Ah, yisssss–finally!


I love Jane Eyre. It’s the first romance I ever truly fell in love with, and because of that, it will always be very near and dear to my heart, in a way I’ll never fully grow out of.

So, Haworth is where the Bronte sisters lived. Charlotte Bronte wrote Jane Eyre, among other novels, and her sister Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights. Anne Bronte (the “other” sister) is probably most famous for Agnes Grey, but she’s not as romantic, gothic or sensational as her sisters, and thus, not as popular.

Here’s the wicked Haworth hostel we stayed at:





Then we went to the Bronte’s parsonage where I wasn’t allowed to take any pictures, but I saw little tiny books written by Charlotte Bronte as a girl and her dress that she wore and that they mimicked almost perfectly in the 2006 BBC version of Jane Eyre.

I was geeking out the whole time. I bought another copy of Jane Eyre (my third) just so I could have one that I bought from the home where Charlotte used to live.

And then we hiked the mooooooors (read: The Moors) . . . for eighteen miles.

The moors are basically uncultivated hill land. To the English Romantic imagination, moorlands enhanced the emotional impact of their stories by placing them within a heightened and evocative landscape. Moors form the setting of various works of late Romantic English literature, ranging from the Yorkshire moorland in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights (where we were) and The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett to Dartmoor in Arthur Conan Doyle’s Holmesian mystery The Hound of the Baskervilles.

The moors drive characters mad. Jane Eyre nearly dies on them after running away from Rochester. And we hiked it; it hailed on us, seriously, and we were navigating mud–and then other times it was perfectly sunny. Always windy. And I hurt so much at the end of it I had no idea how people run for 26 miles when they do a marathon.

But I was like, “I may die out here! . . . like Jane Eyre. Tee-hee!” I was in bliss, in other words.




This was posted on the abandoned ruins of Top Withens, where we all yelled, “Heathcliffffff!” into the wind.

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