I’m a sucker for an audio guide. I usually only listen to the first stop and then give up on it, but I usually like to have one so if I want to listen to it, I can. When we got to Stonehenge, our professor picked up our tickets and the lady told him to enjoy his day at “The Henge.” The Henge? Really? Like we’re trying to make this thing hip and cool? (The words “hip and cool” are still hip and cool, right?) Thankfully someone made the appropriate Mean Girls reference: “Stop trying to make ‘The Henge’ happen!” Don’t get me wrong, Stonehenge was really cool. But had we just gone straight there and straight back instead of stopping at the nearby town, it would have been a little underwhelming. We all agreed that Salisbury properly whelmed the day.
So back to Stonehenge. Basically it’s this really old circle of standing stones, and we have no idea why it’s there. There’s a “sacrifice stone” that they thought was used for religious ceremonies but apparently not. And that’s all I know because that’s when I gave up on the audio guide. It is way more funny to watch people photograph the site. My personal favorite was the couple that was trying to use a selfie stick to take a picture of them look at the stones. Which I guess would look cool, but they looked ridiculous trying to take it. And no, I did not offer to take it for them which would have been the polite thing to do.
The more responsible one of us kept listening to the audio guide, and apparently the shut down the Henge (I’m hip and cool) during the solstice so Druids or whatever can visit. I think that’s a lie, and actually all of the archeologists who work there just get together to drink. My big question was: who is cutting the grass around these things?
We went to Salisbury Cathedral after that which was incredible. I love Gothic cathedrals and was pretty proud when the tour guide confirmed all the visual analysis I’d done before we went in. They also have a copy of the Magna Carta. Again with that damn Magna Carta. Salisbury was incredible, but it was really just an appetizer for the ultimate art history major day: McQueen and Canterbury.
There’s this Amy Schumer sketch that features Bill Nye where he stands in front of a video of asteroids or whatever and discusses the history of the universe which is then inter-cut with women discussing how “the universe” wants to lose 10 pounds or visit Jamaica or whatever. (It’s a lot funnier than I make it sound, but just stay with me.) I remember seeing that and thinking, “Thank goodness I’m not one of those people who always thinks that the ‘universe’ is controlling my life.”
A week later I was sitting with friends in their room watching the RyanAir website reject my credit card (obviously prejudiced against Americans), and we eventually decided to give up on going to Scotland. Until the universe led us to Anderson Tours which had a cheaper, all-inclusive trip to Edinburgh scheduled for that weekend. Perfect.
We got to the train station 30 minutes for our train which usually happens when I am not in charge of the timetable. We waited around for our tour guide as the other people in our group arrived and were getting nervous enough that we started looking up Anderson Tour’s cancellation policy when our tour guide arrived 15 minutes late. She wasn’t dressed in the khaki-trousers-and-polo I had expected, but apparently I’ll follow anyone with a clipboard.
The train trip was an uneventful six hours during which I read three pages of Wuthering Heights and stared out the window the rest of the time. There was an hour tour of the city where we basically spent the whole time saying “I didn’t know they were from Scottish” (Robert Louis Stevenson, Alexander Graham Bell, etc.). We checked into our hotel and rejoiced over our private bathroom. Being in a dorm for a month makes you appreciate certain things. We stayed at the Cairn Hotel and could not figure out to say the name. We eventually decided that you said “car” with a Boston accent and then put a “n” at the end. Easy enough.
We spent most of the afternoon wandering around. Edinburgh is divided into “Old Town” that has been there forever and has the castle and “New Town” which is organized into a nice grid. We wound up on the Royal Mile that runs between the castle and the palace in Edinburgh, and outside one of the university buildings was a bagpiper. Obviously a good omen from the universe. We ended the night at the World’s End Pub so named because it is at the very end of Old Town, and before they built New Town about 200 years ago, the end of the city was basically the end of the world for the people who lived there.
The next day we spent most of the day at Edinburgh Castle which had some of the most spectacular views of the city. It was also incredibly windy on that mountain. It got so bad that we would be standing in one of the courtyards, hear the wind coming, and everyone would brace themselves until it passed. We also had high tea there which was kind of funny since I’ve always considered that to be more of an English thing than a Scottish thing. But whatever. The food was really good. But I would like to say that watercress needs to go away. We had these cute roast beef sandwiches (like, the size of sliders) that had watercress on them. Why do we need watercress? It is the most grass-like vegetable (is it even a vegetable) that I’ve ever seen. It just reminds me of all the clover that grows back home which I would never put on a roast beef sandwich.
After that we went shopping for plaid scarves for a while. I ended up buying two which surprised since I’ve basically sworn off plaid because I spent 13 years in Catholic. But this was red plaid, so it’s totally different. And from Scotland so that’s fine. Yes, just keep justifying your purchases to yourself.
While we wandered around, we turned the walk into a mini JK Rowling pilgrimage. We saw the café where she would write the first book because she couldn’t afford to heat the house during the day. (She’s richer than the Queen now, and I’m pretty sure she owns a castle. Sometimes I think the only people who can relate to the publishers who turned down Harry Potter are the record companies that turned down The Beatles.) She finished the last chapter of Deathly Hallows at the Balmoral Hotel. Apparently, after she wrote the last words she signed the marble bust in her room. Like right on the forehead. Go JK.
We then had dinner at this Frankenstein-themed bar. I’m taking a class on Frankenstein this fall so it was basically research. Right? It was the first place I’ve been carded on this trip. Someone (not me) order haggis that we all tried. It basically looks like a pale meatloaf and was pretty good. Then we went back to the World’s End, proud that in only 24 hours we had established “our pub.”
The next day we climbed a mountain. Or just a really tall hill. Now I’ve been running (okay, light jogging with some walking thrown in) in the park while I’ve been in London and walking everywhere in London. My average as I write this (according to my phone) is 10 miles every day. Basically I did not anticipate this mountain, called King Arthur’s Seat to be a big thing. Oh, how wrong I was.
One of my friends with me apparently goes hiking all the time so she bounded up the path like a little mountain goat while my other friend and I would walk twenty feet and then sit down for a few minutes. I’m a sucker for a good view so we kept going. We made it to the top in less time than we had anticipated. I was pretty proud of myself considering I’d done it while clinging to my coat and new plaid scarf in the wind while my purse flailed around me. Because it was definitely the flailing purse and not the fact that I’ve literally had dessert with every meal here that slowed me down. Anyway, I’m all proud, taking selfies, congratulating each other when I see the four older women (white hair) walking down the path. Great. And then we saw small children just running up the path. Yeah, it was totally the purse that slowed me down.
We took the six hour train ride back to London, but I want to go back to Scotland eventually. Maybe this time to see the Highlands. I bet the universe will make it happen.
This is one of those stories about how the journey is better than the destination. If I were older and wiser I would appreciate this as some grand metaphor for life or whatever you do when you’re older and wiser. As it is now, I’m in my twenties and therefore believe I know everything already. Sometimes the advice of the universe can be a little wasted on people like me.
Before I came to England, I decided the one thing I absolutely had to do was visit Chatsworth House. I knew nothing about the place except that it played Pemberly in the most recent Pride and Prejudice film. Don’t ask me why I fixated on this. Maybe it’s just because Matthew Macfayden is so dreamy. Or maybe because I haven’t fully excepted that Mr. Darcy is fictional. No matter the reason, I found myself delayed on the Tube last Wednesday morning and missed the first train out of St. Pancras to Chesterfield.
Late and annoyed that I was late, I wonder around St. Pancras (it’s difficult not to call it St. Pancreas) for about 20 minutes waiting for the next train. Thankfully, it’s an international train station with lots of posh shops like L.K. Bennet (which I only know about because People Magazine is always talking about how Princess Kate shops there). I did that awkward thing where you wander into a store, telling the clerk that you’re “just browsing” even though you’re going to leave in about 5 seconds and you don’t have the heart to tell them you’re not in the mood to buy a 200 pound dress before taking a 2 hour train ride.
I made it on the next train. Apparently they divide their platforms into “a” and “b” so for example I left from platform 9a which was just farther down the same platform as 9b. Considering the success of Harry Potter and King’s Cross being right next door, you’d think it’d be platform 9 then 9 3/4. That just seems like a real missed opportunity.
After two hours on the train to Chesterfield, I walked from the train station to the bus station. Which was actually a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. Chesterfield is lousy with signage. Then I had to take the bus to Baslow (What? You’ve never heard of any of these towns?).
I don’t like buses. The fact that I have to press a button to make it stop seems kind of stupid to me. (Why doesn’t the bus just stop at all the stops? That’s what campus transit does back home.) So I’m standing at the bus stop with these older British women, and I finally ask in my grating American accent “Do you know how much a ticket to Baslow will cost?” They said they didn’t know because they had Oyster cards. As the bus pulled up, one of the ladies goes, “Would you like to go first?” But in like a sweet way. Not condescending.
Bus ticket sorted, it dawns on me that I have to figure out which stop will take me Chatsworth house. And there’s all these “Chatsworth Fish and Chips” “Chatsworth Hardware” that’s kind of confusing considering that we were still miles (kilometers?) from the House. I started to panic a little: I’ve never been to Baslow! How am supposed to know where to get off?!
Finally I ask the older couple next to me. From what I could understand Baslow was still a ways away. I couldn’t hear them that well, but I thought it’d be rude to ask them to repeat it for a third time so I just said “I’m not from here.” Good thing I said it too because I had obviously fooled them into thinking I was a local.
As we turned a corner into some other obscure town, I saw the view for the first time. All these beautiful hills and fields with little cottages tucked away. I wish I had a photo to show you but I don’t think a picture taken on an iPhone through the window of a moving bus would do the moment justice so just take my word for it.
My nice older couple got off the bus after that and I frantically asked them again where Baslow was. The desperation in my voice must have carried because the nice guy behind me (who was kind of dressed like Jesse from Breaking Bad) told me he’d let me know. I actually relaxed after that.
Once I finally made it to Baslow with help from the Nice Guy, I actually started laughing. Giddy with relief and excitement: I made it to Baslow! I just made a total ass of myself to those nice people on the bus and I don’t care! I’m so hungry!
I got directions from the local pub: Chatsworth was a 30 minute walk on the trail. Thankfully that trail is beautiful with lots of pretty houses along the way. Then you get to enjoy the Chatsworth grounds with all the sheep (more British sheep!). I listened to the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack on the walk. I’m so cool.
Chatsworth was beautiful. Apparently the Duke and Duchess host exhibitions there every year and this one had the hashtag #MakeYourselfAtHome and it was this collection of funky chairs scattered throughout the house. My favorites were these top-like chairs that you spun around in to get a view of the painted ceiling. Picture me and another older British couple (older British people are in this story a lot in case you haven’t already noticed) rolling around next to the grand staircase trying to see this ceiling. This beautiful ceiling that has all these ancient allegories about power and Roman Empire (If art history has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t have a good ceiling fresco without at lease one personified virtue) and we’re just rolling around while the uniformed guides say things like “You’ve got to hold on or you’ll fall out of the seat” and “Yes, just throw your weight all the way back and you’ll spin all the way around.” And we call ourselves adults.
Those were basically the only chairs I sat in throughout the exhibition because I feel really uncomfortable being told it’s okay to touch things in museums. But can I just say good for the Duke and Duchess of Whatever for having exhibitions at their house? I don’t know if that’s a common thing that most grand houses do, but I think that is an excellent way to use their home and influence in the country by giving a platform for new, young artists.
I wandered around through the house (apparently Mary Queen of Scots was there for a while), and eventually got to a long hardwood floor hallway. Where my shoes made the loudest squeaking sound possible. There was nothing I could do. And there are guides everywhere in this house. Like, several in every room. So they got to listen to the squeak squeak squeak of my shoes. Every. Single. Step. The carpeted halls were a glorious relief. Somewhere along the way they have the veiled woman sculpture that’s in the film. It’s in this dark alcove that’s lit to accentuate the folds in here veil. Absolutely stunning.
In their dining room, I talked to the guide about how they decorate for Christmas every year with a new theme. This year will be themed Toad of Toad Hall, but he said they did The Chronicles of Narnia one year and had an animatronic Aslan in the library that looked like it was breathing. He recalled that it was like “sardines” in the house that year. Children everywhere.
I finally got to the marble sculpture hall that was in the movie that (naturally) leads into the gift shop. They’d covered the floor with something for the chair exhibition so I couldn’t see the black and white tiles that are in the film. Tiles or no tiles, the hall was beautiful. All of these stunning white marble statues in one room together is overwhelming. Also the space is a lot smaller in person than it looked on screen. I took tons of photos, but it was still a little odd not to see the bust of Mr. Darcy that’s in the film. Until I saw it. Through the doors of the gift shop.
That’s right. The original is on display alongside smaller replicas that you can buy. So now I am the proud owner of a miniature Mr. Darcy bust– okay, I’m kidding those things were expensive, but still how funny would that be to have? I settled for some postcards and commemorative stamps then left to see the gardens.
I really wish that I’d left more time for the gardens. They were so beautiful and the hills were a great change from the flat lands around London. These pictures really don’t do it justice.
I snapped some pictures of the house where Darcy catches Lizzy after she’s just seen Georgiana playing the piano. Then it was ice cream and the walk/bus/train/Tube ride back to school.
I would like to take a second to thank the lovely people who gave me directions along the way. I will never know your names or see you again. But thanks all the same. I literally couldn’t have done it without you.
I love traveling with fellow smartasses. It makes the journey so much more enjoyable when you can trade snide jokes with the person standing next to you. Bath was a haven for us in that respect. But let me back up.
While I’m in London, I actually have to go to school (which totally cuts into my wandering-around-aimlessly time). I think I’ve already alluded to the Shakespeare class I’m in, but I haven’t mentioned the other, far more enviable class. It’s called “Jane Austen to Downton Abbey: Literature of the Country House” and the reading list is spectacular. We just finished Pride and Prejudice and are now 100 pages into Wuthering Heights. Tough work, but someone’s gotta do it. Every class we take a field trip to some literature-y place in London. Thursday we went to British Library and toured their “Treasures of the British Library Collection.” A bit of a step up from the Special Collections I work in back home. Their collection includes a Gutenberg Bible, Jane Austen’s manuscript for Emma, and the original lyrics to “Yesterday” in Paul McCartney’s handwriting. And this is only a few objects. Literally every single major British writer (Shakespeare has his own section) is represented in this display case. (They don’t allow pictures inside or I would share some.)
We were there specifically to see Jane Austen’s writing desk. Now when I said desk, you’re picturing like a chair and table, right? Like something we all had in our college dorm rooms? Nope, it’s like a little tray-thing that flips open to be a flat surface. A little underwhelming but still– How cool! Jane Austen literally write on this thing. You almost want to press your face against the glass and see if you can catch some of that creative spirit, but not really because that would look really weird.
We wandered around until making our way to (where else?) the gift shop. Let me just say that the British Library is losing its mind over this whole Magna Carta anniversary thing, and it’s really starting to show. The Magna Carta will be 800 years old this year (Isn’t it marked on your calendar?), and the British Library is super excited and wants you to be, too. They sell (I’m not making any of this up): Magna Carta facsimiles, bound copies, CDs, pillows, soap, whiskey, and rubber ducks. So you could hypothetically sit in the tub listening to Magna Carta music, drinking your Magna Carta whiskey, while you read the Magna Carta to your Magna Carta rubber duck before going to sleep on your Magna Carta pillow. But there’s this desperation in their celebration. Like “Please care about this as much we do! This is such a big deal until 2040 when the Magna Carta is 825, and we try to sell you the same stuff all over again!” (For real though, as someone who has written papers about obscure works of art, I totally get their vibe.)
I just bought a Jane Austen Christmas ornament. Because it didn’t happen unless you got the Christmas ornament to prove it, right?
Friday we went to Bath where Jane Austen spent some time during her life. Bath totally embodies my theory that England can perfectly balance past and present. Like, you pass an Apple store on the way to the Roman baths. Which prompted many smart-ass remarks of “Did Jane Austen get her iPhone here? Did she shop at that Urban Outfitters? Isn’t there a scene in Pride and Prejudice where Darcy goes into a Tesco?” We had lunch at a local pub where they display Jane Austen’s picture (making all of my #JaneAustenDrankHere dreams come true!). I don’t think she actually drank here, but whatever. Let me dream, okay?
We toured the Roman baths for about an hour. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Bill Bryson has a little audio tour here. I’m trying to read his book on the U.K. called Notes from a Small Island, and I can’t get into it yet. But he has a nice voice. Also, I hate to brag, but I’m basically an audio guide connoisseur at this point. Just a little something for the CV. (But can I still be a connoisseur if I had to look up how to spell “connoisseur”?)
The baths are really cool, or well, warm. They take you through a tour about how it used to be a huge temple complex, too. I won’t bore you with all the history of it because I have already forgotten most of it. However, I do remember that at the end there is little tasting room. Well, not a room. More like a corner with a sink in it. And the famous Bath water. It reminded me of the scene in The Office when they get the aluminum water bottles from Sabre, and they’re like “It tastes like I’m drinking batteries!” Yeah, Bath water is like drinking batteries. Or, as Charles Dickens said, like “warm flat irons.” They put that quote on the wall next to the sink! Like they’re proud of their weird water! And we all have to go along with it because it’s historic. It’s the Emperor’s New Water.
Their gift shop was really cool, though. They sell lots of soap. Bath bath soap. And little bottles of their water which you would buy, presumably, for your enemies. (The sore throat I’ve had this weekend developed after drinking the water in case you were wondering why I’m so bitter about it.) And they had Latin translations of the first two Harry Potter books. Which I kinda regret not getting. Because no one taught me Latin in my 13 years of Catholic school, then I should probably learn it from a book about witchcraft, right?
After the baths, we went to the Royal Crescent which was basically the Hollywood Hills of 18th-century Britain. More “Did Jane Austen touch this lamppost?!” jokes. After that some of use noticed a church higher up the hill (Bath is like a giant hill), and when you’re wearing shoes with poor arch support and you see something that’s far away on a hill, you should go look at it. Bonus points if you’re a little dehydrated.
After we traipsed up the hill and discovered the church was locked, we walked around Avon Lake that runs though the town. They have a small pet cemetery in the park next to it. Then we bought some gross sandwiches for the ride home.
Okay, before I end this: is Bath named for the Roman baths? Like, was everyone just like “We have these bath things, let’s just call it “Bath”? Bill Bryson did not talk about this in the audio tour.
Yesterday was the State Opening of Parliament. According to the woman in charge of our study abroad in England (There is a “Lady” before her name. I honestly wasn’t sure if we were supposed to curtsy to her.) this is happening May and not November because of the recent election. Because the government class I took in high school was basically a joke (played on us), I don’t know much about the UK’s parliamentary government. But I have strung together little clues from movies like The Young Victoria and The Queen, and apparently the new prime minister (usually played by Michael Sheen) has to form a government in the queen’s name. Apparently they got it together faster than everyone expected which is why I saw the Queen yesterday.
As the Head of State, only the Queen can open Parliament. Thankfully for the tourists, this is not a let’s-take-the-black-car-through-the-back-gate type of affair. It’s more of a shut-down-the-Mall-strike-up-the-band parade.
We decided to play it safe and arrived at the Mall around 9:45 so we had a great view next to the barricades. We chatted with a woman who was on “holiday from the West Country” and had decided to play tourist like us. Behind us was a tall, older man who served in the Royal Air Force and was stationed in Canada and Africa during his career. He told us little things about the military present as we waited: you can distinguish the different regiments by the spacing of the buttons on their red coats and only the Queen’s carriage is accompanied by white horses. And he was wearing a cravat so he was obviously a credible source.
While we waited, the foot guards were moved into their places. They would march along the side of the road then turn and back into position. A few minutes later one of their commanders came by with a giant compass (like those kind you used in high school math) and would turn it as he walked to get the spacing between the guards exact. Later he came by again to the soldiers on our side of the Mall who were in the sun and would adjust their covers to cool them. Or at least that’s what I assume he was doing. Every few minutes someone would yell out an intelligible command that was telling them to wiggle their toes. I don’t know if that’s true or if Mr. Cravat was just pulling our legs.
More waiting. We mercilessly held our ground as more people arrived and tweens in school uniforms tried to get closer. (Sorry, kids, but we flew 4,000 miles to be here. Your school is a few blocks away. We’re standing in front.) More regiments marched past eventually followed by a marching band. All of this gave us time to get our cameras ready. Suddenly a posh-looking car whizzed past going toward Buckingham Palace. We had just enough time to realize that Charles and Camilla were in the back seat.
After about an hour, more regiments of The Queen’s Guards started marching past followed by the band. Then there were shouts of “royal salute!” and Charles and Camilla rode by again, this time in a carriage. Then “royal salute!” again, and there she was. Sitting next to Prince Phillip in the Jubilee Coach in a white dress, Queen Elizabeth II rode past us. She is probably one of the most photographed people in the world, but seeing her in person was something new entirely. Princess Anne and some other official-looking people rode after, and we started walking back to the Tube station.
On the way, we past a crowd in St. James Parks and decided to see what they were looking at. About 100 yards away were six canons that fired 21 gun salute (I assume. I lost count of the number of times they fired, but 21 seems a likely number). Thank goodness we saw them. If we’d just been walking back and suddenly heard explosions, we would not have calmly thought “Oh, obviously just a 21 gun salute.” We walked back to the Tube and returned to the university for lunch.
If you’d gone to the Tower of London that day, the Imperial State Crown would have been missing. Instead of a lavish proclamation that Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith was wearing the crown to open the Parliament of the United Kingdom, there is just a small sign that reads “In Use.” On September 9 which is only 103 days from now, the HM Elizabeth II will surpass Queen Victoria and become the longest reigning monarch in British history. In use, indeed.
Today I saw my first play at the Globe. We (my Shakespeare class) left campus and arrived with enough time to peruse the gift shop. I love gift shops. I don’t know if it’s an art history thing (a lot of my art history friends like them too) or just good ol’ materialism, but I love them. They sell erasers with the Macbeth line “Out damned spot!” I think I rather have a Tide-To-Go with that on it if I’m being honest.
We saw As You Like It which is part of their season called “Justice and Mercy.” Since this play is basically a romantic comedy in iambic pentameter, I have no idea how it fits in this season’s theme. But whatever. It was funny anyway.
We got there too late (too much gift shop time) to stand with the groundlings so we sat over to the side of the stage. Along with several pillars blocking center stage. We could see most everything that happened in the play as the cast moved through the crowd, but they seemed to have the best (physical comedy) jokes at center stage. We just laughed too so no one would think we were just losers who couldn’t see what was happening. But we were just losers who couldn’t see what was happening.
“Bank holiday” was not a part of my vocabulary until last week, but now I think I’ll use it for the rest of my life. It’s exactly what you think it is: the banks are closed and everyone has the day off. It being my first bank holiday, I had no idea what to do. Leave the city? Spend the day in the park? Where will the crowds be? In the end I made the most tourist-y decision possible: the Tower of London and Kensington Palace for the day.
To me, the Tower and it’s surrounding area epitomizes London. It’s a 1000 year old fortress built by William the Conquerer; it saw the coronation and later the execution of Anne Boleyn; it holds an incredible collection of crown jewels; and more recently it held the medals before the 2012 London Olympics. At the same time it’s surrounded by the skyscrapers of London like the Shard (the tallest building in Europe). Only London could put the two buildings in the same skyline and make it seem perfectly natural.
We jumped in line to see the Crown Jewels right away, following the advice of the woman at the ticket counter. Apparently she gave the same advice to everyone else since the line wrapped around the building. We accidentally cut in front of some people before they politely told us to move to the back of the line. It was like A Christmas Story when they’re waiting to see Santa.
The wait to see the crown jewels is very similar to the wait for Splash Mountain. The line wraps around outside several times and you think “That wasn’t so bad! We’re almost inside!” But then there’s another line for 20 minutes, but you don’t mind because you’re out of the sun and now there’s stuff to look at. They give you the Sparknotes history of the monarchy and the jewels like Disney gives you whatever story leads to the ride. About half-way through there is (what can only be described as) a crown jewel hype video– lots of intense choral music plays as paintings with past monarchs wearing their jewels fade in and out. In the next room there is this odd animation about the coronation process. Really? We’re about to see the Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and you’re saving money with this cheap animated video?
They know how to keep the crowds moving though. Once they lead you through the room that has the coronation spoon (to hold the anointing oil and not for the coronation porridge as we’d all predicted) and QEII’s gold robe, you get to the jewels in a massive display case. They put the lines onto a short moving sidewalk like in the airport so you glide by and can’t crowd around. Pretty brilliant. When they remove the Imperial State Crown for the Opening of Parliament, they just put in a small sign that reads “In use.”
Once we hit the main attraction, we explored the outer walls that included an exhibition on the zoo animals (lions and tigers and bears- oh my!) who used to live in the Tower. Apparently one king had a pet polar bear, and occasionally they would put a robe around it and let it swim in the Thames. After that it was an overpriced lunch at the cafe but it was so nice to have something that tasted homemade, it was worth the price.
After spending most of the morning at the Tower, I took the Circle line farther to Kensington Palace. Having watched The Young Victoria the night before, I was so excited to see Queen Victoria’s childhood home. They have several of her dresses from her youth and one of her mourning gowns she wore after Prince Albert’s death (they also have the small tiara she always wore at the Tower). They also display some of Emily Blunt’s — er, Queen Victoria’s diary entries from her life with Prince Albert. A lovely exhibition overall. After that there was a small exhibition called “Fashion Rules” featuring dresses worn by the Queen, Princess Margaret, and Princess Diana. Kensington is kinda girly now that I think about it.
Once I saw a guide, I had to ask “Where do the current royals (i.e. Will and Kate) live when they’re at Kensington?” Apparently those apartments are on the other side of the “Queen’s Apartments” exhibition. They also rarely give notice when they’re coming, but the place is so big the palace can be open when they’re in town. Also Prince William hosted a party in part of the “King’s Apartments” exhibition with dancing in the gardens, or so the guide told me. I wonder if it was on a bank holiday.
Catholic guilt won’t let me go five weeks without going to Mass despite the English Reformation. This is how I found myself in St. James Catholic Church today and the Sunday before. Forgive me for saying so but most Catholic churches in the south tend to be pretty sparse in their decorations. St. James does not follow this minimalist design aesthetic. There’s a Communion rail. An actual Communion rail that they use. Growing up in the post-Vatican II Church did not prepare me for this. So exciting.
Supposedly the Mass is the same everywhere. I can’t personally say if this is true everywhere, but in England it is. They are a little more polite in their responses though. Like in the intercessions they say “Lord, graciously hear us” instead of “Lord, hear our pray.” See? More polite.
I was very excited about noon Mass (perfect time of day) until I arrived and realized that it was also a Confirmation. Complete with local bishop. They didn’t kick me out or anything, and since I wasn’t the only one in jeans, I assume not everyone was there for the Confirmation part. The bishop’s homily about his recent trip to Iraq was interesting. Especially considering that at my Confirmation the homily alone was an hour, and the archbishop told us to “Get high on the Holy Spirit.” I’m not making this up.
After wandering about the high street and regretting not going to the all-day brunch place, I found yet another bookshop. (This blog should really be called “Cathedrals and Bookshops: A Nerd Goes England”) This one was cute and more “local feeling” than Waterstones. I thought of the books waiting for me at the dorm and bought nothing. But I’ll be back.
Later a group of us went to Camden Market expecting a flower show. Instead we found an alternative outdoor market. We arrived just as it started to rain. The food (always the best part) was amazing and featured a ridiculous variety of choices: Nutella crêpes to Argentine street food to squid ink pasta to calamari. And I don’t eat calamari so Nutella crêpes it was.
Another close call to the trains today. (We really need to get more organized.) Today’s train was an hour to Peterborough where we had an hour layover until we went to Stamford. Most elected to stay in the train station to eat, but I and another girl went into the town — about a 10 minute walk from the station.
There was a small festival happening in Peterborough which may have been for the holiday weekend, but clichés would have me believe that small English countryside towns just have festivals every weekend. We decided to look inside the local parish church that was hosting a small exhibition on walking by an artist whose name I can’t remember. Outside the church there was a small area that had small power lines with shoes hanging over the wires. It reminded me of the small town from Big Fish. The church interior was really beautiful, and after Westminster where everything is behind ropes, it was nice to move freely throughout the space. Part of the exhibition was inside where there were quotations about the glory of walking. (I thought of these later during the day as we walked everywhere. Finally tally according to my phone was about 13 miles.) The artist sat in one area washing feet and giving foot massages. We politely declined to participate because we had a train to catch. And because gross.
Once we left, we realized that the real cathedral was behind the parish church. Stunning. It might as well have been built in Pillars of the Earth. However they charge three pounds to take photos inside. So I did not take photos inside.
We went to Stamford and had lunch there. The food was amazing, but we were more excited about the prices. Six pounds for lunch? Woo-hoo! Stamford is something out of a story book. Only about 20,000 residents with cute shops and restaurants all framed by the nearby river. We got lost on the way (not my fault) but eventually walked the long sheep-covered driveway up to Burghley House. Yep there were sheep everywhere since the original Lord Burghley made his money in wool. They were so cute and looked lazily at us while we snapped pictures pretending like we’d never seen sheep before. Well, not British sheep.
Once inside we photographed all of the incredible rooms that included a personal chapel and Queen Elizabeth I’s bedroom. The original Lord Burghley was her treasurer, and as a lord he had to keep a bedroom ready for her in case she ever showed up. She did visit once, but someone in the house had the nerve to have smallpox so she couldn’t stay the night. Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, George VI, and the Queen Mother did stay the night in another part of the house during their respective visits. Amongst the parlors, bedrooms, drawing rooms etc. is the main staircase that is called “The Hell Staircase.” Why you’d pick this as a scene for your staircase I’m not sure, but it’s stunning all the same.
Was I thinking about any this while I was there? No I was more concerned with another legend: Judi Dench. Burghley House was used as Rosings Park in the newest Pride and Prejudice film with Keira Knightley. Which is really cool. After asking the guides enough “respectable” questions about the paintings, I finally summoned the courage to ask: “Which room was in the movie?” It was one of the many drawing rooms with a special name I can’t remember. I got a picture of the couch, too.
When I was nine, my extended family took a trip to New York, and we had to make a connecting flight through Atlanta. We took the train that runs between the terminals, and as we all made a dash to catch it, one of my aunts got left behind. For some reason I found the event kind of traumatizing and ever since I’ve always done my best to never miss trains like that. (I should probably mention that the Atlanta airport train is incredibly easy to maneuver and my aunt took the next one and met up with us 10 minutes later. None of this occurred to me when I was nine.) All of this came back today as out group made a frantic dash to the Jubilee line train during the Friday morning rush hour. I felt the carriage door hit my shoulder as I barely made it on board. Didn’t need much coffee after that. The ride out to Hampton Court Palace by train was so relaxing that most of us dozed off. Still, at 45 minutes long, I wish I’d brought a book to read. Instead I had to make to make due with watching the English countryside roll by. Oh, well. On the way back it was only my fear that I would miss the stop that kept me awake. (Apparently I have some problems with train rides.) Throughout the day at Hampton Court there are small plays around the palace. We discovered this by accident when were standing in Base Court trying to organize audio guides when suddenly there were drums and violins and Tudor-dressed actors dancing in the center of the yard. I almost successfully turned my laugh into a cough. Almost. We gave up on the audio tour pretty quickly. Nothing was clearly marked, and honestly unless Jeremy Irons is narrating, it’s not as interesting. Also, apparently Hampton Court employs food historians. Food historians. And my (future) art history degree is useless? Having given up on the audio guide, I had to rely on (Heaven forbid) the written placards in the different rooms. I know. It was like the ’90s or something. I wish I had more interesting facts to share about the palace (because who doesn’t love a mildly obnoxious history lesson in a blog post?) but what struck me more about the place was how we were walking around where so many powerful, historical people have lived here. Walking around in jeans and a T-shirt I bought at Target, it can be difficult to imagine Henry VIII marrying Katherine Parr in the other room or Shakespeare performing in the Great Hall.
We ended the trip with a tour of the gardens and then lunch at this disgusting riverside restaurant. Where’s a food historian when you need one?