a REAL english christmas, part 2

If you’re back for more, after the somewhat overzealous previous post, you’re in for a treat. Remember, all this that happened so far goes only up until we PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY. The real English Christmas hasn’t even begun. 

Sophie's family's house was quaint, homey and beautiful, everything you would want in first, an English home, and second, a place where you are spending Christmas. Warm and cozy, with lots of tea and Christmas decorations and blankets and thick socks, I felt very well taken care of. After a shower and a nap, I was ready for whatever England had to throw at me.

 

Pretty much the first thing that Sophie and her dad mentioned that we needed to do when I got there, was to take me to a “real English pub”. So we climbed in the car to make the 15 minute drive, this pub was apparently worth it, to the most quaint drinking establishment I have ever seen. I would have never thought alcohol could be turned into such a cutesy, christmasy, family-style activity, but it was. there were decorations, dogs babies, even a fireplace with a cozy fire that we sat by as we drank our pints. It wasn’t even 4 o’clock in the afternoon, but I went with it.

For those who make fun of the food in England, I will forever differ with you on that point. Perhaps at certain restaurants, or in some of the bigger cities, you might find a lower quality of food than say Italy or France, but the home cooked meals I had at the Baird’s house transformed me in to the biggest ally England will ever have on this subject. And as always, there was plenty of wine with dinner, champagne with breakfast, cider with lunch, another pint at the pub in the afternoon (as soon as it struck noon we were discussing when to schedule it in) and more wine for dinner and after. Between the food and the alcohol, I was pretty much comatose by the end of each day.

They managed to make me feel right at home for all of their Christmas traditions, those specific to their family as well as the widely held British traditions. For example, we did Christmas crackers at dinner. They are cheap papery plastic things that pop when you pull on them from each end, and then whoever gets the bigger side (like the wishbone) gets the even cheaper little plastic toy on the inside. I also was introduced to Christmas pudding, mincemeat pies (which are amazing and definitely contain no trace of meat whatsoever), crumpets, “real” English tea, and Boxing Day. Still not sure what that last one is, but you can’t win ’em all. 

I’m almost done, I promise, but I’ve saved the best for last. One of Sophie’s traditions with her family is going on long walks/hikes through the fields and trails just on the outskirts of their town. We went on a short one on Christmas, so I got a small taste of what was in store for me, then the next day I got the real deal. Within ten minutes you get out of the town center and into the real pastures, with the low stone walls and the sheep in the distance and the bald trees sprinkling the hills. There used to be an old quarry in the town, so we walked first through the huge holes in the rock left by that part of their history, then walked up in the hills to where the old train tracks went through town. It was fascinating to see how the natural and industrial history of this region collided, and the result centuries later; it was part museum and part state park, part eulogy to mankind’s insistent growth and part testament to the power of nature to reclaim.

All that aside, it was incredible to breathe again in the wide open air, with the smells of winter and trees and mud. Paris does a lot of things for me, and has given me many experiences I’ve never had and will never have again, but there is something about the countryside that will always call me back. This was truly a wonderful way to experience Christmas, and though I missed my family I can't say that I wanted for anything, not food, not holiday spirit, and least of all, not good company.

a REAL english christmas, part 1

I know it's been a while, but I'm finally back on track! By all means, lie to me and pretend like you missed my posts. Here is one of many that I have been thinking about and meaning to write for weeks:

When the first few days of December came along, I hadn’t actually thought about the fact that I’d be completely alone in my apartment for Christmas until a girl on my lacrosse team invited me home with her family. It was the first Christmas I'd be spending away from home, and while my Thanksgiving was great with a few friends I was happy to have a family to spend this holiday with.

Sophie’s family doesn’t live in London; they live in a region of England called the Midlands. It is exactly what it sounds like, the land in between the North, i.e. Manchester, and the South, i.e. London. I of course had no idea what any of this meant, not even after being lectured by my British friends multiple times on the differences between all the regions of England and the accents that go along with them. So, naturally, I pictured a mix of Pride and Prejudice and the Holiday in my mind. Despite all rationality that says that Hollywood overstates national and historical stereotypes then overstates the overstatements, I was not at all disappointed.

Sophie’s dad and I drove through the town of Derby (don’t make the same mistake I did, it’s pronounced Dahby) to get to her family's home in the countryside. As soon as we got out of the town (which was slightly industrial for my tastes) we were on small country roads winding through rolling hills. I know, it sounds cliché, but it was real! Even I was prepared for my naïve delusions to be let down, but it was just as I hoped it would be. It reminded me a lot of central New York, in the late summer or fall, though even more cloudy and grey (if that is at all possible). The more I live in Paris, though, the more I find myself in general attracted to grey landscapes, because for some reason I find this city to be the most beautiful in monochromatic color schemes. But in this one, it managed to balance a warm greyness but also display rich contrasts: the grass looked that much greener, the landscape that much more textured, and the clouds disappearing into the distance lent it an even more palpable depth. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the openness of the countryside until I found myself lost in it.

I was still taking in the views around me when we finally arrived in the quaint, one-main-street town of Wirksworth, where I was once more rewarded for hanging on to uninformed assumptions. The buildings nestled together with a hint of the green pastures just on the outskirts felt like a fairy tale. The old brick, cobblestones, and ancient but somber church next to Sophie’s family’s house was almost too much. I’m only just hearing how this sounds, and you are probably shaking your head or cringing at my reactions but there just is no other way to describe it. It was too good to be true, too fairy-tale like even for the fairy tales. It was a comfort to me to know that at least one of those stereotypes, wished for and hoped for about a far away land, the stories of which built the foundation of your childhood, is not completely baseless. Yeah yeah, I’m laying it on thick I know, but TRUST ME. Wirksworth’s legit.