Stonehenge and Bath

July 2012

This trip doesn't really count as solitary travel, even if it did start that way. Due to the location of Stonehenge, right by a highway without access other than by road, I decided it'd be simpler to take a tour, especially since there is one that leaves from Cambridge. It ended up being a great option for this particular trip. The tour guide knew a ton of interesting things about Stonehenge (and was much more enjoyable to listen to than the audio tour) and about Bath. Also, I ended up making a travel buddy along the way... so one less solitary journey. ;)

Honestly, when our tour guide began telling us the theories about how Stonehenge was made, my first impression was that these people were absolutely crazy. I mean, they used several types of stone all found in different location, the furthest ones were transported 240 km while the largest stones, although closer, weighed up to 40 tons and probably took 200 plus people dragging (the wheel hadn't reached England yet), maybe on logs, over 12 days to move them to their new location. And that's just because they insisted on using these particular stones found in very specific locations. And that's only the part of the story where they moved the massive stones. The actual construction of Stonehenge only adds to the insanity of the lengths these ancient people went through to create what, a glorified calendar? (Stonehenge lovers, don't freak, my opinion does change)

As archeological evidence from the capital-sized city the creators of Stonehenge probably lived in shows, the people quite easily made a just as useful calendar out of logs in the center of town. Our tour guide described the likely scenario for the actual use of Stonehenge. In addition to being a spiritual temple type site, with its special stone that glitters once a year when the sunrise hits it exactly on the summer solstice, and perhaps believed to have healing or other mystical qualities, it was likely a massive graveyard, the resting place for the ashes of the people of the city, scattered at Stonehenge once a year in a ceremony during the winter solstice. Stonehenge was well removed from the city, likely due both to its significance and its use as a place for the dead, while the wooden, living, version was in the center of daily city life.

It seems like so much effort to go through for a calendar. Of course, it was much more than that to the people who built it, but still.... an awful lot of trouble. But, on the other hand, it represents a lot more. I mean, I still am in a bit of shock that people would go through such lengths to create something like this, but maybe I shouldn't be. Maybe, instead, I should be angry that people, as a collective, don't still think such endeavors are worthwhile. It was an incredibly feat of effort and ingenuity and an amazing display of belief and passion. (To be fair, we don't know how the actual labors were treated, but with the large proportion of people needed to move the stones in relation to the number of people who likely lived in the city, I'd like to think there was more of a communal aspect to this project than to many of history's other great architectural achievements.)

As to my impressions of Stonehenge itself, it really is incredible. You can't help but appreciate the significance of the place. I can understand the spiritual connection many feel there. Of course, it was raining. It was also absolutely freezing (in July!) and I was definitely not wearing enough layers. But, the weather only seemed to add to the effect of the atmosphere. It was mysterious and a bit mystical. I know it was originally meant as a calendar requiring the sun to work effectively, but I really couldn't imagine Stonehenge any other way. The gloom just fit.

The lands around Stonehenge were really pretty, with large grassy hills and fields full of flowers. On a nicer day I would have loved to explore. But, as it was, I was more than happy to get back on the bus and head to Bath. (Luckily, it was a bit warmer and the rain had mostly stopped.)

I didn't know what Bath looked like before going there and I was really curious as to why everyone told me it was a must-see location. I did not have to wait long for that answer. Upon approaching you could see mountains covered in houses, it was breathtaking. I definitely would not mind living in one of those houses!
Once into the city we saw lines of buildings all looking quite similar and made from the same Bath stone (both due to city laws). This gave the whole place a charming feel, transporting you back to the Georgian era, the era of Jane Austen. (I really should read Northanger Abbey, a satire of Bath society Austen wrote while living there)

   Everything in Bath had a sense of continuity, simultaneously giving the place a feel of grandness (I mean, imagine if the lines of houses were all one) and smallness (there was a sameness that gave things a familiar feel, as if you really weren't going far). And absolutely everything was inspired by the Roman empire, from the columns on the houses, to the Colosseum shaped ring of houses called The Circus, to the bridge taken from unwanted Italian blueprints,... Rome was clearly the prevalent theme.

Roman Baths and Bath Abbey

I enjoyed strolling around the city. It was quaint and relaxing. While looking down side streets filled with little shops and pubs you could often still catch a glimpse of the house-strewn hills in the distance. I absolutely love it. I also joined my tour group for a quick tour of the sites a bit further from the city center. These were the famous rows of houses, The Circus and the Royal Crescent.

The buildings were amazing, yes, but living there... I don't know. It costs millions of pounds to live one of these places and while the view is nice and the prestige of living in a famous location might be nice, think of the restrictions! You can't remodel or alter the architecture in any way, you can't post signs and such (one hotel had to plant a tree to let guests know where it was because signage is not allowed). On top of it all, you have tourists constantly outside, taking pictures, likely including you every once and a while, making noise, and just generally gawking at your place of residence. I'm not really sure it would be worth it....

On that note,... I had a great trip to Stonehenge and Bath and would definitely recommend. The tour was well suited for this particular trip. The experience in both locations were definitely enhanced by the knowledge of a tour guide. I would love to go back to Bath and perhaps, weather permitting, explore the surrounding countryside.

Solitary Travels: King's Lynn

July 2012

With my dissertation handed in and my friends either heading home or still working on research I decided to take some day trips. So, I began with Kings Lynn. Only a 1 hour train ride outside of Cambridge it made for a good introduction into solitary traveling. Equipped with a book (my first Agatha Christie novel actually) and an umbrella (this is England after all) I headed out.

By now I have the trains pretty figured out so that wasn't a problem. When I reached my destination, however, I realized I really hadn't done any research or planning. A website had suggested Kings Lynn as a nice day trip from Cambridge and I had purchased my train ticket in advance. But, beyond that, I had nothing figured out. I didn't know what sites to see, if there were any well known restaurants or any interesting historical facts. I didn't even know that King's Lynn is a port city in Norfolk county (pretty bad, I know).

There's nothing wrong with going someplace without a plan. Doing it when you're on your own, however, can cause some difficulties, as I did find out. But, ultimately wandering served me well. Although, I did end up with a map of King's Lynn and key attractions after I found the tourist information center.

Upon first arriving in King's Lynn and making my way to the city centre, I was immediately disappointed. It was just a big shopping area. I made my way to the Tuesday Market and was again disappointed. There was little variety in the stalls set up and very little personality. The feel of the place was just like going to a strip mall or something. Big and boring. The shopping area was literally just shops with a few scattered benches. It really made me appreciate the Cambridge city centre with it's pubs and colleges and colorful daily market interspersed among the shops. It has an identity, whereas the King's Lynn shopping area could have been anywhere.

I was pretty ready to give up but I knew I should give the place a chance so I followed some signs and walked around. It was when I got out of the shopping centre with its crowds of people and clothing sales that I actually saw King's Lynn. 

I walked out of town through a street lined on both sides with old brick buildings. Turning the corner I was suddenly at a church- King's Lynn Minster. Just beyond it was the South Quay (quay = wharf) along the River Great Ouse. As I said before, I hadn't known King's Lynn was a maritime city so finding the wharf was definitely a pleasant surprise. Later in the day I made me way back there to read on a bench with a great view of the river. The cool breeze made it a great spot to relax. 

As I continued exploring the trend seemed to be old stone buildings and structures. In a small garden were the remnants of a friary built in the 13th century.

Near the Greyfriars Tower was the local library. Libraries are everywhere so you wouldn't expect this to be anything special but, true to form, this too was a beautiful stone. I would love to go read in a library like that!

Within a huge park, filled with people chatting and taking strolls, there was a Gothihc style church and a 15th century Chapel. Outside of the chapel, which honestly looked more like a fort, I was stopped by a Jesuit trying to promote creationism. That led to an interesting conversation, to say the least. I think I managed to hold my own, although I'm sure neither of us walked away with altered views.

My favorite place is not something that would be found on any tourist map. It's someplace I just happened upon. I found an old church. I know I've already mentioned quite a few old churches, but this one was different. The church was clearly still in use and was surrounded by a small cemetery. I've always loved churches with the cemeteries right around them. The headstones are not in straight lines or all the same shape like huge cemeteries are today. They're personalized and become part of the landscape of the church, where people continue to worship. I've always been a little drawn to that type of cemetery. What made me like this one even more, however, was its location. This church was right in the middle of lines of apartment buildings. People were cycling home, going for walks with their pets, drying clothes outside their windows... they were living their lives, all with this cemetery right next to them. It was actually rather beautiful to see.

Overall, I really enjoyed King's Lynn. I'm definitely glad I didn't give up upon first entering the city centre. I would have missed out on a lot of interesting sites! With the success of this first solitary day trip I'm sure more will follow shortly.

Alligators and Cyclists Together in the Everglades

Living someplace does not mean knowing it—especially someplace as large and dynamic as Florida. It has beaches, Disney and NASA. It’s populated by immigrants, New Yorkers, retirees, the Seminole Tribe, and me. It is known (embarrassingly) for problems in past election polling and also as the only state where you travel north to get to “The South.” And, of course, it’s known as the home of the Everglades, the one-of-a-kind ecosystem that used to cover most of the state, that is, until it was drained to turn Florida into a winter haven for northerners.

But the Everglades are not gone entirely. These Florida wetlands are still teaming with life. Of course, I learned about its preservation in school. Every South Floridian child can tell you about the alien species threatening the Everglades and refer to horrifying photos of non-native pythons swallowing alligators whole and then dying from the exertion—their eyes definitely bigger than their stomachs. But I didn’t go on the middle-school field trip to the Everglades. I have never been on an air boat tour through the swampy waters. And, despite not living all that far from neighborhoods where lost gators wander into backyard pools, I had never seen an alligator up close outside of captivity.

When I was home for Christmas, this finally changed. I went on a 15 mile bike ride through the Everglades, a feat my Cambridge cycling had thankfully prepared me for. Winter in Florida still meant heading out early to avoid the mid-afternoon heat, wearing short sleeves, and applying sunscreen—a big change from the cold and overcast skies of England I had just left. With camera in hand and bicycles ready, we headed out.

Immediately you’re struck by the grace and beauty of the various birds—I couldn’t name them but the bird watchers seemed happy. And then there’s the landscape. It’s much different from a lake or a forest. The colors are warmer, with the sun coating everything. There are trees, but the dominant view is that of tall grass. IT might be mistaken for African grasslands with Lions instead of gators hiding in the brush—except here the grass was coming out of a water, and water makes all the difference.

Once further along the bike path we started to spot alligators resting by the side of the road, soaking in the sun. We stopped for photos, daring ourselves to step closer, the gators’ closed eyes giving us an extra (and likely unwise) boost of confidence—that is, until one of the alligators flinched. We also periodically spotted baby alligators hidden a bit more by the growth. And, of course this led to the important question, “where’s your Mommy?”

With a break after 7 miles to climb the lookout tower and rest while admiring the bird’s eye view of the Everglades, spotting a few gators from a safer distance, a showy bird strutting his stuff to my mother’s commentary, and gorgeous white birds flying above our heads as our bicycles disturbed their solitary walks, we finished our trip satisfied with all we had seen. 

The Everglades make up an amazing and diverse landscape in my home state that I am only now starting to fully appreciate. I definitely suggest a trip—cycling if you can. But remember, don’t feed the alligators!

Cambridge- Life in a University Town

I’ve been in Cambridge for a while now and my first impression hasn’t changed that much, although my appreciation and love for Cambridge has grown deeper. It is a beautiful but odd place. When you get further out from the university area, Cambridge is like any other small city, full of stores and houses, nothing that unique.

But the Cambridge I know is full of students and tourists, which of course really affects the feel of a place. I can’t walk in the city centre for five minutes without inadvertently winding up in the backdrop of someone’s photograph. The buildings are more than twice as old as the United States and are absolutely breathtaking, especially the ones along the river Cam. The bridges, buildings, punting on the River, the endless bicycles—it all makes me feel like I’m coming from another time. Especially when compared to the mere decades old US suburbia I’m used to.

I haven’t seen much else of England other than Cambridge, but I’m sure it is not representative, especially being here as a student. For me, it’s very much a university experience. Courses and my college activities dominate my life. And, as a grad student, those I interact with are from all over the world. But the traditions and feel here is unique—except maybe for “that other university” (Oxford).

It’s strange, though. In some ways Cambridge is classic England. The buildings, the gowns, and the hallowed halls where Isaac Newton, Francis Bacon, Charles Darwin, John Maynard Keynes, Lord Byron, and Stephen Hawking all studied. (Of course, other graduates such as Stephen Fry, Emma Thompson, and the fictional but beloved Mr. Darcy should not be overlooked) It all just seems so British. Granted, I’m American, so I could be completely wrong, but there seems to be such a strong tie between Oxbridge and the English identity, the number of tourists only serves as further support. 

For me, Cambridge has become home. It’s full of friends and fun, and even a little magic. I mean, we have college colors and wear gowns (cap and gown type gowns, not dresses). We eat formal dinners in grand halls with the fellows sitting at a high table. It’s all, so very Hogwarts. (This is of course my inner nerd talking and is also being said for the benefit of my Harry Potter loving friends back home!) I can’t wait to see what next term brings!

Bell Tower Adventure

Xi'an, 2011

With the promise to stop and explore anything interesting, my friend and I decided to walk the 6+ miles to the Bell and Drum Towers the Xi’an city center. And thus the adventure began.

A street vendor selling multi-colored popcorn led to an early stop down a side street. It turns out that the popcorn was all fruit flavored. There was strawberry, grape, and even honeydew. With such a promising start we couldn’t help but explore the rest of the street. It didn’t disappoint. 

We walked past rows of stalls selling fruits and bright red and yellow signs for the physical stores. Then we came across an alley of pool tables. Yes, pool tables. This was the real China, groups of local Chinese gathering together to play pool in a back alley. 

From there we continued on. We braved the dangers of crossing huge Chinese streets and learned, rather quickly, that if Chinese are running you should run too (or get squished by a car). We stopped in an international candy shop that also carried tiny bottles of liquor, expensive coca-cola, and very odd toys. There was also a tea and nut shop full of boxes depicting the Terracotta Warriors. Anything Terracotta Warriors is a clear sign of tourists (Chinese or foreign). We were close.

Soon we made it to the city center. It turned out that the Bell and Drum Towers, although the supposed purpose of our trip, held little actual interest (They also weren’t the first things we saw). We weren’t going to pay to go inside so pictures from the ground level and a quick laugh at the expense of the less frugal tourists who had paid to see a drum we could see perfectly from ground level and we were done. It was the rest of the city center that held the real interest.

We saw countless stalls of Chinese souvenirs, instruments, artwork and clothing for sale. As soon we spoke a word of Chinese these vendors were excited to talk, sometimes trying to make a sale, sometimes just expressing their curiosity. 

We saw two young Chinese women modeling wedding dresses in front of a Dairy Queen (the bridal shop was above it). As soon as we asked if we could take a photo they began to pose. 

When we decided to sit and rest on some steps with a good view of the Drum Tower we became the site for others to see. We started chatting with a couple Chinese tourists (in Mandarin). Before they left they asked if they could take a photo with us. Then, all of a sudden, a line formed. Groups of Chinese tourists were lined up to take photos with us or to have their children take photos of us. It was unbelievable! I’d had Chinese tourists take photos of me before, but form a line? It was hilarious. We probably could have charged money. 

  

Then we did some more shopping, this time on Huimin Jie (Muslim Street). While my friend was haggling a different vendor walked over to me. She said hello and asked if I remembered her. Sure enough, it was a vendor I had met the first time I was in Xi’an, back in 2009. I couldn’t believe that not only did she remember me but that she was the one to approach me. After all, the hours long mixed English-Chinese conversation my friends and I had with her and her and a couple other women had been one of the highlights of my last trip. Also, I had a photographic reminder of what she looked like. She, on the other hand, saw an endless stream of foreign tourists and had countless conversation. My mom told me it the woman remembered my smile. But, I’m fairly certain my red hair had something to do with it. 

It was finally time to go home. But there were didn’t want to walk back in the dark and there were no taxis available. So, we decided to brave the fear evoking, motorized rickshaw. They are fast, have no seat belts and are open on the sides. On top of that, the driver seemed to believe that its small size gave it permission to squeeze between cars, cross over medians, and drive on sidewalks. My friend’s reference to the Night Bus in Harry Potter was an apt comparison, but, as I pointed out, at least the Night Bus was magic. It may have been scary, but this adventure of a day really couldn’t have had any other fitting ending.

No English Allowed

Xi'an, 2011

My second trip to Xi’an, China was vastly different than the first. I wasn’t going as a tourist. I wouldn’t be staying in a hotel in the middle of the city. And, I wouldn’t be speaking English. I was back for intensive Mandarin language study complete with classes every day, Chinese roommate and peer tutor, and the infamous language pledge.

The language pledge made China a very different place. It wasn’t just this foreign land I was visiting. It wasn’t simply a fun trip or travel story. I was much more integrated than I had been as a study abroad student in Shanghai or an expat interning in Beijing. Mandarin seeped into every aspect of my life—the walk to class, chit chat with my roommate, asking the time, saying numbers out loud, meal time conversations, etc. The only break was contact home. And even that was mostly by email so my speaking and listening was almost exclusively Mandarin.

It may seem silly that a pledge would make so much of a difference. I mean, isn’t the point of going to another country to learn a language actually speaking it? Surprisingly, that is not often the case. When you get a bunch of English speakers together, no matter the country, they tend to revert to English. It’s about comfort and ease. It’s also about embarrassment in speaking the native country’s language. Why go through that when English is such a nice alternative?

The Chinese also are very nice and accommodating people. They see it as a sign of respect to use English, especially if you’re struggling. Also, many Chinese are learning English and see foreigners as an excellent chance to practice. Without the pledge limiting you and even your Chinese peers (roommate and tutor) to Mandarin it is surprisingly difficult to have fully Mandarin conversations inside your peer circles. Basically, if your friends, Chinese or foreign, know English, it will get spoken. (Especially since their English is usually much better than your Chinese)

An unexpected side effect of the pledge is that it forced you to get creative. If you didn’t know a word or how to say a word you couldn’t just revert to English. You had to talk your way out of your problem—in Mandarin. With some words that was near impossible. Pantomimes and long narrations for simple anecdotes became commonplace. When you were telling a story it wasn’t a huge deal if you fudged the details, said the wrong punch-line, or messed up a little. You were among friends and the stakes were low. In the classroom, however, when accuracy was more important, we often had hilarious sessions of Charades or Pictionary (with Mandarin words allowed) to get our questions or points across.

We also got over feelings of awkwardness pretty quickly. I mean, a bunch of Americans chatting and joking with each other in Mandarin (without a Chinese participant in sight) looks pretty weird. This led to many silly encounters. There were the conversations with other American students not in our program and thus not on the language pledge; they spoke English we responded in Mandarin. The was the encounter with a English traveler on one of our excursions; when one classmate started speaking Mandarin the traveler assumed he was Chinese, that is until the rest of us joined in. There were also our excursions and tours; small crowds of Chinese tourists would gather around at the oddity of a tour group full of Americans listening raptly to a Mandarin-speaking tour guide.

No English allowed means no fear allowed, no embarrassment allowed, no hesitation allowed. But it also means, new adventures allowed, fun stories allowed, and a great experience mandatory.

Going Local

Xi'an, 2009

It was our first night in Xi’an and we were already on our own. We didn’t want our time here to be a waste. It would be a shame to eat at some random chain or western-style restaurant and miss out on what this city had to offer. My plan was to ask the concierge for a restaurant suggestion.

The only problem was that we didn’t know what kind of restaurant we wanted and the concierge wouldn’t speak English. I, having taken Mandarin the longest, was our group’s designated speaker. We headed to the lobby hoping this plan would work.

I was still not very confident going up to random people and speaking Mandarin. I hated making a fool of myself and not being able to get my ideas clearly across. But, this was my idea so I had to follow through. Besides, I wanted to make the most of my China experience and without asking for ideas we had no clue where to go.

I went up the concierge and asked, “Ni zhidao yi ge hao fandian ma?”

All I got in response was a smile and a confused look. My grammar was probably off, but I was pretty sure that I had asked if he knew of a good restaurant. A huge knot formed in my stomach, this is what I hated about speaking a foreign language.

I decided it would probably be best to keep things simple, “fandian?”

Still, he had no clue what I was talking about. Were my tones right? That was definitely the word for restaurant. Now my heart was really pounding but I continued on. I tried other words for restaurant, cafeteria, and the like. Finally, the concierge caught on.

Of course, then he began asking questions. I tried to understand and at least pretended that I did. I also said “yes” a couple times to I’m not sure what question. I was almost positive that he was asking me if we wanted Xi’an style food and that I responded that we did.

Ultimately, we ended up with two restaurant names written on hotel business cards. One was for a Xi’an cuisine restaurant and one was a place to get Xi’an dumplings. We were directed to the restaurant, which was supposedly in the Drum and Bell Tower Square. The Drum Tower and Bell Tower were impossible to miss so we were fairly confident that we would have no trouble finding the restaurant. Honestly, I was just happy to have succeeded in getting the name for something written down.

We headed out, glad to have a destination and enjoying the sights of this amazing city. It wasn’t until we reached the first tower, however, that we realized just how far apart the two towers were. Which collection of buildings made up the Square? With just a handwritten name to go off of, how would we ever find the restaurant?

After a half-hour of wandering, my two companions wanted to call it quits and find somewhere else to eat. It was understandable. After all, we were all extremely hungry. Even though I had my heart set on some authentic Xi’an cuisine, I consented. Our quest seemed hopeless. We then turned down a little ally of store fronts and stopped to examine the first restaurant we saw. And, sure enough, the sign above it matched the name on the card. We had found it!

We naively thought that this was the end of our adventure, but then we stepped inside. All the occupants looked up at us as if they had never seen a Westerner before. This was kind of odd, considering we were in a more touristy part of the city. But, by now, we were used to drawing attention from locals, so we hardly noticed.

In Mandarin we told a woman working there that there was three of us. Instead of seating us, she looked at us strangely and then showed us to a counter. It seemed as if we were supposed to order at the counter, but none of us were quite sure what we were supposed to say.

The racing heart and knot in my stomach returned, this time accompanied by rosy cheeks. I had no clue how this restaurant worked. There didn’t appear to be a clear menu anywhere. I looked to the woman who had brought us to the counter and simply told her the truth, that I didn’t know.

She gave a slight smile and asked if we wanted a certain food item. I didn’t recognize the word, but one of the people I was with said he thought that was the typical Xi’an cuisine. So, we smiled back and said that yes, that’s what we wanted.

We followed her to a row of glass counters at the back of the restaurant, behind which were several cooks and a huge variety of food. The woman asked countless questions: Do you want this? Do these look good? What kind of meat do you want?

Some of it I understood and diligently translated for my companions and then gave our collective response. A lot of it, I just inferred from a combination of hand gestures, visuals, and the occasional recognized word. By the end, it seemed as if we had told her quite a long list of food we wanted. She then took us back to the counter and ordered for us. Considering everything we ordered, the price was really low. I guess that’s the benefit of eating at local restaurants not frequented by foreigners.

She then showed us to a table. It was clear that most people operated here with little assistance, but this woman was being kind enough to take a special interest in us, making sure we understood what we were supposed to do. Two of the dishes we had ordered arrived and they were incredibly delicious. But we also received bowls, each with a large circle of bread inside. I didn’t remember ordering any sort of soup item, and I had no idea what to do with the bread. This must have been the first thing the woman had asked if we wanted, the typical Xi’an dish.

The woman again smiled, and indicated that we were supposed to break the bread into small pieces. We diligently did as we were told, laughing and enjoying ourselves all the while. Looking around at the large groups doing the same, it was clear that the Xi’an dish was about more than just the food. It epitomized the ideal of “breaking bread together.”

When we were done the woman returned. We had bowls and receipts that we were surely supposed to do something with but, again, we were clueless. She took the bowls and told us a number. It was the number on the bottom of the bowl, so that when our soup was ready we’d be sure to get the one with our own bread pieces inside.

As we were finally eating our well-deserved Xi’an soup, a middle-aged Western couple walked in. They tried to sit down and were, like we had been, greeted by laughs and smiles. The same woman who had helped us went up to them and gestured over to us. The couple clearly spoke no Mandarin but the nice Chinese woman wanted to show them that it was possible for Westerners to eat here. I was sure the couple would approach us and ask us what they were supposed to do and, while I still didn’t know exactly how ordering worked, I would have happily helped. Before I even I had a chance to realize what they were doing, however, the couple was gone. They missed out; the food was delicious.