Until now, I’ve been somewhat ashamed to admit it’s taken me seven years of living in the UK to make it up to the Lake District. But when an invitation to check out Eden Hall, the main house at Cumbria’s four-generation-owned Edenhall Estate, landed in my inbox at the height of London’s heatwave, I was pretty well sold. The three-hour train from Euston to Penrith seemed like a no-brainer for a summer Friday, and being greeted at the station by the owner himself was the warmest welcome my friends and I could ask for.
Eden Hall, the main house on a 1,500-acre estate in the Lake District’s Eden Valley, is one of a few self-catered homes dotted across this sprawling, privately owned woodland. Once you drive through the estate’s Jane Austen manor house–esque gates (down a surprisingly smooth road that was much appreciated by the American designated driver I had in tow), there’s a wealth of options to bed down in, from a tiny fishing cabin bordering the River Eden to the grand house we checked into.
Owned and run by the Holden-Hindley family for more than five centuries, Edenhall’s exteriors are virtually untouched—bar some glossy new windows—and the main house’s outer walls are punctuated by a clock tower crafted by the foundry behind Big Ben. Once you step inside, though, the home feels like a wonderfully strange mix of the 1700s and 21st century. While the kitchen offers what could be a walk through Gwyneth Paltrow’s sleek Hamptons pantry, the studies and drawing rooms are unequivocally English: think De Gournay–inspired wallpaper, gold-plated busts, ornate wood paneling, and an antique Steinway.
While I was visiting with two friends
While I was visiting with two friends for a girls getaway, the house’s six bedrooms (which we only discovered after a thorough exploration) could comfortably sleep 12. Despite (or perhaps thanks to) its age, the home is also so soundproofed that when I sat down to the aforementioned Steinway after dinner, my friends back in the kitchen couldn’t hear one note. It’s ideal for a group of young families who want to put the kids to bed early and keep the party going downstairs.
We got a real mix of weather during our Friday-to-Sunday stay, and I can confidently confirm Edenhall is as lovely in the summer sun as it is when cozily shrouded with mist. On our first evening, we drove down one of the estate’s backroads in a Land Rover the owners kindly lent us, stopping by a slow-flowing river for a campfire and Champagne—the latter feeling at once in and out of place in this grand yet utterly wild slice of heaven.
While the property is self-catered and Penrith’s grocery shops are a 10-minute drive away, the estate’s private chef, Elliot, became our fairy godfather for the weekend. He’s the kind of quiet talent who whips up exactly what you didn’t know you were craving: on the first night, we deemed the lasagna—which we washed down with a bottle of Médoc round the kitchen table in pajamas— the best we’d ever had.
(And it was gluten-free!) Come night two, after
(And it was gluten-free!) Come night two, after a day of wandering down the estate’s wildflower-shrouded trails and lounging on our private lake’s dock, we wandered into the dining room, where we were met with filet mignon perfected with a dash of Cointreau, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Being an extension of a property that operates as a hotel, if you’re more of a hands-off type, you’ll be pleased at the option to take advantage of Edenhall’s services and more widely available amenities, like its courtyard gym or massages.
But we were more than happy enough with our on-property sauna and hedge-wrapped hot tub, both positioned for an easy glimpse of Juno, the deer who might be the estate’s unofficial pet and somewhat of a local mascot. “How is dear Juno?” an elderly woman asked Mark Holden-Hindley as he rolled down the car window to greet her on our drive to the house. The half-empty peanut jar in our pantry, it seems, was really there for her afternoon snack, should she wander up to any of the French doors.
Funny as it might sound, a top highlight here is sleep. After so many restless nights in a sweltering London, we were grateful for the calm and cool air of this place, which left us clear-headed and rested. The beds, which range from four-poster beauties to models with antique wicker headboards, are the kind you might find in a friend’s countryhouse guest bedroom, and are comfortable in a way no new hotel could ever replicate.
Perhaps my best memory of Edenhall will be waking up to the morning light rather than a blaring alarm, tiptoeing downstairs in a robe, making a hot cup of coffee, and stepping outside, where that first feel of grass felt like reason enough for a return. This article was originally published on Condé Nast Traveller UK.
Source: www.cntraveler.com
