Entering a storybook world in Devon

The Jakarta Post ,  Jakarta   |  Sun, 11/05/2006 11:37 AM  |  Life

Dewi Anggraeni, Contributor, Devon, U.K.

On my previous trips to Britain, I had only been around London and Oxfordshire. I used to secretly wonder while watching films set in smaller counties whether the scenes were real. They looked too neat, too quaint, too much like storybook situations. Until I saw them myself on this most recent trip.

When we arrived in Devon, I began to lose all weariness, especially as we were approaching Clyst St. Mary, where we had booked a bed and breakfast, known colloquially as a B&B.

The lanes were winding and narrow, passing between two bluestone walls, now flanked by small farms, with the odd farm building just visible.

Even the names of the localities excited me: Clyst St. George, Topsham, the Hollies. It was like driving slowly into a story. They were real! There were places like this!

Devon is a small county between Somerset and Cornwall in the southwestern peninsula of Great Britain. It is reassuringly rustic, sensibly paced and undemanding.

After the overwhelmingly pulverizing, cosmopolitan London and decidedly proud and high-brow Oxford, I felt every part of my body relaxing in Devon. This does not mean that nothing happens in this county.

In the capital Exeter, a leisure walk on the Quayside inhaling the fresh salty air from the sea is not only peaceful, but also interesting.

The Quay House, rebuilt in 1680, had an overhanging roof that enabled the loading and unloading of cargo out of the rain, when the House was used to store cloth and other goods before they were transported down the canal. Today, it houses lively displays, illustrations and artifacts to help visitors learn about the history and development of the Quayside.

The city center does not only have shops, restaurants and international hotels, but also Exeter Cathedral, which stands tall facing nearly all that can be called modern -- as if quietly reminding you that you are standing on grounds that have witnessed human activities since the early 12th century. Yet when you walk in to the cathedral, despite the musty air, you step into an active place of worship, not a relic.

Almost everything in it is well-maintained in all its antique splendor, including the tomb of Bishop Walter Bronescombe, who died in 1280. It is awe-inspiring.

Devon however, is a farming county, so its heart is in its rural areas dotted with pretty villages. Country fairs are held regularly, where the accompanying farming-related competitions have not changed much for a hundred years.

Pubs as well as cafes that are situated in amazing proximity -- or so it seems when you are driving -- always offer Devonshire cream tea -- thick scones served with homemade jam and generous dollops of cream, washed down with a cup of tea or, if you prefer, coffee. The pubs have a communal atmosphere and are frequented by families who sit and eat in the lounge, a little ways from the bar where alcohol is served.

Even a leisurely drive around Devon, roughly circling the famous Dartmoor, will not take more than three days -- unless you want to visit all the cities, ferry to Plymouth and back, and sample every pub on the way.

As we were leaving Devon, sporting an imagined ruddy autumn color, I felt as if I were coming out of a fictional world, and hesitated as to whether I should look back and let myself be trapped in it -- or walk out and let the world melt into the misty air behind me. I did the latter, and happily, it was all still there w hen I last looked.

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