So, an early flight from Dublin put us into London’s Luton airport just before 9am, and after a suggested - never should have listened to her - 1,000 yard trudge with our luggage uphill to the Sitz rental car center, we drove away in an electric blue Alfa Romeo Tonale graciously upgraded by superstar agent Brad, who also gave us tips on some places to visit in his homeland Scotland. 

Unlike our downpour driving debut in Dublin, we eased smoothly out of west London and backroaded our way to Oxford and its universities, but megacrowds everywhere tempered our interest and we continued along the eastern fringe of the Cotswolds and its rolling hills and golden-hued limestone villages.  A coworker of friend Matt Minton lauds the Cotswold Distillery as crafting the best dry gin on the planet, so we sought to affirm that claim with a wee tasting, and then purchased a few 50mL minis to bring home.  By then we were starving and stopped at The Bell in Alderminster along the River Stour for cask ales, tasty BBQ wings, and (new to us) carrot and red onion bhaji with coconut yoghurt and mango chutney (photo below).  Crunchy deliciousness.

Our lodging that Tuesday night was in Ludlow, so we continued on our off-the-beaten path for another 90 minutes through the meandering, oft-narrow, and sometimes white-knuckling backroads of Shropshire to the Feathers Hotel and our room for the night.  Built in 1619 and converted to a hotel 50 years later, the inn reflects its Tudor years well, with hefty dark beams, creaky wooden floors, and a half-timbered exterior facade.  Carefully-preserved moulded glass with original mullions and transoms are set with cast iron diamond glazing. 

When asked for any decent pubs in town, the concierge directed us a half-block south to Ye Olde Bull Ring Tavern, (photos top) with roots back to the year 1365 - gawk - and from there to The Rose and Crown (photos bottom), hidden away within an olden days courtyard, and dating another two centuries earlier, all the way to 1102.  Its rear stone wall boasts a 13th century mullioned window with stained glass trefoil.  The Rose is one of the fifty independent taphouses affiliated with Joule’s Brewing, originating from the nearby town of Stone, where ales have been brewed since the 16th century by Augustinian Monks.  The Joule’s “Red Cross’ trademark is the sixth oldest beer trademark in the world after the Bass Red Triangle, Bass Diamond, Guinness Harp, Whitbread Unicorn and Berry Brothers Barrel.

As we got up to leave, Henry asked us if we planned to visit the Ludlow Castle the next day, a ruined medieval fortification built in 1066 at the time of the Norman Conquest.  We hadn’t, simply because yours truly hadn’t done his homework, so he suggested we stop in his own hometown of Chester, a few minutes outside of our Liverpool destination.  That walled city features the oldest, longest, and most complete city fortifications in Britain, with some sections dating back almost 2,000 years.  And so we did. 

We arrived in Chester 11 o'clock-ish and grabbed half-pours and tourist counsel from the bartender at the Dublin Packet, a sports bar on the fringe of the wall.  He directed us down a few cobblestone pathways and into the main city square, where we passed under the Eastgate Clock, regarded by some to be the second most photographed clock in the UK, and added to the gate in 1897 to celebrate Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee.  We mounted the wall there, then walked its three kilometer length, reading with interest the historical plaques positioned along the way.  We especially enjoyed the vistas over the River Dee, the long stretch beside the Chester Racecourse, established in 1539 and (Guinness Book officially) the world's oldest operational racecourse, the high walls above the Shropshire Union Canal, and the former cathedral, now St John the Baptist Church (photo, bottom left).  What a wonderful happenstance find.  Thanks, Henry.  (And for anyone further interested, here’s an annotated map of the wall.)

The Liverpool Aloft hotel shocked us, built as it is into the former Royal Insurance Building.  Huge and gorgeous high-ceilinged lobby, glossy marbled floors, and a glitzy bar surrounded by très chic furnishings.  And we snagged an app-metered parking space exactly in front of the hotel, so no short hikes to and from the car.  Walked around a bit, avoiding megaphone-shouting local protesters, and stopped for appetizers at a newer gastropub, the Old Bank named obviously for its former tenant’s business endeavors, and featuring more gigantor ceilings, marble pillars, and mirror-finish floors.  I couldn’t resist the mini homemade sausage rolls (Pardon me, would you have any Colman's English Mustard?), and the salt and pepper dry-rubbed wings were exquisite.  We stuck around for the first few songs by Ben Burke, the featured humpday guitarist.  Good stuff.

Maintaining our current theme, we stopped by the oldest pub in Liverpool, The Ye Hole in Ye Wall, dating back to 1726, then ended the night with our gratis lobby bar cocktails at the Aloft.  And we loaded up on cans of water.  Yep, you read that right.  All of the UK and Ireland is hyper-green, so minimal one-use plastic containers.  Aluminium’s okay, hence cans of agua.  And to be honest, it’s taking a bit of getting used to. 

The next morning we drove down to the waterfront to meet the Beatles, walking along the Pier Head past the Mersey ferry dock to the statue.  Then back on the road, stopping only for our first (and last) Costa Coffee at a gas station en route.

I read somewhere once that humans can recognize more than 300 different shades of the color green, and I’m confident we witnessed at least half of them as we wended our way north and into England’s Lake District.  Vast fields of crops, often dotted with the soft white puffs of sheep, stretched away on both sides of the motorway, and everywhere the the grid of darker green hedgerows, patchwork quilting the countryside.  Nancy took landscape photos through the window glass for a while before realizing the images couldn’t do it justice.  And as we descended into the Lake District, the beauty only amplified.

There’s clearly one core purpose for the quaint village of Keswick (pronounced Kessick, as is the case with many silent W’s in the UK); and that’s to leave town ASAP and head out into the wild.  Hiking is huge there, as is cycling and watersports, like canoeing, kayaking, paddleboarding, and sailing.  We arrived an hour early, so stopped by the Keswick Laundry Services to throw in a load, then parked on the street a block away from the Babbling Brook Guesthouse and brought in our bags.  Host Paul provided the full rundown of the place, and our extended chat revealed his long list of personal physical outdoor accomplishments, including the local Bob Graham Round, a 24-hour max fell run, traversing 42 major hills, covering 66 miles, with 26,900 feet of ascent.  H might also be a mountaineer, as hinted by the clever wall ornamants decorating the guesthouse.

After retrieving our laundry we stopped for pints and crisps at the Keswick Brewing Company’s Fox Tap taproom, staffed that afternoon by two wonderful middle-aged chaps with broad knowledge of Scottish must do’s and a recommendation we purchase a supply of Smidge, the UK’s best midge repellent. (Think no-see-um gnats in abundance.) We followed the Fox Tap with a mediocre Indian dinner, then finished the night with dessert at the delightful Fellpack. (Ahh, if only we’d known!) Baked vanilla cheesecake with biscoff crumb and sour cherry compote = awesome. Dessert wine for she, a smoky Old-fashioned for me, and a warm and memorable chat with manager Catherine. We’d dine again there in a heartbeat.

We caught the first passenger ferry of the morning at 9:45 and chugged across to the western shore of Derwentwater Lake, everyone else fully garbed to hike the half- and full-day Catbells and Newland Horseshoe trails high above the lake.  We hung a quick left turn and walked 4 miles along the relatively flat perimeter trail. The terrain reminded us both of the high lakes areas of the North Cascades or British Columbia.  Spectacular.  Our timing proved perfect to meet the ferry at a southern dock as it circumnavigated the shore, and a light rain met us just as we returned to our car and our drive north to Scotland.

Okay, Keswick and the Lake Country.  Add ‘em to your when-in-England list.  Same with the Babbling Brook and Fellpack. Especially Fellpack.  We’re so bummed we missed dinner there.

 And that took care of our short-but-sweet 3-day transit through England.  Next stop Glasgow.  We’ll cover that next, along with Inverness, Speyside, and Aberdeen.

 We’ll be in touch.