Trip Report: The Lake District (Part 1)

Trip Dates: March 21-28, 2008. Big photo album here (captions to come later).

We meant to go to England's Lake District last year, but after a long, cold, rainy summer, decided to go to the south of Spain instead. Ah well. But now we have wheels, so it was off to The North (as the motorway signs say) for Easter week. Briefly, the Lake District is a hilly, some even say mountainous, region in the far northwest corner of England bordering Scotland. The area features, as you might imagine, several lakes, rivers, and forests. Contained within it is the Lake District National Park, which means a major chunk of the land is protected, right down to historic town preservation and what kind of windows you can have. So, in some ways, it is like stepping back in time.

When the English talk of going to the Lake District, it's often to do some walking. This is a sport here like bicycling or kayaking or hiking. And when they say walking, they don't mean pansy walking like we do around Cambridge in the flat Fens. There are hills is these here parts, and, lo, they are tall. We didn't really mean to "do some walking" the way the real walkers do, but we took some great walks nevertheless and have the aching legs to prove it.

Since we couldn't quite free ourselves of work for a full week, we ended up staying in one of the few places that had advertised wireless internet. It worked out great; our cottage was one of four in restored outbuildings of a manor house nestled in between the major towns of Kendal and Windermere. We had fantastic walks right out our door, and the larger towns were a short drive away.

I'll warn you now that this is one of those times where you, our faithful reader, are going to be subjected to the fact that this blog is also our personal record of our time in England, so this post is disasterously long. I'd really like to use a better trip report format than the day-by-day, but I'm going to stick with it for this one, if only to justify the number of pubs we went to. Most pub visits were preceeded by major walking, see, so we EARNED those pints/pub lunches/dinners. We occasionally talk about how we could write much better travel articles than the ones that are out there, but probably not the Walking The Lake District articles. Instead, we'd be best suited to write the Lake District article for overweight beer drinkers. Stay tuned: Maybe you'll see some of the material below in your travel section someday.

Anyway, we made the 250-odd mile drive up on Good Friday, got to the cottage, shopped for provisions, and unpacked. Saturday, we set out on our first walk to a village called Staveley, roughly 3 miles away. We meandered north a bit from our cottage, then south to join Dales Way, a 76-mile cross-country trail that connects West Yorkshire to Lake Windermere, the largest of the lakes in the Lake District. With hills and rocks and mud and stops to look at sheep on a hill, the roughly 3.5 mile walk took us about an hour and a half.

The village of Staveley boasts England's largest bike shop, so we spent some time there, admiring the bikes that cost twice as much as our car and those so light you could pick them up with two fingers. Then it was on to the tasting room of the Hawkshead Brewery, where we sampled half pints of their brews and enjoyed some pork pies for lunch. All were delicious. In the same shopping center was an amazing furniture shop; we browsed and wished we were in the market for any of it. We took a more direct walking route back to the cottage, took off our shoes, and immediately fell asleep.

After a good nap and a lot of Advil, we set out for dinner. Unsure of where to go, we started looking up places previous guests had recommended. Turns out the Watermill Inn down the road a piece was having its 5th annual Lakeland Beer Festival featuring 40 beers from the region. We're there! So were a great many other people, but we landed two seats at a large communal table, which ended up being fun because it actually forced us to talk to people. We sampled three beers each, chatted with 10 different people, and had a mighty fine pub dinner.

Sunday morning, I had big plans of attending Easter service at Kendal Parish Church -- who wouldn't want to go to a church that's claim to fame is being "one of the widest Parish churches in England"? And besides, we had to top last year's Catholic mass in German in Lindau. But when I finally forced my eyes open, I realized the skylight was covered in snow. It had snowed on us periodically on Saturday, but usually only for 5 or 10 minutes at a time, and it didn't stick. So I was rather surprised when I got up and looked out to see everything covered in snow! It was really gorgeous.

We were eager to get out and walk around (we decided to skip the drive to church, as one-lane roads with two-way traffic aren't the best places to test out your new, 12-year-old car in the snow), and it was most definitely a visual treat. Everyone we encountered was cheerful. We happened upon a couple, each toting a sled and eyeing the neighboring hills. I asked, "Do people around here mind if you hop their fence and sled down their pastures?" "Not really," the man answered. "We only get snow like this once every three years, so everyone takes advantage." We chuckled and kept walking, and it was only then we noticed their daughter trailing behind, utterly embarrassed at her parents behaving like, well, people her age.

We wandered around for a good hour before heading back to have a second breakfast of bacon and eggs. We headed out again when JT decided he wanted a Sunday paper. We went using public footpaths, which is to say through muddy bridleways and sheep pastures. It really is amusing that farmers open their land to foot traffic; the only rule is to close the gate behind you. An hour later we were in a convenience store, Sunday Observer in hand. And, conveniently, the local pub was open, too. So, we popped into the Jolly Anglers (a pub/inn and, apparently, also the local school!) for a couple of pints, some newspaper reading, and a visit with a local's two greyhounds, Sally and Fizz. The long walk home earned us our roast lamb dinner back at the cottage.

Monday we headed to the quintessential Lake District town of Ambleside. We'd spent the previous two days encountering few people on the footpaths and in the small villages we went to. Ambleside was the opposite -- packed with people, cars, walkers, and a whole lot of strollers that take up the entire width of old village sidewalks. (Vocab aside: Baby strollers are called "prams" here, and sidewalks are "pavements.")

Anyway, it was fun to wander around, in and out of shops in this charming village. We had lunch at a cafe called Lucy's, whose owner (Lucy) has built up quite a brand for herself with a cafe, gourmet deli, cooking school, and nightclub. We enjoyed it, and not just because dessert was Guiness chocolate cake. But that helped. Unfortunately work cut our day short, so we went back to the cottage for a couple of hours of editing. That evening we stayed in, ate pizza, and watched a movie -- another perk of staying in a house/cottage/flat instead of a hotel.

Stay tuned: More walking, and of course more pubs, to come.

What Up?

My pottery class got canceled tonight due to what my teacher called an "administrative cock-up." So, I have some found time to write about some new vocabulary words.

This week's word is dongle. This isn't a new word, or apparently uniquely British. In fact, my in-depth Wikipedia research suggests I HAVE been under a rock for 10 years or so. But I first heard "dongle" last week when I went over to help a work colleague set up her home wireless network. Please, don't all call me to set up your home wireless networks. Such activities usually lead to frustration which can, if I am involved, result in broken objects. I was successful with the colleague's network because I performed the highly technical maneuver of Plugging Everything In In The Right Order.

Anyway, we got the main router working, then I asked if we needed to set up the USB wireless gizmo on her computer upstairs. She says, "No, that's OK -- I think I can handle setting up the dongle." I just assumed she meant the gizmo, whatchamacallit, thingamabob, etc. Then, the very next day, I was having my 500th conversation with a friend about computers and cell phones (or, since we're talking vocab words, mobiles (that's pronounced moh-bile)), and he says he can connect to the internet using his mobile -- he doesn't need the dongle.

So, has "dongle" suddenly been thrust into common usage in the U.S.? And does everyone use it with caution because it might have another meaning, like cock up?

Another word I've recently learned is moreish. I heard it first at the butchers, when I went to get our favorite minty lamb chops. "How many?" he asks. "Four," I say. "Yeah, they are a bit Moorish, aren't they?" he asks in the rhetorically British way. Luckily for me, the proper response to rhetorical British questions is a flat, "Mmmm."

Meanwhile, though, I was trying to figure out what he meant. Of or relating to the Moors? Perhaps particularly spicy? I suppose mint is used in Moroccan cooking, but I'm not sure I'd call it Moorish.

Sure enough, within days, I was reading a food review in our local paper, which JT will probably write about someday because he can't believe the rubbish they publish. Like book club members who don't read the book, the Cambridge Evening News proves that you can review restaurants without actually eating (much of) the food. Anyway, I think this particular review involved going to a restaurant for a glass of wine and dessert (why bother with entrees?), and the cheesecake was described as "moreish." Sure enough, a quick Google definition will tell you it describes something that's so good, you guessed it, you want more.

I'm sure you find this post moreish, but I'll stop for now. Somewhere, perhaps buried on my desk, is a list of uniquely British words we started a long time ago. I'll spread those out in future posts, to delay as long as possible having to find blog fodder in eating weird food such as hot dogs from a can and oxtail lunchmeat. But really, you only read this for the food, right? :)

Merry Christmas from Cambridge! Err, or Happy Boxing Day!

Merry Christmas! Or, Merry Christmas yesterday, Hapy Boxing Day today! (We started to write this on Christmas night before we slipped into a food coma.) It was a quiet, rainy day here in Cambridge. JT and I opened presents in the morning morning (KT Tunstall tickets! New headphones! New socks! The new Springsteen album! A new Dustbuster! Malteasers!) and had a lovely 3-hour Christmas lunch at a local restaurant (Rack of lamb! Beef Wellington! An enormous cheese platter and mince pies!).

It was tough not to come home for the holidays but I think we've made the most of the time here. We learned about Christmas pudding and crackers and Boxing Day (more on those in a moment) and we still have a trip to Belgium before 2008 arrives. About the only sad thing was deciding to buy an artificial Christmas tree and then finding all the stores were sold out--hence the tiny Pier 1 bauble tree on the TV!

Around this time last year, we were in overdrive planning our move to Cambridge and soaking up every minute we could with our families and close friends. I simply ran out of time to send Christmas cards, then Christmas emails, then any sort of blast notification email whatsoever. Last month, I got back in touch with a friend I went to high school and college with, but haven't seen in quite some time. It's a little awkward to catch up on years' worth of goings-on, especially when you have to lead with, "um, well, I moved to England ... "

So, even though it's just the two of us this Christmas, we will be thinking of all of you. As we flip through our address book, look through pictures, and reminisce about Christmases past, you will all be with us. We love you all and miss you all very much, and we hope you all had a very merry Christmas. And we will eventually send a Christmas letter thought it may turn out to be a Happy New Year letter.

Christmas Eve 2007 in Cambridge: The River Cam

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So, here we are on Boxing Day. Boxing Day, December 26th, is so named because (according to lore, or in this case, Wikipedia) it's the day you give presents -- a BOX, perhaps -- to employees, the poor, people who work in various service industries, etc. It's really treated as a follow-up holiday, often with a another big meal, party, etc. More recently, it's also a big sale day. I'll be checking out that scene later today.

More Christmas things:

Christmas Crackers: No Christmas party table setting is complete without a Christmas cracker, a party favor of sorts. Its name comes from the fact that it's got a little bit of explosive in it (a really little bit), so when you pull it apart (our observation is that you share the opening of a cracker with the person across the table from you, yanking from either end), it pops, or cracks.

Crackers vary in quality and excitement value, but they always seem to contain a paper crown. And what's hysterical is that EVERYONE wears the paper crown. As we looked around the restaurant yesterday, people of all ages, all manner of dress had on their brightly colored paper crowns. When we left, we walked past the more upscale Bistro at the Hotel du Vin, and everyone in there was wearing a gold or silver foil crown. (They must have had posh crackers.)

Then, there's usually a joke in the cracker (typically a dumb joke) and party favor of some sort -- on Christmas day, I got a keychain and JT got a pen, but JT's favorite was at the company party, where his Christmas cracker contained a protractor.

Then, after you've made it through the dinner wearing your silly paper crown, you eat Christmas pudding. First, "pudding" is a synonym for dessert, not a specific dessert item made by Jello or Cozy Shack. You hear people use "pudding" far more often than "dessert." Christmas pudding, though, is a very specific pudding. You start making it a couple of months in advance from various candied fruits (raisins, sultanas, currants, etc.), sugar, eggs, spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, etc.), breadcrumbs, and booze (rum or brandy). Then you steam it in the oven for 6 to 8 hours. Cool, and place in your cupboard until Christmas. Douse again with more booze, steam for another couple of hours and serve with some sort of heavy, rich cream perhaps also spiked with booze.

Or you can go buy a mini one at the store for the sake of the blog.

This one is steeped in Courvoisier. It's also disgusting. It could also be because it's 10 a.m. Not breakfast food, that.

If you'd like to try one yourself, here's a few different recipes. The Wikipedia entry is also entertaining.

Finally, you finish your Christmas meal with coffee and mince pies. Once upon a time, mince pies actually contained meat, but these days they're diced fruit mincemeat, spices, and some more booze in a pastry crust. They're typically individual-sized, and an American friend here in Cambridge explained described the taste perfectly: "They taste like Christmas," she says. Indeed they do.

The thing I'll whinge about

First, whinge: "To complain in a particularly annoying manner." Chiefly British. Used in place of "whine," although it seems to be a more acceptable way to describe general complaining by anyone in particular.

I'm not going to whinge about the food, because sausage and mash, the occasional pie, bacon rolls, Scotch eggs, fish and chips -- can't argue with that. Just don't eat it all at once, don't expect fine dining at anything other than a fine dining restaurant, learn to love Indian food, and, oh yeah, don't suddenly forget how to cook.

I'm not going to whinge about the fashion, because no one is going to hold me down, iron my hair, and make me wear leggings and ballet flats, or black tights and short cut-offs, or, god forbid, legwarmers.

I am going to whinge about the day length these days. Today I caught an amazing sunset (pictured above). I didn't get the camera out and in a good place for a photo during the truly amazing colors, but you get the idea. It's not the fact that I missed a good picture that bothers me.

It's the fact that it wasn't yet 4 p.m., and the sun had set.

It set at 3:47 p.m., to be exact, and rose at 7:50 this morning. I think this might be where seasonal affective disorder was invented. Don't get me wrong, on a beautiful day, it's still beautiful. Briefly. But it's also rainy a lot these days, which makes for dark, gloomy days.

On the flip side, the early sunset does give you plenty of time to enjoy the abundant Christmas lights all over town. The official lighting was the week before Thanksgiving, and there are lights and Christmas trees everywhere. Cambridge does Christmas well, right down to the ice rink. It's been plenty cold for it, too -- "U.S. cold," one of JT's coworkers said.

Plus, it's just 11 more days until the days get longer, when we can start counting up to the longest day of the year. Yay!