The U.K. mega-update
First, I should just point out that the breakdown involving reading the end of Harry Potter occurred in Winchester, not Bath, as I wrote in the last entry... And it is in fact Winchester in which we last left you and where we shall now begin updating you about our adventures in the UK (read: All those places that aren't London).Also, yes, we have heard about the discovery of new bombs in London, and as we are in Dublin, we are once again, safe from potential harm. No need to worry... we won't be back to London for another 2 weeks or so. Plenty of time for them to track down the bastards doing this.
Righty-o... We left London early to get to Winchester. We managed to haul our bags to Tottenham Court Road station so that we were able to take the Tube directly to Waterloo station. We finally got to experience one of the trains where the front half winds up somewhere different from the back half... or we would have if we had gone one station more. Turns out that in order for us to get to many of our destinations here, we have to do a lot of train switching (although Winchester was a direct route... but nothing else has been!). Once we got to the station, we found out that there were no lockers to stow our bags and so we would have to take our 'rucksacks' with us on our Jane pilgrimmage (the Jane in question is, of course, Jane Austen... 'is she some English author?' we were asked by an Aussie girl in Bath...). Thankfully Winchester is a pretty tiny city, although distances ALWAYS feel much longer when you're hauling nearly 20 kg on your back! We made our way to the Cathedral where Jane is buried, but it was closed for mass... we sat around on the front lawn, eating crips and I was personally attacked by a large caterpillar whilst reading HP6 (during a very frightening chapter, too, I might add!). It was so big, and green, and squooshy!
When we finally got into the Cathedral (which was very impressive) we were a bit surprised to find that they claim to require £4500 per day to keep in operation. We both agreed that the air conditioning and automatic doors could probably go... Even seeing Jane's final resting place was not enought to loosen our purse strings because, in case we haven't mentioned it yet, it is EXTREMELY expensive here. And, no one was at the donation desk. Note: The man beside us is currently sucking at his teeth as though there is a particularly succulent morsel of something (gristle?) between them... Ah, internet cafes where it is only 1 euro per hour...
We walked by Jane's grave a few times (that'll teach us to rely on maps!) before we finally found her. Many pictures were taken, and if it weren't for fear that I would never have been able to get up again, I might have very well thrown myself across it, crying (show those girls from Morrison's grave how it's REALLY done). Alas, I would have looked more like an unfortunate turtle, so I refrained. Also, Laura would see my histrionics in full-effect soon enough!
We popped into Presto's for some pasties (We just went with the traditional of meat and veg) and then got to the tourist centre. As soon as we said we wanted to go to Chawton, the woman handed us a pamphlet on getting to Jane Austen's house, and we set off for the bus station. The bus to Chawton only comes once every 2 hours on Sunday, but we whiled away the time by reading Potter (we had JUST missed the most recent bus). By the time it came, we had both finished the book and, were dry-eyed but emotionally drained (I had spent a good while rifling through my bag for Kleenex). The bus driver told us he'd let us know where we should get out, but we kept an eye open anyway. We whirled through the English countryside, and finally alighted... at a roundabout in the middle of a field. If navigating those things is hard in a car, try it on foot some time... As we walked down a country lane (passing a dead fox and a massive pile of feathers... ah, death lanes), we found ourselves in front of the cottage Jane was most creative in and spent the last few years of her life (as we now know, she did not like Bath at all). We went through the little museum (thankfully we were able to leave our rucksacks by the door... although that might have been more for the museum's benefit than ours!) and spent some time in the garden before we had to make our way back to the bus stop... which was (I kid you not), a wooden shack on the edge of a forest. It looked like an outhouse!
Once we made it back to the bus station in Winchester, we then had to trek all the way back to the railstation on the other side of town, and then were on our way to Bath. Thank goodness we had to transfer at Reading, as there was a 'fatality' at Banbury (they kept loudly proclaiming this on the loudspeaker to explain why one of the trains had been cancelled entirely). Once we got to Bath, we caught a bus and made our way up the very winding hill (Bathwick Hill to be exact) and checked in at the YHA. Although we were in a very large dorm, there were only 4 of us in there altogether. One was a native Briton, and the other, the infamous ignorant Aussie girl mentioned earlier. Both were very nice, and we chatted for a bit before heading off to 'Bedfordshire' (see Fil, we can be nice... it just doesn't suit us!).
The next day, we found that climbing down hills can be far more enjoyable than climbing up them. We followed the map given by the hostel and found ourselves making our way through a huge field with only a very crude path as our guide. Seems like the sort of thing Lizzie Bennett would approve of, although neither of us had on skirts that we could muddy. Shame, that. We made our way to the Jane Austen centre (we are getting very good at navigating using an ingenious combination of tourist signs, and the maps provided to us on pamphlets to assist us in reaching tourist destinations). The woman at the centre was very excited and/or flustered, and seemed deeply in love with Jane and her family (which is as it should be). We learned that Jane detested Bath because it was so superficial and they were so confined there (kind of like York University!). We disliked Bath because we were beseiged by a foreign school group that clearly had no interest in Jane but traipsed through her centre very loudly so as to disrupt the largest number of enthusiasts as possible. We wanted to pick up copies of the P&P soundtrack they had playing in the gift shop, but alas, there was only a store copy, and the S&S soundtrack just wasn't doing it. No transparent, wet shirts in that one! Mmmmm.... Colin Firth in a wet shirt... But we get ahead of ourselves...
We then decided to pop into the supermarket and pick up some Battenburg cake (could there be anything more British than sponge cake wrapped in almond paste? or anything mroe delicious?). We then popped into the local market (boasting 'traditional shopping'... whatever the heck that is) for some cheap samosas and pasties. Not as good as the ones in Winchester, but cheaper, so: yay!
We returned to the street to realize that we had made our first mistake in England: neither of us carried rain jackets or umbrellas! How could we forget the cardinal weather rule in England? Stupid! At least it wasn't raining very hard, although we were happy to make it to the Museum of Costume nonetheless! There we learned the secrets of the corset (the 18-inch waist is a myth! They never got below 21!), saw some very ridiculous fashions, and best of all, saw the exhibit proudly displaying the costumes used in many Jane Austen tv/film productions! There in the flesh (ok, not really) were the costumes worn by Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, Alan Rickman, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer Ehle.... oh yeah, AND COLIN FIRTH!!!! The audio guide tale about the infamous wet shirt was very amusing... as much as we love it, we'd just like to let you know that it was that or NAKED! Yes, he could have been wearing nothing at all, but they had to keep American tv in mind. Argh! Oh, and for this wondering, the Dress of 2003 was the J-Lo hardly-a-dress-at-all dress.
After that very bracing exhibit, we went for 'linner' as it was 5 pm. We had foudn a pub where all meals served between 2-6 pm were 25% off, and we're more than happy to alter our eating patterns to suit a deal! We sat down to a fabulously large English Breakfast consisting of: 2 eggs, 2 sausages (the big ones you put on buns), 2 rations of bacon (back bacon), chips, beans, mushrooms, and tomato! Yowza! So filling... really, it's a good thing we can only afford 1 meal a day because we wouldn't be able to eat like that 3 times daily!
Then we rolled ourselves to the Roman Baths and made our way through there. I amused Laura by quoting Gilmore Girls while we stood in front of one of the mannequin exhibits, and we had a good time relearning about Aqua Sulis. I was disappointed to be unable to find out how to taste the Spa water without paying (dunking your head in the bath itself is not an option, dad...), so we decided to instead make our way back to the hostel. Finding it quite nippy, I slept in my hoody, and Laura herself had to get up and get her sweatshirt. She of course did this while sleeping, and so first was muttering about not being able to find her ticket. When I asked her what the heck she was going on about, she snapped that she didn't need a ticket, she needed a sweater! Whatever, Laura! Even when she's sleep-talking she's snarky! I love it!
Next morning, we made our way to the bus stop (they don't start running until just before 8 o'clock and we had a train to catch at 8:01) so that we could get to Stratford-Upon-Avon. Once more we made our way to Reading where we then transferred to Banbury (no fatalities that day... although a bit of our hearts died when we saw the scrumptious ads for Cadbury Creme Egg McFlurries that we have been unable to procure at any McDonaldses hence... oh the sorrow when we are in the land of Cadbury!). A train tunnel had collapsed somewhere, so we then had to get on a bus which drove us the rest of the way to Stratford.
Once in Stratford, we walked a bit into the center of town and caught a bus (along with all the retired people) to our hostel. We were aided by an old woman who was very determined that we should make it there on the best bus (she was so cute!). Of course, our hostel was not in Stratford proper, but rather in Warwickshire county, just outside of Stratford. We realized that our train the next day was leaving at 7:45 am, but that the bus at the hostel did not leave until 7:35... a little too close for comfort, so we resolved that we might have to walk to the trainstation from our hostel. We did enquire about taxis, but the man working at the desk (who actually seemed a bit misinformed about everything come to think of it) told us that the taxis 'might not run that early'. OK....
We figured that we should try the walk without heavy packs on, as that would probably not be the best time to see if we could do it or not... or how long it takes. After 35 minutes of walking, Laura proclaimed that she could not do the walk (although I think she could, if she were forced to and had no alternative but to stay in Stratford for the rest of her life), so we hoped that we would be able to get a taxi. If we missed our 7:45 train, the next one would not get us to Holyhead, Wales in time to catch any ferry save for the one getting us into Dublin at 10:30 pm. No good at all!
We checked out Shakespeare's Birthplace, and were once again beset upon by the Spanish tour group that could not care less about the Bard. Also, Laura had the misfortune of overhearing an American woman ponder why Willy didn't leave anything to his "daughter [sic] Hamnet... you know, Judith's twin". Unfortunately, she didn't realize that Hamnet had died at a very young age and that Hamnet, much like HamLet, was a boy. Ah well... if Paris Hilton won't read, why should anyone else in America?
Then we went to the Church where Shakespeare is buried (the old woman asked our nationality before exclaiming: "Ah! You're Canadian!?! Well then you'll be wanting the English brochure!"). William and his family have the whole back of the church to themselves, and it's a very impressive memorial what with the cursing of anyone who moves his bones. No possibility of me prostrating myself on the Bard's grave, as they have it neatly roped off. Yet another emotional outburst subverted. Drat!
We then had ourselves another "linner" of sorts as we found a place where you could get 2 meals for £7.50. How can you pass up that bargain? You can't (unless you are the american girls who paid at least £2.50 for a glass of pepsi...)! of course, we didn't really want any of the options that fell under the special, and so we found ourselves ordering yet another breakfast-dinner since it seemed the best option. Once again, very hardy and enjoyable. Although, really, how can anyone pack away that much for breakfast?
After a fruitless quest for the Cadbury McFlurry (and reading an outrageous claim that Harry Potter makes fools of adults who should be reading "better" stuff...), we made our way to the theatre where we sat down for a most enjoyable performance of "A Comedy of Errors". So good! I maintain that the Royal Shakespeare Company can't be beat when it comes to putting on Shakespeare productions. They never fail to amuse, even if it is one of the Bard's "lesser comedies". Also, the whole thing had a very "Tim Burton-esque" feel to it, and was just a great way to spend £5 and a couple of hours. Highly recommended.
Since the bus that would get us to the hostel would not come by for another hour and a half, we decided to hoof it home again. This time in pitch black. Perhaps all that talk about Death Eaters and Inferi, etc., was not the best idea. Although it all seemed perfectly harmless when there were street lights! All too soon we were stumbling through thick grass and trying not to fall into pot holes or get hit by cars. Neither of us admitted it until later, but it was a terrifying walk home. 2.25 km each way it was (argh! pirate speak!), so we certainly got our exercise!
We had to get up the next morning at 5 am (careful not to wake up our roommates who had shown up just before midnight... perhaps they were French Cinderellas... (Cinderellae (?)) because we had to call the cab company at 6 to see if they had any free cars, and if not... we had to start walking. Thankfully, we were able to procure a cab for quarter past 7, and ate our bag-breakfast in the dining room. Our cabbie was quite friendly, and we saved our backs an awful lot of pain. Best £8 ever spent!
From Stratford, we took the train to Birmingham (alas, not enough time to stop off at Cadbury Land... Britain's happiest place on earth as they've not got Disney), walked to a different station (only 5 minutes), and from there we went to Crewe before getting on the train to Holyhead. From Birmingham onward, we were accompanied by an Irish family with the most rotten children. At first Laura was taken in by Tom (or "Tam" as his "Mam" called him) because he had bed-head and wore a mining helmet, but soon his screeches drove us all wild. Also, there were 2 very drunk men on the train from Birmingham to Crewe who kept speaking loudly about hoping no one was a terrorist. Keep in mind they were sloshed before 9 in the morning. You've gotta love the English! Then, on the train from Crewe to Holyhead, we managed to alienate a fellow adult passenger because we think he thought our smiles and giggles were mocking him for reading Harry Potter, when in fact we were only debating as to whether we should strike up a conversation. Seeing others read the book makes us feel a sort of kinship with them (although we felt nothing for the guy from Mississippi in our London hostel who had claimed to come all the way there for the book, and yet did not go to the midnight opening because he "had the flu" (a revelation to which, Laura deadpanned "yeah, I can tell" and then also told him it was a "pretty crappy excuse"). Also, the most terrifying nag woman sat across the aisle from us. She just complained about EVERYTHING, and kept telling her husband(?) to speak up, and then would berate everything he said and swear at him. It was very: un!comfortable!
Wales was great from the train as we got to pass through a castle, see the sea, AND stop momentarily at what must be the town with the world's longest name (and probably the fewest vowels, too!): Llanfairpwllgwynwyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantyiliogogogoch. I took pictures! Once we reached Holyhead, we dashed to get away from Terrifying Woman, and booked ourselves ferry tickets. We then made our way to a fish & chip shop, as Holyhead claims to have the best fish & chips. I will say this, they probably provide the LARGEST fish and chip. The piece of cod they put down in front of each of us must have been at least the length of your keyboard (though not that wide). The vinegar strangely had no flavour, and the fish was kind of bland too (good chips, though). We'll have to see if Dublin can beat 'em!
Then it was on the ferry (after dubbing a tiny, obviously Irish child: Seamus O'Toole... so adorable with his freckles to outfreckle Laura and his gap tooth smile), where I promptly passed out face-down on the nearest table. Every one seemed to be loving their curries, which they all seemed to have been waiting for the ferry ride for. Laura foolishly stayed awake to watch the horrible Irish children misbehave horribly. And if that makes it sound like all Irish children are horrible... well, Seamus was cool. And I felt a little more love for "Tam" when he began making up a song about the escalator.
After making it through customs, we got on a bus to the city center. We got off prematurely though because it was going so fricken' slow and we thought we could walk it much faster. Well, we did walk it, although it would have been less painful to sit on the bus and let it do the work. Our poor backs will be permanently curved into question mark type shapes (as they ask us: Why? Why did you do this to us?)upon our return home.
The hostel here is ok-ish. We are sharing a room with a terrifying man who looks like he spends ever waking moment pumping iron, and who sleeps in his skimpy boxers (he wears short shorts!) on top of the covers and snores something fierce. Also, there was one girl who wore more to bed than she does out and about... Honestly. Also, the man working the front desk is creepy.
After taking some time to recover, we made our way to the Guinness Storehouse. We were one of the last people to be allowed in, and got this cool keepsake (it's like a paperweight that has a drop of Guinness in it). We also got to drink a pint of the stuff up in the Gravity bar (after seeing vintage ads, and learning how they make it in the first place). It tasted better than I remember it, and perhaps better than Laura does too, but it still tastes like... a glass of vinegar that people have boiled gym socks in and dumped an ashtray into? How can roasted barley smell so good yet it taste so bad? We blame the damn hops! It smells evil right from get-go. Best part was definitely the view... AND the shamrock the bar wench (heh!) artfully managed to engrave into the foamy head. Pictures!
Feeling a little foggyheaded, we made our way home, ate the left-over Battenburg cake and some Sweet Chili& Corriander crisps from Marks & Spencer we had been saving, and then promptly fell asleep.
Today we made our way to Kilmainham Gaol, and had a tour of Europe's largest unused prison. The place was supremely creepy, but we learned a lot. Our guide, Paul, told us that to study the history of the US, you look at its presidents; to study the history of France, you look at its Revolutions; and to look at the history of Ireland, you look at its prisons. We learned all about the rebellions and revolutions that took place and all the men and women who were killed to create the Republic as it is today. Now, if only we could figure out why the French don't refrigerate their eggs or their milk... One of the great mysteries of the world...
We had a bit of trouble finding the bus station to get us back to town, but we made it, and then checked out Trinity College Dublin. I snagged myself a t-shirt (I apparently have the proportions of a 9-11 year old... whatever!), and took photos in the Trin Quad... Now if I can only get me a shirt from Trinity College, Oxford, I'll almost have a complete set!
We checked out the Dublin Writer's Museum, the Garden of Rememberance, and set off several theft alarms in the music stores we went into (we don't have anything on us that should be activating them... and yet...). We made a pricey call to Belfast to confirm our reservations at the hostel for tomorrow night, and now we're off to get fish & chips at the place that people apparently visit EVERY night.
Sorry for the Looooong post. Had a lot to update you about. Tomorrow it's off to Belfast, where we are back to the scary sterling pound. Sigh... who thought the Euro would ever look so kind?
posted by Steph @ 5:48 pm
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