For the first time since September, Bill and I found ourselves with an unusual phenomenon: a free weekend. With crazy travel schedules filled to capacity with train rides and early morning flights, I was thankful for the chance to catch my breath! Though we had no plans or pre-scheduled trains to catch, we couldn't stop ourselves from taking at least one day trip to see another of England's most famous sights -- Stonehenge.
If you ask an American for their thoughts on Stonehenge, they'll begin dancing around the room singing praises of this unique stone remnant of ancient times. If you mention Stonehenge to a Brit, however, they'll typically roll their eyes, pull up a picture on the internet, and say, "Now you've seen it." Living in England for over two months now, I can understand both points of view. Not wanting to discredit the famous sight, Bill and I decided to see the rocks for ourselves to form our own opinion.
Hopping on a train bound for the nearby city of Salisbury, we arrived with plenty of time to catch the first Stonehenge tour bus of the day. Listening to the tour guide give a lively narration on the history of Salisbury, I kept my eyes peeled for my first view of the ancient rocks. Catching a glimpse of them in the distance, I experienced what most Americans feel when they first see Stonehenge -- slight disappointment. With pictures of Stonehenge plastered across British tour books and Microsoft desktop backgrounds, we tend to envision the stones as a massive altar to the all-powerful sun god. In reality, however, the rocks are rather compact and stretch only twelve feet high. Though twelve vertical feet is a decent height for an ancient man-made rock formation, it's difficult to gauge the size of the rocks from a mile away in a double-decker tour bus. Thankfully, Stonehenge grew more impressive as we walked closer to the stones.
Though visitors were allowed to climb on the stones in the past, Stonehenge is now restricted by a roped-off perimeter about 20-30 feet from the outermost rocks. Wanting to preserve the stones, I can't blame archaeologists for being protective of one of the world's greatest historic mysteries. Built nearly 3500 years ago, Stonehenge is thought to be a ritualistic monument built in honor of the sun god and earth goddess. Aligning perfectly with the heavens, the first rays of sunrise on the summer solstice (June 21) shine through the entrance of the horseshoe-shaped rock arrangement to shine on the earth goddess's stone in the center of the monument. This central rock was made from blue mica that shimmers when touched by sunlight. As the most romantic stone in the rock formation, the center stone represents the earth goddess that glimmers when her lover (the sun god) shines down upon her once a year on the summer solstice. The other rocks arranged around the goddess's stone are thought to function as an ancient calendar even though historians are unsure of their true purpose. Within several miles of the rocks, there are several burial mounds, which also leads archaeologists to believe that Stonehenge was part of a sacred cemetery. With so many questions left unanswered, Stonehenge remains mostly a mystery even today.
Satisfied with a few fun pictures of the rocks, we loaded back onto the tour bus for our return trip to Salisbury. A small town, Salisbury is one of the few cities in England left relatively untouched by World War II. Home to the highest steeple in England, the German military was commanded to do nothing that might harm Salisbury Cathedral. Though an important British Royal Air Force base was located nearby, German pilots needed the tall cathedral steeple as a landmark to determine their position in the air. Thanks to their prized medieval church, the people of Salisbury remained safe despite a devastating war.
Visiting the cathedral ourselves, Bill and I were pleasantly surprised to find that no admission fee was charged to visitors wanting to view the interior of the beautiful church. Accepting donations only, monetary contributions are spent towards a single common goal: keeping the steeple standing. Ironically, the original plans for the cathedral did not include a steeple. Designing only a high-ceilinged chapel, the architect ordered laymen to pour a foundation only four feet deep, which provided plenty of support for the original church design. The bishop, however, changed his mind on the plans after the foundation was built and ordered that the tallest steeple in England be added to the cathedral. Arguing that the foundations were not deep enough for such a tower, the architect eventually gave in to the bishop's demands and built a steeple on rather risky foundation. To keep the steeple standing, support arches were added to the church in hopes of keeping the tower in place. Unfortunately, the architect was right in arguing against a steeple with a shallow foundation -- the steeple shifts a few inches each year and requires constant attention even today.
As an added bonus to visiting to the Salisbury Cathedral, Bill and I were able to view one of only four remaining copies of the Magna Carta. Written in the thirteenth century, the Magna Carta is reportedly the world's first modern "bill of rights". The original document is displayed in the British Library in London, but three other copies are scattered across the United Kingdom. Serving as the basis for the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution, the Magna Carta was written in response to King John's disregard for British law. Declaring all men equal under the Church of England, the Magna Carta still managed to fall short of providing equal rights to women and non-Anglican religions. Nevertheless, it was at least a step in the right direction towards human equality.
With few other tourist sights to see in Salisbury, Bill and I were content to walk around the town square for a bit of Saturday shopping. Browsing through bulk candy stands and a few clothing shops, we eventually bagged our purchases and headed home for another low-key evening in Guildford. Though our weekend wasn't fanatically hectic, we both needed a few days to relax before tackling a few other European countries in November.
So where do our adventures lead us next?
MADRID, SPAIN!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Newbury, England: Exploring British Way of Life
At the beginning of the semester, Bill and I decided to take advantage of an interesting opportunity provided by the University of Surrey. HostUK is a host program designed to match international students with families in the United Kingdom who are willing to open their homes for a short weekend visit. Filling out the application for an unplanned free weekend, Bill and I had no idea where we would be traveling during the third weekend of October. Looking for a chance to truly experience traditional British culture, I was excited when we received an email with the contact information for an elderly couple in Newbury, England. Located in the heart of English horse country, Newbury sounded quaintly enchanting in the few emails received from our hosts in the days leading up to our arrival. Thankful for a chance to relax, Bill and I grabbed our tickets and hopped on a train for yet another amazing weekend adventure.
Arriving in Newbury early Friday evening, Bill and I had no problem finding Ian and Lesley Park as they waited on the train platform with a HostUK sign in their hands. Enthusiastically shaking hands in a quick round of introductions, we loaded our backpacks into their rather spacious car for a short ride to their home in the countryside. As we pulled into their driveway, the first thought that popped into my head was, "Wow, this is a lot of house for only two people!" Living in Britain for over two months already, I have grown accustomed to small English townhouses with barely enough room for twin beds, basic kitchen essentials, and a dining room table. The Parks home, however, closely rivaled their American counterparts with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, cute foyer, long kitchen, spacious dining room, comfortable living room, glass-enclosed conservatory, and a real backyard (as opposed to the usual small "garden" tended by most homeowners). Walking into their house was like stepping through the doorway of my parents' home in the United States -- a much-needed experience.
While Bill and I settled into our rooms upstairs, Ian and Lesley began setting the dining room table for dinner. Starving from a busy day of classes, I was thrilled to see Lesley dishing up my favorite traditional English meal: bangers and mash. Getting to know the Parks over dinner was an extremely enjoyable chance to learn about their travels across the globe and the other international students that they have hosted throughout the years. As an electrical engineer, Ian had retired from Vodaphone (a major European cell phone company) several years earlier. During his working days, Ian took frequent business trips to many great locations in Europe, North America, and Asia. Often traveling with him, Lesley also enjoyed the opportunity to travel and had made several friends on their trips, which only meant that they often returned for occasional friendly visits. As proof of their travels, their kitchen refrigerator was covered in magnets from every state and country that they had seen over the years. Planning our own trips to Spain and Germany, Bill and I quickly found that Ian and Lesley possessed a wealth of travel knowledge.
Moving from the dining room to the living room, we warmed ourselves with a cup of tea while Ian began stacking logs in the fireplace for a late evening blaze. Sipping tea while the wood began to crackle, Bill and I spent several hours talking to Ian and Lesley about everything from favorite books to typical American quirks. The liveliest elderly couple that I've ever met, Ian and Lesley had read nearly every book that I had ever seen (which is a library in itself). With so much in common, the evening quickly became night as Bill and I tried explaining the main differences between college in the U.S. and universities in the United Kingdom. Holding out for as long as I could, I found my eyelids drooping from the warmth of the fire and knew it was only a matter of minutes before I gave into the temptation of sleep. Taking advantage in an unusual break in the steady stream of conversation, I wished everyone goodnight before enjoying the most restful night of sleep that I've experienced since arriving in England a few months ago.
Always an early riser, I enjoyed a few minutes to myself the next morning just to take in the cozy feeling of relaxing in a country home during the prime of autumn. Watching the trees change color, it felt wonderful to appreciate a few moments of my favorite season that I had almost missed in the crazy bustle of European travel. Walking from window to window around the Park's home, I heard Ian hop downstairs to heat water for a ritual cup of tea. Accepting a cup of tea for myself, I marveled at his agility as Ian grabbed a cup for himself and dashed up the stairs to catch a quick shower before beginning a busy day of hiking across the countryside. A true British hostess, Lesley walked downstairs, poured herself a cup of tea, and immediately began preparing an impressive English breakfast. The traditional English breakfast is a phenomenon not regularly experienced by most U.K. natives. Consisting of eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, baked beans, mushrooms, cereal, milk, and juice, Bill and I found ourselves hard-pressed to shovel the last bite of food into our mouths as Lesley smiled at our appreciative glances. Loosening our waistbands, Bill and I helped Ian clear the table before bundling up for a chilly morning in the Newbury market square.
Walking along the river that runs through the center of Newbury, Ian pointed out the canal boats that travel up and down the river carrying goods and people. Expecting large cargo ships, I was surprised to see that the boats were actually rather small with barely enough room for a person to sit underneath the canopy. Listening as Ian and Lesley told us more on the importance of the canal and a bit of Newbury history, I allowed my eyes to wander further down the river where I saw an incredible sight -- an entire flock of over twenty swans. Traveling throughout southern England, Bill and I have often seen one or two swans swimming through Britain's many rivers and streams, but never before have I seen as many swans as I did that morning. They were the epitome of grace with their long necks and widespread wings. A handful of the younger swans were still gray, which reminded me of the "Ugly Duckling" where a baby swan must shed its gray coat of feathers before turning beautifully white. Scrambling to snap a few photos before they swam away, they hardly noticed my camera as a nearby man fed them scraps of bread and seed.
Straying from the river, Lesley needed to drop a few books off at the public library, which was conveniently located next to our next sight of interest. As Lesley ducked into the library for a few minutes, Ian showed us Newbury's most prized piece of contemporary art. Funded by a donation from Vodaphone, the mayor of Newbury (Mike Rodger) commissioned to have a "city mosaic" erected in front of the public library. Designed by artist Paul Forsey, the mosaic is similar to a long filmstrip containing scenes from Newbury's vivid history. Though many cities in both Europe and the U.S. can boast of local art in their own town centers, this mosaic was interesting in that it was actually created by the citizens of Newbury. Despite designing the artwork, Mr. Forsey only constructed the metal outline of each object and left the job of colorful tile-fitting to the townspeople. By placing the small tiles themselves, the mosaic is special to Newbury because the citizens worked together to complete a beautiful work of art.
Walking through the town market, the four of us headed towards our next destination -- St. Nicholas Church. As a member of the parish bell ringers, Ian took us up to the top of the church's bell tower for an amazing view of the city and a bell ringing demonstration. Though it might seem that pulling a rope to ring a single bell might be easy, imagine trying to ring a bell that weighs several hundred pounds. Add in the fact that the ringers must tug the bell pulls with perfect timing to create a melody, and you may begin to realized just how difficult bell ringing can be! Due to safety concerns and lack of training, Bill and I weren't allowed to ring the bells, but it was neat to see the highly specialized technique required for an age-old Anglican tradition.
After spending the entire morning meandering around town, we walked back to the Park's home for a light lunch before hiking through Watership Downs in the afternoon. A short drive from Newbury, Watership Downs is a large piece of privately-owned countryside used exclusively for horse training. With a a major British horse racing track located in Newbury, the downs are perfect for galloping up and down hills, jumping over hurdles, or just releasing a bit of pent-up energy -- that is, its perfect if you're a horse. ;) Despite the many fences partitioning the land among several horse owners, the Parks, Bill, and I hiked across the hills of Watership Downs just to catch an amazing view of the countryside. With the sun shining and the earth finally beginning to warm up on an otherwise chilly day, all of us were content to hike for a few hours before surrendering to fatigued legs. Reveling in the warm smell of autumn, I found myself slightly homesick with the reminder of fall in my small northwest Ohio hometown. For the first time since arriving in Europe, I found myself missing fallen leaves, American football, hot apple cider, homemade pumpkin pie, and curling up in my favorite chair with a good book. Even though I love Europe and am having the time of my life, I realized that sometimes there's just no place like home.
Satisfied with an incredibly relaxing day, we drove back to the Park's house and enjoyed a cup of tea in the conservatory as Lesley began working her magic once again in the kitchen. Wanting recipes for a few of my favorite dishes from the weekend, I chatted with Lesley about our mutual love of cooking and asked for a few recommendations for British dishes to mix up after returning home to the States. Copying from her recipe cards, I happily scribbled down ingredients for tea cakes, crumbles, mulled wine, and carrot soup. Though it's easy to find almost every recipe on the internet, some dishes never taste the same without detailed directions from the master chef! Settling in for another low-key evening in front of the fire after dinner, Bill and I watched the second half of the Rugby World Cup. Unfortunately, England got pummeled by South Africa, but it was a fun game to watch regardless. Desperately missing American football, rugby is a decent alternative even though I haven't really developed loyalties to any specific team. Between soccer and rugby running strong in the U.K., I can't imagine American football making a successful debut anytime soon!
Enjoying a second amazing night of sleep, I woke early on Sunday morning to get dressed for an Anglican church service with Ian and Lesley. Leaving the house 45 minutes early, Bill and I decided to watch Ian ring the church bells with the other bell ringers. Usually ringing with nine members, the bell ringers were a little short-handed with only five people. Despite the small number, they carried on without any problems, and I was amazed at their coordination and expertise. With only five bells ringing, they were able to sound out nearly every pattern of five-note tune in perfect rhythm and harmony. Needless to say, they all looked a little winded after their early morning musical workout!
Returning home after church, Lesley popped a Sunday roast into the oven as Bill and I sipped yet another pot of tea in the conservatory. (I seemed to drink more tea in that weekend than I had in the past month!) Agreeing that this had been one of our favorite weekends, we couldn't stop marveling at the incredible hospitality of Ian and Lesley. In a single weekend, we had been fed amazing meals, given a personal tour of the city, allowed to stay in an amazing house, and enjoyed every minute spent with Ian and Lesley. Between the two of us, Bill and I dubbed the Parks as our "British grandparents" -- extremely sweet and spoiling us at every available opportunity!
Unfortunately, our weekend seemed to end much too soon as the Parks drove Bill and I back to the train station on Sunday afternoon. Giving hugs to Ian and Lesley, I was sad to see them grow smaller as our train quickly pulled away from the platform. Though we didn't travel to a large exciting city or see another famous European site, Newbury left me feeling strangely satisfied, amazingly refreshed, and happily light-hearted!
Thanks again, Ian and Lesley, for an amazing weekend that Bill and I will not soon forget!
Arriving in Newbury early Friday evening, Bill and I had no problem finding Ian and Lesley Park as they waited on the train platform with a HostUK sign in their hands. Enthusiastically shaking hands in a quick round of introductions, we loaded our backpacks into their rather spacious car for a short ride to their home in the countryside. As we pulled into their driveway, the first thought that popped into my head was, "Wow, this is a lot of house for only two people!" Living in Britain for over two months already, I have grown accustomed to small English townhouses with barely enough room for twin beds, basic kitchen essentials, and a dining room table. The Parks home, however, closely rivaled their American counterparts with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a study, cute foyer, long kitchen, spacious dining room, comfortable living room, glass-enclosed conservatory, and a real backyard (as opposed to the usual small "garden" tended by most homeowners). Walking into their house was like stepping through the doorway of my parents' home in the United States -- a much-needed experience.
While Bill and I settled into our rooms upstairs, Ian and Lesley began setting the dining room table for dinner. Starving from a busy day of classes, I was thrilled to see Lesley dishing up my favorite traditional English meal: bangers and mash. Getting to know the Parks over dinner was an extremely enjoyable chance to learn about their travels across the globe and the other international students that they have hosted throughout the years. As an electrical engineer, Ian had retired from Vodaphone (a major European cell phone company) several years earlier. During his working days, Ian took frequent business trips to many great locations in Europe, North America, and Asia. Often traveling with him, Lesley also enjoyed the opportunity to travel and had made several friends on their trips, which only meant that they often returned for occasional friendly visits. As proof of their travels, their kitchen refrigerator was covered in magnets from every state and country that they had seen over the years. Planning our own trips to Spain and Germany, Bill and I quickly found that Ian and Lesley possessed a wealth of travel knowledge.
Moving from the dining room to the living room, we warmed ourselves with a cup of tea while Ian began stacking logs in the fireplace for a late evening blaze. Sipping tea while the wood began to crackle, Bill and I spent several hours talking to Ian and Lesley about everything from favorite books to typical American quirks. The liveliest elderly couple that I've ever met, Ian and Lesley had read nearly every book that I had ever seen (which is a library in itself). With so much in common, the evening quickly became night as Bill and I tried explaining the main differences between college in the U.S. and universities in the United Kingdom. Holding out for as long as I could, I found my eyelids drooping from the warmth of the fire and knew it was only a matter of minutes before I gave into the temptation of sleep. Taking advantage in an unusual break in the steady stream of conversation, I wished everyone goodnight before enjoying the most restful night of sleep that I've experienced since arriving in England a few months ago.
Always an early riser, I enjoyed a few minutes to myself the next morning just to take in the cozy feeling of relaxing in a country home during the prime of autumn. Watching the trees change color, it felt wonderful to appreciate a few moments of my favorite season that I had almost missed in the crazy bustle of European travel. Walking from window to window around the Park's home, I heard Ian hop downstairs to heat water for a ritual cup of tea. Accepting a cup of tea for myself, I marveled at his agility as Ian grabbed a cup for himself and dashed up the stairs to catch a quick shower before beginning a busy day of hiking across the countryside. A true British hostess, Lesley walked downstairs, poured herself a cup of tea, and immediately began preparing an impressive English breakfast. The traditional English breakfast is a phenomenon not regularly experienced by most U.K. natives. Consisting of eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, baked beans, mushrooms, cereal, milk, and juice, Bill and I found ourselves hard-pressed to shovel the last bite of food into our mouths as Lesley smiled at our appreciative glances. Loosening our waistbands, Bill and I helped Ian clear the table before bundling up for a chilly morning in the Newbury market square.
Walking along the river that runs through the center of Newbury, Ian pointed out the canal boats that travel up and down the river carrying goods and people. Expecting large cargo ships, I was surprised to see that the boats were actually rather small with barely enough room for a person to sit underneath the canopy. Listening as Ian and Lesley told us more on the importance of the canal and a bit of Newbury history, I allowed my eyes to wander further down the river where I saw an incredible sight -- an entire flock of over twenty swans. Traveling throughout southern England, Bill and I have often seen one or two swans swimming through Britain's many rivers and streams, but never before have I seen as many swans as I did that morning. They were the epitome of grace with their long necks and widespread wings. A handful of the younger swans were still gray, which reminded me of the "Ugly Duckling" where a baby swan must shed its gray coat of feathers before turning beautifully white. Scrambling to snap a few photos before they swam away, they hardly noticed my camera as a nearby man fed them scraps of bread and seed.
Straying from the river, Lesley needed to drop a few books off at the public library, which was conveniently located next to our next sight of interest. As Lesley ducked into the library for a few minutes, Ian showed us Newbury's most prized piece of contemporary art. Funded by a donation from Vodaphone, the mayor of Newbury (Mike Rodger) commissioned to have a "city mosaic" erected in front of the public library. Designed by artist Paul Forsey, the mosaic is similar to a long filmstrip containing scenes from Newbury's vivid history. Though many cities in both Europe and the U.S. can boast of local art in their own town centers, this mosaic was interesting in that it was actually created by the citizens of Newbury. Despite designing the artwork, Mr. Forsey only constructed the metal outline of each object and left the job of colorful tile-fitting to the townspeople. By placing the small tiles themselves, the mosaic is special to Newbury because the citizens worked together to complete a beautiful work of art.
Walking through the town market, the four of us headed towards our next destination -- St. Nicholas Church. As a member of the parish bell ringers, Ian took us up to the top of the church's bell tower for an amazing view of the city and a bell ringing demonstration. Though it might seem that pulling a rope to ring a single bell might be easy, imagine trying to ring a bell that weighs several hundred pounds. Add in the fact that the ringers must tug the bell pulls with perfect timing to create a melody, and you may begin to realized just how difficult bell ringing can be! Due to safety concerns and lack of training, Bill and I weren't allowed to ring the bells, but it was neat to see the highly specialized technique required for an age-old Anglican tradition.
After spending the entire morning meandering around town, we walked back to the Park's home for a light lunch before hiking through Watership Downs in the afternoon. A short drive from Newbury, Watership Downs is a large piece of privately-owned countryside used exclusively for horse training. With a a major British horse racing track located in Newbury, the downs are perfect for galloping up and down hills, jumping over hurdles, or just releasing a bit of pent-up energy -- that is, its perfect if you're a horse. ;) Despite the many fences partitioning the land among several horse owners, the Parks, Bill, and I hiked across the hills of Watership Downs just to catch an amazing view of the countryside. With the sun shining and the earth finally beginning to warm up on an otherwise chilly day, all of us were content to hike for a few hours before surrendering to fatigued legs. Reveling in the warm smell of autumn, I found myself slightly homesick with the reminder of fall in my small northwest Ohio hometown. For the first time since arriving in Europe, I found myself missing fallen leaves, American football, hot apple cider, homemade pumpkin pie, and curling up in my favorite chair with a good book. Even though I love Europe and am having the time of my life, I realized that sometimes there's just no place like home.
Satisfied with an incredibly relaxing day, we drove back to the Park's house and enjoyed a cup of tea in the conservatory as Lesley began working her magic once again in the kitchen. Wanting recipes for a few of my favorite dishes from the weekend, I chatted with Lesley about our mutual love of cooking and asked for a few recommendations for British dishes to mix up after returning home to the States. Copying from her recipe cards, I happily scribbled down ingredients for tea cakes, crumbles, mulled wine, and carrot soup. Though it's easy to find almost every recipe on the internet, some dishes never taste the same without detailed directions from the master chef! Settling in for another low-key evening in front of the fire after dinner, Bill and I watched the second half of the Rugby World Cup. Unfortunately, England got pummeled by South Africa, but it was a fun game to watch regardless. Desperately missing American football, rugby is a decent alternative even though I haven't really developed loyalties to any specific team. Between soccer and rugby running strong in the U.K., I can't imagine American football making a successful debut anytime soon!
Enjoying a second amazing night of sleep, I woke early on Sunday morning to get dressed for an Anglican church service with Ian and Lesley. Leaving the house 45 minutes early, Bill and I decided to watch Ian ring the church bells with the other bell ringers. Usually ringing with nine members, the bell ringers were a little short-handed with only five people. Despite the small number, they carried on without any problems, and I was amazed at their coordination and expertise. With only five bells ringing, they were able to sound out nearly every pattern of five-note tune in perfect rhythm and harmony. Needless to say, they all looked a little winded after their early morning musical workout!
Returning home after church, Lesley popped a Sunday roast into the oven as Bill and I sipped yet another pot of tea in the conservatory. (I seemed to drink more tea in that weekend than I had in the past month!) Agreeing that this had been one of our favorite weekends, we couldn't stop marveling at the incredible hospitality of Ian and Lesley. In a single weekend, we had been fed amazing meals, given a personal tour of the city, allowed to stay in an amazing house, and enjoyed every minute spent with Ian and Lesley. Between the two of us, Bill and I dubbed the Parks as our "British grandparents" -- extremely sweet and spoiling us at every available opportunity!
Unfortunately, our weekend seemed to end much too soon as the Parks drove Bill and I back to the train station on Sunday afternoon. Giving hugs to Ian and Lesley, I was sad to see them grow smaller as our train quickly pulled away from the platform. Though we didn't travel to a large exciting city or see another famous European site, Newbury left me feeling strangely satisfied, amazingly refreshed, and happily light-hearted!
Thanks again, Ian and Lesley, for an amazing weekend that Bill and I will not soon forget!
Friday, October 19, 2007
Dublin, Ireland (Part 3): Climbing the Cliffs of Howth
Working from our usual travel routine, Bill and I awoke early the next morning in order to catch a full day of Dublin touring. Typically, this early-morning strategy works well because it allows us to see a few extra sites in a single day. However, the Dublin time schedule wasn't very compatible with our own. If I had been thinking like a true Dubliner, I would have realized that a raucous Friday night at the pub with several pints of Guinness is the perfect excuse for sleeping in on a Saturday morning. Thinking like an American tourist, I was skipping out of the door of our hostel at 8:30 in the morning for a chance to squeeze in a few extra minutes of Irish sight-seeing. Much to our surprise, the before-bustling streets of Ireland's capital city were virtually deserted as we walked along the river in hopes of finding something to do in Dublin. Flipping through my Dublin tour book, we were also disappointed to find that many of the main attractions were closed on Saturdays. Hardly believing that everything could be shut down on a busy Saturday, we wandered around the city to check opening times for Dublin Castle, St. Patrick's Cathedral, and Kilmainham Gaol. Surely enough, my Lonely Planet guide book held true and the first two were closed for the day. Not wanting to waste our time by walking a few more blocks to the gaol, Bill and I debated on what to do in a city that was losing its luster by the minute.
Luckily, we stumbled upon a Tourist Information office (found in nearly every European city) and exasperatedly asked for advice on what to do in Dublin on a Saturday. Surprisingly, the tourist assistant suggested that we leave the city via train and visit the nearby coastal village of Howth. With maps and train information in hand, we jumped back into the Dublin streets with a much happier Irish outlook. Glancing at our watches, we decided to wait until the afternoon to catch a train to Howth and instead grab a low-key lunch in Dublin before walking along the coast of Ireland. Keeping our eyes peeled for a nice sandwich shop or cafe, I noticed that the city was finally waking up as shoppers began to crowd the streets. Stopping to snap a quick photo of the infamous Molly Malone, an elderly man sitting in front of the statue stood up and introduced himself to Bill and I. Seeing that we were American newcomers to the city, he gave a glowing review of the city and offered to take a few photos of us next to the statue. Grateful for the offer, we struck a quick pose next to Miss Molly while the cute little man recommended shops , restaurants, and parks for us to visit before leaving the city. Incredibly thankful for his help, we bade him farewell as he leaned forward to give me a proper Irish kiss on the cheek. :)
Bypassing the shops on Grafton Street, Bill and I meandered towards St. Stephen's Green in hopes of viewing a bit of nice park scenery before lunch. Finding very few green spaces in downtown Dublin, the landscaping of St. Stephen's Green definitely made up for the lack of city planning. Dotted with beautiful ponds and several foot bridges, St. Stephen's Green is the perfect place to enjoy a few relaxing moments while watching pigeons from a comfortable park bench. Wanting to capture the beauty of our favorite Irish park, Bill and I spent the next 30 minutes clicking photos and striking poses for new Facebook profile pictures. With the trees just beginning to change color, St. Stephen's Green was definitely a photographer's paradise.
After grabbing a quick pub lunch, Bill and I hopped on an eastbound train to the coast for a better view of Ireland's famed seascape. Feeling the need to walk off a rather large lunch, we decided to get off the train one stop early and walk from Sutton (another Dublin suburb) to Howth. A mile or two, the walk was beautiful in the sunshine, and we found our spirits quickly brightening from the clear air and secluded atmosphere. Walking into Howth, we headed straight for the marina to catch a glimpse of the island-dotted Atlantic coast. Though hundreds of boats remained docked, several Irelanders ventured out in sailboats to take advantage of the comfortable breeze. Looking for fish in the water down below, I was shocked to see two gray seals swimming around the marina. Having seen seals only before in zoos, I was incredibly excited to watch them come right up to the dock for a few people-friendly photos. Wandering from the marina, Bill and I hopped on a boardwalk to explore a bit more of the coast. Pausing for a few moments to take in the sight of the waves lapping against the rocky beach, my camera never got a chance to rest as I snapped picture after picture. Usually bogged down by museums and historical places of interest, it was refreshing to appreciate natural beauty rather than architectural acclaim. Reaching a lighthouse at the end of the boardwalk, Bill and I were ready to start our next Howth adventure -- climbing the cliffs of Ireland.
Seeing several large cliffs from the marina below, Bill and I were determined to find a way to climb the biggest. Though not impossible due to well-worn paths, hiking up the cliffs did take a bit of time and endurance, but when we reached the top, I knew that I had found the best view in all of Ireland. With strong winds nearly blowing us over, Bill stretched out his arms at the top just to keep his balance while I snapped a few photos of him as "king of the hill". Returning the favor, he insisted that I let my hair down just to show everyone back home how windy it was several hundred feet above sea level. Needless to say, I could barely keep my eyes open in the strong wind. Though already autumn, wildflowers still covered the coastal hills and the air was the sweetest that I have ever breathed. Unfortunately, my words once again fall short in describing the beauty of the Irish coast, which means that you'll either need to take my word on it or go visit it yourself!
Hiking for another hour or so around the Howth peninsula, we eventually climbed down from the cliffs and caught a bus back into the village. With stomachs rumbling for a nice piece of fresh-caught seafood, Bill and I found a cute oceanside restaurant serving fish that had been caught from the marina that morning. Ordering white bass over marinated vegetables, my taste buds were not disappointed by the most delicious fish that can only be found fresh on the coast. Though not a huge fish fan, excellent seafood restaurants have won in their quest to convert me to a fin-lover.
Watching dusk beginning to turn into night, Bill and I decided that it was time to leave our beloved Howth and take a train back to Dublin. Not wanting to waste a perfectly good Irish Saturday night, we collected our book bags from the hostel storage closet and slipped into a comfortable pub for a bit of Irish people-watching. Sipping Dublin-distilled Jameson's whisky and ginger ale, we relaxed in the lively bar atmosphere by watching the second half of the soccer game between Ireland and Germany. Never quite figuring out who won, I was distracted by the group of people next to me. About five or six native Dubliners were socializing with a few drinks when a young female American tourist sat down at their table and introduced herself. Nudging Bill to watch the conversation that was taking place, I laughed to myself and thought, "Wow, this girl is the definition of egotistical American tourist." Always conscious to not make ourselves seem too obviously American, we had a bit of entertainment as the girl proceeded to list all of her travel plans in a "rich daddy's girl" tone of voice while flirting with a group of guys that would have rather enjoyed watching the soccer game to cheer on the Irish. Laughing at her stereotypical sorority sister attitude, even Bill and I began to get slightly annoyed by her non-stop chatter. Chuckling at the display of tourist gab, I thought to myself, "Yep, the reserved British way of life is definitely rubbing off on me!"
Finishing our second round of drinks, Bill and I hopped on a bus towards our airport hotel. With an 8 a.m. flight on Sunday morning, we were thankful for a quiet night of sleep before another busy day of traveling. Watching the Irish landscape disappear below as our plane took off the next morning, I smiled as I flipped through pictures taken on a successful first trip away from England.
Luckily, we stumbled upon a Tourist Information office (found in nearly every European city) and exasperatedly asked for advice on what to do in Dublin on a Saturday. Surprisingly, the tourist assistant suggested that we leave the city via train and visit the nearby coastal village of Howth. With maps and train information in hand, we jumped back into the Dublin streets with a much happier Irish outlook. Glancing at our watches, we decided to wait until the afternoon to catch a train to Howth and instead grab a low-key lunch in Dublin before walking along the coast of Ireland. Keeping our eyes peeled for a nice sandwich shop or cafe, I noticed that the city was finally waking up as shoppers began to crowd the streets. Stopping to snap a quick photo of the infamous Molly Malone, an elderly man sitting in front of the statue stood up and introduced himself to Bill and I. Seeing that we were American newcomers to the city, he gave a glowing review of the city and offered to take a few photos of us next to the statue. Grateful for the offer, we struck a quick pose next to Miss Molly while the cute little man recommended shops , restaurants, and parks for us to visit before leaving the city. Incredibly thankful for his help, we bade him farewell as he leaned forward to give me a proper Irish kiss on the cheek. :)
Bypassing the shops on Grafton Street, Bill and I meandered towards St. Stephen's Green in hopes of viewing a bit of nice park scenery before lunch. Finding very few green spaces in downtown Dublin, the landscaping of St. Stephen's Green definitely made up for the lack of city planning. Dotted with beautiful ponds and several foot bridges, St. Stephen's Green is the perfect place to enjoy a few relaxing moments while watching pigeons from a comfortable park bench. Wanting to capture the beauty of our favorite Irish park, Bill and I spent the next 30 minutes clicking photos and striking poses for new Facebook profile pictures. With the trees just beginning to change color, St. Stephen's Green was definitely a photographer's paradise.
After grabbing a quick pub lunch, Bill and I hopped on an eastbound train to the coast for a better view of Ireland's famed seascape. Feeling the need to walk off a rather large lunch, we decided to get off the train one stop early and walk from Sutton (another Dublin suburb) to Howth. A mile or two, the walk was beautiful in the sunshine, and we found our spirits quickly brightening from the clear air and secluded atmosphere. Walking into Howth, we headed straight for the marina to catch a glimpse of the island-dotted Atlantic coast. Though hundreds of boats remained docked, several Irelanders ventured out in sailboats to take advantage of the comfortable breeze. Looking for fish in the water down below, I was shocked to see two gray seals swimming around the marina. Having seen seals only before in zoos, I was incredibly excited to watch them come right up to the dock for a few people-friendly photos. Wandering from the marina, Bill and I hopped on a boardwalk to explore a bit more of the coast. Pausing for a few moments to take in the sight of the waves lapping against the rocky beach, my camera never got a chance to rest as I snapped picture after picture. Usually bogged down by museums and historical places of interest, it was refreshing to appreciate natural beauty rather than architectural acclaim. Reaching a lighthouse at the end of the boardwalk, Bill and I were ready to start our next Howth adventure -- climbing the cliffs of Ireland.
Seeing several large cliffs from the marina below, Bill and I were determined to find a way to climb the biggest. Though not impossible due to well-worn paths, hiking up the cliffs did take a bit of time and endurance, but when we reached the top, I knew that I had found the best view in all of Ireland. With strong winds nearly blowing us over, Bill stretched out his arms at the top just to keep his balance while I snapped a few photos of him as "king of the hill". Returning the favor, he insisted that I let my hair down just to show everyone back home how windy it was several hundred feet above sea level. Needless to say, I could barely keep my eyes open in the strong wind. Though already autumn, wildflowers still covered the coastal hills and the air was the sweetest that I have ever breathed. Unfortunately, my words once again fall short in describing the beauty of the Irish coast, which means that you'll either need to take my word on it or go visit it yourself!
Hiking for another hour or so around the Howth peninsula, we eventually climbed down from the cliffs and caught a bus back into the village. With stomachs rumbling for a nice piece of fresh-caught seafood, Bill and I found a cute oceanside restaurant serving fish that had been caught from the marina that morning. Ordering white bass over marinated vegetables, my taste buds were not disappointed by the most delicious fish that can only be found fresh on the coast. Though not a huge fish fan, excellent seafood restaurants have won in their quest to convert me to a fin-lover.
Watching dusk beginning to turn into night, Bill and I decided that it was time to leave our beloved Howth and take a train back to Dublin. Not wanting to waste a perfectly good Irish Saturday night, we collected our book bags from the hostel storage closet and slipped into a comfortable pub for a bit of Irish people-watching. Sipping Dublin-distilled Jameson's whisky and ginger ale, we relaxed in the lively bar atmosphere by watching the second half of the soccer game between Ireland and Germany. Never quite figuring out who won, I was distracted by the group of people next to me. About five or six native Dubliners were socializing with a few drinks when a young female American tourist sat down at their table and introduced herself. Nudging Bill to watch the conversation that was taking place, I laughed to myself and thought, "Wow, this girl is the definition of egotistical American tourist." Always conscious to not make ourselves seem too obviously American, we had a bit of entertainment as the girl proceeded to list all of her travel plans in a "rich daddy's girl" tone of voice while flirting with a group of guys that would have rather enjoyed watching the soccer game to cheer on the Irish. Laughing at her stereotypical sorority sister attitude, even Bill and I began to get slightly annoyed by her non-stop chatter. Chuckling at the display of tourist gab, I thought to myself, "Yep, the reserved British way of life is definitely rubbing off on me!"
Finishing our second round of drinks, Bill and I hopped on a bus towards our airport hotel. With an 8 a.m. flight on Sunday morning, we were thankful for a quiet night of sleep before another busy day of traveling. Watching the Irish landscape disappear below as our plane took off the next morning, I smiled as I flipped through pictures taken on a successful first trip away from England.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Dublin, Ireland (Part 2): Trinity College, Guinness, and Modern Art
Feeling the ear-popping sensation of aerial descent, I woke up to the most beautiful sunrise that I have ever seen above the clouds of Ireland. Catching a glimpse of the sunrise over England earlier in the morning, my plane was plunged into darkness as we flew away from the rising sun. Morning caught up with us, however, and I saw a phenomenon never before experienced in my lifetime -- two sunrises in one day. Needless to say, any sunrise seen above miles of fluffy clouds is positively breathtaking.
Landing at Dublin International Airport around 7:30 a.m., I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and eventually made my way to the Irish customs gate to get the second international stamp pressed into my passport this semester (the British stamp was my first). After taking a few moments to freshen up in the ladies' room, I hopped on a bus bound for the heart of southern Ireland's capital city.
By the time that I reached the city center, the streets of Dublin were already bustling with people buzzing off to work and school. Prioritizing my time, I first located an internet cafe to send a few quick messages to family and friends just to let them know that I had arrived safely in Ireland. (My parents and Craig were probably both a little concerned when I frantically told them the night before that I was making a last-minute trip to Dublin by myself.) Thankful for a few brief minutes of internet access, I left the cafe in search of a hearty Irish breakfast to satisfy my rumbling appetite. Finding a comfortable cafe near the Liffey River in the heart of Dublin, I relaxed in the cozy cafe atmosphere while nibbling on a filling breakfast of hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Feeling instantly re-energized, I flipped through a tour book and was soon ready to tackle the major sites of Dublin.
My first place of interest was Trinity College and the Book of Kells. Trinity College is Ireland's most prestigious university with its stately buildings and rich history. With backpack in tow, I easily fit in with the other students heading off to class. Having arrived 45 minutes before the first campus tour, I settled down in a small campus coffee shop to enjoy a large Chai latte. (A huge fan of Chai tea, I must say that the free-trade Chai latte served at this coffee shop far surpassed any Starbuck's Chai that I've ever had back in the States.) Feeling like a true Trinity student, I spent another few minutes looking over notes for my micronutrients class before catching a 10:15 tour of the campus.
Doling out 10 Euro for a tour of campus and admission to the Book of Kells exhibit, I finally started to take in the stately buildings of Trinity College as our dynamic tour guide began a lively narration of its rich history and interesting quirks. The most interesting story involved a former provost of Trinity College named George Salmon. When southern Ireland was still under British rule at the beginning of the twentieth century, the reigning monarch of the United Kingdom decreed that women be allowed to attend lectures at all British universities. Upon hearing this decree, Provost Salmon exclaimed, "Women will enter this college over my dead body." Enraging the Irish female population at a time when the women's suffrage movement was sweeping across the United States, passionate letters were sent to the British parliament begging permission for women to attend Trinity College. These letters were passed to King Edward VII, who consequently ordered Provost Salmon to allow women to enter his college. Seeing his motives forcefully stamped upon, Provost Salmon signed the decree allowing women to attend Trinity College, but he is quoted as saying, "My hand agrees, but my heart adamantly objects." Ironically, George Salmon died less than a year after signing this decree, and the first woman enrolled at Trinity College only a month after his death. To this day, I bet that George Salmon is rolling in his grave to know that women were allowed on campus "over his dead body".
The tour of Trinity College reminded me a lot of our tour of Cambridge University with its many buildings and little-known stories. However, this tour was much shorter (~30 minutes) and involved a glimpse of the Book of Kells. Prior to traveling to Ireland, I had never heard of the Book of Kells and was curious to learn more about its unique story. The Book of Kells is an ornate handwritten manuscript of the four gospels that was completed around AD 800 by Celtic monks in Scotland. Fleeing frequent Viking attacks, the monks relocated the ceremonial bible to the Abbey of Kells in County Meath, Ireland (hence the book's current name). Free from the Vikings, the Book of Kells resided in the abbey for many safe years during the Medieval era. Unfortunately, greed often rules over rational thought, and the Book of Kells was stolen from its safe resting place in the eleventh century AD. Why would anyone want to steal a handwritten bible? The thieves were probably asking themselves this same question after they had ripped the book from the abbey walls. Though an artistic masterpiece, the Book of Kells held little monetary value in the second century. For the most part, the four gospels were used for sacramental purposes. The wooden chest that held the book, however, was covered in gold and jewels that would attract even the most repentant of thieves. Wanting the Book of Kells for only its casing, the thieves felt no guilt at removing the gold and jewels for their own pleasure. However, they appeared to be frightened by the wrath of God incited at pilfering the most famous bible in all of Ireland. Want to dispose of the book as quickly as possible, they wrapped the Book of Kells in leather and buried it deep in an Irish field. Nearly 300 years later, a farmer was plowing in his field when he unearthed the unlikely package and was amazed to discover one of Ireland's long-lost treasures. Rewarding him with a hefty sum for the safe return of the book, the governor of Kells sent the book to Trinity College in Dublin where the famous bible has resided ever since. For ease of display and preservation, the Book of Kells has been physically split in four portions roughly coinciding with the four gospels. After viewing the book myself, I was amazed to see Latin script that is as vivid today as it was nearly 1200 years ago.
Still full from my earlier mid-morning brunch, I decided to delay lunch in order to grab a few extra minutes in the Irish Museum of Modern Art (IMMA). As a systematically-thinking engineer, I'm not a huge fan of modern art mainly because it doesn't make sense to me. Before any die-hard art-lovers roll their eyes at the previous sentence, I will say that there is a difference in the art world between understanding modern art and feeling the effects of modern art. Considered to be one of the best collections of modern art in Europe, I can't really begin to describe the IMMA pieces -- mainly because I don't know how to describe them. However, I did find it interesting that several of the artworks utilized media such as video, lights, and rotating mobiles rather than paint and canvas as I was expecting. Emotionally moving, many of the pieces portrayed the oppression of women and natives of third world countries. Rather than experiencing the euphoria created by the masterpieces of DaVinci and Michaelangelo, these modern works left me feeling rather humbled and somewhat depressed. Searching for some shred of hope in the artists' interpretation of the modern world, I seemed to fall short of finding any beauty in the explicit display of human suffering. A trained artist eye may have been able to point out the artists' true meanings behind their works, but by myself, I found several of the pieces to be extremely dark and ominous. I don't regret taking a few side streets in Dublin to explore the modern art museum, I just fear that modern art is perhaps one side of culture that I fail to fully appreciate.
Giving in to a growing appetite, I surrendered to the overpriced museum cafe and recovered from my bout with modern art over a steaming baked potato and chef salad. Popping the last bites of buttered potato into my mouth, I left the Irish Museum of Modern Art in pursuit of Dublin's biggest tourist attraction -- the Guinness Storehouse. To be completely truthful, I extremely dislike the taste of beer. With so many flavorful wines and liquors on this planet, why would I waste my time trying to learn how to drink a beverage that tastes like contaminated water? When I mentioned to my British friends that I was planning to skip the Guinness storehouse on my trip to Dublin, I was met with incredulous gasps of surprise and frantic urges not to miss the headquarters of Ireland's premier stout. Taking their unbending advice, I walked a few blocks from the modern art museum only to wait in line for entrance into the largest museum of Guinness paraphernalia in the world. Arthur Guinness, the first master brewer and founder of Guinness beer, first moved to Dublin in 1759 after inheriting a small fortune from the Archbishop of Cashel (his godfather). Taking his inheritance (only $200 at the time), Arthur signed a 9000 year lease at St. James's Gate with access to the city's watercourse, thus beginning an enterprise that has far exceeded his lifetime. Today, Guinness beer is still brewed fresh everyday at St. James's Gate in Dublin and is considered to be the best home-brewed beer in all of Ireland. Because Guinness reputably does not travel well, fans of this stout claim that the best Guinness beer can only be tasted in Dublin. As for myself, all forms of Guinness are too bitter for my taste buds. The Guinness storehouse was comprised of seven stories devoted to Ireland's favorite stout. Like most museums, the ground level was home to the ticket counters and gift shop. After briefly perusing through overpriced Guinness gifts and mementos, I trekked up the stairs for an education in Irish beer. The second story was devoted to the ingredients and methods for brewing stout. Having visited a few breweries in the States, the exhibits didn't tell me much that I hadn't already seen before -- hops, yeast, water, and barley. However, the giant waterfall in the middle of the second floor was neat to see regardless of the over-described idiosyncrasies of brewing. Up from the second level, the next four floors described the history, advertising, and health effects of beer. Interestingly, the early slogan "Drink Guinness -- It's good for your health!" arises from the fact that Irish doctors would often prescribe a daily pint of Guinness to their patients to induce feelings of euphoria which often result from alcohol consumption. Seeing their patients feel genuinely happier after a pint of beer, Guinness prescriptions were rather common and wide-spread in Ireland for several years. Working in the medical field, I could only laugh at this belief and think, "Wow, times have really changed!" Finishing my tour beer memorabilia, I jumped up to the top floor of the storehouse for my "free" pint of Guinness and the best view of Dublin. The Guinness Storehouse bar was an experience in itself. Crowded with dozens of tourists and local Dubliners, the bartenders topped off pints of Guinness while an Irish band belted out tunes to several Gaelic drinking songs. The accordion and throaty Gaelic mix was quite charming as I made a brave attempt to stomach a pint of Guinness's finest pint in Ireland. Looking through glass walls at the city below, I felt that my 10 Euro admission ticket had at least paid its price in bar culture and scenic view. My only wish is that I could've enjoyed the taste of frothy Irish stout...
Feeling proud that I had at least managed to sip through a fifth of my Guinness pint, I returned my almost-full glass to the bar and headed back to the city. (In hindsight, I'm actually glad that I didn't drink an entire pint of beer that afternoon. Functioning on barely three hours of sleep, any large amount of alcohol would have gone straight to my head -- not a good idea for any lady touring an unfamiliar city by herself.) Taking advantage of the last minutes of daylight, I stopped into a couple Irish souvenir shops to buy a few characteristic Irish items before checking into my hostel for the evening. Completely exhausted from my sleepless trip the night before, I climbed into my bunk bed for an early evening nap.
I awoke an hour or so later to one of my roommates gabbing with a friend on her cellphone. Feeling relatively refreshed, I grabbed my first shower in 36 hours and chatted with three of my hostel roommates before heading out for the evening. Originating from Australia, England, and Portugal, all three were traveling solo throughout Europe. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with hostel culture, the concept of a hostel is to provide cheap accommodation for typically young European travelers. To cut costs and save space, hostel owners outfit a single room with several bunk beds, which translates into sharing a room with anywhere from 2 to 15 strangers. Though this may sound odd to many Americans, hostels are rather safe and a cheap option for heavy-sleepers.) Knowing that Bill's plane was scheduled to touch down in Dublin around 8 o'clock, I took a brisk walk downtown in search of a bite to eat before his arrival. Feeling slightly homesick in a city by myself, I did the unthinkable act of walking into Burger King and glancing through an American fast food menu. As I had expected, the Irish Burger King menu was quite different from the typical American version. Ordering a spicy chicken baguette with peri-peri sauce, I settled into a corner of the restaurant with my tour book to plan the next day's Dublin outing with Bill. With still an hour to spend after finishing my sandwich and fries, I ordered a cup of ice cream and continued to read through pages of Dublin attractions and Irish history.
Feeling the buzzing of a cell phone in my pocket, I paused in my tourist reading to send a quick response to Bill's text message that he had arrived in Dublin. For some odd reason, our cell phones allowed us to text each other though we couldn't dial international calls to talk voice-to-voice. After a dozen of lengthy text messages, we found each other near the river and headed off for a bit of city nightlife. Looking traditional Irish bar music, we eventually found a crowded pub with a live band and a pair of Irish dancers. Ordering a glass of Jameson's and ginger ale, I developed a nice affinity for Irish whiskey and joined the bar crowd in belting the chorus to several popular tunes (several of which were American, ironically). When the band needed a break to rest their voices, dancers took the stage for an impressive show of traditional Irish dancing. An energetic atmosphere, Bill and I quickly found ourselves thrust in the heart of Irish culture -- drinking, dancing, and lively music. Enjoying several hours at the bar, I eventually began to feel the effects of a busy day with only snatches of sleep. Begging Bill to cut our evening slightly shy of midnight, we walked back to the hostel where I dragged myself into bed and curled up for a much-needed night of sleep.
Landing at Dublin International Airport around 7:30 a.m., I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and eventually made my way to the Irish customs gate to get the second international stamp pressed into my passport this semester (the British stamp was my first). After taking a few moments to freshen up in the ladies' room, I hopped on a bus bound for the heart of southern Ireland's capital city.
By the time that I reached the city center, the streets of Dublin were already bustling with people buzzing off to work and school. Prioritizing my time, I first located an internet cafe to send a few quick messages to family and friends just to let them know that I had arrived safely in Ireland. (My parents and Craig were probably both a little concerned when I frantically told them the night before that I was making a last-minute trip to Dublin by myself.) Thankful for a few brief minutes of internet access, I left the cafe in search of a hearty Irish breakfast to satisfy my rumbling appetite. Finding a comfortable cafe near the Liffey River in the heart of Dublin, I relaxed in the cozy cafe atmosphere while nibbling on a filling breakfast of hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Feeling instantly re-energized, I flipped through a tour book and was soon ready to tackle the major sites of Dublin.
My first place of interest was Trinity College and the Book of Kells. Trinity College is Ireland's most prestigious university with its stately buildings and rich history. With backpack in tow, I easily fit in with the other students heading off to class. Having arrived 45 minutes before the first campus tour, I settled down in a small campus coffee shop to enjoy a large Chai latte. (A huge fan of Chai tea, I must say that the free-trade Chai latte served at this coffee shop far surpassed any Starbuck's Chai that I've ever had back in the States.) Feeling like a true Trinity student, I spent another few minutes looking over notes for my micronutrients class before catching a 10:15 tour of the campus.
Doling out 10 Euro for a tour of campus and admission to the Book of Kells exhibit, I finally started to take in the stately buildings of Trinity College as our dynamic tour guide began a lively narration of its rich history and interesting quirks. The most interesting story involved a former provost of Trinity College named George Salmon. When southern Ireland was still under British rule at the beginning of the twentieth century, the reigning monarch of the United Kingdom decreed that women be allowed to attend lectures at all British universities. Upon hearing this decree, Provost Salmon exclaimed, "Women will enter this college over my dead body." Enraging the Irish female population at a time when the women's suffrage movement was sweeping across the United States, passionate letters were sent to the British parliament begging permission for women to attend Trinity College. These letters were passed to King Edward VII, who consequently ordered Provost Salmon to allow women to enter his college. Seeing his motives forcefully stamped upon, Provost Salmon signed the decree allowing women to attend Trinity College, but he is quoted as saying, "My hand agrees, but my heart adamantly objects." Ironically, George Salmon died less than a year after signing this decree, and the first woman enrolled at Trinity College only a month after his death. To this day, I bet that George Salmon is rolling in his grave to know that women were allowed on campus "over his dead body".
The tour of Trinity College reminded me a lot of our tour of Cambridge University with its many buildings and little-known stories. However, this tour was much shorter (~30 minutes) and involved a glimpse of the Book of Kells. Prior to traveling to Ireland, I had never heard of the Book of Kells and was curious to learn more about its unique story. The Book of Kells is an ornate handwritten manuscript of the four gospels that was completed around AD 800 by Celtic monks in Scotland. Fleeing frequent Viking attacks, the monks relocated the ceremonial bible to the Abbey of Kells in County Meath, Ireland (hence the book's current name). Free from the Vikings, the Book of Kells resided in the abbey for many safe years during the Medieval era. Unfortunately, greed often rules over rational thought, and the Book of Kells was stolen from its safe resting place in the eleventh century AD. Why would anyone want to steal a handwritten bible? The thieves were probably asking themselves this same question after they had ripped the book from the abbey walls. Though an artistic masterpiece, the Book of Kells held little monetary value in the second century. For the most part, the four gospels were used for sacramental purposes. The wooden chest that held the book, however, was covered in gold and jewels that would attract even the most repentant of thieves. Wanting the Book of Kells for only its casing, the thieves felt no guilt at removing the gold and jewels for their own pleasure. However, they appeared to be frightened by the wrath of God incited at pilfering the most famous bible in all of Ireland. Want to dispose of the book as quickly as possible, they wrapped the Book of Kells in leather and buried it deep in an Irish field. Nearly 300 years later, a farmer was plowing in his field when he unearthed the unlikely package and was amazed to discover one of Ireland's long-lost treasures. Rewarding him with a hefty sum for the safe return of the book, the governor of Kells sent the book to Trinity College in Dublin where the famous bible has resided ever since. For ease of display and preservation, the Book of Kells has been physically split in four portions roughly coinciding with the four gospels. After viewing the book myself, I was amazed to see Latin script that is as vivid today as it was nearly 1200 years ago.
Still full from my earlier mid-morning brunch, I decided to delay lunch in order to grab a few extra minutes in the Irish Museum of Modern Art (IMMA). As a systematically-thinking engineer, I'm not a huge fan of modern art mainly because it doesn't make sense to me. Before any die-hard art-lovers roll their eyes at the previous sentence, I will say that there is a difference in the art world between understanding modern art and feeling the effects of modern art. Considered to be one of the best collections of modern art in Europe, I can't really begin to describe the IMMA pieces -- mainly because I don't know how to describe them. However, I did find it interesting that several of the artworks utilized media such as video, lights, and rotating mobiles rather than paint and canvas as I was expecting. Emotionally moving, many of the pieces portrayed the oppression of women and natives of third world countries. Rather than experiencing the euphoria created by the masterpieces of DaVinci and Michaelangelo, these modern works left me feeling rather humbled and somewhat depressed. Searching for some shred of hope in the artists' interpretation of the modern world, I seemed to fall short of finding any beauty in the explicit display of human suffering. A trained artist eye may have been able to point out the artists' true meanings behind their works, but by myself, I found several of the pieces to be extremely dark and ominous. I don't regret taking a few side streets in Dublin to explore the modern art museum, I just fear that modern art is perhaps one side of culture that I fail to fully appreciate.
Giving in to a growing appetite, I surrendered to the overpriced museum cafe and recovered from my bout with modern art over a steaming baked potato and chef salad. Popping the last bites of buttered potato into my mouth, I left the Irish Museum of Modern Art in pursuit of Dublin's biggest tourist attraction -- the Guinness Storehouse. To be completely truthful, I extremely dislike the taste of beer. With so many flavorful wines and liquors on this planet, why would I waste my time trying to learn how to drink a beverage that tastes like contaminated water? When I mentioned to my British friends that I was planning to skip the Guinness storehouse on my trip to Dublin, I was met with incredulous gasps of surprise and frantic urges not to miss the headquarters of Ireland's premier stout. Taking their unbending advice, I walked a few blocks from the modern art museum only to wait in line for entrance into the largest museum of Guinness paraphernalia in the world. Arthur Guinness, the first master brewer and founder of Guinness beer, first moved to Dublin in 1759 after inheriting a small fortune from the Archbishop of Cashel (his godfather). Taking his inheritance (only $200 at the time), Arthur signed a 9000 year lease at St. James's Gate with access to the city's watercourse, thus beginning an enterprise that has far exceeded his lifetime. Today, Guinness beer is still brewed fresh everyday at St. James's Gate in Dublin and is considered to be the best home-brewed beer in all of Ireland. Because Guinness reputably does not travel well, fans of this stout claim that the best Guinness beer can only be tasted in Dublin. As for myself, all forms of Guinness are too bitter for my taste buds. The Guinness storehouse was comprised of seven stories devoted to Ireland's favorite stout. Like most museums, the ground level was home to the ticket counters and gift shop. After briefly perusing through overpriced Guinness gifts and mementos, I trekked up the stairs for an education in Irish beer. The second story was devoted to the ingredients and methods for brewing stout. Having visited a few breweries in the States, the exhibits didn't tell me much that I hadn't already seen before -- hops, yeast, water, and barley. However, the giant waterfall in the middle of the second floor was neat to see regardless of the over-described idiosyncrasies of brewing. Up from the second level, the next four floors described the history, advertising, and health effects of beer. Interestingly, the early slogan "Drink Guinness -- It's good for your health!" arises from the fact that Irish doctors would often prescribe a daily pint of Guinness to their patients to induce feelings of euphoria which often result from alcohol consumption. Seeing their patients feel genuinely happier after a pint of beer, Guinness prescriptions were rather common and wide-spread in Ireland for several years. Working in the medical field, I could only laugh at this belief and think, "Wow, times have really changed!" Finishing my tour beer memorabilia, I jumped up to the top floor of the storehouse for my "free" pint of Guinness and the best view of Dublin. The Guinness Storehouse bar was an experience in itself. Crowded with dozens of tourists and local Dubliners, the bartenders topped off pints of Guinness while an Irish band belted out tunes to several Gaelic drinking songs. The accordion and throaty Gaelic mix was quite charming as I made a brave attempt to stomach a pint of Guinness's finest pint in Ireland. Looking through glass walls at the city below, I felt that my 10 Euro admission ticket had at least paid its price in bar culture and scenic view. My only wish is that I could've enjoyed the taste of frothy Irish stout...
Feeling proud that I had at least managed to sip through a fifth of my Guinness pint, I returned my almost-full glass to the bar and headed back to the city. (In hindsight, I'm actually glad that I didn't drink an entire pint of beer that afternoon. Functioning on barely three hours of sleep, any large amount of alcohol would have gone straight to my head -- not a good idea for any lady touring an unfamiliar city by herself.) Taking advantage of the last minutes of daylight, I stopped into a couple Irish souvenir shops to buy a few characteristic Irish items before checking into my hostel for the evening. Completely exhausted from my sleepless trip the night before, I climbed into my bunk bed for an early evening nap.
I awoke an hour or so later to one of my roommates gabbing with a friend on her cellphone. Feeling relatively refreshed, I grabbed my first shower in 36 hours and chatted with three of my hostel roommates before heading out for the evening. Originating from Australia, England, and Portugal, all three were traveling solo throughout Europe. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with hostel culture, the concept of a hostel is to provide cheap accommodation for typically young European travelers. To cut costs and save space, hostel owners outfit a single room with several bunk beds, which translates into sharing a room with anywhere from 2 to 15 strangers. Though this may sound odd to many Americans, hostels are rather safe and a cheap option for heavy-sleepers.) Knowing that Bill's plane was scheduled to touch down in Dublin around 8 o'clock, I took a brisk walk downtown in search of a bite to eat before his arrival. Feeling slightly homesick in a city by myself, I did the unthinkable act of walking into Burger King and glancing through an American fast food menu. As I had expected, the Irish Burger King menu was quite different from the typical American version. Ordering a spicy chicken baguette with peri-peri sauce, I settled into a corner of the restaurant with my tour book to plan the next day's Dublin outing with Bill. With still an hour to spend after finishing my sandwich and fries, I ordered a cup of ice cream and continued to read through pages of Dublin attractions and Irish history.
Feeling the buzzing of a cell phone in my pocket, I paused in my tourist reading to send a quick response to Bill's text message that he had arrived in Dublin. For some odd reason, our cell phones allowed us to text each other though we couldn't dial international calls to talk voice-to-voice. After a dozen of lengthy text messages, we found each other near the river and headed off for a bit of city nightlife. Looking traditional Irish bar music, we eventually found a crowded pub with a live band and a pair of Irish dancers. Ordering a glass of Jameson's and ginger ale, I developed a nice affinity for Irish whiskey and joined the bar crowd in belting the chorus to several popular tunes (several of which were American, ironically). When the band needed a break to rest their voices, dancers took the stage for an impressive show of traditional Irish dancing. An energetic atmosphere, Bill and I quickly found ourselves thrust in the heart of Irish culture -- drinking, dancing, and lively music. Enjoying several hours at the bar, I eventually began to feel the effects of a busy day with only snatches of sleep. Begging Bill to cut our evening slightly shy of midnight, we walked back to the hostel where I dragged myself into bed and curled up for a much-needed night of sleep.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Dublin, Ireland (Part 1): Avoiding Catastrophe with the Luck o' the Irish
Exhausting many of the major sites in Southern England, Bill and I thought that it was time to hop off the island and visit another area of Europe. Booking cheap flight tickets well in advance, we were ready for a quick weekend trip to Dublin, Ireland... or at least, that's what we had thought.
"What are we going to do now?!" he asked.
Making a split-second decision, I replied in a way that he never expected, "I don't know about you, but I'm hopping a train at midnight to catch that plane!"
And that is how I learned the meaning of "backpacking across Europe"...
Throwing only the bare essentials into my book bag, I headed to the Guildford train station to hop on a train to London Luton Airport. Unfortunately, Bill couldn't come with me on my Thursday night adventure since he had a physiology exam on Friday afternoon. Because I only have one class on Friday mornings, I didn't feel too guilty about missing Pharmacology for the first time this semester. Booking a flight for Friday evening, Bill decided to swallow the expensive flight price and would meet me in Dublin around 8 o'clock as our original plans intended. Getting over the initial shock of flying to Dublin on my own at a very early hour, I actually began to feel excitement at the chance to have an extra day in Ireland despite traveling across England in the dead of night.
The trip to Dublin was adventurous to say the least and should probably be experienced by every hardened European traveler at least once in a lifetime. Despite its misleading name, London Luton Airport is actually quite far from London -- nearly 90 minutes by train from the heart of the city, which explains why I couldn't take a direct train from Guildford to Luton Airport. My first leg of the journey started at the Guildford as I hopped on a train to London Gatwick at midnight. Though far past my bedtime, my adrenaline was pumping so fast that dozing on the train was not even a remote possibility. Luckily, I had enough foresight to bring a folder of class notes to study for a Micronutrients exam on Monday. Having the most productive study hour that I've experienced all semester, I soon found myself waiting at London Gatwick Airport for my next train to depart at 2:30 a.m. After buying my second train ticket, I picked a rather hard bench and set myself up for a short airport snooze. Thinking back, I probably looked like a homeless bum with my backpack under my head as I tried to catch a few moments of sleep before hopping on my next train. Not caring much about my disheveled appearance, I did manage to catch a half hour of rest before the bench grew too hard for comfortable sleeping. Feeling slightly refreshed, I pulled out my study notes again and studied a bit of coursework to keep myself awake. Pulling out of Gatwick airport in the wee hours of the morning, I nestled myself into a train seat for a much-needed hour nap on my journey to the Luton Airport. Though I had set an alarm on my cell phone, I woke up a few minutes early to the tapping of a kind man sitting behind me.
"I'm sorry to wake you, miss," he began, "but I wanted to make sure that you didn't miss your stop."
Smiling at his genuine concern, I replied, "No, I'm heading to Luton Airport, which is still a half hour away."
Breathing a sigh of relief, he offered, "Since my stop is after the airport, I will wake you if you fall asleep again."
Thanking him kindly, I felt touched by his concern, which once again showed the kindness of the British towards foreign travelers. Wide awake now, I knew that I wouldn't be able to fall asleep before reaching the airport, but I thanked the man again as I left the train to catch my flight.
Arriving at London Luton Airport at 4 o'clock in the morning, I had plenty of time to catch my 6:25 a.m. flight to Dublin. After checking in and pocketing my boarding pass, I stopped at the airport waiting area to study a little before boarding my flight. Interestingly enough, I found myself "people watching" rather than studying vitamins and minerals. Next to the waiting area was a very crowded airport bar where travelers were buying their last drinks before leaving the country. "This could be interesting," I thought to myself. "I wonder if a drunken airplane is any different from a drunk bus back home in Cincinnati." (For those of you outside the Cincy area, "drunk bus" refers to the campus shuttle that runs to and from major Cincinnati bar areas on the weekends. A great alternative to designated drivers, the buses are always raucous, rowdy, and filled with intoxicated students.) Unfortunately, my thoughts were answered as I took my window seat on the airplane.
Completely exhausted by this point, I picked the nearest window seat on the plane, shoved my book bag into the overhead bin, and fell asleep instantly with my head nestled between my seat and the cabin wall. Hardly asleep for five minutes, I felt myself being prodded awake by a clumsy passenger sliding into the seat next to me. Reeking of beer, he plopped into his seat and tried to start up a drunken conversation. Growing short on patience after a relatively sleepless night, I pretended to be asleep while he carried on a rather dynamic conversation with himself. Aided by booze, he eventually passed out. Breathing a sigh of relief, my last memory was catching a glimpse of the British sunrise before giving into my first hour of restful sleep on one very fanatic trip to Ireland.
(To be continued...)
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Cambridge, England: Famous Colleges and Punting on the River Cam
To round out our tour of England, Bill and I thought that it was time to stray from the London scene for a weekend and check out another of Britain's famous cities: Cambridge. Located north of London, Cambridge is the home of England's most prestigious university. Second in the world to only Harvard, Cambridge University has a history that quickly overshadows its American rival. Wondering what the city had to offer, Bill and I grabbed a train and headed northeast.
The hardest part of the two-and-a-half hour train ride to Cambridge was actually getting to the Guildford train station to start our journey. Partying pretty hard the night before, Bill forgot to set an alarm and woke up only to my phone call to see if he was ready to go. Since he needed a few extra minutes to get himself going that morning, I waited at the train station until he eventually meandered through the gates. (Though he may have wanted more sleep, my adrenaline was pumping after only two hours of shut-eye... my mentality is "tour now and crash later".) Eventually, we caught a train to London Waterloo station for the first leg of our journey.
Like airlines, longer train trips are often cut into parts with transfers at various stations. For this trip, we took a train from Guildford to London Waterloo, rode the subway from Waterloo to London Kings Cross Station, hopped on another train from Kings Cross to Royston, and then took a bus from Royston to Cambridge. Transferring from one mode of transportation to another can be a mess if you don't know what you're doing, but thankfully, Bill and I have had enough experience with public transportation to get ourselves easily from city to city. The best part about the transfer hassle was the chance to visit London Kings Cross Station. For those of you outside the Harry Potter loop, Kings Cross Station is the train station where wizards and witches are able to travel by train to various places in the magical community. Most notably, Kings Cross Station is the home to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters where Harry Potter catches his first train to Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. As the story goes, the platform is magically disguised so that Muggles (non-magical people) pass by without knowing that the platform even exists -- to them, Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters is only a brick wall of seemingly no importance. Wizards, however, are able to step onto the platform by running head-first into the wall where they are magically transported to their awaiting train. In honor of the famous book series by J.K. Rowling, Kings Cross Station erected a brick wall and named it "Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters". The best part about the wall is the luggage cart that is disappearing into it as if a wizard got stuck halfway between the magical world and ours. In short, this was just another great photo opportunity to snap a few fun pictures of something seen only in London.
Eventually, we arrived at the Cambridge train station just in time for lunch. Hitching a bus to the middle of the city, we started our search for a picturesque park bench that would suffice for munching on a few sandwiches. So we searched... and searched... and searched... and eventually gave up when we realized that the only benches in Cambridge were a few remote park benches near museums and other major city sites. Planting ourselves in front of the Fitzwilliam Museum, we marveled at the fact that Britain's most prestigious university could be so unfriendly to out-of-town picnickers. Walking through the city, we found signs posted on nearly every patch of green space proclaiming, "DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!" Needless to say, the lack of public grass patches gave me a twinge of longing for the student-infested lawns back home in Cincinnati.
Trying to blow a little time before our Cambridge tour at 1:30 p.m., Bill and I stepped into the Fitzwilliam Museum for a few minutes to see another collection of ancient artifacts and pieces of civilization. After touring several museums in England, I've become rather picky about exhibits. As a result, there were only a few items that truly interested me in this museum, but I must say that they were pretty spectacular items. Though Bill was a big fan of the medieval swords and armor, I preferred the Chinese fan exhibit and one very spectacular Renaissance sculpture. "Adoration of the Magi" is a sixteenth century masterpiece carved in white alabaster stone. The detailing was phenomenal, and its preservation was impeccable. The interesting thing that I've noticed with Renaissance art is that artists had a tendency to dress biblical characters in the clothes of their own time period. Despite thinking that this sculpture was magnificent, I chuckled to see the three wise men wearing Flemish hats with large plumes.
Cutting our visit to the museum a little short, Bill and I rushed off to catch our two-hour tour of Cambridge University and Kings College Chapel. Unknown to most Americans, Cambridge University is actually a large collection of "colleges". In the U.S., "colleges" that comprise an university generally include the "College of Engineering", "College of Business", "College of Performing Arts", etc. At Cambridge, however, colleges are much less logically defined. The history of Cambridge begins with the university's largest rival -- Oxford. During the era of the Black Plague, students left Oxford University to settle in Cambridge in hopes of escaping the perpetually spreading plague. (Yes, that's right! Oxford came before Cambridge.) Unable to control the sudden influx of students, various townspeople in Cambridge began establishing colleges to keep the students occupied and out of trouble. You may ask, "Why would townspeople want to spend large amounts of money on colleges that they would never use themselves?" At that time, all colleges were associated with a chapel in which students were required to pray for their benefactor's soul to be spared from Purgatory. For wealthy widows, this was one of the few means by which they could achieve financial independence and spend their husband's money. A widow could put money into a college, and students would then pray for the soul of her husband (whether or not prayer was the main motivation for the widow's financial independence is still up for debate). With this in mind, most of the colleges were founded by very wealthy widows living in Cambridge. Corpus Christi College, however, was founded by the townspeople of Cambridge. With the Black Plague spreading throughout England, Cambridge was not spared from illness and death. Taking the money from the townspeople who had died in the plague, the remaining citizens of Cambridge built Corpus Christi College in honor of the dead. This college was important because it meant that the students would be required to pray for the souls of those killed by the Black Plague. Though it might sound a little silly to American separation of church and state, this rule was enforced and proved to be major motivation in the founding of additional colleges in Cambridge. Today, all of the colleges are encompassed until the title of "Cambridge University". However, each applicant may apply for admittance to only one of the colleges within the university. The desired course of study is irrelevant since each college selects a set number of students from each major. There is a lot of strategy in picking a college because some are more prestigious than others. If your main goal is to get a diploma from Cambridge University, then you would apply for a less competitive college. If you want the highest level of prestige behind your name, then you would study like a manic and keep your fingers crossed that Kings College glances at your application. This education system is a bit confusing, but I can't say much against it considering that Cambridge U. is the second best university in the world.
Lucky for us, admission into Kings College Chapel was included with our tour of the colleges. King Henry VI commissioned the building of Kings College Chapel in an effort to "best the pope". (The stubborn feud between the Church of England and Catholicism rears its head once again in history.) Since the pope could boast of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, King Henry wanted and even bigger church with more impressive ceiling than that found in the Vatican. Who knows which church leader actually won the competition of church ceilings, but I should be able to give an opinion after visiting Rome next month. Needless to say, Kings College Chapel earns its right to be the largest fan-vaulted ceiling in the world. The only aspect more magnificent than the ceiling are the stained glass windows. Despite years of war, the original 16th century stained glass windows remained intact. Beyond their beauty, these windows have a real story to tell. During World War II, the townspeople of Cambridge removed the windows from their original places in the church and stored them away for safe-keeping. Once peace was restored once again, they painstakingly replaced the windows back to their original homes. Unlike most churches where stained glass windows haphazardly erected to depict random biblical stories, these windows have an interesting logical progression. Each large window is divided into ten sections -- five on top and five on bottom. The bottom section depicts stories from the New Testament with most occurring after the birth of Christ. Two different stories are depicted in this bottom section. One story is illustrated in the two rightmost panes while the other is shown in the two leftmost panes. The middle pane is reserved for pictures of two townspeople holding scrolls with descriptions in Latin of the biblical stories located in that particular window. The interesting part to this arrangement is that the upper five panes of the window are designed exactly the same with Old Testament stories -- two stories separated by a central pane with scroll-holding people. You may be asking, "So what?! Why is this important?" The neat part about this lies in the placement of the Old Testament stories on top of the New Testament stories. The Old Testament story located directly above a given New Testament story is the exact antitype of the after-Christ version. For example, one window had two lower panes depicting the Annunciation where Mary was visited by the angel Gabriel and agreed to give birth to Christ Jesus, thus agreeing to the will of God. Directly above these panes is the Old Testament antitype of Eve giving in to the serpent in the Garden of Eden and eating a piece of fruit from the tree forbidden by God, thus rejecting the will of God. Another type/antitype depiction was Jesus rising from the tomb three days after his burial after completing the will of God while the Old Testament version directly above showed Jonah rising from the belly of a whale after running from the will of God. Religious or not, most people will admit that these windows are pretty cool.
Finishing up our Cambridge University tour, Bill and I headed towards the River Cam for the main highlight of our trip -- PUNTING! For those of you who are unfamiliar with boating, punting is essentially a way of pushing a rowboat down a river with only a long pole. Getting slightly burnt out on museums and historical tours, we were ready for an active cultural experience! After renting a boat and watching a few punters push their punts around in the water, we felt pretty confident to try our luck with one of Cambridge's most well-known pastimes. Giving in to the gentlemanly phrase of "ladies first", Bill took a seat in the middle of the boat while I situated myself with the punting pole. Like most things that I attempt for the first time, I had no beginner's luck with a pole, a boat, and a river full of water. In short, I merely managed to spin our boat in a perpetual circle with no idea how to steer the vessel with only a metal pole. To make matters worse, several drunken Englishmen thought that it would be funny to taunt me from a nearby bridge. Feeling my face flushing with embarrassment, I tried to make the best of the situation by coquettishly smiling their way and giving them a flirtatious wink. Laughing, they yelled a few words of encouragement, which were unfortunately lost in the wind. Giving up, I handed the pole to Bill in hopes of actually getting our boat away from the dock. Expecting him to face the same problems that I experienced, I was impressed and slightly frustrated that he picked up the skill without much trouble at all. Burying the frustration with myself, I took the chauffeured opportunity to snap a few scenic pictures of the river. Once Bill's arms had tired, I was ready for a second chance to redeem myself on the punt. Learning from my original mistakes, I mustered up the courage to stand on the very back of the boat in order to have better steering control. This time, it took me only minutes to master the art of pushing our boat to downstream and back again without any major disasters. Take that, taunting Englishmen on the bridge!
With tired arms and damp clothing, Bill and I were ready for our final Cambridge destination -- The Eagle. This pub is the famous hang-out spot for Watson and Crick, the scientists who discovered the structure of DNA. (To be completely fair, Watson and Crick only created the first model of DNA and hence noticed that it formed a double-helical structure. A majority of the work leading up to this discovery was completed by Rosalind Franklin, who died from excessive radiation exposure utilized to complete her work.) Upon mastering the first DNA model, Crick ran to the Eagle and exclaimed, "We have discovered the meaning of life." Today, the Eagle is a fully functioning bar and restaurant that is constantly filled with tourists and college kids looking for a cool drink or tasty meal. For Bill and I, we were looking for a bit of authentic British cooking. With several dishes to choose from, I eventually settled on "bangers and mash", which is English sausage on top of mashed potatoes and covered with gravy. Though most people at home had warned me that British food is not much to boast about, I was incredibly impressed with this English dish. Though I may be denouncing my German heritage, I might even prefer British sausage to bratwurst!
Overall, our day in Cambridge was a fun one. The colleges were neat to see, and Kings College Chapel is another example of beautiful European churches. Rich in history, the city is best appreciated with a good tour or a lot of research prior to visiting. However, my favorite memory will definitely be punting on the River Cam.
After five weeks in England, Bill and I have managed to tour three major British cities (London, Bath, and Cambridge) and are now ready to start tackling the rest of Europe. This upcoming weekend, we're hopping off the island to visit the founding city of Guinness beer. May the luck o' the Irish be with us in DUBLIN!
The hardest part of the two-and-a-half hour train ride to Cambridge was actually getting to the Guildford train station to start our journey. Partying pretty hard the night before, Bill forgot to set an alarm and woke up only to my phone call to see if he was ready to go. Since he needed a few extra minutes to get himself going that morning, I waited at the train station until he eventually meandered through the gates. (Though he may have wanted more sleep, my adrenaline was pumping after only two hours of shut-eye... my mentality is "tour now and crash later".) Eventually, we caught a train to London Waterloo station for the first leg of our journey.
Like airlines, longer train trips are often cut into parts with transfers at various stations. For this trip, we took a train from Guildford to London Waterloo, rode the subway from Waterloo to London Kings Cross Station, hopped on another train from Kings Cross to Royston, and then took a bus from Royston to Cambridge. Transferring from one mode of transportation to another can be a mess if you don't know what you're doing, but thankfully, Bill and I have had enough experience with public transportation to get ourselves easily from city to city. The best part about the transfer hassle was the chance to visit London Kings Cross Station. For those of you outside the Harry Potter loop, Kings Cross Station is the train station where wizards and witches are able to travel by train to various places in the magical community. Most notably, Kings Cross Station is the home to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters where Harry Potter catches his first train to Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. As the story goes, the platform is magically disguised so that Muggles (non-magical people) pass by without knowing that the platform even exists -- to them, Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters is only a brick wall of seemingly no importance. Wizards, however, are able to step onto the platform by running head-first into the wall where they are magically transported to their awaiting train. In honor of the famous book series by J.K. Rowling, Kings Cross Station erected a brick wall and named it "Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters". The best part about the wall is the luggage cart that is disappearing into it as if a wizard got stuck halfway between the magical world and ours. In short, this was just another great photo opportunity to snap a few fun pictures of something seen only in London.
Eventually, we arrived at the Cambridge train station just in time for lunch. Hitching a bus to the middle of the city, we started our search for a picturesque park bench that would suffice for munching on a few sandwiches. So we searched... and searched... and searched... and eventually gave up when we realized that the only benches in Cambridge were a few remote park benches near museums and other major city sites. Planting ourselves in front of the Fitzwilliam Museum, we marveled at the fact that Britain's most prestigious university could be so unfriendly to out-of-town picnickers. Walking through the city, we found signs posted on nearly every patch of green space proclaiming, "DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!" Needless to say, the lack of public grass patches gave me a twinge of longing for the student-infested lawns back home in Cincinnati.
Trying to blow a little time before our Cambridge tour at 1:30 p.m., Bill and I stepped into the Fitzwilliam Museum for a few minutes to see another collection of ancient artifacts and pieces of civilization. After touring several museums in England, I've become rather picky about exhibits. As a result, there were only a few items that truly interested me in this museum, but I must say that they were pretty spectacular items. Though Bill was a big fan of the medieval swords and armor, I preferred the Chinese fan exhibit and one very spectacular Renaissance sculpture. "Adoration of the Magi" is a sixteenth century masterpiece carved in white alabaster stone. The detailing was phenomenal, and its preservation was impeccable. The interesting thing that I've noticed with Renaissance art is that artists had a tendency to dress biblical characters in the clothes of their own time period. Despite thinking that this sculpture was magnificent, I chuckled to see the three wise men wearing Flemish hats with large plumes.
Cutting our visit to the museum a little short, Bill and I rushed off to catch our two-hour tour of Cambridge University and Kings College Chapel. Unknown to most Americans, Cambridge University is actually a large collection of "colleges". In the U.S., "colleges" that comprise an university generally include the "College of Engineering", "College of Business", "College of Performing Arts", etc. At Cambridge, however, colleges are much less logically defined. The history of Cambridge begins with the university's largest rival -- Oxford. During the era of the Black Plague, students left Oxford University to settle in Cambridge in hopes of escaping the perpetually spreading plague. (Yes, that's right! Oxford came before Cambridge.) Unable to control the sudden influx of students, various townspeople in Cambridge began establishing colleges to keep the students occupied and out of trouble. You may ask, "Why would townspeople want to spend large amounts of money on colleges that they would never use themselves?" At that time, all colleges were associated with a chapel in which students were required to pray for their benefactor's soul to be spared from Purgatory. For wealthy widows, this was one of the few means by which they could achieve financial independence and spend their husband's money. A widow could put money into a college, and students would then pray for the soul of her husband (whether or not prayer was the main motivation for the widow's financial independence is still up for debate). With this in mind, most of the colleges were founded by very wealthy widows living in Cambridge. Corpus Christi College, however, was founded by the townspeople of Cambridge. With the Black Plague spreading throughout England, Cambridge was not spared from illness and death. Taking the money from the townspeople who had died in the plague, the remaining citizens of Cambridge built Corpus Christi College in honor of the dead. This college was important because it meant that the students would be required to pray for the souls of those killed by the Black Plague. Though it might sound a little silly to American separation of church and state, this rule was enforced and proved to be major motivation in the founding of additional colleges in Cambridge. Today, all of the colleges are encompassed until the title of "Cambridge University". However, each applicant may apply for admittance to only one of the colleges within the university. The desired course of study is irrelevant since each college selects a set number of students from each major. There is a lot of strategy in picking a college because some are more prestigious than others. If your main goal is to get a diploma from Cambridge University, then you would apply for a less competitive college. If you want the highest level of prestige behind your name, then you would study like a manic and keep your fingers crossed that Kings College glances at your application. This education system is a bit confusing, but I can't say much against it considering that Cambridge U. is the second best university in the world.
Lucky for us, admission into Kings College Chapel was included with our tour of the colleges. King Henry VI commissioned the building of Kings College Chapel in an effort to "best the pope". (The stubborn feud between the Church of England and Catholicism rears its head once again in history.) Since the pope could boast of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, King Henry wanted and even bigger church with more impressive ceiling than that found in the Vatican. Who knows which church leader actually won the competition of church ceilings, but I should be able to give an opinion after visiting Rome next month. Needless to say, Kings College Chapel earns its right to be the largest fan-vaulted ceiling in the world. The only aspect more magnificent than the ceiling are the stained glass windows. Despite years of war, the original 16th century stained glass windows remained intact. Beyond their beauty, these windows have a real story to tell. During World War II, the townspeople of Cambridge removed the windows from their original places in the church and stored them away for safe-keeping. Once peace was restored once again, they painstakingly replaced the windows back to their original homes. Unlike most churches where stained glass windows haphazardly erected to depict random biblical stories, these windows have an interesting logical progression. Each large window is divided into ten sections -- five on top and five on bottom. The bottom section depicts stories from the New Testament with most occurring after the birth of Christ. Two different stories are depicted in this bottom section. One story is illustrated in the two rightmost panes while the other is shown in the two leftmost panes. The middle pane is reserved for pictures of two townspeople holding scrolls with descriptions in Latin of the biblical stories located in that particular window. The interesting part to this arrangement is that the upper five panes of the window are designed exactly the same with Old Testament stories -- two stories separated by a central pane with scroll-holding people. You may be asking, "So what?! Why is this important?" The neat part about this lies in the placement of the Old Testament stories on top of the New Testament stories. The Old Testament story located directly above a given New Testament story is the exact antitype of the after-Christ version. For example, one window had two lower panes depicting the Annunciation where Mary was visited by the angel Gabriel and agreed to give birth to Christ Jesus, thus agreeing to the will of God. Directly above these panes is the Old Testament antitype of Eve giving in to the serpent in the Garden of Eden and eating a piece of fruit from the tree forbidden by God, thus rejecting the will of God. Another type/antitype depiction was Jesus rising from the tomb three days after his burial after completing the will of God while the Old Testament version directly above showed Jonah rising from the belly of a whale after running from the will of God. Religious or not, most people will admit that these windows are pretty cool.
Finishing up our Cambridge University tour, Bill and I headed towards the River Cam for the main highlight of our trip -- PUNTING! For those of you who are unfamiliar with boating, punting is essentially a way of pushing a rowboat down a river with only a long pole. Getting slightly burnt out on museums and historical tours, we were ready for an active cultural experience! After renting a boat and watching a few punters push their punts around in the water, we felt pretty confident to try our luck with one of Cambridge's most well-known pastimes. Giving in to the gentlemanly phrase of "ladies first", Bill took a seat in the middle of the boat while I situated myself with the punting pole. Like most things that I attempt for the first time, I had no beginner's luck with a pole, a boat, and a river full of water. In short, I merely managed to spin our boat in a perpetual circle with no idea how to steer the vessel with only a metal pole. To make matters worse, several drunken Englishmen thought that it would be funny to taunt me from a nearby bridge. Feeling my face flushing with embarrassment, I tried to make the best of the situation by coquettishly smiling their way and giving them a flirtatious wink. Laughing, they yelled a few words of encouragement, which were unfortunately lost in the wind. Giving up, I handed the pole to Bill in hopes of actually getting our boat away from the dock. Expecting him to face the same problems that I experienced, I was impressed and slightly frustrated that he picked up the skill without much trouble at all. Burying the frustration with myself, I took the chauffeured opportunity to snap a few scenic pictures of the river. Once Bill's arms had tired, I was ready for a second chance to redeem myself on the punt. Learning from my original mistakes, I mustered up the courage to stand on the very back of the boat in order to have better steering control. This time, it took me only minutes to master the art of pushing our boat to downstream and back again without any major disasters. Take that, taunting Englishmen on the bridge!
With tired arms and damp clothing, Bill and I were ready for our final Cambridge destination -- The Eagle. This pub is the famous hang-out spot for Watson and Crick, the scientists who discovered the structure of DNA. (To be completely fair, Watson and Crick only created the first model of DNA and hence noticed that it formed a double-helical structure. A majority of the work leading up to this discovery was completed by Rosalind Franklin, who died from excessive radiation exposure utilized to complete her work.) Upon mastering the first DNA model, Crick ran to the Eagle and exclaimed, "We have discovered the meaning of life." Today, the Eagle is a fully functioning bar and restaurant that is constantly filled with tourists and college kids looking for a cool drink or tasty meal. For Bill and I, we were looking for a bit of authentic British cooking. With several dishes to choose from, I eventually settled on "bangers and mash", which is English sausage on top of mashed potatoes and covered with gravy. Though most people at home had warned me that British food is not much to boast about, I was incredibly impressed with this English dish. Though I may be denouncing my German heritage, I might even prefer British sausage to bratwurst!
Overall, our day in Cambridge was a fun one. The colleges were neat to see, and Kings College Chapel is another example of beautiful European churches. Rich in history, the city is best appreciated with a good tour or a lot of research prior to visiting. However, my favorite memory will definitely be punting on the River Cam.
After five weeks in England, Bill and I have managed to tour three major British cities (London, Bath, and Cambridge) and are now ready to start tackling the rest of Europe. This upcoming weekend, we're hopping off the island to visit the founding city of Guinness beer. May the luck o' the Irish be with us in DUBLIN!
Monday, October 1, 2007
London Trip #2: Street Markets, Museums, and St. Paul's Cathedral
Beginning to feel like true Brits, Bill and I decided to tackle the remaining chunk of England's favorite city in a single Saturday. On our first trip to London, our travel smarts can only be termed "green" at best. Looking back, I can count at least a dozen times where we made typical tourist mistakes that cost valuable time and money. With a little more travel experience under our belts, we were now more than ready to pick up the main sites that we missed on our first visit to Britain's capital city.
The first of these was Portobello Road. Every major European city can boast its own share of street markets where money-conscious travelers can either find themselves picking up a unique souvenir or an expensive piece of junk. (I've learned that the stereotype of the American tourist is one that jumps at any sale sign that proclaims "FREE" or "CHEAP".) A flea-market junkie myself, I had been wanting to browse through the stalls of London's largest street market in hopes of picking up a few characteristic mementos of my semester in England. A less avid shopper, Bill graciously tolerated my shopping whim. Still rubbing sleep from our eyes, we hopped on a train from Guildford at 7 a.m. and arrived at Portobello Road before 8 o'clock. Working off a tip printed in the BBC, I had wanted to arrive just as the vendors were setting up shop to ensure that we could have the best prices and selection. Looking back, I think that we may have arrived just a little too early. Though most vendors had claimed their tables by 8 a.m., few were truly ready to begin haggling until an hour later. This became evident when Bill and I stopped by a pastry stand to buy croissants for an early morning snack. When we asked for the price of the pastries, the baker replied, "One pound each." Walking past the stand an hour later, I scoffed to discover that the price tag on the croissants clearly stated, "Eighty pence per pastry." (The American in me wants to contact the Better Business Bureau, while the Brit in the back of my head shrugs and says, "Rubbish, it's your own damn fault.") After an initial run-through of the street market to grab our bearings, we headed back through the ever-growing crowds to start a bit of serious shopping. The goods sold at Portobello Road can be grouped into one of the following classes:
After only a few short hours, Bill and I decided that we had seen enough of Portobello Road and headed off to the nearest Underground station to begin a day of museum-hopping throughout the city. The greatest part about museums in London is that most of them are free. The lack of admission prices gave Bill and I the freedom to jump from museum to museum without getting burnt out on a single exhibit genre, which often happens when browsing through the upper level collections of history, science, and art. We started our museum tour with the London Science Museum. One of the best signs of a good friendship is the willing to compromise, which defines a lot of the decisions that Bill and I make on our weekend city trips. In this case, Bill survived my shopping spree on Portobello Road, and I gave in to spending a few hours in the Science Museum. A major fan of gadgets and interesting phenomenon, Bill was thrilled to browse through flight exhibits, technology displays, and the eclectic selection of toys in the museum gift shop. Don't get me wrong -- I love science just as much as my biomedical-partner-in-crime, but there was one main thought about the Science Museum that I couldn't get out of my head while we were hopping from floor to floor: 50% of the exhibits were American driven. No joke! Probably the biggest display in the museum was the flight exhibit, which sported replicas of airplanes, space shuttles, and other early flight inventions. Where was human flight first achieved? America! What country first landed on the moon? America! Who has sent more probes, imaging devices, and astronauts into space? America! (Get my point?!) I don't mean to act a little snug with my nationality, but it's hard to come from the U.S. state that was home to the Wright Brothers, Neil Armstrong, and John Glenn, and then try to experience European culture in a pre-dominantly American exhibit. So here's my recommendation for the London Science Museum: If you've seen COSI or any of the Smithsonians, then you won't find anything new in any European science museum. If not, then you might see something that peaks your interest.
After taking a few moments to gobble down a quick packed lunch, we walked a few steps down the street to the London National History Museum. One thing that I would love to thank my parents for is the hundreds of museums that they made me see throughout my childhood. Ranging from art to science and political history to natural history, I am thankful that I can distinguish between a good museum collection and a bad one. The London Natural History Museum falls somewhere in the middle. A step up from the previous museum, the best part about the Natural History Museum was the dozens of rooms with stuffed animals. Donated by generous animal collectors, I was very impressed with some of the animal displays -- particularly the bird exhibits. In one room, Bill and I came across a decently-sized glass cabinet with nearly a hundred small birds of every color, species, and variety. The birds were perfectly preserved and positioned on branches of a metal tree, which made them look as if they would quickly take off in flight. It was the most beautiful display of natural history that I have ever seen. The main disappointment of the Natural History Museum was the fossil exhibit. Having seen the world's largest dinosaur collection at the Chicago Natural History Museum as a child, I was expecting to see a large room with a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex posed to pounce on its next unfortunate prey. Following the signs to the T.Rex exhibit, I couldn't stop babbling to Bill about the awesomeness of the dinosaur king. After waiting in line for nearly twenty minutes, we stepped into the T.Rex room only to find that our "Tyrannosaurus Rex" was actually a computer-controlled robot that roared at museum tourists as they passed through the room. In disbelief that this was the extent of the T.Rex exhibit, I ran from room to room in hopes of finding a real fossilized skeleton of the giant lizard. Unfortunately, my efforts were in vain as disappointment quickly set in. So here's my overall impression of the London Natural History Museum: In my opinion, this one is better than the Science Museum, but don't get your hopes up too high for an overwhelming dinosaur exhibit. Though there were several large dinosaur fossils to be seen, the king of prehistoric lizards fails to make a true appearance.
Giving ourselves a few minutes to rest our feet in Trafalgar Square, Bill and I eventually made our way to the last museum stop of the day: The National Gallery. For those of you outside the London loop, the National Gallery is a very large art museum with works by DaVinci, Michaelangeo, Rembrandt, and VanGogh as well as several other famous art masters. The National Gallery is one museum that I was very grateful to tour with Bill. Having taken an art history class in high school, Bill noticed aspects of paintings that I never would have spotted with my relatively untrained eye. Needless to say, Bill was reveling in the fact that he was able to see paintings that he could only study previously from a textbook. By far, my favorite painting was DaVinci's "Virgin of the Rocks". For those of you who are fans of Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code, you may remember that Leonardo DaVinci painted two almost identical paintings. One was entitled "Madonna of the Rocks" while the other is known as "Virgin of the Rocks". The latter of the two bears a more pronounced religious presence, which Dan Brown uses in his amazing best-selling novel. To avoid a DaVinci Code tangent here, I loved "Virgin of the Rocks" mainly because DaVinci had a gift for painting the most beautiful faces that I have ever encountered. While most artists use color to create a masterpiece, DaVinci uses shadow to set his paintings apart from others. The angelic faces created by DaVinci in his paintings toy with the mind by his creative use of light and dark. Anyone who may have clicked on the hyperlink above to see a preview of this painting might just shrug and say, "This painting looks alright, but nothing special for the most part." A few months ago, I would have completely agreed with this statement, but upon seeing the painting in person, my breath caught in my throat and I actually felt emotionally shaken by the beauty of this masterpiece. The other paintings displayed in the National Gallery collection are virtually indescribable. I saw paintings of the epiphany where the gifts given to Christ from the Magi were so detailed that they appeared to be real golden vessels. Additionally, there were paintings that had the most creative hidden optical illusions that even the most skeptical art-goer would be amused by the cleverness of the artist. So before I get too wrapped up in my many praises for the London National Gallery, here's my overall recommendation: European art collections trump American art museums ten to one. I have never seen art this beautiful, colorful, or emotionally moving than the paintings in the National Gallery. With plans to see the Paris Louvre in November, I'm curious to see how the National Gallery compares to the most famous art museum in the world.
With plans to re-visit the National Gallery, Bill and I rushed off to St. Paul's Cathedral in hopes of catching Evensong (an evening Anglican church service). If you don't have time to tour famous European churches or don't want to pay the admission price, the best way to see the inside of a cathedral or abbey is to attend a church service. With dusk quickly falling across London, beautiful candle-lit shadows played across the walls of St. Paul's Cathedral. Much newer than Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's is no less majestic. Gorgeous mosaics adorned the ceilings of the extremely tall chapel, chandeliers hung from every corner, and the cathedral's infamous dome was painted with black-and-creme biblical scenes that were perfectly clear to the on-lookers over a hundred feet below. Despite having no loyalties to the Church of England, I was eager to attend Evensong just to hear the "choir of men and boys" reverberate their voices throughout the walls of the cathedral. Growing up in a musical family, I knew enough about music to instant realize that the sound produced by the choir was positively heavenly. The acoustical design of the church was so incredible that the sound vibrated across the chapel in such a way that no echo was produced -- only a constant ringing that sounded as if a giant bell choir was giving an exclusive performance. With the entire service taking place by candlelight and dimly-lit chandeliers, the chapel seemed almost magical with glorious music, beautiful art, and a quiet place to rest the feet of even the weariest traveler.
You may need to forgive my slightly nostalgic description of the National Gallery and St. Paul's Cathedral. Whether it be churches, art, music, or even a good story, sometimes you run across something that touches you in an emotionally indescribable way that you want to put into words but can never find phrases powerful enough to describe the experience to others. That is what these masterpieces did to me. No matter what words I use or how many sentences I write, St. Paul's and the National Gallery are two places that can only be experienced if you visit them yourself. I cannot stress enough the importance of seeing parts of the world outside the comfort of your home. No amount of money or time can replace the amazing things that I have already seen during my first month in Europe.
(Stepping down from my soapbox...)
To finish our day, Bill and I relaxed at a great restaurant in downtown London before heading back to Guildford via train. Feeling that we've exhausted almost all of the major tourist sites in England's most beloved city, we're ready to start tackling other parts of Britain and Europe. Next weekend brings CAMBRIDGE!
The first of these was Portobello Road. Every major European city can boast its own share of street markets where money-conscious travelers can either find themselves picking up a unique souvenir or an expensive piece of junk. (I've learned that the stereotype of the American tourist is one that jumps at any sale sign that proclaims "FREE" or "CHEAP".) A flea-market junkie myself, I had been wanting to browse through the stalls of London's largest street market in hopes of picking up a few characteristic mementos of my semester in England. A less avid shopper, Bill graciously tolerated my shopping whim. Still rubbing sleep from our eyes, we hopped on a train from Guildford at 7 a.m. and arrived at Portobello Road before 8 o'clock. Working off a tip printed in the BBC, I had wanted to arrive just as the vendors were setting up shop to ensure that we could have the best prices and selection. Looking back, I think that we may have arrived just a little too early. Though most vendors had claimed their tables by 8 a.m., few were truly ready to begin haggling until an hour later. This became evident when Bill and I stopped by a pastry stand to buy croissants for an early morning snack. When we asked for the price of the pastries, the baker replied, "One pound each." Walking past the stand an hour later, I scoffed to discover that the price tag on the croissants clearly stated, "Eighty pence per pastry." (The American in me wants to contact the Better Business Bureau, while the Brit in the back of my head shrugs and says, "Rubbish, it's your own damn fault.") After an initial run-through of the street market to grab our bearings, we headed back through the ever-growing crowds to start a bit of serious shopping. The goods sold at Portobello Road can be grouped into one of the following classes:
- priceless antiques,
- worthless junk that looks antique,
- touristy souvenirs,
- interesting but cheap clothing, and
- food of every variety.
After only a few short hours, Bill and I decided that we had seen enough of Portobello Road and headed off to the nearest Underground station to begin a day of museum-hopping throughout the city. The greatest part about museums in London is that most of them are free. The lack of admission prices gave Bill and I the freedom to jump from museum to museum without getting burnt out on a single exhibit genre, which often happens when browsing through the upper level collections of history, science, and art. We started our museum tour with the London Science Museum. One of the best signs of a good friendship is the willing to compromise, which defines a lot of the decisions that Bill and I make on our weekend city trips. In this case, Bill survived my shopping spree on Portobello Road, and I gave in to spending a few hours in the Science Museum. A major fan of gadgets and interesting phenomenon, Bill was thrilled to browse through flight exhibits, technology displays, and the eclectic selection of toys in the museum gift shop. Don't get me wrong -- I love science just as much as my biomedical-partner-in-crime, but there was one main thought about the Science Museum that I couldn't get out of my head while we were hopping from floor to floor: 50% of the exhibits were American driven. No joke! Probably the biggest display in the museum was the flight exhibit, which sported replicas of airplanes, space shuttles, and other early flight inventions. Where was human flight first achieved? America! What country first landed on the moon? America! Who has sent more probes, imaging devices, and astronauts into space? America! (Get my point?!) I don't mean to act a little snug with my nationality, but it's hard to come from the U.S. state that was home to the Wright Brothers, Neil Armstrong, and John Glenn, and then try to experience European culture in a pre-dominantly American exhibit. So here's my recommendation for the London Science Museum: If you've seen COSI or any of the Smithsonians, then you won't find anything new in any European science museum. If not, then you might see something that peaks your interest.
After taking a few moments to gobble down a quick packed lunch, we walked a few steps down the street to the London National History Museum. One thing that I would love to thank my parents for is the hundreds of museums that they made me see throughout my childhood. Ranging from art to science and political history to natural history, I am thankful that I can distinguish between a good museum collection and a bad one. The London Natural History Museum falls somewhere in the middle. A step up from the previous museum, the best part about the Natural History Museum was the dozens of rooms with stuffed animals. Donated by generous animal collectors, I was very impressed with some of the animal displays -- particularly the bird exhibits. In one room, Bill and I came across a decently-sized glass cabinet with nearly a hundred small birds of every color, species, and variety. The birds were perfectly preserved and positioned on branches of a metal tree, which made them look as if they would quickly take off in flight. It was the most beautiful display of natural history that I have ever seen. The main disappointment of the Natural History Museum was the fossil exhibit. Having seen the world's largest dinosaur collection at the Chicago Natural History Museum as a child, I was expecting to see a large room with a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex posed to pounce on its next unfortunate prey. Following the signs to the T.Rex exhibit, I couldn't stop babbling to Bill about the awesomeness of the dinosaur king. After waiting in line for nearly twenty minutes, we stepped into the T.Rex room only to find that our "Tyrannosaurus Rex" was actually a computer-controlled robot that roared at museum tourists as they passed through the room. In disbelief that this was the extent of the T.Rex exhibit, I ran from room to room in hopes of finding a real fossilized skeleton of the giant lizard. Unfortunately, my efforts were in vain as disappointment quickly set in. So here's my overall impression of the London Natural History Museum: In my opinion, this one is better than the Science Museum, but don't get your hopes up too high for an overwhelming dinosaur exhibit. Though there were several large dinosaur fossils to be seen, the king of prehistoric lizards fails to make a true appearance.
Giving ourselves a few minutes to rest our feet in Trafalgar Square, Bill and I eventually made our way to the last museum stop of the day: The National Gallery. For those of you outside the London loop, the National Gallery is a very large art museum with works by DaVinci, Michaelangeo, Rembrandt, and VanGogh as well as several other famous art masters. The National Gallery is one museum that I was very grateful to tour with Bill. Having taken an art history class in high school, Bill noticed aspects of paintings that I never would have spotted with my relatively untrained eye. Needless to say, Bill was reveling in the fact that he was able to see paintings that he could only study previously from a textbook. By far, my favorite painting was DaVinci's "Virgin of the Rocks". For those of you who are fans of Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code, you may remember that Leonardo DaVinci painted two almost identical paintings. One was entitled "Madonna of the Rocks" while the other is known as "Virgin of the Rocks". The latter of the two bears a more pronounced religious presence, which Dan Brown uses in his amazing best-selling novel. To avoid a DaVinci Code tangent here, I loved "Virgin of the Rocks" mainly because DaVinci had a gift for painting the most beautiful faces that I have ever encountered. While most artists use color to create a masterpiece, DaVinci uses shadow to set his paintings apart from others. The angelic faces created by DaVinci in his paintings toy with the mind by his creative use of light and dark. Anyone who may have clicked on the hyperlink above to see a preview of this painting might just shrug and say, "This painting looks alright, but nothing special for the most part." A few months ago, I would have completely agreed with this statement, but upon seeing the painting in person, my breath caught in my throat and I actually felt emotionally shaken by the beauty of this masterpiece. The other paintings displayed in the National Gallery collection are virtually indescribable. I saw paintings of the epiphany where the gifts given to Christ from the Magi were so detailed that they appeared to be real golden vessels. Additionally, there were paintings that had the most creative hidden optical illusions that even the most skeptical art-goer would be amused by the cleverness of the artist. So before I get too wrapped up in my many praises for the London National Gallery, here's my overall recommendation: European art collections trump American art museums ten to one. I have never seen art this beautiful, colorful, or emotionally moving than the paintings in the National Gallery. With plans to see the Paris Louvre in November, I'm curious to see how the National Gallery compares to the most famous art museum in the world.
With plans to re-visit the National Gallery, Bill and I rushed off to St. Paul's Cathedral in hopes of catching Evensong (an evening Anglican church service). If you don't have time to tour famous European churches or don't want to pay the admission price, the best way to see the inside of a cathedral or abbey is to attend a church service. With dusk quickly falling across London, beautiful candle-lit shadows played across the walls of St. Paul's Cathedral. Much newer than Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's is no less majestic. Gorgeous mosaics adorned the ceilings of the extremely tall chapel, chandeliers hung from every corner, and the cathedral's infamous dome was painted with black-and-creme biblical scenes that were perfectly clear to the on-lookers over a hundred feet below. Despite having no loyalties to the Church of England, I was eager to attend Evensong just to hear the "choir of men and boys" reverberate their voices throughout the walls of the cathedral. Growing up in a musical family, I knew enough about music to instant realize that the sound produced by the choir was positively heavenly. The acoustical design of the church was so incredible that the sound vibrated across the chapel in such a way that no echo was produced -- only a constant ringing that sounded as if a giant bell choir was giving an exclusive performance. With the entire service taking place by candlelight and dimly-lit chandeliers, the chapel seemed almost magical with glorious music, beautiful art, and a quiet place to rest the feet of even the weariest traveler.
You may need to forgive my slightly nostalgic description of the National Gallery and St. Paul's Cathedral. Whether it be churches, art, music, or even a good story, sometimes you run across something that touches you in an emotionally indescribable way that you want to put into words but can never find phrases powerful enough to describe the experience to others. That is what these masterpieces did to me. No matter what words I use or how many sentences I write, St. Paul's and the National Gallery are two places that can only be experienced if you visit them yourself. I cannot stress enough the importance of seeing parts of the world outside the comfort of your home. No amount of money or time can replace the amazing things that I have already seen during my first month in Europe.
(Stepping down from my soapbox...)
To finish our day, Bill and I relaxed at a great restaurant in downtown London before heading back to Guildford via train. Feeling that we've exhausted almost all of the major tourist sites in England's most beloved city, we're ready to start tackling other parts of Britain and Europe. Next weekend brings CAMBRIDGE!
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