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 III – la belle Toulouse

(A/N: And that's the last of my entries from my old blog, for now. Wow. Didn't take as long as I expected. The tricky part is getting to know how to operate your new blog, all of that boring technical stuff. Once you've got that under your belt, the rest is child's play.)


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“Life is filled with strangers who shape our lives, both good and bad. All the people you meet leave a piece of themselves with you.” (source)

I was browsing through some travel blogs whilst planning my Polski jaunt this afternoon, and this particular paragraph really struck a chord with me. I think I’m going to write a very emotional post when I get to the Barcelona part of my travels (which is the next one, as a matter of fact). The hard thing is deciding how much of myself I’m going to put into it, since a lot of it was pretty personal (in a good way though, not bad, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking!). Even though I adored all the people I want to write about, I think I’d feel weird if I were them, and I was reading my blog, and came across a sentence describing me as “having the cutest socks ever, and a smile to die for.” (A/N: This is just a fictional example. FYI, all of the people I met had great smiles, and I didn’t notice the pattern of their socks, or if they were even wearing any in the first place.) Can’t have too much of a good thing. When you’re on holiday and you’re meeting lots of new people from parts of the world that you’ve never been to yourself, it’s an exhilarating experience. You observe them, you analyse them, you hang on to their every word, you put their thoughts and actions into a cultural context, you find yourself referring to them by their nationalities, you watch them for stereotypes (I plead guilty to this. Very, very guilty) and you formulate opinions of them. And you find yourself wondering if you’ll ever see them again. Adding each other on facebook is a luxury exclusive to the 21st century traveller (I’m thinking Before Sunrise now, and the fact that the first film was shot in the 90s, and they agreed not to exchange landlines/addresses. What would they have done in today’s world!), if you can call it a “luxury.” It’s a bittersweet feeling when you talk to each other on skype/facebook/whatsapp/email, but deep down inside you know that the possibility of you meeting up again in person is slim, and if you meet again, you’ll still have to say goodbye. Before you know it, your relationship fades into that of liking each other’s drunk Friday night pictures, or cheesy Suarez memes. (For the record, I do not have any drunk pictures. )

But enough with the commiserating, and on with my travel log/blog/diary/post.

The Fondation Bemberg, an art gallery that offers free admission to students for its permanent exhibition.

I then went over to the Saint-Étienne, in the heart of the old city (Carmes), and got my very first taste of Continental gothic cathedrals. It was a magnificent piece of work, very calming. I spent quite a while here finding my inner peace before moving on to my next destination.

Outside the Saint-Etienne, otherwise known as the Toulouse Cathedral

Inside the Cathedral

Be sure to check out the organ, suspended in mid-air.

Walked over to the Saint-Cyprien side of la Garonne for a light lunch and nap. Probably one of my favourite parts of this entire trip. In retrospect, I did lots of outdoor napping when I was in France, but in all of the other countries, my schedule was either too packed (no time to lounge around since I had about 8 castles to visit in one morning), the weather was not right (too hot, no trees, no river, raining etc.), or it simply wasn’t safe enough for me to let my guard down (yes that’s you I’m talking about, Romania..and quite possible a tincy bit of Iberia too). But France…France was just so right for everything. It may have set the bar rather higher than expected. Everyone, and I do mean everyone I know, who went to northern France Paris either got mugged, looted or pickpocketed, so I was initially wary of everyone who came close or spoke to me. It took me about half a day to realise that I was grievously mistaken and that Toulouse was, in all honesty, probably the safest city I’ve ever been in all my travels.

With the Pont-Neuf in the background

Another thing that made Toulouse special for me was the fact that it’s not a touristy place, but it certainly deserves to be, much more so than some other places I’ve been. It’s a comfortably-paced city that’s very tourist-friendly and stress-free, and it also boasts a wealth of rich cultural heritage sights. Isn’t that what every traveller longs for, the best of both worlds? When I first arrived in Toulouse, I was amazed by how clear the air was, and how empty the streets were – empty’s not really the word I’m looking for here, but when you’ve lived in capital cities for the whole of your life, you get used to people and vehicles strewn – no, packed – all over the place. In Toulouse, you can walk everywhere without being jogged by someone’s elbow/overtaken/pushed/shoved/nudged. The cars do not play tetris with bicycles and motorcycles and pedestrians. The people were friendly and obliging and the food of course was wonderful – although the laurel wreath for culinary delights still has to go to Romania. How I do miss Moldovian stew and polenta.

When I walked back to Pont-Neuf, I saw this, which made me laugh. Although Jean-Luc Picard was supposed to be French, after all.

"Make it so."

The Esquirol, located in the city centre, close to the oldest part of the city, Carmes. Medieval, cobbled streets and a slew of fascinating shops.

I had booked a  boat cruise down the Canal du Midi with Paladine Boat Tours at the tourist office. It was a very good price, in my opinion – 6 euros, and the cruise lasts for 70 minutes. The captain was a very friendly man and the scenery…Well, the scenery just blew me away. It felt like I’d stepped into Middle Earth, into the realm of Thranduil Elvenking. Or probably Lothlorien. Unsurprisingly, the Canal is also an UNESCO World Heritage site.

The breathtakingly beautiful Canal du Midi, which commenced construction in 1667

It was quite extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I don’t suppose I ever shall again. The waters were quite still, and mirrored the overhanging boughs perfectly.

There was a bicycle trail along the Canal, which I walked for an hour before deciding I wanted dinner. I took another nap by the canal before going home.

Where the Canal du Midi begins

This shop sells the best paninis I have ever tasted in my life. After the second day, I started going to this shop almost exclusively, and tried practically everything on the menu. The shopkeepers were very nice.

It’s located on the Rue Saint Rome.

On the fifth day, I bade adieu to Toulouse and took a bus to Barcelona. The journey was hot and boring, though cheap (all other alternate methods cost over 60 pounds, while eurolines cost me 20 euros) and I managed to arrive safely in Barcelona Sants at about 4 in the afternoon, after a 7-hour journey. But that of course is another story.

I really liked Toulouse, and I think it’s far too underrated. People go to places like Barcelona and Paris all the time, but you barely ever know anyone who goes to southern France, apart from the obvious places like Avignon, Lyon and Marseilles. I’ve strayed off the beaten path quite a bit, but it’s opened my eyes up to new vistas, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m writing this at my desk in London Bridge now, and the sky outside is blue as speedwells, and I’m reminded of Capitole in the early evening hours; its resplendence in the rays of the slowly setting sun, children laughing and running in the plaza, a man playing the Blue Danube on his accordion, me and my panini. Thinking of Barcelona and the days to come, those days in the future that are now in the past, those early summer days that will never come again and thrive only in sweet, obscure memory.

Legolas Greenleaf long under tree, in joy thou hast lived!

(A/N: Have a feeling that I’ll get VERY depressed when I start writing my Barcelona entries. I already feel kind of lousy now. Am going out to get some Ben and Jerry’s to cheer myself up. People automatically assume that travellers are a flighty bunch, that we’re so much better at saying goodbye because we’re always on the move. And that’s just not true. We travel because we want to find the people we fell in love with (I mean this in the broadest sense of the term, in a completely platonic context) from our previous journeys; that Scandinavian boy with the disarming smile and tousled hair who shared your passion for Indiana Jones, especially Raiders of the Lost Ark; the Irish girl who debated Freud and Foucault with you in the hostel all night and whom you ended up going out for a beer with; the Romanian boy whom you talked to all night using google translate because you couldn’t speak Romanian and he couldn’t speak English, and you somehow ended up singing the Numa Numa song together. Alors, sometimes you do find them, but then you have to say goodbye again, and the cycle begins anew.

And where does that leave us?

OK, I know I’m rambling and incoherent. I’d better just go to Sainsbury’s now.)

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