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*
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