East with the Light: A week in a wet and cold paradise

In an act of unprecedented self-care, I took a week off from my grueling research schedule. Well, I didn't so much take off as take advantage of a gap in my archival plans. I had tentative plans to go up to Hertfordshire and investigate some local archives, but 1) I was skeptical of the actual payoff my efforts and expenditure would bring to the project and 2) I was just bone-tired and road weary. I'd been in archives for five months straight, my back was killing me from all the sitting, my skin had turned translucent from lack of light, and I thought if I had to spend another week bent over a yellowing volume, I might just die. I wanted to take full advantage of my 3 weeks in Scotland (where, in my last archival trip, I had been too exhausted to really dig into the rich resources in Edinburgh), so I knew that I needed a recharge.

I had a bit of trouble deciding where to park myself for a week. I really wanted to go back to the lovely Dartmoor National Park where I'd spent a few days back in 2008, but I also really wanted to see something new. The Lake District was an obvious choice, but even at the beginning of October was a bit out of my price range, because I didn't just want a change of scenery, I wanted a retreat. I wanted a place all to myself, where I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. An archival research trip like this can be really painfully isolating, but I had also been staying in places that weren't "my space." Shared kitchens, shared bathrooms, shared lounges, etc. I wanted to sing loudly as I did my laundry. I wanted to cook real food in a real kitchen without worrying about monopolizing the space. I wanted to take a long, luxurious bath while reading a good book. So I wanted a little cottage. I found the perfect place in the Peak District National Park, a place I knew very little about, but with which I am now in love.

But first.....Meet my little 60mpg Cerulean Chevy Something-Or-Other. Isn't she beautiful. Even more beautiful is the fact that I drove it around for a week on the elusive left side of the road without once crashing.

The hardest thing about driving on the left side of the road isn't right turns or roundabouts, or even shifting gears with your left hand. These things require a lot of concentration ("Left, Left, Left...."), but are surmountable. What was much harder was retraining my brain's spacial reasoning. I always felt like I had plenty of room on the left (curbside), when in fact (as evidenced by several side mirror incidents) I had no room at all. I was continually running off the road and nearly (and sometime actually) hitting stone walls, parked cars, and any number of other things. I did get better at this as time went by, but it was a bit disconcerting. However, it was an absolute joy to have a car and be able to explore the Derbyshire country side without walking holes in the soles of my shoes and waiting hours on country buses.

I went to a bonafide American-sized grocery store where I filled my cart with all the delectables that living in London without a car had denied me.

Milk in a Bag! It isn't just the Canadians anymore.

I didn't actually buy any pulses, but I was very amused
by the use of the word, which I've only really heard in farming
manuals and scientific journal articles.

A cartful! More than what can be carried in your two hands!
Also note the existence of Dr. Pepper Zero, something we most
definitely do not have in the US (I would know).

Now meet Bumblebee Cottage on a twisty little road between Darley Dale and Stanton Moor on Warren Carr Farm. It was an old 17th century barn, converted into a one bedroom cottage. It was the perfect place. Just what the doctor had ordered. Kitsch and Cozy.

An old school vanity (I think). This was the only place in the house where you could get the wifi signal from the Big House.

The lovely bathroom window.

The even lovelier deep bathtub (with a little door) where I took

at least 10 baths in a week.

The AGA is somewhat of a cultural icon of middle class country living in Britain. I'm not sure why this is, since it certainly isn't the most convenient or easy to cook on or energy efficient. Essentially, it works like a wood stove. The whole thing heats up when you turn it on. So if you want to cook on the stovetop, the oven is going to be on as well. It was, however, deliciously warm, which was important during this wet, cold week in early fall.

Living in a place where 12 people share a kitchen means that you rarely have the luxury of a long culinary production (or a short one for that matter). The kitchen in the floor where I lived was also usually pretty disgusting. So this was the first time I could really go to town. First thing on the menu, hearty chicken soup with egg noodles, with a right smart of fresh thyme and cumin. I've never tasted anything so good.