We began the day early, taking a bus to the train station at 8:45; our train departed at 9:30; and we arrived at Disley (the town closest to Lyme Park) at 2:30. The trip began with engineering work on the train line, so we had to take another bus, then three trains. For lunch we quickly grabbed the only food available—some rather dubious sandwiches at a little cafe at the train station that were stuck in the microwave. Yum.
Upon arriving in Disley, we stopped at a local pub next to the station and asked for directions, which were very simple: follow the road behind the pub, it curves left, take the right fork when the road splits in two—it should be a ten minute walk or so. We start on the walk, uphill, in the rain, of course (it’s only fitting) and end up in the countryside. Half an hour into our walk, we were very concerned that we had gotten lost and approached the first person we saw, an older woman working at her stable.
With a concerned look and knitted brow, she responded, “You’re going in completely the wrong direction.” She said the pub was really close to Lyme Park and we should turn around; I assumed from this that we had somehow taken the wrong road from the pub. So we hiked back, leaving the sheep, cows, donkeys, and chickens behind us. The rain continued with some fierce wind, and I smiled, thinking “Well, this walk is certainly invigorating.” To say the least.
We arrived back at the pub and found a road tucked behind the pub itself—if you want to call it a road: it was more like a narrow alleyway, with a little sign reading, “Red Lane.” The exact road we were looking for. The directions from the pub were spot-on now that we had found the right road. We arrived at the entrance to the park in about 15 minutes, only to find that the last shuttle has just run to the house itself. So we had another mile walk to enjoy.
At the house, we went to purchase tickets and were told that we wouldn’t have time to see the house and the grounds before closing time. So we chose the grounds and ventured out to see the lake where Colin Firth had emerged in his epic wet-shirt glory in Pride and Prejudice.
The lake, at first glance, looked rather disappointing. But as we walked to the opposite side of it, the sun came out, dramatically, briefly, with absolutely perfect timing. The house itself looked much grander, more imposing, and fit for Mr. Darcy from this side of the lake. And, right when we were smiling the huge smiles of relief, clinging to this one moment of perfection on a somewhat, to be perfectly honest, dreary day—you’ll never guess what happened.
Mr. Darcy emerged from the water.
He fell in love with me at first sight (again—only fitting) and said that between my lovely American accent, addiction to literature, and affinity for rambling country walks I was the perfect woman for him.
While flattered, I couldn't help but feel that he was moving a little fast, so I told him I would carefully consider his proposal. We trekked back to the pub for a delicious dinner, mostly just enjoying the sensation of sitting down. But don’t assume too soon that the day’s mishaps had concluded, as we mistakenly believed. We enjoyed dinner a little too much and suddenly realized our train was due to arrive in just 5 minutes. Rushing to pay, we found their credit card scanner was malfunctioning. Finally we were able to leave and took off sprinting for the station right next door.
Alas, we were too late and had missed the train. Suprised? At this point I hope you’re not. The next train did not come for another hour so we went to hunt down a bus that would take us to our next train connection in Stockport. We successfully made it (some more sprinting was involved) just in time. After boarding the train, drunken football fans crowded on and spent most of the ride yelling at one another and singing in chorus. How enjoyable.
The ticket collector came by and I handed him my ticket. He asked, “May I see your rail card?” (I have a youth rail card that enables me to buy discounted tickets). Imagine my joy to have to reply, “I forgot my railcard.” The best part is that you do not simply have to pay back the discounted amount when you forget your rail card but must buy an entirely new full-priced ticket, which was £42. Lovely.
Finally we arrived back at Oxford and I couldn’t help but laugh. How many more things could possibly have gone wrong? Perhaps the trip wasn’t worth it. But I like to think it was. And to feel as though I am a tiny bit more connected to England. At the very least, I think I can safely say it was an adventurous and memorable day.
No comments:
Post a Comment