Just got back from a few days in England, mostly London with a day trip to Chatsworth House. I visited art museums, but Van Gogh’s Two Crabs is the painting I keep thinking about. Photos show the colours; in person, I could see the texture of the paint. I stayed longer than I expected.
Chatsworth was the highlight. There are painted ceilings, portraits all over the walls, and a library full of antique books under a gilded ceiling. I kept looking up, then turning to find another portrait I’d missed. I spent more time staring at the ceiling than the books. I walked around with my mouth open for most of the visit. I’m sure I missed plenty. If I went back to one place, it would be Chatsworth.
One dinner was grilled prawns in butter sauce, steak with crispy shallots, and a whole fish with capers. I still think about those prawns. British food gets dismissed pretty quickly, but that meal was excellent. I’d happily have gone back just for another plate of prawns and that sauce.
One night, walking along the Thames, I stopped to watch Big Ben and Parliament lit up, their lights reflected on the water. I stayed there a while. Nearby, someone had chalked “feeling lost is part of finding yourself” on the pavement. I usually pass that sort of thing without reading it, but I noticed it that night. Cheesy? A bit. I already want to go back.