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!

Colored Light

When we were staying at Old Campden House last month, we stopped in the church next to the estate for a little look-around before leaving.  I generally find old churches to be far too cold and a bit of a bore, but on this particular morning, I was charmed by the way the light filtered through the stained glass windows and reflected on the opposite wall like an abstract painting.  Lovely, no?

The Majesty of the Sea

I love the ocean best when it's cold and the beaches are barren.  I like how my boots sink into the sand and the way the wind rips through my hair, making it a salty, knotty mess.  The crash of the waves seem louder, too, when they don't have to compete with the noise of bathers, as do the eery calls of the gulls hovering above, riding the wind like surfers do the water.  Just as Maria runs to the hills when her heart is lonely, I escape to the ocean.  I want to feel small, know my problems are but a drop of water in the greatness of the sea.

Photos taken near Rye, UK in late October.  The model is my beautiful mother. 

@ Oxford

We spent a cold and rainy afternoon in Oxford last week.  While David ducked into a meeting, my parents and I visited some of the colleges.  The campuses were intimate, layered with tradition, and gorgeous.  It must be so delightfully surreal to go to school there; I'd have to wake every morning and pinch myself. 

The sun sets quickly these days and as the shadows grew, we found warmth from the cold in one of the city's many pubs, crowded with students and heavy with the smell of beer and cider.  While the city has a strong creative vibe and forward momentum, which is undoubtedly largely attributed to the number of young people that temporarily call the city home, there's also a palpably deep admiration for the customs of the past.  It's a good place, Oxford, and I'm looking forward to visiting again. 

@ 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.