Exmoor National Park

On the way to Exmoor, near the southwestern part of England, we took a little stop in Salisbury, where you can find the Salisbury Cathedral (home to one of four copies of the Magna Carta and the oldest functioning clock in the Western world), and ice cream cones, as Rowan discovered. Rowan only likes the cone part, though--the ice cream itself is too cold, which is fine by us.

Just outside of Salisbury are the remains of a hilltop fort called Old Sarum. Once an Iron Age hill fort built around 1500BC (the hill and surrounding trench are man-made using metal and stone tools, as well as deer antlers), it was subsequently taken over by the Romans, and later by various invading tribes. Another interesting feature is the remaining foundation of an old cathedral, shown above, constructed sometime during the reign (I believe) of William the Conqueror. Rowan enjoyed climbing around the existing walls and running around underneath a hot, cloudless sky, much to Winnie's chagrin.

We finally made it to Exmoor, staying at the tiny fishing village of Porlock Weir on the coast. The beaches are covered almost entirely in sea-washed stones of varying sizes, to Rowan's great delight. He holds out one of his many finds in this picture, some of which made it into our car and got transported great distances, only to be tossed out the door and replaced by another.

Nearby Dunster Castle, where the infamous "Tick Saga" began (we think). Somewhere on the grounds of this castle, which in its heyday possessed its own deer park (the English were lovers of venison), Rowan got bitten by a tick that attached itself to the inner folds of his neck. We didn't spot it until the day we left. Thus ensued the great tick battle and our dealings with the UK health system (which didn't cost us one penny, thank you very much). More on this saga will be explained below.

Rowan takes a nap at a cafe in the historic village of Dunster. Is the tick hiding somewhere in there while he dozes? We'll never really know.

This is what Exmoor National Park is about, the vast, tick-laden stretches of heather across the mountain tops, where small herds of native red deer, Exmoor ponies, sheep and Highland cattle (shown above) roam and graze at their ease, disturbed only by the occasional birdwatcher looking for skylarks.

The morning after this fascinating trip (in which we learned about the botanical perils of bracken), we discovered the tick on Rowan's neck and hightailed it to the hospital nearby. There, a no nonsense doctor did his best to remove the tick from Rowan's screaming, writhing body, only managing to rip off the tick's body, leaving the head in. Seeing as Rowan was in no state to continue, we tried to suffocate the tick in an attempt to get the thing to loosen its grip. Upon our arrival in the coastal town of Penzance, this trick hadn't worked. We had to find another way...