Joanna On The Trail

Two days, two flights, one train, and I ended up right where I was meant to be.

Thursday morning, I said goodbye to Lee as he left for work, finished reading The Salt Path, did a 45 min yoga flow with Zacharias, and gave the pups their goodbye greenies. On the way to SFO I called my brother for his birthday (promised to send cool C2C gifts later) and chatted with Mom. I was feeling excited but anxious; this is the biggest trip I’d taken, maybe ever, and I was doing it without my constant companion for the last 18 years. A friend recently told me anxiety is just excitement filtered through the lens of fear, and that seems pretty accurate. Trying to focus on the excitement part. 

At SFO I had hours to kill, so I found a quiet little bar and ordered soy chorizo quesadillas and (one too many) glasses of wine. The flight itself was fine. Premium economy was worth it, dinner was OK, and I got a grand total of 1 hour and 8 minutes of sleep somewhere over the Atlantic.

With a 3.5 hour layover in Heathrow, I made a beeline for a lounge. It was super-busy, but way calmer than the madness in the terminal. Published a blog post and had lunch before boarding for Manchester, which British Airways had warned is under construction. After a maze of walking, stairs, and a bus to the terminal, my bag beat me to the carousel and a kind stranger pointed me toward the trains.

The DoubleTree in Manchester was an easy walk from the station, and by the time I checked in I was hungry enough to settle for the hotel bar: cosmo, fried calamari, mac & cheese croquettes with jalapeño dip. Most fried food I’ve eaten in one sitting in a loooonnngg time. Talked to Lee and crashed by 9pm. 

Saturday morning started with a packed hotel gym and a 30 min strength class wedged between the equipment, followed by the best hash browns I’ve had in ages (granted, I can’t remember the last time I had hash browns, but trust me, these were good) and a Nutella latte (they had a dispenser!!!). Checkout wasn’t until noon, so I took my time, then spent longer than I’d like to admit dragging my suitcase around Manchester hunting for ATMs (one wanted an 8.99% conversion markup. Hard pass.).

The train to St Bees was a smooth 3.5 hour ride, and I met my first fellow C2C walkers. They are headed straight to Cleator after our train arrives at 4:15pm. Noting we were getting off at St Bees, the conductor led us up to the front of the 3-car train because the platform was only long enough for 1 car. Outside the station, a kind man helped me find my way, and a short walk later I was at Stone House Farm, greeted by Carole.

Carole seemed surprised I was there to walk, not on holiday, because I was staying two nights. Without me asking, she pulled out a map and laid out exactly how to spend tomorrow, covering the parts of the path that the official detour skips, including St Bees Head and the lighthouse. How did she know this was my plan?!

Then came the dogs. Seven of them: two 10-week-old cocker spaniel puppies (Tinker and Tweed), their mother Fergie, their sister Oakley, a black lab named Zara, a Norfolk terrier called Scruffy, and one older black and tan dog. It’s like I was meant to stay here. I lost about an hour to them before it was time for “the dogs’ tea.” (TIL: “tea” refers to the time a meal is served, not whether it actually includes tea)

My room was on the top floor with a door exactly my height, no ducking required despite the sign that warned me to mind my head. The WiFi, however, had other plans, and my attempts to catch up on blog posts went nowhere. I gave up and went for a walk instead.

Tony (one of the hosts) stopped me on the way out to show off photos of a barn owl he’d rescued that day. It had fallen from its box in the barn roof, and he’d tucked it back up next to its parents. So cool!

Up the hill, past a very unsteady man exiting the pub, then back down toward the beach, I found a little garden with a statue of St Bega (the possibly-mythical namesake of the town), and then got thoroughly snorted on by a friendly horse who came over to say hi.

Dinner was on the patio at The Queens Hotel: my first “real ale,” pesto tagliatelle, a side salad, and garlic bread. A good first taste of English pub life, which I’ll be getting lots more of over the next few weeks.