A year ago I rolled down the ramp of the Stena Line Ferry with a trolley stacked with luggage topped precariously by my guinea pig Lucy to my new home in rural England. I am urban to the core and I could not picture myself living surrounded by fields of sheep, baaaa. Of course, I have flirted with the idea of living in the country while driving through picturesque back roads in the States. But the cold splash of reality in my face would abruptly end it with the realization that I would be utterly dependent on a car for transportation, something that is quite abhorrent to a city girl like me. I was relieved to discover that a charming village in Cambridgeshire is nowhere near the isolated existence of rural America or even the car-centric sprawl of our suburbs.


My darling husband had yet again found us a delightful place to live. Still, it is a far cry from living in my hometown of Washington, DC. And I am continually reminded in so many ways that THIS IS NOT AMERICA.

Look Right

The differences between our two countries are head-smacking obvious when considering the simple fact that here they drive on the other side of the road than, well, just about everyone else in the world. While driving my American car here I have mastered leaning over the passenger seat to deal with parking lot access and tolls.

Thankfully, being a Washingtonian I am comfortable with navigating traffic circles, which are regularly encountered at most intersections. What I cannot quite get used to is that once off the few motorways one’s pace is slowed to a crawl, especially behind a tractor. That many of the roads are not lit at night and are treacherously narrow, hemmed in with either stone or well-clipped hedge walls. These are the roads that underscore that although this is a small island, distances cannot be traveled quickly and therefore feel immensely farther apart than they do in the States. This concept is reflected in the common phase “All the way to… wherever.” For example, “I went all the way to London for a meeting.” I wonder: as opposed to going only halfway?

Best of all, I can get just about anywhere by walking or mass transit. Incredibly, Steve was able to take a train from a village in Wales back home in about the same amount of time as it took me to drive a few days later. The train cost a fraction of the price. Plus, he took a nap, read a book and had dinner too. Americans, consider this when next fueling your car—Gas currently costs $7.11 a gallon.

Our Common Language

Many jokes are made about the differences in our common language. It really is deeper than mere dialects or colloquialisms. Granted that thick accents can complicate the situation, but it is the completely different phases and words that have stopped me in my tracks. I will never forget how intensely frustrated I was with technical support on the phone as he repeated the instructions yet again in an incomprehensible brogue dripping with impatience, “Press Hash. Then Spanner.” Obviously, repeating what I clearly did not understand was not helping. I knew he could not be possibly talking about potatoes or canned meat.

I am occasionally still taken back by the standard greeting of “You all right?” First time I heard it was early in the morning and I feared that maybe I looked unwell or about to faint. As I am sure my standard answer of “For sure” sounds odd to British ears.

Click here to read “Say What?” an email I wrote about buying stamps.

Wholly British

Eccentricity is not just tolerated, it is celebrated. Want to meet an expert on an esoteric subject? Walk into any British pub or amble along one of the thousands of public footpaths. You will be sure to meet some of the most interesting people.

Appreciation of the arts and nature in all forms is intensely encouraged and nurtured from local to national levels; the Tate Gallery is emblematic of this in the visual arts. Gardening is a national obsession. I was shocked to discover a week long gardening show was completely sold out in less than two weeks with daily tickets costing a whopping £45 ($66) each. Granted, so is football.

52˚ Latitude

Last year I arrived at the start of summer with days that hinted there might be a night knowing that the reverse would be true come winter. I did indeed survive the “Great Dark” of my first winter.

The Gulf Stream guarantees the island a mild climate, which does more than produce lush foliage. It lulls the population into complacency. The past few winters have caught the British population off guard with snow that did not quickly melt. A mere six inches of snow shut Luton airport, people abandoned their cars by the roadside and schools and business closed. Floods caused by usually high snowfall took out stone bridges isolating villages. All the while, DC shoveled out from under three feet of snow.

Click here to read about how Luton dealt with snow.

Then in April we had six days of volcanic ash from Iceland, which brought air traffic to a complete standstill. It was a poignant reminder that this is an island. Everyone was affected in some way while the UK was cut off from the world. People were stranded around the globe. Businesses suffered, store shelves were bare and we were deprived of our US mail.

Full English Breakfast

After finding out the hard way I learned to consume a massive, high-calorie breakfast before trying to keep up with my British friends for the day. They do not stop until late in the afternoon and then only for a cup of tea. Incidentally, every activity is punctuated with the full stop of a cup of tea. To conquer the damp chill of winter I did start having a cup of tea at about 3pm while enjoying the sunset.

The British love beer and tasty micro-brews are abundantly available. My local pub, which is an 80 second walk from my door, is a Free House. Every week they feature a new assortment of wonderful local ales, bitters, stouts and ciders. I delight in the wacky, witty names such as “Sunburned Hound” and “Village Bicycle”.

The flat planes of the Fens provide me with delicious, fresh, local produce. My butcher has spoiled me rotten with not only his exquisite selection of meats and sausages but also the convivial atmosphere of his tiny shop. Sadly, the big chain groceries have driven out the local bakers with pre-made mix batters. Getting fresh made-from-scratch bread from a true baker is a challenge.

Even though I miss the wondrous, fluffy pastries of France and Germany, I like the dense, rich British fruitcakes and sticky toffee puddings. Discovering the vast assortment of cheeses available here is an adventure too. A description on a Waitrose cheese package reads, “Hints of fresh green grass with burbling brook under tones.” It was actually an apt description.

Click here to read about my Christmas Goose.

Gone Native

In October with the approaching “Great Dark” we shelled out the money for a TV and the £145.50 ($215.48) annual license. In March we dutifully tuned in along with everyone else each night for a solid week to watch “Lambing Live”. Baaa. We have become huge fans of “Country File”. BBC radio is brilliant. Steve is hooked on the “Archers”. Ok, I admit it, I am too.

After the “Great Dark” of winter the spring rains brought ankle-high mud and made walking anywhere nearly impossible. When I finally broke down and bought a pair of Wellies, I copied my neighbors by purchasing Hunters, only to be teased about my “posh” Wellies by my friends in the Dales and Wales.

Near the top of my favorites list are the detailed Ordinance Survey maps. We are continually adding to our collection. Just outside our door is one of the many thousands of public footpaths which crisscross the island. Using these maps I will spend hours planning a day’s ramble, which Steve refers to as “The Family Death March.”

It’s Time For a Cup of Tea.

I gain invaluable insight into my own culture when I see it from another’s perspective and vice versa. There is no doubt that I am richer for the experiences I have had and the friends I have made while living in a charming village in Cambridgeshire, England. Will you join me for a cuppa?