London Winterim Tour Journal 2014

Note: This is an unedited recounting of my time in London. It is very long. 
[UPDATE: I forgot to edit out the last names of some of the students. I've gone through and done that here.]

Day 1 and 2 (January 7 and 8, 2014)

Lots happened over these two days. We had few delays--some were airline related, some logistic related--to get us from Salt Lake to London. The transatlantic flight was murderous; I couldn't get into a comfortable position, though I did manage to snag some sleep. The lady to my right threw all of her stuff on my lap then passed out. I rubbed her back. I'm glad my wife is here. The lady on my left was kind of reminiscent of Kathleen Nugent. She didn't talk to me, but she did expand into my personal space as she slept. It was kind of funny.

Anyway, it took us forever to get off the plane, through customs, and claim our baggage. We were supposed to land at 9:35am; an hour long delay in Dallas, however, plus our mass of people getting through gates, made it so that we weren't out of the airport until 11:00am. We met Becky, our tour director, and zipped off.

At the hotel, we ditched bags, tidied up selves, and then had a brief meeting. It was funny to see how many kids were nodding off, despite the fact it was only noon. We hoofed it to the nearby Wembly station of the Underground and, despite kids failing to use their brains while crossing the street, we managed a safe arrival at the Tube.

There were lots of cool things to see--quaint houses, sprouts of chimneys coming up among them, the perpetual moss on the stone surfaces. One of my favorite comments was a student who, upon sitting for the first time in a subway car, asked why it was called "The Underground" when we obviously weren't underground. I laughed.

We went into the depths of London and stopped for sandwiches. Then we crossed a bridge, saw the London Eye, and gazed at the gauzy skyline as gray clouds clutched the sky. We could see the National Theatre, Big Ben and the houses of parliament, and even a little cab shack. These are green buildings that were designed to keep cabbies from getting drunk on cold January nights. They sit inside and get a cup of tea, moving from the entryway all the way around as more people come in. That way, the cabbies get to stay warm and awake without having to resort to spirits.

Becky has a great sense of humor and is very patient with us. She kept herding us about, throwing out tidbits of fascinating history and explanations as we went. A visit to Trafalgar Square gave Gayle a chance to pump while kids took pictures.

We hopped the Tube to our dinner, which was a bit of hike from where we exited, in a nice little Turkish restaurant where a delicious curry was served. Afterwards, we pushed the kids toward the hotel. Everyone was in bed by 8, with almost all of them asleep by then.

Day 3 (January 9, 2014)

I woke up about 2 am because (I think) of a serious storm and loud winds. It was hot and kind of hard to fall asleep. I managed to pull in a few hours. (Now it's 11:00pm and I'm about as tired as I normally am at this time of night.)

We got out about ten minutes late (much to the irritation of the adults), but we're hopeful that the wake up calls, alarm clocks, and better measures make for a smoother morning tomorrow. (Read on to find out! Ooh, the suspense!)

The light breakfast done, we jumped on a tour bus and went to pick up our tour guide, Keith, on Baker Street (the one Sherlock Holmes lived on) and he took us all over the place. We saw the City of London, the outside of St. Paul's cathedral, and Westminster Abby. We grabbed some pictures in front of Big Ben before grabbing lunch at a Tescos (a small sandwich/grocers across from parliament).

While there, a woman gave a guy sass, threw coffee on him (which landed on Olivia, splashing her bag and her camera), and swore at him. It was tense and awkward.

Bizarre food throwing finished, we headed for a boat and took a river tour. From the Thames we saw the reconstructed Globe theatre. I smiled.

A lot.

We disembarked at the Tower of London and were given three and a half hours to explore. It wasn't enough.

Gayle and I walked through the mint, listened to a hilarious yeoman give a tour, and stared at the Crown Jewels. There were descriptions of beheadings, torture devices, court visits, prisoners, and the menagerie (they actually imported lions and tigers and ostriches to the Tower), and much more. Highlights: Seeing the place where the bodies of the two princes, Edward and Richard. I had Gayle snap a picture of me in front of the plaque. Also: Knowing that Milton walked through here. It's geeky, I know, but I got an awed grin on my face when I thought of him wandering around the village inside the Tower's walls. (Thinking that he wasn't happy to be there didn't cross my mind.)

The dissonance between the modern London and the ancient Tower struck me pretty hard, and I had a hard time reconciling the two for a little bit. I could hear modern London outside the walls, but the proximity of the two was strange for me. In Utah, historical sites are usually off the beaten path, so there's a discharge period. Here, it's all right on top of each other, mixed in the modern (where the past had been destroyed by the Nazi's bombs) and the ancient (preserved after the fire of 1666).

Once free of the Tower (lol), we Tubed and hiked to a fish and chips dinner. The shrimp salad was a little strange for me, but the cod was tasty. I really enjoyed it.

After that, we toured a bit of Chinatown and Leicester (pronounced Lester...yeah) before seeing Piccadilly Circus and other vibrant, neon things. Then we came home by way of the Tube without losing anyone.

One of the things that I'm enjoying is the babysteps of confidence that we're giving the kids. We're having them figure out the Tube as we go along, as well as giving them short leashes to get wander a bit without going too far. I hope that it continues to go well and we keep being safe.

Day 4 (January 10, 2014)

It worked.

The getting kids up early thing.

It worked.

Anyway, we started the day off with a lengthy Tube ride to the Monument of the Great Fire of 1666 (September 2, a Sunday). We walked over London Bridge, saw a great vista of the Thames, and then left the City of London to explore Southwark. There we saw a church where Shakespeare's younger brother, Edmund, was buried.

We passed a replica of the ship that Sir Francis Drake used to circumnavigate the globe, then turned toward the replicated Globe. Before entering that area, however, we stopped by the (kind of--1989) recently discovered remains of the Rose Theatre. With that knowledge, archaeologists were able to find the small car park where the Globe once stood.

Not even joking, my spine tingled a little when we stood there.

It's just some marble plaques that spell out G-L-O-B-E, but it was still really exciting for me.

We passed places that were once bear-baiting pits, saw the chair of a ferryman that dates back to the Medieval period, and even got to walk the Millennium (a.k.a. the Wobbly, a.k.a. the Deatheaters) Bridge. The view toward St. Paul's was stunning.

Then we went to the recreated Globe--at last--and did a tour of the place. I got to see the 12,000 (well, not all of them) wooden nails used to create the playhouse. We gawked at the oak-tree-turned-marble-pillars that formed the basis of the foundation for the awning. We saw the thatched roof--the first London-based thatched roof since 1666--and drooled over the extravagant paintings.

It was thrilling.

We were then let free to lunch and explore the exhibit. Gayle and I ate at the chophouse The Swan where we ate overpriced appetizers while I got to look at the Thames bubbling before me. Gayle pumped.

Once finished, we headed toward the exhibit during which time I luxuriated in the fascinating behind-the-scenes and best-guesses of how the Elizabethan world worked. I mean, who knew that pregnant women's urine was prized for tanning and other acidic uses?

And, further, why would someone know that?

We were working through the exhibit when the Macduffs bumped into me. Jen gave me a book: How Shakespeare Took Over My Life and said it was a gift. I was touched and really pleased.

Looking at our watches, I realized that at the pace we were going, I wouldn't get a chance to spend many pounds at the gift store, so we hurried along. Once there, I was bombarded on all sides: "Dowdle! Look at this!" "Yes," I'd say, "that's awesome!" "Dowdle! Did you see this?" "No," I'd reply, "I'm still looking at this." It was flattering, actually, to have so many people considerate of me and what I love.

After buying some trinkets from the store--including a beanie that I wore with pride the rest of the day--we marched off to a few more Tube stops to get a hefty walk out to Cripplegate. Before we could make it to the Tube, however, a funeral from the Church of Southwark commenced. Bells tolled, an old hearse sat on the street, and a beautiful coffin lay inside. The bells would ring loudly, then on the refrain be muffled. It's an auditory announcement of the somberness of the moment.

Once we made it to the Tube and into the City of London, we saw the original foundation of the 2,000 year old Roman wall that provided the first fortifications of Londinium.

Once at St. Giles' Church at Cripplegate, we went into a 1,000 year old church site (the chapel itself was built 500 years ago). There, I saw the small marble square that had the simple inscription that marked John Milton's tomb. I smiled.

A lot.

Off to one side was a full-bodied sculpture of the poet as he would've looked in his prime--complete with his hyacinthine curls manly hung--staring off into paradise. There was also a bust of him at the back of the chapel that I took a photo with. As I walked through the place, the organist practicing beautiful organ music, I couldn't help but feel immensely content. I dropped a couple of pounds into a donation box, grabbed a pen, postcard, and bookmark from the stand, and we left.

Before eating, Gayle and I stopped to see a street magician who was giving Tatum a hard time. He was doing all sorts of frantic magic tricks, including card tricks, ball tricks, and rope tricks. At one point, he pulled Gayle out of the crowd and had her be his lovely assistant. In the six minutes he had her up there, he delivered at least as many dirty jokes that had my beautiful bride blushing--if only because half his audience was comprised of Maeserites. After the performance, we hurried on to our meal.

We had dinner at an Indian restaurant where a curry (that I can't properly spell here, so won't bother trying) was eaten--the favorite dish of London. That's right: Fish and chips is not the preferred dinner of the British. Anyway, dinner devoured, we then split the group--Jen and her family went back to the hotel while the rest of us went on to see platform 9 and 3/4. There was a little queue set up for photos with a trolley half-way through a wall. The attendants had scarves for each house and would help make it seem as though you were running in with your owl on it. I think Olivia and Maddie were nearly ready to pee themselves with joy.

It was delightful.

With that done, we headed back onto the Tube and found our tour guide for a Jack the Ripper tour through the seedy East End of London. It had rained during our time indoors, so the streets were ominously slicked with puddles and sinister reflections of disreputable institutions--like Dirty Dick's...which I have no idea what they sell but I'm really curious to find out.

We followed our humorous tour guide, a man named Ben, who wore a fedora, had a suspicious and melodramatic flare, and carried a lantern. He showed us the original site of Bedlam--which freaked me out more than anyone else, I'd guess--then described in gruesome detail the mutilation of the victims of Jack the Ripper. We walked a lot (a lot) and saw a number of fascinating places while he revealed more about the baffling case of the Ripper.

He was funny and over the top and delightful. Two favorites: He asked a question of the group and Tatum started explaining her hypothesis. He looked at his watch as she wound into her second minute, then, dryly, asked her to continue. She took it at face value and launched into another minute of impossible to follow reasoning.

I laughed.

The second was when he was getting into the personal space of Rolf, one of the adult chaperons. He was asked his name and his response, without missing a beat, was "Steve". We started to laugh but we shushed up. I don't know if Ben ever noticed.

After a lengthy walk home, we found Jen in the waiting room, all smiles and fury. Last year, she'd hosted two German foreign exchange students who had stolen her heart. She was, in fact, confessing to Gayle today how she can't even Skype them, as seeing their faces would be too hard on her. Well, I got an email from Sophia about possibly coming and surprising Jen with their arrival. I thought it was brilliant and they set about coming over.

Early this morning, the two of them arrived at this hotel. They managed to avoid detection--one of them went into London and looked around--until this evening. Connie, Jen's mother, helped to orchestrate the arrival tonight. The three Macduffs were in their room, relaxing, when a really loud knock came at the door. Scared and a little confused, Jen went to the door. When she opened it, she melted.

Like, she fell to the floor and started crying.

The last thing she expected was to see her 'kids', standing there, grinning at her. They spent the remaining hours chatting in the lobby of the hotel.

When I showed up, Jen told me she'd called me an S.O.B. for having kept the surprise a secret. Considering that she'd lied to Katelyn, her daughter, for months about coming to London, well...I just consider that comeuppance.

Day 5 (January 11, 2014)

Wow. This city makes my boogers black.

That's gross. I'm moving on.

Today was our only 'free day' in London, where we got to dictate our own itineraries and go to all the places we wanted to see but hadn't yet. We ended up backtracking a bit, which was sad that we didn't see more, but it gave us a deeper flavor that we couldn't have had otherwise.

We began at the Natural History Museum. It was really neat to see the diplodocus in the entryway. The building itself was immense, with arched brickwork and intricate tiles on the floor. It was reminiscent of the museum in Arkham City, but without a wooly mammoth.

Museums in London are free, so we just sauntered into the crowded dinosaur exhibit, which was awesome. There were really cool poses that made them feel more alive, and the way they set it up was creative: We walked on an overpass with dinos exhibited suspended in the air, then wrapped around a 3/4 sized animatronic T. Rex which roared at me.

I loved it.

As we went, I gave an impromptu tour, which the students said they really appreciated. We went through the displays beneath the floating dinos, then scuttled over to the V&A (Victoria and Albert) Museum. Another immense, impressive building--complete with sculpture-bedecked facades and towering brickwork--filled with art by Raphael, replica statues of Italian sculptors, and Jacobean relics.

The last part was particularly intriguing to me. Seeing the delicate lace on the gloves reminded me that Shakespeare's world-wide success would never have been possible had his father not been able to support the family as a glove-maker.

Once done at the museums, we took the Tube to Borough Market and were assaulted by the quantity of people. The scintillation scent of spiced meats wafted over us as we tried to decide where to eat. Smells,  sounds, and samples flowed as readily as the people. We found a stand selling fresh burgers, which we queued up to eat while standing and soaking in the immense connectedness of the Market. After buying a sweet (in my case, a salted caramel chocolate tart), we started down Clink Street to head toward the Rose Theatre that we saw yesterday. We were going to send some kids to the Tate Modern Art Museum, but when we realized the time, we all decided to stick together and go to the Rose.

The underwater preservation of this important site was cool, dank, and in the basement of a business, but it was pretty thrilling to be in the same space that was once trampled over by the shoes of Marlowe, Burbage, and Shakespeare. I grinned as we walked past the Globe's resting place on the way back.

We arrived to dinner on time and enjoyed some Korean food before splitting again into three groups. One went to see a play (at the time of this writing, they're still not back, which causes no small consternation to me), one went to find ice cream and gifts, and one came with me and Gayle.

We used our passes to flag a Night Bus that was headed to King's Cross Station, which is what Harry Potter does in the fifth book. Olivia was, in particular, gleeful for the opportunity to be experiencing for herself the Muggle equivalent of an iconic moment from the stories.

Once at King's Cross, we quickly found our way back to Platform 9 and 3/4 (where the attendant from last night remembered us and made a comment with a smile). Perhaps a little too much time was spent there, purchasing little gifts and Harry Potter themed trinkets. Then we used our Tube passes to get us into the actual King's Cross station. There, we found the arches (between platforms 4 and 5) and took some pictures.

Done with that, we stepped out into the brisk January air. Since we had a little time to kill, we swung by a Starbucks and had some hot cocoa while talking about the Harry Potter series. We hopped the Tube back to Wembly Central and marched home.

The others had their own stories to tell, including lunch in the Sherlock Holmes pub, staring at birds in the park, and someone getting his water bottle destroyed by a bus.

Thus ends our time in London.

Day 6 (January 12, 2014)

We had to wake up a bit earlier today because we had a lot of driving. Packed up last night, we put away our final things and started down to breakfast. After a light meal we stowed our belongings in the belly of the bus and started out toward Stonehenge.

The drive was beautiful. Rolling hills, framed in the gauzy light of an English mist, we saw the Shire-like verdure pass the window. Becky spoke at length about British history, hierarchy, and military service. I asked her lots of questions which she turned into impromptu lessons, which was impressive and informative.

We crested a hill and took a long look down a straight road. There, to our surprise, we could see Stonehenge rising in the distance. It was shrouded by the gray clouds and damp fog.

Then we passed it to get to the visitor's center, which was kind of anticlimactic--see what you came to see, then park and pay to see what you came to see.

We disembarked and were given headsets which recited on-demand information about what we were seeing. Standing in the drizzle, waiting for the bus to drive us the half mile or so to the site, I looked around at this brand new (opened less than a month before) café, gift shop, and exhibition center. It's odd to think of people nearly 5,000 years before standing in a similar place, looking out across the hills and considering the (as it were) monumental task of devising a new...something...out in the middle of the area.

Indeed, that was the big surprise to me: Current scholarship is undecided on the purpose of the Henge. Maybe it was a place for worship, as the Druids (who didn't build it) believed. Maybe it was a place for sacrifice (though that seems unlikely). Perhaps it was a place to do some calendaring (since it creates the perfect marking of the summer and winter solstices).

Other questions--aside from how they could have actually assembled the thing--abound, including what kind of language they used, what organization, and what motivation they had for doing it. Over 40% of the area is yet to be uncovered, which will likely take decades to be able to do, so answers are--perhaps--forthcoming.

The stones themselves were remarkable. Mossy and age-worn, they nevertheless still stood in the same place they were likely placed in 2,500 BC. One of the stones has been reinforced with cement, which they're open about, as they try to be transparent about the ways they're working with the site. The vertical stones have 'nipples' (as one guide called them) but are actually called something else, which are used to interlock the lintels across the two stones. This makes for a LEGO-like interconnection that helps explain how something that old could still be standing.

Also of note was the fact that the 'back' of the circle was either less important or simply less interesting to the ancient peoples, for it has fallen apart much more.

Once we were done with Stonehenge, we boarded the bus and trundled through more verdant countryside with Becky explaining about sundry things as we went.

An hour or more later we ended up in this quaint village of the English countryside. We stopped at Chawton, which is where Jane Austen spent the end of her life. There we sipped tap water and tea (and I think a soda or two) in a little tea shop across the street from Austen's home in a place called Cassandra's Tea Cup. (Cassandra was the name of Austen's sister--the prototype, most likely, for the character Jane in Pride and Prejudice.)

We ate some sandwiches, then entered the museum. After a brief introductory film, we were set free in the museum. I wrote part of Hamlet's soliloquy with a quill pen on a piece of paper, which I've saved. We dressed as Regency people, took pictures, and then prowled through her house. It was really neat to see her writing desk, her bed, and even some of her letters.

We were almost free of the gift shop when Gayle decided to deliberate over the type of nib she wanted in her quill for her quill-and-ink souvenir, so we only got 30 minutes to walk the town. Moss-covered, thatched roof homes lined parts of the streets while sheep-grazed land sprawled out on the other side. We walked a few minutes to the church where the Austens used to go and saw the chapel, the graveyard, and the tombstones of two Austen women--Cassandra, and (I think) the niece Cassandra Elizabeth--in the back. We opened the door and even went into the empty building, which was very cool.

We hit the road and then took a two hour drive to a small town just outside of the small town of Stratford-upon-Avon called Rugby. There we checked into the Ibis hotel. We were given dinner there, with a nice little bit of cheesecake. I made a sad face at the kids when I came back with the small desert, so the server brought over another piece--much to the merriment of all involved.

We played a lengthy Magic match until lights out.

Sum: Too much driving, but it was necessary. Very cool stuff.

Day 7 (January 13, 2014)

Warwick castle was approached from the south (I guess; I'm totally lost on the directions, even with the sun out, as it was this morning), and our collective breaths were stolen as we saw it. Standing regally and crenelated and timeworn next to a river, the multi-towered castle inspired confidence and dread--like a medieval reflex to the European DNA that's in my body. We made appropriate noises of appreciation as it drew closer, including the digital sound of digital shutters, and stared as Warwick itself blurred past the windows until we stopped.  

The castle has been around for 1,000 years or so, since William the Conqueror came in 1066, and has been passed around like a bad cold ever since. It finally settled in commercial hands, and the history has been preserved along with thematic, amusement park-style branding. There are attractions (distractions, really) that dot the area, including a spook house, a "Merlin and the Dragon Tower" show, and a princess experience.

The preserved parts--including the walls, towers, and ramparts--were all incredible. We hiked over 500 stairs to go up Guy's Tower and Caesar's Tower, plus wandered through wax dummies posed as medieval people doing medieval things--creating horseshoes, washing linens, playing at swords, and preparing for battle. We stared at murder holes out of which boiling urine and feces would be poured to scathe and dishearten the enemies and looked down at the immense moat that gurgled about the castle like a disgruntled uncle turned into a watery belt. A trebuchet pointed heavenward in the back part of the land.

Surprising me the most must be the fact that the first half-tower that we ascended was actually built by none other than Richard III. Those of us in the group that heard that all dropped our jaws. It was also amusing to see that the second half-tower (which wasn't available to be walked on) was, at one time, used to house bears so that the bears could be released as a form of defense.

I don't think that'd work as advertised.

We walked around a lot of the time, enjoying the feeling of being in an expansive courtyard while surrounded by history. We bumped into a pair of elders who were at Warwick for their P-Day activities. I'm super jealous that they came here on their missions.

Inside the main hall was a museum dedicated to the 19th and 20th century occupants, though they did have some older armor. One piece they had they'd known was significant and looked cool, but it turned out that it was actually the armor of Charles I. They likewise discovered (all of this within the last year) that a small suit of armor was for Charles II.

The castle done--and Gayle euphoric for having been able to go to it--we headed into Stratford-upon-Avon. I was getting almost nervous as we approached, though not with the same feeling of excitement that I had as a child as Christmas or birthday approached. It was a deeper level of it.

We passed Shakespeare's boyhood home, which sits looking over a main thoroughfare, and I physically jolted. Becky hadn't announced it or drawn our attention to it. I simply looked up and it was there. No one else seemed to notice. I tried to tell Gayle but the words caught and then it was gone. I started feeling my knees weaken.

Unleashed from the bus, I had to wait for the students to all leave before I got out. I had a little bit of a hard time breathing and I couldn't really get my thoughts to process. The only similar experience that I can relate was when I got home from my mission and saw my mom for the first time in two years.

Thinking back, I believe I was in shock.

I let everyone run ahead of me. Gayle and Olivia were particularly thrilled to find a place called The Creaky Cauldron, which sells butterbeer and other Harry Potter-related paraphernalia. (They claim that they've been around since before the books were released, meaning that they were likely the inspiration for many of the wizarding world's flavor.)

I, on the other hand, just walked slowly about, trying to paint this quaint street-turned-shopping-center/tourist-trap into my brain. There was the obvious shout outs to Shakespeare (Bard's Way, which wasn't anything special) and those more lovingly rendered (personal favorites were Iago's Jewelry and Food of Love; I also liked the Buzz).

I spent almost twenty minutes by myself, walking past the back of Shakespeare's birthplace, trying to get myself to believe that I was there and this was real. Gayle caught up with me and we bought authentic Cornish patsies, eating the hot pies as we walked around.

By the time we were touring on the bus again, I felt a little more normal. I'd purchased another copy of the Complete Works and had sipped a butterbeer. Convinced I'd simply thought myself into some strange mental state, I soaked in the sights of Stratford.

I'll express what I felt when we went to the grave in a bit, but first I'll document the remainder of the day. We slipped past some of the "Shakespeare Homes", the places where members of the family lived. Some of them have been preserved--all save New Place, where Shakespeare retired, because it had been torn down in the 18th century by the owner who was sick of tourists.

We visited Anne Hathaway's cottage and learned a great deal about our language there (including where the phrases "warm welcome" and "cupboard" and "square meal" came from). I'm sure it's resplendent in the spring and summer. Here it was green but not colorful, though I'm totally in love with the thatched roof, Tudor-timbered house style.

We tried to enter the birthplace museum, but it was closed by the time we'd arrived. Instead, we headed toward our appointment at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and went on a backstage tour of the facilities. While we don't have tickets to anything here in Stratford, it was fantastic to see how a modern play would be staged in the town that gave birth to the man who defined what modern plays would say.

Once done we piled on to the bus and returned home for dinner and unwinding before another busy day.

But I have to document the visit to Shakespeare's grave:

We pulled up in front of the Holy Trinity Church and there walked up through the short graveyard to the entrance. Moss-covered tombstones toothed their way through the grass. A feeling of transcendence began to float over me.

Normally, when I enter a European church, I'm overwhelmed by the architecture and the piety that's plastered over the walls. That's how I felt in Saint Giles' Church at Cripplegate.

Not so here.

It's sacrilegious to say that I was almost irritated by having the Bible being read aloud by a little woman off on one side, but I think it was because it was background noise; the words of Holy Writ weren't penetrating my disbelieving fog: I was in the chapel of Shakespeare's resting place.

Paying the four pounds admission wasn't even a thought--though Gayle kept trying to tease me about not being able to afford it--and then we were there. I listened with half an ear to the tour guide, Allen, explaining interesting things about the chapel and its most famous occupant, but I really only had eyes for the grave.

Leaning against the thigh-high railing, I looked at the tomb, outlined with blue rope, a gleaming placard at the foot of it. Above the space, printed in the original spelling, was the epitaph--the last thing likely penned by the Bard--which encouraged none to disturb his 'dust'--his quintessence.

Even thinking back on that moment fills me with an ineffable surge of proximity. I did feel a little light headed, and, when I thought of how close I was to whatever is left of him, I am not ashamed to admit I nearly wept.

I don't know why it mattered so much, but it did. It wasn't a grieving sort of feeling--I'm totally over the fact that he and Milton are dead. It was almost...gratitude.

I've been thinking about this a lot, lately, as to why I find belief in God so necessary. It's because I feel like having someone to feel grateful toward helps fulfill the experiences of my life. I really like saying thank you. So when it comes to Shakespeare--a man who has for seven years now definitively shaped my life, while also doing so less overtly for all of it--I feel a deep and certain gratitude for what he wrought. He has, more than any other writer, inspired my deepest thoughts and my greatest ambitions. He has fueled my imagination, sparked my vocabulary, and transported me to new levels of artistic craft. When I think of who I'd most like to write like, it's Shakespeare. I cut my poetic teeth on the juicy meats of Shakespearean sonnets; I have a job because of Shakespeare.

Being so close to his quintessential dust was an opportunity to experience gratitude. I didn't mouth the words--in fact, I didn't process the experience until now, as I'm writing--but that's the emotion that I felt. And, in much the same way I feel an unexpressed gratitude to Peter's surgeons for saving his life--and in a lesser way to how I feel toward God for having saved (and given us) Peter's life--I expressed that by being there.

Five thousand miles were not too many to traverse for this experience.

In terms of gratitude, I will be forever grateful for what I felt and saw here today. It is sweet and nigh-on spiritual. I recognize that not everyone can understand or appreciate what happened. But that's what transcendence is: Beyond the pale of what we can literalize and conceptualize via language. And that is exactly what I feel toward Shakespeare now--it isn't a worshipful, deific kind of appreciation. I don't see Shakespeare in that way. I see him as a man who has helped me to understand the world and myself better.

I see nothing wrong with being grateful for that.  

Day 8 (January 14, 2014)

Much to my delight, we had the opportunity to return to Stratford-on-Avon to visit the Shakespeare Birthplace home. This was the childhood home of William Shakespeare, where he was born and spent his first decade and a half or so. We were going to see it yesterday, but it was closed.

Since we arrived in Stratford before the birthplace opened, we spent the time slipping about the Gower statues in the middle of the way, just down from Henley Road where the house stands. We took photos in front of the main pillar on which the Bard sat, voluminous reams of cloth swathing the Sweet Swan of Avon. Around him stood four statues--Lady Macbeth, Falstaff, Prince Hal, and (of course) Hamlet. We snapped photos. Becky took a spill and hurt her wrist, but she seems to be okay.

We marched up Henley until we arrived--with a brief detour to Poundland (where everything is a pound!) for water--at the birthplace. We queued up, entered, and marveled that not only had this Son of Memory lived there, but that anyone had lived there. It was incredible that people could live in such conditions. We glamourize the past--particularly the Renaissance--because it's full of ingenuity, creativity, and idylls. But it was a short, rough, brutish, nasty life, much as Hobbes described.

Above the workshop/tannery/glove store of John Shakespeare, in what was probably the girls' room, a smiling old guide chatted to us for a bit. Then he asked if we wanted a speech or a song. I asked for a bit from Hamlet, and he launched into Polonius' advice to Laertes without hesitating. I recorded the performance.

After a few more minutes of enjoying the place, we were forced to move on and hit the road, stopping in Oxford about an hour after leaving Stratford. There Becky gave us a walking tour of the storied city, pointing out the way the university town has influenced so many people. We saw the little pub, The Eagle and Child, where J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis would meet with their Inklings writing group to chat about manuscripts.

We saw an incredible library (stood in the courtyard, didn't go in) and thrilled at the impressive architecture. Gayle's love for old buildings was apparent; she was quite happy to see so many (to us) ancient buildings all about.

Lunchtime saw us headed towards Christ College, where some of the Harry Potter films were shot. Unfortunately, there was a 7 quid charge to come into the college, and the place we most wanted to see was closed. We didn't bother paying.

Instead, we headed down Cornmarket Street until we reached the aforementioned The Eagle and Child where we snapped a couple of pictures. Two or three doors down from there was the St. Giles' Café, which we decided on a whim to eat at.

It was an excellent whim.

The four of us ordered bubble and squeak (a hash browns-like potato and vegetable dish with ham and a fried egg on top) and sausage bangers and mash (with in-store made sausage) that was, by far, the best meal that we've had in England. It was fantastic and I'm salivating a bit just to think about it.

We boarded the bus and then headed toward London, where we checked into our hotel. After a brief respite, we went back into the city via the Tube and had a dinner of hummus and chicken before seeing the play War Horse. 

It was fun to be in London again. We hopped on the Tube like pros and, though it was a lengthy ride (12 plus stops), we arrived with very little difficulty at dinner.

The hummus was pretty good--which is kind of my overall impression for food in England (with the notable exception being my cuisine in Oxford). I don't think there's any cuisine that I'm positively in love with, however, so I won't say that British food is any worse or better than any others.

We trekked to the New London theatre to see War Horse, and it was the most technically brilliant play I've seen since...well, it's hard to compare. The puppet that they used for the horses (plural; they had many different kinds of horses on stage) was phenomenal. The wired/cage shape of the horse was controlled by three people: One at the head, one controlling the front feet, and one controlling the back. They were so adept at making the 'animal' appear real and alive--heavy breathing, the swish of the tail, the twitching of the ears--that more than once I forgot that it was just a puppet I was seeing.

The story itself was a touching story of one boy's devotion to his horse--one that caused Gayle and almost all of the girls to cry--against the backdrop of the Great War. I did have a problem with it, not because of inaccuracies (there were a couple--like the fact that the boys didn't know Armistice was on its way, for example), but because I carry too much baggage into war movies. They're traumatizing events and it's hard to see--even on a London stage--the brutality of the war.

The director kept it tame in terms of content: They had a few swears, but no 'eff-bombs'; they had violence but no gore. There was a lot of effort to make the scenes intense without overwhelming the audience. It was all really well done and just incredibly rendered. It was a delight.

The way home was supposed to be a long but uneventful one. However, the train we got on was headed for our stop originally but shifted part way through--either that or we snagged the wrong one. At any rate, we were at a crucial junction when I heard that the terminus of our train was at another station--one that would've sent us in the completely wrong direction.

We jumped off, but not everyone was on our train. Someone ran over and notified the rest of the group and we all got off okay. A minute or two later we were on the other line and headed home.

Now we're back at the hotel and it's late and I need to get to bed. 

Day 9 (January 15, 2014)

We split today into thirds: One third, Cambridge; one third, Watford; one third, London.

My only real regret about the trip--after seeing the phenomenal War Horse, I no longer felt bad about not treating the kids to Wendy and Peter at the RST--is spreading us out over so much of England. It's hard to know where things are in a place you've never been, so I simply submitted what I wanted to see. EF Tours put it together, and this is the result. Also as a result, we ended up spending nearly 10 (or more) hours on the bus.

That's a really long time.

I regret it because it meant that there were things we could have been doing if we'd just collected ourselves a bit better first. Ah, well. Live and learn.

Cambridge was beautiful, if a touch far (nearly two hours). The day was gray and threatened mist, but we walked through the city anyway. Much like Oxford, it is a college town in which the colleges are homes and identifiers beneath the university's umbrella cachet.

We saw a number of beautiful buildings, though I think I hit my saturation point today. There was so much beauty to see that it started to fade in the importance of each piece. Still, by far the most magnificent was King's College--a fact that they very well knew, since they had a tourist entrance and fee and everything.

Once a brief tour was finished, we were dispersed to get lunch and look around before meeting back at the bus. Gayle and I ditched the kids and found Christ's College--where Milton and (apparently) Darwin studied and lived. The beautiful wooden door on St. Andrew's Street admitted us and we wandered through for free.

Gayle and I walked, our hands intertwined, in the contemplative and quiet garden, passing beneath winter-stripped branches as the muffled sounds of the city scarcely crawled over the moss-embraced walls. We passed Milton's Mulberry tree and I wished I had thought ahead to pull out the lines by Milton that Adam says to Eve in Book IX of Paradise Lost:

How can I live without thee? how forego

Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,

To live again in these wild woods forlorn?

Should God create another Eve, and I

Another rib afford, yet loss of thee

Would never from my heart. No, no! I feel

The link of nature draw me: flesh of flesh,

Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state

Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.

But I didn't. So it wasn't romantic.

Gayle tugged my arm as we passed a geriatric couple enjoying the gray weather. "Someday," she said.

I laughed a little. "You're a sweetie," I said. "This is our someday."

I thought that'd be a nice title to a poem.

My heart twinged a little at the thought, however. There, standing in the spot the young Milton traversed nearly 400 years ago--having stood where my poetic idols once trod--I had an epiphany that I'm only now understanding, and that is of my own deep insignificance on the planet.

This isn't a pessimistic pity party, but instead a realization of just how massive the world has become. Part of what made Milton and Shakespeare so transcendent is because they didn't have Milton and Shakespeare to compete with (though that isn't fully true for Milton, but I think the point stands). And I'm not talking about the type of poetry they composed--which is decidedly out of fashion--but the world was smaller then. There were fewer people, they were products of genius in the time when they could push the hardest and see the greatest effect.

I have to confess, my own hubris is driving these feelings a little. It's a tightly guarded secret that I have that my brain has in some way concocted a fiction that would move people to interest--to tears, to inspiration, to passion. Many authors, I think, wants to take the world by storm and have movies made which people line up to appreciate. Every author certainly wants to improve the world by what she writes. But I don't think that's me. That is, I don't think it can be me anymore. I don't know if I fully believe it, but I do indeed think that I chose Gayle, Peter, Jeremy, and William over any substantial future as an author.

This leads back to what I epiphanized in Milton's Christ's College: I am too small a person in too big a world to do much of anything.

And that's why I teach.

I'm confident that I have touched students' lives for the better, that my presence in their lives has been large enough and profound enough for them to build off of what I've given them so that they can move the world in ways I can't. It's much like my mission: I'm more of a sewer than a reaper. I simply have to come to grips with that.

As usual, I think the poets I adore helped me to see that.

Milton devoted all of his youth to his art, with a driven focus that I could have were it not for things more important to me. And while I won't write something that my nation will "knowingly forget", I am learning to be satisfied with the small corner of the world that I can influence.

Once my quiet hour with Gayle was over, we gathered at King's College to leave when we realized we didn't have Tatum. We waited around for a bit, then realized that no one had seen her since our trip to the loo. A few frantic minutes later we did find her. I felt sorry that she'd spent the last hour and fifteen minutes crying to herself next to a bathroom, but she had done the right thing by parking where she'd last seen the group and waiting.

Slightly behind schedule, we bused off to Watford and the Making of Harry Potter backstage tour attraction. There were manifold squeals and screams as the girls finally got to visit the sets of the movies they loved.

They took us through a queue (of course) and into a small theater which we sat in while a brief film introduced us to what we were about to see. The final shot of the film was of the Great Hall's doors. The screen lifted, revealing the real life door behind it. We were then invited forward and they picked Tatum to let us in.

Tatum asked if she could give it to Olivia, who was at the back with us. Sobbing with joy, Olivia came forward and pushed the doors open. It was very sweet, and I think a number of visitors were touched by the compassion of the friend and the enthusiasm of the girl.

We toured the studio; our jaws dropped to see how small everything was and the time passed much too quickly. We bought a couple of butterbeers (which were delicious, though slightly different from what we had in Orlando) and took a lot of pictures. My phone was full, so I didn't take any of the studio.

After dropping over a hundred quid on memorabilia, we fled to the bus to get back to London. Laurkin, our intrepid driver, dropped us off at a Tube station and said goodbye. We trained into London for a steak pie dinner (turned out to be chicken) which we had in a pub.

Once the meal was done but before we left, I stood up and addressed them one last time. I read for them Prospero's speech from Act IV scene I of The Tempest:

be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. 

Olivia cried.

It gave a nice closing to the Winterim, even though there's still some left over--an Epilogue of sorts--but I hope the students found it appropriate. After setting up a battle plan for the final hours, we headed to the Tube so those who needed some quiet time could head back to the hotel while the rest could venture one last time into the roiling heart of London to soak in the feeling and the flavor.

Tubing home with little difficulty, we passed around a notebook I'd purchased and filled it with heartfelt thank-yous to Becky, our tour director. We'll present it to her tomorrow as we part company.

Thus is one of my dearest dreams fulfilled.