On the White Cliffs of Dover

You'd think these Minnesotan bones would be comfortable in the cold, would welcome it, even.  You'd think I'd know to always carry a pair of warm gloves and remember to regularly waterproof my leather boots.  You may assume that a functional coat with roomy pockets would be a go-to in my closet and I'd have a pair of earmuffs somewhere in my house, but no.  No, no, no.  I'm afraid I'm terribly unprepared for this wet and rainy winter.  Luckily, I'm still enough of a Midwesterner to be tough and though the wind blew mightily and the rain came down cold and fast, I still made the trek along the White Cliffs in Dover. 

Call me insane, but prior to our arrival, I assumed the walk along the cliffs would be leisurely, picturesque and enchanting.  I imagined David and I walking arm-in-arm under our red umbrella, pausing to take pictures as gulls called overhead.  I was spot on with the cliffs being picturesque and enchanting, but leisurely our day was not.  My lipstick, springtime brights and freshly done hair didn't prepare me for the mud, sleet, and wind, my ankle boots and pocketless coat did not protect me from the elements.  My coat collar is stained red from the uncountable times it blew into my lips, my hair was matted and torn by the wind (I'm still getting used to this long hair business), and my beautiful H by Hudson boots were almost ruined by the waterlogged earth.  But we survived, dear reader, with raw skin and dirty hands, with muddy feet and dripping wet coats.  We survived!  And we have some nice pictures to prove it.  

After the traipsing and trudging was over and our skin was beginning to warm, we stopped at a pub for a warm meal next to an open fire; a glass of wine was a happy sight, indeed!

@ Bodiam Castle

I always have the best time visiting old castles and my trip to Bodiam this past week was no exception.  All I needed to enjoy my visit was a warm sweater, some waterproof boots, and an open imagination. The views from the grounds and the views of the grounds from atop the castle wall were equally breathtaking and I was filled with an otherworldly joy- one without nagging emails or modern woes- as I roamed the grounds, daydreaming of Bodiam's finer days. 

Just a note: I will not be posting a Tuesday With Moi this week because I just don't feel like it.  Okay?  Okay, great. 

Cotswolds Escape: Old Campden House

Whilst my parents were visiting, we spent a weekend away at the Old Campden House in Chipping Campden.  For those of you who are trying to locate Chipping Capden on a map, it's in the Cotswolds.  Like Gargunnock House in Scotland, Old Campden House is part of the Landmark Trust, which is a wonderful organization that refurbishes old homes throughout the country and rents them out to nice people like us who want to drink wine in a new environment enjoy a quaint vacation in a historic home.  Not only do they rent homes in the UK, they also have some in France, Italy, and the United States.  Though we've only stayed in two so far, staying at the Landmark Trust properties are quickly becoming my favorite way to travel. 

The above photo is of the home in which we stayed as it's viewed from the back.  It is called the East Banqueting House.  Here is what it looks like from the front (say hi to my dad, everyone).   

Pretty regal, huh.

In the surrounding fields were (surprise!) lots of sheep.  They roam freely throughout the fields eating the lush grass and walking past the original Old Campden House ruins like it's no big deal.  Which to them, I suppose it isn't.  They are sheep, after all. 

When you rent the East Banqueting House, which can accommodate four with two bedrooms and one bath, you are also free to use an additional bedroom and bathroom in the gate house.   This is great if you are traveling in a group of six and two of the people are totally weird.  Simply banish the weirdos to the Gate House and voila, problem solved! 

Books and board games can be found in the large living area on the top floor of the home so when you finally tire of the breathtaking views (or the sheep), you can attempt a deceptively difficult puzzle, play cards, or read through the log book and giggle at how earnestly insane people who write in log books often seem to be. 

Across from the East Banqueting House lies the West Banqueting House.  You can rent that, too, but it doesn't look as fun.  This is mostly because it seems to be seriously lacking in windows...

All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable place to disappear to for a few days and we had a spectacular visit, which included but was not limited to:

• Introducing my parents to the wonderful treat that is fatty chips and mayonnaise
• The best Sunday lunch ever at the nearby Ebrington Arms, which we brilliantly decided to walk to.  We attempted to walk back home, too, despite it being completely dark but soon found ourselves going in circles, almost being attacked by farm dogs and writhing in mud (ahem, dad). All this led us to,
• Hitchhiking through rural country towns (a first for both me and my mother), and
• Getting a little sloppy in the local pub.  

Glorious, absolutely glorious!  Oh England, I sure do love you. 

Survival Friends

I took an noontime train to London yesterday to visit my dear friend Jeff who happens to be visiting the city for a few days (he's blowin' it up in NYC, mind you, so keep an eye out for his awesome work).  We had a gloriously gluttonous day in the city, starting with lunch at Dishoom and ending with drinks and dinner at Wahaca (aka Yumzville!).  As the clock was nearing midnight (okay, really it was 10:35), I raced to the train station to board my chariot home only to find that every single train was cancelled (insert panic-face here).  Supposedly, as I was busy wining and dining, there had been a torrential downpour that flooded railway lines to my Hobbit Town, Tunbridge Wells.  The loudspeaker (aka quietspeaker) cackled to life and someone mumbled something into it that left people groaning.  My sleepy heart sank.  What is a lady to do?!

The answer is this: Find someone who is going to the same destination and follow them.  In a moment of desperation, I put on my best American accent and asked if anyone was going in my direction and then latched onto two panicky old ladies who were pushy and panicked enough to get answers out of the one* National Rail employee on staff, who told us to jump on the next train to London Bridge where we'd be bussed, shipped, helicoptered and submarined home at some point**.  I looked at my old lady companions and said, "Girls, I'm with you."

On the train to London Bridge we took inventory- whose phone still had enough battery power to last through the night, where each of us were going, etc.  When I announced my final destination, a girl who'd been quietly lurking behind me looked up from her phone and said, "I'm following you***." 

And this, my friends, is how we will come to survive the zombie apocalypse.  I've always been skeptical of movies about the end of the world in which a group of strangers join together against all odds in the name of survival.  Together they run through abandoned subway tunnels, sleep in deserted homes (where one of them inevitably does something stupid like light a candle or put on a record which draws all the zombies to them within seconds, as if zombies are actually observant... whatever), and contemplate the v. important question of, if we were the only two people left to repopulate the entire world, could we find it in ourselves to procreate?  People in these movies are always attractive with straight, white teeth and the ability to run for miles to evade danger, and the answer is always yes.  Yes, they will fall in love in that gross urban hideout and they will build a better world together.  (Assuming they kill (rekill?) all the zombies, of course.)

Last night, I learned these same partnerships also happen in real life when a group of people are faced with imminent doom.  Whilst helplessly staring at the monitors at London Bridge, BECAUSE THERE WAS NOBODY THERE TO HELP US!, my new friend and I developed a tall, sandwich-eating shadow and before I knew it our small two-some had turned into three.  As we hopped from train to parking lot, to train, to bus, to home, the three of us had swapped stories, shared complaints, and talked a lot about the Olympics.  We had become survival friends!   At 1:30 the bus stopped across the street from my house and, in a moment of panic, I shot out of my seat, quickly waved goodbye, and RAN my ass home to take a shower and snuggle in bed with the Redcoat.  There's nothing like a natural disaster to make you appreciate a clean towel, a soft mattress, and the arms of someone you love wrapped tightly around you.  Even if it is a super minor natural disaster that was actually more fun than cumbersome and made you feel like a navigation pro for making it home in the end. 

Zanna and Jaime, if you're reading this, it was an absolute pleasure to share the worst commute ever with you!  Perhaps we'll run into each other in town one day, or maybe we won't.  I'm sorry I made you play the What are you thankful for? game (my optimism never dies!) and I'm sorry you both had to wake up earlier than I did this morning.  :(

*UNO, EIN, ICHI, people, ONE!  Where did this country learn their customer service?!
**He didn't really say that, but, like, basically he did.  It was the most convoluted action plan I've ever heard of but it sure as hell beat the possibility of having to crash on someone's couch with unbrushed teeth and feet that smell like water-logged leather.  Ewz!
***Uh, gooooooood luuuuuucccck! (Note, when you're stranded somewhere, it's generally not the best idea to find the sole foreigner in the group and decide to follow them.  Like, I can be really assertive in moments of crisis but I. do. not. know. where. I. am. going!  Even when there isn't a crisis, this is true.)