It's no wonder that the highlight of a relationship for Bridget Jones is a "mini-break"; England has to be one of the best places for long weekends. It could be a European thing, but England seems to have infinite tiny, picturesque villages that you can get to within a 2 hour drive (that, I'm sure, is a function of its size and the fact that I'm in the South).
PAB and I took our second mini-break, with the same two couples of the Peak District. It is sometimes frustrating travelling with others (they don't get up in time, they don't want to finish the hike, they'd rather eat here than there), but the beauty of mini-breaks is that they are designed so that you do nothing (and it's hard for even the laziest amongst us to mess up nothingness).
We left for the Isle of Wight on the 28 Feb., took the ferry from Southampton, it seemed to take hours to cross what must be a ridiculously short distance compared to France or Ireland. It was a bit off putting to get off the ferry into an equally big city as the mainland, but after a 5 minute drive we were into beautiful, empty countryside. We drove down coastal paths in near total blackness, and it's probably a very good thing that I couldn't see the huge precipices dropping off to my right....
That evening after settling into a cottage at Freshwater we went to watch France v. Wales in the 6 Nations (Italy, Scotland, France, England, Ireland, Wales) rugby tournament. I had never seen a rugby game, live or televised, so that was an experience in itself (needless to say, now I have to see a live game). The people at the pub were unbelievably nice, even though France crushed the team they were supporting they clapped politely at the end. At a U.S. bar there would have been bottles broken and chairs overturned if a group of French men starting singing La Marseilles after beating Americans in any sport.
Saturday, after a late breakfast, we headed to the Isle's most famous viewpoint, the Needles (consisting mostly of three chalk rocks in line) and then a walk along Tennyson Down. I vaguely remember hearing of Tennyson in my British lit. class, obviously not a huge fan, but for those of you who are he is buried at Tennyson Down (go figure) under a Celtic cross (Irish perhaps?) We had amazing weather, and a wonderful picnic, but the most memorable experience was trying to find a place to sit and eat that was rabbit-pellet free. Tennyson Down has the most amazing rabbit population (I would say over-population) I have ever seen; and consequently there was rabbit poo EVERYWHERE, in between small cracks in the fence, on top of rocks, beneath trees. I think the solution to this problem is to import people from the French countryside, soon enough there would be no poop and plenty of delicious 'lapin' for everyone.
We ended Saturday by searching for crabs, something I had surprisingly never done after spending so many childhood summers in Louisiana. I think the difference is, in England you have to be quick and overturn rocks to find tiny little crablings, in La. you simply cast in a net and they come to you. Regardless, it was surprisingly amusing and we spent until sundown chasing after the little buggers.
Sunday we spent the time before our trip at the guide book recommended beaches of Sandown; another example of the most popular beaches being the worst. We did, however, have fantastic luck with the weather, the beach was pretty much deserted in Feb. and I had the best seafood chowder that I've ever had :) Still nothing compared to gumbo, but the closest I've come...
And so ends another month in jolly ol'. PAB and I will be travelling the other channel this weekend to visit his family in France, tales to come...
