4:27 p.m. Tuesday, Nov. 12, 2002
So we went to the Lake District, and it was, as predicted and advertised, lovely.
I nearly missed the train up, because I had to come straight from work (and leave early, too), but I did make it. Train ride was kind of miserable, but oh well.
We spent the first night in Windermere, at a very nice hostel. This is my favorite hostel I've ever been in, because it was warm, and pretty, and small, and they had cornflakes for breakfast, no obnoxious people, a bathroom that didn't look like you could catch the plague in it, and some funny Ellen on t.v. in the morning. And the girl who we dealt with was nice.
Then from Windermere the next morning, we took at bus to Ambleside, where we reserved a room in a bed and breakfast, and were approached by a Hari Krishna, who told us "it pollutes the atmosphere when you swear" and gave us buttons and a book. Goranga. You're supposed to say that instead of swearing. I bought a red hat that is silly but keeps my head warm.
We got extremely complicated directions out of town from one of the bed and breakfast owners ("past the rooooogpy pitch" turns out to mean "past the rugby pitch") and set out on a hike to Grassmere. This was the pretty outdoors hiking part of the trip. Well, walking really, I guess. I only fell once, though I had 18 close calls (I counted), so that's good too.
The beautiful thing about the Lake District is the combination of all the different landscape elements, I think. There are mountains -- actually, fells -- which are just in between craggy/snowy and old/rolling: thus, the effect is one of beautiful (rather than very sublime) ancientness. Not something I would have thought you could get out of a mountain, but they've got them.
There are also, of course, lakes, and lots of them, and big ones. Many lakes just look kind of like "oh. there's some brownish water surrounded by marshy things." But the Lake District lakes are proper bodies of water -- large enough to have little waves, but also small enough to see pretty scenery on the sides of. Again, an ideal combination.
And the land itself is also pretty, with not so much marshiness, and enough trees (but not too many) and ducks and swans and other animals, and pretty little villages in between.
In short, the motto of the Lake District appears to be "everything in moderation." Which is, of course, a good motto for a landscape to have.
On the way to Grassmere we walked in a pretty cave (made less pretty by the apperance of an enormous group of shouting people, but I still liked it), partially up a big hill, down along the shores of Grassmere Lake, and other nice places as well.
In Grassmere we had lunch and dessert, partaking not only of rarebit, which Carrie was pleased to learn is vegetarian, but of some very authentic gingerbread as well, which came from an "original" shop, which is tiny and heavily touristed. The gingerbread is apparently a Grassmere thing, as they served a different kind of gingerbread at the lunch restaurant as well. The kind we got really tasted like ginger, and made Carrie ill. But I thought it was pretty good. If you like that sort of thing. They like heavily gingery stuff here, don't they?
From Grassmere, we caught the bus just at the right time to go to Keswick. (Pronounced so it rhymes with Fezzig, from The Princess Bride.) Our goal here was to see the WORLD'S LARGEST PENCIL, housed at the Keswick pencil museum -- which is, of course, "a draw for all the family," but alas, it was closed. So was the Teapottery, which has teapots shaped like all kinds of different things. So we just wandered around a while and missed the bus. And waited. And finally caught one back to Ambleside.
The bus driver on our bus back revealed that he loves Elvis and would like to visit Graceland, but has never been. I told him about mini-Graceland, back home in Roanoke, but I don't think he could really hear me. He also referred to Cliff Richard as "a bachelor boy."
Once back in Ambleside, we ate a verrrrrry long dinner (not by choice) at an Indian place, went to one pub that was too loud to be in for more than a minute, another that had no seats, and went to bed. I was inexplicably frightened for a while. Hotel rooms, and, apparently, bed and breakfast rooms, do this to me sometimes. But I got to sleep okay anyway.
In the morning Sunday, we got up and ate a very good huge vegetarian breakfast. We got out bright and early, in time to wait for the bus forever. But eventually, it came, and we went to Conniston, which might have been my favorite part of the trip, even though it was also the most stressful.
Conniston is, I think, more beautiful than all the other lake district places. It's where John Ruskin had his house. No, I didn't really know anything about him either, but he's one of your all purpose Victorians. You've heard of him. Painter, writer, naturalist, and social reformer. Also, Beatrix Potter seems to have lived somewhere in the area.
Anyway, they picked a lovely place to live. We took a ferry from about a mile outside of Conniston across the lake to Brantwood, Ruskin's house, where they were having a craft fair. There we got gifts, and I got mulled wine, and I marvelled at how beautiful Ruskin's house is. I mean, it really is lovely. It's Victorian, of course, but makes no gingerbready or gothicy mistakes -- it's a very homelike house, though quite large. It looks out over the lake and has lovely hillside gardens (sadly, in need of some care, but I think they're working on it). I really enjoyed being there.
We caught the ferry back, and ran to try and catch a bus back to Windermere, where we would need to get our train back to London at 4.
But oh, here the drama starts. Because the next bux wouldn't get to Windermere until 4:15. Too late! Too late! We asked at the tourist information center what we could do, and ended up calling one of the two taxis in the area.
And so we waited for it. And waited for it. And waited for it. And got more worried and more worried and more worried, because it was now 3:30, we'd been waiting for an hour and a half, and it still hadn't come. Finally, it did, and the guy drove like a mad man on these teeny tiny roads to get us not to Windermere, but to um...other town (I've forgotten) to catch our connecting train. Which, by a hair, we did. Or, it would have been by a hair if the train had been on time, but as was it was late and we had plenty of time. But that was okay.
The journey back took, for some reason, two hours more than the four it had taken us to get up, and was a little hellish as well, just because I didn't feel so well, but there was a cute little girl across from me, and she was amusing,and I had a good book, and about an hour before we got into london I got to talk to my mother, so that was ok.
And so now I'm back, and I'm so tired of everything. But that's not remotely the Lake District's fault.
So we went to the Lake District, and it was, as predicted and advertised, lovely.
I nearly missed the train up, because I had to come straight from work (and leave early, too), but I did make it. Train ride was kind of miserable, but oh well.
We spent the first night in Windermere, at a very nice hostel. This is my favorite hostel I've ever been in, because it was warm, and pretty, and small, and they had cornflakes for breakfast, no obnoxious people, a bathroom that didn't look like you could catch the plague in it, and some funny Ellen on t.v. in the morning. And the girl who we dealt with was nice.
Then from Windermere the next morning, we took at bus to Ambleside, where we reserved a room in a bed and breakfast, and were approached by a Hari Krishna, who told us "it pollutes the atmosphere when you swear" and gave us buttons and a book. Goranga. You're supposed to say that instead of swearing. I bought a red hat that is silly but keeps my head warm.
We got extremely complicated directions out of town from one of the bed and breakfast owners ("past the rooooogpy pitch" turns out to mean "past the rugby pitch") and set out on a hike to Grassmere. This was the pretty outdoors hiking part of the trip. Well, walking really, I guess. I only fell once, though I had 18 close calls (I counted), so that's good too.
The beautiful thing about the Lake District is the combination of all the different landscape elements, I think. There are mountains -- actually, fells -- which are just in between craggy/snowy and old/rolling: thus, the effect is one of beautiful (rather than very sublime) ancientness. Not something I would have thought you could get out of a mountain, but they've got them.
There are also, of course, lakes, and lots of them, and big ones. Many lakes just look kind of like "oh. there's some brownish water surrounded by marshy things." But the Lake District lakes are proper bodies of water -- large enough to have little waves, but also small enough to see pretty scenery on the sides of. Again, an ideal combination.
And the land itself is also pretty, with not so much marshiness, and enough trees (but not too many) and ducks and swans and other animals, and pretty little villages in between.
In short, the motto of the Lake District appears to be "everything in moderation." Which is, of course, a good motto for a landscape to have.
On the way to Grassmere we walked in a pretty cave (made less pretty by the apperance of an enormous group of shouting people, but I still liked it), partially up a big hill, down along the shores of Grassmere Lake, and other nice places as well.
In Grassmere we had lunch and dessert, partaking not only of rarebit, which Carrie was pleased to learn is vegetarian, but of some very authentic gingerbread as well, which came from an "original" shop, which is tiny and heavily touristed. The gingerbread is apparently a Grassmere thing, as they served a different kind of gingerbread at the lunch restaurant as well. The kind we got really tasted like ginger, and made Carrie ill. But I thought it was pretty good. If you like that sort of thing. They like heavily gingery stuff here, don't they?
From Grassmere, we caught the bus just at the right time to go to Keswick. (Pronounced so it rhymes with Fezzig, from The Princess Bride.) Our goal here was to see the WORLD'S LARGEST PENCIL, housed at the Keswick pencil museum -- which is, of course, "a draw for all the family," but alas, it was closed. So was the Teapottery, which has teapots shaped like all kinds of different things. So we just wandered around a while and missed the bus. And waited. And finally caught one back to Ambleside.
The bus driver on our bus back revealed that he loves Elvis and would like to visit Graceland, but has never been. I told him about mini-Graceland, back home in Roanoke, but I don't think he could really hear me. He also referred to Cliff Richard as "a bachelor boy."
Once back in Ambleside, we ate a verrrrrry long dinner (not by choice) at an Indian place, went to one pub that was too loud to be in for more than a minute, another that had no seats, and went to bed. I was inexplicably frightened for a while. Hotel rooms, and, apparently, bed and breakfast rooms, do this to me sometimes. But I got to sleep okay anyway.
In the morning Sunday, we got up and ate a very good huge vegetarian breakfast. We got out bright and early, in time to wait for the bus forever. But eventually, it came, and we went to Conniston, which might have been my favorite part of the trip, even though it was also the most stressful.
Conniston is, I think, more beautiful than all the other lake district places. It's where John Ruskin had his house. No, I didn't really know anything about him either, but he's one of your all purpose Victorians. You've heard of him. Painter, writer, naturalist, and social reformer. Also, Beatrix Potter seems to have lived somewhere in the area.
Anyway, they picked a lovely place to live. We took a ferry from about a mile outside of Conniston across the lake to Brantwood, Ruskin's house, where they were having a craft fair. There we got gifts, and I got mulled wine, and I marvelled at how beautiful Ruskin's house is. I mean, it really is lovely. It's Victorian, of course, but makes no gingerbready or gothicy mistakes -- it's a very homelike house, though quite large. It looks out over the lake and has lovely hillside gardens (sadly, in need of some care, but I think they're working on it). I really enjoyed being there.
We caught the ferry back, and ran to try and catch a bus back to Windermere, where we would need to get our train back to London at 4.
But oh, here the drama starts. Because the next bux wouldn't get to Windermere until 4:15. Too late! Too late! We asked at the tourist information center what we could do, and ended up calling one of the two taxis in the area.
And so we waited for it. And waited for it. And waited for it. And got more worried and more worried and more worried, because it was now 3:30, we'd been waiting for an hour and a half, and it still hadn't come. Finally, it did, and the guy drove like a mad man on these teeny tiny roads to get us not to Windermere, but to um...other town (I've forgotten) to catch our connecting train. Which, by a hair, we did. Or, it would have been by a hair if the train had been on time, but as was it was late and we had plenty of time. But that was okay.
The journey back took, for some reason, two hours more than the four it had taken us to get up, and was a little hellish as well, just because I didn't feel so well, but there was a cute little girl across from me, and she was amusing,and I had a good book, and about an hour before we got into london I got to talk to my mother, so that was ok.
And so now I'm back, and I'm so tired of everything. But that's not remotely the Lake District's fault.
Labels: being dumb, England, friends, space, trips
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