Anyway, there was never actually a Roman settlement in Norwich, although there were people here. Then in 870 the Danes conquered East Anglia, but in 917 they were defeated by Edward the Elder (good title) and the area passed into West Saxon hands. Norfolk comes from the Saxon term meaning "North Folk" (ergo Suffolk = "South Folk"). Norwich began to grow as a city out of several smaller Saxon settlements, and it was becoming increasingly important for trade with the Low Countries. Norwich is kind of like Hartford - it was the farthest point inland that ships from the North Sea could sail, therefore it was a thriving hub of a place. The Danes, who were angry at losing East Anglia, conducted lots and lots of raids during this time, and their influence can be seen in the ship-burial at Sutton Hoo (where I'm going tomorrow!). They got their revenge in 1013 when the Danish king Sweyn conquered England from the Saxons, but he died immediately afterward. Sucks for him. His son Cnut took over, though, and England was under Danish rule until 1066 when the Normans came, invaded, and built lots of castles and churches, many of which are in Norwich! Norwich was actually really important during Norman and medieval times, and was the largest city in England after London. It was famous for its agriculture (lots and lots of rich wetlands) and its sheep, hence there was a thriving wool trade with the Low Countries. Eventually a number of Dutch weavers moved here, and Norwich became famous for textiles, a position that it held until textile production was mechanized and moved out of East Anglia during the Industrial Revolution. There are still a lot of sheep here, though. So there you are, your mini Norwich history lesson.
Besides reading about Norwich until my contacts fell out (you think I'm kidding - I'm not), I've also been frolicking about the countryside. And by frolicking I mean walking at a fairly leisurely pace, stopping to smell the proverbial roses frequently. Last weekend the Dickinson humanities group, under the fearless (and sometimes wayward) leadership of Karl Qualls, took a train to Sheringham, an adorable little town full to the brim with chocolate shops. It was once a popular Victorian beachside destination, although I can't really imagine the Victorians letting their hair down and frolicking in the waves, especially in the North Sea. That water is COLD!
But we enjoyed Sheringham, and several of us want to go back to eat at the Robin Hood pub (we think that it's named this because Sheringham = Sherwood + Nottingham. Yes, this is what we think about sometimes).
So we commenced our hike at the coast in Sheringham and walked through some beautiful countryside. I'm pretty sure that we passed throug Elf counry, and I found where I want to live someday (hint: little stone house with ivy crawling on it).
We ended our country jaunt in Cromer, another coastal town, where I spent the afternoon exploring a used book store and dipped my hand into the North Sea. While eating ice cream. Not the best plan that I've ever had! It was a really great day, though.This past weekend's destination was Ely, a small town in Cambridgeshire (I think). It's name literally means Island of the Eels, and before the Fens were drained it was an island in the wetlands, with lots of eels. They were used as currency for a time! Ely has a gorgeous Norman cathedral, as well as Oliver Cromwell's home, and it's a quintessential British town.
We were lucky enough to catch the apple festival while we were there, so we got to eat delicious apple goods on the town green in the shadow of the cathedral. There was hot cider, homemade apple turnovers, apple and pork burgers, homemade honey and applesauce, pies, everything apple you could imagine or want, plus flowers, crafts, and other festival-type things. Including a Renaissance band! Everytime there was music, I looked and saw a group of adorable elderly folk dancing and playing various instruments!
It was the kind of day that I wish that I could have packaged up and sent home to share with everyone there, because it was so wonderful. There isn't really a way to describe it (also, I think that reading Wordsworth and Tennyson is getting to me.) But the real reason we were there: the Oliver Cromwell homestead was a bit silly, but the cathedral was beautiful. 
It was founded as a monastery in 673 by the Saxon princess St. Etheldreda, but the current building was constructed in the 1080s as part of the Norman castle-cathedral building craze. It's gorgeous inside, and apparently it's one of the country's best examples of Norman architecture. My favorite part was the Prior's Door, which has maintained its original Norman carvings from 1135. Can we discuss how amazingly old this is?
After engaging in much apple-y deliciousness, we set out for Wicken Fen. I mentioned the Fens last time, but now I've a much better idea of what they are! Basically, they were marshlands and peatfields that stretched more or less throughout the whole of East Anglia. Peat was used for building and for heating, but after it started to run out the Fens were drained for agricultural purposes about three hundred years ago. Now they're full of reeds and sedge, which is harvested and used for thatch roofs. The wind blowing through all of the sedge sounds like the soundtrack to a horror film, so Sarah and I decided that it must be where Harry and Ginny were chased by Deatheaters behind the Burrow in the sixth Harry Potter movie. This obviously means that we were close to the Burrow, which was probably enchanted to look like a windmill. Yeah. We were able to climb up into an eighteenth-century sentry tower to get a view over Wicken Fen, which was beautiful.
I overuse that word, as well, but I don't use it insincerely.
I came to this country determined to find everything beautiful - I wanted that romantic, Masterpiece Theatre image of England. Little villages, rolling hills and fields, the whole nine yards. And I've gotten that, to some extent, but I've also learned to look beyond that. Because the truth is that that particular England doesn't really exist anymore. The villages are still there, and there are apple festivals with Renaissance bands playing by medieval churches, but the churches aren't used nearly as much anymore, and the little Tudor storefronts open to mobile phone stores and boutique shops rather than butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers. There has been at least one Starbucks everywhere that I've gone (except Stonehenge). England has changed - it has to, since it's a cosmpolitan, modern country. What I do like is that the romantic view that I was searching for can still be found - it can coexist with motorways and even with Starbucks. I think that this is possible because the Brits are clever enough to realize that this is what tourists want to see, but also because they really value their heritage, as well. Preserving historical sites is very important here, and I for one am glad.
So even though London wasn't what I expected, for instance, I am still managing to have the time of my life. I worked so hard to get here, and I am going to enjoy myself come hell or high water (this being the more likely of the two, as it rains all of the time). This means that I'm going to try to do as much as possible, and I am going to accept whatever comes my way and make the best of it. Since coming to England, I've changed, not just my view of the country. I've learned to be more patient with people and that a little bit of reaching out goes a long way. And I've also learned to always look on the bright side of life (or at least ninety percent of the time) and to have fun in unexpected places.
I came across a quote from E.M. Forster while reading Howard's End that I really liked: "Life is indeed dangerous, but not in the way morality would have us believe. It is indeed unmanageable, but the essence of it is not a battle. It is unmanageable because it is a romance, and its essence is romantic beauty."
I'm done being soul-searching now, and I won't try to give you any more history during this blog, I promise! (I switched from my introverted, thinking music to Journey, just to make sure.) To make up for it, here are some excellent British insults that I've picked up:
Chav – stands for “council-house associated vermin,” and describes someone whom we in the States would call trashy. Basically the cast of Jersey Shore. In Britain this means someone, usually a girl apparently, of the lower class, who wears track suits in public (a huge fashion faux pax over here), fake designer brands especially of the Ugg or Burberry variety, and bling, and who talks in “common” language, which means that they’re loud and say “like” a lot. (Don't worry, there's a separate stereotype for Americans who do this.)
Wanker – This is probably my favourite word, just because it’s fun to say. A wanker is an inconsiderate, sexist, really egotistical boy. A lot of football (soccer) players are considered wankers here. You can also use wank an adjective, as in, "That guy was totally wank." So go try those on your friends (or not-friends, which would make more sense...).
No comments:
Post a Comment