Vetus Scotia

Sigh...so now I’m behind again on my blog. It’s not that I don’t like writing it, I swear! It can be hard to find the time amongst the planning, partying, and sightseeing. But it’s important, for me as well as you (since because you are reading this, you must read my blog to keep up), so here goes!

When one steps out of the train station in Edinburgh (as I did on the 9^th of October), the position of the station alone is enough to inspire an instant sense of awe. Situated in the valley between the old and new cities, you are literally surrounded by this city’s history, imposing architecture, and bustling activity. Unfortunately my only stop in Scotland, I had not intended to fall in love with the history, landscape and people of this country, and it was not until that first step out of the station, that I immediately regretted my decision to make this a short stay. Easily finding the tourist information centre not a block from the station, I received a map, directions to my hostel, and booked a day tour to Loch Ness, as well as the Edinburgh Pass (more on that later). Walking a grand total of five minutes to my hostel, I admired Edinburgh’s distinct, compact size along the way. Built within walls to protect against English invasion, the city grew upwards, resulting in streets of four and five storey buildings not as common to more sprawling old English cities. Ironically, the stone used to build these towering buildings often came from the already paper thin wall, leaving gaps in the defences so that when the English DID invade, they had only to walk through the conveniently places holes to enter the city. My hostel (the St. Christopher’s Inn) was well situated, on the old town side of the train station, literally across the street from one of the entrances to the station. I was immediately struck by the friendliness of the staff but hey, the receptionist at the time was a Canadian, so we got along well. It turns out that the company which runs the St. Christopher’s chain of hostels, also runs the chain of Belushi’s Bars, meaning there is one in every hostel, also meaning there are no self catering kitchen facilities. Sorry, one second, let me get this out of my system now... “BOOOOOOOO!!!” What a terrible thing to do to travellers on a tight budget. Instead, you have the option to order from the bar fare menu, at slightly reduced prices. Again, Boo on you St. Christopher’s Inns! As it turns out, it wasn’t a big deal as cheaper, better (albeit greasier food) could be had for much less in local ma’ and pop shops. After filling up at the hostel on an ‘Aussie Burger’ (burger with fried egg, beetroot, bacon, mayo, and tomato), I wandered the city for a while, falling for its antique charm, before deciding that in a city as culturally different from all my previous stops, it was time to take in some truly local cuisine. After some looking on the internet, this took me to a ‘Tattie’ shop just around the corner from my hostel. For those unacquainted, tattie refers simply to potato, either mashed or baked. Served as I experienced it in the more traditional Scottish way, it is baked, cut open, covered in butter, and then heaped on with a pasta salad of your choice. I don’t know how the people here aren’t larger than Texans... It was delicious (as promised by reviewers on the internet), but was somewhat akin to eating out of a mayonnaise jar. While I enjoyed the local delicacy, the shop owner and another local engaged in an activity I later learned is called “taking the piss”. Now before your minds race off to the inevitable conclusion, this basically refers to completely offensively, without regard to others in the vicinity, with all possible vulgarity, insulting each other. Insulting each other’s appearance, job, income, quality of product, pretty much anything you can think of (although the family does seem – thankfully – sacred). After a few seconds of complete confusion, thinking a Scottish brawl was seconds from fruition before my eyes, I realized these two men were joking, and all awkwardness now aside, enjoyed the free entertainment with my meal. For £4.50, it was terrific value, and while a ‘medium’, I can confidently say it would have fed two people. Score one for local dining! I very uncomfortably dragged myself back to the hostel where I planned the next day and relaxed.

The next morning was spent browsing the many textile shops on The Royal Mile, the street which spans the distance from Edinburgh Castle, and Holyrood Palace. While not an Imperial mile, it is 1976.5 yards, and is the basis for the Scottish mile. Numbering easily in the 20s, the shops all seemed to carry the same merchandise, and most of the time at the same prices. Giving up on trying to find a scarf with the tartan of the non Scottish Foster surname, I capitulated and got myself a lovely lamb’s wool of some unknown but very attractive tartan (if it is indeed a real tartan). Come noon, I met with Derek Huffman, a friend of my brother’s and someone with whom I have not had much opportunity to meet with in the past. Originally a local of Dartmouth, he now hails from Duns, an hour south east of Edinburgh. Always up for taking a Canadian around Scotland, we decided to get out of the city, and headed to Dirleton Castle, in Dirleton. A picturesque ruined castle, it was designed for defence, but also luxurious living within. I was more than happy with the chance to see some of the Scottish lowlands from the road, and noted to myself that this was my first time in a car that I didn’t have to pay for since I left home. Intending to stop into a local pub for a bite to eat, rude service warned us away, and we instead stopped for fast food on the way back. Returning back to Edinburgh by around 3:00, I hiked to the top (not as impressive as it sounds) of Calton Hill, almost at the very centre of the city. Extremely confused at the quantity of women in baggy, similarly coloured clothing, I warily explored the plateau, discovering that a rally for women’s suffrage was taking place. Trying to ignore the pounding drums and weird looks from a whole lot of women, I took my photos and headed to the Nelson Monument which offered the best view of Edinburgh available for only a climb of 143 steps and a small admission. After taking some expansive panoramics (viewable on my photo site) I returned to street level, I hopped aboard the city sightseeing bus for an overview of the city which I knew relatively little about. Once again, the open topped busses offered a great way to quickly see the city, learn some great local history, and plan further excursions. Feeling the pangs of hunger once again, I decided I should make up for my earlier indiscretions with fast food, and try local cuisine once again. To the locals, a shop which sells “fish and chips” (but also a whole range of other deep fried delicacies) is known as a ‘chippy’. While this may seem a little crude to a North American (especially considering that the people working in a ‘chippy’ are known as ‘chippies’), here it only means that they sells various fried goods and chips. And good they are! I went all in, and ordered a true Scottish meal; deep fried haggis with chips and Irn Bru. Haggis: the heart, liver, and kidney of a sheep, traditionally stuffed in the stomach with oats and spices, then boiled, or thrown directly into the fire; more modern cooking methods omit the stomach step. Not traditionally deep fried, haggis is quite low in fat, and high in nutrients. Irn Bru: the national soft drink of Scotland, it is the only beverage which in an entire country outsells Coca Cola. It glows bright orange, tastes somewhat like cream soda, and has more colourants starting with ‘E’ than are allowed for sale in the US, as the company recently discovered when trying to export to foreign markets. Now THAT was a meal! Haggis – it turns out – is delicious, and even now, I find myself missing it. Maybe I’ll have to find out how to make it myself and subject anyone who cringes at its nasty description to its amazing taste. I can only describe it as spicy meatloaf, and it’s quite healthy (when not deep fried of course...)! Full, but definitely with room for dessert, I topped off with another Scottish tradition, deep fried Mars bar. Again, this delicacy can only be described as delicious beyond words, and since that doesn’t tell you much, I guess you’ll have to try it for yourself (which I heartily recommend, but your heart does not, as the fat packed into these local treats is astounding, putting even McDonald’s to shame).

Sunday was my day to let someone else do the planning for me, and for £30 I took a minibus tour north to Loch Ness, home to (or not) the (in)famous Loch Ness Monster. The tour was run by Haggis tours, a company priding itself on its ‘youth oriented’, fun, exciting tours. Simply said, it is not a tour run by a boring guide who mindlessly spews information. Our tour guide (Debs) was both the driver and guide for all 28 aboard, and dramatically presented any information she had while skilfully navigating the bus through the city, lowlands, and highlands. On various stops on the way there and back, we learned a semester’s worth of history on   Scotland, stopping off at various important places such as Glencoe, the commando monument, and Pitlochry. On the Loch, for an additional £10 you can take in a one hour cruise on the loch, learning from the boat captain about the history of the Loch, the Monster, the efforts to find the Monster, and the captain’s own intimate experience with the Monster. Ok, ok...not THAT kind of intimate experience. He claims to have 20 or so odd photos of the Monster, but refuses to release them to the press fearing that humanity would take its toll on such a mystical species. He claims that his sonar (in action on every cruise) has spotted 18 individual monsters in the Loch, and cites similar sightings in at least five other countries, Canada included, in three of its lakes. One man’s personal testimony can be very convincing; however one must realize he has a slightly vested interest in the existence of an undiscovered creature. Monster or not, I quite enjoyed the cruise, taking in the grand scale of the scenic vistas. The return trip took us across a bridge next to the Forth bridge, the world famous cantilever rail bridge, the first bridge in the UK to be constructed entirely of steel, eventually giving inspiration for the Eifel tower. We were back in Edinburgh by 8PM. Just enough time to get back to the hostel for a quick supper and go out for a ghost tour of the old city and under crofts. I do believe the few who expressed their dissatisfaction with the tour in York were expecting a tour more like the one upon which I was about to embark. Every city in the UK has a dark history; in fact any European city with history of the plague has a terrible history of death, suffering, and traged; but none so far have quite had the dark history of Edinburgh. The tours and various museums proudly display Edinburgh’s history of torture, while others soberly document the astonishing numbers of people afflicted by the plague and other waves of illness to sweep through Edinburgh. A labyrinth of tunnels was built under the city in the 18^th century to store goods for merchants, but it was discovered that the porous stone and lack of waterproofing allowed too much water to seep in, and the goods were spoilt. The vaults were then used by the poor for accommodations, sheltering from the elements, but allowing disease and crime to run rampant. Such horrible stories do these vaults contain within their stone walls, I haven’t the conscience to write some of the terrible stories I learned on the tour on my blog (although I delighted in telling my mom on the phone). The tour takes you through all of this and more, the guide delighting in telling you all the dark stories of death, but in contrast to the York tour, very emotionlessly telling you about the hauntings; the hoards of people who have since emerged from the vaults with similar injuries; the white witches who have tried to contain the evil spirits only to stumble out coughing blood. Fun times! Hilariously enough, I did leave feeling quite sick, but I insist that I entered the vaults with a tickle at the back of my throat. Oh wait, that’s not hilarious at all. Oh crap, I’m sick again.

And the next morning, sick I was. Unfortunately this was the day I had picked to use my all day pass in Edinburgh, a pass which for a set price, gets you into as many of the listed attractions as you can manage in one day, all for the initial price. Somehow pulling myself out of bed around 11 (a feat considering my headache and sore throat) I endeavoured to see as much as I could to get my money’s worth. First stop was the Edinburgh dungeon, not the actual site of a dungeon, it is where “chilling tales and petrifying aspects of our history are reenacted, providing eerie, spine-chilling fun for anyone who dares enter the world of the Dungeons”. So what they MEANT to say is that is the most theatrical, high budget, non-kid friendly, wank-fest for haunted house makers in Europe. Based loosely on history, a talented (if not over the top) group of actors attempts to embarrass every member of the group (around 20 per tour) and takes you through a haunted house with an impressive set and series of events designed to make any young kid need priority exit and night time supervision for at least a week. The beginning was funny, a mock trial in which individuals from the tour were found guilty on charges ranging from dancing naked in the woods (obviously a witch) to cross dressing. The whole thing takes around half an hour, and culminates in the guilty (that’s everyone in the group) being “hung” in the dungeon’s latest “attraction”, the “Drop ride to Doom”. Essentially a theme park ride which elevates you, then lets you free fall, it is supposed to give you the idea that you are being hung at the gallows...how morbid... Participation is optional, but I decided what the heck, I WAS trying to get the most for my money on the Edinburgh pass. Boring. Next. A few Advil later, I was on to my next attraction, the Camera Obscura. A camera obscura (of which there are many in the world) has a mirror at the top of a tall building, projecting the light into the building on a table where it can be viewed, the mirror swivelling to provide a 360 degree view. The camera itself is very cool, but it’s the four floors leading up to it that are the most fun, filled with optical illusions, distorting mirrors and lenses, and visual peculiarities. I can proudly say it is the first time I saw the hidden image in one of those magic images, where you have to stare like an idiot for ages until some image magically pops out at you. I figured out the trick when I spotted the reflection of a light in the glass, and focused on that. Voila! Hurray for David! The next stop was the 3D Loch Ness Experience. Having a hard time finding it due to poor directions in the guide book, I asked a cabbie for directions and had to laugh at the expression I received when he though I asked how to get to Loch Ness (geographical knowledge required for a laugh here). Finding it, I found myself in a comfortable theatre learning about the history of exploration in Loch Ness, the original sightings, and the quest to discover the extremely elusive monster. As I remember, that was the last thing I did with the pass, but with a bit of time between then and now, and being quite sickly tired, the rest of the late afternoon is a blank as I hazily got back to the hostel, and slept until around 10PM. Feeling much refreshed, I stayed up until quite late, enjoying a great phone call with my family, eventually going to sleep for a short while before my 6AM bus to the airport. Next stop, the Emerald Isle.

North, and the end of the road in England

So this time, it really HAS been a while since I’ve written anything. Manchester, York, Newcastle and Edinburgh, and Dublin, gesh, I think I’m going to have to split this up!

Manchester is a city famous for football, curry, and for being what some call England’s 3^rd city. First impressions (such as mine) stepping off the train are bleak. A formerly highly industrial city, it is in the process of prettifying itself. After a city like Birmingham where the city has taken its new image seriously, investing heavily in a more aesthetically pleasing city centre, Manchester’s centre was a sight for sore eyes. Like other UK cities, the buildings are old, but here they look unkempt, and dirty, covered in the soot of an industrial city, a soot which other cities have since cleaned. Finding my hostel (another Hatters) I settled in for a while, enjoying the free internet. Looking for things to do amongst the brochures in the hostel and online (www.wikitravel.com has proven to be amazing), I suddenly had regrets over my extended stay. I found there to be a distinct lack of things one can do in Manchester. No eclectic jewellery district, no cool chocolate factory, no super modern shopping centre in the middle of the city. Wait...am I comparing Manchester to Birmingham? I suppose I am. Two cities with similar histories, I guess I expected them to be much the same. Unsure of what to do, I decided on a walk around the city to see what was what. I found the canal system to be similar to Birmingham, having been recently renewed, however the amount of garbage in the canals was disgusting, massive flotillas of trash occupying each lock. Dispirited, I returned to the hostel where I met some friendly people visiting from France and went out for a drink and supper. Here I was first introduced to Printworks. Formerly the site of (you guessed it) print works, it is now a roofed main street with many pubs, clubs, and bars. The security presence is heavy, and the atmosphere changes from establishment to establishment while the general feeling in the air is of carefree partying.

Friday, Manchester showed its true colours and the skies opened with a good rainfall. Nevertheless I walked the 3 miles to the Imperial War Museum North, located near Old Trafford, the famous home to Manchester United Football Club. The war museum’s building itself is a statement about war, supposed to represent a ‘shattered earth’, it’s three curved surfaces which would come together to form part of a globe. Inside is the second largest collection in Britain (after the London Imperial War Museum) of war memorabilia, weapons, and tools, from early empire, to modern day. Impressive about the museum is not the size of its collections, but the method of presentation. The displays are not interactive, but packed with information for reading. This would usually annoy me, but the museum more than makes up for this with hourly shows called “The Big Picture”. Featuring photographs from their extensive archive, seats line almost every wall in the main gallery and pictures are displayed on almost every wall. Three show run (so staying for 3 hours is more than worth it) covering the weapons of war, children in war, and war on the home front. Intense imagery combined with firsthand accounts, startling sound effects, and suspenseful music make the 15-20 minute shows a riveting insight into war. The museum quite clearly demonstrates that their purpose is not to glorify war, to hail achievements in technology, or to applaud the success of military campaigns, but to question war, its purpose, and what we achieve in warring. I had a tear in my eye as an elderly lady discussed having to leave home in London during the bombings, and what adapting to life was like without her parents. A striking display shows a map of England, with lines indicating levels of destruction around Manchester if a nuclear bomb were detonated over city centre, and below the display is a nuclear bomb which if active, would cause the described destruction. Refreshing to me was that it was not a captured Soviet bomb, or a Middle Eastern made “dirty bomb”, but a British bomb which was used to train British pilots to wipe cities from the map. A refreshing view on this history of humanity’s inhumanities, it is well worth the visit, especially since admission is free. Taking the tram back to city centre, I met again with my French friends for drinks and a night on the town.  This day was revealing to me as I realized that to the West of the main city, exists a rebuilding area, shunning downtown life in favour of a more glamorous, modern way of life. The old city stone is abandoned in favour of the glass monuments to the future. This is a shame to me, in a city where the old stone buildings hold so much potential for development, if only they were cleaned and utilized.

More than a little hung over on Saturday, I had a quiet day wandering the city, seeing what there was to see (especially to the west), and going to supper at an Indian restaurant near the ruins of the old Roman fortress. Nothing remarkable there, day done.

Sunday morning was a train to York, a stop I hadn’t initially planned, but was very glad for. Home to the famous York Minster, the architecture, good maintenance, and good management all make York a stunning city to explore. First impressions out of the train are nothing but amazed as the cobbled streets stretch out in every direction, winding through every age of architecture. First priority is always the same, find a map, find out where I am, and find out where my hostel is. Conveniently located at the York train station, the tourist info people gave me a map and walking directions along the beautiful River Ouse to my hostel, a 15 minute walk from the city centre. The hostel itself it an older complex of three buildings, all attached by pedways (which apparently Word spell check doesn’t recognise). With a free buffet style cooked breakfast, free Wi-Fi, and a pretty cheap rate, it was an excellent deal (which was refreshing after the pricier rates in the bigger cities). Back in town without my heavy bag, I explored the streets, saw the sights, and set about reuniting myself with one of my longest love affairs. Finding a local electronics store, I bought a cheap mp3 player, and went to the Sony Store for a pair of noise cancelling headphones. Now feeling technologically up to date (and financially a little lighter) I went to a little pub for some pie (remember pie over here doesn’t necessarily refer to dessert), a pint, and to figure out my new purchases. Sitting at the side of the picturesque river, I enjoyed reading while families walked by, boats hummed down the water, and the sun slowly set. As the sun sunk from the sky, I was introduced to a sensation that unfortunately won’t go away until Christmas. With a little wind running along the river, it was COLD! Packing up and walking quickly back to the hostel, I barely kept warm in an undershirt, shirt, and windbreaker. Since then, it has never truly been warm outside, and I am usually wearing a sweater. Luckily my sleeping bag was warm, and brought me a toasty night of sleep.

Feeling lazy, and planning for a later night, I slept in past breakfast, getting out of bed at 10ish on Monday, wandering into town to see the most impressive sight the city has to offer, the Minster. There has been a church on the site for around a thousand years, and it was also the site of the Roman headquarters where Constantine was declared Emperor after the death of his father while visiting York. The Minster is so large and intricate, I found it hard to comprehend its construction in the 13^th century. Everything from its intricate carvings, to its extensive stained glass, and its high arched ceilings are awe inspiring. While it is amazing to someone visiting in the 21^st century, imagine how a worshiper in the 14 century must have felt. It must have indeed inspired a sense of God’s greatness in the immense pillars alone which hold up the main tower. A short 275 step climb to the top of the main tower, and you are rewarded with a view of the whole city from the city’s highest point. Unfortunately, the steps are so narrow, people cannot pass, so you must go up and down as a group. Apparently someone near the middle of an earlier group suffered an attack of claustrophobia, and could not go any further up the stairs, requiring that the whole group behind her go back down to the bottom. To put it bluntly, that sucks. Also available for viewing at the Minster (or rather under the Minster) are the ruins of the Roman headquarters. The Roman settlement was destroyed by the Vikings who later inhabited the area, and built upon later by a Norman church, only lasting a couple hundred years before construction of the Gothic building we know now began in 1220 (lasting until satisfactory, and consecrated in 1472). In 1969 a survey of the church discovered that the central tower was near collapse because of an insufficient foundation. The Minster’s floor was torn out, and excavated a storey below. Here they built massive concrete collars which bear the weight of the main pillars, preventing any future movement. During excavation, they discovered extensive ruins of the foundations from both the Roman building, and the Norman church. These were removed where the collars were to go, and replaced on exhibition between the pillars. The collections under the church are well worth a view for both the Roman and Norman history.

Looking to discover more of the Viking history of the area, I went to what is known as the Jorvik Experience, a slow ride taking you through a recreation of York in Viking times using artefacts found on the site. The whole site built over by buildings, you travel underground where much of the ground is still exposed the way it was left when the archaeological digs were completed. This makes the tour a little smelly, at times smelling like a damp basement, and at times, slightly worse (I’m sure they discovered a few old latrines during their digs...). The interpretation centre after the ride provides you with further information, including the chance to examine a Viking skeleton, and see the effects of different weapons on this highly scarred body (apparently our Viking friend laid out before us was a fighter). After a very yummy pork sandwich, I took a quick visit to the National Rail Museum. The biggest in the UK, it has a very impressive collection, outlining the history of rail in a country famous for its pioneering of all things on tracks. The building itself was once part of the York train system, storing locomotives off its three turn tables. Now, it holds an overwhelming number of engines including the Flying Scotsman, and in a separate building it holds coaches from all through the ages, including most of the Royal coaches in British history. While the information panels assume that you know a certain amount about trains and it would certainly be more exciting for someone who knows a good deal about trains, it can be a fun visit for anyone.

I took an evening stroll through The Shambles, a street lined with timber framed buildings, many of which are slowly tipping forwards. I am told that due to a building formerly being taxed by the footprint it occupies, buildings were built with a small footprint, subsequent levels overhanging the bottom a bit more level by level. In The Shambles, this has resulted in the buildings on each side of the street bending inwards close enough that you could shake hands from the top floors across the street. A tiny Italian restaurant here served up a very yummy (although nothing terribly special) dinner, all at a reasonable price. Starting with bruchetta covered with roasted tomato, mozzarella and anchovies, I had a fettuccini for my main course, followed by pistachio gelato. I can’t remember the name of the place, but it wouldn’t be hard to find as it is the only Italian restaurant in the shambles, and I would recommend it for its quiet ambiance, and generous portions. I headed to meet up with a ghost tour departing from the Minster, at only around £4 it was a hilariously entertaining experience. Led by a man who was all jokes and humour one moment, then a dramatic and mysterious story teller the next, we travelled the streets of York, hearing tales of the plague, greed, witches and torture. For a laugh, and for the history, it was an enjoyable two hours, although a few people who stuck around at the end of the tour felt otherwise and told him quite bluntly how they felt they did not get their money’s worth. How awkward...

York was one of the stops where I feel like I saw everything I wanted to, but I could have stayed longer. While it is a gorgeous old city, it is unpretentious and most of the residents are quite friendly. Prices are not hugely overinflated, and there is plenty to do for all ages. This plus the picturesque scenery, and this is definitely a place where I could see myself living if life were to take me to the UK.

From York, I continued my trek north, heading to Newcastle upon Tyne, my last stop in England. Visitors to Newcastle often leave the city confused as to whether or not they really liked the city. Another formerly industrial city, it is modernizing its image to attract its own share of tourists, cultural attractions, and businesses. I arrived to a very bleak city, rainy, cold, and windy. Quickly finding my way to the wonderful Albatross Hostel only a 5 minute walk from the train station, I was greeted by the friendliest staff I have met yet at a hostel. Seriously, these people had the readiest smiles, and were just looking for an excuse to laugh. Getting rid of my gear, I hunkered down in the hostel for a while to search for things to do and places to go. Having arrived mid afternoon in the middle of more rain, I took the evening off, only venturing out to grab a bite to eat.

Setting out in the morning, I wandered the city, taking in the sights of a city based around the river. In what is quickly becoming my favourite thing to do in a new city, I got hold of a map, pocketed it, and wandered in every which direction until I was as lost as possible. Unfortunately, Newcastle is like Halifax, in that downhill always leads to water, making it impossible to get lost. It is a lovely city however, craftily integrating the old with the new. Quite common are 300 year old buildings with modern glass extensions or entrances. While some would see this as a spoiling of the old aesthetic of the city, I see it as a brilliant compromise to the problem of an aging city which wants to show a new and progressive face. My first stop in learning about the city was the Discovery Museum. Celebrating some 80 years of existence, the museum is entirely focused on the history of Newcastle as it tracks the local population through recorded history. It also has exhibits on the history of Newcastle’s music scene, naval endeavours, industrial activities, and more. It is well geared to all ages with mature exhibits for adults while incorporating fun interactivity for the younger crowds. Oh, and did I mention it was free? Something which struck me was the presence of employees with intellectual disabilities. I have noticed this at a few UK museums where there are disabled employees performing repetitive but important duties. At the Imperial War Museum I not only noticed these individuals pushing carts around refilling all the brochure holders, but was greeted by a very friendly lady who proceeded to explain to me the many ways the museum could be viewed. While unlike some staff she probably won’t be able to recite any fact you would be interested in knowing, her Down’s Syndrome has not held her back, and she delights in directing anyone with questions. She seemed passionate about her job, and though she is overseen by another staff member, he just smiled and stood back while she competently went about her job. It is refreshing to see members of the disabled community out in all sorts of jobs, where one might not expect to see persons with disabilities employed. It is quite refreshing to see smiles on museum employees, and while in many museums smiles are rare, these individual’s smiles seem to be infectious, not only affecting the other staff, but the visitors as well.

Feeling I had a good handle on the local history, I left to try and get lost once again. I discovered that the theatre in town had nightly performances every night, and was currently playing an on stage adaptation of Rainman, originally a film from the 80’s starring Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise. I purchased tickets for later that evening, managing to get an absolute steal on tickets which were half price (due to me being a student purchasing the day of the show). I set off for the recommended Museum of the North, a lovely old building originally established by two taxidermists who endeavoured to share their trade with the public in the 19^th century. Now a joint venture between the University of Newcastle and the Tyne and Wear Museum group, it is still in the same building, but its collection has been drastically enlarged. It makes no pretences at being a huge collection, but instead dedicates itself to displaying the original works of the two taxidermists, an impressive collection on Hadrian’s Wall, and other small exhibits designed to educate about the world both natural and manmade. Many of their exhibits attempt to stimulate at least two senses, featuring talking statues, or a touchable Roman stones, refreshing after museums lined with readable info panels, with exhibits behind glass. Satisfied with my local knowledge, and intent on seeing the wall the next day, I set out for the evening. A quick stop to the market got me some cheap cuts of lamb, some couscous, and veggies for after the theatre. The show was terrific, including Oliver Christ from the UK Office, and adapted for stage by MGM. I went in not knowing the plot, just curious to take in some local theatre, but was delightfully surprised by the story of a cold business man who warms to an autistic older brother he never knew about until after their father died. It was very well played, with a convincing but inoffensive portrayal of an autistic savant. Having enjoyed the play thoroughly, I returned to the hostel to enjoy some supper and plan my next day.

The aforementioned next day included a trip to the east of Newcastle, an area called The Shields, North and South, depending on which side of the river you are on. Logically enough, it is home to the shields which protect the River Tyne from major ocean waves. The South Shields are also home to a partially preserved, partially reconstructed section of Hadrian’s Wall, and a fort/supply base from Roman times. For anyone not ‘in the know’, Hadrian’s Wall was the Roman’s solution to Scotland after their conquests across Europe. Conquering the tribes of what is now England, they evaluated the Scottish and their territory, deciding they didn’t really want anything to do with any of it. You often hear (and I previously believed) that the Romans viewed the Scottish as a fierce force they would rather not fight, but in reality they simply didn’t think it was worth it for the land they would obtain and the people they would conquer. They saw the Scottish as barbaric simpletons who weren’t worth the time. The wall was built to span from West to east, at varying heights, but four metres on average, started in 122AD, and finished some six years after that. It stood as a great monument to Roman power, daring anyone to oppose them. The site in South Shields has been partially reconstructed; especially the West gate which was entirely rebuilt in the 80’s to approximate the appearance of the gate in Roman times. The site is a great way to see what the wall was about without venturing too far into the countryside, however there is a bike path travelling the entire stretch of the wall, a ride which I myself would like to travel someday. The Commanding Officer’s house has also been half reconstructed, and decorated as it would have been when occupied by a powerful military leader, responsible for the supply of half of the wall’s troops with grain and supplies. It is an amazing feeling stepping through a doorway and seeing what a bedroom would have looked like almost 2000 years ago, and even more amazing that the foundation are all original, so you are standing where a powerful Roman stood so long ago, after a long hard day of work, ready to crash for a night of sleep.  (PS, no photos in this section as I forgot to take my camera with me to the Shields…oops!)

Suitably amazed, I headed back into the city to make myself another supper and head out with friends for a drink. Ok, so ‘a’ drink is an understatement, but many drinks later I happily went to bed, dreaming of my trip to Scotland the next day.

Of course, I write this from Dublin, a fair amount of time away from these events as I unfortunately procrastinated and didn’t write for a while. Last time I make that mistake! My next entry is on Edinburgh, my one Scottish destination, and falling in love with the friendly people, rugged landscapes, and awesome food. Until then, slán leat!

Oxford, Stratford-upon-Avon, and Birmingham (because I can’t think of a witty title)

First, a word about my blog. I have heard from a few people that it is too long. I would agree that it is long; however, there is reason for this. This blog is a great way for me to keep everyone at home updated all at once, but it is also my journal. I put little details in because I want to remember the little things in 8 months when I get home. I’m sorry to anyone who is put off by the length, this entry will definitely scare you off. A good alternative is to check out my picture site at www.picasaweb.google.com/fosterd3 where I post my photos with captions to give an idea of what’s going on. Short and sweet!

Ever since the Kings Foundation Year forced me to plod my way through thousands of pages of text, struggling to retain everything I read, my previous love for reading (fiction, nonfiction, anything non textbook) dwindled. I have slowly worked on a couple fictions, but never with the previous enjoyment I once had for reading. But filling the time on train journeys, waiting for trains, waiting for something to happen, I have come back to reading, and am once again hungrily devouring book after book (not literally of course, I am eating quite well thank you). I have so far made my way through four novels. Go team David!

Arriving in Oxford on a Friday, the City was abuzz with university (or uni as it is called even formally here) students preparing for their next semester at school. Oxford is of course a prestigious school, accepting only the best and brightest, students whose devotion to their studies far exceeds their baser desires. Hold on, I have to go shut off the bull shit alarm. From what I heard while trying to sleep at midnight on a Friday night, the 95% of the colleges of Oxford in undergrad studies are like any other university I have seen. Their students are smart, devoted to studying, but like parting, getting trashed on a weekend, bumping and grinding on anything that appeals, and I don’t hold that against them one bit. The city of Oxford (literally where ox ford a river) was home to some intellectual studies in the early part of the 2^nd millennium, gradually developing into formal colleges, until Oxford University was founded. The city is entirely based around the university and tourism. Like many cities and towns in Europe, one is struck by the age of the buildings, but I feel I may becoming immune to the allure and wonder of the age…how very European of me. Oxford’s distinguishing feature is the spires which dot its skyline. With 38 Colleges in Oxford University, there are almost as many chapels. Otherwise, I found the town to be somewhat culturally devoid. I saw the smallest concentration of non-whites so far, almost none of the ubiquitous trashy discount stores, and the cheap but good food stalls were almost non-existent. Basically, it was a bunch of middle class white kids and middle class business to tend to them. Nothing wrong with that, Oxford is what it is.

The hostel I stayed in was one of two, confusingly named, Central Backpackers Oxford, and Oxford Backpackers Hostel(real original guys). Oxford Backpackers was centrally located, with nice facilities, and friendly(ish) staff. Unfortunately it was a little too central, located across the street from a nightclub, and with no AC, the windows must remain open at night, especially in the 12 person room I occupied. After settling and dropping gear, I wandered to the tourist information centre to see what was going on in the city. I caught a walking tour (£7) which was to show the main sights of the city and university. What one quickly realises is that a tour of the city really is just a tour of the university. The tour proved informative, entertaining, and worth it (although I did note that this is the first Mayoral tour which wasn’t free). Opting for the discount food option, I discovered a favourite amongst students, Noodle Nation. A generic noodle bar, it provides many styles of oriental cuisine, all tasty and cheap, especially for students who receive a 25% discount (that’s me!). I enjoyed the last free internet for my next two stops for the rest of the evening, finishing up the previous blog post, and getting in touch with family and friends. I planned the next day’s adventures, and tried to sleep through the racket of club music, screeching girls, and sirens (not sure which was louder...).

The following day involved a very lazy start, getting out of bed around 11 and lazing around until noon when I went to Noodle Nation again to try another delicious and very cheap meal. Getting there, I discovered there was a line-up out the door, some for a table, and some for ordering take out. Thinking on my feet (and being very clever if I do say so myself), I nabbed a takeout menu, went to the payphone across the street, ordered, and 10 minutes later, strolled past the whole line to pick up my food. Score another one for team David. Munching on duck with noodles, I wandered to Oxford Castle to see what there was to see. Unlike Cardiff Castle which has sat unused for hundreds of years, Oxford Castle was a fully functional prison until the end of the 20^th century. Seeing use as a prison for around 1000 years, a new wing of the castle was built in the 20^th century to accommodate more prisoners, and was used until 1996 when it was decommissioned in favour of larger, more modern facilities further away from city centres. Since then, the prison has been used in no less than 5 Hollywood movies (including 101 Dalmatians, Spy Games, and more). Admission is a reasonable £6.20, and includes a guided tour to the top of St. George’s Tower (only accessible with tours for safety reasons) with a guide in roughly Georgian style dress, who does not act in period at all (frankly a relief after too many terrible period actors). After a while wandering around the castle I enjoyed the City Sightseeing bus tour of the city, only £10 for students. A little pricy, it is however a good way to see a whole lot of city without walking for hours. The audio commentary is very informative, makes attempts at humour, and is well timed to the speed of the bus. The rest of the evening was relaxing, taking some time to read, plan my time in Stratford, and keeping in touch with people at home.

Sunday I departed for Stratford-upon-Avon, the birthplace of William Shakespeare, and home to many a picturesque scene. In leaving however, I made my biggest blunder yet. Some hostels have lockers in the rooms, some do not. Oxford did, and I forgot about it. Getting into Stratford, I was enjoying a sort of street festival when I went for cash, and realized I would need more out of my money belt (which is actually a type worn around the leg). I keep money, extra ID, and most importantly, my passport in there, and it was still in Oxford. Oops. Only 2 in the afternoon, I went to the train station to book the most annoying leg of my trip so far, a return ticket to Oxford. Mercifully it was only £14 return, and I would be back in Stratford by 7. A silly mistake, but luckily it was locked up and secure in Oxford. The expression on the ticket agent’s face was entertaining when I asked for a return to Oxford. He informed me if I wished to return the same day I would have 45 minutes in Oxford, not a problem since the hostel in Oxford is a 10 minute walk from the train station. He couldn’t understand why I would be ok with that, and I was loathe to admit to him I was returning to retrieve a $70 passport, £80, and other important items. I read quite a lot that day. Getting back to Stratford in the dark, I caught my second cab of my trip to the hostel which was a good 6km away from the city centre. I could have walked, but slightly defeated, tired, frustrated, and having spent money on nothing but train tickets that day, I figured I would make it a day of transportation, and sprung for the £10 to get to the hostel quickly, where I had an awesome shower and handed over a big bag of laundry (only £2.50 at the Stratford YHA, the cheapest I have seen it yet). Sleep came easily that evening.

For my only day of exploring such a lovely town, I got up early and enjoyed the plentiful hot breakfast at the hostel. I paid only £10/night at the YHA Stratford, the cheapest so far. Breakfast included a full steam line of cooked food, beans, eggs, roasted tomatoes, cereals, and more, all served by dedicated kitchen staff and enjoyed in a room with large picture windows overlooking the woods around the hostel. The hostel is an old Georgian building, with a Victorian style expansion, bringing the total capacity to 130 beds. The hostel was being used by schools during my stay, so everywhere I went I was surrounded by (slightly annoying) screaming and running 12-14 year olds. Getting into town was a breeze with local transport running every half hour. The main sights in Stratford revolve around Shakespeare, but there are others in town and further afield, and to get a general overview I again took the City Sightseeing tour. Only £8 it was very worth it in Stratford as it also provides you transportation to Anne Hathaway’s house which is a good 20 minute drive out of town and other out of town sights. It was a lovely drive through town and the countryside, and stopped at the Stratford armouries museum where I got off to have a look through their collection. The museum has an impressive collection of weapons, including original battle armour for an elephant, and the DaVinci crossbow never made by DaVinci, but by a British group for television. The collection is impressive but poorly presented, with little explanation as to what you are looking at. After a while staring admiringly at the collections, I came to a table which unlike every other display was not protected by glass or behind a rope. Taking this to mean I could handle its contents, I held an AK47, Thompson sub machine gun, and Thompson with the mob style drum magazine, all for the first time. Yes this makes me sound like gun nut, but of all the weapons in the world, these are extremely important in many world events. The actions were all still functional, even the cocking levers, but the barrels were all cemented and firing pins removed. This on its own was almost worth the £7 or so it cost to get in. Almost. But the museum has to fundraise one way or another to improve its displays and it is still a new facility. I hope they put my money to good use.

Back into town, £11 gets you into the 4 main sights pertinent to Shakespeare’s birth, life, and death. In all of the sights, the displays are well designed with well informed staff to answer any questions. The gardens were beautiful, but out of their summer splendour. The house where Shakespeare was born is still standing, and wonderfully maintained. The house where Shakespeare died however is another story. After his death, the house was handed from generation to generation, eventually landing outside of the family with a man who did not particularly enjoy the legacy of Shakespeare in his house. Living there only a couple weeks of the year, he was tired of being pestered by locals and cultural pilgrims wanting to see the house where Shakespeare died. He was also outraged at having to pay tax on a house he lived in less than a month per year. He unsuccessfully petitioned the town for exemption from tax, and when turned down, he decided he wouldn’t visit the town anymore. In a move of sheer spite, he decided that if he couldn’t have the house no one could, and ordered its demolition. Now there is a lovely garden to commemorate where Shakespeare died. Buying some food from the grocery store I returned to the hostel to eat and relax. While cooking I met a fascinating gentleman in his late 60s who works as an electrician and as a boxing trainer. He stays in hostels to keep costs down and cooks his own food. I made a very tasty Chile con carne on a bed of brown rice, with Brussels sprouts (that’s right mom, I’m eating my greens). For £3 it wasn’t bad! I met my roommates, 3 in total. One was a cook from Vancouver wasting time before his new job and apartment back in Canada. A nice guy, he decided to visit Stratford because he “thought he liked Shakespeare”. I shall explain. His name was Graham (and I forget his last name, but it ended in ‘let’). He felt an attachment to the play Hamlet because graHAM ___LET. So much so that he got a BIG tattoo of ‘Hamlet’ in fancy script on his calf. Whatever works I suppose. He was happy to take in a performance of Julius Caesar that evening even if it wasn’t his favoured Hamlet. My other roommates were two hilarious German guys just travelling for fun. They were unrelated, yet seemed like twins the way they interacted. It was great fun talking with them about Germany, Canada, and travelling.

The next morning I unhappily packed my still wet clothing, not having dried in the “drying room” in the basement which is kept very warm, but very moist. I made very sure I had all my belongings, and caught the bus to town for my train to Birmingham. Stopping to mail off some of my souvenirs and a postcard or two, I asked the store attendant if I could use the chair beside the till to fill out the envelopes. “Oh you poor thing” she said very motherly... That odd moment done with I made it to the station and on to Birmingham.

Stepping into Birmingham is a very confusing experience. Still laid out like an old city (non grid), the centre of the city is a confusing mess of markets, a super modern shopping complex, and the world’s most disorientating sign posts. Playing my now familiar game of “find the tourist info centre ” I obtained a map and (incorrect) directions to my booked hostel. Getting help from a business man on his smoke break, I made it to the very dumpy looking Birmingham Hatters Hostel. Step inside however, and it’s a different story. Redone a few years back, it is very modern inside, with free toast and juice all day, the worlds most pathetic book exchange, and key card entry into your room (ooo lala! Tres modern!). Located in the Jewellery district where they make (you guessed it) jewellery, it is very industrial, where red (but blackened by years of industrial smoke and pollution) brick is the king of construction material. The hostel is situated next to a factory where one look inside the broken windows reveals it to be functioning, yet still something out of a horror movie where someone is mangled bit by bit by some maniacal super villain bent on domination of at least that city block. Exploration of Birmingham reveals a much divided city. With very industrial roots, it is a city with a long past of red brick buildings. But fighting to emerge is a new modern identity with pretty glass buildings, tourist friendly attractions, and cleaner air. This is a transition period for the city, and you can see the old being torn down or integrated into the new. The epitome of the new modern push is the Bull Ring. Historically a place for trading, its last incarnation was built in the 60’s to reflect Birmingham’s multiculturalism and modernism. By the end of the 20^th century, it was outdated, confusing, and dirty. The city favoured a new multi building complex, and successfully lured Selfridges & Co. (big fancy department store here) into building their first location out of London. The new facility does away with the idea of a market, pushing the markets down the hill to segregated arena style buildings. The project was good for Birmingham’s image while many of the locals are sceptical of this very unlike Birmingham complex. One point of pride for locals is the canal system. Well maintained and very picturesque to stroll along, locals are quick to point out that Birmingham has more canals than Venice. I walked along a few kilometres of the city centre canal and enjoyed the atmosphere and scenic vistas. Viewing a city from the canals gives you an entirely different point of view of the city. Another point of pride is the aptly named “Balti Triangle”, literally three streets roughly forming a triangle to the south of the city, where Balti was supposed to have been invented. I obviously had to discover this, but too stubborn to pay for a bus just to eat, I opted to walk. The staff at the hostel had provided me a brochure about the Triangle, including a map. I somehow lost this, and had to find my way by approximation. By some miracle, after about an hour of walking (and according to Google Maps, 3.5 miles) I found a small restaurant called Diwan Balti. Unable to find some neon sign that explained to dumb tourists where “the best Balti restaurant” was, I figured it was as good as the next. Boy was I wrong. According to the menu it is a multiple award winner in Balti and South Asian food. While my experience is still minimal, I believe this place was far above standards. The portions were more than generous; however I think that Jamuna in Bath set a high standard against which I will compare all other Balti. I did enjoy it though, for around £8 you get a hugely generous portion of two different delicious types of Balti. I’m afraid that many lambs were hurt in the making of this trip, and yet again I enjoyed delicious, sinful murder. Walking back into town, I took the least direct route possible, enjoying the sights of a busy city while on foot. I also discovered a sign which directly told me to care about less fortunate kids. It was however, simply an error in grammar, a case of “the panda eats, shoots, and leaves”. Points to whoever gets that reference.

The next day, as I woke up I mentally shut off any semblance of maturity I hold, reverted to being 10, and merrily took the train the Bourneville. “But what is in Bourneville?” You ask. Only every kid, woman, and overgrown (size and age count here) kid’s fantasy! Bourneville is the home to Cadbury World, the world’s biggest Cadbury store, and the most amazing aromas. For a mere £7.20 I enjoyed 2 hours in the factory, learning the history of chocolate, Cadbury, and Bourneville. The Cadbury’s were a Quaker family, and true to their beliefs, they did not approve of the consumption of alcohol. A new drink was quite popular however, chocolati, from the cocoa beans from South America, and the chocolate drink was considered an acceptable alternative to alcohol. One thing led to another, the development of chocolate you could hold, the introduction of milk into the chocolate, and an entire empire of chocolate making was formed. I was highly impressed with some of the business ethics of the company, the building of good company housing in Bourneville, far ahead of its times leisure facilities free to staff, generous benefits packages, and a friendly working environment. The company still maintains these practices today, also being the first major candy company agreeing to go completely fair trade. Cadbury world is set up for all ages, however there are some exhibits mainly for kids, especially the so called Cadabra ride. See my photos for a visual description of that virtual drug trip. After seeing chocolate in all its glory, you have the chance to “make” your own chocolate treat, requesting one of a variety of ingredients (like rice crispies, all sorts, marshmallows, etc.) which is then covered in fresh, never solidified milk chocolate. Let me tell you...I could have stuck my face under that nozzle, and just drunk in the warm awesomeness that is factory fresh chocolate. Nothing can compare to that in the chocolate world, except maybe the same thing at the Lindt factory. A short trip to the world’s biggest Cadbury store later and I was back in Birmingham, feeling absolutely sick to my stomach from the sheer amount of chocolate consumed (most of it free!). After a brief nap, I craved real food, and went a couple blocks to the recommended Pasta da Piazza. A lovely little Italian restaurant, it was well patronized and had a fun yet formal atmosphere. I had a mediocre Mushroom Italiana which was essentially lightly sautéed mushroom in a tomato sauce with mozzarella (which was unfortunately not melted). The entree made up for this brief disappointment, fettuccini with crab meat, it was seasoned perfectly with generous chunks of crab meat. Full,  I opted for a light sounding dessert involving ice cream. Actually a large scoop of Amaretto flavoured ice cream, coated in almond flavoured cookie crumb, served with an almond flavoured wafer. It was very heavy, and I left uncomfortable, but very satisfied for a stroll around town, seeing more of the canal system by night Birmingham is an old city, but it is undergoing what I would describe as a midlife crisis. Shunning its industrial roots, it has successfully become an important place for business in the UK and Europe in general. It is very ethnically diverse, with a fully 20% of its population originating in South Asia. There are a few sights I wish I had time to see, including the apparently very impressive (and far less shallow than it sounds) jewellery museum. Perhaps one day I will find myself back in Birmingham to see more of what it has to offer, and maybe next time I will actually find this illusive Balti Triangle. Now I am in the city of Manchester, famous for its football, curry (the so called “curry mile”), and being pretty darn big. Let you know how it all goes soon!