Solsbury Hill

My heart was going BOOM BOOM BOOM, mostly from the climb to this place.

When my favorite navigation app (–it works offline and is super detailed!) told me to go up a tiny alley in Batheaston, England, I was like, Ok, Maps. You’ve never steered me wrong before. I’ll trust you. 

But when it told me to go up this road, I was like, Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why aren’t there signs? There should be signs and Peter Gabriel pilgrims everywhere! I should be annoyed by how many people there are right now! This can’t be right. 


I put my faith in satellites and I walked up this magical little road for what seemed an obscenely long time until I got here.


This sign was the only thing that let me know I was in the right place. I clambered up the hill behind the sign and almost screamed.

God, I hate cows. They’re so big and moody. Get it? Moo-dy? 

What this place lacks in tourists and Peter Gabriel statues, it makes up for in cows. They scared the crap out of me and I had a silly city girl moment of panic where I tried to remember if you should play dead if one attacks.

The menacing cows held off long enough for me to take a few pics of the jaw-dropping view and creep on an adorable family flying a kite.


On my way back down the hill, a mom, dad, and 4 daughters appeared and caught me taking pictures. It took 3 seconds of conversation for them to figure out I was American and another 2 minutes for them to adopt me for the next half hour as we walked down the road together. I got one of those warm, fuzzy “travel feelings”. I thought this trip would be one, long “travel feeling”, but the fact that they only seem to happen every once in a while makes them more special.


My trip to Solsbury Hill definitely fit in the “amazingness” category.


Obviously, today’s post brought to you by Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill. Give it a listen if you haven’t heard it. It’s a great addition to your cozy afternoon playlist.

Stay tuned. I’m heading to Wales next!


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