My brother-in-law, Richard, is from a small village in the southwest of England called Newton Ferrers. It sits on an estuary, and he grew up sailing there—learning to read the water, understand the tides and apparently develop all sorts of useful maritime skills the rest of us missed out on as children.
His stories about growing up there, along with his photos, always made it seem idyllic.
So when he invited Stef, me and my parents to come along on a visit, there really wasn’t much discussion.
Yes. Obviously.
And as an added bonus, we managed to work in a two-day stopover in Reykjavík, Iceland on the way over.
Iceland felt completely otherworldly—water, ice, waterfalls, lava fields and landscapes that look like they belong on another planet. Two days was nowhere near enough, but we did manage to see puffins, which felt like a win.
It definitely deserves another, much longer, visit.
Once we arrived in England, we took a train, rented a car and made our way to Newton Ferrers.
And honestly, the photos had not exaggerated.
The village is set into a hillside overlooking the estuary, directly across the water from another tiny village called Noss Mayo.
It was basically everything you want an English village to be.
A butcher shop—with the best sausage rolls ever.
A tiny grocery store.
A handful of local businesses.
And, most importantly, The Dolphin pub.
We became very familiar with The Dolphin.
Richard’s mum has a house in town and was incredibly generous in letting us stay in her rental properties farther up the hill. They had everything we needed and were only a short walk from the water.
A steep short walk.
Which meant the walk home from the pub was considerably more athletic than the walk there.
Stef and Richard apparently decided this needed to become a competitive event one evening and raced up the hill.
They nearly got hit by a car.
There are many ways to experience authentic English village life.
This was probably not one of the recommended ones.
Since Richard grew up sailing these waters, he naturally became our instructor.
He taught us the basics of sailing on the estuary and even took Stef out into the English Channel for what sounded like a considerably more exciting sailing lesson than the rest of us received.
One of my favorite things we did was row or kayak from The Dolphin in Newton Ferrers across to The Swan (another pub) in Noss Mayo.
Depending on the tide, you could sometimes actually walk across the estuary.
Which introduces a very specific British pub dilemma:
You can walk over for a cider…
but you’d better drink it quickly and keep your eye on the tide.
Because when the tide comes back in, your walking route disappears.
Nothing motivates efficient drinking quite like an incoming ocean.
We spent a day in Plymouth, where we had absolutely fantastic fish and chips.
Richard and his dad also took us hiking in Dartmoor one day.
Dartmoor is wild and beautiful—open moorland, rolling hills and roaming ponies.
Stef, naturally, decided one of those wild horses looked approachable.
The horse disagreed.
She got just a little too close and nearly got kicked.
We also spent a day hiking along the coast, following trails high above the water before eventually wading through the shallows to reach Mothecombe Beach and the Pilchard Inn.
It was one of those days where every turn in the trail seemed to reveal another postcard.
Cliffs.
Green hills.
The sea stretching out below us.
And somewhere along the way, my brain went full Jane Austen.
Any Jane Austen fan will understand when I say I spent a good portion of this trip feeling like Elizabeth Bennet wandering dramatically across the English countryside.
Admittedly, Elizabeth Bennet probably wasn’t wearing hiking shoes and stopping regularly for cider or beer.
But the feeling was there.
Before flying back to our side of the pond, we spent one night outside London and met up with Richard’s sister.
That night we had some of the best Indian food I have ever eaten.
I cannot remember the name of the restaurant.
I cannot remember exactly what I ordered.
But I remember that it was incredible.
Visiting Newton Ferrers was more than just another stop on a trip. It was getting to see where Richard grew up and experience this little corner of England that had always existed for us mostly through his stories.
June 2016
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