Feeling grounded

One of the many advantages of house-swapping is the ability to behave as a resident, not necessarily as a tourist. I know it may sound crazy, but I actually enjoy piddling around the house -- doing little chores like watering the tomato plants, setting out the recycling bins, doing the laundry. It makes me feel like a true Brit, not just a visitor.

I've grumbled about the almost universal absence of clothes dryers over here, but the fact is, hanging wet clothes on a line outdoors has become a nostalgic, Zen thing to me. It takes me back to the '50s and '60s on Eastside Drive in Lexington, NC, with Mama and her clothesline. I wouldn't want to go back there, but there are worse things than having to rely on sunshine and wind to dry one's laundry. It makes me stop and think about the lengths we Americans go for the sake of convenience.

Since my last blog posting, I've had several adventures, even though quite a bit lower-key than the likes of Cambridge or Sissinghurst. One evening I drove a mere seven miles down the road to the village of Moorlinch, where, ironically, I did a house swap in 2001. I remembered the pub there, the Ring o' Bells, as serving really top-notch food and excellent local cider. I was glad to find things hadn't changed a bit, even with new management. It's still a friendly, welcoming place.

Saturday I went a bit off the grid on what's called the Jurassic Coast, which stretches along the English Channel in Dorset. My target was a concert in the small parish church in the seaside resort village of Lyme Regis, whose terrain resembles an egg carton -- up and down, up and down. This Medieval gem of a village is packed so tight it's hard to see how one more single vehicle, building or person could be squeezed into it.

After finding a parking spot (no mean feat) I had a daunting hike up to the church, perched on a cliff overlooking the Channel -- a stunning site. It was completely worth it. The visiting City of Bristol Choir sang their hearts out, especially on big English anthems by Hubert Parry and Handel. The acoustics in the ancient church didn't hurt, either. A fine, rowsing evening of choral music.

The Jurassic Coast has a well-earned reputation for beautiful scenery, but for my money, there is no more spectacular coastline in the world than Cornwall's. Tuesday I met my Cornish friend Carolyn for a day out along the northern coast of Cornwall, where the Atlantic has been doing battle with the land for eons. The visual result is just heart-stopping.

Our rendezvous point was Port Isaac, where the TV show "Doc Martin" is filmed. (If you watch PBS, you may have seen it on Saturday nights.) Tourists were packed in like sardines, but we didn't let that stop us. Ate in a café on a cliff overlooking the water, and then drove in and out of several coves up and down the shore, oohing and aahing the whole way. Even Carolyn, a native of the lovely Cornish coastal town of St. Ives, enjoyed the sights just as much as I did. I just felt so blessed to be surrounded by all that amazing  beauty. It literally took my breath away.

Yesterday I went to another National Trust property, Lytes Cary Manor and Garden, just down the road a bit here in Somerset, and wound up at Wells Cathedral for choral evensong and an evening organ recital. The guest organist was marking his 80th birthday by giving a concert by composers who were either born or died in the year of his own birth 1934. Despite his age -- or maybe because of it -- he could evermore pump those pedals! A terrific show all around, capped off by wine and birthday cake for the entire audience. Another wonderful outing.

These day trips represent the gentler, less hectic side of house exchanging  -- having a home base from which to see some sights that are often off the beaten tourist track.  Now, if I could just figure out how to get the washing machine to take less than three hours to run a load of clothes...