'Pile of Stonehenge! So proud to hint yet keep thy secrets'- William Wordsworth
Tuesday 3rd January, 2017.
Oh my Jesus was this morning a bit chilly and early, but it did pay off.
We had a 6:30am wake up to get the Underground to Gloucester Road and meet our tour guide Rosie for the 8am bus to Stonehenge, Bath and through the English Countryside.
Stonehenge was something spiritually absorbing. These stones that are believed to be 5000 years old are resting in what seems to be in the middle of nowhere but nevertheless perfectly compliments the English hills and farm lands.
Finally, after five days in the city we got out into the crisp English air. It was about ten-ish when we arrived yet it felt as though it was 8am as the sun was still stretching awake and the frost refused to leave the comforting embrace of the grass blades. Yet, the colour palette was extraordinary, 'postcard' perfect as they say, with the sun peaking through stones that will hopefully eternally stand. Nothing to be heard except for the modern clinks and clanks of the other tourists with the ignorant moans and groans of children. But peace prevails and fulfils the atmosphere of the region.
Definitely something every anglophile and/or wayward traveller should experience.
Sometimes, a perfect combination of the omnipotent's creation and the creation of man marries and reflects peace, spirituality and something powerfully calm. This is what we need even today, so much more today.
* * *
We popped back on the bus and after an hour and a bit we arrived in the architecturally unified beauty of Bath. Rosie gave us 3hrs to explore on our own this city.
Of course you can't explore Bath without visiting the baths themselves. The fusion of ancient Roman baths that were revitalised by the Georgians was interesting to say the least. The Georgians and the Romans believed that the hot springs possessed healing qualities that would mend all ailments and was often prescribed by doctors throughout the Georgian period. The water itself was perfectly warm as it invited the visitor into its calming properties. It would have been nice if we could still swim, even though they are ancient baths, after being in a terribly chilling winter, warm water is welcomed at any time! Yet, the archaeology is too fragile and priceless to risk many thousands of tourists swimming and ruining the heritage listed city.
After this we went on a bit of a self guided city hike, through the traditional Georgian centre with a not so traditional lunch of Hawaiian pizza. The Circus and the Royal Crescent are the most expensive areas in Bath that house politicians, millionaires, actors and businessmen who are aligned one by one in exactly the same Georgian architecture which emanates the British ideals of sameness, uniformity and conservatism with a pinch of privilege that has in some cases trickled down to today. Definitely different to the relatively 'modern' buildings back home in Australia.
Within an hour, brother dearest and I parted ways. I wandered down to the Jane Austen Centre to have a lil' tour about her life, writings, family and spinsterhood. The staff were very eager in their regal period costumes and similarities to Austen's characters, yet it must seem Mr Darcy was absent, as was Mr Bingley who is my favourite. With a quick browse, a few pictures and a nibble at some Georgian butter biscuits, I waltzed back through the cobbled stone streets and arrived near the meeting point to catch up with Carl. And guess where I found him, yes, guzzling down a pint of some local lager in a small corner pub about 3m x 3m wide. In this moment I discovered that this was his 5th pint in the last hour which equates to about 2 and a bit litres of beer. Yes, yuck, exactly what I was thinking. This amount of liquid would soon have grave consequences for him but hilarious observations for me.
We hopped back on the bus, when about 30 mins into the journey back, Carl loudly (due to his mild drunkenness) screeches that he needed to pee...alot.
The tension, the pressure, the pain, builds and builds and builds until I am apprehensive that my brother, a fresh 18 year old almost man is about to pee himself in front of 20 strangers we had only spent the last 4 hours with. Yet our only interaction with everyone seemed to be as little as breathing the same air as them.
He was curled up with his hands down his pants to try and do as much as possible to stop international humiliation. So, he then races up to Rosie asking when we were about to stop, and then goes back to ask her if we could stop earlier because he was well past breaking point. Once we reached the servo, he waddles speedily to the bathroom as though he had a stick shoved in an uncomfortable part of his body. Once he finished up it was as though he had been spiritually enlightened, as though he had received some sort of divine revelation. Holy guacamole, I have never laughed that much I swear, as usual it ended past the point of tears and aching stomachs.
We ended in London with a flaky and processed sausage roll for dinner, which seemed to be a skinless frankfurt sausage wrapped in cardboard puff pastry that probably had been hardening there in its warming rack the whole day. Delicious!
Anyways, before I leave you, I would like to present a literary picture of the English Countryside which was divinely beautiful and magical, even in winter.
The colour palette of the landscape is gorgeous and unique with emerald greens of the earth, pastel blues trimmed with baby purples of the sky cuddling up to one another. The soft blood orange and peach light falls upon the wired tree branches. These winter months refuse the necessity for greenery and floral blossoming as the apricot sunset kisses all within its path and glorifies the months often hated...
No comments:
Post a Comment