I was here and then I was gone again and now I'm back. Phew, this month has been a whirlwind and it's not slowing down anytime soon, though the next few weeks will be more about school and less about the big, wide world. (Read: boring)
On Sunday, I met up with an old dance friend of mine in Oxford. Well, she's not in Oxford, she's actually been studying in Paris for the year, but she's touring England for the week and was staying with some friends in Oxford. We wandered around Oxford (such a lovely town!) for the day, went to some cute shops, hung out in a pub while it hailed (yes, it hailed. I don't know what's going on with the weather lately. It's been super weird) and then I showed her the first two episodes of Sherlock. (That was all we had time for by the time we got back to her place and stopped gabbing)
Monday saw us rise bright and early so that we could make our ways (she took the bus and I the train) to Stratford-upon-Avon, the birth and death place of one Mr William Shakespeare...whose birthday it was. My hour-ish train ride saw a beautifully, quintessentially English landscape: wide, green pastures broken only in the distance by the occasional old house or row of trees, set against a huge sky of deep greys. Most people don't like grey skies; bright blue with sun and a few wispy white clouds is usually the sight that fills people with joy. It's very pretty, certainly, but it's not my favourite. There's not enough contrast, not enough to interest my eye and my brain. My grey clouds, they're rarely monotonous, even though everyone seems to think they are. There are so many different shades, so many different shapes the layers can make. It's absolutely gorgeous to me. And it stayed like that for most of the day, patches of sunshine but mostly a chilly English day. A perfect backdrop for celebrating Billy Shakes' birthday.
She arrived earlier than I did and when we were there a couple weeks ago (the Williams' + co and I), I'd already seen the Birthplace. So she did that and we met in the gift shop, where we bought matching pocket Much Ado About Nothings, tiny blue leather things that mean a lot for both of us. (It's our favorite play, something we found out as part of a list of surprisingly similarities). After that, we were in desperate need of food, so we stopped into the Windmill Inn (another place I'd gone with the family). Which was delicious, again.
We didn't have much time after that, however, so we spent the rest of it at that most sacred of places in the town, his grave. Talk about a spiritual experience! The church was beautiful, we paid our mandatory donation (2 pounds for adults, another number for seniors, 50p for students, yay!) and walked past the gift shop and the kids' corner and headed straight for the altar at the back. I could tell exactly which was his; it was the one completely covered in flowers from the festivities this past weekend. Hundreds of bouquets (mostly tulips, like the ones gracing my desk right now) obscuring everything but the plaque on the step above stating that this was the grave of William Shakespeare, famous poet.
We took pictures and sat on the step. Lauren had a flower she wanted to present, but it had to be the right moment or something. I didn't have a gift, but I wanted to read something. We had our Much Ados and she also bought R&J and Hamlet, but we didn't realize until that moment that our Much Ados had sonnets in the back. I read through some and, though it's not perfectly fitting, I settled on Sonnet 19, murmuring it to myself. Lauren asked that I read it as she threw her flower and, partly because of the church setting and partly because I was in front of William Shakespeare's grave, I read it in a hushed, cracking voice. It was magical.
Our time up, we walked quickly by New Place, where she took pictures, and to the bus station. (She was to leave about an hour and a half before I, so I was going to make sure she got back alright and then wander a little more). We waited for her bus...and waited. And waited. Until finally, half an hour after the bus was supposed to arrive and take her to Oxford, where she was to board a train to take her to a family friend's place in Central London, the other guy waiting for the bus called and we found out it was due to be an hour and 47 minutes late.
So, cold and wet and grumpy, we went to the train station and got her tickets to come back with me. And then from Oxford, I took my own train back to London Paddington. It wasn't the best turn of events (Lauren's travels have all subscribed to Murphy's Law, lately), but it was a very, very good day.
And the wonderfully, deliciously English cap to the day: not only did I mainly subsist on tea all day (a regular tea, white, which means milky, and a "cheers" when it's handed to me--oh, I'm starting to fit in here), but I had a half hour wait for my train at Waterloo Station back home, so I finally bought a Cornish pasty and oh, was it good. So I was sat at Waterloo Station, one of the hubs of London transport, eating a pasty and drinking tea. I felt so delightfully English, I can't explain it.
And then today, I found out that not only could I buy a cd of an artist I like for only 7 pounds at Sainsbury's, but they also have individual portions of Sticky Toffee Pudding. Which, if you don't know, is basically pure sugar and is the most delicious pudding (or dessert) I have had here.
I will finish up the story of Venezia soon, but I'm back to classes now and the first part of my Arabic final is on Thursday and so, who knows when I will get to it. But I will.
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