It is 0630h Greenwich Mean Time. We are fleeing the scene. While the Crown Pub and Hotel appears most welcoming, it is a scary place to spend the night. Rye, the Isle of Wight is its home. Accommodations are above the pub. Everywhere is sagging sticks of ancient wood that define stairs, doors, hallways, and rooms. A rabbit warren is more organized. The smoking area for patrons of the Pub is located on the tarpaper covered third level just outside our room. A single bare lightbulb gave us illumination.
The single thought we had was how to exit if there was a fire. Linda wore her clothes to bed to be ready. We did not stay a second night even though it was reserved. We fled the Isle a day early.
Nevertheless, this is one of our clearest memories of that trip around England and Wales that year…2012.
Oh, our Mercedes sedan was parked up the hill and around the corner on a public street. While it was the third attempt at Heathrow to provide us with an automobile, the first two were gone, the small sedan was too big for many of the places we roamed. Life is tough.