Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts

After being in Norwich for less than 48 hours, I decided that it was high time to set off on another U.K. Adventure, this time to the wild hills of Scotland (read: the very civilised city of Edinburgh). So I repacked my trusty rucksack and Travel Buddy Jesse and I set off on the first leg of our mega adventure. The most stressful part turned out to be getting the bus to the city centre in Norwich during rush hour. I realized that I could never be on The Amazing Race because I would probably have a nervous breakdown within the first two days of competition. Our bus got to the centre with ten minutes to spare before our next bus to London left, and I was freaking out bigtime. We made it, though, and entertained all of the other passengers by singing "Teenage Dream" and talking about how much we loved Darren Criss (for all you non-Glee watchers, you just sit there and feel left out of this reference). Before long, no one was sitting in our part of the bus, can't imagine why.
We met World Traveler Extraordinaire Laura in Piccadilly Circus, where we enjoyed the Christmas decorations. London is so much prettier at night. We may also have wandered, as a complete coincidence, to Leicester Square, where the world premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I may have been taking place. Entirely accidental, of course. By the time we got there everyone was inside watching the film and all of the red carpets were rolled up, but I can still say that I was there!
The Harry Potter Adventure (as it should really be called) quickly moved into its next phase when we caught our overnight bus to Edinburgh. Being an inexperienced (but practising!) traveler as I am, I found the whole thing fascinating. Ninety-seven percent of the passengers were other student travelers, so it was a really cool atmosphere. There were several groups of people who were on weekend trips, but some had been traveling for weeks and weeks. I tried to stay awake to see the sun rise over Scotland, but I got my best sleep between 6 and 7 a.m., so I missed that one.
Our first view of Edinburgh was astonishingly beautiful - the Georgian buildings of the New Town, the Gothic spires of the Sir Walter Scott Memorial, and up on the hill, the Old Town and Edinburgh Castle. We quickly rubbed the sleep from our eyes, dropped our luggage at our hostel, and set off to find breakfast. And Harry Potter. Thankfully, Edinburgh anticipated that two Harry Potter-obsessed American girls would someday come to the city needing breakfast, so they made both of these things available in one place: The Elephant House. This is a delightful restaurant with a warm and cozy atmosphere, mismatched chairs, and an amazing view of Edinburgh Castle. It also happens to be where J.K. Rowling wrote the first two Harry Potter books. Yes, pilgrimmage, whoa. To pay proper hommage to The Boy Who Lived (and to A Very Potter Musical), we decided to try our hand at writing a literary masterpiece on a napkin. Needless to say, I don't think that I'll be making more money than the Queen anytime soon. What I really liked about the Elephant House, after the amazing hot chocolate, was, and this may surprise all of you, that it wasn't completely devoted to Harry Potter. Apart from a sign in the bottom of the window and this awesome toilet (very British, bragging in the bathroom - it makes them seem humble and like they're laughing at themselves because their merits are displayed in the loo, but that's the room that people use the most, so it's sort of a back-handed way of showing off. Thank you, Kate Fox), there was almost no mention of Rowling at all. If that restaurant was in America, every ounce of Harry Pottery goodness would have been exploited, and the menu would have included pumpkin pasties and rockcakes instead of eggs and haggis. And there would have been a gift shop. It's cool, because you have to know where to look here. It's like when you discover a really cool band before they go mainstream, and you feel warm and fuzzy because you know something that other people don't. So, good job Scotland.
After our lovely breakfast, we took a free tour of Edinburgh with this amazing tour company called Sandeman's Tours. They run tours in several European cities, and they're awesome - our guide was a great storyteller, we saw a lot, and I learned so many fun facts! Highlights include:
-All things Harry Potter-related (obviously). Jesse and I had to work really hard to not seem overenthusiastic and embarrass Laura.
-Greyfriar's Bobby, the little dog who sat by his master's grave for fourteen years and inspired a Disney movie (what doesn't inspire a Disney movie? Honestly). People leave tokens by his grave, usually in the form of sticks or used bus tickets, tokens of extreme devotion in other countries, apparently. Our guide's favourite-ever offering was an envelope full of (unused) German bus tickets that said, "Bobby - come to Oktoberfest!"
-Robert the Bruce's capture of Edinburgh Castle: after William the Wallace ran around yelling "Freedom!!!" painting himself blue, and getting himself killed, Robert the Bruce decided that he needed to find the biggest, toughest, most Scottish of men with the best kilts in order to take Edinburgh Castle back from the English, so he sent his scouts into the Highlands. A year later, some thirty buff Highlanders came back, and I imagine that Robert the Bruce said something like, "Really? That's all that you've got?" Maybe they broke into "I'll Make a Man out of You" from Mulan after that, I'm not sure. But it turns out that one of these bad-ass Highlanders used to work in the castle and so knew the secret ins and outs, and it was decided that he would sneak in and then open the doors for the rest of Robert's men. Very Robin Hood, really. As our guide described it, "Ninja Scot climbed up the cliff and snuck into the castle, taking the English by surprise!" Win, Ninja Scot.
-The Stone of Destiny, which is the stone of all that is Scottish and therefore not English. Legend says that wherever the Stone is, there Scotland will rule. Unfortunately this is a blatant lie, because the English stole the Stone when they took over Scotland, and it resided in the coronation chair at Westminster Abbey for hundreds of years. The English finally returned the Stone in the 1990s, and it was marched up to Edinburgh Castle accompanied by bagpipers. And what patriotic Scottish song did the bagpipers play? The Mission Impossible theme. I love Scotland.
Our tour ended at a pub where we gathered up all of our courage and tried haggis, the national dish of Scotland. For anyone unfamiliar with haggis, don't look up what's in it before you eat it! I actually liked it - much better than meatloaf. Because the United Kingdom is ridiculous, it was getting dark by the time that we left the pub (around 3. Let's discuss - not cool), so we made a quick trip up the cliff (not quite like Ninja Scot) to get a closer look at the castle. There was an absolutely amazing view of Edinburgh, which makes the top three in my beautiful cities list.


Upon returning to our hostel, we realized that a big group of Dickinsonians had followed us to Edinburgh and were actually staying in the same hostel - small world. We all went on a ghost tour following dinner at a restaurant called Chocolate Soup, which was basically a dream come true. Creative names aren't really a forte over here, so there actually was chocolate soup on the menu. It was delicious. But the ghost tour: I was terrified, not going to lie. I almost had to resort to singing "Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog" like I did when I was little and couldn't sleep for fear that the sun was going to become a red giant overnight and swallow the Earth while I slept. True story. Our guide was supposedly a medium but was a great storyteller regardless, and he took us into the vaults underneath the city. This is where all of Edinburgh's truly poor lived, and it has seen an enormous share of unhappiness, whether you believe there are still spirits there or not. Our guide promised us that people who were emotionally open weren't usually affected, so my mantra quickly became, "I'm emotionally open, I promise, please don't hurt me!" Fun fact: Edinburgh is supposedly the most haunted city in Europe.
I was doing fine until our guide took us to a room where there was apparently a Level 4 Haunting: demonic activity. This is of course where someone got sick, so he just up and left all of us in the demonic activity room to bring her back to the street. Excuse me, have you seen Paranormal Activity (I spent most of it hiding underneath a blanket, not going to lie)? I was not happy! I was momentarily relieved when we left this room, but then he took us to another room with a Level 5 Haunting. It just got better and better! The bridge of my nose met Laura's shoulder very forcefully when I tried to use her as a human shield after someone jumped out of the passageway and shouted "Boo!" but we got a free shot at the bar above afterward, and I was slightly mollified. So nothing happened to me personally, which I was happy about, but there was the woman who got sick, and another woman suddenly started crying for no reason whatsoever. It was really interesting to see, and I'm glad that we went. I was also glad to get back onto the street!
Day two in Edinburgh dawned bright and early with my cell phone trying to ruin my life. Just a note: never set your alarm on "vibrate" and then leave it on a metal locker, especially when that locker has a hole in it. I tried to cushion the phone on my hat, but of course it vibrated off of the hat and fell through the hole into the locked locker. Awesome. So my phone was making the entire row of lockers shake, waking everyone in our 14-person room up in the process. Guess who was not the most popular person in Edinburgh at that moment? In an incredible state of half-asleep strength, I managed to wrench the top off the locker and dove headfirst into it to retrieve my phone, alternating between curses and apologies the entire time. Thankfully, people found it amusing and no one tried to kill me.
After this invigorating wake-up, Buddy Jesse, Laura, and I walked to Holyrood Park, where we climbed King Arthur's seat, a volcano overlooking Edinburgh. It looks exactly like the scene in The Fellowship of the Ring when the Fellowship is just setting out and they come over the hill one by one as the music swells into the main theme in a dramatic crescendo. It was so beautiful, but excessively windy! Laura was a champion and climbed in ballet flats, and one actually started to blow away! I was super helpful in retrieving it, as I was laughing so hard that I was incapacitated. We walked down the other side, around Salisbury Craigs. Unfortunately, our plan to fall and twist our ankles, thus attracting three beautiful Scottish men (who would also be the sensitive musician types) to rescue us, did not pan out as it does in movies. Maybe we'll give it another go in Ireland this weekend.
We spent the afternoon in somewhat educational pursuits at the National Museum of Scotland, or, the Museum with the Most Confusing Layout Ever. I saw some really cool Pictish carvings, but I was so frustrated by the layout that I just wound up wandering around until the museum closed. We made dinner at the hostel and talked to some of the other travelers and employees. As this was the first hostel that I had stayed at with other people in it, I was fascinated by the hostel culture. The people who worked there didn't really plan to be in Edinburgh - they just liked it and so started working at the hostel for free room and board. In a few months, they'll move on. It's so...vagrant. I don't know if I could ever live that life, not knowing where I was off to next, or how long I would stay, but it was really interesting. Except for the part where the Canadian made fun of me for being American. What?
The three of us set off for a night on the town, which was still in a rugby frenzy. Scotland had played New Zealand earlier in the day, and so the pubs were packed with people in kilts and warpaint. It was amazing. At the first pub that we went to, we started talking to three Irish boys who were drinking vodka out of children's sandcastle buckets. I couldn't understand most of what they said, except that they thought Buddy Jesse was President Obama's daughter and they were clearly talking to me and Jesse to get to Laura. Sad. So we moved on in search of a club with five stories of amazing adventures to discover, and five stories of weird guys who can't dance, and whom Jesse headbutted when they wouldn't leave.
On the third day I let Jesse's alarm go off instead of mine, and we had a quiet breakfast at the hostel before setting off in the rain to find another, less expensive castle. We got sick of waiting for the bus, however, and indulged in some very touristy shopping in the New Town instead. After lunch we visited St. Giles Cathedral in order to see one of three carvings in the world of an angel playing bagpipes. It was very epic, and very Scottish. So much character in Edinburgh. (Image courtesy of http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3644/3446098858_ce4716f27d.jpg?v=0)
Following this great discovery, Laura set off to be scholarly and tour Holyrood Palace (the Queen's residence in Scotland), while Buddy Jesse and I attempted to visit the Writer's Museum to see exhibits on Sir Walter Scott (I'm reading his Rob Roy now, albeit very slowly), Robert Burns, and Robert Louis Stevenson. It was closed of course, so we headed back to Greyfriar's Kirkyard, where we happened across, after twenty minutes of searching, the grave of one Tom Riddell and his son, Tom Riddell. That's right: Voldemort is buried in Edinburgh. Realizing that we didn't need to temper our Harry Potter obsession for Laura, we may have gone back to the Elephant House, as well, where we made up lives for all of the other patrons over our hot chocolate.
We met Laura and confessed our actions after being stopped by a street performer who shouted, "Oi, tall woman! Stand wherever you want, you'll see everything. You, short friend, down in front - stadium seating!" We had to stay after such a greeting! The rest of the evening was spent whiling away our time in various pubs and coffee shops until we had to catch our overnight bus back to London, and then take a bleary trainride to Norwich. We were the three best travel buddies that anyone could have, but by that time we were also a little bit cranky and just wanted to go to bed. So we actually snuck, Ninja Scot-like, back into our flats.
The adventures didn't stop after my much-needed nap, however, as the Goo Goo Dolls played at UEA that night! So much excitement in one weekend! They put on a great show and we had a really good time.
It was an amazing adventure, and I really loved Scotland. Since this post is so long, I think that I'll save my thoughts on Harry Potter for another time, because I know that you're all dying to hear them. But in the meantime, have a wonderful and safe Thanksgiving! I'll be thinking of you all on Thursday.

"WE GO to Nottingham!"

Traveling all over the United Kingdom can make one forget that one has other responsibilities, such as essays, reading, and communicating with the wonderful people at home. But don't worry Mom and Dad, I got all of my essays in and finished all of my reading, and now I'm getting around to the communicating business. Just a quick aside about turning in essays in this country: the English impracticality strikes again! Handing in work should be easy, yes? You print it out and hand it to your professor. Apparently this efficient and easy method hasn't reached British shores yet, even though their civilization has been around over one thousand years longer than America. But who's counting? Here you have to take your essay, without your name, because everything has to be anonymous since British professors apparently can't achieve the same levels of objectivity that American professors can, to the school office where you have to fill out a cover sheet with gazillions of numbers, punch it through a date machine, staple it all, take the yellow form for your personal records (like when you bring your car in for repairs), and put it in your professor's pigeon hole (mailbox, in American). So unnecessarily complicated! Okay, rant over. I love this country, I promise, but really! Our family trait of doing things the hard way clearly passed through the English lineage.
On to happier things! The Friday after I returned from Durham was Guy Fawkes Day (also known as Bonfire Night), when English people all over the country put aside their paralyzing fear of fire (there are twelve fire doors in my flat. Have I mentioned that? Twelve. And one opens to the mop closet.) and light huge bonfires to burn Guy Fawkes in effigy. For anyone who is unfamiliar with this fairly barbaric and un-English concept, Guy Fawkes was part of the Gunpowder Plot. He and his cronies wanted to assassinate King James I and replace him with a Catholic monarch, so they planned to blow up Parliament on November 5, 1605. Fortunately, they were caught and Fawkes was sentenced to be hung, drawn, and quartered, but Wikipedia tells me that he jumped from the scaffolding and broke his neck, thus avoiding this lovely fate. Anyway, he is one of the most hated figures in British history, and he even got himself a fun little rhyme:
Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason, and plot
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot
Not the best poetry to come out of England, but that's alright. In Norwich this holiday was basically an excuse to set off fireworks for three nights straight, including one public display in Earlham Park, which was fun. I didn't see the bonfire, though, because you had to pay to get into the carnival, and I didn't feel like paying to see some burning wood, no matter what it symbolized. Apologies for my failure at investigative reporting.
The next night, however, Jess and I set off on an epic adventure to search out Robin Hood and his gang in Nottingham. Our train came in late enough that the bus to our hostel in Sherwood Forest was no longer running. In Robin's day, Sherwood Forest stretched over twenty miles northward from Nottingham, but now most of that has fallen prey to deforestation and is farmland. Sad. In an alternate universe, we would have ridden horses up the Great North Road, been stopped by Robin and his gang for our money, explained that we were poor students, and joined the gang to frolick about Sherwood forever. But this being unrealistic, we opted for a taxi instead. Now, you would think Nottingham - Sherwood Forest - a logical association! Apparently not, because our taxi driver had never heard of Sherwood Forest. A good start! Fear not, however, for we made it to our hostel, where we were delighted to discover that all of the rooms were named after Robin Hood characters. There was some jumping up and down and silent screaming (which turned out to be unnecessary since we were the only people in the hostel) in the hallway when we realized that we were staying in the Robin Hood room.
It was a lovely hostel, and we were thrilled to find a) pillows that weren't flattened to within an inch of their functionality, and b) a television in the common room. Apparently the past ten years haven't reached the tiny, quaint village of Edwinstowe, however, because the most recent version of Robin Hood that was available for our viewing was Kevin Costner's ridiculous turn in Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. Jonas Armstrong he is not...
The next day, when we were due to explore Sherwood Forest searching for the gang (image courtesy of http://www.odvdo.com/index.php?gOo=goods_details.dwt&goodsid=856), dawned cold and rainy. Many times in England you'll wake up to rain, but the sun will start shining an hour later. This was not one of those days! We refused to be deterred, however, so we bundled up to face the elements (miserable) and set off for the forest. The visitor's centre contains a silly gift shop and an exhibit on Robin Hood that Lonely Planet (which is my travel Bible) described as "deeply naff." Although we weren't quite sure what naff meant, Jess and I avoided this exhibit, a good decision. But we did find St. Mary's in Edwinstowe, the church where there are marriage records for Robin and Marian (hear that, BBC? They were married in England! Not Acre!), which is pretty cool. And we found the Major Oak, which is where Robin supposedly had his hideout (even though we know that his hideout was actually a cool house in the ground built by the talented and wonderful Will Scarlet, carpenter extraordinaire). Really, it's just one of the oldest and largest of the Sherwood Oaks, which used to be quite famous and useful for builiding. Sir Christopher Wren used Sherwood oak in the buiding of St. Paul's Cathedral in London. Anyway, the Major Oak is impressive today, but would have been a sapling when Robin was stealing from the rich and giving to the poor in 1192ish.
After seeing this lovely tree, we decided to concede to the wind and the rain and go back inside. We were also a bit disappointed at the state of Sherwood - there are really wide gravel paths around the major sites, so it's really hard to imagine what it would have been like hundreds of years ago. And all of the information on Robin Hood is really childish and silly. Maybe my new life goal should be redoing the exhibits at Sherwood Forest to offer an in-depth exploration of the legend of Robin Hood and its many incarnations, especially the one starring Jonas Armstrong. I'm not being funny, but they could have done so much more. Anyway, we were able to see all of the important places, and we bought a picnic lunch, got back into our pajamas, and curled up in front of the television for the day, where we discovered some delightful British programmes and jumped up and down (we knew we were the only people in the hostel by this point) whenever we saw a Harry Potter trailer. It could have been a completely miserable day, but it was actually really fun. Travel buddies make all the difference in the world!
The next day was still grey and cold, but the rain held off. Jess and I said goodbye to our lovely hostel and to the cute little village of Edwinstowe and caught a bus back to Nottingham. We met a delightful sir on said bus - a music student from the University of Nottingham. He started talking to us because we were the only three people on the bus without grey hair, and I think that Jess and I both fell in love a little bit. He assured us that Robin Hood was real. What an excellent busride!
We set off for Nottingham Castle when we got into the city, although we were quickly distracted by the statues of Robin Hood along the route. There were plaques that gave different pieces of the legend and I of course happened to find the one relating to Will Scarlet, who apparently won this name because of his scarlet tights. Jess has since informed me that most of the gang probably would have been wearing red tights (or leggings?), although I'm not sure why. Perhaps there were a lot of severely colour-blind people in Nottingham in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, so red seemed like good camouflage in the forest? I don't know, it's a mystery. Anyway, Nottingham Castle itself is a little bit sad. A lot bit sad, actually. The medieval castle that was home to the Sheriff and Guy of Gisborne was demolished during the English Civil War because the Royalists were idiots. Nottingham was the only town in the area that supported Oliver Cromwell, so the Royalists from the surrounding towns decided that destroying the castle would show those rebellious Nottinghammites. Gah! Now I'll never know if there were actually dozens of doors with little squares cut out of them from all of those times that the gang broke in. Sorry, I digress.
The castle was rebuilt by a duke in the Georgian era, and now it's a modern art museum. In the very bottom, and very difficult to find, is an exhibit about the history of Nottingham. I am convinced that this particular exhibit is haunted, because I felt someone tug my backpack while I was reading a text panel only to discover that no one was behind me, and I swear that someone said my name, but Jess, the only person in the entire castle who knew my name, was on the other side of the multi-room exhibit. Clearly it was the spirit of Robin Hood trying to contact me. Speaking of Mr. Hood, you would think that this exhibit would have been an excellent place to investigate the legend and its importance to Nottingham, but it seemed as if the curators were desperately trying to prove that their town did not need legends of Merry Men in order to be cool. There was no mention of Robin Hood until we got to the fire exit and were trying to sneak out. Jess opened the door and immediately a cheery voice yelled, "Welcome, stranger!" She and I both screamed and backed up to the wall, only to realize that the recording was supposed to be Robin Hood welcoming guests to his exhibit. You know, the one that completely ignores him and fails to present interesting educational material about a legend that has become such an important part of British folklore. *sigh*
After our castle adventures, we stopped for a late lunch at a pub called Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem. As if the cool name is not enough, this claims to be the oldest inn in England. It was founded in 1189, so I think that it has a pretty good claim. Incidentally, 1189 is also the year that Richard the Lionheart assumed the throne of England, and the pub is built into the cliff that the castle sits on, so maybe Robin Hood ate there! (Shh, I can dream.) Regardless of whether or not it was patronized by any outlaws doing good social work, I loved this pub. The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, just like a good pub should be, and the food was amazing. I got a Yorkshire pudding wrap that was insanely good, and we stayed a long time just enjoying the place.
We checked out the Brewhouse Yard Museum after lunch, which is a fun museum that depicts life in Nottingham from the eighteenth century onward. There was a recreation Victorian street, store and home interiors, and a playroom, so we had fun acting like children and playing with the old cash register in the apothecary's shop. We also met a delightful woman who told us about growing up during World War II and her memories of her Victorian grandparents. She kept bumping into us (it was a small museum) and would tell us to go look at something then proceed to chatter at us until we were out of earshot, and then we found her still talking to us as we came back. She was wonderful! Overall people in Nottingham proved to be much more open and friendly than people in Norwich (not that people in Norwich aren't friendly, it's just much more difficult to engage them).
So even though we didn't find Robin Hood, we had a really great time and I'm glad that I got to see all that I did. That's another thing off my bucket list! There's a Robin Hood festival in August that I really want to go to, however, because I think that it would be hilarious. And this trip inspired me to write my final paper on the legend of the Green Man, a figure that has been passed down from ancient Celtic folklore in many incarnations, including Robin Hood. And I'm serious about redoing the deeply naff exhibits. So much potential.
That's all that I have time for right now - more to follow soon! Remember: "We are Robin Hood!" *cue theme music*

To the End of the Empire!

Good news: I successfully navigated public transportation to get from Norwich to Durham, and I didn't get lost once! I'm getting better at this. Before I go into my travel adventures, however, I have to tell you about the Ale Festival! Such an exciting week.
On Thursday the lovely Anna came to visit from Finland, where she is spending the semester. This is one of the things that I love about Dickinson - my friends are all over the globe now and it makes us sound so worldly and impressive to say, "Oh, my friend from Finland is popping in for the night..." Anna was en route from Edinburgh to London, and since half of our class is in Norwich, she stopped off here. It was so good to see her! To show her some true Norwich culture, we headed to the Ale Festival that was running all last week.
It was held in what used to be a church, which seems kind of sacreligious, but a lot of medieval breweries were actually run by monks, so I guess that it wasn't that bad. And there were signs everywhere saying that throwing up was strictly prohibited. Very practical, these British. There were over two hundred different types of ale, and that was only in the first room. I didn't make it to the room with all of the local brews. Anna and I favoured the cider corner, which was significantly smaller, but there were helpful little charts that explained the differences in various ciders. The ales, not so much. We basically went by which brews had the coolest names - Beowulf, Titanic, and Dark Side of the Moon were winners in that category. I didn't actually like any of them, but that's okay because the people-watching was excellent. There was even a full orchestra to serenade the ale-drinkers. For the truly romantic and devoted, there's a Valentine's Day ale fest coming up in February.
This was also Halloween weekend, and I must admit that I really missed New England. I love October at home - the beautiful fall colours (I have to practise British spelling, otherwise I get points taken off on my essays. Everything is supposed to be anonymous, and nothing screams "AMERICAN!" like forgetting the extra u. Also, chicken wings), the crunchy leaves (they're just soggy here), the brisk air, and the smell of fall - woodsmoke, spices, pumpkin, and a crispness that I can't quite describe. Also, Halloween here isn't really a big deal. The cut-off for trick-or-treating is around ten years old, and it's hardly commercialized at all. People here also don't put a lot of thought into costumes. I saw countless people wearing ripped t-shirts and jeans with red paint streaking their faces and slapped in handprints on their clothing. It was budget-conscious, I suppose, but it also made it seem like an army of zombies had taken over UEA from Thursday night on.
BUT that is not important. What is important is that I journeyed into The North (this is literally what the road signs say: North - this way. Thank you?)to the fair city of Durham to visit the wonderful and amazing Sarah and Caitlin!!! It was such an amazing weekend, and looking back it was kind of surreal. I'm in England, and I traveled to another part of England to visit two of my best friends, and it was completely normal. Dear life, you are amazing! So I set off bright and early with my backpack, feeling a bit like Frodo Baggins setting off from Bag End (minus the corruptive jewelry), to catch the 5:45 bus into town. I traveled through some beautiful country - East Anglia is really flat and green, but driving through the edge of the Peak District and Yorkshire I saw postcard shots of rolling hills with bubbling rivers, framed by autumn foliage. It was absolutely stunning, and Durham is a really pretty town nestled in the hills of the North Scotch Corner. It's coal-mining country, the site of the miner's strikes during the Thatcher Era, so it's Billy Elliot country. Also, the Geordie accents are so cool.
Sarah and Caitlin met me at the bus station, and it felt so normal to be with them again! They took me out to Klute, which is supposedly the worst nightclub in Europe (so says Wikipedia). I didn't think that it was that bad, although they played really cheesy music - the Hansens, Grease, you name it. If it was ridiculous and popular in the nineties, they played it. We had a lot of fun, though!

The next day was our great adventure to Hadrian's Wall, which you would think would be easy to find. It's not. The British have this thing about signs - they can't be helpful for some reason. We took a train to Haltwhistle, a little town in the middle of nowhere, and hiked two miles or so to a nature path that should have led us to the wall. There were plenty of signs in the town, but once they led us into the wildnerness they disappeared. Awesome. So we wandered around sheep pastures for a long time!
They were very beautiful sheep pastures - it was exactly what I imagined hiking through the English countryside would be - but we were still lost in sheep pastures, which is sort of an odd feeling. Finally we found an elderly gentleman smoking his pipe in one of the fields, and he gave us directions. Fun fact: not only are English signs terrifically unhelpful, there is an astounding number of walls in the countryside. Trying to find one ancient-looking wall is like trying to find Waldo in a room full of people wearing red and white stripes. Oh my goodness. Finally, after about 802 fakeout walls, we found Hadrian's Wall. It was across from the pub, obviously. It's just that the pub was in the middle of nowhere.

But yes, we made it, and it was so cool. We were literally standing on the edge of the Roman Empire at its height.
Emperor Hadrian ordered the wall built between A.D. 122 and 128, supposedly to separate Roman Britain from the heathen Scots and Picts in the North (who were actually native Britons pushed out by the Romans, but that's okay). Really, it's more of a status symbol for the Romans - it displayed the power and breadth of their empire. The wall is 73 miles long and once stretched all of the way across the neck of England, from Carlisle to Newcastle. Every Roman mile there was a border crossing called a milecastle, and the Romans actually issued passports (the first in history) to their citizens in Britain. This way the wall also helped to establish greater control over Britons under Roman rule. Even though not much of the wall is standing, the visible remains are still impressive, rising up from the rocky outcroppings and hills. It was a great trip, and the countryside was so beautiful. Very Middle Earth. What I really loved was the complete lack of tourism. For such an incredible historical landmark, there was hardly any marketing, and we could actually stand on the wall. It's just become part of the environment - another piece of the rugged northern countryside.


I also got to see Durham Cathedral, where the Venerable Bede, Saint Cuthbert, and Saint Aidan are buried.
It's a beautiful cathedral, and the cloisters were used as one of the corridors in the sixth Harry Potter film. Quite exciting! Most of all, though, it was just so wonderful to see Sarah and Caitlin, because no matter how many new friends you make, nothing can measure up to being with the people who really know you, especially when you're in another country! Although when I got back to my flat, I found all of my flatmates up waiting for me - Jesse even brought her pillow and duvet into the hallway to camp outside my door, so that was an excellent welcome home. I felt so loved this weekend!
I actually had to go back to doing work after that, but the travelbug has taken hold. November is the month of many travels: I'm off to Nottingham and Sherwood Forest in search of Robin Hood this coming weekend, then I'm back for a few days before heading to Edinburgh for the rest of reading week. Then I think that I'll actually be here for more than a week before going to Dublin. It's completely surreal - when did my life become this amazing? I was skyping with my best friend today, and she said, "You're actually living your dream!" And I realized that she's absolutely right. I'm doing things that I've always wanted to do, like hiking along Hadrian's Wall. And it's a complete whirlwind and I know that I'll be exhausted come December, but I want to see everything that I can, and I may never have this opportunity again. It's so incredible, and I'm determined to take advantage of as much as I can, to suck the marrow out of life, as it were. As John Keating tells his students in Dead Poets Society, "Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary."
Even while I'm wandering all over England, I still miss all of you! Happy Bonfire Day!