I'm an Anglophile

"If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad."

~ Jane Austen

In 2003, after my sophomore year at BYU, I was fortunate enough to study abroad in London, England. I fell madly in love with England. For lack of a better description, my memories of that time period are romantic. It was an impressionable time in my life when I discovered and learned more about the world and myself. I am so grateful for that experience as the memories made there are ones I return to often.

Looking back, I realize much of that romanticism surrounding my study abroad is the result of a time when I had hardly a care in the world. My entire purpose in life was to enjoy myself. No job, no bills, no trials, no rigorous course work, etc... For 2 months, I was basically as selfish as can be and while that might sound horrible, I am really grateful that I had that short-lived time all to myself.

In retrospect, anywhere I was under those circumstances would seem magical, but I happened to be in England. Beyond my carefree life, I reveled in the history, charm, and traditions of Great Britain. I loved the constant feeling that you are somewhere important at all times because so much history lies beneath your feet and in the walls surrounding you. It's a beautiful and rustic country and you could spend your whole life learning and seeing and not accomplish it all. Bottom line: I'm an Anglophile.

However, that charmed existence couldn't last and I was grateful to come home. I remember I flew home on the 4th of July and it really was a patriotic experience. I was grateful to be back in America where things were familiar and simply made sense (Europe and Europeans are just a mystery sometimes).

While I was grateful to be home, as soon as I landed, I've been trying to find a way to get back to England. It might have taken 7 years, but this past couple of weeks, that dream came true. It was perfect.

We left May 19 and after a day of travel, landed in London. We immediately hopped on a train to make our way to the Cotswolds - an area in Northwest England home to limestone villages built during the boom of the sheep herding industry (yes, apparently it WAS a booming industry back then). The names of the towns in the Cotswolds are charming--as is everything else. We arrived in Moreton-in-Marsh and spent the afternoon wandering around, waiting for my sister, Camille, and her husband, Russ, to arrive. Waiting was easy in such a quaint, picturesque, and completely love-able town.

Moreton has churches that look like this:

And houses that look like this:

Once Camille and Russ arrived, we made our way to our bed in breakfast in Stow-on-the-Wold. It's another village about 5 miles away and equally quaint. We had reserved a stay at the Fosse Manor, a place which felt more like it was in a movie then it was real. Luckily, for our tired bodies, it was real.

The view from my window...seriously.

Camille and Russ' bedroom...

That night, we walked the mile or so into the town square for dinner. We happened upon an Abbey that was having a string symphony concert, enjoyed some beautiful scenery, and ate some great Indian food (England is to die for, their traditional food, not so much).

After not sleeping for some 36 hours, we crashed in our room and woke to a full english breakfast. I opted for smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and it was surprisingly delightful. It was the perfect beginning to a fabulous trip.

Looking tired, but happy, at breakfast.

From Stow, we made our way to Bath, possibly my favorite city on earth. Trust me readers, "YOU WILL LOVE IT!" (inside joke. Apparently I said this phrase very enthusiastically and multiple times to Camille, Russ, and Stu...it's like I was excited or something). Stay tuned...