Doggy Does Devon

Hot dog in the country. This holiday season, in lieu of alpine or tropical getaway, little Butters and I put on our best behavior (not to mention our wellies) and trained it on down to the town of Totnes in Devon for a little post-Christmas downtime in the seaside Shire with my boyfriend's family. Being the first time we city girls have ventured pretty much anywhere else in the UK besides London and Oxford (and the first meet and greet with the fam!), we arrived swathed in layered chunky knits, armed with tweed and woolly socks, not to mention loaded with Dawson's Creek goes English tea and crumpets and hound dog expectations. And Devon, with its twisting country roads enclosed by farmer's hedges, waves smashing dramatically against jagged cliffs, sheep-dotted fields, picturesque stone villages boasting crumbling fourteenth century watch towers and smattering of cozy fire-lit mulled-wine infused pubs, certainly did not disappoint. Straight out of a Thomas Hardy novel, the little English Major trapped deep within fluttered to the surface and yearned for the nearest tattered copy of Wuthering Heights to curl up with by the fire.

The things from which shoes and bags are made

Somewhat comically, we boarded the train at Paddington. Laden with bright green Orla Kiely wheely, Marc Jacobs weekender with pomeranian in sweater peeking out the bag, despite our best efforts to channel Bronte by the sea, we still stuck out like the Empire State building transplanted in the middle of a field, providing much entertainment to the other passengers. Let the Rom Com begin.

snoozing on the journey

Upon arrival, Butters was delighted to encounter little Pip, an East London half Chihuahua half terrier with a serious bounce in his step, who belongs to Becks, my boyfriend's sister. Together, the two little city dogs braved the pebble strewn beach, where gale force winds threatened to blow my little Pomeranian right out to sea and back to her native New York. The little princess, picking her way gingerly across the stones, tail and fluff blowing in her face, did not look the least bit thrilled. "When we get back to the city, Mommy, it's straight to Harrods Pet Kingdom," I could infer from the haughty glint in her eye. "Yes, dear."

Butters and Pip eye James' scone

After a warm up stop in a little pub perched on the boardwalk (Devon afternoon tea, yum), it was off for a tour of the little town of Dartmouth. Quaint as quaint can be, the little seaside town is a perfect place for a photoshoot--girl in forlorn whispy evening wear leaning against an overgrown crumbling stone wall here, a knitwear story set against the backdrop of the crystal blue waves crashing upon the docks there.

J scopes out the view

We paid a little visit to the town castle, nestled atop a crag and overlooking the mouth of the sea. Scattered and cracked centuries old tombstones lurked at awkward angles sloping down towards the churchyard, giving way to the little seaman's chapel. Once inside the chapel, a solitary voice greeted my ears. In a sort of ethereal encounter, a woman was sitting forlorn alone in the chapel, sending out her thin yet clear voice to reverberate across the pews.

At the day's end, two city girls, cozily tucked up inside away from the salty seaside dampness, fell into a deep, intrepid slumber--the kind of satisfied snooze only possible when hidden from the world's eye and tucked into a recess of countryside peace and quiet. Guess there's a little country girl inside every city one after all.

The Castle and Church