Paris: the city of lights?

Mom, what can I say?

I LOVED Paris! I wasn't that excited, you know--I've never had a huge love for France in general, but OH! I am looking at the world through new eyes now, Mom. Whoever said the French hate Americans was WRONG. They're the sweetest people! (Right after Denmark, of course!) They absolutely loved it when I tried to speak French, and if they ever teased me, it was good-naturedly, and I could tell it warmed their heart for me to attempt it, even if it was just, "Je suis desolee--Je net parle pas Francais" (I don't know how to spell it all.)

Whew! I've learned so much in such a short time! Let me try and give you a run-down of what I did! On Monday, we arrived around lunch-time, and after checking into our hotel (which was actually pretty nice) we headed out on the town. We started by going on a walk through the Latin quarter, and we walked past the skinniest house in Paris (less than 6 feet wide, I believe. I have pictures.) and Shakespeare & Company, where Ernest Hemingway wrote after WWII, along with a bunch of other tragically neo-romantic American poets. We saw le fontaine du saint michel, and I got my first Parisian crepe. Life-changing experience, I'm telling you. Shannon told me a story about it, actually. Her uncle was travelling in Paris and ran completely out of money. He had just enough to either call home and ask for more money OR to buy a crepe. He chose the crepe, and he recalled later that it was the best darn crepe he'd ever had. Just to tell you--crepes in France do NOT taste like crepes anywhere else! Not in London or Copenhagen, or America. There's a reason people eat them when they come here. If you ever go to Paris, Mom, and you do not eat a crepe? Oh, the horror! You'd deserve a spanking! (Not that I'd give you one--you'd just deserve one, is all.) That being said, French crepes are amazing. Amen. :) After that little walk around the Latin Quarter (gained because there used to be a university in the area, so all the students would wander around speaking Latin. I know--not what I expected, either.) we took a boat tour down the Seine. Our tour guide was hilarious, and had the funniest facial expressions and the cutest French accent and gnarled English grammar. I have a recording of her talking about the Eiffel tower. :)

Another thing I did was leave the people I was with because I wanted to go to Notre Dame (which I did) and I had a funny realization. If I speak French convincingly enough, they will actually respond in French. And I can't understand them. Silly, isn't it? "Excusez-moi," I said politely, "ou est le toilettes?" She went off on something about "Derriere" and I nodded and smiled and walked away quickly. I don't understand basic directions in French, so my only option is really to say, "Je suit desolee--Parle vous Anglais? Sil vous plait???" Ha ha . . . oh, dear. Notre Dame was beautiful, but from what I saw (and I didn't go up into the tower), aside from the enormous rosette stained glass windows that were gorgeous, it was just like any other cathedral. I've seen so many, and they're all so beautiful. But that special feeling is just MISSING in them. I am SO glad that our temples are private, only for endowed temple recommend-holders. Somehow, a building where everyone is in jeans, constantly taking pictures, with machines selling pressed coins isn't exactly my idea of a pious place of worship. And I will never EVER forget that sign outside Mary le Bow's church in Cheapside: "Fresh food from the crypt." That's just wrong, Mom. Wrong on so many levels.

Another time, I picked up a pastry (beignet, or donut, swirled with "pommes," or apples) and walked down the Champs Elysee on my way to the Arch du Triomphe. The arche is SO COOL! It's probably my favorite thing I saw in Paris. SO cool! It's huge, for one thing. I was expecting, in my mind's eye, something about 30 feet tall. DEFINITELY not the case. It's ginormous. Lemme tell you--climbing the stairs to the top was long. It was at least 8-10 flights of stairs! The view from the top was incredible, though. I got the best pictures of the Eiffel tower ever, and I just loved the view of the city from there. Also, there was a little touch-screen display with pictures of various triumphal arches around the world. I looked at one on the east coast that was a war memorial for American soldiers that died in one of the world wars. There was an American flag unfurled and billowing in the background, and it struck a chord in my heart, and I started tearing up. I miss America, Mom. Yes, I miss you and my friends and school, but I miss AMERICA, too. It's my nationality, my home, my country. Part of my identity. I really do love it, and I'm excited to come back home. America is so wonderful!

Now, what did I truly learn? Here goes: No culture (with roughly similar morality) is intrinsically better to live in than another. Not a hut-dwelling tribe on the African savannah, or a cramped apartment in Manhattan, or a little English village, or the heart of Paris or Copenhagen. No culture is intrinically better than another, because all are surviving today, and only "the fit" survive--those that can support a large number of people for a long period of time. However, I am still allowed to love my country because it is MINE. Not because it is better than the others in some deep, cosmic way (because it isn't) but simply because it is my homeland, and it is a lovely place. I could be just as healthy, happy, and content if I had grown up in France, with French parents, and surrounded by French culture. (But I'm glad I could be born in the covenant.) Is that sad that I had to come all the way over here and travel to half a dozen different countries to really absorb that? All cultures have merit, but my culture is MINE, and I'm fully allowed to love it. Such a simple principle, but I really feel I've absorbed it on this trip.

You should really go there. Bring me with you when you do. :)

Love,

Mary-Celeste




Pictures:


Lovely view of the Eiffel tower from the top of the Arch du Triomphe. I know it's smoggy, but I think it actually looks sort of fuzzy and romantic like this.

The Notre Dame Cathedral.

Industrial Paris: A side rarely seen by your typical tourist! :)

The Eiffel Tower from the top of the boat we took a Seine tour on.

Moi, on the Seine, in a beret, feeling very Parisian. It was a great trip--I loved it.

Huntspill and Berrow: A visit into my past

Some information explaining Huntspill and Berrow: My mother's father's grandfather, Abel Palmer, was from England, from the Berrow area. He married Jane Coles of Huntspill in the early 19th century. My mother specially requested that I visit the churches in the towns of Huntspill and Berrow. My third great-grandfather, Abel Palmer, and his parents were christened in the church in Berrow, and my third great-grandmother's Coles line was christened in the Huntspill chapel. Abel and Jane Palmer were married in the Huntspill chapel. I was fortunate enough to be able to see both of these chapels, and actualy go inside the one in Berrow, and take pictures. It ended up being a really lovely experience. Even though I got soaking wet and sick because of it.


Dear Mom,

On Friday I went to Huntspill and Berrow. My train tickets were a bit of a misadventure, and it was very very cold and hard to find things to eat, but it was still a nice experience. I'm not sure what I was expecting. I really enjoyed Huntspill especially, though. It was just darling, and absolutely everyone I met in town was just as sweet as could be. I saw at least half a dozen elderly people walking their dogs. Absolutely every one of them smiled at me and said hello. whenever I needed directions, people were always there to help. I really had a great experience with the people there. I loved them all so much! The churches were just GORGEOUS. I didn't find gravestones, and you should have been there--the ground was so mushy that I felt like I was just going to sink into the graves with the dead people, which was really a creepy feeling, and probably helps explain why I didn't walk around too much. I didn't do as much "learning" or "research" as I meant to, but I took all the pictures that struck me as worth taking, and I really did enjoy visiting the churches. The Huntspill church was SO pretty. I didn't get to go inside, though, because it's closed during the winter months, and when I went to the parsonage to ring the vicar, he wasn't home. Sad. But I did get to go inside the Berrow church. I sat in there a long time, enjoying the peaceful feeling, and staying out of the rain that had suddenly started pouring. I wrote a prayer in the little book up by the high altar, blessing the kind people I'd met that day from the area. I lit a couple of candles because it was a little dark and creepy, since I was in there all by myself. It was lovely, though. The acoustics were good, too. I sang a lot of hymns, but stayed clear of the latter-day saint ones, because I thought it might be almost a little disrespectful to effectually appropriate their meetinghouse, even if I was the only one in it. Perhaps it was silly of me. I really had a good experience in there.

Anyway, by the end of the day I was actually pretty grouchy and tired. It took me a LONG time to get all the way to Burnham to catch a bus, and there were absolutely NO places to eat where I could sit and revive feeling in my toes. I finally made it back to Highbridge, and I still couldn't find anywhere to eat! It was the weirdest place ever, Mom. There were all these restaurants in town, but they were all closed down! There were just take-out places. I went into the local pub, and there didn't even seem to be any food--just older guys drinking and playing pool. So I left after this creepy guy hit on me and got Chinese take-out and sat at the little bench by the side of the tracks--this tiny town's form of a railroad station--for over an hour, until a train toward Bristol, then London finally arrived. And I had the completely wrong ticket, so I got charged 19 pounds, but it was worth it to get home earlier. You see, I made a huge mistake and accidentally purchased tickets for TODAY instead of YESTERDAY. Also, I purchased tickets leaving Highbridge at 9:30, instead of for 7:30 when I got on the train. So I got charged for my dumb mistake, but it was worth it, in my opinion. At least I got home!

Even though I got freezing cold and was tired and grumpy, I still had a great experience. I loved looking around the towns at any older structures I could find and imagining what it would have been like for my ancestors growing up there when they were my age. It was really a nice experience, and it was good to "return to my roots," so to speak.

Love,

Mary-Celeste




Pictures:

The Berrow chapel. This is the one I got to go inside of. It was a very pleasant experience.

The towns are by the sea. Berrow is to the north. Heading south, there's Burnham-on-sea, Highbridge, and finally Huntspill.
This is the Huntspill chapel. Charming, isn't it?

The parsonage I knocked at to see if the vicar was in. Sadly, he wasn't, but I thought it was a cute house, anyway. There was a sheep trap on the way into the drive. It was slighty narrower than all the cow traps I find in my hometown. :)

It was a charming town by the British seaside--just across the inlet from Cardiff. Naturally, the cottages and the doors on them are going to be lovely.

Oxford!

Dear Mom,

On Wednesday we had a daytrip. To Oxford! It was really cool. I loved it. We wandered around the little town of Oxford, and it was really interesting to me, because it WAS a college town. And an old-people town. And a snooty British town, all in one! I loved looking around the market, which was sort of like a cross between a mall and a covered market. There were some really cute stores, and a reasonably cheap and incredibly delicious shake shop, which may or may not have been the best idea, because it was COLD. But so good! If you're ever in Oxford, go to Moo-Moos. I had the Double Decker shake, and it was delicious. :) Oh, and I tried mushy peas with mint for the first time. Not my favorite thing ever. British food really is not that great. I'd stick to Italian, if I were you. or American. That's safe, too. But it's true the meat pies here are great, and I like the sausage and mash. Just stay very VERY far away from the Gammon steak. Take my word for it. DO NOT TRY IT. You will regret it.

Anyway, I learned a lot about Oxford, as a university. It's very unique. For one thing, it is OLD. And for another, it's basically composed of 38 completely separate entities. There are 38 colleges, and all of them are their own college. It's an interesting format. We had a great tour guide tht explained it all to us. This older very VERY British man. He was great. Basically, Oxford and Cambridge are organized in about the same way, but Oxford is older, and is focused on the liberal arts, where Cambridge has more of a scientific emphasis (Cambridge is where Isaac Newton studied--his apple tree is there.) Oxford is awesome, pretty much. It's only about 3,000 pounds a year for European Union Students to attend! But it's like 15,000 pounds for anyone else to attend, so scratch that idea. Darn it. :) You don't apply to the university--you apply to the college of your choice. You're required to select ONE subject and stick with it. You cannot switch colleges once you're in one, and you can apply to any, so long as they have a tutor for your subject. The only mandatory classes are sessions with your individual subject tutor. Lectures are optional. There is a very high teacher-to-student ratio, so the classes are small. It doesn't matter which college you're in--it doesn't even say which on your diploma. It is also nearly impossible to fail. Interesting, isn't it? It's just so different from everything I'm used to. I really liked looking around there and learning about it, and I almost fancied myself going there. And then I realized just how miserable I'd be there. And I'm okay. :)

I like it at BYU. Thanks for helping out with tuition.

Love,

Mary-Celeste


Pictures:

Some parts of Oxford were hundred and HUNDREDS of years old--like this wall! It was built before 1000 AD
The town of Oxford was very small and quaint, with plenty of college-aged intellectual-looking people roaming the streets.
My favorite part of the Oxford covered market we visited.
This was a quad in one of the colleges--I loved how small and beautiful each one was! They were all so individualized.

Turandot: One Strange Show

On Thursday, I went to see Turandot, the opera. It was a very strange rendition of an already unusual opera. It's a Puccini, and it takes place in China. The storyline is a little strange and a little weak, as most 'Bel Canto' operas are. Puccini generally wrote cultural, melodramatic tragedies. As with "O mio babbino caro" aria that I parodied in class, the music is often far too melodramatic for the lyrics at any given moment. The fact that this opera was performed in English made that even more obvious.

I went without knowing the story beforehand, and learned it as I picked out what words I could from the vocalists and read the subtitles. (That's the thing about opera--even English operas require subtitles to understand them thoroughly.) It begins in a strange setting--on the stage, it appears to be a restaurant or tea house in China, but going through what resemble kitchen doors actually goes to the emperor's throne room. The main character, who we later discover is named Calef, decides to try to win the heart of the princess, Turandot. Turandot, however, is fixated on avenging a former princess in the palace, and so any man who wants to marry her must answer three riddles. If they cannot do so correctly, she cuts off their head. (She does it herself--she doesn't even use an executioner! She's a scary lady.) Calef decides to try, and answers all three riddles correctly, but Turandot is so angry she hurts his feelings. He doesn't want her unless she wants him back, so he gives her a chance. He tells her that if she can tell him his name by the time morning breaks, she can kill him. He sings the most beautiful male aria in the world at the beginning of the second act: "no one is sleeping" in English or "Nessun Dorma" in Italian. It is about how everyone is awake, because the princess is deperately trying to discover his name. She asks everyone what his name is, and kills them if they don't tell her (she's a scary woman!!) the chorus begs him to tell her the name, to spare their lives. In the end, the only people in town that know his name are found and threatened: Calef's father and Liu, their slave-girl. Liu is in love with Calef, and so she dramatically sacrifices herself rather than tell the princess what his name is, so that he can have a chance to win the princess. It is very depressing and melodramatic. Then, at long last, morning breaks. Calef woos Turandot, and kisses her. She falls in love with him, and the ending turns out to be somewhat happy, but we still can't help but think that the characters are completely insane. Liu--for being so deperately willing to sacrifice herself for someone like Calef, that is stupid enough to fall for Turandot, the fearsome (literal) man-killer.

Aside from having a bizarre storyline (as many operas do) it was seriously STRANGE. Very very weird. The chorus was a huge part of the show, and they were dressed as nuns, bobbies, Elvis impersonators, goths, barbies, middle aged women from the 1960s, and everything in between. I'm still not sure what statements they were making. For instance, there was the motif of a young girl in a white dress and veil that went around skipping sometimes when Calef was on the stage. There was also a mysterious guy in a white suit and sneakers that seemed invisible to just about everyone on the stage. He ended up being killed at the end, right before Calef and Turandot kissed--she swung her sword, trying to get Calef, and killed the man in the white suit, who struggled and died without anyone paying him attention. As he struggled before dying, the little girl in the white dress came on the stage, set down a book, and shook her finger at the man in the white suit before leaving again. I'm not quite sure of what this means, but I think that the little girl is associated with Calef, and the man in the white suit is either Turandot's innocence or barbarism, both of which are destroyed once she kisses Calef. It was an interesting symbol, even though I wasn't able to entirely understand it.

Bizarre show notwithstanding, I loved it. The music was absolutely dazzling. The music, orchestra and chorus gave me chills. The guy playing Calef NAILED the 'Nessun dorma' aria (even though he was singing it in English, so it was actually "no one is sleeping.") Turandot was one of those insane "powerhouse" sopranos that really fills the room. I hope I can sing that way someday! Anyway, even though the show was really weird, the fun costumes, amazing music and stellar vocalists made it worth worth every bit. I'd recommend it to opera fans that are comfortable with bizarre, avant-garde theater.

Below are pictures from the show that I found online. I would have taken pictures myself, but it's not allowed in the theater. Looking through the pictures, I'm reminded yet again of how much I not only enjoyed this opera, but how much I enjoy all operas! Calef singing to Turandot (who still has the sword tenaciously clasped in her hands.)

Some Elvis impersonator and some other random chorus members threatening Liu to make her say what Calef's name is.

A prince from the beginning of the show that was sentenced to beheading after getting the riddles wrong. I do not feel it was at all necessary to have him be naked.

Ping, Pong, and Pang: My three favorite characters. The only ones in the whole show with both sense and humor!

*end of transmission*

Wonderful Copenhagen

Yes, their tourism catchphrase really is "Wonderful Copenhagen," Although the Danish spelling of Copenhagen is Kobenhavn, the "o" having a slash through it.

You probably heard of our misadventure with the canceled flight. Our flight was first delayed until 1 AM, and then canceled. By the time we finally got into our hotel room, it was almost three in the morning, and we were all very tired. In spite of the late hour, it was the best overnight experience we spent on our adventurous young college-student backpacking trip around Denmark. The other nights were spent on triple bunk beds at crowded hostels, and one was at an incredibly sketchy motel in Roskilde. The adventurous sleeping accommodations were part of the fun of the trip.

This sculpture is, to me, the epitome of Denmark. It displays the courageous Bishop of Absalon, who founded Copenhagen under the reign of the first unified king of Denmark: Valdemar the Great. The site of the Bishop of Absalon's castle is the present-day Christiansborg palace, which contains both the state rooms of the royalty and the Danish parliament. Also, the statue is made of the same greenish copper as many decorative structures in Denmark, another prime example found in the background of this photograph.
One of the neatest things about Copenhagen is that it was where Hans Christian Anderson lived and wrote his fairy tales. One of the most photographed sites in Copenhagen was this statue of the little Mermaid, resting in the harbor not far from Amalienborg Palace (where the royalty currently lives). It was fun to see it. Did you know that in the actual fairy tale, The Little Mermaid doesn't end up with the prince? She ends up giving up her life instead of killing him, and is turned into foam on the crests of the waves by the sea witch. Isn't that sad?
The Viking Ship Museum was probably my very favorite part of the trip. I loved learning more about the vikings! Plus, any museum with a section of dress-up clothes for adults gets an A+ in my book. The harbor of the viking ship museum contained several examples of true-to-form reproductions, based off of the five original thousand-year-old vessels found thirty years ago that formed a blockade in a long-ago sea-faring battle. The vikings were seriously cool. That ship with the colorful stripes, toward the left of the photograph, was a reproduction of one of their large military vessels. It would have carried 65-70 men, as well as their oars and supplies. Each man was required to be provided 5000 calories a day by law, which gives you an idea of the size of these massive men. I was heartily impressed.

The above is Frederiksborg Slot, or Palace, in English. This was a museum, with all of the rooms refurnished to look as they might have in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. There were interesting elements of the Rococo period that survived intact. I enjoyed seeing these, particularly the chapel affixed to the palace. It was lavishly and beautifully decorated.
It's always jarring to realize one is in a different country. To think that that flag flying is the equivalent to them of our stars and stripes, and probably causes the same thrum of belonging for them as the American flag does for us.
Everyone bikes in Copenhagen. EVERYONE. This was not an isolated bike rack. there were enormous bike parking lots everywhere! There was a full lane designed for bicycles next to every single city street that cars drove on. Speaking of cars, they drive on the right side of the road, which was very jarring for me, and tricky to get used to again. I hope I don't get hit by a bus when I go back home!

Copenhagen was an amazing experience, and I haven't described even a fraction of it in this blog. I learned almost as much in those four days as I have during our entire trip to England thus far.

The Seats of Power and Theatre Walks

The Seats of Power walk was one intense walk, subject matter-wise. Number 10 Downing street, Whitehall, Buckingham Palace, and the horse guard all in one walk? It was staggering, not because of the distance, but because I didn't even know what the significance of half of those things was before!

The memorial for the Battle of Britain was beautiful with its relief sculptures and both exciting and respectful depiction of the soldiers. “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few,” said Winston Churchill. How true that is. The more I learn about the behavior of the British people and military during wartime, the more I deeply respect them, and feel I understand them better. Men really show what they're made of when they're put through trials like those.

I've noticed that there are a lot more memorial statues in Britain than in the United States. There are just so many! War heroes, famous nobility and leaders, pioneers in various fields, and any other notable, exceptional human seems to have some sort of visual representation somewhere in the city. Even George Washington has a statue, and he led the troops fighting against Great Britain! I think it says something about the mindset here. A lot of what the people here seem to hold dear, to commemorate, and to use to show respect and appreciation is in the visual arts—architecture, statuary, and paintings. Age is more important than size, and meaning is more important than virtuosity. In nearly every case I've found, this is a very admirable quality.

I only looked at the cabinet war rooms from the outside on the Seats of Power walk, but it was fun, because they had sidewalk chalk out, and were allowing people to draw on the sidewalk, expressing their opinions and love for those connected with the war. I drew a box. “Love can't be contained,” I wrote next to it, with little hearts shooting out. I drew the box on accident in the first place, but I rather like how it turned out.

I would like to take this opportunity to give myself some credit for taking the most British-y British picture of Great Britain that ever was taken. In a single snapshot, this is London: If only I could have stuck in a telephone box as well, it would be complete. :)

Trafalgar square truly is the heart of London! It's close to everything that is generally considered of great consequence here. Buckingham Palace, the British Museum, the National Gallery, Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Whitehall, and 10 Downing street are all just a stone's throw away, and that's just a handful of the nearby sights! Going on these walks has given me an even greater appreciation of Trafalgar square. Not just for its beauty and teeming life, but for its position as the heart of London. It makes me want to learn more about Lord Nelson, whose statue stands tall in its midst.

We passed by the exclusive men's clubs on Waterloo Place, and it made me think. It seems like it would have been rather a sore spot for the feminist movement, containing all that genius in one place and blocking an entire gender out of it. I understand the cause, though, and seeing its results, I can't but agree with it. That is something I'm going to have to congratulate the male sex for. Could women ever organize a club to talk about purely intellectual and scientific things, without either clawing out one another's eyes or resorting to discussions about make-up? Perhaps I'm too hard on the gender, but I've never been so fortunate in my life to watch something like that meet with a measure of success. It made me think about the differences between men and women, once again

I wish I'd known more about Scotland Yard before I went there! I know I've heard the name here and there, but it would have meant so much more to me if I could have read a novel in which Scotland Yard played a big part and then gone to see it. Number 10 Downing street reminded me of something that makes me a bit sad. It's said that Number 10 is their equivalent to our White House in Washington, D.C. If Downing street is likened to the White House . . . what is our equivalent of Buckingham Palace? I really almost wish our country had a monarch in the same way as Britain. They look up to and admire Queen Elizabeth so. She stands for what is good in British culture, with her diplomacy and grace. Americans seem to set up horrible examples for the masses. Instead of a noble figure all can admire, those that get the most attention and coverage are the celebrities that drink themselves to death, or get caught doing drugs. I really admire this facet of British culture, and I wish we had a way to emulate it. Perhaps this aspect is why the First Lady in America is so generally looked up to. Couldn't Jackie Kennedy be compared to Lady Di? I shall hope so, for the sake of our country.

The picture, by the way, is not of Scotland Yard, but of a police station just down the road from Covent Gardens. It just so happens to be the station featured in the series of popular detective novels Shannon enjoys reading, so it was fun to see it in person.

I always love visiting Chinatown in various cities. I was happy to get a couple of sweet rolls stuffed with bean paste, which is my favorite Chinese treat. Yummy!

I was expecting Piccadilly Circus to be bigger and more flashy than it was. Someone said it was London's equivalent of Times Square. I was mildly let down, but I don't think I would have liked it to be just like Times Square, now that I think on it. Being big and loud and flashy is really more of an American-made concept, sad though that may be. I agree with that more after visiting Las Vegas than ever.

I saw some funny street performers at Covent Gardens. There was a very good statue-man, painted all in bronze and gold. There was a Jack Sparrow that was the most convincing I've ever seen in person, including Disneyland. Perhaps the pint, and the fact that he was standing outside a British pub, speaking in a real British accent had some weight in the matter. When I went back another time, I also saw an entertainingly masochistic man lie between two beds of nails and have someone stand on him. Yikes!

The Country Walk: A Dream Come True. sort of.

Many things I have thus far experienced during my stay in England have surprised me by the sensations they've produced. I have had many pictures in my head of British culture, and what I have thought it would be like. Every one of those pictures has been so far accurate, and the country walk is no exception. I've always imagined British countryside to be wet, green, flowered, charming, and most of all? Romantic. That, it was.

I stayed for the second half of the walk, which ended up being quite exciting. I wasn't quite smart enough to get my umbrella out for the first part of the rain. Perhaps I thought it would stop, but I think it's more likely that I was just enjoying feeling tragically romantic, like Maryanne in Sense and Sensibility, who wandered the English countryside in the rain and broke her ankle, then had handsome Willoughby ride up on a noble steed to save her. Good news: I didn't break my ankle. Bad news: No dashing young man showed up. Then I reminded myself that Willoughby really didn't end up being a particularly great fellow and I felt a little better, but it was a poor consolation when I couldn't feel my soggy toes.

Eynsford castle was really cool—I love looking at ruins. I crawled over all the walls and read all the plaques. It was a lot of fun. My favorite ruins are those that seem the very least touched by anxious renovators. There was an old spiral staircase with the steps entirely worn off, and that was neat. The very best part, though, was climbing up the wall and sitting in an ancient window. That was fun, but I started making Dr. Soper nervous, so I climbed back down. There are no crazy boys on this term to climb on things and be stupid, so maybe my subconscious feels it needs to compensate.

We took the train to Shoreham, in the heart of Kentish countryside. Kent really is “the garden of England.” There were not only endless fields of crops, but small patches of forest, and some of the loveliest gardens I've seen. I love that the houses, even the small ones, often have names, like “Ivy Cottage” or “Bridge house.” The above picture shows the garden of "Bridge House."

Our first stop was the small village chapel of Shoreham, with its churchyard, so similar to the ancient ones we've seen so far. I love taking pictures of cemeteries—is that strange? They're all just so beautiful, and so serene. Especially when the cemetery is in such a beautiful place, like the one in my hometown. I often go there alone to think, watching the horses graze in the pasture across from the quiet stones. Sorry—too much information. At any rate, I was touched by a particular grave, within the chapel. “Here lyeth the body of Elizabeth Rutter.” it read, “the Wife of Samuel Rutter. She was a Prudent, Obliging, Virtuous Wife. A Careful, Tender, Affectionate Mother. An humble, Faithful, Pious Christian. She ceased performing the duties of these Several Relations Sep. 1. 1741 Aged 36.”

I love the fact that England values its countryside so highly that it insists on sharing it, always. Is it the National Trust that keeps those walkways open to the public, no matter who owns the land? I am very grateful for that. It's quite a stark contrast to some beautiful, wooded mountain areas in Utah with tantalizing trails, blocked off by a sharp sign: “No trespassing.” This opposite mindset is one of my very favorite things about England.

We passed several sites having to do with hops and hop farms. Hops are used to make beer, and are grown in many places throughout England. We saw a hop farm, and the place where hops are dried. Brother Chiddock told us about his boyhood, when a lot of his friends would spend their summers working and playing at hop farms, and all sorts of expressions arose from things like that.

Overall, the walk was a wonderful, beautiful, amazing experience that I will remember for years to come. My favorite bits of England so far have been outside the cities.

Photo Journal from the North England Trip

This was down the road from our hostel overlooking Lake Windermere from afar. There were some roads, much like this one, that I couldn't resist walking down. It is just like the sort of road I'd see in a story, much like one from Wuthering Heights (which I only just finished--I loved it!) or some other nature-oriented gothic-romantic novel. They seem mysterious somehow, snuggled into the countryside, the end of the road unclear.
After walking down that mysterious road, I indulged in another urge--climbing a tree. Tree-climbing is probably my very favorite talent. This is my favorite moment in England so far.
We stopped for lunch in the charming little town of Pateley Bridge, and I absolutely fell in love with it. One always imagines the picturesque English village, with its friendly, heavily-accented residents, the old buildings, narrow cobblestone alleyways, and cheerful potted flowers. I had disillusioned myself prior to coming, ridding that quaint image from my mind--determined not to be disappointed. However, I'm pleased to report that Pateley Bridge was my dream come true! It fit the picture in my mind completely perfectly. It was charming, and even more than I'd imagined. I loved the short time we spent there.
This was taken at Fountains Abbey. As this picture really doesn't show much of its majesty, I'm mostly putting it up because I was playing with the color accent setting on my camera and I thought it looked cool.
I love old cemeteries. Is that strange? This particular cemetery was just next to the Bronte parsonage in Haworth. I have pictures from at least half a dozen others, though. I just love cemeteries. I think they're really interesting. Perhaps I'm morbid. I remember there being one particularly neat stone, though: "Time was I stood as thou dost now, and view'd the dead as thou dost. Ere long thou'll lie as low as I while others stand and look o'er thee." Almost gives you chills, doesn't it? The Bronte sisters would have seen that exact stone--what a neat feeling!

The Lake District: A Letter to Mum

Fig A.


Dear Mom,

My goodness, I haven't written in a while because we've been gone all week touring the lake district and the north of England. It changed my life. Seriously! It was absolutely amazing. This trip was pretty much all the reasons I decided to come to England in one blow: to go to the places writers lived and saw, to see the places imagined in my favorite books, and to drown in the history and culture--past and present--of England. And I wasn't disappointed! I learned all I wanted to, felt powerful feelings I'd merely hoped for, and it was just . . . amazing.

Disclaimer: This email is EXTREMELY long, and almost takes the form of a journal entry. If you get bored, just skim it and nod and smile. :)

Monday, we left early and went to Haworth, to visit the Bronte parsonage (where Emily, Charlotte and Anne Bronte lived and wrote their novels). (see Fig A) It was incredible to feel that, and to realize where they were and what kinds of inspirations drove their art. I cried when we left, it was so powerful--I didn't want to leave! It was heart-wrenching to go to these places I've dreamed of so long, and then be ripped along to see the next big site. That day we also went to York (old York, not New York) and saw York Minster, which was yet another huge and beautiful cathedral similar to Canterbury in age and design. I saw Evensong there, with one of the most beautiful choirs I've ever heard--it was mostly children, but there were enough mature voices to give it body. With those beautiful acoustics? It was dazzling, and gave me chills.

The next day we went to Fountains Abbey--an old ruined medieval monastery. It was SO beautiful! Picture a grand cathedral, but picture it . . . with no roof. The walls crumbling and dripping with moss. The floor covered in soft green grass, and birds roosting in its tower. I couldn't help but be reminded of God's great glory and strength in comparison to the ephemeral might of man. It was so beautiful! And it was also interesting to see the floorplan without all the distracting ornamentation. To see how they worshiped, and in what rooms and structures it would have taken place. It was really interesting.

Later that day we checked into another youth hostel with a remarkable view. Photographs cheapen it--they can't possibly express the sharp beauty and wonder of that softly rolling scene. Everyone else hopped back on the bus to wander about the little town of Windermere. I stayed behind, and went on a long walk by myself through the British countryside. There are walls EVERYWHERE there, for livestock, and some have been there hundreds of years. They're designed to cage in livestock, and they still complete their purpose--there are sheep and cows everywhere. A real dry stone wall doesn't have mortar at all. Did you know that? No mortar--just rocks stacked up on top of one another, and it lasts hundreds of years. They were so beautiful, criss-crossing the landscape like that. Oh, and mysterious archways on the sides of the road, with staircases leading up to secret glades . . . I'm pretty sure I did a bit of mild trespassing, but I didn't have the huge group with me, so it was forgivable, if not exactly sanctioned. I wandered down a tire-track road until it ended at a gate, and there I tried to describe the sight. It was dazzling, Mom. Simply beautiful--you would have loved it, I know. I also climbed to the top of an ancient, moss-covered tree, which was great fun. On my way back, I picked and ate a couple of wild blackberries. THIS is the sort of thing I daydreamed of doing when I wished to come to England!

The next morning, I rose and went to the balcony by myself to gaze across the misty morning landscape and compose a couple of poems. Does that not sound just like me? Oh, dear. I'm such an awful romantic.

Wednesday (that day) we went to Dove Cottage in the Lake District. That's where William Wordsworth wrote some of his very most famous poetry! It was amazing to see the location that inspired some of the most beautiful words in the English language. It stirred my heart, and I felt so very alive! Determined to read more poetry, more Bronte . . . to take me back to that place that I instantly fell in love with. I forgot to mention that we stopped in a little town called Pateley Bridge for lunch on our way to the hostel that day. Picture a charming British village, with stone houses, pastry shops, hanging bunches of flowers everywhere. With friendly people, whose accents make your ears ring a little in a delightful way. THAT is the town of Pateley Bridge. it's just like I'd always imagined one of those cute little towns would be. Except better. Oh, Mommy--this trip really is a dream come true for me. Can you tell?

After Dove Cottage, we drove through the lake district for a couple of hours. I wish I hadn't been mildly carsick, because the views were dazzling, and none of my photographs come close to how beautiful it was. Then we went to Hilltop Farm, where Beatrix Potter lived after becoming famous from her books. No wonder she so desperately wanted to save that land! It was so lovely there. The gardens of her home were beautiful, and the hills were so green, and picturesque, with their grazing sheep. After crossing on the ferry again, we ambled around the town of Ambleside, and hung out at our youth hostel that evening. It was RIGHT on the shore of lake Windermere--I dunked my toes in the water that night, while I gazed at the stars from the pier. The constant cover of fluffy gray clouds vanished for a while, and I got a clear view of the stars--the big dipper, the milky way, even. Fluffy clouds during the day, clear for stars at night? Ah. Life was complete.

On Thursday we toured the city of Preston for various church history sites (that's where Heber C. Kimball and Orson Pratt and them first came and converted people to the gospel.) It was neat. We also went driving around the Ribble River valley, to Ribchester, Chatburn and Downham, for other church history sites. Then Chorley, to see the temple. It's difficult to describe how seeing the temple made me feel. Since I've been here, I have had the chance to see many glorious religious structures--a sikh gurdwara, hindu mandir, a cathedral, a minster, a beautiful greek orthodox chapel, and a ruined abbey. All of them were completely beautiful and took my breath away, leaving me with a feeling of awe.
NONE of those, and I'll repeat: NONE of those even came close to the feeling of standing in front of the Preston temple. The feeling emanating from within that simple stone structure was one of peace. Of home. And most importantly? Of my Father in Heaven's love for me. It was an incredible experience, and I learned a lot from it.

The next morning we were in Liverpool, and I went to the Beatles museum, which was awesome--Beatle origins! I love the Beatles. And now I can tell the difference between John Lennon and Paul McCartney, at least. :)

Later that day, we went to Chatsworth, which is the big house where they filmed Pemberly in the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice. Can you even imagine my raptures? That's my favorite book in the world! It was so pretty! But such a rich, sumptuous home. I'm pretty sure I would get tired of it. I'd infinitely prefer a little rose-covered cottage somewhere.

I miss you, as always.

Love,

Mary-Celeste

Southall

Written inside Sikh gurdwara: Inside this gurdwara, I feel something very like the spirit. I feel as positive as one can ever be that these people will be exalted for their devotion and goodness. In the main circular part of the temple, I like the white cloth covering the floors. It feels like very sacred ground, and all the people there genuinely respect that. The architecture is beautiful, but understated, calling attention to the one decorative thing in the room: the shrine where their holy book rests. Golden, and beautiful, the people come to kneel in front of it. My favorite sight was seeing a young father help teach his toddler to kneel at the book as well. Mormons and Sikhs really do have a lot in common. I find myself with a profound reverence and respect. There is some kind of service ever happening—a woman's voice reading scripture in a tongue foreign to me. Punjabi?

I love to see the orthodox Sikh men in their turbans and beard-twists, wearing modern clothes. The women's traditional clothing is beautiful, modest, and not flashy. Its appeal doesn't lie in a tight fit or low neckline, but in its simply beautiful ornamentation. It doesn't strike me as vain—it's just another part of their worship. Beautiful, modest, simply adorned women I feel is an ideal both Sikhs and Mormons share. There are glass booths with numbers on them. I wonder what they're for.

In the gurdwara, I walked up the aisle and placed coins in the offering box, kneeling and touching my forehead to the ground as I saw other people do. After leaving, we went down the stairs and ate lunch. A free meal, known as langar, is served at every gurdwara around the world, no questions asked. The food was delicious, and it tasted even better to me knowing that it was given to me with no expectation of return. I felt very conscious of that fact, and very grateful. I went and helped wash trays after lunch, until we went in for the question and answer session.

We were all required to cover our heads in the gurdwara:

The Hindi Mandir were very different. The first was very small, for one, but there were the same white coverings on the floor as in the gurdwara. There were statues of their gods all around. An older man came up to us and began telling us the story of Krishna and others, to be kind. Sadly, I could not understand most of what he told us. The statues were beautiful, and very grandly decorated. It strikes me as being less modest in ornamentation than the Sikh temple and women. There are things on their foreheads—not just the dots I'm used to seeing, but stripes and gemstones. The people that come in to worship put coins in at the front, and bow, though most did not kneel and touch their forehead to the ground. Many waved their hand over the small flame of the candle burning and then touched their head. All of them prayed silently, though occasionally I could hear a murmured prayer.

Inside the first Hindu mandir, with images of various gods.

This is one of their gods, who I believe is called Ganesha.

After the temples, we wandered the roads of Southall on the way to the Indian restaurant. I especially loved looking at all the beautiful women's clothing and jewelry. The saris and punjabi suits came in many different cuts and styles. I ended up buying a simple green punjabi suit and it was really interesting how much extra attention I got from middle eastern men. (A lot of them flirted with me, far more than had while I was wearing American street clothes. When I went to see Peter Pan, an older Sikh gentleman stopped me and told me he and I were the only two properly dressed people in the room. It was fun.) Many of the outfits at the stores had very elaborate, beautiful beading on them that I admired. If the same beading quality were done in America or London, it would have easily cost four times more! The jewelry was intricate and the earrings were all large and very heavy. There were beautiful scarves and head wraps. The pastry shops had all kinds of things I've never heard of or seen before—I wish I could have tasted all of them! They looked good!

There were so many beautiful dresses and other types of beautifully beaded Indian clothing I looked at--it was dazzling! I know for a fact that all of it, though still expensive, was tremendously underpriced for the quality of the beadwork done. The same type of beading done in America would cost hundreds and hundreds--often even thousands!--of dollars.

I ended up purchasing, shortly before leaving, one of those sticky fried orange things. I don't remember what it was called, but it was tasty, and I enjoyed it.

The Indian food at the restaurant was divine! I can't believe I've never really discovered Indian food before. The flavors all intertwined in complicated ways. It was all delicious. I can't wait to eat more Indian food! Southall was an amazing experience for me.

Dover and Canterbury

For this blog, the pictures are first, followed by text, which will refer you back to the pictures. (I'm having struggles with being technically savvy.)
Fig A.
Fig B.
Fig C.
Fig D.

This is the extended version of the field notes I took during the excursion:

The British countryside of Kent was absolutely beautiful to drive through. It was just as I'd imagined it, with its dense patches of green wood, and its gently rolling fields. The castle, up high on those dazzling white cliffs, was truly a sight to see. It's all I imagined a castle would be!—with just a few differences here and there. (See Fig D.)

Formerly, there was a moat, that I can only imagine would have been a beast to get by. The outer walls were enormous, and I can see how a large village could easily wedge all its people in one of these castles in a pinch. The arrow slit things were big and angled on the inside, which I wasn't expecting. It's cooler than the simple slender hole in the wall I was envisioning. You could fit at least a couple archers in one of those things.

All the various bits of the castle were built in different times. From the lighthouse (100 A.D., built in Roman times!) to sections from the WWII era added as extra fortification against Hitler, there were all sorts of parts that came together to make the whole we now see. The keep was built from 1181-1188 A.D., by Henry II. The keep was the part most similar to what I imagine when I think of a castle in the context of fairytales and things. The differences were that it was made of a rougher hewn stone, it was a bit more cramped, and there was a dank, wet smell I hadn't quite expected. Also, the Great Hall was so small! I'd always imagined a cavernous structure suitable for a grand ball, but I now know this was wrong. It was larger than the other, much smaller rooms, but it was still quite small. I think it's smaller than the writers of some of those novels imagined, since there's no way some of the described events could have fit in there!

The roof of the keep, with its battlements, was magnificent! A stunning view of all that lies within the outer castle walls, as well as rich Kent panoramas (the garden of England), the busy shipping center of Dover port, and in the distance, the French shore across the English channel. (By the way, why do we call it the English channel, as it's shared evenly with France?) It blows my mind that someone could swim all that way—it's huge. (See Fig. A)

At the little seafood stand near the pier, I tried a whelk. I felt very adventurous. It was rubbery and salty, and I wasn't terribly fond of it, but I ate it without losing it or spitting it out, which I was proud of. I also ate a crayfish tail, which was interesting, since the only other crawfish I've eaten have been in Louisiana, where they come from considerably less salty water. The shore was rocky, not sandy, with lots of mussel shells. Yet another difference that I find charming.

At Canterbury, I learned all kinds of interesting facts. For one, I learned the story of Thomas a Becket's murder in more detail—that the man whose actor-counterpart we'd just left at Dover had accidentally had him killed! Henry II came back later, after Thomas's death, to wear a hare shirt and let himself be whipped by the monks, in penance.

• Thomas a Becket's ghost is supposedly a black stain in the crypt on one of the pillars. It's in the shape of a monk and it refuses to be scrubbed off, no matter how hard people have tried.

• Monks living in the Monastary affixed to the cathedral didn't drink the water, because it was filthy. They all just drank alcohol. (See Fig B.--Monks' old quarters and gardens)
  

• Henry IV was the only king to be buried at Canterbury. His wife is buried there, as well. In the Victorian times, some doubted that it really and truly was Henry, so they broke open his tomb and took a look. It was.

• The Black Prince of Wales is also buried in the cathedral, and has a shrine for himself just across from Henry IV, in the quire. He was a well-loved English champion against the French. Apparently, it's still a sore spot for French visitors in the Cathedral, the tour guide told us.

• An archbishop with his tomb in the quire (the one that started All Soul's at Oxford) had an awesome shrine that's brightly painted and well-maintained. His elaborate effigy lies on top, robed in bright colors. Beneath that sculpture lies a statue of a gaunt corpse, as if to say we all go to the same death, no matter how glorious we were in life. I thought it a very humble gesture, and I admired it very much.

• The spacious nave (main, central aisle of the cathedral) was rebuilt in the 1400s, after burning and collapsing just before then.

• This site at Canterbury has been a holy place for a long time—there was even a Roman church there long ago that's been built over.

• Hardly any of the monks caught the Black Death because of their clean water system—they caught drain water and pumped it into the bathroom of the monastery. Because the monks stayed clean, they stayed well.

• The Americans contributed a great deal to the cathedral's reconstuction during the 20^th century, especially after World War two. The cathedral added little sculptures built into a corner, of an eagle, an elephant, and a donkey.

• In 1982, pope John Paul II and the then-current archbishop of Canterbury prayed together at the present shrine to Thomas, where he's thought to have been killed. I thought that was nice.

• Many miracles happened to pilgrims visiting Thomas's tomb, like healings of the sick or blessings of fertility. The blessings were gotten by simply touching the shrine and donating to the monks. However, if you didn't properly pay your tribute, the monks would often threaten to take away your miracle. (How that works, I don't know.)

• It's believed that one of the original tombs of St. Thomas had holes in the side, so one could actually see or touch the interred bones of the martyr, strengthening its power to heal.

• They still have a lot of weddings, receptions, and funerals at the cathedral. The ceremonies are held in one of the larger chapels of the crypt, and receptions are generally in the chapter house.

• The quire (formerly, the exclusive chapel for the monks and those closely associated to the church) was even more beautiful than the nave! It was just for monks until King Henry the eight's dissolution of the monasteries. Thanks for that! It was beautiful. (See Fig. C)
  

• A magnificent pipe organ is built seamlessly into the architecture, looking just like pillars. It blends perfectly with the building itself. I wish I could hear it play! The tour guide says it's incredible to hear.

• All the ceilings in the nave, quire, and chapels were once brightly painted. Now it's just plain stone.

Going to Dover and Canterbury was an fun, interesting, educational time. It was truly a very special experience for me.