A spontaneous day trip to Stratford-upon-Avon

Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy..
—–Hamlet, Act V, scene i

I woke up on Sunday morning with a raging, insatiable desire to visit Stratford-upon-Avon, the fabled village where Shakespeare was born. This was rather surprising. Usually, when I wake up, the first thing I want is coffee. Or chocolate. But today it was SUA.

Ever since my return from Romania, my sleeping schedule has become super healthy (which is GOOD!). I go to bed at about 11-12, and wake up at 7ish. Today was no exception. I booked my railway tickets online (19 pounds round trip with my 16-25 Railcard), and went off to Marylebone to take the 11.09 train operated by Chiltern Railways.

The air conditioning on the train was a godsend, but less amusing was the fact that there was a very noisy family in the QUIET ZONE where I was sitting. The children were screaming/caterwauling/shrieking/crying while their mother basically did nothing to rectify the situation, and we fellow passengers had to suffer the consequences.

I arrived in SUA at around half past one noon, and went to see the house where Shakespeare was born. The town centre where most of the places are located is about ten minutes walk from the railway station.

Awash with tourists..

And everything’s signposted so clearly. I didn’t have to look at my GPS or google maps, not even once.

Wish they did this in Romania

This is the house where Shakespeare was born. It’s right in the middle of the high street. You can’t miss it – and even if you did, the hordes of tourists milling around taking pictures would be a huge giveaway.

The house where Shakespeare was born

This is what the courtyard of the house looks like. Since it’s a Sunday, the crowds are everywhere (spoiling my pictures).

Talk about a photobomb

This is what the house looks like on the inside. It’s been maintained very well – if there’s one thing the English are good at, it’s taking care of their cultural heritage. They do an outstanding job.

A large relief of Shakespeare in the cafe

After I’d finished Shakespeare’s birthplace, I went to a pub called (rather fittingly) the Marlowe for a quick lunch. And I was actually rather taken aback by how GOOD the food was. (I did not see this coming.) Best mashed potatoes I’ve ever had in my life. Although I still miss polenta and Bulgarian salad.

Walked along the road down to Nash’s House and New Place, which are adjourning sites. Nash’s House was owned by Thomas Nash, who was married to Shakespeare’s granddaughter, while New House was bought by Shakespeare in 1597, where he lived till his death in 1616.

Nash House

Across from Nash’s House is a small but beautiful chapel.

A little further down the road is the chapel best known for being the final resting place of Shakespeare. It’s situated right next to the Avon, and was built in the early 13th century.

Again, you can’t really miss it.

Just a heads up

It’s 2 pounds admission for adults, and 50p for students. The people managing the till were local grandfathers, who were very sweet people and seemed to take a genuine pleasure in their work. I talked with them for a little while about things like Tory politics and EU policies (I really should stop reading the Dailymail so much), and was very flattered when they told me I was extremely well spoken.

I’ve seen about thirty chapels/cathedrals/churches on the Continent, but haven’t seen that many back here at home. The ones in England, from what I can see, are lighter and less imposing. The Continental churches (with the exception of the Eastern Orthodox ones in Romania, although those were very dark too), feature towering turrets, endless ceilings and grand, sombre facades. In England, they give off a much friendlier, relatable aura, and there is much more light. But I haven’t seen the Canterbury Cathedral yet (on my bucket list along with Warwick Castle), so I’d better not pass judgment too quickly.

The Shakespeare family crypt. It was a very humbling experience.

A marble effigy of the great poet.

Afterwards, I went out and looked around. The Avon is a very picturesque river that reminds me immensely of Cambridge. I can see why Shakespeare would want to compare people to a lovely, temperate summer’s day. There were lots of people out here enjoying the sun.

Walked back to the town centre.

450 years of Shakespeare

Caught the 17:38 train back to London. There was a French father with his young daughter in our carriage; when the little girl tried to go to the toilet and there was a woman in the aisle fiddling with her luggage, she (the little girl) said, very loudly, “EXCUSE ME!” The woman straightened up hurriedly with a grin to let her pass, while the father, clearly embarrassed by his daughter’s frankness (the whole carriage was chortling), apologized profusely to the woman before hurrying after his errant daughter. As he went past me, I could hear him muttering under his breath, “Jesus! Excuse me?”

Saw the announcement BREAKING NEWS – BELGIUM:RUSSIA 1:0, in the marquee section where they usually have things like HIGH BARNET – 4 MINS; STANMORE APPROACHING, STAY CLEAR OF THE PLATFORM EDGE. World Cup fever continues to run rampant, despite the fact that Team England’s out of the running.


(A/N: This is a post from June 23 from my old blog, which I incidentally forgot to move at the time. I had a zillion things in my mind at the time. Hence all the football commentary.)

France, part II – the journey in Toulouse continues

Toulouse’s old city centre and most of its sightseeing spots are located in their downtown district. It’s easy to get around by foot, which is what I did. I did rent a bike for a day, which was SUPER cheap – 1.20 euros for 24 hours, using the Velo Toulouse scheme, which has kiosks all over town (and one right outside my hotel). Toulouse – well, actually, all of France – is a great place to bike, with well-planned and comfortable bicycle trails running alongside their famous rivers and canals. The intrepid traveller can pick up a detailed bike trail map for free at the Tourist Office, located in the Capitolium.

One of my friends goes to the University of Toulouse, although unfortunately he was working near Paris at the time and was unable to leave. He was kind enough, however, write me a VERY comprehensive guide to the city, which was extremely helpful.

I started from the city centre, the famous Capitole/Capitolium.

The Capitole

Splurged on a French crepe. After enduring 7 months of decidedly British food, this was bliss.

Yum, though not that cheap at 4 euros

I then walked to the Église des Jacobins nearby, which was a beautiful, serene place. Admission was free.

The next place I went to was the Basilique of Saint-Sernin. I didn’t manage to get in since I couldn’t find the entrance, and there were gaggles of jaded-looking teenagers lolling about, smoking and drinking, so I didn’t stay in the neighbourhood long. My friend had also warned me that it was a bit dodgier than most of other places in Toulouse, and advised me to steer clear of it.

 

Saint-Sernin

Back to the Capitole.

There’s a very nice memorial of Charles de Gaulle in Jean-Jaurès.

After going back to the hotel to eat and rest (got some sandwiches from the nearby Carrefour), I went over to Pont-Neuf, the only old bridge across La Garonne, which was built between 1544 and 1626. My friend told me that the holes carved into it were made to reduce the pressure on the bridge during river floods.

A lovely stroll along the Garonne.

As I walked along the Quai Lucien Lombard, I had a splendid view of the Place de la Daurade and Place Saint Pierre. According to my friend, the homogeneity of the block was due to the fact that it had been planned by the government just before the outbreak of the French Revolution. In the aftermath of the Revolution, the houses were completed by various different private owners, hence the wide variety of style and technique.

A closer look

I really HAVE to write my holiday diaries right after I get back. I’m looking at these pictures right now and remembering snippets of my thoughts when I took them, but that’s all they are: fragments and bits of a much bigger picture that’s all but lost to me now. Photographs are all very good, but the emotional aspect of travelling is just as important as the travelling itself. I do remember taking numerous strolls along the Garonne, buying a chocolatine at a shop my friend recommended, and eating it by the riverbank and napping in the green shade of the weeping willows. A dog came up and practically breathed down my neck, so I ended up giving him my chocolatine, which he wolfed down eagerly before loping away. It wasn’t till much later that I remembered belatedly that dogs aren’t supposed to eat chocolate. The late afternoon sun filtering through the trees, the wind ruffling the grass and teasing out my hair – that’s what I do remember, and listening to Hotel California on replay.

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'Relax,'said the night man,
'We are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
but you can never leave!'

and I look up into the blue skies

Prologue to continental#1; France, part I – the Cite de Carcassonne

(2014/07/12 A/N: Am still migrating the contents of my old blog over to this one, and the server at blog.com is so ghastly it's not even funny any more. I have not been able to login to my account ever since I got back from Poland. Everytime I try that a huge "502 Bad Gateway/nginx/1.0.15" shows up, or the page doesn't load. I find it difficult to believe that such a bad server host could exist in today's world. I can't even get into my account to announce that I've moved over here. Wow. This world's insane.)



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This entry has been woefully late in coming. My first trip to Europe started on the 12th of May, and now it’s the 24th..of June. (A/N: Well, it WAS, when I was writing this..!)
The first few parts of this entry were written before I went to Romania, and I’ve noticed a slight discrepancy between my writing then and now. I’ve become more flippant, I think. And, of course, since it’s already been more than a month and loads has happened since then, I’ll have forgotten lots of things, but I still have the pictures, at least.

Before I go any further, I’d like to talk about what this initial trip to the Continent meant to me. I’d been abroad before on my own (that’s actually what I’m doing right now with my degree and London) and I am the sort of person who likes to spend lots of quality alone time, which means plenty of solo trips out and about. This, however, was very much different to anything I’d ever done. I was going to countries I’d never been before, where I didn’t speak the language, and I’d never planned out a proper itinerary for myself like this one (the first of many to come!). It was fantastic, tailoring a whole trip for myself, but it was also an extremely daunting and time consuming task. And to be honest, I had no idea what to expect – I wasn’t really thinking about travel dangers, not speaking the language and other things. What I did was plan my trip meticulously, right down to the last detail. I booked ALL of my tickets, be they train/bus/coach/sightseeing hotspots – online and beforehand, and printed them all out. I downloaded the offline google maps of all the places I was planning to visit – we live in the 21st century and GPS is a godsend for the intrepid hopelessly naive first-time traveller. I also took out an annual travel insurance that covers the whole of the Schengen area. It’s a long, torturous procedure, but it’s incredibly rewarding, and this whole experience has been a life-changing one, although again it’s not something I can fully express in words, but I’ll try my best, as I relive my journey through these entries.

A quick overview of my itinerary – 19 days in total, which I started off by spending 4 days in France (Toulouse and Carcassonne), 5 days in Barcelona, 3 days in Portugal, then it was over to Maastricht (a Dutch town on the Belgic/German border), which I used as a base to make day trips to Belgium (Bruges and Ghent), Germany (Aix-la-Chapelle) and Luxembourg (Luxembourg City and Vianden). I spent an average of 16 euros a day (this sum includes tickets, living expenses and so on).

So, without any further ado, I give you..the entry I wrote two weeks prior.

***

My travels so far have consisted of endless castles and gothic cathedrals which are fine and dandy but somehow all end up looking the same.

My masters life is one where I go through cans and cans of fizzy drinks. If I were the drinking type of person I would probably drink a lot. But yes, lots and lots of soft drinks, cans, and meeting beautiful boys in Europe who want to have a serious relationship with me, whatever that means. This is the life.

My dad was in Toulouse for a summit, which was the sole reason I decided to make it my first destination. The cheapest way of getting there from London was to fly to Carcassonne (15 pounds) and take a train from there (12 euros). I decided to make a bit of time for CCF, since there was apparently a lovely fortress there that I really wanted to see. I touched down in Carcassonne, France on Monday afternoon. Bit of a bumpy ride, but the incredibly hot flight attendant named Carlos more than made up for it. If heaven existed, all angels would look like him. I think he caught me staring at him on more than one occasion. He’s wasted as a flight attendant. He should become a male supermodel, or go into acting. I’ve never seen anyone as perfect as him. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to get a picture of him. The plane was a tiny 737 model.

I don’t like flying, which is odd, because when I was little I loved it. Then again, there is a considerable difference between short flights and long haul flights. The 737 plane kept shaking, the seat was unadjustable and the table was wobbly. I kept wondering if the plane would lose all structural integrity halfway across the Bay of Biscay.

Anyway, I arrived in Carcassonne airport, and took the shuttle from the airport to the train station. The driver was a very jovial man who spoke splendid English.

A view from the Gare de Carcassonne

I thought Carcassonne was a very picturesque little town, with narrow streets which are typical of European towns, though I didn’t realize this until I’d reached my third city.

Carcassonne’s claim to fame is the Cite de Carcassonne, which features a rather splendid medieval citadel (an UNESCO World Heritage site), with a lovely little bridge.

The bridge

After I’d crossed the bridge, it was a rather steep climb. A rather nice panoramic view of the city could be seen, but of all the city panoramas I’ve seen on this trip (Barcelona, Luxembourg, Lisbon), the best one belongs to Lisbon, with Luxembourg coming a very close second. But that’s a detail for another entry.

The Cite

The Cite de Carcassonne, best viewed from one of the bridges. I really wish I’d gotten blue skies; cloudy days make for awful pictures. Going into the citadel was free, but it was not that impressive. I did like the conical towers, though.

Construction work being done. Again.

A chapel within the Cite.

There was too much construction work going on, which spoiled my pictures. The weather at this point had gotten kind of blustery, which is typical. It did that too in loads of other places I went to on this trip, such as Belgium, which was such a shame, because Belgium was – is – gorgeous.

Well, I reached Toulouse within an hour (the train ride was very pleasant), and met my dad, which was fantastic. One thing about travelling is that you pick up bits and pieces of their languages. Gare for train station in France, for instance, which proved to be surprisingly useful.

***

(A/N: This is the ‘present’ (well, the /6/24) me speaking, now. I am starving. Why oh why am I so perpetually HUNGRY?)

I didn’t do much after I arrived in Toulouse from CCF- had a nice soak in the tub, cooked some ramen, and went on facebook. And I think that this is quite enough for a prologue, so I’ll stop here with a teaser of Toulouse’s city square. In retrospect, this was one of my favourite Continental cities. Till then, adieu!

 

The Rue Lafayette

Romania, day 5 – Sibiu

Manhole covers in Sibiu.

One thing I noticed about the pigeons and sparrows here was that they’re all very thin. I’ve never seen such emaciated birds in my life. The ones in London and Taipei, and all the other cities I’ve been to, are so rotund they practically can’t get off the ground. The sparrows in Taipei positively look like Snitches or blowfish, they’re so fat. In the future, I will use this as a standard to determine whether a district is wealthy or not – the skinnier the pigeons/sparrows, the less well off it must be.

Witnessed England being crushed by Uruguay yesterday, which I watched with the girls in our kitchen last night. I don’t need to turn on the TV, or go on facebook, even, to tell when a goal has been scored. The noise last night was something dreadful. I didn’t realise that the World Cup would be played during my masters year in London, but it is a fortuitous twist of fate, and one I’m happy to have been privy to. Did I mention how interesting it was, being in Romania while the madness of FIFA began spreading itself like rabies? In our Brasov hostel, a bunch of guys would huddle over the television set every night. My first real shock came when the invincible armada of Spain turned out to be not so invincible, suffering a crushing defeat at the hands of the flying Dutchmen. And then there was Portugal against Deutschland on the 14th, which was…whew. And so begins the Decline of Iberia.

We spent the whole day walking around Sibiu. It’s a very picturesque little town, idyllic yet bustling with energy, which won the much-coveted title of Europe’s Capital of Culture in 2007. Our hostel (about 8 pounds a night) was located slap bang in the middle of the old city centre, the Piata Mare/Piata Mica (pronounced like “piazza,” with a wee sound of “t” right before the z). There’s always some sort of event going on there. When we first arrived, there was some sort of concert/festival/carnival, which went on and on for the duration of our stay. Joanne was very excited about this.

This reminds me of the Wizard of Oz

We rented bicycles at the Hotel Ibis, about ten minutes walk from our hostel, which cost 8 lei for two hours and is a LOT cheaper than renting it at the tourist office in the piata. We cycled for about forty minutes to a lake, which was beautiful, but a bit crowded.

Not the most beautiful lake I've seen, but it does have a certain je ne sais quoi

I don’t think I mentioned this before, but it’s also one of the major defining parameters of our Romania trip. The people here act like they’ve never seen East Asians before. Everywhere we walked, people would slow down and stare at us, and even point at us. Some of them would even take pictures. The teenagers would, in some instances (once in every town at the very least) jump in front of us and call us names. I felt like we were a walking zoo, or as if there were horns sprouting out of my forehead. Both of us found this VERY unamusing. It can really ruin things and your whole travel experience per se when all the people do is stare, stare stare. I do not think Romania is too high on the tourist friendly scale (again, thanks to the negativitybias effect of bus 780 – you’re going to haunt me till the end of my days) and the environment is especially hostile for people who look noticeably different azn. During the whole of our trip, we did not see one single black/Indian/Muslim/any other race/colour other than white. The teenagers are plain xenophobic. Then again, their adults are wonderful (except again for the ones on the bus). When I was in Rasnov, a man told me that I was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life, and that he had lost his heart to me. I was flattered, although sceptical – I don’t think I looked my best after a whole day of climbing and sweating.

So, yeah. If you look Asian, or not white, you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb, and boy don’t they let you knowit. We’ve had people coming over to us at restaurants and approaching us on the street, asking where we’re from. (“China? Japan? The land of the chopsticks? Chopstickland?”) I personally would not recommend Romania to anyone Asian, unless you’re travelling with a group of at least 7 people or you have a burgeoning desire to challenge yourself and push your limits. It’s not a trip for the faint of heart. Even then, you will be gawked at, but at least when you’re in a large crowd, the teenagers probably won’t be so inclined to use google translate to call you a slant-eyed monster in Chinese and Japanese (apparently these are the only two countries in East Asia) while you’re on the bus, minding your own business. I’ve never had a problem with my race before. Hell, I LOVE being so ostentatiously Asian azn. But in Romania, when people consistently look at you like you’re some character from Hellboy, it’s really annoying. To be honest, me and Joanne were relieved to be going back to multicultural, melting-pot London after 8 days of being goggled at. I actually think I could write a whole blog post on the racism we encountered in Romania. Even the people who mean well can come across as very offensive. One of the people who came over to give us the Spanish Inquisition in a restaurant told us that he’d worked in the States for ten or more years, that three of his ex girlfriends were Asian sinophile and that he still couldn’t tell the difference between all of us. I had a cow or three when he guessed Vietnam and the Philippines after China and Korea fell short. The ball really dropped, though, when he excused his ignorance by saying, “Well, you all look the same, you know – the Chinese, the Filipinos, the Viets and the Koreans. Exactly the same.” I felt so insulted, even though I knew he didn’t mean any harm, and retorted rather stiffly, “Well, we can say the same about you people, you realize – you Romanians, Serbs, Slovaks and MAGYARS all look alike to us azns, too.”

Back to Sibiu. The old town was beautiful. This is their main church. Note the colourful tiles of the roof.

This is the old town – see the windows, which look like peeping eyes? It’s a very common feature of Sibiu’s houses.

The Piata Mica.

On our way back, we were fortunate enough to encounter their parade.

 

See the "Banca Transilvania" in the background? It's a blood bank

And we got a lovely view of the piata bathed in the light of the late afternoon sun.

Dinner in a bar off the Piata Mare. I had polenta, again, and Romanian meat rolls (sarmale) – the vampires continue to dazzle me with their culinary skills. sparkle sparkle, glitter glitter.

Again, I realise this picture is really bad, and again I excuse myself by the fact that I was starving at the time.