The Griswalds Go to Plymouth

One of the great things about moving to Europe, we figured, is that we'll be able to travel more and see some beautiful countryside. All of which is true, except that we didn't know how much I would be traveling back to the US (ha!), not to mention how bloody expensive it can be to get around. Still, we were given an offer we could hardly refuse to visit Plymouth (in Devon) with some friends, and off we went for Easter weekend.

After a grueling train ride that I shall not recount here (it was like traveling into the Heart of Darkness at times), we arrived at Newton Abbot and were whisked away to the picturesque hamlet of Lustleigh. As if the BBC-costume-drama of a name weren't appeal enough, there was a quaint pub! Thatched roofs! (Not Thatcher roofs, Gramps, sorry!) Sheep! Babbling brooks! In short, it was everything I had learned to want of England from my repeated viewings of Shadowlands at age 12.

This house is just a house. Someone lives here. It dates to the 1500s. We were just walking by. You can tell this just kills me. "You mean they don't have a place like this roped off??"

Jed explores some local throne that disturbingly reminded me of The Wicker Man.

From Lustleigh, it was off to Plymouth. I could report on the Easter Day drunken hoardes and DJs, or the tasty, tasty meal we had at the River Cottage Canteen, or the vaguely post-Soviet feel of the "city center," but why? We all know I was interested in one thing, mostly: pilgrims.

Jed, not grasping the historical significance of the place, indifferent my Miles Standish jokes, and otherwise primarily interested in the here and now, preferred the boat ride. For him, this was Plymouth's equivalent of Space Mountain.

Other sundry images and videos below. Even with the 8+ hour drive back in standstill traffic (past Stonehenge, so tick that off my to-do list, as the drive-by seemed enough), it was a trip well worth it.