Then I went to a local health food store to buy some vitamin C and got chatting to the owner about the value of coconut oil and she wished me a wonderful holiday in Cornwall..
then we set off to Garway, to visit the Templar church.
I pondered the English way as we drove along and journalled:
I cannot get over how beech and elm trees grow wild here! And mistletoe is visible in the bare winter trees.
For a long time, I have carried a romanticised idea of England in my mind. The herbs, the hedgerows. The crows, ravens and hares. And while all these still exist somewhere, the herbs grow beside highways, beside steel railings and the crows fly over towns full of people.
I thought it was all going to be like Midsomer Murders, or Rosemary & Thyme or Doc Martin. I honestly didn't realize there would be so many people and so many cars. In every town and village there are cars parked everywhere!! [Naive, I know]
that said, most of the villages and small towns are delightful to visit and that is where we are trying to spend most of our time. Unfortunately the weather is not conducive to walking very much.
the whole area here in the Cotswolds, is just not as friendly or welcoming as I had hoped. As I have said also, the drivers on the roads here are some of the rudest and impatient that we have ever come across in our travels, anywhere. I wonder if it is because the place is so close to the city?
I am not complaining, just observing but I know now that I could not live here
so we drove on, arriving at Garway, which consisted of a pub and a few houses, no where in sight was there a church. Would we search? or just carry on driving? We chose to take a side road to see if the church was down there..
and we realised that we had crossed into Wales when we saw a sign like thisso here we are in Wales, what will we do, turn around?
We decided, 'what the heck, we will go to Abergavenny for lunch'. So we followed more roads through the Welsh countryside, arriving at the town and into the first pub we saw. The publican was delighted to have us there, asking questions and being a very good host.
and on our way back to Compton Abdale, we are caught in horrendous traffic, not very far from the cottage. There is no way to avoid it, so once again, I am reminded that this is not for me. I realize that we are so spoilt in the mountains at home, with what we have and I will be forever grateful that I live there.
But, for the time being, it is so nice to come home to our cottage of the moment, close the door, light the fire and sit down to write some postcards, read or write my journal...
we never did find that Templar Church
[and no walk in the Forest of Dean]
a year later - 2013
The Little House, was indeed a hidden treasure, tucked away in some kind of time warp. It's amazing what actually sticks in my mind and in this instance it is the pub in Wales, where the owner was so friendly and hospitable and served a wonderful roast lunch. Tables were set with cloth and it was like an old fashioned tea room, with a few women having lunch together. Dressed in their best hats and gloves.