June 3rd 2014, I woke up in my bed in my cottage in Devon, UK. We, my companion and I, had driven on the Sunday the 1st of June 2014 from London Heathrow Airport to our cottage in North Devon, a distance of some 350 kms, made all the more arduous by the Car Rental Company providing us a huge sedan rather than the small hatchback that we had booked. While on the Motorways, this seemed not to be a big problem, when we entered Devon the huge car was a liability as the roads were very narrow with abundant foliage overhanging the road and oncoming traffic that seemed impervious to the conditions. Anyway, after a few pit stops and quintessentially British bacon and egg sandwiches, we reached our resort in North Devon, had our first ever Sunday Roast dinner with all the trimmings Yorkshire pudding included and retired to our lovely cottage with its own garden and felt extremely chuffed with ourselves.

The next day was lovely, we made a trip to Bude which is in North Cornwall and was the closest town to our cottage. We were happy to enjoy the ‘Limelight’ in Bude Castle, yes, this new invention was used for the purposes of lighting this castle, there was interesting exhibition about this and it makes for informative reading on its own. Had a long leisurely stroll along a path overlooking the ocean ate delicious ice-cream and headed home. But, there was something I was hankering after, you shall learn what, soon.

Here comes June 3rd, 2014, I write this as an homage to that unforgettable day. We woke up that morning and the outing planned for that day was an excursion to Lydford Gorge in Devon, a property under the National Trust. The gorge is designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) for its geology, flora and fauna. We were the first at the ticket counter, a sweet old lady explained to us the advantages of taking a yearly membership of the National Trust which made visits to their properties free and entitled you to free parking facilities at a lot of famous scenic places which were managed by them, as we were on a month-long trip in England and Wales we gladly bought a year’s membership on a calculation that even if we visited a total of 7 properties, it would be worthwhile, we never regretted.

The full Lydford Gorge trail took us around 3 hours to complete. We had carried drinking water and sandwiches with us. The walk was a challenging circular walk with narrow slippery paths and steep drops. The trail operates on a one-way system due to the nature of the paths, so thankfully there was never the lazy luxury of turning back. What a bounty of nature we were treated to. Lush green fauna, beautiful birds, fresh crisp air, the 30m high Whitelady Waterfall, the Devil’s Cauldron pothole viewed from a platform suspended over the water.

The Whitelady

The Devils Cauldron

Wishy Mushy

A strenuous walk for those who like us are accustomed to a flat city and little to no walking on a daily basis. The stone steps were precariously slippery and inordinately high at places but all this only added to the adventure. The sense of accomplishment we felt on completing this route was immense and it was rewarded with a delicious Devon cream ice-cream from the onsite shop.

The labour for the day done, we meandered from place to place enjoying the stunning scenery of the Dartmoor. I still remember the clock showed 4pm and I was feeling peckish again, I said aloud ‘this is the perfect time for a cream tea’, we were in the wilderness, my statement seemed silly even to me, we turned a bend and I could not believe my eyes, lo and behold there was a sign on the road of one Two Bridges Hotel advertising their Tea and Scones. Providential, right?

My companion was driving, I must honestly say he is the only one who drives between us, I only drive him crazy! A cautious driver, ergo our safe travels, who is reluctant to make sudden turns off the road or to make illegal U-turns. Such must have been the effect of my constant chorus over the last two days for a cream tea that he went against his very grain and made a smart right turn as indicated on the sign we crossed a bridge and came upon this beautiful Hotel. We parked in the parking lot and excitedly trudged through their Reception to the tea room. Tea and scones ordered at the Bar, which were told would be brought to our table, we settled into a sofa next to a huge bay window as instructed. The view from this window of a tourist bus, this was putting a blemish on things, had the bus not been parked there, we would have had a view of the wonderful lawns of the Hotel. A cheerful waiter soon brought us our tea a tray laden with scones, strawberry jam, clotted cream and a kettle of tea and cups and saucers, as he left the tray he said to enjoy our tea. I impulsively said to him, ‘I am sure it would be even more enjoyable, if we did not have the side of the bus to stare at’. He smiled and left saying ‘let me see what I can do about that’, we in the meanwhile were still on the discussion of whether being in Devon the cream went on first onto the scone or the jam when a shadow lifted we looked up to see that the bus had gone and we had the view to the lawn, we were now in Utopia.

The delicious warm scones crumbled into our mouths, the cream and jam dripped down our fingers and was unashamedly licked off. We thought we had tasted ambrosia and life could not get better than this.

Through with our epic tea we stopped to wash our hands in the cloak room and here was the proof of my pudding, two elderly English women discussing that they had never tasted more delicious scones. I rejoiced further, my companion’s virgin scones being declared the best ever, he sure is a lucky guy seems to get the best of everything at the first go, if you get my drift.

It had started pouring and I had reluctantly agreed to wait in the Reception vestibule for him to bring around the car. I would have gladly walked through the rain. A group was waiting there, presumably it was their bus that had been moved away and they were grumbling at the rain, as in that part of the world people often do. I was smiling at their conversation and one, of the group commented on this, I said I was amused that rain daunted them, for me, I said it was the harbinger of joy and prosperity, they seemed to see my point but were yet not completely convinced then one of them hesitantly said but you get wet in the rain, to which I quoted a proverb my late grandmother used to say often ‘You are not made of mud so you will not dissolve in the rain and you are not made of wax so you will not melt in the heat’! They loved it, and said they would embrace this thinking and try and stop cribbing about the rain. This broad-minded interest and acceptance from a church group towards the culture and thinking of a girl from another world intensified my enjoyment of the moment further. My companion drove up, I said my goodbyes, I sat in the car and pinched myself to check that I was not in a dream, as if the weight of those scones in my stomach and the lingering sweetness of the jam in my mouth was not proof enough.