Bronte Country!

When did February happen?

Oh well, can’t complain – we had a busy, interesting, chilly January and today is gray but rather warm…teasing us with spring, no doubt. I do believe the weather plans to dip again on Monday but until then I will enjoy wearing one layer less!

To wrap up Bologna – we left January 2, having thoroughly enjoyed wonderful sites, food, wine, art and churches. (Did I mention plenty of art and churches…)

On our way out we stopped at a GIANT flea market near our hotel – same trinkets and trash as every market – and were off to the airport to journey home.

Upon return it was a Santa fest, given the jolly fellow came while we were traveling. I think everyone was happy with their stash.

On January 4 Joe and Claire returned to routine, Ava and I welcomed our new fridge (which I’m happy to say has now been quietly cooling our food for a month). May it continue in this vein until we bug out!

I resumed jogging w/ my running partner a few days a week – something we began in December. (I’d resorted to running when it got cold to stay warm. Some days I even run to pick up Claire – while dressed in slacks and dress shoes -- from school while Ava scoots. No doubt I get plenty of strange looks.)

So the running: good. Chill banes (sp?): not so good. I managed to develop sores on my fingers and swelling, apparently due to the cold. (Clearly I’m harkening back to the Charles Dickens era.)

Assuming I had some kind of infection, I did have my digits checked out by my doctor, who after trying to treat said infection, rushed me to a supposed renowned rheumatologist.

I’m relieved to report it’s nothing serious and eventually this swelling and soreness will diminish on its own. Clearly I belong in a Mediterranean climate. (Love London, but could we transplant it to Greece?)

I have also since been tested for Raynaud’s Phenomenon which is:

A DISORDER THAT AFFECTS THE BLOOD VESSELS IN THE FINGERS, TOES, EARS, AND NOSE. THIS DISORDER IS CHARACTERISED BY EPISODIC ATTACKS, CALLED VASOSPASTIC ATTACKS, THAT CAUSE THE BLOOD VESSELS IN THE FINGERS AND TOES TO CONSTRICT.

The testing for Raynaud’s involved me going into a rather dreary, old room without windows at the Royal Free Hospital, where a very chatty scientist examined the blood vessels in my fingers, then immersed my hands in cold water for a minute and tested how long it took them to warm up. (Frankly they didn’t warm up until I’d been on the bus for a good while, fingers ensconced in mitts.)

Exciting times, right?

In other news, early last month, after Ava returned to school (she was off until Jan 7), I joined a group of ladies for a presentation and tour of “Turner and the Masters,” an exhibit at the Tate Britain. Great talk by one of the museum curators, and a wonderful presentation of works alongside Turners’. (Among the artists featured in the exhibit: Canaletto, Rubens, Rembrandt and Titian.)

We also got more snow in early January, which shut down airports and public transport (though both kids’ schools remained open). Somewhere in there Ava got invited to a birthday party at one of those indoor pay and play spots – perfect for the weather and she seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.

My Bronte class kicked into gear mid-month, starting w/ discussions of Jane Eyre, then Wuthering Heights. Next we’ll read Agnes Gray. Jane I loved re-reading, Wuthering Heights I mourned when I finished it and Agnes I’m not too excited to pick up given several people have told me it’s dull. (Ringing endorsement…)

As part of class we headed off to Bronte country last weekend, a lovely group of mostly women (as the class is all women). One husband and one boyfriend braved the excursion.

It was fabulous; we left London last Thursday and headed up to Haworth, home of the Bronte family, via train. After a few hours’ journey we were whisked to our bed and breakfasts by coach – I stayed in the Memories Room at the Old Registry, a quaint old B&B on Haworth’s old cobble-stone main street.

A delightful place with lots of character, my room was decorated in gold and black, with a curtained, high four poster bed and very snuggly comforter. The bathroom was immense and right up my alley: complete w/ a lovely Jacuzzi jet tub.

For dinner we wandered up the very steep cobble-stone hill to a little pub, wherein we were entertained by the museum director dressed as Branwell Bronte, brother to Charlotte, Emily and Anne.

In character and with great humor, he presented a lengthy poem that gave us the family history of the Brontes. Branwell, too, had tried his hand at writing, though not attaining the accomplishments of his sisters. He also worked as an artist and as a bookkeeper and tutor (he was fired from the teaching position because he’s said to have had an affair with the mom. How’s that for going the extra mile...).

Struggles with alcohol and opium addiction led to his demise. FYI we saw the apothecary where he attained his opium – it’s still an apothecary, no doubt limited in its opium dealings today.

Dinner was great – we enjoyed plenty of wine, an incredible caramelized onion tart and sea bass for me. These pubs seem to do wonderful things w/ caramelized onions and cheese.

Friday found us heading down to our quaint little dining area for a warm country breakfast – I had sausage, hash browns, toast and beans. (Beans for b’fast seems to be an English thing.) We then met our guide for a walk on the moors. It was bitterly cold. BITTERLY. But we braved it, hiking past the churchyard and through a lovely lane lined by gorgeous trees.

Out into the brushy, wild moors we soon found ourselves. The wind was piercing, temperatures brisk as we slogged along. (I’ve never been with a group of 20 that moved fast – now why is that?)

Periodically our guide, a library educator and wealth of information about the Brontes, stopped to share anecdotes about the Bronte family and their excursions into the moors, homes and farms featured in the books, geographical differences since the 1800’s, etc.

The area, rugged in appearance and climate, is beautiful – hilly and green, with rock fences zigzagging here and there. Apparently in early autumn it’s at its best, with lavender flowers blossoming on the brush across each and every hill.

After our very brisk outing we hopped aboard our coach to peruse the countryside, stopping and getting out of the bus to see firsthand homes and farms featured in the books. It was a lovely drive, windy roads, stone homes, rivers and creeks meandering through the hills.

Eventually our meanderings led us to lunch at what is supposed to be England’s best Indian restaurant. It certainly is large and serves immense portions – we left with huge doggy bags, which we passed on to our bus driver (despite the fact that he told us he didn’t particularly care for the restaurant…Alice was determined not to let the food go to waste!).

Stuffed, we returned to our hotels for down time, wherein I got a great massage. Felt so good after being outside fighting the cold earlier in the day.

Then it was off to the bus again for pick up of two late arrivals and dinner in another locale – this time a lovely pub where we ate in the cellar. We were told by the kitchen staff that the building was originally a dungeon, part of the local castle.

With arched brick ceilings, it was a warm, festive environment – no doubt an improvement on its former uses.

I couldn’t do justice to my “locally grown” pheasant (makes it sound like they have a cage of pheasants out back – which could be the case, I guess) given we’d had so much Indian food a few hours prior to this food event. That seemed the general consensus around the table – the vegetables were popular, if nothing else.

Saturday in Bronte country:

This morning we were out and about early again, porridge being most popular after the food orgy of the prior day. I opted for a cheese/tomato toasty – yum!

Our first order of business for the Bronte day: a talk by our guide of yesterday in the basement of the parsonage. She was very insightful, led us through the Bronte timeline with a preview of the house, slides of photos of the family, information about how the Brontes as children lived and wrote, etc.

We then broke into two groups, with mine starting in the house for a tour. The Brontes lived in the parsonage from 1820 to 1861 as their father was the parson – lovely home with gorgeous windows, set on a hill very near the town centre and moors, with graveyard adjacent.

Though added onto later by a subsequent parson, the rooms the Brontes inhabited remain true to how they lived, with some personal effects on exhibit, their furniture, etc. Of note was how small Charlotte was – 4’10”, I think, and her dress and shoes on exhibit illustrate just what a tiny person she was.

A special exhibit featuring tiny books the authors had written as children is housed in the “newer” part of the house, along with letters and other Bronte items of interest.

From the house our group trooped off for a walk around town, from the cemetery to the hill where Bramwell’s favorite pub, the infamous apothecary and other businesses were (and are still functioning today).

A lovely, albeit chilly day, it was a great morning of insight and I think we all felt like we had a good grasp of the family history and influences of lifestyle, time and place that affected the authors.

Lunch was at one of the bed and breakfasts – the Ashmount. A very elegant property with lovely views over the Haworth community, its rooms were warm and light-filled. We had lasagna and vegetable chili, which warmed us up nicely.

Then we separated, some people to the coach for shopping at a local market and for antique-hunting. The other hearty folk (how I include myself, frozen fingers and all, in this group, is beyond me) added some layers and slipped on hiking shoes for another walk around the moors. This time we made a pact to move fast so as not to freeze!

And with fewer than 10 in-shape sisters, we did indeed have an invigorating, beautiful hike through the moors on a crisp, sunny, blue sky day. Over the brushy hills, down to the Bronte falls (where icicles hung off the banks), around the vibrant blue reservoir, up a steep hill where short, fluffy sheep with dainty hooves grazed and back around through town we walked. Two hours later we stopped for a drink at The Black Bull, where Bramwell apparently imbibed more than a few.
We’d been told it was a seedy place and maybe it was, but our time there was enjoyable, exchanging laughs around a nice big table with good beer.

For dinner we ate late, trudging back up the hill a final time for a wonderful meal at a very trendy pub – it screamed Haworth from outside, very modern inside. I had a lovely pear/goat cheese salad and shrimp/scallop main dish.

Great, memorable day in Haworth!

On Sunday some of our group trooped back out to the moors for a morning photo and last look over the hills. Most of my hotel compatriots, myself included, opted to relax over breakfast. One more cheese/tomato toasty…

And we began our journey back to London – bus to train, train to train, train to cab and home again!