June 30th, 2016

STRANGE SHORE: Carlisle, Cumbria.

SUNDRY LAND: United Kingdom

WANDERING WAY: Peregrinations in Carlisle, “Britain’s Happiest City”

As I hauled my bags onto the platform at Carlisle Train Station, my heart sank into a puddle, quite literally. A sudden downpour soaked my shoes within minutes, and I couldn’t see past the water streaming from the sky. Undaunted, I set out to wade through the cold city streets to forage for food, which leads us to my…

Favorite Restaurant – Alexandros Greek Restaurant

If you’d landed at a city in northern Cumbria and GoogleMaps informed you that “Alexandros Greek Restaurant” was one of its very best, wouldn’t you be dubious? Well, I would, but my cynicism has been honed to a fine edge by the whetting stone named Manhattan. Even so, food is food and rain is rain, and my doubts were washed down the nearest gutter. Alexandros was open; it was nearby; it was warm – what did I care if the fair establishment was empty on a dank Wednesday afternoon?

In scanning the menu, I opted for the hummus appetizer and the sea bass special. What was the worst that could happen? I stopped myself from postulating – there was no point. I’d already ordered; the die was cast. To distract myself, I looked up information on Carlisle, a city about which I knew nothing except that it makes sense to spend a day there if you happen to be traveling between Edinburgh and The Lake District, as I was.

Again, Google offered a surprise, a Guardian article entitled, “So what is it about Carlisle that makes it Britain’s happiest city?” by Tim Adams: (https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2012/feb/18/carlisle-happiest-city-britain). To summarize, the article reviews a recent survey that concluded Carlisle’s residents were the happiest in the UK, and then it goes onto to describe Carlisle’s friendly community, embrace of diversity, and “joie de vivre.” As I sat alone, slowly drying, I thought, “Huh…ok…maybe all of these happy people are staying out of the rain.” Then, the food came.

To say my meal was delicious would be a vast understatement. It was, quite simply, the best Greek food I have ever eaten. The bass dish would rank among the best fish dishes in recent memory. I couldn’t imagine better food being served in Athens, Crete, or Corfu – though I’d love to put it to the test. I ate and ate and ate. For under £20, I was given six pieces of pita, four pieces of bread, a large plate of hummus, two filets of fish, two different salads, two pots of tea, and two pieces of shortbread – the waitress looked mildly confused when I ultimately explained that I couldn’t gobble down all the homemade bread they’d pulled out of the oven just for me. I tried.

With my belly full, I took the convenient city bus to my AirB&B with a more hopeful outlook. It was still raining, but (to quote the musical Annie) maybe the sun would come out tomorrow. It did.

Favorite Breakfast – Fiona’s Home Cooking

Have you ever awakened to the smell of freshly baking bread? I’d highly recommend it. Before you fall asleep tonight, goad someone (anyone) into awakening you with baking bread tomorrow morning. You won’t regret it; moreover, you might find yourself the perfect roommate.

Had I experienced carbohydrate overdose at Alexandros? Yes. Did that stop me the next morning? Lord no. That gluten perfume stirred the wheat-eating beast inside. In mere minutes, I wafted down the stairs toward the aroma, and guess what I found? A big loaf of bread pulled out of the oven just for me. I don’t know why these Cumbrians feel impelled to greet newcomers with freshly baked bread, but I applaud the practice.

For the average person, it may seem sufficient to offer someone a bespoke loaf of bread, but not a Cumbrian. As I peeked inside some intriguing little jars lined up along the breakfast table, Fiona, my AirBnB hostess, said, “I love to garden, and I have so many gooseberries bushes! Gooseberries just grow, you know. So I made jam this week. That one is elderflower and gooseberry,” and then she pointed to the next jar, “and that one is raspberry and gooseberry. Oh! And I forgot the butter!” Lickety-split, she ran to the kitchen and returned to deposit a stoneware jar of fresh butter (at the perfect temperature) on the table alongside its jammy compadres.

I faced a difficult choice: should I slather freshly-made elderflower and gooseberry jam on a slice of bread still hot from the oven? Or would it be better to try the raspberry and gooseberry? Decisions, decisions. As a brainy PhD however, I wasted no time in cutting two slices of the warm bread, spreading on melting butter, and dolloping liberal amounts the respective jams on each slice. How did they compare? If raspberry-gooseberry smacks of the tart taste of stolen berries on a sunny day, then elderflower-gooseberry is the ambrosial flavor of the gods’ own fragrant fare. If someone twisted my arm (or threatened to take away my personal loaf of bread), I’d recommend the elderflower variant.

“Our chickens are good layers – we have four. Would you like a boiled egg?” If anyone ever asks you this question, say yes immediately. Boy, I did. In came the egg, a pièce de résistance. There are no words, and so I took pictures.

When Fiona lifted the egg warmer, my giggling commenced – ‘twas pure glee. Have you ever seen anything more ridiculous and wonderful in your entire life? Only after pausing to take a photo did I wield my little teaspoon to crack the top of the egg and scoop out the flowy golden yolk. Next, the most delicate operation of the morning took place: I cut another slice of warm bread, spread on fresh butter, covered it with homemade elderflower-gooseberry jam, spooned on the warm yolk, and then I sprinkled the marvelous assemblage ever so carefully with a few grains of salt. I bit, chewed, tasted, and then I died.

Favorite Dungeon – Carlisle Castle

After breakfast, I felt the need for some exercise – it’s always a good idea after ingesting several thousand calories. On my way to the castle, I witnessed an inordinate number of smiling faces, burbling babies, and friendly chitchats, which only makes sense if the good people of Carlisle start the day with crackling bread and farm fresh eggs.

The genial atmosphere is encouraged by the city-planning. The town square is one large pedestrian thoroughfare dotted with Medieval walls and Georgian architecture – the residents must be used to these treasures because I seemed to be the only one gawking at their historical significance and aesthetic charm as the locals gabbed away. I made my way to Carlisle Castle, an easy walk since helpful signs direct the way.

When I neared the castle however, only one sign mattered, “CLOSED.”

Even as my brows pulled together in disappointment, an English Heritage employee called out, “All right?”

“You’re closed today?” I replied, all crestfallen.

“Locked out,” she shrugged.

“You’re locked out?” I was momentarily taken aback by the revelation that someone could get locked out of a castle much the same way that someone gets locked out of an apartment. I tried not to laugh. (Fiona told me later that only in Carlisle would they lock themselves out of the castle, adding, “It’s been seized so many times by the Scots, but we can’t get in!”)

The castle keeper assured me, “We called the locksmith. With luck, we’ll open a little later. You should come back!”

“Okay, I’ll visit the museum first,” brightening with the hope that the castle would eventually open up. I had instinctive faith in the locksmith, imagining that he must’ve eaten a hearty breakfast, too.

“The Military Museum’s that way,” she pointed, “and the Tullie House Museum and Gallery are across the street.”

I explored each fascinating museum at great length – to be discussed in the next exciting entry of “Strange and Sundry”! – but I didn’t forget Carlisle Castle. It’s difficult to forget an enormous medieval castle, after all.

The locksmith triumphed, and I returned to seize the day and the castle. Carlisle Castle is known for its multiple sieges. 

Carlisle Castle has been under siege at least nine times (according to my count) since its first construction, which began around 1092 in the reign of William II Rufus, King of England. It is the most contested castle in English and Scottish history, which brings us to the significance of its dungeon in the aftermath of 1746’s Battle of Culloden. (Attention all Outlander fans! I know there are a few among my readership.)

Before Culloden, the Jacobite army of Bonnie Prince Charlie seized and occupied Carlisle Castle for four days beginning on November 17^th, 1745; however, the bulk of Highlander Jacobite army was forced to march south to defend its position. They only left a garrison to hold the castle; so eventually, the castle was regained by royalist redcoats in December of 1746.

As every Outlander fan knows, the entire Jacobite conflict came to a head at the Battle of Culloden on April 16^th, 1746. I actually saw the dungeon where the fictional Jamie Fraser might’ve languished among the 127 Jacobite prisoners who were locked up in Carlisle Castle after their history-changing defeat. And much more importantly, there were eleven real-life members of the Clan MacClennan (my direct ancestors!) who were taken prisoner after the Battle of Culloden, and there’s a reasonable chance they were imprisoned in Carlisle Dungeon.

In this dungeon, the captured Jacobites awaited trial and execution “with little water and food and no daylight,” and the castle’s signage suggests they might’ve resorted to the dungeon’s “licking stones” on the “far wall of the inner room…These well worn stones are said to be where moisture gathered so the parched prisoners could press their tongues against the damp stone.” Condensation for dinner? Nasty. Moreover, whoever composed Carlisle Castle’s blurbs was not overly concerned with pandering to timid visitors with weak stomachs; one sign offers details about the Jacobites’ horrific execution, in which “the men were hanged by the neck for a few minutes; then cut down and ripped open so that their entrails could be burnt before their faces and finally their heads were severed.” However, this same grisly sign sought to assure, “The citizens of Carlisle were so sickened by the butchery that they returned to their homes in disgust.” Well, I should hope so – one would only expect as much from a population that bore such “happy” and gregarious descendants.

There’s so much more to say about Carlisle, but it’s late. Tomorrow! But for now, I’ll leave you with a photographic tour through the deep, dark dungeon of Carlisle Castle. Enjoy, if you can…