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Hiking in Wales and England

The green fields of England

The green fields of England

It’s been about 17 years since I went on my first walking tour of England and Wales…1996, to be exact.

The month was September, and the weather could not have been more perfect, the countryside more beautiful. If anything motivated me to begin hiking, it was this trip. Of course, not every hike is perfect…weather, nervousness about driving on the left hand side of the road (and the roundabouts), finding a good place to stay. Nonetheless, the two weeks spent here were an eye-opener. Who knew these out of the way places existed? Some of the towns and countryside looked as if they had never moved into the 20th century…and still retained the innocence of an earlier time.  I talked a good friend into getting on the road with me, and once that was settled…onto London.

London

Arriving at Gatwick I found a porter who whisked me onto the Airport Express train to Victoria Station – somehow missing the customs melee. “There’s no-one there – no problem!” (Obviously this was pre-9/11.) On the train into London, I spied a fox slinking into the underbrush, its bushy red tail waving in the breeze.

London

Once in London, I grabbed a taxi to the Covent Garden Hotel. I was meeting Lee here later – and the suite won’t be ready for hours – so I settled in the library sitting room to read and drink a cup of tea with real cream (three pounds!) The hotel is a former French hospital which has become a delightful four-story retreat, small and intimate, and splashed with chintz. The library offers deep sofas and chairs, The London Times and Observer, and London Vogue.

London forever

Lee arrived at 10AM, and off we went to see London. We sat atop a sightseeing bus in the open air – bloody cold! Disembarking constantly, we rambled around Sloane Square and down St. James Street, around Leicester Square and Covent Garden, where we looked for -and found – 84 Charing Cross Road and the site of that lovely old bookstore. If you haven’t read the book by Helene Hanff…it is terrific (and  the follow-up, The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street>, the great follow-up.)

Back at the hotel, our suite was ready. Padded yellow rose chintz coated the windows, bed and loveseat. Beautiful more-than-full-size feather beds sat high, high up, with immense feather pillows. An equally immense bathroom held a deep soaking tub with a separate shower.

That night, we moseyed once again around Covent Garden and Leicester Square, where the crowds were really overpowering – mostly young adults, there is hardly room to move. After a light dinner, we returned to the hotel to prepare to take off early in the morning.

The weather this first day has been just great – although cold, the sun is shining and the sky blue. A great omen.

Broad Chalke, Wiltshire

Surprise: we overslept! We had barely enough time for breakfast before our car was delivered. At 9:45AM, a sharp-looking little red Rover rolled up to the front door. As designated driver, I immediately smashed the left hand rearview mirror while trying to negotiate the tiny, tiny one-way streets of London.

We managed to get out of London – but it was an absolutely wild trip, as I had never before driven a “left-handed car” and I kept driving into the curb. And the roundabouts! It took me days to get used to them.

Finally, we got out of London, stopping in the tiny town of Weybridge for coffee and a look through a bookshop; then on to our first bed and breakfast – Stoke Farm in Broad Chalke.

The roads to Broad Chalke lead through Wiltshire. The deep hedgerows, the farmlands, the woods – all these are the England of legend – and so quiet. The sun shone intermittently; parts of the day were overcast – but by afternoon, it was hot. Our route took us down narrow lanes with very high hedgerows. Keeping a sharp eye out, we were lucky to spot a miniature sign saying “Stoke Farm” hidden in a hedge. It was 6PM, still daylight. Jan, the proprietor, was a charming woman who was so busy she hadn’t much time to do anything but show us the bedroom and bathroom, and ask us to write down our breakfast requests.

Between hedgerows

Between hedgerows

Our first view of the farmhouse looked like something from a Jane Austen novel. Converted to a bed and breakfast, it is built of beautiful old stone, nestling in the Wiltshire countryside. It lies at the bottom of a hill (which we climb that night after dinner.) Baskets of flowers hang from every window, and the front lawn is surrounded by evergreens and flowering plants. Cows and horses lingered in the surrounding fields. Two dogs ran around the yard.

The entryway held a big Welsh dresser, with blue and white platters and china covering the shelves. The cozy dining room was papered with brown patterned wallpaper, and had a big fireplace, and an old dining table and sideboard. The only other guests were a very attractive Belgian couple, who nodded and smiled and basically said not a word to us as they only spoke Belgian…conversation was limited to good mornings. Our bedroom was, of course, charming – all chintz and prints – as was our bathroom across the hall. I leaned from my bedroom window to look across hills and dales and farmland, as far as the eye could see.

An olde street

An olde street

Just down the road is Broad Chalke itself – a few cottages, a couple of manor houses, and an old pub at the crossroads, where we had dinner. The dessert of apple pie crumble with real cream was  heavenly – makes me hungry just to think about it!

We loved Stoke Farm. It was so peaceful and quiet, quiet, quiet. Walking up the low-lying hill that night, the silence was like balm to the soul. The sky was clear as a bell, and the stars, magnificent, blanketing the sky.

Wiltshire – Broad Chalke, Fovant, Stonehenge and Old Sarum

Again, we overslept: breakfast is between eight and nine, and we woke at ten to nine. Breakfast:  haddock in scrambled eggs, toast and broiled tomatoes. The hot tea hit the spot.

Climbing the hill in Broad Chalke to view the chalk drawings

Climbing the hill in Broad Chalke to view the chalk drawings

Once all that was under our belts, we planned our itinerary: to Stonehenge, and then to Old Sarum. On the way, fascinating chalk figures carved into a hill just outside the town of Fovant caught our attention. Quickly parking the car, we climbed to more closely view these figures carved into the hillside by airmen in World War I.

Mysterious Stonehenge

From Fovant, we wound our way to Stonehenge – mysterious and fascinating. The sky was overcast, the day gray and windy-  what better for Stonehenge? The monoliths are visible from a great distance, and seas of grass stretch for miles around…all is emptiness, except for a few tourists and the monolithic stones.

Stonehenge - mysterious, magical

Old Sarum was our next stop, another strange and wonderful place. We climbed the hill to the castle remains, crossing a drawbridge across a great dry moat. The crumbling, immensely thick stone walls of the castle and the remains of “old” Salisbury Cathedral stood out against the greenest of green grass and fields. Wandering these ruins was a truly mystical experience.

The walls of Old Sarum

The walls of Old Sarum

On the drive back to Stoke Farm, we stopped for dinner at a quaint old inn down a twisty, winding, hilly country lane. Navigating these lanes by car, so narrow with the highest of hedgerows, was an adventure by day; a real challenge by night. The lanes turn and twist, with often only room for one (very small) car to navigate through. But so far, we’ve been lucky – only one or two minor scrapes (the side of our little car looked as though it had been in the wars.)

Old Sarum

Old Sarum

Dinner tonight started with pate with hot toast, and finished with apple pie and cream (munching our way through England – thank goodness for all that walking.)

On the road to Lyme Regis

From the heart of England, we drove to Lyme Regis, through rolling English countryside – going like a bat out of hell. English drivers are truly another breed: if you aren’t driving quickly enough, the kinder, gentler blokes behind the wheel blink their lights, the aggressive honk madly until you move over!

On the road to Cornwall

On the road to Lyme Regis…

We stopped for a little “smack of something” on our way down the I-30. The tea shop had great coffee. As a matter of fact, the coffee is usually excellent; of course, the tea was terrific, always piping hot.

Back on the road, we pulled over halfway to Lyme Regis for a long walk down a country lane, over neon-green fields. In a sheltered corner, we stopped to eat our lunch, bought at the tea shop. In my pack is “homemade bread pudding” with raisins – half of which is eaten by Lee, who had formerly announced she does not like raisins!

The Cotswolds Way

Wonderful leafy lanes

Onward to Lyme Regis through the little town of Uplyme – very pretty with pastel-painted houses.

Uplyme

Pastel houses in Uplyme

Lyme Regis lies just beyond, and at first glance seemed very touristy, not at all what we had in mind. But after finding a small white hotel with two small rooms – about 20 pounds apiece – we headed  for the beach, walking through the center of town to reach the boardwalk. We clambered over several concrete “sand dividers” to reach a deserted stretch of sand that was both pebbly and seaweedy and rather forbidding.

The cliffs of solid sand are high and dangerous; climbing was  forbidden because of the erosion. But the beach suddenly opened up and stretched literally for miles, and the late afternoon sunlight played on the cliff face. For the first time, I felt “I’m here!” It was so beautiful and lonely and we could have walked for miles, but the tide comes in rapidly, so we had to turn back sooner than we wished.

Next on the agenda was food! We ate in the courtyard of a rather charming small hotel – fish and chips for me, fisherman’s platter for Lee, and it was quite a picture: two major fish complete with heads, tails and eyes. While we were eating, what seemed to be the largest seagull in the world perched on a ridgepole, cawing and squawking plaintively. I threw chips in the air for him – seemed to be the right thing to do, and he caught them as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

 

CORNWALL

Marazion

We were in the parking lot at Lyme Regis, trying to find our way out. After several turns around the maze-like lot, we finally gave it up as a bad job, and asked the parking attendant to direct us to the gate – which happened to be straight ahead. The attendant’s attitude seemed to be: “We are not amused!”

Finally …on the road to Cornwall. Driving at 80 mph, and cars passing me by. I whizzed by a sign which says “Pork and Rice,” realizing shortly afterwards that it really says “Park and Ride” but who the heck could figure it out since we were going at the speed of light! Traffic signs were everywhere bearing such legends as “Traffic calming ahead.”

A stop at a mysterious old house by the wayside

A stop at a mysterious old house by the wayside

Halfway to our destination, we pulled off the road to take a brief hike over a ferny footpath, then back in the car to head for Ednovean House, our B&B in Perranuthnoe. By the end of the day, we were extremely punchy, having driven 180 miles. But for the life of us we can’t find Perranuthnoe.

Disconcertingly, several people stare blankly at us when we ask directions, but even with directions such as “you can’t miss it, only two miles down the road”, or “plenty of signs to it, dear, just keep going straight” we seemed to travel in circles. Only when we were told “turn right at Bertie Wooster’s Restaurant” do we finally reach our destination.

And here we are at Ednovean House – only to find out we were there a day too early! Apparently really screwed up, having booked our room for Friday and Saturday nights; no rooms are available tonight. Once again, we’re back in the car, on the road for Marazion, a small town two miles away.

Just about to drop from exhaustion, we found a small hotel in Marazion with two single rooms. We dumped our luggage and walked downhill to a tiny, adorable restaurant for a delicious dinner of crevettes in sauce, mushrooms in garlic, and delicious chewy bread. Dessert is English sherry trifle! 

Perranuthnoe, the cliff walks

The food at our hotel in Marazion was terrific. Breakfast included poached eggs on toast – the yolks bright yellow – English bacon, sausages and fried tomatoes. A note: these tomatoes are the best I’ve tasted anywhere.

After a short walk along the beach, we discovered that this is where we will walk the causeway to St. Michael’s Mount…

On the shores of Marazion

On the shores of Marazion

Back to Perranuthnoe, leaving our car in a park by the sea and immediately began a wonderful hike over the cliffs. This was the best and most fabulous walk so far, and was my favorite of the entire trip. Up, up a winding footpath through lanes lined with tiny pastel-colored houses; up, and up through farmyards and into lanes with high, high hedgerows. Over stiles, into far-ranging fields of grass and new-mown hay. Crossing fields full of cows.

Over the hills and far away

Over the hills and far away

The sea is visible at a distance, and then: bang! We’re on the cliffs of some of the most spectacular scenery in the world – looking down, down – waves crashing on the rocks, the sea crystal-blue-green, like glass. We clambered over the cliffs, across rocks and boulders, finding winding footpaths down, through blackberry brambles full of ripening berries, through fern and nettle.

The wind gusted across the cliffs, the sun was brilliant, the day warm and glorious. We rested on the rocks below, taking in the fabulous beauty before returning to the cliff top – and feeling fabulously alive.

At the end of the day, we finally ensconced ourselves in Ednovean House. The view from our window was amazing: across emerald green fields, you see the sea, a clear, deep blue, mirroring the sky above. Set against this glamour are the storied island and castle of St. Michael’s Mount, which floats in the bay like some fabled “casement in faery lands forlorn.” Backed by the gold of the setting sun, it could be the Isle of Avalon come to life. The air is crystal clear and the view was/is  perfection.

Cocktails in Ednovean House's garden overlooking the sea and St Michael's Mount

Cocktails in Ednovean House’s garden overlooking the sea and St Michael’s Mount

We had cocktails on the lawn in the late day sunshine; St. Michael’s Mount was our backdrop. A magic moment. Lee and I both lifted a glass to this wonderful memory-in-the­-making.

Val and Arthur, the proprietors, serve a yummy dinner: steak and kidney pudding with the crust made from scratch, fresh crisp green beans, carrots, and zucchini, and zesty crispy potatoes. Dessert is brandy pudding with clotted cream. Too good to pass up, but I am glad, glad, glad we are walking and hiking as much as we are!

St. Michael’s Mount, Mousehole and Land’s End

Up at 6:30AM, we returned to Marazion to begin our adventure, and fulfill one of my childhood dreams: to walk the pebble causeway to St. Michael’s Mount. Only twice a day (early morning and midnight) is the causeway accessible, the tide being at the full at all other times.

We were the only people on the causeway, except for one solitary man. The tide was out, and had left fishing boats beached in the sandy cove.

walking-the-causeway-to-the-mount

Unfortunately, we were unable to actually enter the castle, as it is too early in the morning, but we were able to walk the outside grounds.

Small houses before you reach the castle atop the island of St Michael's Mount

Small houses before you reach the castle atop the island of St Michael’s Mount

Yet although this is a tiny island, small houses are built around the castle’s outer walls. All is gray stone…castle, houses, walkway, a perfect backdrop for the flowers, which are a painter’s dream of color: one wall drips with immense hydrangeas in all colors. Another wall is muralled with a history of St. Michael’s, painted in delicate detail. The morning is clear and the sky takes on the colors of the sea…it is a perfect, peaceful place.

The tide turned, and the causeway was awash, so back to Ednovean House in time for breakfast…then we were off to Mousehole, a tiny fishing village that was home to my grandmother and grandfather many years past.

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Mousehole is built on a hill, its tiny grassy paths leading to backs of houses, and uphill to glorious views of the bay. Its tiny harbor is filled with fishing boats, and many, many people wander its winding cobbled streets.

a-mousehole-house

A house in Mousehole (pronounced Muzzle)

The sun shone brilliantly, and the day was balmy. September is a holiday month, and with this glorious weather, every last person was out enjoying it.

After a brief halt for tea, we were again back in the car, driving up the winding lanes to the cliffs of Land’s End. At first glance, Land’s End is not appealing, as it is fronted by a huge whitewashed “castle” backed by booths, rides and whatnot. We ignored all this, and walked to the headland, covered in purple heather and yellow gorse.

lands-end-signpost

The view was spectacular. A narrow footpath took us to the cliff’s edge, and in some places, the drop was sheer. We walked about four miles along the cliffs, which look far, far out to sea. The sea was tipped with silver in the sunlight, and crashed in mighty waves over the rocks below. Incredibly beautiful.

lands-end

Land’s End – oh, those views!

Back to Perranuthnoe, for dinner at Victoria Inn in the village. Perranuthnoe is a village forgotten by time: tiny and tinier, it houses several bed and breakfasts, old stone houses covered in ivy and hung with baskets of flowers, and the church. It is banked by the sea, and absolutely massed with flowers all in bloom. The colors! The flowers! Nasturtiums, sunflowers, daisies, hydrangeas, huge pots of massed orange and red geraniums. All houses are decorated with flowers…pots and hanging baskets are everywhere we look. The hedges along the roadsides are starred with all manner of tiny wildflowers. It is a delightful spot. 

St. Kew and Crackington Haven

Up at eight, we had breakfast of coffee, juice, muesli and tomatoes on toast with toast. Hmm! Now packing up ready to leave for Crackington Haven and Tintagel.

On the road, manicured, pristine farm country surrounds us. About ten miles from our destination, we pulled onto a tiny side lane, parked and set off in the direction of St. Kew. A green field uninhabited by cows called to us, so we picnicked in the sunshine, with sandwiches, chips, blackberries from the bush, and a half-melted Aero bar.

St Kew Inn

St Kew Inn

Afterwards, we rambled awhile in the general direction of St. Kew. It is tremendously exhilarating to just be able to walk without being bothered by people, cars or signs saying “no trespassing”. The narrow road leads through the high green hedgerows and tiny villages, past old stone houses with slate or thatched roofs which are hung with baskets filled with nasturtiums and daisies; past manor houses set back in green fields, surrounded by immense bushes of blue and multicolored hydrangeas.

We came to St. Kew, a tiny, tiny village with a wonderful old church and tiny graveyard, with gravestones so old we are unable to read them. We stop at an inn for coffee, then turn back to the car. Up the lane, we notice a manor house for sale, set back from the road with a long drive bound by rhododendrons. I pretended I lived there just for a moment…can’t imagine how magical that would be.

Walking in the woods on the road to Crackington Haven

Walking in the woods on the road to Crackington Haven

It was so quiet. Tiny birds were singing, but no other sound was heard. We were really in deep country; although hard to believe, it does still exist, unspoilt, fresh, and utterly satisfying. The air is clean; we’re still having beautiful weather, and the breeze was brisk and evergreen-scented.

Crackington Haven signpost on the cliffs

Crackington Haven signpost on the cliffs

We drove on to Crackington Haven…not far, actually. The road to Crackington Haven, which is situated high atop a hill overlooking the sea, winds up, up and up. We turned down the short grassy lane to Manor Farm, which, we were told, is listed in the Domesday Book. It is very, very old, and very, very beautiful. The grounds, looking as if they are clipped daily with nail scissors, were splashed hydrangea bushes at every possible turn, all blooming in glorious colors.

The gardens of Manor Farm in Crackington Haven

The gardens of Manor Farm in Crackington Haven

The house itself had stone flagged floors. Our bedroom had twin beds covered with rose flowered chintz covers and frilled pillowcases. The room – as are all the rooms -was whitewashed, with dark oak Tudor beams, and a very low ceiling. The bathroom also had oak beams, on which I had already knocked my head, and a step-down, which had sent Lee crashing into the tub. (Expletives here.) The room had two low, low, low diamond-paned dormer windows with inset window seats. Another smaller window faced the beds.

 

Muriel, the proprietor, took us through the sitting room with large windows looking onto green lawns, and on into the dining room where a highly polished table was set for six, with place cards. Uh-oh. Our trip has been very casual, as far as clothes are concerned. We have come up against it here; when we ask Muriel if we dress for dinner, she answers “Ectually….yes!” in no uncertain terms.

I had to wear what I have, the best of it being a cashmere sweater and khakis. Lee had on jeans and black socks: “Black socks make any outfit, my dear!”

We were told to be back from our walk by 5:30 to do the wash; drinks in the bar are at 6:30 sharp; dinner is at 7; and breakfast is at 8:30AM. This is about all the regimentation I can take. We’re glad that we plan to be out all day Monday, and must find our own dinner Monday night!

After an hour-long walk, we took our dirty clothes to be washed at the requested 5:30PM. Cleaned up, we ran back downstairs for cocktails at 6:30. (Our clothes are given the once-over, then ignored.) Dinner, where we met  two young couples staying at the Manor, was turkey steaks with mustard sauce, fig pie with raspberry sauce and clotted cream, cheese and biscuits, and wine. Coffee is served afterwards in the drawing room.

We log in another five miles today!

Crackington Haven, Bude, Tintagel, and Boscastle

Out on the road for a quick walk at 7AM, we zoomed back for breakfast at 8:30 sharp. Muriel, a former schoolteacher, rings a little bell to remind us that breakfast is served.

We have a full breakfast of orange juice, sausage, bacon, eggs, fried bread, tomato, toast and coffee. And are requested not to leave anything on the plate, or not to order anything that we won’t eat. Gee, where’s the joy in that?!

We took off to explore. First on our list was Bude and a walk over the cliffs. Bude is not a pretty place. The sand on the beach was churned up in giant mud flats, and the day was overcast and dreary. We decided to move on to Tintagel. And what a disappointment it was (to me, anyway)! The town is very gimmicky and full of tourists, and the headland itself was blocked by King Arthur’s Castle Hotel, a ghastly lump of red brick with absolutely no redeeming architectural value. We were shocked, and needless to say, did not stop. In retrospect, that was a mistake, as there’s always something hidden behind the touristy buildings that makes a visit worthwhile. Nonetheless, we plowed on to Boscastle.

The road through mountains into Boscastle

The road through mountains into Boscastle

It’s not far to Boscastle, a harbor town built down the side of a mountain. Steep, steep, steep little roads led to a walled village over which the mountain cast its immense shadow.

Lee checking out the hydrangeas at Boscastle

Lee checking out the hydrangeas at Boscastle

We met a bus head-on, and the roads are so narrow, our lives flashed before our eyes! The houses and buildings here are very old, with gray slate roofs, and pots of bright flowers hanging from walls and dotting the small gardens. The trees lining the road are strung with ivy; dry stone walls support the soaring mountain forest at every turn; lichen and moss cover every possible rock, crack and crevice, and a wide variety of delicate flowers poke their heads from the hedgerows.

Starting our hike round Crackington Haven

Starting our hike round Crackington Haven

After a fish and chip lunch, we returned to Crackington Haven, to hike over the cliffs. Our path gave us spectacular views of the great Atlantic Ocean, the waves tipped with silver and pearl. We are so high up, we feel as if we’re walking on the roof of the world. As we look back to the footpaths we’ve climbed, it’s hard to believe we actually climbed them!

Carpeted in purple heather and yellow gorse, the cliffs stretch as far as the eye can see. By this time, the sun had begun to emerge, which gives the entire day a different perspective (it is certainly cooler here than in Perranuthnoe, which, we find out, is part of what is known as the English Riviera.)

The Strangles

The Strangles

We hiked past The Strangles, that silver, wild, wind-whipped part of the ocean below. Looking for seals among the waves, we missed the return footpath across the fields.  Many a cow-laden field is crossed, and we eventually find a path leading through a wooded ravine. After crossing small bridges across limpid, pebble-lined streams, we were finally back at Crackington Haven Cove at the base of the cliff, where a hot cup of tea at a small tea shop revived us. That, plus sitting in the sun, and afterward, walking across the pebbled beach to the receding tide. We heard the sound of the pebbles being sucked back into the sea…”that melancholy, long-withdrawing roar.”

The undertow was terrifically strong. Earlier, under a gray sky we had seen bathers in the water, which to our touch is icy. Yikes!

Hiking wild countryside outside Crackington Haven

Hiking wild countryside outside Crackington Haven

We logged in ten miles or so from our hike, and as dinner was not being served at the manor that night, decided to go out for a picnic dinner. Flinging a long scarf around my neck, dressed in khaki green jacket and boots and looking like a WWI pilot, according to Lee, we sneaked into the bar to pick up some lager. This, together with tomatoes, pasties, apples and cheese, was our dinner. We set out for a small field around the corner to eat and relax. There is something so out of time about this: sitting in an English field far, far from all we have known, in the late twilight, surrounded by deep English country…an indescribable experience, albeit somewhat damp.

INTO WALES

Tintern Abbey

Tintern Abbey

The Wye Valley, Tintern Abbey, Swansea and Mumbles
Early this morning we hiked for twenty minutes, making sure we are back in time for the breakfast bell. Two new couples joined us at the breakfast table, one from Chepstow in the Wye Valley, and one from New Jersey. Another hearty breakfast is consumed (both of us too nervous about Muriel to leave anything on our plates), and then we were out the door and off to Mumbles.

Tintern Abbey Fields

Tintern Abbey Fields

The couple from Chepstow spoke so glowingly of the Wye Valley, we turned off on the road to see Tintern Abbey. The Abbey is a beautiful ruin, the gray stone as fragile as lace, set on a green grassy sward, at the base of a towering mountain. A quick lunch, and we’re back on the road to Wales, and Mumbles, Swansea.
What a drive: we logged 240 miles, I wondered if we’d ever arrive. When we did, belching fumes and smoke from various pipestacks met our eyes – this is not the Swansea I remember from childhood, but I guess all things must pass.

We finally reach The Mumbles, where I spent much of my childhood. Now it is so touristy…and is thronged with people…yet the views from the cliff walks are still wonderful.

I wondered if Thistleboone Gardens was still there….not only is it still there, it looked just the same as it did when I was a child. But… we were no longer able to walk from the Gardens over the cliffs; built over with subdivisions, the land has become too valuable to stay wild.

As we hadn’t booked into a B&B or hotel, we had a difficult time finding somewhere to stay…talk about frustrating. Finally we found a rather primitive B&B – only one toilet for the entire house, and NO soap! Our proprietors, however, were really very kind and lovely (and the food was good, always a plus.) We toted our luggage upstairs, then left for a walk along the front to the old pier. The castle still brooded on the hilltop. The boardwalk was filled with tiny booths and video games. The population was out in full force, as the weather was balmy. But it is true: you can’t go home again. It was difficult to see this place of my childhood so clogged with shops, houses, cars, and people. In retrospect, I realize that perhaps I set my sights too high. The years had made a difference.

A quick dinner of fish and chips, and then back up the hill to our B&B. We are so exhausted, we crawl into our beds and are out like lights.

Cliff walk at The Mumbles

Cliff walk at The Mumbles

Langland and Bracelet Bays, The Brecon Beacons and the Great Malverns
After a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast, we packed and locked the car, then left for a couple of hours of walking across the cliffs to Langland and Bracelet Bays. What a glorious, glorious walk. The weather continued to be fabulous. The sun broke through the mist, and it was a beautiful day, and very warm.

Cliff walk leading to Bracelet and Langland Bays

Cliff walk leading to Bracelet and Langland Bays

Langland itself is now a retirement community. A few people from the settlement were walking on the footpath over the cliffs, taking in the clean morning air. The cliff walk was exactly as I remembered it, right up to and including the 1930’s style bathing huts lining the cliff top.

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Cliff walk on the way to the Mumbles

Past Langland to Bracelet, and I clambered down the cliffs to the sand – a little nervewracking, as the drop is steeper than it seemed when I began! Bracelet Bay is also exactly as I remember it when I was a child…a wide curve of smooth yellow untrammeled sand, surrounded by cliffs covered in yellow gorse and purple heather. Blackberry bushes abound, berries ripening in the sun…. The flowers were rioting color – orange nasturtiums, yellow gorse, purple heather, hot pink petunias, white daisies, orange-red geraniums, purple-white freesias, white and purple lilac, smelling like heaven. The grass was green, green, green. We passed a red currant bush full of currants, shining like jewels on the branches. Talk about yummy!

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The Mumbles – cliff walk

After a two-hour walk, onwards to Mumbles to pick up some supplies and cash checks (these were the days before ATMs – medieval times). I walked across the boardwalk to the sea, which has receded to leave fishing boats beached like whitefish across the exposed reaches of sand. Some things haven’t changed one iota.

Eventually we left Mumbles to drive through the Brecon Beacons, to Herefordshire and the Great Malverns. The route is tortuous, as we got lost trying to find our way out of Swansea, but finally, we were on the open road again.

BACK INTO ENGLAND
The Great Malverns and Herefordshire

The Brecon Beacons took us through wild, empty country showcasing secluded dales and valleys. What views! Sheep roamed freely across mountain tops and stony outcrops. Some rambled across the roads, some rested or grazed. For endless miles, the land stretched out isolated and lonely except for the sheep. It is a fascinating, desolate, eerie place, so different from all we have seen so far.

Driving on, we passed the town of Haye-on-Wye, otherwise known as “Full of Books.” We arrived at the town of Brecon, and turned toward Herefordshire, stopping for a picnic in a green field off a little stony lane. Sausage rolls, a tuna sandwich, apples, most of a black currant tart topped with whipped cream, a scone filled with clotted cream and jam, and custard pie: we now thought of this as a light lunch. We have come far since first beginning this journey…

Cowleigh Park Farm

Cowleigh Park Farm

Cowleigh Park Farm is situated in Malvern, Worcestershire (right on the Herefordshire border). We arrived in late afternoon, and were immediately impressed: what a beautiful place! An old half-timbered manor house, it was originally built in 1200 in a deer park about 100 yards away from where it presently stands. The house fell into disrepair, and in the 1600s was dismantled, and rebuilt in its new location. It is enveloped by farms, hills and orchards. Everywhere, immense clumps of fragrant lavendar meet the eye and fill the nose with fragrance.

Chris, the proprietor and owner, ran the B&B with his wife Sue. He handled all maintenance and also ran a renovation business on the side, while remaining active in the Royal Marine Reserves (he served during the Falklands War.) He is a busy, and – in his words – happy, man.

He booked us into the Red Lion pub for dinner, where we had chicken filets in lime and brandy with broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, new potatoes, and fresh rolls. Lager accompanied this repast. For dessert, we had rhubarb crumble with whipped cream and coffee. I am still trying to figure out why I didn’t end up looking like Shamu the Whale: we never seem to stop eating!

After the first night, we moved – to a room across the hall. Our new room had board and latch doors, with a bathroom containing an immense bath, deep, new and dark blue, and built very high up. When I stood up in the bath, my head almost touched the low-hung ceiling. Blue and white tiles surrounded the tub. The tiny-paned window was hung with print curtains. The sink was set into a wall-to-wall vanity, which was lined with blue and white bowls and pitchers. The room was whitewashed, with natural oak beams.
In the bedroom were wonderfully comfortable beds which faced a window opening onto the garden. The green wall-to-wall carpet, the pink-striped bedspreads and green velvet wing chair by a potted plant and huge wardrobe all made the room comfortable and inviting. A corner table housed a coffee maker and teakettle.

I loved this house…indeed it is one of the most splendid B&Bs we’ve stayed in. We met more of the family: Sue, Chris’s wife, brown-haired, petite, pretty; and Lucky, her three-legged cat, who slept in a black puddle of fur at the top of the stairs.

A field in the Malverns

A field in the Malverns

This morning, after a hearty breakfast (is there any other?) we set off for the Great Malverns. We walked to the top of the highest hill – not so very high at 1300 feet but with a fantastic all-round view. The springiness of the turf was like walking on green velvet. We looked down into the beautiful valleys surrounding us, dotted with tiny villages and isolated cottages, set in the greenest of green fields, or amid trees on gentle hilly slopes. The sun was drawing moisture up into the clouds, and the sky was silver.

 

The weather continued warm and clear, and the winds, fresh. Although some mornings had been overcast, we never seemed to get a single drop of rain.
The walk to the highest Malvern peak and back down again took us approximately two and a half hours. These hills were thick with flowers: yellow gorse and tall purple loosestrife, cowslips, buttercups, celandines, dandelions … Blackberries, thick on bramble bushes, were in every lane. Stinging nettles were also everywhere; Lee, thinking these were mint, rubbed some casually between her fingers, a big mistake! (Dock leaves take out the sting…)

Sheep ran freely over the hills. Every once in a while, one became separated from its mates, and the plaintive baaaa-ing was constant. Back in town, we strolled to the pub for lunch and ginger beer, which Lee swears tastes like mouthwash. Then a ramble around the village, which had some of the prettiest gardens ever. The most beautiful deep blue hydrangea bush hung over a garden wall. Another small garden was filled with huge yellow sunflowers. Dry stone walls everywhere. The scent of lilac was unbelievably fragrant.

Cows in field in the Great Malverns

Cows in field in the Great Malverns

We left this idyll to drive into town for some shopping and a newspaper, then back to Cowleigh Park for another long walk up the Worcestershire Way.

Worcestershire Way

Worcestershire Way

The Worcestershire Way winds through farmlands over untamed fields high with unmown waving grass; through fields of mown hay and bright yellow rapeseed; past a small signpost with the legend “Badger’s Wood”; through a huge apple orchard, the trees bent to the ground and loaded with apples. It continued through fields filled with cows -and one black bull seemingly somewhat annoyed with our presence. As he jogs towards us, we nimbly leapt into a small fenced pen, obviously there for just this reason. Across more fields, down wooded lanes past geese and sheep, we rambled: the sun is out, and the warmth of it is full on our faces.

Worcestershire Way

Worcestershire Way

After an hour or two, we turn back to Cowleigh Park, a brief rest, then back to the Red Lion for dinner.

Lee in window of Cowleigh Park Farm

Lee in window of Cowleigh Park Farm

From Cowleigh Park Farm back to London
Time to go home. After breakfast, up and away on the M-40, on the road back to London. A quick lunch at a service center halfway to London took us from the sublime to the ridiculous. We eat quickly, and are glad to be back in the car.

On our arrival in London, the nightmare of trying to find our hotel in the morass of one-way streets begins. The traffic! The noise! The crush of it all! Between the U-turns and reverses in the heavy traffic, we are ready to leave the car in the middle of the road and simply walk to Covent Garden! Finally, in desperation, I parked in a no-parking zone, and Lee walked to our hotel to fetch the concierge who drove us directly to our hotel, no worries. I will never drive in London again!

London

London

After dropping our luggage at the hotel, we walked to Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, down Charing Cross Road, and to Fortnum & Mason. Then it was back to the hotel, where I looked forward to a bath in the immense tub, surrounded by pristine white tiles, and where half a dozen thick white towels were hanging from a gleaming chrome towel warmer. Two extra-thick terry cloth robes hung behind the door. There is something to be said for a little luxury!

Cigarette break

Cigarette break

I must confess, I did not care for London on this particular trip (I’ve since changed my mind – again). Too big, too impersonal, too busy, too many cars, too many people. It had its moments, but discovering the countryside did it for me. In the deep heart of England and Wales, I found exactly what I was looking for: unspoiled country, beautiful, and timeless. It has all been wonderful.

Now on our way to Gatwick, we passed – unbelievably – a fox slinking into the brush, rounding off a perfectly satisfying adventure into the hidden countryside of England and Wales.

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England: Hiking through England’s Green and Pleasant Land

CORNWALL & THE COTSWOLDS

A Cornish house

On the way to Cornwall, the road over the moors

We arrived around 10AM at Gatwick and in a very short time, we’re on our way to Cornwall. The day was overcast and cloudy…cool but not cold. We drive the M3 until we get off on one of the “A” roads, taking us through Salisbury Plains, where we see Stonehenge in the distance, but don’t stop.

We stopped for a break at this lonely pub

A detour through Dartmoor allows us to see the green-spreading rolling moors and the sheep and wild ponies. We stop at the top of Dartmoor, in the middle of nowhere, at a little pub … if you’ve ever seen “An American Werewolf in London,” this is that kind of pub, without the creepy inhabitants. There is something absolutely fascinating about this kind of place…

A view over the moors

We made it to Polraen House (B&B) without incident. At some point, I discovered – after calling him “Gil” for about a day and a half – that our host’s name was actually Martin – and “Gill” – with whom I’ve been e-mailing – was actually his wife, pronounced Jill but spelled Gill. Ah well…

Polraen House where we stayed in Looe, Cornwall

We arrived just before 8PM…a long day on the road, and we were tired out. Leslie drove to the moors, I took over the drive from there…a bit tense getting used to the left hand side of the road all over again.

Anyway, once at Polraen, we were able to settle in! Polraen House is just outside Looe, on a hill, rather isolated, in beautiful country. The house is old – half was built in the 1750s/half in the 1850s. Unusual for a B&B, it has a comfy little pub and a pretty dining room. Martin is a hoot – so funny, and very welcoming – he met us at the front door on our arrival.

The façade of the house is Cornish stone; flower baskets hang on the grey stone walls. It’s totally Cornwall, and utterly charming. We tidied up and immediately went downstairs for one of the yummiest dinners ever – Martin is an amazing chef. Leslie and I had spinach frittatas, Elisa had a salmon “starter” and an absolutely incredible little steak. For dessert, I had fruit and clotted cream and Elisa and Leslie, apple crumble with cream – Yum-o. And the bread – and the Cornish butter – a deep, rich yellow with flavor unlike anything over here in the States (at least anything I’ve eaten). Doesn’t come any better than this. (Before dinner, we had a drink in the pub – so by the time the day was over, we were out like lights.

The coast hike to Polperro

Got up for a wonderful English breakfast – eggs, bacon, sausage, fried tomato, fried bread, basket of these terrific baguettes, Cornish butter (may as well just apply it to my hips) – then Martin drove us to Looe to start our walk. The Coast Road out of Looe onto cliffs overlooked a silver sea. It was a beautiful day – intermittently cloudy and sunny, perfect for walking the six miles to Polperro. We reached Talland Bay (halfway to Polperro) and stopped for a break, then I ran up the hill to see if Allhays <an old B&B manor house that was my favorite of all time> was still there. It was – just as pretty as ever, and still called Allhays, but now a private home. I snapped a few photographs, then it was back down the hill to catch up with Elisa and Leslie on the coastal footpath to Polperro. The views from this path are breathtaking: long green cliffs soaring to a crystal blue sky, and water the color of pearls.

The coast hike to Polperro

I have done this walk so often, and I still love it – and Polperro is still as delightful as ever. By this time, the sun was out in full. We kept running into the same nice couple on the road, and they took our “group” photo.

Noughts & Crosses Inn in Polperro

We had a little lunch at the Noughts and Crosses Inn – finally, a Cornish pasty – accompanied with shandy and Guinness. We rambled around Polperro, looking in shops and the post office (which offers far more than just postage stamps), and finally climbed up the hill to the bus stop at Crumplehorn.

The cliffs on the coast road to Polperro

After a half an hour wait, the bus arrived –off we went, clattering and banging in the narrow narrow hedge-rowed lanes – at a knee-shattering speed – across the bridge and river that splits Looe into East and West; it finally dropped us at our front door at Polraen. Very nice! Great not having to drive for a day.

Dinnertime: Martin had prepared scallop salad for Leslie and me, and prawns in garlic for Elisa. Again, the wonderful baguettes and rich yellow Cornish butter. Then we shared Grand Marnier bread pudding.

And so to bed!

Fowey (pronounced Foy)

Breakfast: Greek yoghurt with Alpen – yum-o. It was absolutely incredible yoghurt! Elisa and Leslie had a full English breakfast – these certainly keep you going all day.

We decided to go to Fowey to hike around town. We drove to Polruan, parked the car, and walked the 1.5 miles to the foot ferry, which took us to Fowey. The day is on/off sunny and cloudy; we lose our way almost immediately, but end up walking around Fowey on roads rather than footpaths. The roads are pretty and lined with lovely old houses, fun to look at, and the flowers and greenery are lush, lush, lush.

Finally, back at the town center, we have a latte at a small pub called Safe Harbor. Very comfortable and relaxing. Not a real hike, but good for the legs and rear!

We caught the ferry back to Polruan, and Leslie and I walked to the car park – another 1.5 miles uphill – to pick up the car and pick up Elisa.

Polraen House’s back garden

And it’s back to Polraen House for a drink in the back garden…it’s turned into a lovely day, and Polraen’s garden backs onto a green green hill with horses grazing across it…so beautiful. The sun was out, and everything was peaceful and quiet. Then another gorgeous meal: Leslie and I have a veggie meal – veggie soup puree (pea-based) and for the main course, new potatoes in butter, beans and carrots. Absolutely the best – and the baguettes and Cornish butter – well, words are beginning to fail me, although apparently not my appetite.

Martin is one of the best chefs – I’ve never had such wonderful food.

And so again to bed.

Sunshine!

Up around 7:30, today we plan to go and see the Lost Gardens of Heligan, St. Mawes and Truro (for its cathedral – but we never make it to Truro). The day is cool and cloudy.

By the time we reach the Gardens, the sun has come out and the sky is absolutely vividly blue. The Gardens’ 200 acres are beautiful, sectioned off into specific type gardens, such as the Jungle Garden, Italian Garden, Asian Garden, etc. They also encompass fields and river walks, which gave us a wonderful walk over fields and along the river…The sun was shining, and the air smelled of flowers. We ate lunch at the Garden Centre – Cornish pasties again…nice!

The Lost Gardens

Then on to St. Mawes, which is one of the prettiest villages in Cornwall. Unfortunately, we arrived rather late, so we saw very little of the village…just toured the little Tudor castle on the hill, and then walked to the sea front, where we stopped for a latte. Martin and Gillian were taking the night off, so we picked up some cheese and rolls and raspberries for an evening snack.

There was a slight drizzle of rain by this time, so we turned for our B&B (the only bit of rain during the entire trip). Tomorrow we leave for the Cotswolds!

From Looe to Snowshill – one of the prettiest of the Cotswolds villages

Up around 9:30for the usual yummy breakfast, ready for the road to the Cotswolds.

As we our paying our bill, one of the other guests come by to say “someone has a flat…” It’s us, unfortunately. A lot of driving over “kerbs” has finally ended with the expected tire problem. Martin and the guest (fromLuxembourg) labored mightily to change the rather recalcitrant tire. It took an hour – with Martin asking, rather testily at one point as he was bending over the car, if his “bum looked big in checks <his pants>!!” …but everything was finally fixed, and then we were off!

We drove from Looe to Snowshill without further incident, and were able to make excellent time – 4.5 hours – as the weather was clear and sunny.

We drove through or around Bristol and Evesham and Broadway, landing at Sheepscombe House around 3:30-ish. Jacki (one of the proprietors) met us and showed us to our rooms. Elisa and Leslie shared a twin bed room in the main house. Mine was up an outside stair – rather a suite, very very pretty. No tub!

The road through the village of Snowshill to our B&B

We unpack, ramble around Snowshill – which is one of England’s most picturesque villages, and the setting for “Bridget Jones” movies – then we go to the village pub (Snowshill Arms) for dinner. Pretty much typical pub food, but good. The table by the window looks over the old churchyard and graveyard where “Bridget” sees her parents re-marry. If you want the countryside of England…there is nothing better than right here.

Then back to Sheepscombe House. My god – it’s bloody cold at night! And the sky is dark dark dark – the tiny country villages of course do not have street lamps…but the sky was clear as a bell, and the stars were out in force…walking beneath the overhanging trees up the lane to Sheepscombe was a bit challenging and fun…we actually had to take flashlights with us, because when it gets dark…it gets dark!

The Snowshill Arms on the village green

Touring the Cotswolds villages – stepping back in time

Up at 7:30…another yummy breakfast, this time with rhubarb yoghurt…organic, natural – absolutely fab! (I wish I could get these yoghurts in Houston.)

We joined Tim (our host) for a full day’s tour of the Cotswolds, including Stanton, Naunton, the Slaughters, Chipping Camden, Bourton on the Water, etc.

A funny moment occurred as Tim was asking Elisa about Bonnie, her dog. “Do you spend much time together?” he asked at one point.

She was silent for a moment, then murmured, “Well, yes, as much as I can…and she sleeps with me.”

It took a moment for us to realize he was actually asking about the three of us!

Again, the weather was incredible…blue sky, clear as a bell, 70 degrees – the sun felt absolutely lovely.

A manor house on our tour

Tim took us at one point to an organic shopping centre. I have never seen so many beautiful things – from foodstuffs to an elegant dress shop with the most beautiful organic clothes, cashmere, fine wool and cotton – expensive as all get out – the clothes were all white or earthtone grey but beautifully tailored, I just craved something from this shop, but it was out of my reach! – one sweater, the sheerest softest white cashmere, ran about 450 pounds ($1000)…white cashmere blankets…A coat I would have died for was 1300 pounds ($2750) – grey/white tweed…and gorgeous furniture in another shop, more white white white (my favorite color). O to be rich!

A garden view

Our tour took us all over the Cotswolds, the small towns were heaven. We also were able to walk through gorgeous manor gardens, and finally got home about 6:30 (85 pounds each of us to Tim). That evening, we ate dinner at The Swan in Broadway – so English, and just a perfect end to the day.

Broadway, quintessentially Cotswold

Up around7AM– wash hair, finally! Great hairdryer! After breakfast, we hotfoot it to the garage to see about the tire. It’s a goner – 200 pounds ($400+) for a new one – so we drop the tire off, Mike (the garage owner) says to drop back around 4PM…

A tea room in Broadway

Off we went to look around Broadway, a historic old town that is the starting point for touring many other small villages in the Cotswolds. I bought a few small gifts, then we had lattes (again), and drove off to Snowshill Manor, a mausoleum of a mansion filled with an eccentric’s collection of things from all over the world – one room was dedicated to bicycles, and included a penny-farthing. I remember my grandfather had one of those…

I found out the meaning of the old phrase, “Good night. Sleep tight.” In the old days, mattresses were run through with rope, from one side of the bed; the rope was twined through the other side of the bed, and pulled tight, to keep the mattress firm. Thus “Sleep tight.”

A view of the gardens at Snowshill Manor

The gardens at Snowshill Manor were absolutely incredible – orchards with pears and apples in abundance – beautiful stonework and finials – roses, pansies, sweet peas, climbing vines, green lawns – all in abundance. The scent of the roses was intense. Lunch is at a tiny restaurant on the grounds…

Doorway to the secret garden!

From Snowshill Manor, we drove to Snowshill Lavendar – unfortunately, closed until May. The lavender fields were totally shorn. So we left for theBroadwayTower– which, when you climb 250 feet – has a 360 view of the Cotswolds countryside. Below, we saw about 20 deer gathered under the trees…

Back then to the garage – tire has not even been delivered yet, so we go back to Sheepscombe House, where E&L take naps.

A view on my walk

I however left for a couple of hours’ walk through and over fields, meeting a nice man (Bill) and his dog (Gus) – we walked and talked back to his car, and I met and chatted with Daphne, his wife. Lovely couple …then I continued my walk.

The weather is incredible here in the Cotswolds – cloudy one minute – brilliant sunshine the next.

The clouds drifted away and the sun came out in full, the sky once again clean clear blue. This is the best time of day in the Cotswolds…between 4-6PM…everything is golden in the soft sunlight…the fields the greenest, the Cotswolds stone the most golden…the little village of Snowhill lies like a basket of white eggs in a green bowl…incredibly beautiful, surrounded by hill, woods and fields…I could have walked on forever.

I meet E&L for dinner at the Snowhill Arms at 7PM– finally, steak and kidney pie. Yum-o again! After dinner, a couple next to us passes over a half bottle of red wine they couldn’t finish – she is from Thailand, he from Virginia. We had a lovely long talk with them…then we are back on the pitch dark Cotswold path to Sheepscombe. Luckily, Jacki has given us the heavy big flashlights to carry and light us home through the narrow high hedgerows!

Spending a day hiking around Snowshill and Stanway

Up around7AM– a cup of tea and a read before breakfast. I see on the news that Pavarotti has died. Another giant gone.

Joanna <a friend from Austin visiting relatives in Cirencester> gets here around10AM to meet me for a hike, and we set off for one “round robin” walk around Stanton, Stanway and Snowshill. We start at Snowhill instead of Stanton– and of course, somehow end up doing a complete circle of Snowshill!

Driving on to Stanton, we stop in the village pub atop a hill (lovely!) for lunch. Stanton is a beautiful town – all houses are the old Cotswolds stone – flowers are blooming everywhere. The sun’s out intermittently. In the distance, rolling hills and vales…

Hiking around Stanton

After lunch, we set off for Stanway, walking “The Cotswolds Way”, an historic 100+ mile long footpath, which runs through the heart of the Cotswolds. We reach Stanway – another historic and charming small village, without incident.

However, once we climb a (majorly) steep hill to where we are supposed to turn towards Snowshill – we wind up getting completely and utterly lost. After wittering around, climbing up and down for an hour, we finally find a promising path which actually leads us back to Stanton!

We’ve hiked through fields, orchards, deep hedgerowed lanes, roads, and through woods – just a lovely 9+-mile ramble, which I desperately needed! I loved it…

Back in the car for Broadway, finishing at the Horse and Hounds for shandies before saying goodbye.

Morton on Marsh and Bourton Manor

Awoke rather early for me –6:45 AM. I love the cup of tea and the moment of quiet in my room in the early morning. The sun was pouring in through my windows – a gorgeous day – again – awaited us.

The weather changes here almost hourly – one minute it can be glorious sun – then clouds appear – blow away – then come back – the sky darkens – then again, the sun is out full blast.

The most beautiful time of day here has been between 4-6PM. The air is soft, the sun shines but not as intensely, and the sky completely clears. All is bathed in the soft golden sunlight, and Jane Austen’s ghost hovers nearby.

The Manor House – absolutely beautiful

Today we drove to Morton on the Marsh after breakfast and – quite by accident – parked across from a stunning house called Bourton Manor. The gardens were open to the public – the prettiest I have seen yet – manicured lawns, massed flower borders, topiaries, mazes, finials, stonework, espaliers with various beautiful climbing vines and flowers – roses abounded, highly scented – there is a “white garden” with stocks, roses, daisies – I loved this garden, and the house is an architectural gem.

and gardens

From there,  on to the Falconry down the road to watch a peregrine falcon display, and then on to the nearby Arboretum. After this, we drove to Burford, a pretty (and not so small) market town, with lovely shops along a winding hilly main street.

Snowshill – could anything be prettier?

When we arrived back at Sheepscombe House, it was 5PM– I went for an hour’s walk again up around fields and hills, discovering that exquisite view of Snowshill…I think one of the most beautiful in England.

Another lovely day. Tomorrow, we leave for London!

Blenheim Palace

Up for breakfast – and on the road to Blenheim Palace, which we tour and hear all about the Marlborough family…and not enough about Churchill! But what history! The gardens were also incredible…but the air had actually turned chilly, so we didn’t linger. We got back in the car and determined to find Windsor…suffice it to say, we did not! So we stopped closer to Gatwick for a lunch/dinner…then found The Little Foxes (the less said about that, the better), went for a quick drink, and so to bed…

Blenheim Palace

And thus ended the latest English sabbatical…I couldn’t have asked for better weather, better countryside, better food…just more hikes! But it was great. Now I know why I keep going back…and back…and….

Beautiful