At any rate, day 5 began with packing and checking out of the hotel. Bittersweet, it definitely was. This is a city that captures you and a country that woos. We left our luggage at the hotel desk and proceeded to Trafalgar Square. Our day was to begin with a visit to the National Gallery, apparently.(I'll be totally honest: my entire memory of this timeline is weirdly messed up. I am told, and it makes logical sense to me, though, that this is, in fact, what happened. For some reason, I have never been able to place the NG visit into Sunday. My timeline is contaminated. haha) First, a stop at Pret for an early lunch to be eaten on the square while watching the crowds. This involved watching a rather intrepid pair of girls try to touch the bottom of the fountain without falling in or getting their sleeves wet. They also enjoyed a moderately illicit walk along the fountain wall--quite the balancing of it all. The National Gallery could have used a few more hours of exploration. The rooms were massive and filled with some truly amazing pieces. Pleasantly, the walls were often painted in colors to complement the art so carefully arranged on them. The incredible range of art that I was able to see on this trip was really breathtaking. Artists and pieces I had not yet had the pleasure to enjoy were beautifully complemented by paintings I had studied and taught about but had never thought to actually see. I love that. (It's also why I would love to revisit the Metropolitan in NYC--there just wasn't enough time....) This was a time when I was grateful to have a companion to keep me from spending the entire day in one museum, though. After all, the Tower awaited. Honestly, if I were to describe my walk through the gallery, it would just a be a catalog of paintings, etc.; therefore, I will merely mention something I inadvertently learned through my experience there and move one. As a teacher of World Literature, I should have already known this, nevertheless I did learn this: it is quite the disservice both to your story and to your audience to attempt to tell a story of a Old Testament hero while diminishing the concept of the Hebrew hero, ordained and empowered by God. *Sigh* It just doesn't work quite right. It's like trying to describe a Greek tragedy while minimizing the hubris of the hero. Ah well. Lesson learned and noted for the next time.

Now we moved on to grab some yummy lunch goodies (well, second lunch--that probably makes it technically "tea" haha) and to Bank station. Exiting Bank station brought us to the heart of The City and a very powerful corner in the landscape of London: here stands Mansion House, the official residence of the Lord Mayor of London, the Bank of England building, and The Royal Exchange, now a shopping center (keeping things strictly in the realm of the financial, after all. haha). I would like to mention at this point that the last two days we were in London, we consistently ran into this purple t-shirted school group from the continent. Seriously. Everywhere we went they were either arriving or leaving. We even rode in the same underground cars with them once. It was very odd. Certainly, they never realized, but it felt moderately like stalking. It was also highly hilarious. I mention it here because I distinctly remember them gathered about on the plaza in front of The Royal Exchange eating lunch. It's making me laugh again just thinking about it. The Royal Exchange, by the way, was founded in 1565. This is the second building as the first was burned in the Great Fire. The Bank of England is relatively young, not having been established until 1694, and the Mansion House wasn't built until the first half of the Eighteenth Century, thus both were spared the ravages of the fire. From there, we passed down King William St. to find the Monument. And here I offer praise, yet again, to Sir Christopher Wren. It may be an unsophisticated way to say it, but this guy was all win. The Monument is 202 feet tall and stands exactly 202 ft. from the bakery on Pudding Lane where the Great Fire of 1666 began. The fire spread rapidly, burned for three days, and although the death toll is officially believed to be only eight, destroyed 436 acres of the city. This section of land contained not only the major financial buildings and the original St. Paul's Cathedral, it also contained an estimated 13,000 homes which resulted in the homelessness of an estimated 7/8s of the population of the time (a great number of them poor tenement dwellers). The fire was certainly an event with long to be felt repercussions. The Monument is quite fitting (have I mentioned Sir Christopher was a genius, yet?): a tall doric column with golden torch-flame adorning the top. Still distinctive even in the modern, skyscraper-filled city.

From The Monument, we ventured down along the Thames to the Tower of London. We stopped for a nice little picnic in front of an office building and then off to view history and destruction. Really, it says so very much that despite only intending to stay there for a couple of hours and then make our way to Harrod's or the Natural History Museum, we were there for four and a half hours. It is a really amazing place. Viewing the developing of British history and the monarchy through the growth and evolution of the Tower complex is fascinating. Also, there were super cool weapons. And when I say, "super cool," I mean a collection of some of the oldest, most unique, and most beautiful weapons and suits of armor I have ever seen. The history of the Tower as a prison is both fascinating and heart-wrenching. Carefully carved graffiti in the walls gives testimony to the dark history of religious persecution of which the Tower was a part. Then, of course, the Crown Jewels. Now, I do have to say that it was moderately hilarious to me that you were smoothly ushered past the collection of Crown Jewels on a conveyor belt. Ok, a "moving sidewalk." That was interesting. I will admit to blatantly walking briskly back up the conveyor (with a partner in crime--I was not the only bender-of-rules) to have a second whisk past the truly stunning array of priceless royal accessories. It's honestly the kind of thing that is almost incomprehensible. So many, many priceless stones in one place; such a collection of skillful workmanship and unimaginable wealth. Amazing. And then there are coronation robes encrusted with diamonds and embroidered with gold. At some point, you stop trying to absorb it and just gape. Really. It's one place I'm glad you can't take pictures as I'm absolutely certain the pictures would only be disappointing; that they could never capture what you see when you are conveyed along past the glass cases. The Tower is most definitely a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon.

Following the trip through the Tower, dinner was grabbed (really good pizza) at The Dickens Inn. (Yes, that was a passive voice sentence.) Then, pictures at and a walk across the Tower Bridge (Famous bridge checklist: Brooklyn--check; Westminster--half check; Millennium--check; SF Bay--no check. Ok. The last on is unrealistic. Moving on.) and down Tooley Street to the London Bridge station, and an attempt to wander through Harrod's. This attempt was to result in failure, however, as our prolonged (and worthwhile) meander through the Tower had put us into the early evening. ON a Sunday in Britain, that means no shops for you! Instead, there was a lovely walk and conversation through Knightsbridge and Kensington Palace Gardens. All too soon, we were trudging about through Paddington station, and I was bidding Phillip goodbye. Thing I learned at that moment: when you spend five days with a good friend, you get used to them. Realizing that you won't have said friend around the next day is a very odd feeling. I scrounged up a bed at London Central Hostel (really neat building, really Londonish ambience inside) and about 6 hours or sleep. In the morning, it was back to Paddington (why yes, it is the place where Paddington Bear was found by his nice family) and then on to Heathrow. And then, hours of fun flight back to the US.

For the record, going through Customs at an airport that is not your final destination is un-fun. Why there isn't a way to proceed from Customs to the terminal without going through security, I don't know, but there isn't. It's blargh. Also, Newark Airport is an interesting experience. It was fun to add a new airport to my list, though, for what that's worth. Also, being surrounded by American accents again was a really strange feeling. Also, the flight from Newark to Houston was absolutely freezing. Freezing. And no blankets as it wasn't a trans-Atlantic flight. About half-way through, the lady next to me looks over and says, "Are you freezing, too? Is it just incredibly cold in here?" To which I heartily agreed. I slept all the way from Houston the New Orleans (the jet lag and return to sleep schedule was way more brutal returning than going), but still managed to notice the middle-aged guy across the aisle slid his iPod between his legs to hide it rather than turn it off when we were told to turn off our electronic devices and that he had his music up so loudly I could hear it over my own music. Good job, grown up; good job. At any rate, I arrived to the sweltering heat and humidity (a good 30º warmer than the city I left), gathered my bags, and pondered how I was going to find my parents sans phone. We managed to connect just about the point when I was about to get rid of my pull-over in favor of just my tank. I definitely was missing the weather already. haha. Weather aside, I was now basically home, safe and sound, remarkable journey ended. That sentence sounds as bittersweet as I felt. It was quite a trip, and one I'm decidedly glad I made.

Photos of my last day in London

Walking down the Strand, we passed a few landmarks of note. The first was the Savoy, a 120 year old Edwardian and Deco hotel known for its luxury. This was a partial success: we were able to glimpse inside, but not able to go in as the hotel has been closed for reconstruction. It's set to open in October, to much aplomb, I'm sure. At any rate, I did wish that I could have seen the interior as the glimpses I got were stunning. Another time. Further down the block is King's College. Notable alumni of King's College: Desmond Tutu, John Keats, Thomas Hardy, Virginia Woolf, and numerous influential politicians and leaders, among others. Furthermore, the nursing school started by Florence Nightingale is a part of King's College. Across the street is Somerset House, a beautiful neo-Classical building used for both performing and stationary arts exhibits. Before long, we arrived at the Royal Courts, a building I would never have guessed to be the courthouse had I been guessing. The Victorian interpretation of Gothic architecture reminds one more of a church complex than a courthouse. It's very impressive, and I would have enjoyed going inside, but we were thwarted by the early closing down of all things legal on a Saturday.

Tracing our steps back up the Strand, we crossed over to Covent Garden Market. Covent Garden is where Eliza Doolittle sells her flowers in G.B. Shaw's play, Pygmalion (and the movie adaptation, My Fair Lady). For much of its history, it was solely associated with fruits and vegetables: first as an area of monastery gardens and later as a fruit and vegetable market. For a while, in between its use as a fruits and vegetables market, it was a market for other things--well-known as a red-light district. Interesting comma in its history, for sure. Now, it does house food market booths in front, but the market hall is filled with boutiques and restaurants. Covent Garden Market is also home to a variety of street performances, the Royal Opera House, the London Transport Museum, and St. Pauls, an Italianate style church designed by Inigo Jones, British architect of note and the first modern scenic designer (the latter being what I always associate with him, naturally haha).

After enjoying Covent Garden, we wandered through the theatre district to Piccadilly Circus (London's Times Square). Sadly, the signage was down and scaffolded for repair. The juncture itself is open and busy and interesting, though. Wandering back around through Leicester Square (a lovely park surrounded by all the cinemas in London--at least it feels that way. haha), we found London's Chinatown. While it has some similarities to New York's, it was distinctly British, really. Airy, less street vending, but still busy and definitely a world within a world, London's Chinatown is worth a walkthrough. We picked up a very nice dinner (at which time I learned that Phillip is very bad with chopsticks, and I clung tightly to that one small triumph I have over him. :-P) that would be carried back to the hotel in time to watch the World Cup match. Part of our route home included a walk down Regent Street and a visit to Hamley's Toys, a super gigantic toy store where the employees play with the toys and build super amazing LEGO displays. Now I can add Hamley's to FAO Schwarz Chicago on my "visit massive toy stores" list. Interestingly, Hamley's does bears as well; Hamley's is 150 years older than FAO Schwarz, though, so its bears probably win. haha

Hamley's was followed by the trip back, Chinese food (I used chopsticks, by the way), watching Denmark win, and sleep. Day 4 accomplished; tomorrow would hold more art, monuments, and the Tower. *insert creepy dungeon noises*

Photos of Day 4

Following St. Paul's there was ice cream from an ice cream truck (oh so good) and a walk across the Millennium Bridge (yes, that is the bridge destroyed by Dementors at the beginning of Harry Potter VI). I particularly like this bridge. Like the Eye (really big ferris wheel in the skyline), it seems like it should be incongruous to the city: white and modern and almost ascetic. Yet, it's beautiful. In fact, in many ways, it reminds of a neo-Classical aesthetic brought into the 21st century. At the other end, more delicious food treats: sugared chestnuts. Oh. my. goodness. Firstly, I had somehow made it to this point in my life without ever eating a chestnut. Chestnuts are very good. Rather like a walnut and peanut crossed on steroids. (Don't you love my sophisticated description?) Then there's the sugary, roasted, caramelized yumminess added on. I liked them enough to look for recipes when I got home. Yeah. I won't be making them anytime soon. It takes about four days. I'm not kidding. They are delightfully good, though.

And now for the headline event of the day: *drumroll* a performance of Macbeth at the Globe. Please excuse me while I become a fangirl for a moment. I know that my fellow Lit and Drama friends/alumni will completely understand my absolute giddiness. Everyone else, well, I'll just point out to you that few things can actually make me giggle and gasp with delight more than once in the same day. Seeing one of Shakespeare's most brilliant tragedies in his rebuilt theatre as a groundling is definitely one of those things. This production was ingenious and enthralling. The stage was nearly bare for the entire play. The single permanent set piece was a huge iron wheel that rotated from the canopy. From the wheel was hung a large black sheer that could be drawn around or bunched in one place. I have to say, the director did a fantastic job utilizing the sheer to denote emotional changes, setting changes, and the interference of the witches. The costumes, the atmosphere, was dark as the director took the concept of the bloody play and flung it out to be seen by all. Then she did something quite unique that was incredibly powerful: she took this illustration by Gustave Doré from the Divine Comedy and built her atmosphere around it. For her, the Macbeths' descent into anguish and horror resulting from their terrible grab for power is a hellish thing. The groundlings became a part of the infernal audience watching Macbeth's descent. The dead spirits speak to Macbeth from the infernal regions, cloaked in the gore of their death. It was very simple and very powerful. The acting was superb. I was moderately unsure of Macbeth before the Intermission. He seemed to be a weaker man than I supposed he ought. This was to some extent due to the incredibly powerful and strong Duncan overshadowing him, though. And, as Macbeth grew through the play to his final brazen duel with Macduff, I felt that his weakness at the beginning was right. Indeed, Duncan was the stronger, more confident man: the great king to whom all willingly were loyal. Macbeth, though a brave and successful warrior, has no thought beyond thanedom until the witches prophecy thus. In the end, Macbeth won me over. Lady Macbeth was lovely to watch. She was younger and more fragile than I had expected, but this only served to amplify her grasp for power and her horrific break with reality all the more. I was drawn in by them; I felt a stake in the progression of events; I sobbed when Lady Macduff screamed at the loss of her children. In the end, I wanted Macduff to win, not because I knew it was coming, but because it was right. What better result can there be for troupe than to have their audience wish for the ending that's coming because it feels right? In all, the entire cast was a convincing unit, comfortable with the text, allowing it to inform their choices yet owning and conveying it through their performances. It was an amazing experience. Truly amazing. (Even though all the steps + three hours of standing = really sore heels. haha)

As if iconic architecture and astounding performance art wasn't enough, we then walked the short distance down the bank to the Tate Modern. The Tate is interesting not only because of the impressive collection it houses, but also because of the building in which said collection is housed: the former Bankside Power station. Not only does this lend to an interesting labyrinth of gallery rooms, it offers the unique exhibit area known as Turbine Hall. As its name suggests, this is where the generator turbines were housed when the building was a power plant. The huge amount of open space allows for unique art exhibitions, a great opportunity for fortunate artists who can exhibit there. There was, unfortunately, no installation there when I visited, but the room itself was impressive without anything in particular there to see. I don't remember if I've mentioned in a previous blog, but generally speaking, British museums feel different than American ones. That sounds like a very strange thing to notice, I'm sure, and I can't quantify the difference for you in words, but there is something in the way exhibits are displayed, placed, and lighted that is just different than American ones. The Tate Modern gave me this feeling far less than any other museum or gallery I was in, but even so, I noticed it here just a bit. I know it's very unsatisfying for me to toss out that observation without really being able to explain it. All I can say is, they feel different. But that the Tate Modern felt the most like what I expect a museum to feel like. In all, the collection was enjoyable. We didn't make it through the entirety as it became a matter of battling sore feet for authority. The feet won once they started teaming up with the stomach. One last thing to note about the Tate Modern: there was more than one gift shop (score for them having multiple places to entice buying haha), one of which had a significant section of art supplies and tools. This was really ingenious. It also rather went along with the implication throughout the museum that everyone should try art. You should try art. Even if you are terrible at it, it's fun and good for the brain and soul. This is the message that the Tate Modern wants to pass along to its patrons, and this is the message solidified by the presence of a good selection of quality art supplies in their shop. It was a good thing.

Finally, we headed to Brick Lane, found an Indian restaurant (ok, not so much "found" as "picked"), and had a really good dinner while watching the England-Algeria match. As we returned to the hotel, I knew my feet were going to have revenge on me the next morning. haha. Ah well. Every bit of adjusting-to-the-day foot pain in the morning was worth it. Day 3 crossed off--on to Day 4.

Once again, photos of Days 2 and 3.

Shunt was, without a doubt, an incredibly interesting experience. Besides the mere fact that it takes place in underground vaults, the convergence of theatre arts was quite stunning. Visual art combined with film segments combined with really innovative performance art, it was definitely something worth experiencing. At least to me. haha. One area had several tables set up with cardboard, paper, scissors, hot glue guns, and various pictures of fish. Patrons gathered around the tables and used the supplies and pictures (or just the supplies) to create their own cardboard and paper sea creatures. This was fun. More fun than I expected despite my adoration of scissors and glue. :-P There were two performance art pieces that we enjoyed. The first was a noire throwback play with a couple of twists. It played like a silent film with the text running on a screen behind the action. The actors had completely reversed roles: male noir detective played by a female, femme fatale played by a male. And the entire thing was interspersed with incredibly well choreographed aerial silk routines to express the give and take of the interaction. It was really very well done. The second performance was quite different. In the second performance, a cellist played through a composition while the composer himself offered a physical interpretation of the piece. This one, to me, lacked a slight bit. While the emotional interpretation and reaction of the composer was in line with the musical tone and expression, as an audience member, I felt a lack of connection to him. I wanted to understand why he was experiencing the emotions he was attempting to communicate. I couldn't empathize as I had nothing with which to try and grasp his motivation. At the very least a title if not a concise intro--phrase or sentence--that would give me an anchor to his emotional progression. I wanted to empathize rather than just observe as his emotional interpretation was very convincing and quite well developed, but I was lacking something crucial: a context. That said, the composition was nicely developed, and the interpretive performance was thoughtful and well-executed. A small piece of context would have made it stellar. At any rate, the entire Shunt experience was completely worthwhile. Even when it turned out that our return would be convoluted and slightly harried as it was just late enough. Actually, it was a late return due to a walk back up and across the Thames before catching a train rather than catching the one nearest to Shunt. This was fine as the walk was lovely, but it did make for a complex way back. Here's what happens: in London, there are a high number of lines and trains; because of this, lesser used/necessary lines close for certain periods of the night in order to save money, etc. This is a bit different from NYC where there are fewer lines, but they run throughout the night. It was an interesting experience. We ended up missing the last switch, having to decipher bus maps in the semi-dark, walking a decent bit to the proper bus stop, and standing in the unreasonable cold until it arrived. It was certainly a transit adventure. Then, to top it off, I couldn't find the hotel room key in my bag. Yipee! The night clerk made a new one, though. Of course, as soon as I got into the room and dumped my bag, there it was. Classic. Arsty District: explored; Interesting Markets: shopped; British Beef: consumed; Fantastic Art Evening: experienced--Day Two: Complete.

These are photos of both Day 2 and 3, so you'll get to see them again when I do the next entry. :-P

Trafalgar Square is dominated by the neo-Classical facade of the National Gallery. In front of this, stands Nelson's column, a tribute to Vice Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson, the Naval badass whose unorthodox tactics allowed the British fleet to entirely destroy the French and Spanish navies at the Battle of Trafalgar. Four lions sit in guard around his monument, which lend themselves to children wanting to conquer and climb them. haha. Also in the square are four plinths, bearing the following things: George IV, Henry Havelock, Sir Charles James Napier, and a succession of art displays and sculptures. The sculpture gracing the Fourth Plinth when I was there was a beautiful model of Nelson's ship in a bottle. After Trafalgar, we walked down the Victorian Embankment on the Thames to Westminster Bridge, Big Ben, and the Houses of Parliament (also known as the Palace of Westminster). Here is something I never realized: Big Ben is shiny. Ok, I know that sounds like a ridiculous thing to say. haha. What I mean by that is that all the decorative bits are gilded, a thing that somehow I never realized until I saw it in person. The Houses of Parliament to which it is attached reminded me oddly of stalagmites; I suppose that is due to the Gothic Revival design chosen when the buildings were reconstructed in the mid-19th century. Westminster Abbey, around the corner, is a beautiful example of combined Gothic and Gothic Revival architecture. The Abbey is, of course, the most noted and historically important church building in London, as well as the most famous church in England. A meandering walk through Belgravia, (a super wealthy and incredibly lovely section of London, home to many of the ambassadorial homes and offices) an absolutely delicious dinner at a Lebanese restaurant, and a view of Royal Albert Hall and the Albert Memorial at night eventually led back to the hotel for well-earned sleep. Day One accomplished.

Photos of London, Day One

At some point amongst all this, I found my way to the Museum of Oxford, located in a corner of the Town Hall. This was a really thorough yet not overwhelming look at the life of Oxford. Certainly the University plays a significant role. In fact, I doubt even the history of a university like Harvard and it's relationship to the town would come remotely close to demonstrating this history. The interesting thing is that the city existed for well over 100 years before any part of the University was formally established. Once the University moved beyond the schooling of the abbeys (the Blackfriars being the most famous of those orders prominent in established the scholastic side of Oxford), the students and faculty of the schools were largely autonomous as the University (as all medieval universities were wont to be) was set up as a completely separate governmental entity from the town proper. This led to various and sundry conflicts (the most brutal of which occurred in 1355), and eventually to the loss of student autonomy in University dealings. By the age of the Reformation, most universities were overseen by some form of governing body outside of the University itself. Nevertheless, the power and autonomy seen by Oxford University during the Middle Ages left a lasting impact. Oxford University was built significantly on its charter from the monarchy, it gained power through its high numbers of aristocratic students throughout its history, and continues to wield significant clout via its reputation and heritage of important students. Oxford University has another claim to historical fame: During the English Civil War, Charles I established himself there and from thence directed his campaigns. Eventually, of course, he surrendered and was subsequently booted forcefully from this life. In an odd twist, the Museum of Oxford has a death mask of Oliver Cromwell. It was moderately creepy. Anyway. Since that time, things about Oxford that are famous include Lewis Carroll (we all know who he was), William Morris, the creator of the Morris Motor Company, and Oscar Wilde (also well known to my readers, I'm sure). The YHA had a large collection of posters, etc., noting all the famous people who had attended or lived in/near Oxford. I did not write them all down so that I could pass them on. You'll have to do your own research. :-P

Eventually, I found my way to Oxford Castle Unlocked! which despite it's ridiculous name is a really good tour of Oxford Castle. It's one of the only guided tours I went on during my entire trip, and it was worth it. Oxford Castle was actually a prison for the vast majority of its existence, but the original tower/castle/fort is Saxon in date. Climbing up the tower is an experience as the steps are narrow and not at all uniform. The view, however, is absolutely worth it. If nothing else, touring the Oxford Castle points out how inhumane prisons were for a very long time and how disadvantaged women were in the criminal justice system. The tour also enables you to see a padded room and try on a replica Victorian prison uniform. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Back on the street, I decided to head over to the Ashmolean. A part of the University, the Ashmolean has an astonishingly good collection covering a wide range of eras. I particularly enjoyed their Egyptian and Islamic collections. As often happens, I was a terrible manager of my time, though, and ended up being forced to leave without having seen the upper two floors. Someday I'll manage to divide my time in a museum in a more profitable way. haha. I just lose track of time.... I spent my final night in Oxford double-checking my banking, purchasing my ticket to London, and, of course, watching a World Cup match. :-P I also had the pleasure of watching a group of American 6th graders forge friendships with a group of French 6th graders. The important part of this meeting was that none of the French kids spoke more than a sentence or so of English, and none of the American spoke more French than they had on a handy-dandy conversational print-out that one girl had acquired. It was insanely delightful to watch them. If I could have, I would have filmed it. haha. Finally, I had some tea and retreated to my room. I worked on packing up my stuff while having a lovely conversation with my roommates and then, it was off to sleep. London in the morning!

Fun fact: The Bridge of Sighs in Oxford is patterned after the bridge of the same name in Venice, Italy.

Fun fact number 2: Christ Church college still follows the medieval practice of eating at long tables in a dining hall. Its dining hall was used as Hogwart's dining hall in the Harry Potter films.

Fun fact number 3: The title comes from this Yeates quotation--“I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember, the place is so beautiful. One almost expects the people to sing instead of speaking. It is all . . . like an opera.”

Photos of Oxford

Now, as you look at these maps I've provided you, you can see how Cliff Road is a nice, reasonably straight, single elevation road from Salcombe to Overbecks. I say "reasonably" because the part of the road from the first beach (North Sands) to the second (South Sands) boasts a rather significant incline. Nevertheless, it is much shorter and much less taxing than the route I ended up taking: Bennett Road to Sandhills Road to Beadon Road. It is important to note here that Bennett Road is entirely an upward inclined road. Sandhills Road is a bit of up, followed by a very steep down. This would usually not be such a problem except that I was already completely exhausted, and I was lugging about 45 lbs. of luggage (suitcase, backpack, bag). Whew. I was a very unhappy little traveler. "So why take the difficult road?" you ask. Here is why: The brown sign you see here pointed me up Bennett Road. You can also get a taste of the incline. haha Here, a bit closer, you can see the little building and acorn leaf that signifies the YHA. Definitely a sign meant for drivers and not pedestrians. By the time I made it to the hostel, I was exhausted, worn out, my legs were wobbly, and I was emotionally spent. I know, I know, I'm displaying my moments of utter wimpiness here. I was further dismayed when I reached North Sands and realized I had to keep walking. I thought I would reach the hostel at the top of the next hill, but no. Then I found South Sands: still no hostel. In my completely spent state, each setback seemed far more frustrating than it would normally have been. When I reached the hostel and found the door locked (it being around 10.30), I definitely sat down on the bench outside the building and started crying. Yes, crying. In public. Not at a movie. O.o Definitely not my most strongly independent moment of the trip. haha. Well, as I sat there sobbing, a middle-aged gentleman in a gardening apron walked by, unlocked the gate, and entered the gardens. This only served to heighten my discouragement. I rather had hoped to be noticed. I was soon to be, though. The gentleman returned a few minutes later and saw me sitting there, realized I was upset, and asked, "Is there some way I can help you?" It is no testament to my strength of person that I almost couldn't get through my tale of bus, town walk, hill walk, luggage and lateness due to the sobbing. It is a tribute to his kindness that he figured out my troubles and immediately said, "Well, let's go around to the back and see if someone is here. We'll get you situated in no time." Sure enough, he talked to the girl who was working, explained the situation, and I was soon sitting in front of a hot cup of tea signing the receipt for check-in. I felt quite embarrassed at my inability to stop crying for a full 10 minutes, but everyone was very kind and understanding. This is when I discovered there was a closer bus stop. I also learned there was a ferry from South Sands into Salcombe if I wanted to avoid trekking back with luggage when I left. This was very heartening news to me. I spent a few hours reading in the lounge (which had a tremendously lovely view, by the way) and relaxing before I ventured out again. The girl (whose name is Kris) checked on me a couple of times to make sure I was doing all right. :-) I'm sure it isn't every day they have to comfort hysterical American girls. hahahaha.

I finally decided to venture into town and see what I could find. What I found was a lovely little seaside town. It rather reminded me of those quaint New England towns featured in Hallmark movies. Once I perused a few shops, however, I realized it was on the Hamptons/Kennebunkport end of the seaside town spectrum than say, Rockport, Mass. By the late afternoon, I had also discovered a splash of the OC seemed to be thrown in. Really it was an amusing place to observe as it was such a odd combination of older couples surrounded by the aura of money and young people trying desperately to be the hip monied. I'm pretty sure that I was the only female jeans shorts in the entire place. Since I was wearing ballet flats, though, I felt like I at least passed muster. haha. Although I really did want to buy something from the absolutely lovely boutiques, I was loathe to spend £30 ($45) on a grey tank top or £85 ($130) on a simple cotton sundress. Really. I did, however, buy a cute reusable shopper to replace the one I'd inadvertently left in the kitchen of the Keswick hostel. I had a lovely late lunch (alliteration!) that I bought at a bakery: lovely warm pizza with a super-thick crust and very nice cheeses and a donut. More on the donut later. Eventually, I bought a few provisions from the grocery and headed back to the hostel. (This trip I took the Cliff Road both ways--much more pleasant than the morning's path.) After stashing my provisions in the kitchen, I went outside and enjoyed the absolutely beautiful weather/sunset by reading on the bench. Just before time for the afternoon check-in session, a pair of ladies, who were obviously distance walking, arrived and sat on the wall near the bench. We had a lovely chat while they waited to check in. They had walked from Land's End--a distance of about 200 miles along the coast. For the life of me, I can't remember where they were stopping, but I recall they had about 50 more miles to cover. Some nights the stayed in hostels, some nights, their tiny tent. They were both far better packers that I am. hahaha. It also ended up that they were sharing my room. :-)

Also sharing the hostel was a group of university students taking a two week intensive. I encountered several of the boys that night as I sat in the lounge reading. Several of them tumbled in to watch a World Cup game and then tumbled out again to proceed to a pub in Salcombe to finish watching it. I didn't meet any of the girls until the next day, but they were all rather fun and interesting, I found. After breakfast (a full English cooked breakfast that was lovely) the next day, I gathered my rather significant pile of clothes that needed washing and headed toward town. Have I mentioned how happy I was to not rush off to a train station? I was so very happy. I found the launderette and was moderately sad to notice that it had a closed sign hanging. Hm. Well, it was just after 10, so I thought it might not open until 10.30. I wandered about a bit until 10.30 and tried again. The closed sign was still up. I was proactive. I took my shorts-wearing self into the candy shop that was attached and asked the slightly punk-ish teenager working there about the launderette. Slightly abashed, he said it was open, apologized profusely for not changing the sign before, and politely gave me change for my note. I then proceeded, chuckling, down the hall to start my laundry. As with all laundromats I have ever been in, the washing machines were great. The dryers, while also great, were based on completely useless time increments: 10 minutes or 25 minutes. Yeah. A shirt will dry in 10 mins. Two shirts and a pair of socks might dry in 25. Ah well. I started the wash load (no color separation for the first time since...ever...haha), set the alarm on my iPod, and headed out to find a juice and a place to read. I found both and enjoyed a lovely half hour overlooking the harbor and reading the book I'd purchased the evening before. (Agnes Grey, if you're interested--the only thing in town I could afford to buy! :-P) When the clothes made it to the dryer, I ended up just sitting on top of one of the washers to read seeing as I had to be around to check and restart (since the first round wasn't going to cut it.) Eventually, they were ready, so I folded and packed them into my handy little shopper and went out to find lunch. I had a cream tea for lunch. The strawberry preserves were oh-so-tasty and the clotted cream was...divine. I know that clotted cream does not sound divine, but trust me, it was. The tea was quite good, too. haha

I took my time walking back to the hostel just to enjoy that absolutely amazing coastal weather. I pondered walking back down to the beach when I was finished, if only to chuckle at the holidayers laying out almost fully dressed on the beach, but decided instead to wander through the Overbecks garden. It was well worth it. The gardens were charming and peaceful; the museum portion of the house was fascinatingly random. (I took a number of pictures in the gardens, fyi.) That evening as I was reading in the lounge it was the girls' turn to tumble in. They were quite a funny and diverse group: from the girl-next-door type to the OC wannabe girl. We hit it off well enough that when they were about to leave to go into Salcombe for the music festival, they asked me to come along. (That's right--tiny town has a music festival every year.) It was a pretty good time. Of course, there was some widespread angst due to the WC tie with the US. (I had no angst. :-P) But soon the fairly decent cover band had everyone singing and enjoying themselves. I even had some local ale. It wasn't exactly what I expected, but it was pretty good. Since I had quite a day of bus riding the next day (travel on Sundays is, indeed, weird; also, if you miss the morning bus, you're stuck until very late in the afternoon.), I decided to go back to the hostel when one of the girls decided to go back rather than to the pub after the festival ended for the night. Let me tell you: it was dark! I was very glad for the flashlight I was carrying in my bag. I also used it to quietly enter the room where a completely new set of walking ladies was already sleeping.

The next morning: shower, breakfast, walk to Salcombe, wait for bus, bus ride to Exeter, and train to Salisbury! It was going to be a full day.

PS: British donuts are not like American donuts. They are like really big versions of the donuts you get at Chinese buffets. Also, they have jam inside. They are delicious. Not like Krispy Kreme delicious, but still delicious.

PPS: Overbecks is half YHA and half part of the National Trust. When Otto Overbeck died, he donated it to the National Trust on two conditions: 1) it obviously bear his name and 2) it be a place accessible to youth.

PPPS: In case you didn't gather from the title, Agatha Christie was a Devon native, born in Torquay about 25 miles up the coast from Salcombe. She set some of her novels in the county. So did Thomas Hardy, he just changed up all the names.

PPPPS: Here are the photos from Salcombe.

The Hoe is a beautiful park right on the waterfront that is the home to Smeaton's Tower, a beautiful 18th century lighthouse. It is also home to the Tinside Lido. The Lido was opened almost a century ago as an open-sea bathing center. The pool then was filled via pumps with fresh sea-water that was routinely exchanged. In the late 20th century, it was closed after being neglected for years. The citizens of Plymouth mounted a campaign to refurbish and reopen the Lido, now a maintained pool. It's really quite beautiul. I continued around the coast, discovered some truly lovely houses and scenery, and even a small park the had been built in an old mine quarry. Eventually, I made my way down back through the city center, stopping for some food and finding the city museum and library...just too late to go in. :-P I found something just as interesting, though: Charles Church. Now, Charles Church is no longer a functioning church. After being bombed in WWII, it was left as a monument to those who died. It now sits in the center of Charles Cross Roundabout. Not content to take pictures of it from the sidewalk opposite, I did, in fact, cross the three lane roundabout at quarter to 6pm. I did run. haha. Just after I ran back across the street, I realized that the Devon and Cornwall constabulary building was just across the street with a couple of constables waiting to cross the street. Momentarily, I wondered whether running across a roundabout was precisely a legal thing to do, but they didn't say a word when the passed me. I'm pretty sure I would've been jaywalking in every major US city. hahaha. At any rate, I found some dinner (The Blues bar and Grill has nice drinks and makes a good chili) and returned to the hostel to relax, take advantage of free wi-fi, and sleep. I fell asleep pleasantly looking forward to my two days of rest in Salcombe.

Photos from Plymouth

I was certainly drawn to the serene beauty of the city. After a short walk around parade gardens, I acquired a map and headed over to the Fashion Museum. It was pretty interesting. I ended up taking more pictures than were probably justified under the "It can go in my costume file" excuse. Haha. I did, though get to see an actual dress of Queen Victoria's. That was pretty neat, I must say.

After the Fashion Museum, I poked about the Assembly Rooms (where Jane Austen set some important gathering scenes, no less) and then meandered my way to the Circus (where Thomas Gainsborough lived) and the Royal Crescent (exclusive and beautiful housing with a brilliant front view). I made my way back to the town center via the Gravel Walk (now paved, but home to a lovely Georgian garden example). As I was turning the corner to take a picture of Queen Square (the house Austen stayed at when younger used to stand there), I spotted a neat little sign for the The Jane Austen Centre. Well, of course I had to see it. Beautifully done, it was a charming walk through with a lovely gift shop. I had a fun time comparing not only the lives of certain Austen characters as well as the story of Becoming Jane to Jane's actual life. She seemed even more to me like someone I would have enjoyed knowing. In the gift shop, I aided a customer by encouraging his purchase of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and decrying the existence of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. The docent who was at the register was intrigued by my opinions and when I explained the reasons behind them, she mentioned that a colleague who had read them both came to similar conclusions. Thus, +1 to me for having opinions on Austen adaptations that are approved by Jane Austen Centre docents. :-P

If that wasn't enough for one day, I next headed to the Roman Baths Museum. After all, why go if you're going to skip going into the best bit there, right? :-) The baths and their museum are stunning. Seeing parts of the original courtyard of the baths was...well, moderately overwhelming, despite my Old Stuff experience in York. It was absolutely worth every minute. I did want to feel the water, though, but that isn't allowed, unfortunately. I did get my picture taken with a centurion, so it all evened out. After spending almost seven hours in Bath, I made my return to Bristol quite exhausted. The slightly neurotic and almost weepy level of exhausted. Thankfully, I received a needed pep talk and decided to make a travel plan adjustment in order to facilitate some needed rest. Okehampton would be scrapped (goodbye Dartmoor and castle ruin), and I would take an extra day in Salcombe (hello rocky beaches, cliffs, and wealthy second-homers). But first, my travels would bring me to Plymouth.

Photos of Bristol and Bath

**The quotation in the title is from Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen.