Back from the UK (with pictures)

The jet lag has worn off, but two weeks ago I got back from a wonderful trip to England.

I walked through London in the footsteps of my favorite writers. I ate lunch at the pub in Oxford where Tolkein and C.S. Lewis met on Tuesdays. I got to see the hangouts and graves of the classic writers who gave me my love for the English language. The weather and the people could not have been more congenial.

London was busy and energetic, full of so many people under 30 that I felt pretty damn ancient. As Harry Potter fans, our first stop in the city had to be Platform 9-3/4 in King’s Cross Station. 

img_20181004_1721181.jpg
Hedwig’s missing!

IMG_20181006_112855

We saw Westminster Abbey, on a tour led by a bossy, hilarious verger who rolled his eyes at the new, abstract David Hockey stained glass window. I got to see Poets Corner, and the grave of my literary crush, Samuel Johnson. As a Californian, the history awed me. The site has been a religious gathering place since 960 AD.

It was a relief to get away from US politics, but we did catch a brief glimpse of British Brexit drama, when streets were shut down for the Wooferendum, a protest in which dogs and their owners marched against the travel quarantine that their dogs will have to endure when they vacation in the EU after Brexit.

In Oxford we ate at The Eagle and Child, where the Inklings (C.S. Lewis, Tolkein and friends) met. Our friend Ruth then took us over to the Bodleiean Library where we saw an exhibit of Tolkein’s drawings and heard recordings of him speaking the languages he invented for Middle Earth. 

Ruth drove us (very fast, on incredibly narrow, twisting country roads) up to the Cotswolds for a roadside picnic.

IMG_20181009_135031
Our picnic spot in the Cotswolds
IMG_20181008_165253
The punts at Magdalen College, Oxford. Imagining Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane heading out on the river.
img_20181008_144631.jpg
Lunch at the Inklings’ hangout!

After leaving our gracious hostess, we headed for Stratford-upon-Avon, a tourist town but in a good way. Shakespeare’s birthplace and the associated sites are well kept up and the tour guides are knowledgeable. The town had even more meaning for me since I’ve been teaching Shakespeare and watching the hilarious BBC show, “The Upstart Crow,” a comedic version of Shakespeare’s life as a struggling playwright.

IMG_20181010_170656
The Avon part of Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s hometown

We finished off our trip in Bath. I love this city! A beautiful abbey, the Roman Baths, the site where Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, and the Jane Austen Centre. We ate Sally Lunns, Bath Buns and many, many scones with clotted cream. I drank Samuel Johnson’s favorite tea.

IMG_20181011_181752
Pulteney Bridge, Bath

 

IMG_20181012_122128
The Roman Baths, built around 400 AD. Coincidentally the site on which Mary Shelley wrote one of my favorites, Frankenstein, 1400 years later.

I’m still feeling a pleasant buzz from the scenery, the history, and the friendliness and dry wit of the British people.

As I corral myself into my daily routine for NaNoWriMo, I’m dreaming of my next trip.

The joy of the road

Road trips are in my blood. Nothing shakes me from my stupor and pries my fingers off my tired routines like a good, long road trip.

Last week my youngest and I drove to Austin, Texas, taking a southerly route through California’s Mojave Desert, across Arizona, New Mexico and a good chunk of rural Texas. We put a total of 3600 miles on my still fairly new Honda CRV. Also, quite a few dents, but I’ll get back to that.

img_20180325_121004265680379.jpg
Wigwam Motel, on old Route 66, Holbrook, AZ.

Road trips are an honored institution in my family of origin. I remember being bundled into the car, in the flimsiest of car seats, for long drives to visit my grandparents in Nebraska. When my brother and sisters came along, my dad built two low benches, which he inserted over the folded down middle seat in our station wagon, so we could bundle up in blankets and sleep. Horribly dangerous and with no protective restraints, but we loved it. I remember rocketing down the interstates of the midwest, Colorado and Wyoming, my head thrust out the window like a dog, singing and feeling the wind in my face. When we didn’t stay with relatives, we’d stay in cheap motels off the beaten path, similar to the kind we saw along Route 66 on this trip: a tiny room, close quarters, but with full kitchens and usually a pool or kids playground.

A road trip that gives you that rare feeling that you’re getting somewhere. Your progress is clear, tangible. You can see it on the map (Now it’s Google maps for me). For my dad, the distances he drove were a mark of pride. He once drove us from Denver to the San Francisco Bay Area in one day (an 18 hour drive). I have no desire to equal his achievement, because while I love being on the road, I also love to get out of the car and see things. And I like to sleep.

img_20180325_220008_2171448953970.jpg
Arizona. It’s all orange.

Back to the dents in my car, which brings me to the unpredictability of road trips. Some of the best stories I remember from my childhood road trips are when things went horribly wrong. When we got lost. When the car broke down. When someone in the back seat started throwing up.

Last Monday, we’d just crossed the Texas border from New Mexico, when we saw the creepiest clouds I’d ever seen: dark grey, dense, and with appendages hanging down that I can only describe as fur-like. It began to rain, and suddenly it seemed like it was raining hammers. Hail pelted the car, growing in size until it resembled small golf balls. We were out in the middle of the great flat nowhere (or as my youngest calls it, BFN, Bum Fuck Nowhere), no shelter in sight. I drove, my hands rigid on the wheel, until we came to an overpass in Roscoe, Texas. Everyone crowding under the overpass got out and examined their damages. My windshield was split down the middle, and the hood and roof were covered with deep dimples like you’d see on a golf ball. I still can’t bring myself to look at it.

img_20180326_1511131511610243.jpg
My Honda’s self esteem took a hit.

We loved Austin. After we limped into town from that experience, we started having so much fun, we almost forgot the torrent we’d driven through. An auto glass repairer replaced our windshield quickly and we started enjoying the music and food that makes Austin so great. I even got some writing done.

It will be a while till we do another long road trip. Eight hour daily drives are exhausting, and my poor car needs time and body work to get back its sheen and mojo.

On our drive back, my youngest and I talked about the meaning of adventure—something we’d been looking for on the trip. If everything went precisely as you predicted on a trip, it wouldn’t be an adventure. We wouldn’t still be talking about it.

I’d say on this trip, we found the adventure we were looking for.