We are all happily ensconced in a spacious cottage outside of the classic northern cotswolds village of Broadway, after a lovely day that began for me when I met Marion at Paddington station. We took a two hour train ride to Evesham. Merida came running towards us with outstretched arms on the platform and whisked us off in a spacious car driven by her husband Chip, who is unexpectedly joining our girls weekend which is just fine. He’s an Anglophile like us and good company and a good driver. Our original plan not to have a car was not wise. Tonight we drove on narrow lanes lined with trees or dry stone walls into one gorgeous little village after another with creamy yellow limestone homes with thatched roofs and lavender, roses, and hollyhocks climbing up the walls. (Stanton, Buckland, Snowshill!) I forgot how completely charming the English countryside is. In Broadway, we ate outside on a picnic table at a lovely place called Russell’s, eating fish and chips and drinking cider. Chip and I wandered around the famous Lygon Arms Hotel which dates back to the 1400s, with old timber beamed ceilings, dark stone floors, beveled glass in casement windows.
At one point, we pulled off a dirt road by a farm and parked beside a pasture where sheep were grazing, high above a valley with the sun setting over gentle hills and we just stood silent listening to the sheep and the birds and the wind and I felt incredibly lucky to be alive and to have England and these friends as a near constant for the past 35 years.
I’ve never seen such a long line at Heathrow’s arrival passport control. It started even before we got to the main waiting area, with a long line in the long hall leading to the waiting area. Fortunately, the maze of a line in the waiting area moved fairly quickly so after an hour or so, I was with my dear pal Francine, whisking our way under a very gloomy sky to Mortlake where where we had a nice little catch-up and lunch, then walk to Mortake where Francine took the train to work and I wandered for another hour or so, jet-lagged but trying desperately to keep going. I stopped in at the new location of the sweet little cafe Pickle & Rye which I was pleased to see has retained its Yank decor (including such Iowa knickknacks as a UI Hawkeye cap and a mug from Marshalltown’s Maidrite outpost, an Iowa-born fastfood chain serving “loose-meat” sandwiches.) The owners, one of whom is from Iowa, are visiting Iowa right now, as it turns out but hope to catch sight of them later in the trip. NOw comfortably ensconced at Francine and Russ’s lovely flat on Shalstone Road and will attempt to stay await until late evening British time.
TakeBetsywithyou 