To England: Henges, Thatch, and Cats

I took a bus tour one day, in order to visit Stonehenge, Avebury, and the villages Lacock and Castle Combe. 

Yes, yes: a bus tour. But it's not what you're thinking! It felt a lot like traveling with my Uncle Wayne: skinny back roads (even in a midsized van), silly commentary, and off-the-tourist-path sights. 

Stonehenge was first. I think it has improved in recent years, having heard horror stories of what it used to be like. However, it was SO crowded. 

Miraculous photo in which you can almost not see people...almost. 

A bit underwhelming, though not exactly disappointing: much smaller and gray-er than I was expecting. Still interesting though. 

Honestly, even to me, my pictures of it are more interesting than my memories of it...

Then we went to Avebury and unfortunately hardly had any time at all. Avebury was MORE impressive than I was expecting--not as much for the circumference of the circle (though impressive) as for the SIZE of the rocks which I'd pictured as much smaller. 

I would've spent all afternoon standing about in the field with the rocks.

And the sheep.

Then, on to Lacock village for lunch. Lacock was full of thatched roofs and half timbers. 

Disclaimer: yes, I know this is not thatch. Trust me when I say we saw a TON. 

And one lazy cat. 

Castle Combe which was a street, where all the highly rich hang out. I did not really manage a picture of the town, I guess. 

Just the church, and one hunting cat. 

All in all, a fabulous day. I walked away from the bus back in Bath with a huge grin on my face!

To England: Bath Battles

Okay, I had no battles in Bath--other than traffic from all directions, my calves screaming on the hills, and, coupled with the other two: getting lost!

Bath reminds me of Toledo, Spain: I think it's the unity of building materials, teeny roads and one way traffic, confusing layout, and tourists, tourists, tourists. It is nice after 5-6 pm after most of the tourists leave (but most of the shops and sights close too). 

I took the free walking tour my first night which was a great way to pass an evening and a fabulous introduction to both the history and the street layout. It was long, though, and I was exhausted from my travels. 

The Roman Baths were interesting and made better by the Bill Bryson soundclips included in the included audio tour, which was necessary since there were few signs. I didn't like having to listen to all the information instead of being able to read/skim information as I chose, but the Bryson clips were great fun. Not so much amusing as insightful, but he helped bring it alive (they should've been snort-out-loud hilarious as Bryson often is in order to make a fool of yourself giggling in public). The gorgon head was definitely a highlight. 

(Not the gorgon head)

The Abbey itself was a bit dull--although it was terribly amusing to see it done up in Anglican style like the churches I grew up in, instead of like the other giant churches I've been to, all in Catholic Spain. The tower tour, however, was incredible! We went up windy, narrow, black staircases, across roofs, and behind the scenes. We peeked in on the bell ropes and mechanisms for ringing the bells, the other side of the vaulted ceiling, and the backside of the clock. Then, more stairs to the bells themselves (nicely timed so they were struck while we were up there) before finally climbing to the roof of the tower. On the way back down, we stood IN the famous façade and hopefully messed up a few photographs, unnoticed until everyone goes home! 

(Clock workings)

Other Bath highlights include the hanging loos and Pulteney Bridge. 

(Two loos-count 'em!)

To Wales: Welsh Wayfarer Woes

I was supposed to get on a train in Bath with a stop in Bristol before my stop, Newport, and continuing on to Cardiff. From Newport, there was another train for Chepstow. Maybe not eyes-closed easy, but certainly no strain.

However! When I got to Bristol my train was canceled, ALL the trains through Newport were canceleled, in fact. I ran around the Bristol station like an idiot for a long time, until finally the information desk told me to get in a taxi and go to X station (they'd pay) and they'd provide coaches from there. 

Said station was really really far away and in Middle-of-Nowhere, Wales and there were no buses or trains or any thing except confused people arriving in fours in bright blue taxis from Bristol. 

Luckily the people who'd shared my cab were quite nice and I was glad not to be alone on my adventure. It was fun to talk to English people. They sussed me out as American straight away but I guess there's no hiding it. I enjoyed their mix of overdeprecation and optimism, and I almost busted out laughing when one of them was like, "at least it's a nice day, at least it's not tipping!" (raining) They ticked all the stereotypes.

We waited around like 40 minutes and finally I realized I could probably go straight to Chepstow from Middle-of-Nowhere, and luckily I realized that mere minutes before that train pulled in, so I said goodbye to my new friends and hopped on it. (FUNNILY ENOUGH I saw one of them in Bristol on the way back and found out they'd made it: the advertised Cardiff train was like ten minutes late.)

It would've been better to just have stayed in Bristol and waited for the train issue to clear.

The funniest part is I ended up only like thirty minutes behind schedule somehow. (This messed up my plan anyway, but still, quite impressive turn of events)

Chepstow Castle was incredible. (I was rushing through it a bit, unfortunately. I was still trying to catch the earlier bus to Tintern Abbey before I finally gave up on that and just took the later one.) I recently read Life in a Medieval Castle by Frances Gies, which mentions a whole bunch of castles but mainly focuses on Chepstow. It's along the river and quite long but skinny, with lots of additions from different eras. 

I traveled to Tintern on a bus. Tintern was just stunning. Every angle was staggering and it made me want to walk around both inside and outside, clockwise and counterclockwise because there was constantly a new view. It was challenging to take photos--first of all, because it was too gorgeous and secondly because I was constantly contending with harsh sunlight, backlighting, clouds, or a combination. Quite the best type of challenge though: take lots of photos and some of them have to turn out!

The bus back to Chepstow was okay, but I was disappointed on seeing that the next train was not for 45 minutes, which didn't leave time to see more sights like I had planned. 

Finally had a travel win at the end of the day. From Newport, I realized I could take an earlier train back to Bristol and make my own change to Bath instead of waiting for the one that went all the way to Bath--made it thirty minutes ahead of that train, which was the additional wait for it--finally beat the train game!!!

To England: Packing

I've spent the past several months reading endless packing lists. Finally, here is mine....

Electronics

Ipad and charger

Kindle and charger

Ipod, headphones, charger

Two adapters

SD to ipad converter

Camera, battery charger, extra battery

Extra SD card

Other

Travel documents (not pictured but I have a big manila envelope)

Notebooks

Notepad

Guidebook

Pens, pencils, etc

compass (orange circle)

sewing kit (orange square)

spork

headlamp

lock

towel

clothesline

Woolite wash packets

Tide-to-go

earplugs

extra pair of glasses

wet wipes

bracelet, watch, two pairs of earrings (not pictured 'cause I'm wearing them)

Toiletries

hair stuff (including travel brush, comb, hairpins, two headbands)

face wash

soap

shampoo

conditioner

medicine (pepto bismol, advil, benadryl, cold medicine, and birth control)

neosporin

bandaids

liquid bandage

toothpaste

toothbrush

floss

nail clippers

chapstick

sun lotion

Clothing
three tank tops (blue (not pictured), black, green)
two short sleeve tops (gray, red)
one long sleeved top (blue stripey)
purple shirt for sleeping
sweatshirt
long leggings
capri leggings
blue khakis
sleep pants
black skirt
3 undies
2 bras
3 pairs of socks
hat
sunglasses
bandanna
flip flops
flats
sneakers

Other
wallet
passport
umbrella
jacket (zipped up into its pocket)
fold up grocery bag
water bottle
rain cover
full backpack
day pack
purse

...the mess shortly before bringing it all together...

...and my stuff all ready to go out the door.

And me with it!

from Pittsburgh to Minnesota to...England, this time.

(typed up from the first entry in my trip diary)

I'm leaving in about two weeks and it feels a bit sacrilegious to start writing in my journal before I'm on my way...but really the mental journey of this trip started a long time ago, which, funnily enough, is exactly what I came to say.

I've been thinking a lot about Spain and how my brain can't get used to "going to Europe" not involving Spain. I've been bemoaning a bit (but not ungratefully) because I love Spain so much and can never get enough. But I had a sitdown with myself to try to refocus on why--the last time I left Spain--I promised myself I was going to England the next time I crossed an ocean (and not just because of the Olympics which were ongoing then).

Because long before I learned Spanish and fell in love with some silly tennis players and jumped at the chance(s) to visit the land that really inspired my serious study of the language--I got my hair cut like Lucy Pevensie (BBC version, aged 4-7?), a younger sister whose unbelieved and unacredited imagination I identified with so strongly (uncharitably casting my brother as Edward, who makes her out to be a liar).

I devoured the story of Anne Boleyn (4th grade project) whose tale was just gruesome enough to fascinate me, and whose character was just real enough to inspire me: laughing in the face of death! strawberry mole on neck! defiant! I followed that with Lady Jane Grey and Elizabeth I, but my middle namesake Anne was always my favorite. And then I followed my Tudor obsession many years later into realizing why Catherine of Aragon was called such--neatly wrapping pieces of my Spain interest into an earlier obsession.

I named my gerbil Lyra after the hero of The Golden Compass (6th grade)-brave, adventurous, but still very relatable. And though often I identified more with her worrywart daemon Pantalaimon--I understood Lyra's ability to push herself to be brave for him--which, in essence, was for herself.

I dreamed about going to school at Hogwarts and always cherished the look into the everyday school life as much as the fighting adventures. The Mennyms existed as living things that had no right. A Little Princess showed me about a father's love and plowing through rough times without forgetting yourself.

I yearned for castles and timbers, a language that was understandable but just different enough to be delicious, a land with magic and history seemingly oozing out of its very soil into a potent mix of inspiration, imagination, and a deep sense of wanting to belong to something familiar and comfortable and safe but unpredictable and full of endless potential for adventures at the same time: a wardrobe porthole to another land, a wizard alley hidden behind normal London streets if you just know where to look, ruins of an ancient past to be explored around every bend.

Is this too lofty and unrealistic for the real UK to live up to? Maybe. But hopefully I'll get a glimpse of ruined castles or misty moors with the possibility of magic lingering in the air, just enough to satisfy my childhood dreams. From that, maybe I can create some better sense of myself, who I've been to make me who I am now, and the real world I live in.

The very last bit of my trip diary from Spain and Portugal in 2012.

The Language Barrier

I may have to stop teaching before I lose my last vestiges of Pittsburghese. My kids have me saying aunt different from ant, and they have me making words like foul, scowl, etc into two distinct syllables. Who knew that was a thing!

Honestly, I didn't know I had any traces of Pittsburghese left. I didn't start with much, not really, not compared to others. I've been known to say "arn" for iron, Picksburgh has slipped out (mostly when I'm angry), my friends in college made fun of me incessantly for saying pool the same as pull (I basically just try to avoid saying the word "pull" now, or rhyming words, because I just don't understand how it's supposed to sound). I try not to say roof like ruff or root beer like rut beer, but that's finding its way in on the edges.

All my o's have long been plump Minnesota O's. My a's are creeping into my nasal range (although I'm still fighting that one because gross).

I don't say uff da, but I often say uff, and then finish it, consciously, with the da. Some day the full (fool? ful? fu-ul? HELP!) phrase is gonna slip out without a thought.

It's joyful when I realize the roots of my language go deeper than I thought. When I am reading the spelling words and they say "huh? do you mean sco-wl?" Each word I didn't know I said different, it feels like a gift from my city, a reminder that I'm still a Pittsburgh girl in the depths of my soul. No matter how many hockey games I play, no matter how much I feel at home in day after day of 0 degree highs.

Except, I try to correct myself, so the kids understand me (and so my friends don't pick on me).

It's bittersweet, because in the very same act of discovering these pockets of language resistance, I essentially lose them for good.