14) Touch an ancient ruin.

So, actually, I didn’t “touch” an ancient ruin, since I didn't fancy being thrown into an English slammer, but I did see one. Having no idea what to expect, I boarded a brightly painted purple bus full of Japanese tourists for an afternoon trip to Stonehenge. Turns out, about a thousand other people got the same idea. I have to say, I was slightly disappointed at the lack-of-atmosphere. Maybe more typical British weather would keep wide-eyed sightseers at bay. In the interest of political correctness, I shouldn’t really say anything about my fellow tourists, so, I will leave my comments to simply report that the stereotypical American tourist has finally met his match in the Japanese one.

Stonehenge is, of course, quite amazing in its own right. These rocks have been in place for quite a wee while. We aren’t really sure what the Celts had in mind when they created Stonehenge; they certainly couldn’t have had any idea that thousands of year’s later, swarms of people would be herded around a small path listening to an audio-guide around the exterior of their creation. The trip wasn’t a total dud, but it wasn’t anything especially spectacular - my time was mainly spent getting away from other people to try and quietly enjoy what I could. Still, I can say I’ve seen Stonehenge and, thanks to my Historic Scotland Membership, it was of no cost to me!

Upon returning to Bath I, again, walked around the city. The real highlight of today was my morning visit to the Jane Austen Centre, but more about that in a separate post. (Jane deserves all the special esteem I could possibly give her!) Tonight I’ve been chilling with some fellow Americans who are also staying in the hostel and we’re heading out to find some dinner; to bed early and up early for my train tomorrow. I should also mention another fun part of staying in Bath has been that my hostel is directly on top of a pub. Yeah. Let me say, drunken patrons spilling out into the streets provides one of the most amusing soundtracks to sleep I’ve ever heard!

I am excessively diverted

First day in Bath and I am immediately struck with the absolute amusement of this glimmering city. Of course, glittering beauty can be quite expensive – more on that later! My train pulled into Bath Spa about half past noon, and I had some time to use before checking into my hostel. Luckily, my growing sense of spontaneity prompted me to pop down to the harbor and inquire about boat tours. To my delight, an hour on the River Avon (not to be confused with the River Avon which Stratford is Upon!) was quite reasonably priced and I boarded the skiff. A couple sitting just behind me provided my first point of amusement.

From one of the Northern counties, these people’s charming accents reflected their down-to-earth attitudes. Think the equivalent of a good ol’ Southern couple. They certainly kept me entertained! And, at the end of our boat tour, the lady asked for a picture with me – since I was a part of her Bath experience. Just cute! The tour itself was slightly droll, full of facts which were interesting enough to fill up half an hour’s time – but not quite scintillating enough for me to remember all the details! Our guide was a very calm sort of person who spoke in the same monotone voice; although, his commentary on the City of Bath was pretty funny in a strange way. “And on the left, right opposite the meat market, you’ll find some excellent public toilets.” He said quite seriously. “If anyone played with plasticine when they were a child, you’ll find the grave of the inventor in Bath Abbey.” And so on.

Bath, being a spa town, of course attracts many people who try to look younger than they are but fail quite miserably to be honest. Jane Austen said something about Bath having a “dreadful monstrosity of ugly women” and, while that is slightly too scathing, I wouldn’t wholly disagree! (More on Jane Austen’s Bath connections during my next post.) Another totally hilarious, eccentric "Bath moment" occurred as I was strolling down a very noisy street, with workmen jack-hammering and little kids screaming at the top of their lungs. Turns out, that street was called Quiet. I burst out laughing, unable to help myself!

The rest of my day was spent freely roaming the city. I found the Georgian Assembly Rooms and Royal Crescent, which was made famous in the film adaptations of Austen’s Persuasion. Alas, no matter how many times I frantically ran up and down the half-circle, Captain Wentworth never appeared. I was able to sit on the wee hill just in front of the Crescent and listen to lots of period music on my iPod. As you might expect, this was one day where I wished dearly to be with “the One.” But enough sap and more about Bath!

In my travels, I’ve become very clever at finding ways to eat cheaply. Unfortunately in Bath, where strolling through one of the parks even costs a pretty penny, my luck did not hold up. I found a little restaurant and, in retrospect, I should have just waited to eat and walked around a bit more. There isn’t really much to say about my meal alone other than the fact that it was too expensive and too bland. The fact that I was alone made the whole ordeal even more pathetically awkward, so I solved the dilemma with a scoop of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and a long walk after dinner. That seemed to work.

Thankfully, the evening didn’t end alone. My hostel has a rather cozy Chill Out Room. I stumbled up and, to my complete delight, found a room full of people. Three Aussies and one Canadian, they all were super friendly and we had such a great time. Also, a guy came in later who’s in town for an improvisation comedy performance tonight and tomorrow. We all went a bit overboard at the novelty of being in the room with a celebrity. Thankfully, this guy was really kind and gracious – inviting us all to the show tonight - I’m totally going to pop by. On the whole, today was a great day of excessive diversions. Jane Austen Centre and Stonehenge tomorrow!

A house, a brawl, and a play

What a day Wednesday was! Before my train left from London Waterloo to Alton, the town near Jane Austen’s House, I decided to use those hours to squeeze in some more sightseeing (I’m becoming very good at this!). St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Globe Theater, and Tower Bridge (not London Bridge as many Americans mistakenly call this landmark) were on the list. Running to the station, but still having to wait for half an hour, I boarded a Southeastern line train to the heart of Hampshire.

The Jane Austen House very kindly provides directions for enthusiasts to find their way to the site. However, my train got in a bit later than expected and I missed the bus by ten minutes. Not wanting to wait around for an hour until the next bus, I did the only other reasonable alternative – I hired a taxi. For the low price of £6.10 a very friendly cabbie, who sounded just like Eliza Doolittle’s father, whisked me away in my “horse and carriage” and paid me very many well received compliments along the way. Apparently, any woman between the ages of 16 and 60 heading to Chawton are automatically assumed Austenites which, to their credit, is usually a safe assumption.

Imagine my delight as we cruised past painted doors and hedgerows which, in no time at all, gave way to a house I know very well. Trembling with excitement, I quickly paid the entry fee so I could enter the hallowed grounds. From that point onwards, I was on cloud nine. Jane Austen, arguably one of the greatest authors England has ever produced, and I now have one thing in common – we’ve sat on the same windowsill. The Jane Austen Society has done a wonderful job preserving this 19^th century cottage, and creating such a welcoming environment for visitors. Walking through 200 year-old hallways I saw Jane’s quilt, letters, sheet music and, of course, her writing desk. Being totally biased, I would recommend this experience to anyone! Of course, my joy had to be somewhat contained. To be completely honest, I did wish for the company of a kindred spirit who shared the same appreciation for Jane Austen’s work. Alas, independent travel can’t be all roses. Making my way through the gift shop, being highly amused at the fact that you could purchase a coffee cup with Colin Firth’s face on it, I purchased some obligatory postcards and explored more of Chawton village.

In the spirit of Rick Steves, I just started walking down a lane – looking forward to whatever cultural gems would unearth themselves. Turns out, I stumbled upon the church Jane Austen attended and graveyard where her mother and sister are buried. The Chawton House Library, unfortunately, is only open via invitation and, as best I could figure, lowly English Literature undergraduates are rarely invited. In any case, my hour’s walk along Chawton’s country lane and through the parks was just lovely. In retrospect, I should have made the 30 minute walk back to the train station, but wanted to make sure I arrived in London at a decent hour so, again, I relied on a taxi.

Once in London, I met another friend for coffee near Oxford Circus, but not before I went Toby Stephens stalking and witnessed an actual brawl. Okay, so, Toby Stephens is a British actor most Americans probably have never heard of. He portrayed Mr. Rochester in the most recent adaptation of Jane Eyre. In short, I would follow this man to the moon. His show, The Real Thing, opens on Saturday and I was gutted to just miss it. Still, I walked around The Old Vic in hopes of spotting Mr. Stevens, but only came away with a wee brochure and the bitter taste of crushed dreams. Maybe next time!

Far more exiting was the street fight I witnessed in Oxford Cirucs. Waiting to meet up with my friend, I stood just outside the Underground Station, minding my own business. Out of nowhere, these two guys burst through the crowd and one slammed the other on the pavement. I couldn’t really make out what the fight was all about, but they wrestled for a wee while, with an overexcited crowd looking on, until the fine London Police came to break up the fight and cart the men off to the slammer. By the time those faithful London bobbies arrived, my friend had as well and we went along our way. What a story!

Coffee finished, I brainstormed events to do for the evening. Of course, a West End Show! A play was on at the Criterion, The Thirty-Nine Steps, based on a book I just read in Scottish Fiction. Students get a super discounted ticket, £15, an hour before show-time. Grabbing life by the horns, I seized the opportunity and went for it! What a fun show! A total comedy, I laughed the whole way through; although, again, the experience would have been even sweeter if I could have shared it with a friend. After the show I made a beeline for the stage door and met all four members of the cast. The poor people! They looked so exhausted. Overall, it was a fantastic evening and such a great introduction to the world of West End Theater.

This morning I packed up my belongings, checked out of the hostel, mailed postcards, made my way to Paddington Station, saw the famous bear, and bid farewell to London. Bath today and tomorrow, then homeward bound on Saturday!

Hullo from London!

London. I am now on the independent leg of my journey; yesterday my trusty backpack, which I’ve named Beatrix, and I touched down in Stansted Airport to the jolly chimes of RyanAir. (Every time a plane lands, trumpets sound from the loudspeaker and a very Irish man announces, “You’ve arrived on another on time flight, by RyanAir!” Charming, thanks RyanAir.) Without too much confusion I found my hostel and settled in, then ventured out to the big city of London to get my bearings and see what I could before sunset.

Like a movie, the City of London unfolded before my eyes. Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Houses of Parliament, Big Ben – places I’ve known about for years - all appeared as I walked around the streets and parks. The Tube, contrary to my first fears, is an incredibly efficient and easy mode of transport. With a day pass, I could waltz up to any Underground or Bus Station, figure out where I needed to go, and get there.

Being very much on my toes, since I am travelling alone, I’ve managed to avoid any possible mishaps. Like the weird guy on the street who stopped me to tell me how beautiful I was (yeah, right!) then asked me out for drinks, or the Underground Tube worker who did a bit more than simply answer my inquiry. Walking away is the greatest protection a woman has. Not to be alarmed, these incidents have been isolated. The city is well lit and well guarded; London is simply swarming with a Police Force. Speaking of the police, I should say something about the Changing of the Guard.

This afternoon, after a brief jaunt around Kensington Palace which was absolutely magical, I made my way to Buckingham Palace again, this time to see the famed British tradition. Unfortunately, my place in the crowd didn’t offer the best view – but I certainly could see well enough to appreciate the pomp and circumstance. Handsome in their bright red coats and rather funny in their bearskin caps, the guards moved with such precision and importance. No wonder people from all over the world were chattering excitedly about the spectacle, bobbing and weaving their cameras trying to get a perfect shot. Of course, crowds are always difficult to manage and, boy, do the palace guards have a mess to contend with!

You’d think if a very large English guy bearing a gun (though, to be fair, probably not loaded) was demanding that you get off the railing or move along, people would listen. I’m sorry to say, I’ve lost a bit of faith in my fellow man. Tourist after tourist would pause at the open gate, obviously a security breach, to snap a photograph. “Move along, please! This is a walkway, do not stop!” security officials would belt to the crowds. Nothing. Stuck like rocks in their ignorance, fellow tourists had to be literally herded along by portly women and muscular men. Honestly!

Since I mentioned Kensington, I should return to that idea. Kensington Palace was the childhood home to Queen Victoria and, more recently, residence of Princess Diana. They’ve done something very clever with the place, decorating the inside to look like an “Enchanted Palace.” Although a bit too surreal in some rooms, most of the exhibit was enchanting and added to the mystery of history. I walked up staircases and sat on benches which Queen Victoria, my girl, walked and sat upon. What a treat! My parents had no idea what they’d predisposed me to by naming me ‘Victoria’, bless them.

Before heading to Kent to visit a friend from St Andrews, I stopped in Westminster Abbey. Sadly, photographs were not allowed but I did manage to find a few really good postcards with some amazing angles of the Abbey. I think I was most amazed to actually see the spot where kings and queens have been crowned for ages, where weddings and funerals have been held, and the final resting place of those monarchs. Queen Elizabeth I, Queen Mary, and Mary Queen of Scots are all buried beneath the high Gothic vaulted ceilings. Being a medieval cathedral, of course, many of the points of interest were centuries old and in such, what I thought to be, amazing shape. Another great little feature about my visit to Westminster Abbey was that Jeremy Irons recorded the audio tour. Not five minutes after listening to one of the most soothing, gravely vocal tones on the face of the planet – I realized that ‘Scar’ from the Lion King had been speaking! I totally had a great time, especially with Jeremy guiding me around.

Finally, about my wee trip to Kent. A very good friend of mine from St Andrews lives in this charming little town in the lovely county of Kent. The English countryside is now in close competition with the Highlands for stealing my heart away. We saw a stately home, which interestingly was taken by King Henry VIII from Cardinal Wolsey but eventually returned by Elizabeth I to the current owner’s family – the Sacksville-West’s, and saw a whole herd of deer on the grounds. So different from the States, I think we’d all have a heart attack if one person privately owned all that land! I had time to catch up with my friend, swapping stories about our Easter holidays, and enjoy dinner with her family – a fantastically British lot. I was so grateful to not only see the countryside again, but also to be welcomed into a home.

Now I’m on a train back to London, where I will probably catch the Tube back to my hostel. Tomorrow I’m thinking about popping into the National Gallery for a bit before heading to Jane Austen’s House in Hampshire for a wee day trip, then hanging out with another St Andrews friend tomorrow night. What a blessing! Cheers, and thanks for reading!

Bouna Pasqua! (Happy Easter!)

Holy Week has flown by! We attended Good Friday Communion service - apparently Good Friday is the only day that Catholics don’t consecrate the Eucharist – in the Chapel of the Legionaries. As usual, I felt incredibly Protestant. But, despite being a fish out of water, this service was very nice. I was able to participate in many of the elements of worship – like receiving a blessing or kissing the crucifix. After the Communion Service we made our way to the Coliseum, for Stations of the Cross. Talk about an experience! I’ve never been so closely smashed against perfect strangers before. Standing at the base of the Coliseum was quite a mind-blowing experience. Last time I was in Rome we toured the inside, but the grandeur and importance of it all still strikes me. Stations of the Cross, of course, is also very important. The Pope knelt throughout the entire service and, at one point, needed one of the priests to drape a cape over his shoulders because he was cold. That little moment made Pope Benedict seem more like a real human being. Despite a rather unfortunate encounter with a creepy, old, and perverted man – Stations went very well and was as reverent as it should have been.

Saturday, for Easter Vigil, we were also at the Legionaries’ Chapel – and this service was massive. Of course, not being Catholic, Mass is still a rare occasion for me. Easter Vigil Mass lasted for three hours. Can you believe it!? Thankfully, the time is so artfully divided in such a way that your attention is entirely on the ceremony, not the lateness of the hour. Also, these services are obviously in a mix of Italian, Spanish, German, French, Latin, as well as English – our attempts at translation, at least to grasp a contextual sense of what’s going on, could keep anyone on their toes! When I was a little girl, I remember participating in Easter festivities like egg hunts, gift baskets, and sunrise service. Time must have jaded my family. We just aren’t the holiday celebrators that we used to be. Saturday night, somewhere between the candlelight procession and Alleluia chorus, I made a decision to be more aware of important days and mark them accordingly.

As you might imagine, all of these Masses and Vigils led up to one gigantic Easter Sunday Mass. Undaunted by the gathering rain clouds, our band set off early this morning to secure good seats for the Pope’s Mass in St. Peter’s Square. Just before the ever-efficient Swiss guards opened up the security gates, a tell-tell drizzle began to fall from the heavens. By the time we found our seats, the drizzle had turned to a steady downpour, testing our commitment to the faith. Devout Catholics would never be deterred from a little fall of rain. If the Pope could brave the rain, then so could we! Holy Thursday Mass was still my favorite, but this Mass was special in its own way. Unfortunately, I had to struggle to not think about the condition of my clothes and hair, which was drenched in no time at all despite my poncho, and about my shoes which are one size too big, since I had to replace my old faithful boots, they finally gave out.

On a total side note, living like a turtle certainly has made me aware of my little vanities. How much I think about my appearance! And, then, when my wardrobe is confined to a few meager pieces, how self-conscious I become!

Mass finished an hour earlier than expected, Pope Benedict is merciful, and we began to head out. As a bit of a treat, the Holy Father reappeared on the balcony of the Basilica which promoted enthusiastic cheers of “Viva il Papa!” from the crowd. Dutifully, we listened to his address and received the Pope’s Easter Blessing.

In one hour’s time we found hot sandwiches to silence our growling stomachs and arrived back in the hotel – after which I promptly shimmied into my sweatpants and took a much needed nap. This evening we’re headed to the house of the Consecrated Women for Easter Supper. Food, and free food to boot, is always much appreciated.

Tomorrow morning I fly out from Rome to London for the second, and far more British, leg of my Easter Holiday. Bouna Pasqua!

18) Travel in Europe. Again.

Rome during Holy Week is a zoo; an absolutely fantastic zoo. Today is the first chance I’ve had to compile my thoughts about my week thus far. Once again, hold on to your seats!

Nothing could compare to almost getting mowed over by a Vespa and pushing your way through swarms of people just to get to the Vatican. Of course, hearing the Pope address the crowd was such a unique chance and fighting through the Roman jungle was totally worth it. This morning, we also miraculously scored seats to hear the Pope give Holy Thursday Mass in St. Peter’s. Mass was given in Latin and I was actually surprised to find how many words I could make out. Three years of a dead language pays off, let me tell you. Some advice I can impart, based on my experiences, is that if you want a good chance of getting a look at the Pope, and a shot at a seat, stick with a nun or a baby. Seriously! Nuns and small children are always let in the gate. If you stay with them, it’s practically guaranteed. Holding a ticket, which are free, is also helpful. I’m sad to say that the only rude people I saw in line were Americans. Really? Rudeness at the biggest church in the world? Not cool. Overall, Mass was quite a special and reverent experience. I also don’t think I’ve ever actually seen anybody of that importance in the flesh. (Well, I saw President Clinton drive by in his limousine once when I was 7, but that hardly compares.) St. Peter’s Square was designed to hold mass amounts of faithful Catholics and, more recently, sight-seeing tourists. In both the reverent and eye-candy capacities, certainly delivers.

Today and yesterday were totally fantastic. Cruising ancient streets with old and new friends was simply lovely; and, incidentally, unexpected friends. I’m here in Rome with my best friend from high school and, as fortune would have it, a tour group from our illustrious place of compulsory education is here as well. After hearing the Pope’s address on Wednesday, we began to walk away from the square and then – out of thin air – I heard my name. Abbey’s dad was at the railing with my high school History teacher and other fellow students. How bizarre! We were able to grab lunch with them and briefly catch up on Wednesday, then spend all of Thursday roaming Rome. Wild!

Although the Roman roads haven’t been super kind to my feet, my excitement of seeing Europe again quite overpowers the pain. Still, we do try to use public transportation as often as possible. The Metro system is usually quite a reliable source. Usually. Wednesday afternoon, as our merry trio made our way from the Vatican to another part of the city, we herded into the coach of a Roman subway and didn’t think twice. Just before our stop, things went wrong. The train flickered, like it does in those old movies, and then coasted to a stop as the whine of engines powered off. Uh-oh. In less than five minutes the air became suffocating, which wasn’t helped by the hundreds of other Italians on the train. Claustrophobics, beware! Pressed between a pair of teenagers making out and an old man reading the newspaper, deep in the bowels of the earth – I became almost claustrophobic myself! We all stood in the train for about another ten minutes until people began to get very restless. Right before I resigned myself to the life of an underground cave-dweller, the light at the end of the tunnel appeared – literally. Coach doors pried open and we were instructed, very casually by the metro conductor, to walk along the tracks until we came to the next stop. Like a herd of West Virginia miners, we hugged along the side of the Liena A tunnel until the light of day appeared again. My prayers were answered! And, let me say, the sun has never looked as radiant as it did today in the piazza, after spending half an hour in a dank, dark, metro hole. Hobbit holes, I hear, are far more inviting.

Holy Thursday has been idyllic. After a rather manic time getting to Mass, we just walked the roads and marveled at the way Italians live. Imagine, being so romantic all the time! A very pleasant lunch courtesy of our school’s headmaster (also Abbey’s father), gelato for dessert, and tea in the Piazza Navona were just two of the many ‘Roman’ moments. Since my initial culture shock has worn off (Tuesday really wasn’t super pleasant, too much dashing around in the big city for this small town girl!), these past days have been just superb. Rome is a beautiful city, when you learn to navigate the chaos.

Tomorrow we’re going to the Keats-Shelly House, more churches, as well as Stations of the Cross at the Coliseum. Relaxing with a bubble bath and movie tonight, catching up on assignments in the morning (since schoolwork refuses to leave me alone!). By the grace of God, I’ve traveled in Europe again and hope to keep up the trend as long as I’m able. Ciao!