Suzy Says

Back in Wimbledon briefly after a long weekend in Devon. On the way, we passed Stonehenge, which appeared dramatically out of nowhere on Salisbury Plain. It was surrounded by golden fields, where the hay had been harvested into big rolls rather than the typical rectangular American bales, and where sheep were contentedly grazing, careless of the ancient history and mysticism of the spot. I understand that it now has a fence around it and gift shops, etc., so I’d rather remember it in the pre-fence and shop days.

Spent Friday night with our good friend Colin in the charming village of Colyton. It’s everything an English village should be: buildings ranging from the 1300’s to the 1800’s; thatched cottages; rolling hillsides with fields divided by hedges and dotted with sheep; winding, country lanes bordered with high hedges which demand a level of courtesy impossible – or at least highly unlikely in most locations – in the great United States, since you have to be constantly on the alert for oncoming traffic and even – gasp! – back up to accommodate them as necessary. England is so polite.

Went to Dartmoor on Saturday, the location of “Hound of the Bsaskervilles”. It’s wild and beautiful countryside, with yellow gorse and pink heather blooming, punctuated by outgroppings of rough grey granite and the famous tors. Though the mystery summer of warmth and sun continues, I can imagine what a mysterious, frightening, and romantic place it would be in the winter, and why it has inspired so many writers and local legends. They still say wild beasts roam the moor at night, though all I saw in the bright sunshine were cows of every possible color and sheep casually grazing and meandering across the road as fancy took them, making traffic stop until the meander was over.

On Saturday and Sunday, we stayed in the villagette of Doddiscombsleigh, home of the excEt Nobody Inn. We spent two nights there in the adjoining manor house, orginally belonging to Sir Ralph de Doddiscombe in the 1200’s. I had this fabulous room. The Nobody is justly famed for its food, which is superb, and its wine list, which is a tome similar in size and weight to “War and Peace”, though much more amusing as far as I was concerned. They also have a mind-blowing selection of local cheeses and apparently the biggest collection of whiskies in the UK. Our friend Colin knows the owner well, and he told us that the Inn is booked solid every weekend through December. I can understand why.

I discovered yet another talent that I don’t have: map reading. Margaret and I went into Exeter, home of the magnificent Cathedral. Colin left us after lunch to prepare for a trip of his own, so we had to make our way back to the Nobody without a local guide. It was so traumatic that I took half a valium after we got home. We took every possible wrong turn. Every road seemed to lead to Exeter, no matter what direction it was going in. The map was singularly uninformative and made me feel like I was failing an IQ test. Things began to seem both absurd and surreal, as if trip was being orchestrated by Samuel Beckett in a really bad mood. My tiny supply of patience gave out after about an hour – it took us nearly 3 hours for a drive that an informed person could have done in 45. Finally, we got into the endless, formerly charming country lanes leading to the Nobody. At this point, if I never see a charming country lane, or a road leading to Exeter, ever again, it will be too soon.