Last weekend I escaped the big smoke into the English countryside to relax after the stress of the exams. The huggable, adventurous Paddington bear (oh, where are those childhood years now!) saw me off at Paddington Station not without providing me with some marmalade sandwiches for the train journey (and some wine to down them with!). And there I was heading for Devon, in the South West of England, to spend a lovely weekend with S. in a pictoresque spot by the sea called Shaldon.
Shaldon is a quaint English fishing village, nestled on the estuary where the river Teign meets the sea. Its cosy Georgian houses with beautiful names ("Sea Peep", "Forever Cottage", "Magnolia" or "Corner Cottage"), the scent of sea in the air and the polite bonhomie of the villagers, reminded me of summer holidays in the 19th century, of those black-and-white bathing resorts where light yet careful formality allowed great films such as Monsieur Hulot's Holidays.
BBC's forecast was fortunately wrong again and a greeted us the entire weekend. After a nice cappucino in the village we walked for an hour by the cliff peeping at the sea horizon and enjoying the company of some cows. On our return, we lay down to get sunburnt at the local, "secret" beach called The Ness. I say "secret" because to access this beautiful, somewhat secluded sandy strech you have to go through a pirate-style tunnel which apparently was built in the Napoleonic years.
[I'll carry on tomorrow.]
Love and freedom.
PS. I have made mine my father's style of mentioning people in his blog by their initials.
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
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