Two weeks ago, Isaac and I set our clocks the requisite hour forward (thus officially entering into my least favourite season of the year). On the morning following (that being Palm Sunday) we made our way (via bus) to the nearby city of Dundee and began a two-week marathon of busses, trains, hotels, homes, footpaths, libraries, pubs, and other assorted modes of conveyance and destinations. (Busses, incidentally, is apparently the incorrect plural form of the form "bus," but "buses," though correct, is ugly. Then again, so is Birmingham).
Our first stop was the miserable and unfortunate city of Birmingham, UK, an industrial city that has become in many ways the un-deodorized armpit of the British Isles, where dreamers go to die in poverty and disgrace. The city centre is not the heart, but the entrails, of this place: a mess of shopping malls and department stores spilling forth their putrid materialistic wares for at least five blocks in every direction. Brick streets confuse would-be tourists, or the unfortunates who must dash between train stations hidden behind discount warehouses and overpriced jewellery shops, and "pedestrian districts" are filled with lorries delivering goods to the dens of materialist oppression. Petitioners stand on numerous corners and badger the miserable unfortunates who have come to Birmingham. Finally, the city is overrun with poverty. Some of the poorer individuals have jobs selling magazines to pedestrians (a respectable job, and one that is quite common in the UK these days) and others simply accost anyone who crosses their path. One woman in particular asked us for lunch money, but turned down our offer of a lunch. Another pair of magazine sellers crept up behind us in a dark alley (but an alley filled with storefronts), and, irate when we did not buy their magazines, followed us back to our hotel, howling catcalls and insults at us for several blocks. Despite the recurring misery that is Birmingham, this city has somehow managed to gain a place on the shortlist for British "City of Culture 2010," which proves, beyond all doubt, that the "City of Culture" competition is, in every respect, a magnificent practical joke Britain is playing upon its tourists and inhabitants. [Isaac, upon reading my description of Birmingham, suggested that I may have been unjustly harsh, but could not think of any positive features to add to my summary. He was so fond of the city that he spent four days lurking in the hotel, venturing out only to escort me to and from the library).
Despite this, I managed to see some lovely and rare eighteenth-century Shakespearean editions during my visit, in their quite informal and enormous public library. Below, in the photo, you will see the library (it looks like a car park), some "cultured" restaurants, a Gothic-esque fountain, the endless construction that is initiated in Birmingham every day but never completed, and (of course) a sign about the city's potential "culture."
From Birmingham, we ventured to the nearby city of Derby (pronounced Darby), which is home to a large shopping mall, several churches, and a railway station. We enjoyed an extravagant supper of Chinese food while there, and had breakfast at a charming pub in the local Wetherspoon's pub, particularly notable for its booths with built-in bookcases (these were all full, so we sat at a normal table instead). Here's the Derby library, which is conveniently located across the street from the Chinese restaurant in which we procured supper.
On to Kegworth!
Sadly, circumstances and other complications made it difficult for us to really celebrate our first anniversary, so we took advantage of the fact that the libraries of the UK were closed for the Easter Holidays to sneak away for a short romantic jaunt in between my library visits. Isaac found an unexpected discounted price on the Yew Lodge Hotel in a remote village called Kegworth. Although I was skeptical at first ("Best Western" isn't exactly synonymous with "luxury" in the States) and slightly dreading the long journey with many changes that was required to reach the city, we managed to lessen the number of journey legs, and the hotel itself was glorious! Our room was enormous (though the view wasn't spectacular) and although the shower was feeble, the bath had lovely jets. Best of all, our room came inclusive of the public parts of the on-site Reed Spa (this entailed, I think, a swimming pool, jacuzzi, sauna, steam room, ice bath, little foot tubs, and three "themed showers" (including a Glacier Blast of ice water that Isaac discovered, a little to his chagrin)). Though the meal prices at the on-site restaurant were daunting, breakfast was included, and the porter recommended some nearby restaurants that seemed a little more manageable. We feasted on Indian food the first night (a favourite) and then had our official "anniversary dinner" the second night: we walked about a mile to a lovely and elegant pub called The Otter, where we feasted on partridge, venison, and duck till we were far too full for dessert. We also has time on Saturday to visit the local library, enjoy a local art gallery, and eat Hot Cross Buns (Isaac's first). Other than that, we really merely relaxed (a much-needed respite from the stresses of travel and life in general)/
We spent Easter Sunday at St. Andrew's church in Kegworth. The congregation was small, but the hymns were pretty and the people friendly. Here's the church:
After church, we returned to our hotel to finish our library books (and film) and enjoy some afternoon tea. From there, we ventured back out of quiet and rural Kegworth to the much larger city of Leicester, a destination chosen only for its proximity to a rail station from which we could take a direct train to Cambridge. Oh, and the body of Richard III likely spent a night in Leicester after he was defeated by Henry VII, which is pretty amazing.
Our stay in Leicester was fairly uneventful. We stayed in a hotel that had recently been bought from the Days' Inn corporation, which allowed us to play an enjoyable little game called "Spot the Days' Inn Logo." The fire escape plan bore an unabashed reference to the chain in question, and many other signs simply featured stickers bearing the hotel's new logo pasted over the old. In other places, the old logo had simply been sliced from the top of signs (such as those bearing room numbers), a fact made all the more obvious by the new (and less geometrically flexible) logo adopted by the hotel's current owners. The hotel itself was pretty shoddy, but had an exciting aroma of skunk and marijuana, which we defeated by leaving the window open and bringing lovely spiced food in from a nearby chain restaurant. Perhaps the highlight of our evening in Leicester was the walk around the town centre and particularly around the grounds of Leicester Cathedral, which is very pretty:
On Easter Monday, bright and early, Isaac and I made it to our train on time and ventured to Cambridge, one of my least favourite British Cities, but a necessary evil, as I needed to visit the Wren Library and was also planning to attend a conference on the material aspects of texts. Isaac and I parted ways at the Cambridge Rail Station: he hauled our luggage several miles to our hotel (Cambridge is, I think, the very most expensive city in the entire UK, by a lot) and I struck out in the other direction to attend my conference.
Two things here: the conference was amazing, far more so than I had expected, and also I really hate Cambridge--and have for some time.
I walked more than a mile north and west to reach my conference, and arrived just on time and a tiny bit exhausted. I attended some amazing panels and met some very fun individuals, including a few eminent Shakespearean scholars and a number of other graduate students from around the UK. We had the best conference lunch I've ever eaten, bar none. My enjoyment of the day was slightly shattered as the conference adjourned for the night, mostly because I then had to walk through the (very creepy) streets of Cambridge and find our hotel. What should have been a 3.4-mile walk became, due to Cambridge's lack of maps and the vast number of people in the city who had never heard of the (quite major) road upon which our B&B was located, a trek of more than five miles, and I don't exaggerate. I arrived at the B&B confused, exhausted, footsore, and (dare I say) very very grumpy, and my mood was not improved by the B&B owner who cheerily informed me that I couldn't have walked more than two miles, and intimated that if I couldn't handle such a thing, I should have taken the bus (busses in Cambridge, I should add, don't really run on Easter Monday). I had left the conference at 7.00 and did not find the B&B until about 9.00. Long day. Of course, after this, we still had yet to find supper (and, I soon learned, our B&B didn't allow food in the guest rooms, which negated the possibility of boiling noodles in our kettle, as we had attempted in Birmingham). Tired, hungry, and footsore, Isaac and I stumbled back out into the dark and gloomy streets of Cambridge, hoping to find a nearby Chinese place our hosts had recommended. Alas, on Easter Monday, all is closed in Cambridge. Eventually we stumbled upon a pub called the Queen Edith, which was just closing, but in which we asked for directions to any local eatery. A local off-duty cab driver enjoying a pint suggested a few places, then noted that we wouldn't be able to reach any of them on foot, and wasn't sure whether they'd be serving on the bank holiday anyway. Finally, the wonderful bar tender offered to make us a pizza, and Isaac and I were able to sip a few pints of cider and chat with a few locals before enjoying what may have been the most desperately needed pizza I've ever consumed. At any rate, Cambridge is pretty miserable, but if you ever find yourself there, visit the Queen Edith Pub (on the road of the same name): there are good people there.
The second day of my conference was equally rewarding and enjoyable. We spent another evening at the B&B, alas, but packed up in the morning and headed to the home of two friends who live in Cambridge and had offered us their Very Comfortable spare bed for the latter half of the stay. What a joy it was to be in a proper home today! C. and P. took very good care of us, feeding us amazing delicacies and letting us share their home and conversation (and completely downplaying C.'s birthday, which, we were chagrined to realise, had been in the very middle of our trip). Isaac spent his daytimes playing tourist, drinking coffee, reading, and (on Thursday) taking a quick jaunt to London to return some library books, while I ventured forth into the lovely Wren Library at Trinity College. There I had a chance to look at some wonderful rare Shakespearean manuscripts from the eighteenth century, which was perhaps the highlight of my research trip. Here's the outside of the library:
As you can see, it's a pretty impressive building. The windows let in a wonderful amount of light when it's sunny outside, and the shouts from punters boating on the River Cam are only mildly distracting. I enjoyed lunch in the Cambridge Farmers' Market on both Wednesday and Thursday, which was a real treat. (Thai food and hot dogs the first day, and a pseudo-Ploughman's lunch of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit on the second). We also attended, on Thursday night, a really lovely concert by a group called Britten Sinfonia. They played some Bach and Part, and also several pieces by a composer I'd not heard before, named Eriks Esenvalds. (For anyone interested, the concert notes are available on the website under the date of April 8th or the title Passion and Resurrection).
N.B. I'd hoped to add a link to my favourite Esenvalds piece, but it appears he's not very well known on mainstream music sites: so here's another of his pieces on YouTube, which we also heard on Thursday evening).
On Friday, I took a half day to do my research and then we headed with our hostess C. to the nearby town of Grantchester, where we had tea with an old friend from Belhaven and her family. This tea room, called The Orchard, was apparently frequented by a number of famous twentieth-century poets, and a swimming hole once used by Lord Byron, I believe, was also located in this town. After tea, we enjoyed a long stroll along the River Cam back to Cambridge, and had our last Cambridge supper with our very generous hosts.
Here's a photo of the Grantchester tea room, although I believe there are better ones on their website:
Saturday morning, we hopped onto the train, headed North, and finally relaxed with great joy into the comforts of our wonderful little house by the sea.
It is good to be home. :)
