Waddesdon Manor -- Buckinghamshire, England

But the attitude of faith is to let go, and become open to truth, whatever it might turn out to be. 

~Alan Watts 

Monday was my last full day in England. I woke up early and tried to remember all the things I needed to get done that day.

Walk dogs. 

Make one more recipe of Nigel's plum chutney. 

Interview Anne. 

Interview Charlotte. 

Wash clothes. 

Teach yoga at Waddesdon Manor. 

Pack bags. 

Record a yoga video for Charlotte. 

Help prepare lunch for Jack's parents. 

Write down important phone numbers and addresses so that I can breeze through immigration and not get sent back to f*cking Philadelphia. 

Charge all of my electronics. 

Print off plane ticket. 

Okay. 

Lucy greeted me as I came downstairs the way she always does, pouncing against my legs and eagerly licking my hands. When she saw the lead, she nearly fell over backward in excitement. 

The human friendbeatht itht taking uth outthide to thmell thingth! Oh my goodneth, oh my goodneth, oh my goodneth!

You haf voken me from a nice dream, but I vill forgive you zis time. Oscar yawned as I fastened his red shoulder straps and attached the lead.

As of late, I've been pondering whether or not I feel more comfortable in the city or in the country.  As a yoga teacher, playwright, and wannabe foodie, cities offer a wide range of attractive opportunities, but the pace is tiring and parking lots depress me. Regardless of my aversion to city life, I always figured I'd have to surmount my dislikes and move to a bustling metropolis because I wouldn't find fulfilling work any other way. But there are so many places in England -- so many little places tucked away between hills and behind hedges -- that encourage the things I love and still have the countryside in their backyard. I could walk through these hills every day for the rest of my life and never lose my sense of wonder. 

When I walk through these hills, I am like a three-year-old child. I want to see everything, touch everything, smell everything. I want to randomly sit down on a rotten log and watch the dogs scamper about, peeing all over the other rotten logs, digging holes and wrestling each other on the lush carpeted earth. I want to take off my shoes and wiggle my toes, picking blades of grass with the most dexterous of the bunch and wondering how many insects and microorganisms make their homes in the square inch of space under my big toe. I want to spend hours walking down bridle paths, eating blackberries until my fingers are stained purple and every cranny of my mouth is jammed with seeds. 

Returning to the house, I fed the dogs, put my dirty laundry in the washing machine, and went outside to battle the barraging wasps for a few of the remaining plums. 

Jack's parents came over around one o'clock, carrying with them two large boxes of pastries, eclairs and elephant foots that were so gorgeous that even this celiac had a tough time telling herself, 

Aimee... they look... perfect. But if you *sniff* eat that, *sniff* you will be sick for days.

After lunch (I resolutely refused the pastries), we drove to Waddesdon Manor, a house constructed in 1874 in the style of a French Chateau for Ferdinand de Rothschild, a Jewish millionaire banker. As the Rothschilds have a wise scheme of willing their properties to their most responsible relations as opposed to their oldest sons, the house and gardens passed to Ferdenand's sister when he died in 1898. Alice Rothschild used the manor as an orphanage during WWII and bequeathed the house and grounds to her great nephew in 1922. Jimmy Rothschild added to the manor's splendor by bringing all of his French art with him when he moved from France to take possession, and left the estate to the National Trust in 1957. However, Jacob Rothschild still manages the whole operation as the National Trust gave him that authority in 1993. So. Still a Rothschild enterprise. People can just pay to visit it now. 

Or they can teach yoga classes to the people living/working there and get an informative private tour for free.

This statue is modeled after one of the statues in Versailles.

The grounds were actually closed to the public during our visit, so we nearly had the entire estate to ourselves.

Yes. This is indeed a bird made out of cactus.

Yes. This is indeed an endangered bird named after the Rothschilds.

 After the tour, I gave the young dancer a yoga lesson that focused on opening hips, developing core strength and spinal flexibility. Then we drank tea, ate fudge, devoured brownies, and chatted with his mom about her craft business and their lives in New Zealand before they moved to live in Waddesdon Manor.

Charlotte's been so encouraging of my yoga practice and offers to take photos for my portfolio in all the interesting places we visit. Her support has been invaluable to me.

Upon arriving home, I immediately packed up my electronics and skipped down to the farm to interview Anne and say goodbye to her family. It was vitalizing and inspiring to interview someone who wanted to be interviewed and really helped restore confidence in my project after all the rejection I encountered in Ireland and Wales.

Anne gave me a hug as I left and said, "I know you can't come back to the UK for a while because of the visa issues, but know that you have a room here if you ever need it."

How am I so blessed? I've encountered generosity and love and support around every corner since I met Hanne in Doolin. I must never take this for granted. Never lose my appreciation for the goodness of people. 

Speaking of the goodness of people... Jack had prepared a delicious cottage pie for my final meal. Cottage pie is a hearty, traditional English comfort food comprised of vegetables, minced meat, and covered with mashed potatoes baked to crisp perfection. Everyone loves cottage pie and everyone eats far too much. I did not break this rule, and found myself leaning heavily back into the chair at the end of the meal, belly grossly distended and soul deliriously happy.

After tidying the kitchen and setting up my equipment I interviewed Charlotte -- which was also tremendously encouraging. Then we sat around the dinner table for hours and chatted over glasses of wine.

"I don't want this night to end," I said as the laughter lulled into silence. 

"I can open another bottle of wine," Jack offered.

"No... I need to wake up early for my bus," sensibility triumphed over my desire to make the moment linger. 

I dragged my feet up the two flights of stairs to my room in the loft and slowly, sadly opened the door. This was the first space during my travels where I'd been able to unpack my bags. I've had life-changing and beautiful moments during my time in Ireland and Wales, but England... this loving, magnanimous, hilarious, musical, culinary family made Buckinghamshire, England a home. My home.

Preconceptions: none today

Challenges: Waddesdon Manor!