On this particular April weekend, Jon and I took a trip to England’s famous Lake District, otherwise known as Cumbria. Knowing next to nothing about this watery and mountainous county, we opened our Lonely Planet Great Britain and picked the largest and most accessible lake in Southern Cumbria to visit: Windermere.
This was supposed to be a simple day trip. A little driving amongst the surrounding hills. A little strolling along the banks of the lake. General enjoyment of the day and the sunshine. A quick drive to the sea afterwards. And then a return to North Yorkshire.
However, as most all our (un)plans go, it went fairly awry, but not before a wonderful event in my life happened.
While relaxing on the rocky bank of Windermere and listening to the waves lap the shore, in a little isolated nook under the trees, Jon got down on one knee and proposed. Being the idiot I am in serious situations, I went for the joke: “No.” Of course the answer was “Yes!” I automatically corrected my joke. Something we will have a good laugh at for following years.
Later, while driving southward to the sea, we determined to stop at a few more smaller lakes. The sentiment being to see as much as possible so next time we knew more of the region. This sentiment took us down winding narrow back-roads and hours out of our way. We never really did see the other lakes. Oops!
Eventually we reached an inlet from the sea, which had appeared blue on the map and GPS, but to the eye was a large expanse of sand other than a narrow river-like area snaking to the sea-proper. Apparently the entire inlet was dry in the low tide. The tides of the seas around England never seem to be where we want them to be. They are too low and we are left with sand or they are too high and cover the road we had wished to take.
C’est la vie!