Rosie Schaap revisits the fairytale towns and green vales of England’s Lake District, where the food is now as much of a draw as the lush, romantic landscape.
IT CALLS TO MIND UNREAL PLACES:
Tolkien’s Middle Earth, innumerable iterations of fairyland. It is unlike anywhere I’ve ever seen—and, more to the point, unlike any place I’ve ever felt. I know nowhere quite so lushly green, so exquisitely gentle here, and craggily forbidding there. It had been more than a decade since I’d visited England’s Lake District, just south of the Scottish border, and even to imagine being back there without my husband, Frank, who died in 2010 of a rare form of cancer, was for a long time not possible. But last year, I felt ready.
If England were a play, the climate would be a main character. Not as predictable as its reputation, it is capricious, and its machinations frequently drive the plot. The Monday afternoon I alit from the train in the Lake District village of Oxenholme, I couldn’t believe my good fortune: The sun shone so brightly that it made me laugh in happy disbelief.
This story is from the April 2016 edition of Saveur.
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This story is from the April 2016 edition of Saveur.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
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