Caution: Sudden Gunfire

Our time in London had come to an end, it and was now time to go about our cross-country journey. We trained back to Gatwick to retrieve our rental car, which would later become the bane of my existence. After taking fifteen minutes to figure out the GPS, and another ten minutes determining where the hell first gear was, we set off into the west towards the most romanticized, expensive pile of rocks one could ever experience: AKA Stonehenge. Shockingly enough, we made it in one piece, but with my stress levels practically off the charts due to my gear shift being on the left, and me unable to shift into first fluidly without freaking out. Don’t let my prior sarcasm fool you, Stonehenge was impressive, although perhaps it was a bit over-hyped. I suppose that’s to be expected of, well, rocks. But I learned a lot that day about it, and how there’s way more to Stonehenge than just the myserious stones everyone is familiar with. It’s part of a much larger expanse of archaeological unearthings such as Woodhenge, the Barrows, the Avenue, and more–things I had never known about.

After Stonehenge, we worked our way further west towards Bath. We weaved through tiny, stressful, town roads should definitely only fit one car but were expected to fit two. We passed the sign for “Toll Gate Tea House,” something I later recognized as hanging in the front of the ice cream shop where we both work, and driving through spaces with signs that read “Tank Crossing,” “Sudden Gunfire,” and “Caution: Unexploded Bombs.” 

Upon arrival in Bath, we were going to actually go into the spa, however, due to Bath’s silly layout and our inability to actually navigate the city, we only found ourselves at the museum. I’m not complaining, even though I was lugging my towel around the whole time, learning about the history of the Roman Baths was really incredible, and I was actually really fascinated with the colors of the baths: the contrast of the deep green water with the creamy ivory of old marble. 

Because we are adventurous (read: crazy), after departing Bath, we had the long journey to the east coast for our next stop: Dover. After lots of driving, and lots of replays on my Kaleo CD (side note: the car only had a CD player, and I only had the one CD I purchased in Iceland…you get the gist), we arrived at Dover at just about 11pm. We parked right in front of our hostel, to be met with three people asking at three different times we were checking in. Now, it’s important to note that this hostel may or may not be tied for the sketchiest place we stayed…at least, at that hour where we could only see the unfinished bedroom we were sleeping in (peeling paint, dead flowers, no ceiling) and not the rest of the hostel. But we, especially I–given that I had been driving all day, were too tired to care and I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Our alarms went off  at just about 5:45am. “Why so early?” may be the question you dear readers (if any of you still exist) are asking yourselves. Well, that is a good question and the answer is simple. The white cliffs of Dover face the east, and so it seemed appropriate to see these marvels at sunrise! Because the GPS didn’t really know what “Take me to the White Cliffs of Dover” meant, we used Google to start towards our destination. Although, as we rapidly found out, neither did Google. At first, we drove through the little town roads, racing the impending sunrise. We soon turned onto gravel roads, and then after one sudden left turn down what Google told us would take us to our destination, we found ourselves buried in shrubbery that closed in around us like a death grip. Exchanging looks that said “Nope,” I threw that poor little Vauxhall into reverse. It was then we noticed the sign, parallel with our exit road, that read “No vehicular access.” Thanks for the help Google. 

We drove until we found a road along the coast, which we followed until we had an incredible vantage point of the white cliffs we were searching for. We parked and walked along this coastal road, taking pictures in awe as we watched the sun rise.

As we walked more along the road, we discovered a gate and path near where the cows are laying in the photo above. We followed this path down many stairs until we found were we actually wanted to be, what was known as St. Margaret’s Bay. Here we waited until the sun rose higher, taking photos, laughing, and trudging through the beach thick with pebbles and rocks until we were more weary and the vibrant color had faded from the sky. We climbed up the many stairs from whence we came, before returning to our hostel to sleep for a few more hours before we would be kicked out. For the record, the song “Cliffs of Dover” doesn’t remind me of Dover. 

After sleeping, showering, and deciding on a place to eat for breakfast, we settled into for a brunch at a cute little cafe in Dover. Each of us ordered an English breakfast and ate until we simply couldn’t anymore, thoroughly enjoying the beans, fried toast, mushrooms, and eggs. 

We didn’t really have any other plans for the rest of the day, so we took it easy as we drove from Dover to Stratford-Upon-Avon, birthplace of Shakespeare. We stopped in Oxford in an attempt to see the school. We saw the school, but not the old part….but hey, we can still say we saw it! 😉 Upon arrival in Stratford, the tiny roads were as stressful, if not more stressful, than the ones before and I decided we were going to eat at the hostel instead of driving out to find someplace else. 

The hostel, which was a chain, was in a beautiful setting. It was set in gorgeous wooded area, and the inside was immaculate and inviting. In our room, we met a lovely Australian girl (who I awkwardly first identified as English) on her year abroad who became our companion for the evening. She told us she was going to see a play at the local theater–a spinoff of sorts of one of Shakespeare’s plays. One look from Cerisa told me that we were going to a play that night too. While I’m not much of a theater fan, I couldn’t refuse. When in Rome, right? Cerisa picked Henry V, and we told Ellie we would be more than happy to give her a ride with us.

After battling a bunch of German schoolchildren for food from the hostel like it was the Hunger Games, which took too long and  I would describe as a rather mundane hamburger, we set off for the theater. It took us a long time to find parking. After circling Stratford for a good 20 minutes or so, we found a car park and raced to the theater. Ellie went to her show, and we to our seats a few rows back from stage right. While I didn’t understand hardly a word of what was happening in the play, it is cool that I can say I have seen a Shakespeare in Shakespeare’s hometown. Also, the stage was super cool. A smoky, glass stage that could be lit underneath. Looked like lava! (Also, upon exiting the play, I looked up and saw a giant wall print. “Is that David Tennant?” It was!) We three girls returned back to the hostel, giggling as I got lost (even with the GPS) and settling in for the evening.

Unfortunately, we didn’t get to connect with Ellie on social media to keep up with her journey (like we had been and have been doing with our friends from Iceland). We were out the door before 8am. We had a journey to Cardiff, Wales to make and a tour at 10:30! 

Cardiff was an easy drive, hitting only a little traffic on the M5. I rather enjoyed crossing the bridge over the Bristol Channel, inhaling the scent of the ocean. After some searching, we found a car park and headed in the direction of our destination: the Doctor Who Experience (told you it’d be back).

Really excited and ready to get our nerd on, we entered the building and were greeted with props and paraphernalia from the show. We were handed thick necklaces as we entered the tour, and a tour guide dressed in a deep red robe guided us inside. I could already tell this was gonna be fun, and boy was I not disappointed. Our guide became an enthusiastic actress, taking us through what was essentially a playful, interactive episode with (what I assume) is whoever the current Doctor is. In our case, Peter Capaldi. Sure, it was campy walking through misty woods full of weeping angels, or “dusty” rooms with rusty Daleks, but we went through it with such childish glee that it didn’t matter. The museum was equally as cool, with original and replica props, costumes, sets, and more to be oogled at by fans. 

After we exited the gift shop (carrying a lot of memorabilia with us), we deposited our souvenirs into the car before continuing on through Cardiff. We walked around the bay, where we could see the Water Tower “secret entrance” to Torchwood (another BBC show–an anagram of Doctor Who), and the Millenium Center, a dominating building on the bay in the color of warm copper. The inscription on the front, a quote by Welsh poet Gwyneth Lewis, written in both Welsh and English: “Creu Gwir Fel Gwydr O Ffwrnais Awen/In These Stones Horizon Sing” 

We spent the rest of the afternoon travelling by sightseeing bus about Cardiff, with a quick stops at Cardiff Castle (which had a giant rugby ball “smashed” through the castle wall to advertise the World Cup) for a delicious lunch of fish and chips. Actually, we went on the tour twice, but we were just using it as a shuttle to our car park, and an opportunity for a quick nap!

Reaching the end of our tour, it was time to find our hostel. We drove through Cardiff to another car park closer to our lodgings. As I was pulling the ticket out of the dispense and the arm lifted to let me in, I misjudged the distance between me (on the right) and the passenger side (left) and with a short cry from Cerisa and an awful sounding crunch, I clobbered the car on a gate.

I was certainly freaking out, but it looked a lot worse than it actually was: some paint scuffs from the yellow gate and a relatively small dent in the wheel well. Some disheveled homeless guy with a thick Welsh accent tried to tell us that for “300 quid he could fix that up real quick like new,” (what’s a quid?) but I figured that for a few obvious reasons, it was best to just leave it be. We’d get the car washed later, and deal with the damage at the rental company. I was stressed out, but not overly concerned. Taking a deep breath, I shoved my belongings into a backpack and we went in search of our hostel.

By this time, we’d seen a few different kinds of hostels: the lively, friendly, inclusive (personal favorite) Kex Hostel in Iceland; the rather distanced, although very helpful Astor Victoria in London; the grungy attic room (which could very well have been haunted) in Dover; to the pristine YHA at Stratford…but none of them prepared us for the 18 person room in Cardiff. Nobody spoke to us (which wasn’t any different than London), but in the others we actually had private bathrooms or stalls. It was two showers and two toilets that opened into a hall, without any private space to change. Not to mention, the showers only gave you water by way of a button that you had to push, that provided you with ten seconds (if that) of water of unchangeable temperature. So that was fun, and after a rather awkward shower we explored the area a little more as we searched for dinner.

Our hostel was on a rather active street with some nightlife and restaurants, and right around the corner from the Millennium Stadium (different than the aforementioned Center) which was preparing for the England v. Wales rugby match the next day (so there were lots of vendors setting up or already selling fan gear). There were at least three strip clubs, and we wondered how that worked here in the UK. Do they were arcade-style fanny packs as G-Strings? I digress. We ate at the Prince of Wales, each ordering an order of mash and dragon sausage (made of pork, chili, and leek), which was the most delicious sausage I quite possibly have ever had!

Tired from my early rise, lack of sleep the night before, and head cold, we hit the hay.

Sleeping in a bit, we had a lackadaisical start to the day. Our destination for the day was Winchester and the beautiful cathedral that had its residence in that town. Initially, the plan was to be there to hear the choir sing Evensong (which you can listen to as you read this section), but Google once again showed its true colors when we needed it to find parking. Google Maps took us down a “two-way” street (one of those made for one, but supposed to fit two) which ended in a one way street (coming the wrong direction) and a pedestrian walk. After some form of a 11 point turn, avoiding the woman behind me (who seemed to have done the same thing I did), and the FedEx truck coming at me, laughing, from the one-way, I managed to turn around and come back the way I came. Thanks, Google! Eventually we found parking in a (stress-inducing) car park beneath a shopping center…however, we wouldn’t be able to stay until Evensong because the garage closed before the service started, and finding parking again would only result in giving me an aneurysm. 

We had high tea before our tour of the cathedral, enjoying our scones and tea out in the sunshine. When the time for our tour game, we took our seats on chairs in the nave and waited. Our tour guide was a jolly elderly man, a professor I inferred, who was more than happy to answer my questions about everything from the kind of paint used on the frescoes, to who the makers of the stained glass were, and more. We went over our allotted time, but the guide didn’t care, and neither did I. As an art historian, I enjoyed every detail he offered. I found the story of the reassembling and collaging of the stained glass of the great west window intriguing, But in particular the story of how a diver rescued the cathedral in the early 1900s was most interesting.

The story, according to the Cathedral website goes as follows:

—

I thought this story was by far the most impressive fact I’d learned about the cathedral, and perhaps I may have even found this incredible feat more impressive than the architectural and stained glass itself!

Sad to be missing Evensong, but ready for the next leg of our journey, we meandered through shops on Winchester’s streets before hitting the road towards our hostel a half hour away in New Forest.

Our hostel in New Forest, one of the YHA chain hostels, was in a very peculiar location…we parked in a parking lot of a cricket pitch, and followed a path for fifteen minutes through the woods until we found it. We ate at the hostel, attempted to write some about our trip, and retired to our rooms. The only other person we saw besides the hostel attendant, was our roommate. She was a Czech girl who didn’t say anything to us until I came back from the shower, making the three of us laugh with the story of how I fell (again!) and hit my boob in the bathroom. She was very pleasant once she spoke to us, and told us how she was working in Winchester, if my memory serves. But our interactions were few, and we went to sleep…excited for what the next day would bring.

This was one of the days I was most excited for. We were driving to Bournemouth! Why Bournemouth? Well, my friends Tom and Sammy live there, and we were going to meet them. The night before we told Tom where we were going to meet, and sure enough that is where we found him. Greeting him with big hugs and a rather amusing remark:

“You sound different in person, Elissa.”

“That’s because I’m getting over a cold, Tom! You’re taller in person than you are on the screen!”

Tom, temporarily sans girlfriend, gave us the tour of his college/beach town. It was as beautiful and as stereotypical as I had imagined. The promenade was lined with a gradient of to-be-rented beach huts. There were gondolas to shuttle tourists up the cliffs, and a trolley to take them horizontally along the beach. There was an arcade, as every beach town does (where we played a couple competitive rounds of Mario Kart), surfers riding the waves, and a giant zipline reaching out to the end of the pier. 

We were escorted along the beach, and then up into the main part of the city where we got to see the parks, shops, candy shops (every beach town has one), and gift shops. Eventually, we met up with Sammy and we enjoyed a round of mini golf (because every beach town has one). After the round of golf (who had 18 holes with spectacularly mundane names) we grabbed some food at a local pub before going down to the aquarium (not every beach town has one). 

Laughter abound, we chased sea turtles and sharks through the underwater tunnels, cooed over penguins (and a duck who wanted to be a penguin), and looked in awe at the jellyfish until we had seen it all. Tom and Sammy then told us they would meet us at their flat (as they had to bike/bus back), so Cerisa and I took the opportunity to take some photos of the beach, and get our feet wet while they went home. 

A little under an hour later we were welcomed warmly into their flat, where we were treated to listening to Tom’s beautiful piano playing. When Sammy arrived, we then had a few more rounds of Mario Kart (with her this time!), and then put on a movie to watch while the two of them cooked us a delicious feast of stir fry. After the movie, we laughed until we cried playing politically incorrect card games and simply enjoying the company of friends.

When the night had come to its end, we checked into our hotel (yes, hotel) in Bournemouth anxiously awaiting the next days activities .

Our last full day in England was sure to bring some memories, and boy did it not disappoint. After a quick breakfast at the hotel, we picked Tom and Sammy up and started driving southwest towards Durdle Door, a natural limestone arch on the Jurassic coast. One again we found ourselves laughing gleefully, like old friends, as we drove through more areas that warned of “Sudden Gunfire” and “Tanks Crossing.” 

Even at once point Tom tried to tell a joke: “What’s big, white, and can’t climb trees?”

We didn’t even get to hear the punchline for another few hours, because my (self-admitted) clever, quick-witted, deadpan response of “Me” made us forget to ask about the real thing because we were laughing too hard. (Spoiler alert: It’s a refrigerator). 

Eventually we arrived  at Durdle Door and Man of War. The weather was overcast and foggy, but the view was breathtaking. The water was crystal clear, colored with vibrant blues and greens. The cliffs were chalky and white, dusting anybody who brushed against them. We walked along the beach, comprised of small round stones that swallowed you to your ankles when you walked on them. Tom, Sammy, and Cerisa climbed into the caves in the chalk cliffs while I took pictures. We settled out by the arch, relaxing. We watched kayaks paddle through the calm, and listened to the splashes of brave jumpers leaping off the arch. When I went into the water, it was frigid and I sank up to my shins in stones, but even in the fog I knew I was in paradise. I was with dear friends in a beautiful place. I could stay there forever, and it would be burned into my memory for all time. 

Dropping Tom and Sammy back home was the most bittersweet part of our trip. We exchanged hugs, said goodbyes, and wiped tears from our eyes (or at least I was). It’s so incredible to meet friends whom you have only known from a distance, and yet you don’t know the next time you’ll see them again (#BASIcelandcon2016). I knew as we drove away in the direction of London that our time with Tom and Sammy was one of the best days ever, and certainly one of the best days of the trip. 

And the trip home to our airport hotel went smoothly and we went home stress-free….at least that’s what I wish I could say. But oh no, did the best day ever end in disaster. 

We wanted to give the car a wash to clean off some of the yellow paint and chalk dust from Durdle Door before we returned it to the rental company the next day, so our trusty friend Google took us to a car wash somewhere in Bournemouth. I did as instructed, inched forward into the track until told to stop, and put my car in neutral. But before I knew it, we were moving through the wash at a speed that allowed me just enough time to think “oh, we’re going quite fast” before we came out from the brushes and and I had to slam on my brakes so not to hit the car ahead of me. 

The track had stopped, and we were just shy of panicking. We were trapped in a car, in a car wash, in a foreign country, and I already knew that the outcome was going to suck. The car ahead of us pulledd away, leaving us stranded on the track. The wash attendants finally appeared at my side, just as confused as I was. They had to figure out how to get us out. They wanted me to back out, so with a  look of uncertainty that I am sure was splayed across my face, I threw it into reverse and started trying to rock the car over the rollers that held my car in place on the track. I could hear the painful scraping of the wheels against the track over the voices of the attendants shouting “Give it more gas!” I went over one roller before they told me to stop. Backwards wasn’t working. I was caught in the wash’s brushes. They were pulling and pressing on the sides and hood of my car. The two men pried the brushes off and told me to try going forward. With a nervous eye roll and the same painful expression as the wheels scraped, I eventually drove over however many remaining rollers until I was outside.

Shaking, stressed, and about to cry, I stepped out of the car to admire the car wash’s handiwork. While my wheel well dent was cleaner, the same side was scraped, the wheels were awful, and there was a dent (bend?) in the hood of the car under where the windshield wiper was. Oh boy, how was I going to explain this one?

For the next hour or so, I was on the phone with the rental company and filling out paperwork and answering questions. Do I know whose fault it was? Am I allowed to blame machinery? What was the weather like? I was in a car wash, does it matter? Did you have a passenger? Yeah, we were were at a car wash. Were you talking? Yeah, in the cash wash. Were my headlights on? I was in a car wash. (I hope my exasperation and stress levels are clear).

When all the paperwork was filed and done, we got back in the car (yes, drivable, as the rental company had asked), fighting tears and just ready to go home. Our vacation was done, and I just needed to feel the comfort of my own bed. 

As we were driving back to London in the dark, the events of the car wash behind us, we saw the most majestic meteor in front of us. It was large, bright, and green. Regardless of what I believe, I knew that shooting star was a sign that the worst was over, and that I would have a safe trip home. It was so beautiful, I actually got tears in my eyes. 

There’s no real need to discuss the return trip home the next day, but I left knowing I had an extremely memorable experience…the good, the bad, and everything in between. I had learned a lot about myself, including the fact that I knew I wasn’t going to step food (or tire) inside a car wash for a very long time. Even a couple of months after the fact, I continued to blame myself for the events in the car wash, but it wasn’t until my friend Paul told me a similar thing had happened to his father, that I began to realize that it really wasn’t my fault. 

My two weeks away taught me more about Icelandic culture, but actually not so much about English. But I had an amazing time seeing the gorgeous parts of the country, hanging with my friends, and bonding with my froommate (friend/roommate). This trip will provide with laughs and memories for a lifetime. If you are still reading, thank you for sticking with me all this time. Below, find more photos from our adventures, and now onto the next one.

Until next time,

Elissa