Bronchitis

DISCLAIMER: I don't actually have bronchitis - it just seemed to be the word of the day today.

Can you say "whirlwind." It was actually kinda nice after a few days of downtime, classes, and walking around. This morning at 10.30 we were told to meet outside our dorm and board a bus, which would take us the hour-and-a-half to Stratford-upon-Avon.

A.K.A. Bill Shakespeare's stomping grounds.

We stopped at Anne Hathaway's famous thatch-roofed cottage. No, not that Anne Hathaway, not the one that "dreamed a dream." This was also the name of Shakespeare's first wife, and her family home still stands, mostly unchanged from its original construction (minus the room additions and huge garden put in front of it).

A brief note about the British museum association: In America, most historical sites are supplemented by tacky photo ops, those machines that squish pennies for you, and gift shops. Mind you, there are a ton of gift shops here as well, but someone in charge of the British historical locations believes that the best way to add a little flair to an old dusty house or monument is to throw a garden in front of it. "Here's William Shakespeare's birthplace- Oh, and have you noticed the sprawling gardens?"

I digress.

We were cautioned not to eat a heavy lunch since we had early dinner plans in downtown Stratford, so after eating our meager granola bars and sandwiches (garnished with a ridiculously-spicy mustard - people who talk about bland English fare have apparently never had their sinuses evacuated by the mustard), we got back on the bus and drove a little farther to the Holy Trinity Church, where William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway are buried.

Let me ramble for a second. If you've never read Ken Follet's Pillars of the Earth or Worlds Without End, or never seen the TV drama versions, you need to. Pillars of the Earth - the first in the series but the one I watched most recently - focuses on the building of a cathedral in a small English village. It covers all areas of life during the 1100s: the clergy, royalty, merchants, builders, politics - seriously, everything. Raw? Yes. Intense? Most definitely. But if you can get past all that - or even if you want to avoid the story altogether - watch the parts where they're building the cathedrals, or talking about the logistics involved. At one point, the master builder explains his beliefs to the priest he's building for:

A cathedral is God's anteroom. It's halfway to heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I watched the series in awe of the masons, the men who dedicated their very existence to creating these symphonies of stone. There was no promise of them every being finished: though it was prevented by raids and disease and poverty and scant employment, the Kingsbridge cathedral ended up taking thirty or forty years to build. But they worked anyway. They spent the whole of their days, their years, sometimes their lives constructing these monuments, many of which remain to this day.

 

As I stood in the chancel of the Holy Trinity Church, I looked at the very stones that held the walls together, the statues that looked as if they would get up and speak to you, the details on the ceiling tiles that were each handcrafted and unique. I couldn't help but think that this - this dedication to building a cathedral you may never see finished for a God that you've never seen in person and, in many cases, may not have seen His Hand at work - the building of these cathedrals was and is the highest form of worship and reverence in human history.

 

Seriously gave me chills to stand in there. Again, if you haven't interacted with Pillars in some way, do it - time well-spent.

 

After we left the Church, we were able to spend a few hours doing basically whatever we wanted around Stratford. Most of our group spread out to find shops, food, and souvenirs; but my friend and I found ourselves standing in front of the birthplace (like, original building) of William Shakespeare. After a little prodding regarding finances, we both went in, and it was considered an afternoon well-spent. When we exited the house (once again, into the garden), there were three workers dressed in period costumes, and we sat for half an hour watching them perform selections from Shakespeare's works.

 

By request.

 

Like, "Do you know Twelfth Night, why yes I do, let me start here."

 

As I said: an afternoon well-spent.

 

At 430 we were corralled for our first English high tea, which was fantastic. Sandwiches (smoked salmon is interested, yet glorious), scones with clotted cream and jam (I was told that I ate it the "right way" because I put on the cream after I put on the jam - I felt so legit), and little slices of what looked like raisin bread but were actually cakes. And, of course, tea.

 

It was a good thing we were warned not to eat a lot beforehand. It doesn't sound like a lot, but we were all stuffed afterwards.

 

The evening ended with a performance of "Hamlet" at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre Company. I swear, I've seen the most (and best) theatrical performances of my life in about a week - that doesn't normally happen but I'm so glad it's happening now! It was set in maybe the 1960s or 1970s, and it was seriously so well-done. I can't even begin to describe it, this entry would go on longer than it already is.

 

So here I am back at the room, really tired but like a "today was full and awesome" tired. Tomorrow is a homework day, because on Saturday we're heading to Bath to "take the waters." (Actually we were warned not to take the waters there anymore, so we're just going to look at Jane Austen stuff inside. Huzzah Jane.) A pip-pip-cheerio to all you back in the States, much love to my family, and hopefully I'll be able to post more when something else awesome happens. : )