Normandy

Huge post today; I'm trying to get finished before I leave on Thursday.


That Thursday evening I boarded a train to Portsmouth. My journey to Normandy was a long one, since it isn't as popular of a destination as Paris, so it was quite expensive to fly directly there. So, I had to take a ferry between France and England to reach Bayeux, the town I would be staying in. After a two hour train, I boarded a overnight ferry.

Leaving Portsmouth

The ferry was much nicer than I expected. I had been expecting a barge with a small outboard motor, but this was more reminiscent of a small cruise ship. There were a few shops and restaurants, along with a bar, dance floor and cinema. However, due to the time, I decided to retire to my chair to get a few hours of sleep.

Monday-Thursday

This is just a short post as my week was pretty uneventful save for a few things. Since finals are coming up I've been trying to get a head start on work. But Tuesday I finished up the Imperial War Museum, which continued to be great.

Replica shell of Little Boy, one of the atomic bombs dropped on Japan.

Wednesday was a program excursion to the Globe Theatre. Some of you might recognize it's name, as it is the famous theatre that Shakespheare worked at. Back in it's heyday, there would be a play everyday at two, and it was never the same play two days in a row. As it was illegal to have theatres in London as it was thought to be unclean, it was located just across the River Thamses, but it didn't stop citizens from stopping their work and leaving to go see a show. Although today's theatre, is a modern creation, it is built to be as close to the original as possible, and after a short tour, we watched one of Shakespheare's plays Alls Well that Ends Well.

Unfortuanately, during these times, it was common for the cheapest spots in the house to be standing in the pit below the stage. And one can only imagine which tickets the school bought for us students.

Even though we were standing, it was still a really good play. It was a story about a doctor's daughter who is madly in love with the son of a lord, but due to class differences, her love can never come true. That is, until she cures the king, who grants her the ability to marry whomever she wishes. It was a comedy as opposed to most of the tragedies you hear about, and had lots of humorous bits, if you could follow the iambic pentameter and Shakesphearan speech closely enough. Nevertheless, I was glad when it ended for the opportunity to sit.

Thursday our class went to the Foundling Museum. It was a museum dedicated to the story of children who had been abandoned and were taken in by the nearby hospital. It was pretty sad, but also quite small, and we finished quickly, allowing me time to gather my things for Normandy.

Short blog, I know and I'm sorry updates have been slow, but I've been swamped. Here are some miscellaneous pictures I took at the British Museum, of Assyrian artifacts and other random things.

Thats THE Rosetta Stone.

Some creepy burial pit thingy.

Inbhir Nis (Inverness)

Late Friday night, I boarded the train out of Stirling, and after switching at Perth, arrived in Inverness.

 It was close to midnight at this point, and the town was abuzz with life. I bought a map and worked my way through the city, over the bridge Ness, and into the suburbs of this area. This town was much more spread out that Stirling, and I had a little difficulty finding my hostel, but after a bit of work I found it. A weary Indian man answered the door, and after paying for my stay and breakfast the next morning, I fell fast asleep.
I woke up early, had a Scottish breakfast, and headed into the city.

 Inverness is considered to be the capital of the Scottish Highlands. Walking along the streets, one could spot the remains of the Highland culture, asthere was quite a few stores selling tartan and kilts, and I saw one or two places selling hand-made bagpipes. I located the bus station, and found my way onto a bus out to Culloden field.

The Battle of Culloden field was the last battle ever fought on British soil.  In 1689, the Glorious Revolution overthrew the reign of King James II, forcing him to flee to France as the Hanover family took the throne. However, his son, Prince Charles, was eager to retake the throne for his father, and began to drum up support from the French and his followers, the Jacobites (meaning followers of James.) He landed in the Scottish Highlands in 1745, persuading some of the clans to follow him to victory, as the James family had actually come from Scotland. He and his forces began a victorious march south through Scotland, crushing most of the weak English defenses along the way. As they marched towards England itself, however, Bonnie Prince Charlie (as he was known to the Scots) began to have disputes with the clan chiefs over their strategy, and therefore began a retreat up north, as the English armies began to organize themselves and send proper forces to crush this rebellion. They clashed at Culloden in 1746.

On the night of August 15, 1746, the Jacobites waited in ambush at Culloden moor for the government troops. The British army had been behind them for a while, and so they assumed that they would be right on their heels, unsuspecting a surprise attack. Yet they picked the worst of nights possible, as this was the government commander's birthday, who, with no intention of fighting on his birthday, let his men rest for the night with extra rations. It was well into the night that the Jacobites realized that their enemy was not going to be coming through that area, and so they prepared a surprise attack as the British slept. But after they marched to the British camp, the sun had nearly risen, and all elements of surprise were lost. They marched back to Culloden. Against the wisdom of the clan chieftans, the Prince insisted they fight right there on the moor, so as the pipes blared they drew up battle lines as the British army marched into the field in perfect formation. They were well rested and well fed, with their morale high. The Jacobites were hungry, tired, and demoralized after a long, hard night of forced marching. Cannons began to fire from both sides, but the Jacobites were not as well trained in artillery, and were quickly outmatched. The Bonnie Prince realized that he would have to draw upon the one tactic that had ensured all their previous victories: the Highland charge. Traditionally, battles at this time were fought at a long range with muskets and cannons. However, the Highland charged consisted of firing a volley at a close range, and charging the remaining distance and using claymores to finish off their enemy. This tactic had worked so well because the British were not accustomed to face their enemy in melee combat. And so the Jacobites began to charge.

Yet, the English had learned from their mistakes. And as the Jacobites charged, continious volleys of musketballs tore them to pieces, and those who reached the government lines were surrounded and cut apart by bayonets. It was a slaughter. And then, as the remaining Jacobites fled, the government unleashed their calvary, who killed every fleeing Jacobite, hunted down any wounded, and often shot any Highland civilian, because they could not tell the difference between them and a enemy clansman. Overall, it was a short battle, lasting an hour. But it was incredibly blood. 1,500 Jacobites died, compared to 50 government forces.

Today, the moor where the battle took place has few signs of the great bloodshed here. A few flags denote the positions each army took. A stone mound tells of the moor's history.

The field itself

 But all around, there are giant burial pits for the dead clansmenm each seperated by their family.

Burial pit of the Mackintosh clan, at around 55 yards long it's the largest clan grave.

It was a sobering place, but was really awesome. And after I got some lunch and got past the rain, I boarded a bus back to Inverness.


I still had half of my day left and little planned, so I decided I had to go to the most touristy location around these parts: Loch Ness. I found another bus and bought a return ticket, and after a half hour ride to a town called Drumdundoicht which I no doubt mispelled several times. The town seemed to exist on any map for one reason, and that was because of the Loch Ness Monster. In a town that was as long as a hallway at school, two different museums were on different ends, dedicated to the mystery of the beast. I had heard one was much more scientific than the other, so I bought a ticket and entered.

I don't think I really need to delve into the history of the Loch Ness Monster. People have been seeing mysterious objects in the lake, and many people reported seeing a dinosaur like object. However, most of these sightings have been misightings of regular, everyday objects. Things like waves, waterfowl, and sticks have all been turned into bits of a prehistoric creature. However, as science advanced, experts have managed to expose many photographs as hoaxes, and teams have swept through the lake with radar teams and taken ecological studies of potential prey such as fish. These studies have come up with one answer: that there cannot be a monster of family of monsters in this loch. However, this hasn't stopped the hordes of tourists who flock to this lake for a chance to view the beast. My museum presented an interesting scientific approach to the Loch Ness Monster, and I was pleased when I exited; but not for long. The town was far enough away from the lake that I could hike to it, but it would be time-consuming and I would be far away from the bus stop. I didn't want to loose the bus stop, so I slowly wandered around this speck of a town for probably two hours before I finally found a bus home.

In Inverness, I had one more goal to complete before I could go back to London: haggis. Haggis is sheeps organs, and is one of the few well-known Scottish dishes. So I ordered a small plate of haggis, tatties and needs (mashed potatoes and turnips.) It actually wasn't that bad, and I was pretty happy to finish off my plate.
Early the next morning I caught the taxi I ordered to the airport. It was actually smaller than Tallahassee's airport, consisting of two gates, both within eyesight of each other. An hour of flight and I was back home in London.

Sruighlea (Stirling)

At around 2:30 I climbed on the metro with a stuffed backpack to head to Scotland. After a few stops, I arrived in Kings Cross. This place was bustling with activity; in addition to the travelers, construction was underway here as well. Many public transportation hubs are under construction in preparation of the 2012 Games, so train stations and metro stops are undergoing heavy-duty reconstruction.

After boarding the train, it didn't take long for us to slowly pull away from the station, picking up speed as we dashed through the countryside. Unfortuanately, some person had been hit by an earlier train, so there were delays throughout our area. This was worrisome because I had a second train connection to make, and didn't know how long I would have to wait if I missed it.

Scotland is the top third of the Isle of Britain, but holds a very small portion of the UK's population.

Geographically it has always been distinguished by two areas, the Highlands and Lowlands. The Lowlands are in the southern area of Scotland, and are flatter. The Highlands covers the northern half of this country, filled with wild rocky mountains. The Highlands has been very rural for thousands of years, but it's people are tough and hearty. Historically, they usually stayed within seperate tribes, otherwise known as clans. Some of you might be able to recognize your historical clan by your last name; names like MacDonald means "son of," so you would be a son of the Donald clan. The Highlands are also home to many of the objects we consider to be quintessentially Scottish:, such as tartan patterns, the kilt, and the bagpipe.

Scottish history is one that filled with courage and bravery in the name of freedom. Some of it's earliest history comes from a foreign empire, of Rome. As the Roman Legions swept through Europe, they found that these northernmost regions were inhabited by a people so fierce that they could not be conquered. According to writings from these times, these people, called the Picts, would coat themselves with blue dye from a special plant, called woad. This coating actually had medical properties, helping blood congeal faster over fresh wounds. This gave way to a truly unique style of fighting; going to war completely buck naked, while the woad was used to paint mystical tattoos that gave it's wearer powers. One can almost picture the look on a Romans soldiers face as the rocky hills of the Highlands were covered with these wild people, completely naked but covered with blue tattoos as they screamed towards battle. This is actually the setting that the recent film The Eagle takes place in. The Romans eventaully built Hadrian's Wall between their territory and these untamed land, and subsequently forgot about them.

Eventaully with the rise of their Anglo-Saxon neighbors to the south, they were technically controlled by the English by 1289, but to use the term "controlled" is to use it in a loose context. Scots were born to be free, and oftentimes rebelled against their English masters. The most famous of these rebels in undoubtably William Wallace. As a teen, his father and brothers were killed in a rebellion against the English. As he became older, he married a woman named Marion. However, one day she was killed by an English sheriff, and Wallace, in a rage, killed every British soldier in the town. Inspiring his fellow countrymen, Wallace led the Scots to victory in several battles against the better-equipped British, but this tale ends in tragedy. After the Battle of Falkirk, Wallace's forces were devastated, and he resigned, going on the lam for six years until he was captured, and later executed. Although his death was meant to inspire fear in any would-be followers, his fighting spirit led to continue their valiant crusade.

Armed rebellions would continue on in several centuries before it ended with the Battle of Cullodeen field in 1746. However, Scotland today is still fighting for it's independence in the poltical battlefield. Recently, they have obtained some level of self-rule, and are beginning to move towards asking for independence. They even have been able to start printing pounds in a Scottish design, and have begun setting up schools to teach Gaelic, their native tounge. Although it may take a long time, I feel pretty confident these people will one day earn their liberty, and all along the train ride, I could see the Scottish flags blowing in the wind.

You've actually seen the Scottish flag before, and you probably didn't realize it.

The Scottish flag, the Cross of St. Andrew.

The Union Jack is composed of three crosses.

Scottish flag

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The Cross of St. Patrick, representing Ireland.

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The British flag, the Cross of St. George

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All three flags combined to create the Union Jack. Or did I just (slightly) blow your mind?

As we passed the border into Scotland, the scene changed dramatically. Suddenly the train was racing along fields of purple heather, which ended at the nearby ocean, as the sun, setting in the far horizon, lit the nearby clouds ablaze with gold and purple. It was beautiful.

 After I changed trains at Edinburgh, I finally arrived in Stirling late Thursday night.

This train station was much smaller than Kings Cross, and it didn't take long to find my way to the road. I had looked up the route to my hostel, which was nearby, and in about five minutes walk I found myself at it's doorstep. I paid my bill and deposited my gear in my room, and met a French couple staying in my room with me. I was exhausted but wanted to explore, so I grabbed my jacket and began to wander.

The town was quite small. Like most small towns in Great Britain, most of the sidewalks were cobblestone, and the couple of main roads streched up the hills. Climbing this hill, I began to make my way to Stirling Castle, where I was planning on visiting in the morning. Before I reached the top, I stopped in a nearby graveyard, just to have a little spooky fun.

After reaching the top and the entrance to the closed castle, I began my descent. Although it was only a Thursday night, people were still out celebrating their freedom after a hard day of work. I passed a pub playing live music, chuckling as I heard the singer bellow out "Johnny B. Good." But as I passed the door, I heard the familiar twangs of a tune I didn't ever expect to hear in this country. Turning around, I entered the pub as they began to play "Sweet Home Alabama." After buying a pint, I began to bellow out the words to that and Johnny Cash and Dobie Gray . In fact, most of it was American music, and I was shocked but thrilled to see the entire pub tapping along and singing with me.

It closed at midnight, so after a half hour's stay I found my way back to my hostel and fell fast asleep.
I awoke the next day, and checked out at around nine. However, the castle opened at 9:30 and the first tour began half an hour later, so to kill some time I bought some breakfast and wandered a little bit more, before climbing up the streets once again. The parking lot was already filling up with coaches and buses, and I picked my way past a statue of King Robert the Bruce, and entered the Castle itself.

I managed to find the meeting point of a free tour a few minutes before it began. As I waited, our guide arrived, wearing of course, a green tartan kilt (tartan is the plaid material used to make kilts; traditionally, the pattern of the tartan corresponded to a specific clan.) He led us through the Castle grounds.

This castle might have been one of many, but it's probably the most historically important castle in all of Scotland. It sits on the border between the Highlands and Lowlands; off one side you can see the plains, and on the other you can see the mountains. Infact, the Highlands used to be surrounded by a peat marsh, making it nearly impassable for an army. I use the word nearly, because there was one method of transportation a force could use to enter this half of Scotland: one small wooden bridge, here in Stirling. And that bridge was protected by Castle Stirling. This led to the saying "He who holds Castle Stirling, will hold Scotland." And people knew it. The Scottish royalty lived here for centuries, strengthening their walls with each successive reign. And the British knew this as well, as they would constantly capture this castle, only to be recaptured by the Scots. This Castle has in fact been sieged sixteen times, and one can see thirteen different battlefields from on top of the Castle.

Three of these battlefields were major ones as well. The earliest one would be the Battle of Stirling, the most infamous victory Wallace ever had. Here, William Wallace and his forces, outnumbered, fought the British forces. As the British was heavily armored and bearing calvary, they were a formidable force on an open field. But the bridge was so narrow, only two horses could cross at a time. This fact was not lost on Wallace; as the English crossed, they sprung into an ambush. The calvary had no room to spread out, and those who tried to fight on the marshy ground sank under the weight of their armor as the lightly armored Scotsman raced around them. What was meant to crush a rebellion turned into a major loss of the British forces and a huge Scottish victory. The second important battle also involves Wallace. Here at the Battle of Falkirk, the Scottish and British faced off once again. But as the British charged, one of the Scottish nobleman's calvary fled, leaving Wallace and his footmen horribly outmatched, and they were slaughtered. This led to Wallace resigning as Guardian of Scotland, and going on the lam. But the third Scottish battlefield has a happier ending. Here, Robert de Bruce fought the British at the Battle of Bannockburn. Here the Scottish were outnumbered one to four. Yet the Scots were cheered into a fury at the sight of Robert de Bruce, and completely decimated the English, securing their independence again and placing de Bruce as King of Scotland.

The castle itself went mostly into disuse after James VI of Scotland became the king of both Scotland and England, moving to London to rule. Afterwards, it was turned into a military barracks during the Napoleon Wars, and these buildings were used to house Scottish regiments. But they remained for a long time after the Napoleonic Wars ended, with the soldiers finally leaving i the 1960s. At that point, it was exchanged to the Scottish Historical Society.

The castle itself was not as big as the Tower of London, but was still full of interesting stories. Take a look at this picture.

Notice the difference in color?
Originally all of the buildings in the castle were this color. It's called King's Gold, and was a sort of paint used for two purposes. First, it helps protect the stone from weathering. But it also helps show the royalty of the king inside of it. Although only one building is covered with this today, one could imagine standing in the courtyard surrounded by this brillant gold.

One could also tour through the Great Hall, where two replica thrones sat...

And the royal residence itself. This giant building was covered with carvings and stonework, decorated with some of the Greek gods and lions, the symbol of Scotland. Although today they are worn, they were also probably painted in their heyday. The insides was filled with some of the objects that would have been in here, as well as some costumed actors whom would could question as to life in this castle.

Before leaving, I stopped by the tapestry room. The Scottish Historical Society had been hard at work, reconstructing this place ever since they acquired it. They had hired expert carvers and painters to reconstruct the decorations in the royal residence, but one of the longest tasks was weaving tapestries. Made to resemble their originals, these huge tapestries were currently being built at the actual castle, and weaving them was no joke; they take an average of four years to complete. After watching them work a little, I climbed back down the castle and got some lunch.

After a quick lunch at Subway, and completely confusing some poor Scottish girl when I asked for "provolone," I made my way to the William Wallace Monument.

This giant tower parades over the town of Stirling, overlooking where his greatest battle, the Battle of Stirling Hill, took place. It is actually said that on top of this hill, known as Abbey Craig, Wallace watched the English cross, and it was here that he gave the signal to attack, sending he and his men down the steep slopes in a charge to victory. The tower was tall but the rooms were quite small, and over two hundred steps took one up several rooms. The first room was the most impressive. Plaques detailed what was known of Wallace's life, but the most impressive piece was Wallace's claymore.

At five and a half feet long, it is estimated that Wallace would have needed to be six and a half feet to wield this monster. The claymore is one of the most infamous weapons Scotland has ever made, and one stroke of Wallace's sword was powerful enough to behead a man.

The top of the tower offered a great view of the nearby landscape, and I could see in the distance the mountains piercing the low clouds, where I would be headed tonight. And so I went back down the tower, and boarded a train to the Highlands.

Wellcome Museum, London Dungeon and Imperial War Museum

Today is another small post day, but not because I have little to talk about. I'm currently sitting in Stirling, Scotland, and I've had a great trip and I've only been here a few hours. But I've written already a massive amount of stuff about Scottish history already and want to keep my sections bite-sized. So I'm going to keep this fairly short, but rest assured the next post or so will be filled with Scottish vacation information.

Wednesday was a double class excursion day. We had to combine two trips into one day because of a scheduling conflict, so in the morning we went to the Wellcome Museum.

This private museum had originally been setup by a Dr. Wellcome, who seemed to be a collector of many things, but mainly had objects relating to issues in medicene and science. His collection had been gathered from every culture, and were filled with oddities.

 Things were presented in an artistic manner. For example, in the obesity section there was a model of a man, whose upper half was covered in huge flags of fat, appearing to be a disgusting human boil.

In the evolution section, there was artwork on display by an artist who depicted humans if they had evolved different, like a a dog or fish. The nervous system section had a photograph of the entire nervous system, with the spinal column arched and the nerves flying out. It was creepy. And then we went into his personal collection, a assortment of what I can only describe as horrors. A mummified person, tattoos collected from the skin they were once attached to. Shrunken skulls, a painting of a childbirth in progress; this museum was disgusting and horrifying.

Don't try to picture these things I'm describing. Think of these kittens instead. You'll be happier.

After looking through the exhibit on human waste and dirt, I left to try to stomache down some food.

A few hours later, we headed to the London Dungeon.

 I'm not sure if this place was ever an actual prison, but today it's more of a haunted house. I had heard it was cheesy, but the girls were still apprehensive about the whole ordeal, so I was made to promise to stay close and in the front of the pack. If anyone knows me, the one thing I am terrified of is mountain lions, but alas for the London Dungeon, they were unaware of this fact and I lead us through the house with a shred of fear. I would crack half-witty jokes the entire time when I felt the atmosphere was a little too frightening, which seemed to be appreciated by the women. Some of it was cheesy, but most of it was pretty good, and one part was actually pretty scary for most of the group, so all in all in was a enjoyable experience for a field trip. Some people had difficulty with it though; one girl not associated with our group fainted before a Sweeny Todd part, possibly due to the heat. Thankfully our group made it out okay.

Thursday we went to the Imperial War Museum.

A giant twin-barreled cannons in the front of a Museum is usually a good sign.

I was much more excited about this museum than the Wellcome Museum, and my hope was not in vain. The museum was utterly fantastic, walking in you were surrounded by tanks and other fighting vehicles.

 Since this was an excursion from our child psych class, we had to first visit the Children in War section. This exhibit was actually quite erie; there was some monuments to those who had died during the London Bombings, the youngest being eleven hours old. It also talked about how children had been evacuated out of London, with many helping the war effort by growing vegetables, and the older ones helping with fire watch or messenging during air raids. I actually got to speak to one gentlemen who had been alive during this time as a child, and his story was quite intriguing. He told me how he actually found the war quite exciting as a child, and that while women would stay in bomb shelters, the men would sit in their houses, stubbornly refusing to head towards safety.

After the Children in War part, I decided to visit the World War I section to cheer me up. This was a fantastic part of the museum; objects from every faction and military force tht served in World War I, models of planes and boats used, even a huge walk-through "trench" to simulate what trench warfare was back in those days.

The walk-in trench demonstration.

Mulling through this took a few hours, and I decided to leave to prepare for my Scotland trip, and return later for World War II and the other exhibits.

But good news! I bought a new camera. So pictures from me next post.

Workday, Piccadilly Circus, and the London Aquarium

Hey everyone,
Sorry for no new post the past couple of days. I spent Monday catching up on a massive pile of work. I read probably around 60-70 pages worth of scientific articles, wrote a paper, and worked on my Normandy traveling plans. So yesterday, my biggest adventure consisted of traveling around Picadilly Circus that evening.

This borough seemed to be a pretty flashy shopping district. I managed to choose which way to wander by simply following the street with the most flashing lights. There were several theatres in this area advertising a couple plays including Les Miserables. There was also an M&M store that was like three stories, filled with cheesy merchandise. The most interesting bit to me was a indoor mall. It was as spacious as the malls back home, but was set on about three different stories. Arcades, food, and shopping filled the tiny boundary stores, with the middle hosted a bungee/trampoline equipment thing. It was neat to travel up and down the escalators watching all the young teenagers play. After this I returned home to do more fun work.

Tuesday in between more work, I went to the London Aquarium.

 It wasn't as good as the aquariums I've seen before, it felt kinda cramped. But we got to see some sharks and penguins and of course some awesome fish, which always makes me pretty happy. One funny bit was the "shark walk." It had been hyped up a little bit, but the shark walk consisted of a couple tiny panes of glass over the tank with sharks. The view was so small you couldn't really see much of anything below, but it seemed like everyone not from Florida were frightened beyond belief at the concept of stepping on this small slab of glass, tip-toeing it as if it were on the verge of shattering.

We also got to see some penguins and other creatures from various ecosystems.

This was literally my Monday and Tuesday, I've been working really hard recently to get my Normandy trip planned and class work done. But I did exciting stuff yesterday and today, and I am leaving for Scotland soon, so I'll have more interesting stuff to post then.

Lanhydrock House, Bath and Stonehenge.

In the late morning we climbed aboard the buses again for a trip back east through Cornwall, with our ultimate destination being the town of Bath. We first stopped at Bodmin. A small town, it historically lay on the border of Bodmin Moor, a wild land frequented with smugglers and thieves. To deal with this, they built a prison there, which is one of the most popular attractions in the town, which also held the Crown Jewels during World War I. The town itself was small and uninteresting, and I must admit I was glad to leave.

Bodmin, complete with a lack of anything or anyone.

We then stopped at Lanhydrock House.

 It was first built as a monastery, but when Henry VIII ended all monasteries with the advent of the Church of England, it became a country home for aristocrats. This large stone building was very popular with the high class until 1945, when the government, in an attempt after WWII to reduce class differences, started giving out higher inheritance taxes. The rich decided instead to sell their estates, which many of them no longer wished to have, to the government. This particular Victorian house is notable because it is not only well preserved, but also still has the servant quarters. We toured the dainty gardens and the mammoth house, filled with antiquities, for a couple of hours before we left again to go to Bath.

We arrived at Bath at around six or so. We were divided into two hostels, with one at each end of the city. Although at first this made us feel isolated, we quickly found that the town was quite small and one could cross it in about fifteen minutes. After going out in search of food, we explored the town a little bit. It was quite pretty; being originally a Roman settlement, one could spot similarities to Rome in some designs. The city ran along a small river, and it seemed like every fifteen yards there was a impressive Gothic church. We wandered around a little bit. It seemed that there were parties going on all over the place; I'm not sure if we stumbled into a festival of some sort, but everyone was definitely dressed up to go out and have a good time. We, however, found a quiet outside restaurant and had dessert as we talked and gazed at the stars, before heading home.

Our previous hostel had been quite nice. This one was not. The entire place was cramped; there was about two rooms on each floor, and every floor had to share one small tiny bathroom. Our room was protected with a five-digit combination and a certain way you had to turn the knob. These safety precautions felt a little extreme and one had to wonder what would cause them to need such a complicated level of security. But then again, maybe it was just our room, as one of the girl's rooms apparently had a single button combination.
The room itself was of course cramped with five bunk beds for nine of us guys. The lumpy mattresses were placed on a steel wire frame with ill-fitting sheets, while a window nearby gazed out into a small alleyway.
The night itself would not prove to be restful as well. Many people could not get their sheets to stay attached to the bed, and seagulls and pigeons harassed our window, screeching at us as we tried to rest. That morning it was agreed that it was one of the worst hostels we had experienced.

After a fast breakfast we visited the Roman Bath. As the Romans invaded Britain, they stumbled upon  a natural hot spring. This spring is unique since it is the only hot spring in the UK, and the Romans, declaring it the work of the Gods and attributing healing powers to the water, began to build around it, first building an elaborate bath, and later a temple nearby.

The water here is actually fed from the spring and is warm. It's green because exposure to sunlight has allowed algae to grow.

The bath was remarkably well-preserved, and helped illustrate how complex these places actually were. Nearby rooms would serve as saunas, pools or dressing rooms. The baths were also more than just places to get clean; they could also be used as places to get haircuts or meet friends or other forms of business. One could also see just how the baths worked, as some of the original lead piping still remained, still supplying the bath with warm water today.

A Roman pipe.

 It was really neat to walk through and see so much of the ruins still operational.

After lunch we boarded the coach and departed to Stonehenge.

Stonehenge was only about an hour away. Even driving up, one could spot the towering stone pillars above a crowd circled around it.

 Our Program Director gave us a quick history of Stonehenge. Although it's purpose is not entirely known, it is believed it was used in conjunction with the winter and summer's solstice, as the sun lines up with Stonehenge during these times. The boulders themselves were hauled from quarries as far as 25 miles away, with stones up to 40 tons, and as this was during the Stone Age, were carved without any metal tools. They were then placed in the ground through a collection of digging with deer antlers, cow shoulder bones, and bare hands, and lifted by wedging wood and small stones beneath it, until they finally finished the colossal structure we see today, after about 300 years of work. The Stonehenge we all know and love is actually the second. The first original one was created around five thousand years ago, but this comparatively newer one isn't really young, as it is three thousand years old.

Today, visitors cannot go walk inside the actual circle, but even just walking outside it's perimeter from a far distance was pretty fantastic. To consider that this place was three thousand years old is utterly mind-blowing to a boy who's country is less than 250 years old. For such a long time, it really had aged incredibly well; although it was covered in spots by moss, and some of the stones had actually fallen, it was nevertheless awe-inspiring. I really badly wanted to leap the rope fence and stand in the middle, but had to restrain myself from doing so.

Today Stonehenge is pretty well protected, but in the Victorian Age of Britain, the idea of preservation was nonexistent  "Discovered" during this age, tourists were encouraged to come here and chisel off pieces of the rock and carve their name into the stone. It was sad to be able to make out one ambitious soul's name on one of the stones, reminding us of the importance of preserving our history.

After an hour we got on board our last bus trip and headed home. We arrived in London in rush hour and slowly slugged through traffic. To pass the time I bet with one of my roommates how long it would take to get back. Sadly, he guessed exactly how long it took, and I was forced to pay the hefty price of two pounds.

And now I'm doing laundry and finishing this before I go to bed. It's nice to be all caught up. More tomorrow!

And as a final note, someone uploaded a picture of me at Tintagel Castle.

What a beautiful landscape. You can see the hills, the cliff I'm on, and the beach below.

Camden, Tingatel Castle, Minack Theatre

This blog starts with Wednesday and hopefully ends with Friday.

That afternoon, my group decided to go to Camden. I decided to tag along because it was supposed to have some neat shops.

After a short bus ride, we were dropped off with the warning to keep an eye on our belongings. It indeed looked sketchy.  Entering a nearby market, we became lost in a maze of tiny stalls blasting music. Stores advertised atypical clothing and leather outfits. Tiny restaurants serving Chinese food and pizza advertised their wares, while those who bought food could sit on seats made of scooter chairs along a waterway. One place offered mystical Native American charms, from tribes such as the Inka and Azteka (that's how he spelled it.) It wasn't really my type of place but it was kind of neat. Some stores were definitely stranger than others, but I don't want to go into details.

Skettcchhhyyyyy.

After this interesting experience we went home, because we had to pack for Cornwall.

This morning we got up early and took two buses to Cornwall. After about five or so hours of driving, we arrived in the town of Tingatel. Cornwall is way different that London. London is quite flat, but Cornwall is full of rolling hills, that suddenly give way to rocky drops. The entire area seems to be agriculturally based as well; flocks of sheep, cows, and horses regularly passed us by. They also had huge wind turbines all over the place, slicing through the air. The town of Tingatel seems to have been built entirely out of flat slabs of rock stacked like bricks; both walls and buildings are constructed from this. After grabbing a giant Cornish brunch, consisting of a fried egg, sausage, bacon, fried bread, baked beans, mushrooms, and black pudding (which is groooosssss) we walked toward Tingatel Castle.

The castle was originally built by a Earl, who built it in this area as a way of asserting English dominance over Cornwall. Cornwall itself is very much like Scotland and Wales in that they think of themselves as a seperate country. Historically it was conquered by the Romans, but resisted the Anglo-Saxon invasions and kept it's independence. It eventaully became known for several products, like tin mining, and especially for the Cornish Pasty. This is the European equivalent of a hot pocket. It's bread wrapped around meat, potato and other foods; the nice idea behind it is that you can build it depending on the tastes of the recepient. It also typically holds a sweet dessert at one end; effectively becoming a meal in one, an ingenious treat to the miners who used to eat this. But this region might be best known for the legends of King Arthur. Although he was a myth, many of the stories of Arthur, his round table, and Merlin are associated with this area. In fact, Castle Tintagel is crucial to this legend. Supposedly, this is where Uther Pendragon, his father, conceived his son, and for centuries it became a shrine to those who wished to visit the place where King Arthur might have grown up. This is perhaps another reason why the Earl built this castle here; although it holds no significant strategic value, it might have associated himself with Arthur, since he embodied everything a British king should be. It is thought that King Arthur could have been the conglomeration of several heroic acts by real kings, thus creating a more fascinating legend.

Walking into the site was breath taking. Jagged cliffs hung over the ocean, while waves crashed forcefuly against the slabs of rock. After a brief introduction, we were off, and I could feel my Boy Scout instincts rise from their stupor, filling me with endless energy. I bounded up the steps, climbing every slab of rock and peering over every edge. Although one could see evidence of the presence of humans: a rocky wall, the rough foundations of a building, these ruins had been mocked by nature and reclaimed as her own. This was a wild, untamed land. And it was ruggedly beautiful. I spent at least an hour and a half jumping up and down the cliffs, having the time of my life.

I swear I have real pictures. I'll get some as soon as people upload their cameras.

After exhausting my group, we decided to head to the beach below. There was some gritty sand here, but it was better than Brighton. And better yet, there were some nearby caves. Thankful I had my boots on, I scrambled in front of the group, finding footholds through treacherously slippery rocks and past pools of saltwater, avoiding the limpets that clung to their rocky homes.

After reaching the end of one cave, I found myself face to face with the pounding sea, and after a brief moment of rest, climbed back though the cave and decided to tackle the second of the two. This one was much more treacherous. At a certain point getting wet was certain, the low ceiling was impossible to see, and the floor was covered in darkness. I got fairly wet, hit my head and fell down, but had a blast. Unfortuanately all this burned up my couple hours of freetime, so after I dried my boots a little, I headed back up the hill and got onto the bus to Newquay.

Arriving in Newquay we got setup in our hostels. Hostles are kind of like rented dorm rooms for traveling youth on a budget. My room was about as large as my single dorm at Landis, with five other guys crammed in here. But the hostel was right on the beach which was nice; we could look out our window and see a proper sandy beach, with people surfing below.

Apparently this town is the surfing capital of the UK. We had been offered the chance to go surfing in the next morning before traveling, but I declined. Although I would be curious to try my hand at surfing, I don't want to do it in freezing water. It's very cold here, about ten degrees Farenheit below the temperature in London. Tomorrow we should be headed to St. Ives I believe, and the Minack Theatre.

Today we had a glorious day sleeping in in the town of Newquay.  After a leisurely brunch, we hopped on the bus again to continue our Cornwall tour. After a few hours we stopped in the town of St. Ives. This town was built along the valleys and peaks of nearby hills next to the ocean.

Walking down into the town entered into tiny roads lined with small buildings and shops. Bakeries advertised sweets and various pasties, and along the waterfront restaurants sold various seafood. We crammed into a seafood restaurant and I ordered my first real traditional Cornish pasty.

 It was pretty good but nothing too fabulous, but I think that goes with all food in the UK.

After we ate, we had to pick up food for the Minack theatre. Being outside, it is encouraged to bring food and picnic, so we picked up sandwiches, crisps (chips), drinks, and a treat from one of the nearby bakeries, before continuing our drive.

Before we went to Minack, we had to stop for pictures at Land's End. This spit of land was the most Westerly point in Britain, and a small computer there tells you how far away you are from any city in the world.

We were about 4,300 miles from Tallahassee, which seemed like a lifetime away. After our quick pictures, we got back onto the bus.

Bus drivers here seem to be psychotic. As I type in this bus, we are lurching around corners, narrowly avoiding cars, and the bus seems to groan through the gears as it climbs each hill. It's actually pretty nauseating, I felt myself go a little sick during the drive, and once we arrived at our destination one girl had to vomit behead a shed.

However, we had finally arrived at Minack Theatre. We climbed down stairs to an open-air amphitheatre.It was built in the side of a cliff with the ocean below.

This impressive piece of work was not built by a team of professional stone masons, but Rowena Cade and her gardener, carving it out throughout Cade's entire lifetime. In the background, the ocean splashed against the rocky cliff, and mountains dropped into the sea in the background. Birds plummeted into the ocean in search of fish as the sun slowly dropped. The stage itself was both composed of original stone-carved props like a table, and one small wooden stage, setup with a table and few chairs. Throughout the play these would be rearranged and pieces would add and disappear in order to create various backdrops. The play itself was The Death of Sherlock Holmes.

The idea of this play came from the life of Holme's creator, Arthur C. Doyle himself. After writing many of the adventures of Holmes and Watson, Doyle became more interested in themes of spirituality, mysticism and fairies. Therefore, Holmes and Watson must solve a mysterious case, stop the evil Moriarty, and save their stories from ending, all at the same time. It was a very interesting idea, and the play was pretty good. It was kind of interesting to see five actors play every role though; many would play four or more roles during the course of the play.

As both the day and play came to a close, we got onto the bus to head to our old hostels in Newquay.