Chillin' in Berlin

Day Three: Berlin, Deutschland

Delicious bratwurst.

It’s now April 20^th, if you actually want to try and keep track of days, but they don’t really matter. What does matter is it was our last day in Berlin. Getting bikes again crossed our minds, but we decided today was meant to be more about detail instead of speed, so we walked. We saw the Alexanderplatz, Berliner Dom (Berliner Dome), Checkpoint Charlie, the Berlin Wall (what’s left of it), and the Brandenburger Tor (Brandenburger Gate). The Dome is huge and super gorgeous, but we didn’t bother to go inside. Instead, we ordered bratwurst in rolls (the real German way) from a woman who was wearing her grill and sat in its shadow. Right across the street from the dome was a small park where people were lounging in the sun. Rachel and I first went there because it was a place to sit, but we soon realized it was once the basement of a building.

Just eating bratwurst near the Dom. No big thing.

Brandenburger Tor

One of the most interesting parts of Berlin was that history wasn’t dead, just damaged. We could see part of the concrete walls and where the rafters once held up the floor. Other buildings showed marks from bombs and the wall was an adamant reminder of how divided Berlin used to be.

Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

Berlin is wonderfully convenient how it’s set up. Seeing all of the main sights is very easy because they’re all in line with each other. After Alexanderplatz and Berliner Dom, we headed west, passed the University with some other cool buildings (we didn’t know what they were called), and ended up at the Brandenburger Gate. I guess the gate’s cool, but after you walk through it, there’s not much else. We then headed south and saw the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, which reminded us of a part of the Jewish Museum.

The weather was absolutely fantastic, so in the afternoon we grabbed some ice cream and relaxed for a bit before moving on. I also had pork rib with potatoes for dinner and this odd concoction known as “beer with sprite.” Now, I know people mix liquors with pop, but beer? The Germans naturally disapprove tainting the golden liquid in such a disgraceful way, but for those of us who aren’t big fans of the taste, it’s perfect. You still taste mostly beer, but it’s a little sweeter and easier to drink with a meal (if you ask me. I only recently turned 21, so having alcohol with meals is still a new concept).

Checkpoint Charlie... in front of a McDonald's. Coincidence?

That night, our amazing hostel had a boat party, and we were invited. We met people from Scotland, Mexico, and Turkey. We didn’t stay out too late because we knew we were traveling the next morning, but the reason why I came abroad was to meet new people, and we did.

Me in front of the Berlin Wall

Pedal to the Metal!

Day Two: Berlin, Deutschland

Rachel and I decided we never really wanted to sleep in very much because we were only spending a few days in each city, and didn’t want to miss out. We started on our first full day by waking up at eight. Our first task: to find some noms (food, if you’ve never heard me talk before). Berlin is set up kind of funny, and we would have to travel a tad to get to a place with substance. Since Germany is awesome like the States and drives on the right side of the road, Rachel and I figured the best way to get around was by bike. Rachel had found some info at the hostel about renting bikes, and we simply trudged down the street (I say trudge because it was a slight trek) to the bike rental. It was only €10 for a whole 24 hours, so we were excited.

Rachel on our bikes

 We hopped on and headed south. I led our feeble “pack” because I could read German and knew a few random words. Quick German lesson: “Sprechen Sie Englisch?[sprae-ken zee aang-lish]” will save your life. It means “Do you speak English?” Perhaps knowing “Wo ist die Toilette?[vo ist dee toy-let-teh]” as well, at least for emergencies (Where is the restroom). Most Germans speak English though, especially in big cities, so I wouldn’t worry too much. Ah, but being surrounded by German can give you a major headache. All of the signs trick you into believing you can understand them because of the similar alphabet, but it’s a lie. Especially if you’re like me where you’ve studied German long, long ago, so the German is familiar, but you have no idea what it means. Can we say, frustrating much? Most deffers (Oh, “Vielen dank”[feel-en dah-nk] is also good to know; it means “Thank you”).

Our amazing breakfast

Now that you’re a mini-beast at German, let me continue. We rode down to an area Rachel knew had some places for a bit of “früstück,” or breakfast (don’t ask me how they got that word. Sounds like “you stuck” though). There was a couple cute little cafés and we sort of randomly chose one. We picked well though, seeing as they gave us a beastly meal for €5 each. Our stomachs were soon full of fresh fruit, a boiled egg, and two croissants each smothered in Nutella. Rachel and I ended up ordering a lot of the same food throughout the trip partially because it was easier to just have me order that way as I could pronounce everything. We also have similar tastes.

The Jewish Museum

After that, we rode our bikes over to the Jewish Museum. It’s an amazing place, and definitely worth seeing if you’re ever in Berlin. I think the architect may have had a tad bit too much fun in designing it, but that’s all right. Rachel and I both have slightly short attention spans now for museums though, because most are free in London, so we skimmed over all of the reading things (yes, they had English, but still…). We went through everything though, and then hopped back on our bikes to go farther into the city.

Inside the museum. I did nothing to this picture.

Berlin’s Alexanderplatz makes it super easy to tell where the city center is. It’s like a huge pin stuck in the earth and you just head towards it. Don’t worry, you get to it eventually. We did a bit of souvenir shopping (the only shopping we do on the whole trip, just to let you know) and ate a late lunch. German food is fantastic. Don’t believe me? Well, this is what I ate: minced meat rolled in cabbage and drenched (yes, drenched) in gravy with bacon on top, served with potatoes and salad on the side. I also had a “Schokokuẞ” [shock-o-koose] for dessert. It was chocolate and mint ice cream with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Not only did this all taste delicious and fill us up, but compared to the prices in London, it was super cheap! Put simply, Rach and I ate our way through our trip, but we did so much walking (and biking) that we probably only gained muscle, which is what we both want anyway.

The Berliner Dom

We travelled back and returned the bikes before crashing in the hostel for the night. Somehow, Rachel and I always had something to talk about, and her company was the most enjoyable part of this trip.

Germany, HO!!

Day One: Berlin, Deutschland

All right, it’s been a tad bit longer than I wanted to write this blog, so I’m scrapping my first attempt and trying again… In other words, I’ve hit a moment when I just feel like writing what I remember and all the awesome stuff, but informally and probably random. Please do not be surprised if I end up ranting myself away into a void of confusing sentences. If I go there, well… whoops.

I’m going to write this all at once, but for your sake, I’ll split it up a tad so it’s not so overwhelming. My story begins on the 18^th of April (yes, almost a month ago. Ignore that). I took the day to finish up my last little run-arounds and whatnot before hopping on a plane and somehow flying down to Berlin, Germany. Now, if you’re ever in Europe, you must travel. Flights are super cheap (especially if you book even just a month in advance) and it’s beastly. A whole bunch of different cultures are just a hop-skip and a swim away (the swimming is kinda mostly for places like the United Kingdom. That whole being an island thing gets in the way sometimes). Flying to Berlin only took an hour. That’s right, you heard me, AN HOUR. That’s less time it took me to fly down to Washington D.C. from Cleveland, Ohio. I mean, I know the States are huge, but really?

I saw these on my way to my flight. Queen mask? Creepy.

Anyhoo, I got in super late because that’s how cheap flights work: they’re either really early or really late. You’ve got to be super lucky to get one at a “decent” time (or you know, pay more). The airport was small and pretty self-explanatory. You leave the plane, go through some dinky security and BOOM! There’s the door, have a nice day (note: this comes with a nice big friendly German smile). I went over to the information desk and found out how to take the trains into the city. Let me tell you before I begin on this: trains suck in Germany. They don’t always do what they’re supposed to. That said, I’ll continue…

It’s now about 11:30 at night, which I thought was an hour ahead because who knew Germany was an hour ahead of England? I didn’t, but fortunately, all I really needed to know was it was late. Any other information would have just been nifty. I started towards the train station, and a woman who had gone to the info desk before me came to speak with me. She was dressed as your usual European (scarf and messy bun with some nice clothes flair) and she was a tad bit shorter than me. Her accent was hard to place, but slightly French.

Turns out she was Swedish, but lived in France because she’s an opera singer. How awesome is that?

Her awesomeness aside, she was totally lost. She came to Berlin to meet a friend, but her buddy hadn’t helped her much, so instead she chose the random American…? Yup, there’s strength in numbers when you’re a tourist. At least you know they’re making stupid mistakes too. I told her what I knew about the trains, but then let her go. I had stayed too long in London to be overly nice (oops), but don’t worry, we ended up hanging out a lot more. I headed underground to find the train, bought a ticket and headed for the platform. Trains had gotten a lot less complicated after working with the Underground so long, so I was somewhat confident… until I came to a crossroads.

Two signs said they went to the right train, but they went in opposite directions. By the looks of it, they actually looked like they both headed up to the same platform, which helped… but didn’t. I was standing between the two stairs trying to decide which would be more efficient to try when a woman came up behind me. She was English, but had been living in Berlin for awhile. Her back story is she makes films and documentaries for a living, and she was just coming back from interviewing one of the ex-husbands of the woman her documentary was about. Turns out, the woman had a couple ex-husbands, and it sounded like the men told some interesting tales.

Berlin!

*took a pause here to nom on some fantastical Turkish delight and get sugar all over me…*

Ugh, okay, back to my story. The woman came up to me and asked if I was confused, which I guess was obvious because I literally kept turning my head back and forth between the two signs. She led me up the choice on my left and told me to take the next one. Turns out she was riding the same train, as well as the opera singer! The train came surprisingly soon, but and we hopped on. Then a message sounded over the PA system telling us something, but it was muffled and of course in German. The Englishwoman translated for us, and said the train was just going to chill a bit before heading out. “Welcome to Berlin!” the Englishwoman chuckled, “Where the trains are crap.” That last part I paraphrased a little, but you get the idea. I checked my watch worriedly because I knew I had a certain time to check into the hostel (which… oh man, it was awesome. Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself) before 11:30pm. Unfortunately, my watch was telling me it was 10:30… meaning it was already 11:30. I could call and tell them to wait, but my little watch told me I still had time, so I let it go.

Finally the train decided to leave, but then was like, “nah, I don’t want to go all the way to where I’m supposed to go because it’s late and I’m lazy… for a train.” So we had to hop off a little bit earlier than expected. I had no fear though, because the English woman easily led us two unfortunate tourists to a taxi, and since my hostel was on the way to where the opera singer was going, we shared it. The ride was barely seven Euros for me to get there, and I was happy to know I made it.

All right, now I can tell you!! I’m so excited, can you tell? I got my luggage (a little duffel bag I learned to hate by the end of this trip) and said good-bye to the nice woman, wishing her luck on the rest of her travels. I then passed through the East Gallery Wall and towards the Spree River, which cuts through Berlin. That’s right, my hostel was a BOAT. A boat full of awesomeness! If you ever go to Berlin, stay at the Eastern Comfort Hostelboat. Totally worth it; decently priced, nice accommodations, and an amazingly nice staff (well, it’s Germany, everyone’s nice…).

Me and the awesome boat/hostel

I went in and they were waiting for me, seeing as I was an hour later than I thought. Fortunately, my travel buddy, Rachel, had gotten there way before me and warned them I might be coming late. They said it was no problem, but did creep me out a bit when I walked in and they were just like, “Oh, you must be Mary!” What an experience, let me tell you. I know my name is common, but not that common, jeez!

(Quick explanation: Rachel had spent the previous week with her visiting parents, who took her to Paris. She decided instead of coming back to London, to just pop over to Berlin instead and meet me there. Her flight came in super early, so she learned a bit about Berlin before I arrived, which came in handy).

The moment all was settled, I climbed onto my bed and let the rolling waters outside lull me to sleep. I was excited for the next day, no matter what was in store.

Look, it's the Sun!!

When most people think of London, they think of fog and rain… but that’s not very accurate. For the time I’ve been here, I think it has rained for maybe ten days out of three months. I’ve been told it’s been a dry winter so far, but still. The temperature has been decent as well; staying in the 50’s mostly.

Entrance to Hyde Park

Yet this last week, it got all the way into the 70’s! Oh man, as far as Londoners are concerned, that’s summer weather. As I walked through the Oxford Circus Tube Station, this message played: “Due to the hot weather, it is suggested that you carry a bottle of water with you at all times. If you feel unwell, tell a member of staff.” Now I am still wearing a spring jacket over my T-shirt and trousers, but most people have gone so far as to be in shorts. To me, this is perfect weather because it’s not too hot or cold. The wind is cool instead of chilly. Sitting outside doesn’t make you desire a warm blanket and a cup of tea.

You could rent these chairs for a couple hours.

So what do Londoners do when the weather’s so nice? Well, there isn’t an ocean nearby (don’t even think of the Thames. The color could scare you away), so no one goes to the beach or anything. Instead they head out to the parks. I myself wanted to take advantage of the sun instead of locking myself up in my room, so I went to Hyde Park. It’s close to where I take my classes, and since I had just turned in most of my assignments, I felt like relaxing on grass. I never thought I would miss little blades of foliage, but being surrounded by concrete definitely does that to you.

So... many... people!

I was far from being alone in Hyde Park. It was the afternoon on a Wednesday, but that didn’t matter. All different people sat on blankets or in rented beach chairs. Children and young adults alike passed soccer balls between each other as solitary people (such as myself and a few others) read quietly, with their backs against the scattered trees. It looked to me like there was a festival or something going on, but nothing was. We were all just getting away from the bustling city, if only for a few hours of peace.

A Simple Reflection (Procrastination as Well)

Today is the last day of March. In a week’s time, I will have been in Europe for three whole months. Since then, I’ve come to appreciate many things I hadn’t before while in the United States, and I felt it necessary to point them out:

Looking back, this was my first look at London.

I first appreciate living in your own country. I’ve run into a few problems like being sick or trying to manage money issues from across the pond and it’s quite a hassle. Londoners know how this country works and how to survive, but I find myself realizing how awkward it is not to know the unwritten rules and regulations. It’s actually somewhat unnerving to just not feel comfortable because you know it’s not technically your home. Then again, it is… for now.

Another wonderful thing is either homemade meals or meal plans. Cooking for yourself on a small budget sucks. I’m not used to it enough to plan anything snazzier than pasta or maybe a bowl of soup. My mom could always whip up a full-course meal even while working two jobs and not really having the time to do so. In comparison, having a meal plan at college is a god send. Oh man, to just be able to walk into a building and eat immediately… I never thought I’d miss the questionable food from the dining hall, but there you have it. I could eat my fill there without worry and after half an hour just go back to my studies or what have you.

A nice set of pots and pans are also fantastic. I’ve been using a cheap mess kit because it was easy to pack, but let me tell you now, you should probably only use those for the off-chance you may go camping and nothing else. They don’t last very long if you try to use them daily. My one flatmate has a nice pan, and we all used it once to make pancakes (English pancakes, which are more like crepes, not American pancakes). I can’t tell you how many of us making the pancakes remarked, “Wow, this is a nice pan…” Yes, nice cutlery is officially a luxury.

Still on the note of food, dishwashers are beastly. I always hated having to do the dishes when I was younger, but now it’s just a pain. Fortunately, I’m only doing my own dishes, but if I had a handy little dishwasher, I’d be a very merry Mary (and I now apologize for the terrible pun).

Other wonderful machines would be a washer and dryer. I miss being able to do all of my laundry in about two hours at school. At home, it’s a tad bit more of a challenge because I’m washing everyone’s clothes, but then everyone has fresh outfits and it really doesn’t take that long. The whole setting up the machines and pressing GO is easy; I have more of a problem with folding clothes because it’s tedious. Here though, I’ve been washing all of my clothes by hand because I would otherwise be paying ₤15 every time I want clean clothes. I’m a capable youngster though, and have found it much easier to just wash all my clothes in my room (I have a washbasin, which comes in handy more than I could ever imagine). Some people hand-wash them and then go for a dryer, but I’m even too cheap for that and just hang my clothes up in my room. I can’t help but feel resourceful about that. Then again, it takes a good deal of time to wash them and then let them dry, so I really have to plan which loads I do and so on. I miss being able to just throw all my clothes in the wash and let the machine sort it out.

It's not this empty anymore, but my room when I first moved in...

Reading over this, I realize how my first point seems very serious and the rest of this… eh, not so much. To be fair though, what you miss of home usually consists of little things. I miss my tablet for my computer and my iHome as well, but not as much as the things I’ve already mentioned. I also miss being in the same time zone as everyone else, but that’s to be expected.

I would do things I love about London, but I think after all of this is done and I return to the States (as in, after I experience some backwards culture shock) I will write another post similar to this about what I miss about Europe. I probably can already think of a few things, but it should become more apparent when I’m back on my home soil… which is in about two months, I’ll have you know. That’s it… hm… wait. How did that happen again?

Off to Wales!

For over a week now, I’ve been ill with a sore throat that has made my life slightly unbearable. I have decided that of all things to happen, simply being sick is one of the worst experiences while abroad. I’ve had days where I can barely get out of bed, and nights where I cry in vain, hoping only to get at least an hour’s worth of sleep.

That aside, it did not stop me from going to Wales.

I'm standing next to Cardiff Castle in Cardiff.

I went on Saturday, the 26^th of March. It was a day trip set up similarly to when I went to Stonehenge and Bath, but this time I went by myself. Most of the trip was spent driving there and back, but I still loved the trip.

Welsh countryside

First off, Wales is beautiful. It has rolling hills and mountains as far as the eye can see, and since the weather was so perfect, that’s pretty dang far. Our tour guide explained how Wales had been conquered by the English, and therefore why there’s quite a bit of tension between the two countries. We came to Cardiff (the capital), where a football match between Wales and England was being held. The streets were full of proud Welsh waving their bright flag in the air and painting red dragons on their faces. There were old people, young people, and children everywhere. Other than the whole match thing, I thought it made sense so many people were out to enjoy the lovely weather. It was in the 60’s and sunny.

There were quite a few signs like this...

The best part of my visit was seeing the daffodils. I learned that daffodils are the country’s flower, and this time of the year, they’re everywhere. I went into one of the many parks of Cardiff and found them all around me. They’re such beautiful flowers; I can’t help but enjoy spring. It’s also much better than the leek, which I guess was Wale’s flower (er well, plant, actually) until the queen changed it. I’d say good choice, except saying you are represented as the leek is kind of a better conversation-starter if you ask me.

In the park

From there we went to Caerphilly Castle, which is the second largest castle in the United Kingdom, after Windsor. Now I had always heard of castles having moats, but I never actually saw one… until that day! Not only did Caerphilly have a moat, it had two. There are technically five bodies of water around the castle for protection purposes. The walls were thick and covered in slots for archers and ways to pour steaming hot something onto enemies below. On the top level, I saw all of Caerphilly and was able to see miles into the distance. Truly, when people built Caerphilly Castle, they were pretty smart about the whole thing. I doubt anyone could have defeated it; especially if Oliver Cromwell had tried to destroy a part of the castle with gunpowder, only to make the tower lean to the side.

Caerphilly Castle

Wales to me felt like a durable country. The people and the buildings all felt sturdy and confident. It was a pleasant attitude, but at the same time, I’m quite glad I’m not English. I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much to be from the country that conquered them so long ago…

Welsh pride

I Find Dead People

One of the main focuses I have while in London is learning about London writers. To be fair, I know a lot about them from studying English literature for about three years now, but actually seeing where they lived gives them a whole new life. I feel that a lot of people don’t like literature because they feel it’s old and they can’t relate to it. Billy Shakespeare was such a hit though, because his stories are timeless. Sure, no one talks like that (they didn’t even back then, that’s just how theatre was), but what Billy’s trying to say is what matters. People can still understand pure, innocent, irrational young love, so when Romeo and Juliet go cold, we totally get it. He wrote that centuries ago; does it not say something that we can still make sense of those crazy love birds?

21 Fitzroy Rd. Primrose Hill: Yeats first residence

Other writers are no different. W.B. Yeats, an Irish poet, lived in both Ireland and England. He’s one of the few poets who the Irish and English fight over. Yeah, he’s so awesome that depending on the class they’ll either call him Irish or English. I’d say he’s Irish though, just because he was pretty pro-Irish. As I was saying, though, I decided to set out on a mission. On March 17, 2011 (St. Patrick’s Day, for those not as familiar to the holiday as I am), I explored London for traces of Yeats. Turns out there are two places marked where Yeats has lived. The first is in Camden, where he grew up for a time. It’s really close to Regent’s Park, but of course I got lost a few times on the way. I didn’t mind; the weather was fantabulous. He also lived in Central London, near Charlie Dickens’ house (if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a little dorky when it comes to what to call writers). It was on a street called Woburn Walk, and was a hop-skip away from King’s Cross Station. Both places were modest and quiet; perfect for writing.

5 Woburn Walk, Bloomsbury: Yeats lived up on the right.

Now to most people, I suppose seeing where Yeats had lived doesn’t matter. Then again, it proves that he had really lived. Sure, we may know of Beowulf from his epic, but he was a character and that doesn’t mean he actually went around killing monsters and dragons (this may be a bad example, seeing as I don’t know how many people know Beowulf… too late). Yeats on the other hand, had been a person. He lived and breathed and wrote his poems. His actual existence brings so much more to his work than any explanation of the text could.

The Charles Dickens Museum

And I’m not done yet! Today I went to The Charles Dickens Museum, which is where Charlie lived for a decent amount of time. To be fair, he lived all over London because he grew up there, but because his family lost all their money, times were tough. He moved around a bit, but fortunately his grandma croaked and her money helped pay for his education, which later lead to his success. Going to the museum, I actually saw how he lived, and had an insight to his personality that I never knew. For instance: did you know he was an actor and could also draw? Some of the portraits in the house are of Charlie as different characters in plays and then they also have a few of his illustrations. He got an illustrator later on though, so I think he liked writing more than etching.

This room looks exactly like when Charlie lived here.

I am aware I am a literature dork, and therefore find these sort of things terribly fascinating, because it is my passion. At the same time, I think if more people understood that there are humans behind works, it makes them come to life. Even if you just know a little about J.K. Rowling, and how she always wanted to be a writer, but it wasn’t until her life was in shambles did she find Harry Potter… I think that gives depth to the tale.

I don't think Charlie would have a bust of himself next to his desk, but okay...

I’ve always had to read biographies before reading a certain piece for class, and I love reading the “About the Author” at the end of books. There are so many different stories out there, don’t you ever wonder what compelled the person to write it?

Attention, Attention!

Yes, I am aware I just posted, but I need to address an issue that does not involve any traveling. Put simply, I’ve been only doing homework for the past week or so, thus nothing really to post, except for one thing…

BREAKING NEWS!! 

The British can cook! I know, I know, I didn’t really believe it at first either, but it’s true. It’s actually a little bit of a challenge to find English food because they hide it in their pubs. I think they’re a little embarrassed since the stereotype says it’s out of their comfort zone. But that’s the thing! They’re beastly at comfort food! Give them a potato and they will make you a fabulous meal. I thought American french fries were delicious, but then I came here and had their chips. Oh man, talk about heaven drenched in salt and vinegar. Crisps (i.e.: potato chips) is another story. I like their Cheese and Onion idea, but when potatoes start having flavors like chicken and prawn, I draw the line. I’ve tried a chicken kind before, and it almost made me sick. The ketchup’s not bad, and I know we have that in the States, but I think it should be more common. Good stuff.

But wait, there’s more! The English have a dish called Jacket Potato and Beans, which is just what it sounds like—if you know what a “jacket potato” is, I guess. Put in American terms, this is a baked potato covered in baked beans and cheese. Genius, yiss? I think so. Tonight for dinner, I tried making this myself, and found it to be the best meal I’ve made so far. Granted, I haven’t been too complicated when it has come to my adventures in the kitchen, but still. The longest part was waiting for the potatoes to bake, but I took that time to do some art work in my journal. It reminded me of when I was in elementary school and used to do all of my homework at the kitchen table so that when I got stuck, I could call to my mom and ask for help. The meal filled me up in seconds and now hours later, I still feel happily satisfied.

I guess I should also mention their meat pies. I’ve had a few, but not in a restaurant setting—yet. As far as I can tell, I quite like savory pies, and wish people didn’t think of Sweeney Todd when they’re mentioned (if you don’t, maybe you will now. I apologize, but that’s what I think of first). Both chicken and beef are delicious, and a nice change from pasta. Once again, it’s very comforting food, and I don’t think eating such hearty meals all the time is such a good idea. Maybe that’s why they have so many Vietnamese and Thai restaurants all over the place? Makes sense to me.

Moral of the story: If you go to England, don’t fear the food. It’s fantabulous and a half.

My Own Pilgrimage to Canterbury

Long long ago, I went to Canterbury… but am now just telling you about it. I apologize. Anyhoo, onto my tale!

Ah... English countryside...

We hopped on a train at St. Pancras station, which turned out to be a little bit of a challenge because St. Pancras is in the same area as King’s Cross, and we honestly had no idea which station we needed. After asking around a bit and feeling like silly little Americans, my friends and I made the right train. It only took us an hour go to south of London and into Canterbury.

Canterbury

English countryside is gorgeous, as I think I’ve mentioned before when I went to Stonehenge. This time though, I got to see it while it was sunny! The weather was absolutely perfect, and made walking around the town a breeze. Quite literally, actually, seeing as there was a slight breeze reminding us it was still February.

It had been a Thursday, but the main street of the town was decorated as if for a festival. The old buildings loomed over us, whispering their history, as merchants sat next to their vendors, selling wigs, souvenirs, and snacks. Tavern signs reading things like The Black Griffin and Bishops Finger. Most of the shops said when they were established, and they ranged from the 1500’s to the 1700’s (note: all older then the United States).

Signs like these were all over the place. I like them.

Pretty, no?

We then headed for the Canterbury Cathedral, where pilgrims have traveled to for centuries. It felt odd to think of all the people who came to visit this place, but as I entered the enormous cathedral, I must say it all made sense. My jaw dropped to the floor within seconds as my head tilted ever farther back to try and look up at the ceiling, which seemed miles over my head (yes, this is an exaggeration). The cathedral never seemed to end, and took almost as long to walk around as did Westminster Abbey. We went down into the crypts and saw where Archbishop Thomas Becket had been originally buried and looked up at the creepy sculpture of nails making the human figure hanging eerily over our unprotected heads.

The inside. I felt like an ant.

As a quick history lesson, the cathedral was first built in 597 AD, but didn’t really get much attention until 1770, when Archbishop Thomas Becket was murdered in the center of the cathedral. They set a candle where he had died, and it’s pretty much dead center. In all honesty, it was a pretty thoughtful place to die. I’m getting off topic… After he was murdered by the British because of his thoughts against the king, miracles started to happen in Canterbury. People then flocked to Canterbury to try to get their own miracles because it had now been dubbed a holy place, and Thomas Becket later became a saint.

Where St. Thomas was murdered.

Which brings us onto the Canterbury Tales! Oh yay, what a great transition! I’ve read Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer at least three times now, and to finally be in the place where the pilgrimage was headed just brought everything to life. I was literally bouncing up and down as we headed for the Canterbury Tales exhibit down the road from the cathedral (we had gotten a deal from the cathedral which made our tickets only £5, but we were going anyway). The exhibit was well done, if not a little creepy. It pretty much went through the whole book—or well, how much Chaucer ended up writing... and I think for people who don’t really like reading epically long stories written in verse, I would suggest this as an alternative. Don’t worry, they spoke in Modern English, which obviously isn’t accurate at all, but since they had the smells of the 18^th century, I guess we can let it slide. Just so you know, I’m very glad people bathe now and that our stables are not as foul as they once were.

The entrance to Canterbury Tales. Unfortunately, no photography inside.

Back streets of Canterbury

All in all, it was a perfect day. My friends and I simply relaxed as we travelled about the town, not only seeing the touristy part of it, but also wandering off to more regular areas as well. After walking around for a good hour or so, we grabbed some tea from a cafe called West Cornwall Pasty. The sign had a pirate eating a pasty on it, and I felt the absolute need to go into it. My friends agreed good-naturedly. They had already seen me at my silliest about the whole Canterbury Tales thing, so I guess they were used to my crazy antics by then.

My most successful picture while on the train. We were heading back as the sun set.

Stonehenge and Bath

One of the places I knew I had to see was Stonehenge; one reason being that I wanted to use the site for a story of mine, and therefore wanted to go for research, and another reason is because I love ancient mysteries. I also really wanted to get a stone from Stonehenge, just so I could say I have one (but actually I now have two).

It was terribly windy

My adventure began on a cloudy Sunday morning at 6. You know, right after the sun comes up, but somehow some Europeans are still partying and the Tube hasn’t opened yet. My friend and I made it to King’s Cross/St. Pancras Station with plenty of time and easily got on our bus tour. It only took a little over an hour to drive to Stonehenge, which would have taken 2 weeks without the help of buses. Not to mention how it was raining and cold, I really would have hated having to travel in any way other than a vehicle.

First sight from the bus

There are many theories about Stonehenge, from alien landing zone to the place where man was first created. According to Pagan beliefs, the stones signified eternity and the final resting place for many
people. Their remains surrounded the area in small mounds. Stonehenge is not the only henge in the area, it’s just the one that has survived the best. Woodhenge was a similar structure made out of wood (thus why it hasn’t survived) that stood for life. Bluehenge also stood between Woodhenge and Stonehenge, representing death. This lasted better than Woodhenge, but the stones were taken to be used for Stonehenge and other things. They’re still excavating Bluehenge, so not much is known about it.

Stonehenge

Supposedly, as a part of the burial process, the ceremony would begin at Woodhenge, signifying life. The group would then move to Bluehenge, representing death. After that, they would travel to Stonehenge, finishing the journey to the afterlife and burying the departed.

Fascinating, no? Ha, I think so.

Illustrations of how the stones were moved

The stones got there by big burly men pulling them along and lifting them into place. It took them centuries to finish it; first building the center ring and then the outer (if I remember correctly, the outside ring is made of stones from Bluehenge). Even today, it’s beautiful and a true representation of what human can accomplish. I didn’t really mind the rain, although it really tried to mess up my umbrella, and after I got some tea and a stone cake in me, I was soon able to feel my fingers again!

Bath

It took us another hour or so to get from Stonehenge to Bath. The first sights of the city were the best, as our tour guide explained how the whole city was made out of Bath stone, the common stone of the region. Bath was built as a city for kings, because they would come to use the baths and release the stress of ruling a kingdom.

The main bath. Note: there used to be a ceiling...

The surreal water

The Roman Baths as well were fascinating. We first entered and looked down upon the main pool which is still full of the spring water. It was a lime green color and steamed as the cold air played along its surface. The rain drops disrupted the lime plain, giving the whole scene a surreal feel. Not to mention, it was super tempting to touch the water, even though everywhere you looked, you were told not to. The pool was once covered by a roof, and the pipes are ancient now, so the water is terribly contaminated with bird droppings, algae, and whatever else have you. Simply put, the water that once rejuvenated the Romans would kill you now (or at least make you pretty sick).

Just me

See those floors? deadly.

The stones around the pool are the originals, so they were uneven and slippery. One woman fell and it was quite a scene. I also tripped a few times, but to be fair, my eyes were busy looking around and not watching my feet.

Those columns used to hold up the tiled floor

My favorite part was the saunas. There were two of them on either side: one for men and one for women. Now, long long long ago, men and women bathed together, but after awhile, they decided that was indecent, and built a different area for the women. The rooms were still the same. They would make fires (thank you, little slaves) and push the hot air underneath the tiled floors, which were held in place by columns. The floors would get so hot people had to wear sandals to walk on them. If they wanted some steam, all they had to do was pour some water on the floor, similar to how people pour water on the coals in a sauna today. I loved how the stones were still red from the heat from so long ago.

See how all of the buildings are uniform?

I was able to explore around the city a bit, and the only thing I regret is not going to the Jane Austen museum, but I didn’t think I had enough time to do that and walking around in the rain is not something I really enjoy too much. I had stepped in a puddle at some point, so one foot was cold and clammy, making me feel uneven and uncomfortable.

Can we say... adorable?

I did eat some delicious food for lunch at a small restaurant, though. I ordered something called Croque Monsier, which is a ham and cheese grilled sandwich with more cheese melted on top. Of course I had this with some fantastic English Breakfast Tea (I’m officially addicted) and finished the meal with a slice of blueberry cheesecake. All in all, I was quite satisfied with my food choice that day.

Oh, and the sights were amazing as well, I guess.

Until next time!