Hmm. Yes, flanner. I see what you mean. The JCPenney thing rings especially true.

BTW of course I expect B&B owners to be friendly. What surprised me was the fellow guests, and I thought they were just right. I was very happy to share selected parts of my life history with them.

A few years ago on the NY subway I told my daughter I liked the 5-piece Mariachi band that had filed in at the last stop and was vigorously making music in the aisle. (something I don't remember ever seeing on the Tube.) The woman on my other side said, "You LIKE that? Where you from?" Then when I told her my city and state, she had no idea where they were.

I have to admit I enjoyed that exchange, so there's a cultural difference right there.

(something I don't remember ever seeing on the Tube.)>>>

We may not be reserved but we are incredibly violent.

Actually busking's illegal on the tube - apart from a few designated areas so if anyone did that in London they'd get nicked (after we'd beaten them up, then plod would beat them up again).

Glad I didn't bring out my harmonica then.

If I lived in NYC, I'd probably get annoyed with the subway mariachis after the 4th or so time and stick my foot out to trip the guitarron player.

I got onto the subway in New York in 1974 and saw my boyfriend sitting there, head down, avoiding eye contact, normal subway position. I sat down next to him and he didn't realize it was me until I called his attention to the fact. He said he was just wondering who the creepy stranger was who was sitting too close to him.

Thirty-five years and two children later, I wouldn't be surprised if he did the same thing today.

So, flanner, as I see the cultural difference: the same things happen in both countries, like the nice lady in Eyam unsolicited telling me she has a cousin in America. But we think it's sweet, while you go home and tell horror stories about it.

"while you go home and tell horror stories about it."

Not quite. A routine conversation with a volunteer on a quiet afternoon at the Norman Rockwell Museum in deep Massachusetts turns into her telling me her husband was stationed near my house during WW2 and I conclude she's a nice lady.

I get buttonholed on the New York subway (or at a Target in a Chicago suburb) and I conclude the buttonholer is deranged.

I get told buttonholing strangers on a metro or in a department store is "sweet" and I conclude the whole population's deranged.

Okay, Poochie. You win.

People in Eyam are famously reserved.....

Bringing back memories of 1969. 3 of us, after our first year of teaching stayed, at a B&B in Scotland. The wallpaper had huge red roses. There was a loud parrot. And, the innkeeper told us when we could bathe and at what time we should be in.

Our rental car kept going on the fritz and we pushed it to the closest rise so we could pop the clutch going down hill.

We were so polite that everyone asked if we were from Canada.

Fun, TDud. Those clutch popping years, but surrounded by Scottish accents, and cunningly confusing people as to your origin by behaving well.

Yes, C_W. So true. The amazing Eyamites.

I always forgive flanner for disapproving of all I stand for because, among his other good qualities, he was helpful when I first looked at Bakewell as a walkable Peak area base. And he suggested St. Etheldreda.

BAKEWELL AND THEREABOUTS

Market is on Mondays in the center of town, and has been for of centuries. China cups, underwear, fruits and vegetables. MC bought a small set of acrylic paints, and a jar of lemon curd. English strawberries, other treats. We could have crossed to the agricultural area and bid on a flock of sheep, but didn’t.

One fine evening we got to watch men playing cricket in the park across from our B&B. It’s my new favorite sport, the local non-televised version anyway, and my total incomprehension of what was going on didn’t detract from its beauty.

Chatsworth: It’s a few miles’ walk, but we couldn’t find the beginning of the footpath as directed by the nice TIC man -- who seemed to think it was an unlikely request – so came back to town square and got the bus to Baslow (~ £1.20 each way) then walked the easy mile from there. Taxis such as Gary’s would be another option for non-walkers.

One end of Chatsworth is wrapped in plastic and scaffolding now, with renovation under way. Still plenty to see: grand rooms with gods and emperor painted on the ceiling, porcelain, art. A large sculpture gallery. One room is devoted to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, and includes a letter written in her blood to her son, and costumes as worn in a recent film. Contemporary art in the occupied areas. Glimpses of beautiful libraries, now used by the family. Portraits from different eras. (Do people really pay Lucien Freud to make them look like that?) The place seems like an echo of Versailles, but lived in.

The gardens are very beautiful, and worth many trips just for themselves. (Here, annhig, my fantasy pleb job would be under-gardener, or, what the heck, shepherdess.)

Our hostess Trisha has books of Peak District walks with specific directions like: “Cross the stile and keep the hedge to your left.” We borrowed one for the 3 km walk from our B&B to Haddon Hall another day, and it made all the difference: the paths are well-worn, but unmarked, and it would be easy to get confused. This path led through beautiful fields, along streams, and through dense woods.

The normally intrepid MC let me lead through a long low-lying area where the path narrowed and became overhung with wildflowers; it was beautiful, but such a path at home would be prime snake habitat, and she dislikes snakes very much. We were both wearing skirts, and couldn’t avoid brushing against stinging nettles for a long stretch. (At home, nettles grow alongside jewelweed, the immediate antidote: you crush the juicy stems and rub it on, and the stinging stops. If there’s a Derbyshire version, we didn’t see it.) This path requires sturdy leg covering in the summer, would be worth packing jeans for.

We loved Haddon Hall. Go visit. The Great Hall with the minstrel’s gallery. The Elizabethan era bombé windows. The chapel, complete with frescoes and the tomb of an heir who died young, touchingly sculpted by his mother. Views of the valley from the formal garden. The Roman altar. Here you get to visit the kitchens, and see the immense fireplaces along with the 1920’s dumbwaiter.

I’d like to spend a month or so in Eyam and take in the atmosphere. Their history of courage for the greater good during the plague is inspiring, and it’s a lovely little town. Also, two buses and a train and you could be sitting in Trafalgar Square not feeding the pigeons.

We had cream tea sitting outside at the Castle Inn, lovely and a bargain. My only disappointing dish of the trip was homity pie at The Peacock Pub: billed as potato, cheese, and leek pie, and recommended by the barman, it lacked interest somehow and seemed to be potatoes with little else to liven it up. The side dish: boiled potatoes. (You can say what you like about the insane US, flanner, but I’ve never been served potatoes as a side dish with potato main course here.) I have a Texan cousin who carries a 15 ml bottle of hot sauce in her purse Just In Case, and I’d have borrowed some if she’d been there. His ale recommendation, though, was very nice: one of the Peak Ales, Swift Nick. MC liked her Pimm’s and lemonade.

There are a couple of very popular chippies and a couple of Indian and at least one Chinese restaurants, a few tea shops, a Co-op supermarket. We only got a small Bakewell Pudding just before getting on the bus to leave town, and later ate it on the train from its greasy bag. They don’t look so attractive in the bakery windows, but they’re delicious. Strawberry jam, custard, flaky pastry. Next time we’ll buy them early and often.

The sun stays up so much later in the summer there than at home that we kept thinking it was earlier than it was. One evening we hiked the Monsal Trail until dusk, and thought to stop in for refreshment afterwards. The pubs were so quiet at 10 PM that we decided not to bother, and felt unreasonably disappointed with the locals for being quietly in their homes at that hour instead of out drinking.

Bakewell is a great town to visit if you don’t want to drive. Buses are frequent and cheap, and take you all around Derbyshire. Parking is at a premium in town, as we could see on market day, and no doubt especially on weekends. Everton B&B has parking if you’d need it, but some of the more atmospheric places closer in probably don’t.

Tourists: under-run with them, if anything. There was one couple with a North American accent that we kept running into everywhere and eventually decided were Canadian, but otherwise we were the only foreigners I saw or heard. I understand it gets crowded on weekends, but when we were there it was just right.

In the UK, the antidote to nettles is the dock leaf.
They can usually be found in areas where nettles grow.

DOGS AND HEIRS

Bakewell is a great dog-walking town. People were out with all sorts of handsome breeds; I'd consider getting one if I lived there. We were never bothered by barking at night.

I did worry a little about lines of inheritance. The brochures at some of these halls tell you that the X family has lived here since 1067 or whatever, and then there's a photo of Lord and Lady X with Pookie and Snuggles. The last two clearly identifiable as dogs. The Devonshires have grandchildren, though, I believe.

Thanks, Miss P! I know dock.

Confession time- I get nervous in the country. I am honestly impressed by this part of your trip because I wouldn't be brave enough to walk along unmarked paths through the woods. I also get nervous in little places that are deserted at night. It's this weird phobia, I don't know what my problem is.

However, I am making lots notes because all of this sounds exactly like something my mom and sister would love to do. They are Austen fans and love the country and have talked in the past about taking a trip like this, so I'm going to pass all your info on to them.

I remember before your trip you had asked about art supply shops in London, and I was so surprised to learn that in the UK there are strict rules about markers and glue (well not all that surprised if I think about it since this is the United "don't even think about it we're watching your every move" Kingdom we're talking about) - did you ever make it to an art shop? I remember someone suggested a very old and interesting looking place, can't remember the name...

Apres_L! I totally understand.

Bailey White has a nice little essay about a friend of hers living in Paris who's afraid to visit Bailey in her country home, and Bailey's afraid to visit her friend in wild Paris. I'm afraid of vicious dogs and certain kinds of heights, but tend not to worry about bad guys or forest creatures.

We were strolling along the London South Bank one evening when a man approached us, reached into a basket, asked MC if she liked snakes, and started to pull one out, the creep. MC was horrified. Later we saw him showing it off to some more appreciative people.

Bakewell would be perfect for your mom and sister. I think there are various Austen connections to Bakewell: Chatsworth Might have have been Austen's inspiration for Pemberly. Maybe.

Confession

My confession: I never made it to L. Cornelissen & Son. One afternoon when MC was shopping I walked from our hotel though Fitzrovia and then down Gower St., went east on Great Russell looking for the art store before I went to British Museum. It must be west of Gower St. I thought I'd go back later, then never did.

You have a good memory, Apres_L.

Hi stokebailey,

It was when you mentioned drawing instead of taking photographs that I remembered- if I recall correctly, I think we got reamed out for making fun of the age restrictions. No doubt you'll make it to the shop next time.

And snakes? That's horrible! I don't know what I'd do if some crazy person approached me on the street with a basket full of snakes. That man deserves a kick in the shins if you ask me.

Actually that just reminded of this crazy guy here in Toronto who sits downtown on the sidewalk with his pet white rats crawling all over him. I haven't seen him in a while, thank god. I would always cross the street rather than risk having one of his rodents come running after me.

Ugh. I think I need to go and lie down now. I'm feeling a little faint.