Family Roadtrip -- Devon, England

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face. 

~Bernard Williams

 

Tuesday and Wednesday were spent recuperating from Sunday and Monday. I had planned to teach a yoga lesson to a young dancer whose family lives at Waddeson manor Tuesday morning, but Charlotte was feeling poorly, so we postponed the lesson and had an easy day in. I fiddled around in the kitchen for a bit, recorded a yoga video, took the dogs out walking, and prepared lunch for the kids. Walks with the dogs have been much longer, as of late. Why?

The blackberries are finally coming into season. They're sour, bitter, and full of seeds that get stuck between all my teeth, but they're blackish purple and I eat them because I can. Oscar and Lucy frolic ahead, plunge into the hedges after pigeons or pheasants or butterflies, and come bounding back, confusion written across their faces. 

"Vhy must you alvays stop, friendbeast?" Oscar quizzically tilts his Russian head. "I vish to keep moving, so I vould have great appreciation if you vould please stop eating za black bird food zat hangs from za bushes, yes? I have za hedge to attack. Or perhaps you could just feed me za black bird food zat hangs from za bushes. Zat vould be a good plan, yes?"

Violet rode her Dartmoor pony, the sturdy, stocky, lovable "India". Charlotte helped lead Violet around the arena and I mounted Eve, a chestnut pony desperate for work. I ended up hopping around on strange bouncy stilts in Bob and Anne's backyard when Violet decided to switch ponies and give Eve a go, and had a marvelous time. 

The bizarre things I do whilst traveling. I love it.

Upon returning to the house, I was nearly knocked flat by a tantalizing wave of sumptuous smells. Regardless of how sick she was feeling, Charlotte was intent to keep her promise of making me an English dinner. Gluten-free Yorkshire pudding, lamb that had been slow-roasting for four hours, a sublime gravy made from meat drippings, mashed vegetables and red wine, roasted sweet potatoes, gluten-free stuffing balls, and a glass of wine. I slowly pulled the flavorful lamb off the bone and savored each bite I brought to my mouth. 

I didn't realize heaven could taste so good, I closed my eyes and tried to absorb all the glorious sensations happening in my mouth. The kids were making some absurd complaints about how the gravy wasn't up to par, but it was all white noise. 

The ignoramus who said England has bad food should be shot. This is exquisite. I... I don't have any words for how good this is. I plunged my fork into the sweet crispy 

Gluten-free yorkshire pudding and stuffing balls. Charlotte has been so accommodating regarding my food sensitivities. She also bought me gluten-free muesli, wraps, and baked gluten-free bread. 

Wednesday... Wednesday was quiet and beautifully simple. Wednesday saw an interview with Pascaline, packing for the trip to Devon and a quiet night in with Charlotte. 

There's something about the peaceful days that I love, I flipped through one of Jack's curry cookbooks and let the voluminous cushions of the smaller black sofa swallow me. I could have had a day like this at home. Simple days where no famous landscapes are seen and leftovers are consumed for two out of three meals make me feel like I'm living -- not just traveling. For the next few days, this is my home. I can relax into it the way Charlotte relaxes into it. 

Oh. Yes. And Wednesday saw the creation of gluten-free scones. I felt as if I had finally assimilated into English culture as I took a dainty bite of my delicate scone covered in damson plum jam and slathered with clotted cream.

 

I woke up early Thursday morning to check on the kale chips Charlotte was dehydrating (which were better than my mom's. Which is really saying something, 'cos my mom makes some damn fine kale chips) and to take the dogs on a walk before the four hour drive to Devon. The plan was to leave at nine am, but with the general sort of idea that between Violet trying to sneak extra teddies in the car, packing issues, and last minute toilet trips, we'd be on the road by ten.

"I am Oscar. King of cushions."

We pulled out of the driveway at 9:40. Splendid time. I settled into my seat behind the driver and eagerly gazed out the window. I was off to Devon. The south of England. A land of palm trees and hard cider and many types of cheese. Yes please. Snuggling up to the window, I let out a sigh of complete contentment. 

This is going to be a good trip.

However, the sigh of complete contentment quickly morphed into a forced expression of contentment. Within a grand total of ten minutes, WW3 had commenced in the backseat of the Honda. Violet and Harry are marvelous children and I love them ever so much, but they're young and related and are therefore obligated to create chaos during family roadtrips. Also, they were stuck sitting next to each other in the backseat of a car for four hours with the smell of wet dog wafting up from behind them. 

"How much longer?"

"I'm hungry."

"I want chocolate."

"Mummy, Violet kicked me!!!"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did!"

"Well, that's only because you elbowed me."

"I didn't!"

"You did!"

"No I didn't." 

"Yes you did!"

"How much longer, Mummy?"

I slouched my shoulders in and tried to keep my hands to myself and my face glued to the window, but Violet kept bumping into me with her booster seat and drawing me out of my meditation and back into the tumultuous fray. 

I should have actually paid attention during the meditation part of yoga training. Spending that half hour thinking about the horrible breakfast we were about to eat and the mosquitoes none of us could escape didn't do me any good at all. I took a deep breath and consciously relaxed my eyebrows.

"MUMMY!"

Argh...

We pulled into Frogmore at about two o'clock in the afternoon. Poor Lucy had been sick all over the blankets in the back and my poor English family and me had been smelling sick for a good twenty minutes. We all frantically tumbled out of the car, grateful for the fresh air and the opportunity to stretch our legs. Charlotte's mother greeted us (I bungled it admirably, once again), and the kids managed to find water balloons and a contraption that launched them into the air. Charlotte immediately washed the vomit off of Lucy's paws and stuffed the malodorous blankets into the washing machine. 

Beds were assigned, lunch was eaten, balloons were blasted, new dogs were cuddled, and the sensational scenery was taken in. 

Lucy and Tess played all afternoon. I grew fatigued just watching their shenanigans.

I thee you haf a thtick. You should share your thtick. 

Hey. Hey, Tess. I would like it efer tho much if you would share your thtick.

After letting the dogs romp about Charlotte's mum's field, we drove off to check on Sarah's horse.

Spike. A very nosy gelding stabled with Sarah's filly, Willow.

Sarah's stately German shepherd. Of the American variety. Molly was raised in an environment where she was confined to a glass box, so she's still learning how to trust people and how to actually be a dog. She's still discovering what it means to "play".

Sarah, Harry, Violet, and Willow.

Hey... unsuspecting human with frightening device that clicks. Your hair looks delicious.

Just a nibble... I promise I'll leave you some.

Willow has the most beautiful eyes.

Fine. I will settle for a nose snuffle instead.

Horses checked and all well, we continued our journey down to the beach.

Which greatly pleased the pooches.

We ate dinner at a pub on the beach and then drove to Dartmouth to watch a band perform. The music was great, my dancing was awkward, and the fireworks were lovely. What more could a girl want?

I adore these kids.

Preconceptions: None today

Challenges: Nope