Today we finally made it to Cambridge! Mini solo-mexican wave in celebration.

I have announced, proclaimed and warned you before dear reader that I have not travelled much within the UK. Although I realised today that’s quite untrue. Having worked in the travel industry for a number of years and creating itineraries for the ‘must-see’ sites I have become used to the well trodden tourist hotspots of this island we call Great Britain. You’ve got Brighton and its lanes, Canterbury and its cathedral, Cambridge and its colleges, Hastings and its coastline and those are just the easy ‘to access’ places if you are staying in London. England has these pockets of ‘typique’ that Americans love so much. When I spoke to the Professors from a college in New York or Ohio for example the requests were very much in line with the above places. They loved the sea side experience of fish and chips and ice cream on a pier. The university campuses steeped in history. Punts down river in a funny little boat. The enormous churches plopped in a tiny town with winding village pathways. 

I’ve never truly understood the appeal. Outside of these places I have travelled to Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, Edinburgh, Northumberland (oh yes, our new go to holiday spot!), Norfolk and the Peak District. It’s eluded me for so long why I should travel in the UK when there’s such a big world outside its borders. And then covid, I won’t continue to harp on about how it changed how I/we travel, let’s just move on. 

So, Cambridge, we booked a treasure hunt using a voucher we received at Christmas and dedicated a day to explore and relish in what others had called one of their ‘favourite’ places. As it is only an hour away, I’m bemused to find it has taken us over 6 years to go if I’m honest. Mr W has a rule, if within a 100 miles, a place is doable on a single day to visit. This means we don’t have to go away for a weekend just to ‘see’ places. Often enough a day is all you need or it gives you enough of a taster to return at another time. 

On arrival the sun and wind were battling over who would reign supreme and I found myself windswept and sticky. Wearing a dress in the wind is not a nice experience for someone who is conscious of their body shape and I find myself retreating into my mind for comfort while avoiding the eyes of passersby. We found ourselves pausing on our tour to have a coffee as the morning blood test (one of many that the NHS requires from me) and late night had left me zombie-like. As the coffee cooled I found myself talking to Mr W about how different we feel about spending money on everything and anything these days. Especially travel. I have found it equally frustrating and amusing how without enough research prices of a hotel or excursion can be taken as gospel when around the corner there are often the cheaper and original prices to be taken advantage of. We spoke at length about several people in our lives that say the way we travel, and will travel in Scotland, must be so stressful. And yet, it’s how we save money and get the most out of our time. Packing the car up with two weeks of food takes a lot of thinking and preparation, especially when you want to be as sustainable as possible,  but it means we can eat on route to these glorious places we’ll visit and spend very little per meal. I’m not sure whether I get defensive when people don’t understand, I don’t think I do, I just think it’s a different frame of mind. 12 years ago I would never have dreamed of eating a pot noodle in a car for dinner when on holiday, but then, 12 years ago I would not have been hiking 5 miles to a wild beach either. Times change. 

With the world put to rights, we continued on our way into the heart of Cambridge. It was very busy and I was astonished at just how many bikes there were. This may have something to do with the parking prices which I’m shocked to say rivalled London as some of the most expensive I’ve ever seen. 

Mr W led the way and we found ourselves in the heart of the town and on market day! Fruit and veg stalls lined the space along with street food huts. To see a bustling market transports me to Spain on a sunday and I couldn’t resist buying some flat peaches so I could close my eyes for a second and just pretend. A man in a khaki green shirt sat on the pavement, leaning his back against a brick wall and painted the scene before him on a large sketchpad. No easel. No big display. Just him, his pad, a small paint palette and the town before him. I stopped to watch him for a while. He seemed so at ease. 

From the market we walked to market hill with its sweeping curved walkway strewn with bunting and the hum of the late morning visitors. Shops and restaurants took over the ground floors of the townhouses while the upper levels showcased their window boxes filled with red, white and blue flowers and small union jack flags. The sash windows with their white frames harking back to the Georgian era I love so much. Oh to be up there, pushing the window up so you can lean out and glance at the street below. I kind of see why these pockets of England are so entrancing to tourists from abroad. 

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The architecture that leapt out from alleyways demanded my attention and they got it. Old chimneys lined up, straight as soldiers and big arched windows cutting through the straight lines of bricks. Just wandering around reminded me of how simple a day out can be. 

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We found our way to Garret Hostel Bridge and paused to look down at the River Cam. So many boats littered the water and families gathered to join in the fun. There is something to be said for highlights of a place and punting is definitely Cambridge’s. Similar to the gondolas of Venice, you go to Cambridge for a punt! Continuing our way across the bridge we turned left on Queen’s road and took in the views of Trinity college and the sun scorched fields. It was good to just be somewhere new and not having to find any particular love or like for the day, but taking those moments to enjoy it for what it was. 

We had a quick lunch to escape the heat of the day, use the facilities, and wandered back to our waiting chariot. I had seen something earlier on the map and flabbergasted that it even existed, wanted to check it out. Just 15 minutes out of the main town is the Cambridge American cemetery. 

Upon arrival we found only one other vehicle parked in the small, beautiful car park. Enormous trees towered over us as a tall wall with a cut out gateway beckoned us forward. Old met new with the QR code readily available at the entrance making an information leaflet readily available to visitors. Stepping through the brick boundary we were greeted with a bright building at the end of long skinny pools. The leaflet explained this was a remembrance chapel and the pools designed for reflecting. At the opposite end of the line of sight was a flagpole and its U.S fabric inhabitant flapping in the breeze. The space was completely silent. The bustling town of Cambridge felt a million miles away. We had been transported to America in less than 2 seconds. The whole space was vastly different from any other space I’d seen in the UK.

The hedges were absolutely uniform with their straight edges and sharp corners. The huge stone bricks that bore the words of memoriam were as bright as the afternoon sun. The entire space was silent and yet spoke untold secrets from WWII. Under the green grass, laid to rest, were over 3800 soldiers who called the UK their home base during the war. Having died in service they were returned here to their final rest. Atop the graves white marble crosses stood simply and in stark contrast to the green blades of the plant world around them. From the reflecting pools, the sloping fields were pin pricked with these crosses. It is hands down one of the most astounding sites I have come to witness. 

Tearing my eyes from the field before me, I turned to look at the wall of names. Over 5100 names had been meticulously carved into the portland stone. Their town of residence in America followed their specialisation within their field. At the end of the Wall of Missing stood a pillar, on this was carved a simple explanation of what the wall was. At the end of the paragraph were the words ‘gave their lives in the service of their country and who sleep in unknown graves’. 

My breath caught in my chest. Over 5100 people lost forever to war. To fight not just for their country but this country. Not even their home country. Going out of choice. To protect our liberty. I wondered why a tear slipped down my cheek. I did not know these people. But these people were the reason I could wander so freely today. 

There are other spaces in the cemetery that I could describe to you. I am not going to. 

I have to, I’m afraid, leave those spaces for you to seek out. After learning one soldier’s story; how he died one month after deployment and how his wife found out two long years later, I knew I had not prepared or understood how emotive this place was going to be. 

I acknowledged the humbling happening upon this place and we head home.