Now for real England

Sorry for no posts the last couple of days, but Sam and I have been quite busy with her aunt and uncle, Paul and Bernie Crossland.
We arrived at the Barnetby train station Friday at about 3:30 p.m. and received a warm welcome from Sam’s other uncle Neil.
Neil drove us to Paul’s house in Caistor, which is about 20 minutes from the train station.
We passed the gently rolling hills and well kept hedges on the way.
The countryside is beautiful, especially the yellow mustard fields that dot the landscape.
Upon arriving at Paul and Bernie’s we had cake and tea with Bernie while waiting for Paul to get home from the golf course.
That night we had Indian “take away,” the English phrase for take out, and talked about our time in London and our upcoming trip to continental Europe.
After having a wonderful dinner — better than any Indian food we’ve had in the United States — we took a little walk around Caistor.
Caistor is now a village of a few thousand people, but it used to be a Roman outpost.
The Romans camped here because of the natural springs that exist around the village. In fact, one such spring is found in Paul and Bernie’s “garden,” or back yard.
Sam and I thoroughly enjoyed London but were glad to be out of the hustle and bustle of the international city of 7.5 million.
As Paul has told us, London is a wonderful city but real England is found in the small villages outside the city. Life, as expected, is much more laid back in Caistor and it’s easy to see why the locals love it.
After our walk around Caistor we stopped into the only local pub, the White Hat, for a couple of pints.
Two Americans in Caistor is pretty big news, especially since Paul and Bernie’s sister in law had relatives from Canada visiting this week as well.
A local Irish gentleman paused to say hello to Paul and Bernie in the pub and mentioned he’d just met some Canadians a few minutes earlier.
Paul laughed a bit, glanced at Sam and me and told him that here were a couple Americans visiting, too.
The Irish man smiled wryly and said in typical British humor: “Oh, it must be an invasion then isn’t it.”