Ah, to Be in England, a Home Away From Home

LONDON â€”  Hardly a week goes by without the arrival of a picture post card from some thoughtful friend who has the good fortune to be traveling for business or pleasure.

The cards display Swiss ski resorts, German castles, Italian churches, South American beaches. And although I enjoy receiving the cards and envy my friends’ comfortable budgets and well-managed schedules, their varied and sundry destinations do not fill me with a knee-jerk sense of wanderlust.

For years my longed-for travel destination has remained the same--in a word, England.

I am not the only traveler to have experienced such an infatuation; several friends have confided that, for them, certain locales have an intrinsic appeal that obliterates the desire to conquer new lands.

Some trek religiously to the Hawaiian Islands, others return to Venice, Italy, as regularly as homing pigeons. Psychologists might theorize that we stabilized travelers were imprinted at an early age, perhaps by a much-loved book, an exciting movie or a glamorous relative who spoke rapturously of some distant place.

A Late Bloomer

In my case this love affair with England and her people must have flowered late (long after childhood) but with exceptional vigor. Years of studying English literature, countless hours of PBS / BBC programming and friendly encounters with Britons of all ranks--from royalty to garage mechanics--have left me with an inordinate fondness for a country that continues to beckon to me, year after year, to visit her shores.

Part of this surely has to do with feeling welcome and cherished. I have had the great fortune to have been among British subjects who have gone out of their way, on each trip, to make me feel like royalty.

My decision that England is my home away from home was not, however, made without a smattering of exposure to other lands.

The god of travel has been good to me, offering me a random sampling of this globe’s faraway treasures. I’ve visited Buddhas in Bangkok, sipped Turkish coffee in Istanbul, been an honored guest on a Chinese commune, bargain-hunted in Katmandu, sailed around the Greek Islands, been chilled by the snow-covered Himalayas and been warmed by the hospitality of our neighbors in Mexico and Canada.

While those journeys were adventuresome, they lacked an intangible quality that greets me each time I land at Heathrow Airport. The minute I leave the plane I get an indefinable sense (and, for a traveler, a contradictory feeling) of having arrived home rather than having left it.

Full of Variety

My stays in England have been full of variety, but I can’t remember ever having been disappointed, by either the land or her people. The one unconscious aspect of my travels, and one that may play a small part in this Anglo-American love affair, is that I have instinctively avoided the popular tourist lures.

I’ve yet to see the Crown Jewels, the Tower of London or the Changing of the Guard. But, ah, the treasures I’ve seen instead--evensong at St. Paul’s Cathedral, watching the Thames from atop Millbank Tower, browsing in Westminster Abbey Bookshop. They have enabled me to discover a new side of London with each trip. New, of course, only to me.

Where to stay in London is a topic of endless argument among Anglophiles. The virtues of Brown’s, the St. James Club, the Dorchester, the Connaught and Claridge’s are hurled back and forth with gusto by each hotel’s loyal fans.

The best solution, I believe, is to visit London so frequently that you make lasting friendships and--jolly good luck!--manage to spend part of each trip as a house guest and the remainder as a hotel patron. Friends who call London home will gladly teach you about the city in a way that puts the best guidebooks to shame.

London’s theater district is a must, whether to see a George Bernard Shaw revival at the Lyric or a Broadway-bound Andrew Lloyd Webber extravaganza. The city’s shopping is unparalleled, particularly with today’s favorable rate of exchange.

Aristocratic Style

My favorites include the Two China Reject Shops on Beauchamp Place (for me) and the Burlington Arcade’s toy store (for my sons). Fortnum & Mason (with the swallowtail-clad clerks) and Harrods both retain their understated aristocratic style. Fulham Road offers a decorators’ row ambiance, complete with small cafes, for those who care more about stylish food than stylish names.

If you are into occasional cultural forays, I strongly recommend Merle Parks’ Royal Ballet and the Royal Opera’s Covent Garden, where, for a real treat, you can spend 136 and splurge on a balcony box that seats four. To further ensure an enchanted evening, you can arrange for dinner and / or champagne to be served amid the red velvet splendor of Sir Colin Davis’ magical turf.

Although London is the heart of England for most American tourists, I think the countryside is where the real treasures reside. Letchworth’s aged tombstones and nearby church of note (with barely visible Greek carvings) remind me--as nothing in Los Angeles seems capable of doing--that we mortals are only temporary visitors on earth, preceded by many and to be followed by countless others. It’s a perfect way to put bills, career woes and nascent ulcers into proper perspective.

The Worcestershire countryside, as pretty as any, is full of unexpected treats: Broadway’s 16th-Century Lygon Arms, Warwick Castle, Shakespeare’s Stratford-on-Avon; it abounds in history. And Bath, surely the most Mediterranean city in England, offers inspiring shopping for any history buff. On my last visit my bags bulged with books, prints and portable antiques, and what I couldn’t carry was--inexpensively and safely--shipped home.

The Royal Crescent Hotel in Bath, which isn’t as pushy about self-promotion as it might be, should surely be classed among the world’s most attentive hotels. From the astounding art collection to such little details as Rosenthal china for room service and carved mahogany (rather than stamped plastic) room-key holders, you can’t help but feel pampered. Sleeping in a 17th-Century four-poster and calling a Georgian masterpiece home adds to my conviction that history is alive and well in England.

Bucolic Aura

In Hampshire I’ve been charmed by the bucolic aura of the seaside and agricultural areas. Roman roads wind among the farmlands, and from Fawley’s beaches you can see the Isle of Wight; if your timing is right, you can even catch a glimpse of the Cowes Regatta. Both Brighton and Eastbourne have a serene, non-tourist type of seaside ambiance, much like a British Ventura.

If you prefer northern England, you can hardly do better than spending a few days in Cheshire. If you stay at the elegant Rookery Hall you’ll risk falling in love with it as much as I did. Guests stay in a Georgian mansion, are fed exquisitely prepared meals and leave--reluctantly--feeling that instead of having lodged at a hotel, they’ve visited with tasteful, well-heeled friends.

Run by the Harry Nortons, who consider their guests precisely that, the Rookery operates with flawless precision. Within easy driving distance is the Wedgwood factory, which has regular tours and a small but well-stocked gift shop. Nearby Nantwich offers excellent antique hunting. That part of England is heavily populated with half-timbered buildings, which make any motor trip a visual treat. Fields spotted with livestock make each day’s journey seem like a scene from “All Creatures Great and Small.�

Let all of this not suggest that a trip to England is little more than a time-capsule trip into the past. I’ve found the present resting happily beneath the Union Jack. The Old Vic still thrives in London, but so do multiscreen movie houses that may front on Shaftesbury Avenue but would be right at home in Westwood. In case your imagination begins to play tricks with your sense of time, England’s spiky-haired punkers will remind you, in no uncertain terms, that you are a mere 15 years away from the next century.

I still don’t know the psychological explanation for my infatuation with Albion. Nor do I know why I automatically magnify her good points--a spotless tube system, electric tea kettles, an abundance of excellent horses--and remain blissfully unaware of her shortcomings.

Time has taught me, however, that the only solution is to do what any infatuated person does: Send the love letter, hope the feeling is mutual and pass as much time as possible in my beloved home away from home.