By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Forecast – showers, showers, heavy gales and showers. ‘It’ll be fine,’ we said, ‘a little drizzle,’ we said. It rains a lot – which is essentially all you need to know about rain, but typical British compulsion demands that this take up much time in our conversation and a hefty portion of my memory of my first visit to the Peak District in Derbyshire. Somehow, the rain is moister, damper, and wetter than all previous run-ins with rain – suddenly a very foreign experience. From Sheffield, a short rail journey takes us to a small village called Edale, nestled in the valleys of High Peak, from where our ambitious hike along the Pennine Way begins. I am the first to confess that the outdoors is not something I am particularly familiar with, nor the concept of walking that is pleasurable because it is difficult. Afflicted by a particular London-centric geographic ignorance, the idea of travelling to the Peak District is accompanied by a sense of heroism and adventure. When anywhere beyond Barnet already feels very far away, Derbyshire is the north with a capital N. Arriving at Edale and immediately made aware that my fleece will be doubling up as a sponge for the rest of the day, we perform an obligatory bit of flapping around, resisting the impulse to follow a group of confident looking hikers and trying to assert independence. This flailing sense of authority, which comes from Really, the sight of their hiking apparel reminds me that the only times I’ve wielded a walking stick has been in imitation of Gandalf and I’m worried that they will detect this fact from a quick glance at my generally squishy attire. When we finally set off, I quickly forget about these moments of failure because of the physical exertion that the landscape demands. I slip on the mud countless times – so often that falling becomes as fundamental part of walking as lifting your foot and putting it down. My clothes become much less squishy as they become smothered in mud; the countryside pelting itself onto me through the elements. There is a devious scramble up to Kinder Scout, the highest point of the Pennine Way, but once there, you are rewarded with handsome views over the surrounding valleys. It’s easy to forget the whole nature thing when you’re just trying to keep both feet on the ground, but there is an unapologetic romance to the place that permeates the grey and grumpy. Rugged ochres and scratching shrubbery teaches me how much I like grass that is not green or short, and I even learn to appreciate how the dismal weather mottles the landscape like a mess of colours on a watercolour palette. When we get back to Edale, we treat ourselves to a visit to a bustling pub where we can enjoy a Sunday roast and locally brewed ales. It’s busy, full of fellow hikers and feels homely – the mud on my clothes is a sign of my participation and an invitation to share experiences of the walk. Artist and writer, John Ruskin, described Derbyshire as ‘a lovely child’s alphabet; an alluring first lesson in all that’s admirable.’ This day in the Peak District was an infantilising experience at points – particularly when I felt like I was learning to walk for the first time – and this feeling of novelty from within the UK is certainly alluring. ‘Come again in the summer,’ the seasoned hikers at the pub reassure us, but I don’t need to be persuaded at this point. I even refer to Sheffield as “Sheff” when our companion’s language slips into my own and cringe, hoping no one noticed. Perhaps getting a bit too enthusiastic.