Mom decided to join up. Doesn't she look fetching in her helmet?

We also took the opportunity to meet up with my mate, Jimbo (Say "hi" to the nice people, Jimbo.). Of course his name isn't actually Jimbo, it's James, but I don't think I've ever called him James. Ever. That would be weird.

I don't have a picture of Jimbo, 'cause he's camera-shy. But one of these days...

After a lovely afternoon in York, we hit the road on our way to Cambridge. A punting we will go...