I ran away to England and saw some pretty things.
Gileseyboy isn’t the biggest fan of his hometown and often talks about getting out. I, on the other hand, always lecture him about appreciating the beauty of his roots. No, he’s not from London. He’s English, but unfortunately, I must break it to you: Not all English people live in London, just as all people from Japan aren’t from Tokyo and all Americans aren’t from New York City. His hometown is quaint and part of Dorset County along the English Channel. Poole is right by the sea and a quick drive away from beautiful scenes of the English countryside, reminiscent of Pride and Prejudice, Downton Abbey, or (insert any favorite, typical British film/literature). I think that’s what I love about his hometown–It’s not so small that it makes you go stir crazy, and there are plenty of opportunities for taking some really lovely day trips. But maybe I only feel this way because I grew up in Vegas, and so I appreciate anything that doesn’t include neon lights and isn’t practically brand new.
During my time in England, I was able to visit some places in Dorset that I didn’t get around to seeing on my last trip. On our way to Cerne Abbas, almost as if planned, we just happened to encounter one of the most quintessentially English pastimes: a traditional English hunt… complete with activists trying to get in the way of the hunt. I actually didn’t realize they were activists until I noticed they were all wearing masks to cover their faces and oddly bickering with the riders. I thought they were just other curious people like me wanting to take pictures. The riders kept up such jovial and polite attitudes that it was hard for me to pick up the tension between the groups. A bit awkward… but interesting nonetheless!
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