All the World's a Stage

And so begins our new daily structure for the next several weeks. Luggage is to be packed and outside the room at a time set by our intrepid guide, Maria. Our hand luggage, which for us includes our backpacks, my purse and anything else we want to have inside the bus (I mean coach) can be carried down to breakfast. We have an hour to eat, and then it’s on the coach to the next destination. Each hotel offers a British breakfast, included in our fare. This differs only slightly from hotel to hotel and generally includes the following: eggs (both fried and scrambled), potato cakes, fried tomatoes, braised mushrooms, various types of toast and breads, porridge, cold cereal, yogurt (plain and flavored), fruit, bacon (more like ham), sausages (blood and otherwise), juices, and usually coffee from machines making any type of coffee you wish. I became addicted to morning cappuccino and I especially loved the mushrooms and tomatoes. Blood sausage and rashers of bacon, not so much. But there was plenty of food and no one went hungry.

Our first day took us to Stratford-Upon-Avon, to the birthplace and burial place of William Shakespeare. Our guide Maria, proved to be a terrific storyteller, with a solid grasp of British history. She is very organized, and rotated our seating on the coach so that everyone had a turn on either side and time in the front, the middle and the back. We started fairly close to the front. Maria introduced the concept of British manners by explaining how very polite the British are, and counseling us to understand that while it is mostly sincere, gangsters are also polite. She explained the history of English tea, and that it is not just a beverage, but a therapy, similar to valium, and that we should always accept tea if offered. She told us that one could discern the posh people from the peasants by how they added milk to their teacup: the posh add milk first before the tea because they have their tea in bone china and the milk cools the cup so it doesn’t break when the hot tea is added. Kevin, our driver, who admits to being happily peasant, adds his milk second.

As we rode along, we noticed the sheep. Loads of sheep. Tons of sheep. Good lord—how many sheep could there be?! This was common throughout the trip. There were certainly cows and horses, but sheep are legion.

On the way to Stratford-Upon-Avon, Maria explained to us that Shakespeare began life somewhat poor, but his station improved somewhat because his father made some money by having an illegal dungheap. But then he was caught and the family were poor again. I can think of many ways to earn an illegal living, but an illegal dungheap had never occurred to me. Once Shakespeare made his living writing, he upgraded the family home into one of the most modern for its time, so he had the last laugh. There has long been debate whether Shakespeare was actually the author of all the works attributed to him, but since no one has proved anything either way, the British seem perfectly happy to give him full credit.

Bob and I went into Shakespeare’s home and garden and took the tour, which has been lovingly preserved. His remains are buried in the Holy Trinity Church, so we decided to walk over to it to see that as well, sprinkling Mom along the way. This is known as Shakespeare’s Church, and is part of the Church of England. Shakespeare was baptized, worshiped and is buried here. The Church bills itself as very open to visitors, and they are as good as their word. We arrived on a Sunday just as their worship service was coming to a close. They noted a time when visitors would be welcome to enter the church to come to the alter to see Shakespeare’s burial place, but it was an hour after we were to have left. Bob, of course, talked his way into having one of the parishioners lead us to the alter, so we had a private viewing to see the headstone and take a picture. On the way back to the coach, it began to rain.

Rain and cold weather were a constant during our trip. Mostly, the rain only lasted a short while, and the British don’t seem to notice it much. To be sure, Britain is a richer color of green than in the US. The temperatures hovered around the 50’s and 60’s, even when the sun graced us, but it did seem to follow a pattern. Mornings were usually a bit cloudy, followed by some early sun, then afternoon rain showers, clearer evenings, more rain around bedtime, then repeat. Since the rain never seemed to go on for long, we got used to it.

Did I mention that on June 2 through June 5 the whole of Great Britain is celebrating Queen Elizabeth's Platinum Jubilee? She will be the first monarch to celebrate 70 years on the throne and everyone is very excited about this. The Queen is deeply loved and everyone is quick to tell you about her charity work, her love of animals, her service in WW2, and her ability to steer clear of controversy. There are posters of her everywhere.

After Stratford, we headed back to the coach for York. More long fields of sheep. I will say that Britain has very good roads. Minimal potholes, but very narrow. I was grateful every day that I didn’t have to drive that coach, and Kevin was a master. One of the constants was finding a toilet on the trip. And they are called toilets. Don’t ask for a rest room. That’s where you rest. Bathrooms are where you bathe. When you want to pee, you ask for a toilet. The coach had one, but it was very small, and we were cautioned to use it only if we were desperate. I can say with pride that neither Bob nor I ever saw the inside of it. Once we reached York, we discovered that there one must pay to pee. 40 pence to use the toilet. As I was struggling to identify the proper pence from my coins, I noticed that the toilets take credit cards. Score!

In York, we walked along the Shambles. This is an old, winding street with overhanging, timber-framed buildings going back as far as the fourteenth century. Once known as the Great Flesh Shambles, the name came from the many butcher shops set up there. Now it is filled with quirky shops selling all manner of interesting items. It is considered one of the best medieval shopping streets in Europe. We didn’t buy anything but were fascinated by the variety of things for sale.

That night, we stayed at the Jury’s Inn in Bradford, England. The idea was that we would be able to eat dinner in their restaurant, but there were some crossed wires, and the restaurant was closed once we got there. So most of our traveling group walked a short distance to an English pub called Turl’s Green Pub. I probably would not feel terribly safe in a random bar in the US, but on this trip, I felt very much at home in any pub we wandered into, and we wandered into a lot of them. Turl’s was wonderful. Bob and I were immediately identified as American by our accents, and everyone was so nice, so interested in us, and so much fun to talk to, that it was almost embarrassing. We were family. We had a delicious baked chicken, loads of fun conversation, were given ideas of where to go next and what to do. It was obvious that these people were proud of their little town and wanted to tell us all about it. We got hugs when we left.

Our fellow coach travelers come from all over the world. Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, South Africa. But the majority are Americans. Most are older, but there are a number of younger folks. We are starting to get to know each other and everyone seems to be enjoying the trip so far. Maria keeps us amused, entertained, and educated about the next stop, and Kevin gets us through the tight roads safely. We’re so glad we came. Tomorrow we head to Scotland.