Commemorate and celebrate different cultures and causes (140Cong.Rec.H)

I was a little surprised to discover that St. Patrick's Day isn't that big of a deal in London; generally, it's treated the same way as it is in most U.S. cities: as an excuse to get drunk. But the city's Irish did make themselves known on March 17. Actually, many pulled their culture card a few days early at the St. Patrick's Day Parade. A sunny Sunday was a good enough excuse for me to bike downtown and get a sneak peek of the floats lined up on Picadilly Avenue along Green Park (top). I was not disappointed because I got to see both bagpipers (bottom left) and stepdancers (bottom right) warming up for the procession.

After seeing the sideshows, I decided to skip the sidewalks of the parade route, which were packed. So I turned my bike away from the crowds to head home. On the way, I detoured through Brompton Cemetery, the only remaining Crown-owned resting place. There are more dogs than royals running around the place (top left), but it does have some famous immobile residents, including suffragist Emmeline Pankhurst and boxer John Jackson. From "Gentleman" Jackson's grave, you can glimpse the hallowed grounds next door: Stamford Bridge, home of the Chelsea Football Club (top right). Normally, the cemetery is atmospherically spooky, prompting it to be used in movies such as the Bond film GoldenEye and the Bond spoof Johnny English. But this day, it was abloom in daffodils, making it seem more appropriate for a picnic lunch than a spy thriller (bottom).

A couple weeks later, it was the Brits' turn to celebrate their own excuse to drink: the UK Boat Race. Thousands flock to the rowing clubs along the Putney Embankment to watch two top universities square off on the River Thames (top). Fans from the Imperial College Boat Club discarded decorum for prime viewing spots at the starting line (bottom left), but I found that just a short walk farther down the Thames Path were plenty of dignified sideline seats (bottom right).

Lots of imbibing spectators cluster around the Duke's Head, the pub right in front of the starting line (top left). But in truth, tables selling tipples and vittles can be found all along the race route to the finish line at The Ship in Mortlake. I picked up a brownie from some Boy Scouts and a beer from the Barn Elms Boathouse before settling in to watch the race. It is a short contest, but it makes a lot of waves; spectators sitting on the ramp in front of the boathouse had to clear out when all the trailing vessels churned up a high wake (top right). When the rowers passed me, it seemed like Oxford (in dark blue) was ahead, but Cambridge (in light blue) won (bottom).

 

In between the weekends of British Isles fun, I made a foray into EU terroritory by heading to a few street markets. The Scandinavian Spring Market included booths along Albion Street, starting from the St. Olav Norwegian Church and Seamen's Mission (left). But the bulk of the treats were inside the Finnish Church down the road (right), which has its own public sauna.

I was planning to run to the second stop on my street-market tour, with the first leg through the under-the-Thames Rotherhithe Tunnel. But unfortunately, the tunnel gate right beside the Finnish church was locked (top left). I thought the entire tunnel was shut down for construction, but after I got to the other end, I discovered it was closed only to pedestrian traffic (top right). Despite my disappointment, I managed to press on, following the Regent's Canal up to the end of Mile End Park (bottom).

There, I got off the towpath and took the sidewalk to Roman Road Market (left). About the only trace of Italian culture to be found in its "fashion" stalls were knock-off Versace bags and Gucci sunglasses, but at least there was a pizza food truck at the adjacent Roman Road Yard Market (right). Judging from the languages I heard, the markets' vendors and shoppers were from all over the European Union and beyond.

I was abruptly brought back to English culture with the display of flat seafish at George's Plaice (left). Another marine animal common in U.K. cuisine was on offer at G. Kelly; you could opt for your eels in stew, jelly, or pie form (right). For my own snack, I stuck with a slice of Turkish borek because I just didn't have the guts -- literally, the stomach -- to try the local specialties on sale in Bow.

The number of visitors throughout the peak season (71FR33255)

After a couple of days by the lake, we headed off to Castleton in the Peak District, which likely once was full of lakes, too, considering the number of caverns in the area. As we descended past Dark Peak, the only water we saw was in the form of snow (left). Only once at the bottom of the steep road were we able to spy the namesake of the town: Peveril Castle, now in ruins because villagers dismantled the tower, reclaiming its stones to add to their houses, after Peverel the Younger dishonored King Henry II and fell out of their favor (right).

Despite the snow, it wasn't so cold that we needed to use the fireplace in our cozy "hobbit hole" room at Causeway House B&B, a 14th-century cruck-frame cottage (left). The small guesthouse, run by a South African family, has consistently won awards for its breakfast, the menu for which strayed from the typical full English by also offering hash browns, white pudding, and Derbyshire oatcakes (right).

By the time we settled in, it was already nightfall, so we did a circuit of the village pubs, which we had mostly to ourselves due to it being off-season. We had some snacks by candlelight at The Peak Hotel (top left). Then we killed some time with a couple pints at Ye Olde Nags Head (top right) before we headed over to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese in time for its weekly pub quiz (bottom). We did not win.

To work off those liquid calories, the next morning we set off on a daylong hike. As we headed down the lane out of town, we noticed a knee-level observer (left). Thankfully, the watchman let us pass, and we continued on our way to Hollins Cross. From the lane, we headed into a snicket trickling with melting snow (right), then scaled narrow sheep tracks to the top of the ridge.

From Hollins Cross we took an offshoot detour up Mam Tor. Although the sun was warm, the wind was bracing -- yet clearly gratifying for the many paragliders circling the summit (left). From the top of the mountain, we were able to look back down into Hope Valley from whence we came (right). 

After a careful walk down an icy trail -- which caused one slip that resulted in a muddy bum -- we reached Edale Valley. To get to central Edale we had to cross a few sheep pastures (left). I was no longer worried about the dirt on my backside after we had to wade through a mucky underpass with a flock following right on our heels (right).

Soon enough, we reached our destination: the village's picturesque Holy & Undivided Trinity Church (left). The church is right down the road from Fieldhead Campsite, the chosen accommodation of our aborted travel plans. We hope to stay there eventually, so we can pass through the trailhead of the Pennine Way (right) to ascend Kinder Scout.

But that would have to wait for another day, as we were ready to refuel at The Rambler Inn (left). Perhaps as a sort of commitment to our future trek, TJ and I split a Kinder platter, a sampler plate of pork pie, cheese, and ham (right). When I went to order at the bar, I couldn't resist the tray of home-made treats on offer, so I got us a hearty flapjack cookie for dessert as well.

After our late lunch, we headed to the station next door, so we could take the train back to Hope, from which we had planned to make the short, level walk back to Castleton. We ended up catching a bus instead because we got side-tracked by the warmth of the massive fireplace at The Old Hall Hotel, where we left a coin in the mantel for good luck (top). We needed to get back in order to give Sage a relief break, after which we rewarded him with some socializing at The George Inn (bottom left). We checked one more pub off our list with a light dinner at The Castle; our cured-meat pizza with a side of pork scratchings really hit the spot (bottom right).

 

The next morning, we had time for just a quick jaunt before making the drive back to reality. We chose a short trail into Cave Dale behind the castle, so it would be easy for Sage (top left). We didn't count on the canyon being full of free-roaming sheep, which distracted the dog's focus from his footing (top right). Somehow we manged to retrace our steps on the slick rocks back to the old village market, where we were greeted with a glimpse of rainbow before we went on our way (bottom).