Chasing the Dead

As mentioned in my previous post, after catching a bus to the airport at 2:30 a.m., and four different trains, I was in Oxford! Now I'm in Linköping, Sweden. My goodness how time flies and a back-log of living builds up. And traveling somewhere new certainly forces me to catch-up on my writing, lest experiences be lost to bright mornings and an imperfect mind.

Sunrise over Wolvercote Cemetary, Oxford

Sunday (12-19-16) morning I returned to Dublin from Galway and spent the afternoon re-packing and mentally preparing for my early morning flight to Birmingham. I was sufficiently tired from a restless night before that a 21:00 bedtime meant I was asleep by 22:00. Four hours of sleep later, it was time to wake up and catch a bus to the Dublin Airport for my 06:25 flight. The flight was uneventful, giving way to a hurriedly relaxed train into Birmingham and pleasant stroll to another nearby train station, where I would soon depart for Stratford upon Avon. One of the only disappointments in all of this was that I just missed an earlier train for Stratford-u-Avon and, thus, ended up having to take the train I originally planned on taking anyway. The other disappointment is that my tight train schedule did not allow any time to explore Birmingham, an undoubtedly exciting and lively city. But few things are more exciting than chasing the dead.

Shakespeare's birthplace -- This back section of the house was
built after William moved out and inherited the house from his father.
The people he leased the house to turned part of it into an inn and
needed more room for guests, hence the addition.

Essentially the sole reason for my five-hour stop in Stratford (as I'm sure it is for most who go there) was to pay homage to the greatest writer in the English Language -- William Shakespeare. Despite the distinctly touristy feel to the village, my traveler's and writer's heart exploded with joy at the chance to walk in the life of the great bard.

Holy Trinity Church, Stratford-upon-Avon.
The rectangle of rope demarcates what is believed
to be William Shakespeare's grave, inscribed with
a curse against any who might move its contents but not
a name. On the wall to the left is a monument to
Shakespeare built while his wife was still alive and
holds a statue that is believed to be one of the
most accurate physical likenesses of Shakespeare.

With only four hours before my train to Oxford, I had to be very conscious of the things I wanted to see. So, as anyone who only got four hours of sleep the night before would do, I stopped for a flat white and brownie at a great cafe right next to Shakespeare's birthplace. From there I went to the Shakespeare visitor's centre where I bought a ticket for admission to the visitor's centre museum, Shakespeare's birthplace, Hall's Croft (the home Shakespeare's daughter, Susanna, married to John Hall), and New Place (the site of Shakespeare's home where he wrote many of his later works and eventually died in 1616). I skipped Hall's Croft in favour of visiting Shakespeare's grave in Holy Trinity Church. Standing at the supposed burial place of someone quite probably known by every English-speaking person in the world--plus more--was a transcendental experience. I was transported back to the time of Shakespeare's death, where with Anne Hathaway I mourned the loss of one of the world's greatest playwrights. I Once more sat in my high school English class, discussing Macbeth or performing A Midsummer's Night Dream (I could almost feel Shakespeare rolling in his grave, at the thought of it), while simultaneously I was transported to almost any English classroom in the world where his works are read not just for their importance to the English language with coined phrases like 'crack of doom' (Macbeth) or  'wild-goose chase' (Romeo and Juliet), but also for the lessons and themes, like love and war, that are just as relevant today and, it seems, the world so desperately needs to be reminded of. Finally, after several glances over my shoulder, I left Shakespeare's burial place inspired by a world of literary greatness and with the hope that maybe some of it rubbed off on me. Judging from the progress I've made on my novel since leaving Stratford, (none) ...probably not.

Holy Trinity Church sanctuary knocker.
A fugitive could grab the ring and claim
safety for 37 days before facing trial.

I just had time for some lunch and tea at Hathaway Tea Rooms (no affiliation to Anne Hathaway's Cottage, which I didn't have time to see). Alas, my time in Stratford was too short. But if I had to leave it for anywhere else, it would be Oxford.

By the time I arrived in Oxford it was already dark. But I had too little time in Oxford to waste a moment. So immediately after dropping off bags at my hostel, I left to go explore the unfamiliar city by the glow of lamp posts that gave birth to a world. I am, of course, referring to the world of Narnia, created by author C.S. Lewis, who lived and worked in Oxford for much of his life. My first night in Oxford I was intent on making it to Magdalen College, where Lewis worked as a Fellow and Tutor of English from 1925-1954. However, since it was already late, all university buildings were closed to the public. Instead I wandered around the streets of Oxford, taking in the vibrant student life around me and enjoying the jagged outlines of ancient buildings lit by lamp posts and Christmas lights. As I walked under the Bridge of Sighs a small tour group passed me going the other way. The tour guide stopped briefly to motion down a narrow, dark alley and mention a famous pub at the end of it: The Turf. So down the narrow, dark alley I wandered to a pub I would have otherwise had no idea existed. A wonderful pint of cider later, I walked to my hostel, challenging myself to check the map on my phone as few times as possible. I made it back without needing to check it once. I spent the rest of the night blogging and figuring out how to fit everything I wanted to see into half a day.

From University Church of
St. Mary the Virgin

If you know me, you probably know I'm a massive J.R.R. Tolkien fan. I learned Tengwar and designed my own Tolkienesque signature, for Pippin's sake. So visiting Oxford, where Tolkien studied from 1911-1915 and lived and worked from 1925 until his death in 1973, was like entering Aman--the Undying Lands. At 08:00 on Tuesday morning I was waiting for the front desk to open so I could check out of my hostel and avoid wasting time by having to come back. By 08:11 I was on a bus out to Wolvercote Cemetery to visit the grave of Beren and Luthien--John Ronald Reuel and Edith Tolkien. I hadn't even given myself time to eat breakfast but I had lembas to keep me going. I stepped off the bus, into the cemetery, and immediately felt a sense of peace I haven't felt for years, if ever. The only other person there was somebody mowing the lawn, but such an inner-serenity had enveloped me I didn't hear it; I only smelled the freshly cut grass and felt a comforting chill as the winter sun crept slowly over the trees. I would have liked to spend half the day there, wandering between row upon row of headstones until I found the one grave I was looking for. Unfortunately, time was not on my side as it is with the Quendi, so I consulted Mandos (Google) and found what I was looking for in the blink of an ent (it took an ent's blink as opposed to a hobbit's blink because Google wasn't very precise). Standing at Tolkien's grave, feeling so close to a person who has inspired me in writing, reading, and the field of Linguistics, yet, knowing he's been dead over 40 years, feeling more distant than if I were to read The Hobbit--it felt strange, but at the same time was the most amazing part of my time in Oxford. More amazing, even, than touring the Divinity School where scenes from Harry Potter were filmed (Hospital Wing in Philosopher's Stone and the dancing lesson in Goblet of Fire) or the ancient Bodleian Library, which holds many original Tolkien manuscripts (unavailable for public viewing) and was used as the Hogwarts Library in the Harry Potter films, or the Christ Church staircase, which similarly served as the entrance to the Hogwarts Great Hall. More amazing than ascending the tower of the University Church of St Mary the Virgin and getting a 360 degree view of Oxford. But with 360 degrees you only recognize your immediate surroundings. Standing at the Tolkien grave, I recognized my immediate surroundings and felt a deep sadness for our beautiful world filled with divisiveness and unimaginable tragedy (two World Wars in Tolkien's time, the current conflict in Syria); I recognized this world and the fictional world of Arda, where the incredible love story of Beren and Luthien took place; I recognized my own present, an uninterrupted moment of peace after three days of non-stop traveling; the past of those I came to honour, whose strong and loving relationship make them the only ones worthy of the fictional names engraved upon their headstone; the future I dream of, free from the hate and darkness sown in the hearts of men by Morgoth. All of this and more is what I experienced in ten brief minutes I spent in Wolvercote Cemetery.

Magdalen College, Grove Building,
 next to River Cherwell, taken from
Addison's Walk

Magdalen Chapel

The only thing that even comes close to my time at Tolkien's grave is a visit to Magdalen College. It was particularly significant because I did not have time to visit C.S. Lewis' grave. After breakfast, University Church Tower, Bodleian Library, Christ Church, and lunch I only had an hour and a half before my train left for London. It would take at least 20 minutes to get to the train station, and I still wanted to stop at The Eagle and Child, a pub where the Inklings frequently met. I needed to make the most of the time I had left. It helped that I got into Magdalen College for free with my University of Edinburgh student ID. Admission is typically £6 so I guess my 'other' ancient university education is worth something. Then, actually walking through the architecturally stunning Magdalen College, where C.S. Lewis would have spent much of his time, was a pensive experience. An atheist since the age of 15, Lewis rediscovered his Christian faith at the age of 32 while at Magdalen College. His return to religion is, in part, attributed to talking and walking with his friend J.R.R. Tolkien on nearby Addison's Walk. Though Lewis may say otherwise in Mere Christianity (I haven't read it), I expect the beautiful Magdalen College Chapel might have something to do with it, too. Apart from Lewis' theological works, exploring Magdalen College brought me closer to one of my favourite book series growing up, The Chronicles of Narnia. If only I could have spent hours at Magdalen College and returned to the outside world to discover only a few seconds had passed. I didn't pass through any magic wardrobes, though, so off I rushed to The Eagle and Child, where I gulped down a mulled cider and stood in awe of the corner where the Inklings met and their discussions gave shape to books like The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia.

This post is long enough and way over-due so I'll stop here and continue with my adventures through London and Norway in the next post. Until then...

Stay Informed.

A Sense of Fulcomplishment

After catching a bus to the airport at 2:30 a.m. and four different trains, I'm in Oxford! But you'll have to wait until my next post for more on that. First, I need to wrap up my time in Ireland.

Though my weekend in Galway was absolutely amazing, I can't help but feel I failed to maximise my experience there. Sure, travelling is about appreciating stunning landscapes, revelling in structures hundreds or even thousands of years old, and acquiring as many followers on Instagram as you can (speaking of which, check out @circasolis and @karikoalatravels). And I succeeded in that, I think. But, more importantly, travelling is about broadening your horizons and stepping out of your comfort zone. Apart from capturing the broadest of horizons from the Cliffs of Moher....

I feel like that didn't happen. There were times during my stay in Galway that I felt uncomfortable, as my previous post mentions, but not because I was challenging myself purposefully; the discomfort in The Weight of it all was due to anxiety and a brief existential crisis concerning my plans for the future and the state of the world. But the feelings of anxiety passed and left me feeling excited for and entirely comfortable with my plans to tour The Burren and the Cliffs of Moher on Saturday (17/12/16).

Similar to my adventures in Iceland, I booked a seat on a large tour bus going round to most of the major attractions around Galway. You can't tell because this is written text, but there is some bitterness in my voice when I type "large tour bus." This inner voice thinks seeing the sights from a gas-guzzling machine born of capitalism and tourism goes against what it means to be a traveller -- forging your own path, embracing the unconventional and unique, learning as much about yourself and the world as you can. This part of me would have preferred to use local transportation to get from point-A to point-B, or, better yet, rent a car and drive myself to only and all the things I wanted to see. Renting a car would be far riskier, which is kind of the point. But considering I'd have to quickly adjust to driving on the left side of the road and learn to navigate unfamiliar roads on my own in the very short time I had in Galway, this idealistic approach to travel was completely impractical and in reality a lot more expensive than the £18 I paid for my tour ticket. Even using the local transportation would have ended up being more expensive and would have severely limited which landmarks I had access to. So, in retrospect, the tour bus wasn't so bad. I learned many interesting facts from the guide that I wouldn't have otherwise, and--ironically--a lot about myself and what it means to be a traveller through the learning and growth (and crashing and burning and dying) that didn't happen but would have had I rented a car: it doesn't much matter how you accomplish your (ethical and plausible) goals so much as simply accomplishing them and feeling a sense of fulcomplishment in doing so (not a typo, blend of fulfillment-accomplishment).

Dunguaitr Castle, Kinvara

Doorty Cross, Kilfenora

So, what is it I actually did to feel fulcomplished about? In addition to some pretty rad photography skills--highlighted here to summarise the most interesting landmarks--I learned a bit about Irish history, customs, and folklore. These are things that I feel I can incorporate into future writing projects, or at least they give me a higher appreciation for Irish works of fiction and non-fiction I've read. Also, after hiking around Dublin for three days and hardly leaving urbanised Edinburgh for the three months before that, it felt good to get out into nature--true nature--where there's nothing but rocks, cows, and your fellow bus-travellers for miles or where you not so much hear the constant roar of waves crashing against magnificently layered geological features, but feel each breaking wave's ceaseless, patient, battle against something immense but fragile, beautiful but deadly.

Cliffs of Moher

O'Brien's Tower

After a successful day of sight-seeing, though tired, I was feeling bold enough to go out for a drink, perhaps with a group of students staying at the hostel. Unable to work up the courage to join a group, but still determined to go out for a drink at an extremely Irish bar, I ended up going alone. Now that I'm a Guinness expert after visiting the Guinness Storehouse (see previous post), I did enjoy my beer. And the traditional Irish music was pretty good, too. But I was otherwise so extremely uncomfortable--jostled around in an extremely crowded bar, surrounded by other patrons smartly dressed in their best Christmas jumpers--that all I wanted to do was finish my beer as quickly as possible and get the heck out of there... which I did.

Though I'm not giving up all hope of achieving semi-functional social interaction with complete strangers, this experience reinforced that maybe bar-hopping solo just isn't for me. I would be much happier just sitting on a bench by the water staring up at the stars. Which brings me to the conclusion of this post: whatever you do, whatever goals you have, and however you go about fulcomplishing them, don't force or try to over complicate things. As clichéd as it sounds, just be true to who you are (or who you want to be) and, each and every moment, (try to) be happy as if you just watched the subtlest, most beautiful sunset of your life.

I returned to Dublin on yesterday morning and spent most of the afternoon preparing for my early early flight this morning. Now, after catching a bus to the airport at 2:30 a.m. and four different trains, I'm in Oxford! But you'll have to wait until my next post for more on that.  Because after three days, two nights, and a total of just over seven hours of sleep, I'm going to bed. But I wouldn't take back those lost hours of sleep for anything because they were spent traveling... Around the Sun.

Stay informed. -NLD

The Weight of it all

Tuesday morning I woke up bright and early to catch a bus to the airport. Security was a breeze, my bag fit in the overhead bin, and I even managed a short nap on the plane to Dublin. But smooth sailing isn't exciting. So how 'bout I unpack a few weighty issues? The first weighs in at only a minor inconvenience--a bulky backpack and laptop case stuffed to seams' limit aren't much fun to carry around. But that didn't stop me from walking 10km, visiting landmarks like Trinity College, Oscar Wilde's birth place and childhood home, the National Gallery of Ireland, and several cafés. I stuck mostly to big chain coffeehouses (including, I'm ashamed to say, a Starbucks) because I would have felt awkward bringing aforementioned bulky bags into small local cafés. 

Ha'penny Bridge (16-12-16)

Samuel Beckett Bridge (13-12-16)

Upon exiting a coffeehouse on Grafton Street (one of two main shopping streets in Dublin), a second far weightier issue greeted me--a thin young woman wearing a bright orange shirt. (No, it's not what you think.) Though I do not hesitate to compliment her on her looks, she was very clearly attempting to elicit donations from passersby and I initially made to walk past without acknowledging her. But hearing her say, "It's okay. I'd walk right by, too,"--not resentfully, but honestly and understandingly--made me stop. Here she was, spending her evening standing out in the cold being given a cold-shoulder by countless tourists. She at least deserved to be heard out. Plus, I didn't have much else to do until my friend I was staying with got off work in an hour. So I stopped to talk to her. Twenty minutes of chatting about where we're from, what we're doing in Dublin, how we came to be there, and recommendations of things to do went by before she even mentioned the organisation name on her bright orange shirt: World Vision. I'll let you do your own research into who they are and what they do, but after hearing what she had to say, instead of donating, I promised I would mention them in my blog. So there it is. And there I was. And here I am, enjoying a month of traveling around Europe, visiting friends and family, occasionally being stopped by young idealistic employees with kindness in their hearts and a desire to do good in the world. But here's the weighty bit: The world is burning. The humanitarian crisis in Syria. Donald Trump's Cabinet of billionaires, bigots, and climate-change-deniers. It makes my own current social anxiety--sitting (alone) on a comfortable hostel-lounge couch, surrounded by other young travellers (judging me for sitting solemnly staring at my laptop) having a wonderful time drinking (and me thinking they think I'm annoyed at them [when, really, I'm not]) and laughing (at me) with their friends--seem so insignificant. But, still, the thoughts of my close acquaintance Anxiety, given in parentheses above, weigh me down.

And when something weighs you down, dragging you below the water's surface, you throw it off--if only temporarily, as easy as that is to write and as hard as it is to actually do--until you're back safe on land and can unpack its contents piece by piece. Now, not to brush off the current state of the world and the seriousness of anxiety, but how about I drag this blog post out of the murky depths and back onto the sturdy ground of pleasant description?

Dublin Castle, Record Tower and Chapel Royal

Christ Church Cathedral

St. Patrick's Cathedral

On Wednesday I went to the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin Castle, and Dublin Writer's Museum. The first two were grand but the last I could have skipped. I also walked along O'Connell Street, enjoyed the day's last rays striking St. Patrick's and Christ Church Cathedrals, and had a pint at Ireland's oldest pub, The Brazen Head, est. 1198. I felt very touristy, but, remember, I'm a traveller. That night, not satisfied being able to see Rogue One: A Star Wars Story a day before everyone back home, I had to see it before the majority of people in the UK, too; so I went to the midnight premier. I'm not going to give a full review, but I will say that I really liked it.

St. Audoen's Church, en-route to Guinness

Thursday was devoted to sleeping in and walking to and exploring the Guinness Storehouse. Holy hops and barley that place is massive! The €20 ticket, which included a complimentary drink, was well worth the price. I'd say it's a must for any 18+'s visit to Dublin.

Today I made the bus ride from Dublin to Galway and spent most of the day wandering around along the quays, searching frantically for a toilet, then returning to the quays to enjoy the sunset over a rising tide. After checking in at my hostel, then a quick pass through Galway's Christmas Market (yes, another Christmas Market!) and Galway's Latin Quarter, I returned to the hostel to write this post. Now it's much later than I anticipated and I should think about getting to sleep so I'm rested for exploring the Cliffs of Moher tomorrow.

Stay informed. -NLD

Dishoom and Glasgow and Markets! Oh my!

You'd think finishing all your coursework and not having any exams in December would be great! And it is! Except that it isn't... With nothing to officially hand in until January, it's very hard to maintain motivation. Not just for the literature review I have due in January, but--more importantly--revising course materials I did not fully grasp. Because the five or six exams I'll have in May are going to come awfully quick. Coursework aside, there are many other things I'd like to accomplish over the holiday, such as read the (for fun) books on my shelf and/or edit another couple chapters of my novel. But watching Netflix is so much easier.

I very much doubt you're interested in my lack of motivation or even what I'm currently watching on Netflix (RuPaul's Drag Race). The reason the paragraph above exists is so you can judge me--or I can imagine you judging me--which (I hope) will motivate me to actually do the things I said I want to do. But I don't want that to be the focus of this post, so here are some highlights from the past week:

Sunrise Over Waverley

On Friday night I went to the soft opening of Dishoom, a new Indian restaurant in town, with a group of friends. Now, I'm not a huge foodie or a big fan of typographical exclamation but, HOLY EXPLETIVE THAT WAS THE BEST DINING EXPERIENCE I'VE EVER HAD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!! We queued outside the restaurant for about an hour, throughout which headsetted staff came around with trays of warm chai and Sherry, free of charge. Once inside, we were handed a table pager and directed to the bar downstairs. The table pager's ID could be used to open a tab, which would be added to the final bill after dinner. The hour of fantastic cocktails, conversation, and anticipation flew by. The pager flashed and buzzed. We sashayed to the elevator and were whisked into it by another headsetted staff member, who, as the elevator door closed, we heard say into her headset, "Party of six, approaching the dining room. I repeat, party of six, approaching the dining room!" We were seated at our table just over two hours after joining the queue. Our server's small-talk game was strong, incredibly friendly, and showed zero signs of stress considering how busy the restaurant was. Each family-style plate came out as it was ready. I didn't realise how bland the food I'd been eating for the past two months was until the explosion of flavours and spices in every perfectly-cooked bite at Dishoom. We knew coming in that everything on the menu was half-price for the soft open. But when our server brought the bill, he surprised us by saying he'd taken off the round of drinks we had downstairs. In summary:

Total wait time: 2 hours, 10 minutes

12 drinks, 6 appetizers/sides, 6 mains: £11 + tip, per person

Sharing an evening of delicious food with amazing friends: Priceless

The next day, most of the Dishoom group woke up bright and early for a day-trip to Glasgow. There was a little confusion over bus tickets and I ended up paying slightly more than I would have had I gotten tickets online instead of at the bus station, but a round-trip ticket was still only £11 and everyone ended up on the same bus in the end. Alongside photo-bombing basic white girl selfies, discussions of typical television shows in Germany and the U.S., and glaring at anyone who tried to use the on-bus toilet, it was all just part of the experience.

We didn't really have any plans or specific things to see in Glasgow apart from the Christmas Market so for the first hour we wandered around the main shopping streets. It surprised us how much bigger Glasgow actually is and feels compared to Edinburgh. Glasgow-proper has a population just over 600,000 whereas Edinburgh is only 464,000. The entire metro area populations for Glasgow and Edinburgh are 2.3 million and 1.3 million, respectively (Wikipedia).

After lunch at a place called "Bread Meats Bread," we wandered a while longer before settling on a visit to the Gallery of Modern Art (GoMA). Entrance is free and we were lucky enough to get a free tour. The art itself wasn't all that great--probably because I just don't get it--but the building was impressive and has a rich history. At the end of the tour, our guide informed us of a gallery opening that evening and encouraged us to attend, if only for the free glass of wine. We did end up going, had our free glass of wine and a lovely chat with the artist's father. But throughout the whole thing I felt rather out of place. I could appreciate the time that must have gone into creating the pieces, but, standing next to a real artsy-type person praising a pair of underpants splattered with paint and draped from a canvas... I just don't get it.

GoMA - the Statue in front is of the Duke of Wellington.
The cone on his head is an icon and tradition of Glasgow
representing the humour of its people.

Glasgow Christmas Market

Other Glasgow highlights include a stroll along River Clyde and an evening at the Christmas Market. As enjoyable as the Glasgow Christmas Market is, I think it pales in comparison to the Edinburgh Christmas Market. Both have fantastic food and tasty treats--the food at the Glasgow one might even be a little better--but Edinburgh's Christmas Market is simply so much larger.

One thing's for sure: the Scots know how to get in the Christmas Spirit. And, judging from the four times I've been to Christmas Markets in the last week, I'd say I'm right at home.

I've an exciting month of travelling and good food ahead, so--just like my waistline--this blog will be bursting at the seams.

Stay informed. -NLD