The map is a closeup from one down on the beach that illustrates the smuggling route that Troon is famous for in the late 1700's The other photos are some buildings on the streets of Troon.
A few last thoughts about France- or the little piece of it I experienced, anyway- it has a distinctive feel which is maybe a little more proud, more concerned about the environment, broader minded. Jean said she thought most of the people who had moved down from England had come with some sense of entitlement, and had never got along with the French people they chose to live with- and recently many of those same people are moving back to great Britain, partly because of chances in their financial condition (and currency values) and partly because they were tired of being unwelcome. Which was their own doing. Jean finds the French people in general to be friendly and helpful, and has no such problems.
She also told me about local prisons which are very strict and refuse to cater to any prisoner comforts. She thinks that’s why the repeat offender rates are very low. She also said that things like drunk driving, car theft, or possession of illegal drugs will put one in jail right away. The consequence is very few car thefts, and rare drunk driving.
Would like to find out more about the French legal/penal system, but for now, Onwards- to Scotland
Flying out of Carcassonne was another learning experience. First, while in Spain, and as I was told by friends there, and as was evident by the carry-ons that I saw- not much attention was paid to the strict limits on size and weight of carry-on luggage. I assumed it would be the same in France, but was wrong. I was ok on size but over on weight, and had thought I didn’t need to check anything. I could have, before check-in, for 15 euros. But I had already checked in, so now the cost was 35 euros. Oops. Better to plan on a checked bag.
Another sign of mental fatigue- Having decided to wear a blouse that had a metal decoration on it on fly day meant having to be thoroughly frisked at security.
Flying north across France was an amazing sight- the patterns and colors of the farm fields made an endless mosaic, with dark green lines where there were hedgerows between, or where the canals wound through. Roads made spider-web designs centered on towns of tile roofed stucco buildings.
The British Isles were similar, but more forested sections, and the further north we were, the more golf courses there were. I landed at Prestwick near Glasgow, and a short taxi ride took me to my B&B, Westwinds, owned by a friend of my last hostess. She gave me a pile of literature on the area, and I went out to explore. I wandered the streets of Troon, the closest town, but to get there I skirted a few golf courses. There are at least five within shouting distance, and famous ones at that.
Troon has a nice beach, and little shops. I found the train station and learned that I can ride to the Isle of Arran and back for 13 pounds, so that is the plan for tomorrow.
She also told me about local prisons which are very strict and refuse to cater to any prisoner comforts. She thinks that’s why the repeat offender rates are very low. She also said that things like drunk driving, car theft, or possession of illegal drugs will put one in jail right away. The consequence is very few car thefts, and rare drunk driving.
Would like to find out more about the French legal/penal system, but for now, Onwards- to Scotland
Flying out of Carcassonne was another learning experience. First, while in Spain, and as I was told by friends there, and as was evident by the carry-ons that I saw- not much attention was paid to the strict limits on size and weight of carry-on luggage. I assumed it would be the same in France, but was wrong. I was ok on size but over on weight, and had thought I didn’t need to check anything. I could have, before check-in, for 15 euros. But I had already checked in, so now the cost was 35 euros. Oops. Better to plan on a checked bag.
Another sign of mental fatigue- Having decided to wear a blouse that had a metal decoration on it on fly day meant having to be thoroughly frisked at security.
Flying north across France was an amazing sight- the patterns and colors of the farm fields made an endless mosaic, with dark green lines where there were hedgerows between, or where the canals wound through. Roads made spider-web designs centered on towns of tile roofed stucco buildings.
The British Isles were similar, but more forested sections, and the further north we were, the more golf courses there were. I landed at Prestwick near Glasgow, and a short taxi ride took me to my B&B, Westwinds, owned by a friend of my last hostess. She gave me a pile of literature on the area, and I went out to explore. I wandered the streets of Troon, the closest town, but to get there I skirted a few golf courses. There are at least five within shouting distance, and famous ones at that.
Troon has a nice beach, and little shops. I found the train station and learned that I can ride to the Isle of Arran and back for 13 pounds, so that is the plan for tomorrow.
Phoebe--I love your posts. You are a very good writer and there is always somethings perceptive and idiosyncratic in what you write. Unfortunately, we live in an age when people are too busy to read, especially if it requres a little work and not just a quick gloss speed-read. Soon it is time for you to come home.
ReplyDeleteWard