My husband will wear a kilt.

The train to Edinburgh was smooth.  We sailed through Scotland’s rolling hills and grazing sheep effortlessly with the graying sky as our backdrop.  Night one, we decided (Dennis, Lindsey, and me), was either for pub hopping or ghost hunting.  We decided to compromise and go for both.

Edinburgh is known as one of the most haunted places on the planet.  Its history is rich with centuries of death, torture and suffering.  We decided to join a terror tour.  Not one of the ones peppered with corny tour-guide jokes with cheap scares and silly stories.  We decided to go on the tour that started long after the nighttime fog had settled around the gothic castle towering over the city and the pubs were starting to close. 

I downed my gin like I’d been doing it for years and set off, certain that the terror the tour promised would be lost on this horror movie enthusiast. 

We walked the streets, shuffled through the red light district and stopped on a staircase while we learned about some of the more gruesome history of Edinburgh’s past.  The witch burnings. 

Our guide asked me to stand up on the steps above the crowd.  I took Lindsey with me.  Said she wanted to use me as an example.

There were three things they looked for in a woman they wanted to see burn.

The first being red hair.  (Really, red hair always gets me in trouble)

The second was a birthmark, where satan marked her in the womb.  (I tugged my sleeve over my birthmarked forearm)

The third was that she didn’t bleed.  (I thought of getting my nose pierced and finger pricked at blood donation stations and how my blood hesitates to flow)

It’s intriguing that such a far away fragment of Scotland’s vast history is so present in its citizen’s minds today.  I had dozens of witch comments while I was there. 

One of the last stops on our tour was the underground vaults.  These are the rooms that are supposed to be the most haunted in the world.  Knowing the power of suggestion, our tourguide lead us through the vaults, letting us experience each one before asking how we felt in them and explaining what happened there. 

I thought most of it was rubbish.  Except the last room. Women weren’t supposed to go in this room because of all the negative things that happened in it, but they just say that stuff to scare you, right?

When I walked in, I had the overwhelming urge to cry.  As I stood there, I started to feel tugs on my shirt and brushes on my hands.  A few minutes later, as I was about to leave my knees buckled and I fell to the ground.  When I went to stand up, my shoulders were forced down.  It was terrifying.

In the hallway, Lindsey pointed out the scratches on my neck.

Dozens of people have died in that room.  The first was a group of families who were cooked alive after being locked in the vault during a fire.  The men, instead of watching their wives and children burn to death, slit their throats.  The tugs visitors feel are apparently the children looking for their moms, and the urge to cry is the sadness they felt. 

The second string of deaths in that room occurred when a merchant rented it out.  The vault served as his clandestine location for raping and murdering red headed women.  (lame)

I love Ghostbusters and I love scary movies, but I’ve never put a lot of stock into the supernatural.  But I know that there is energy inside of us.  Electricity in our neural synapses.  And Mr. Cassity taught me in physics that energy cannot be created or destroyed, only changed.  So what happens to that energy when we die?  Wouldn’t it make sense that in areas with high concentrations of deaths in a small amount of time, that lingering energy would pool together?

It sounds logical.  I like logical.  I don’t know what happened in those underground vaults, but I know that regardless of whether the ghosts were in my head or real, I was afraid.  Did I really need to be?  Probably not.  But fearing the unknown is quite the human reaction to unexplainable occurrences. 

What about you, do you believe?

Deal.

I'm going to cuss if I feel like cussing.  

Dammit. 

Nothing Better.

"So many crazy things happened last night. For starters, Valerie had a headache."

S-U-A.

I spent last Thursday in Stratford-Upon-Avon, the famed birthplace of Shakespeare.  I wasn’t crazy about this place, and I think it shows in the photos.  I got to see the house Will Shake was born in and his grave, but the whole time there was a “So what?” floating around my head.  I did wonder around a pretty awesome cemetery and my vegie burger at the Dirty Duck was top notch. 

We saw the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Romeo and Juliet.  If you know me, then you know that I strongly dislike this particular play. The theater was really interesting and I snapped a few contraband photos. Our seats were raised off the ground so far that the only place for our feet was the bar in front of us and we had to lean forward to see the play.  This got quite uncomfortable by the time the three hour play wrapped up.  I was a little confused as to why Romeo and Juliet were dressed like modern day punks while the rest of the cast was dressed in traditional Elizabethan garb until the end when it was switched.  I’m sure there’s some sort of symbolism involved but it was distracting and they never quite gave the audience enough to fully convey the message they were going for.  All that being said, this was the first time I actually enjoyed Romeo and Juliet.

So in the end, Stratford was full of tourists and lackluster souvenir shops.  It’s not likely I’ll ever make a return trip, but I did have a delightful mint chocolate chip ice cream cone. 

Click to view the album!

Stratford-Upon-Avon

oxford

So this is what I saw in Oxford!

(Click for more photos!)

Oxford

I am absolutely infatuated with the city of Oxford. 
Before I went, I wasn't even excited.  

I anticipated a dreadfully boring day that wasn't worth the coach ride.  

Now, I'm determined to live there for a least portion of my life. 

We are here (1)

When I was in London as the daylight was waning and my energy was quickly retreating, one of the last spots we wanted to hit was the London Bridge, if only just to sing that song on it. 
.  .

So after venturing out of the underground tube station we started searching for the bridge. We didn’t want to ask locals because we were tired and we’d spent all day asking locals questions. Plus, all the surrounding buildings clued us in on its close proximity (London Bridge Hospital, London Bridge Ice Cream…)
.

Eventually our brains registered that we’d been on the bridge since exiting the tube. While the other sites we saw that day were rushed and packed with tourists, the bridge was serene. I didn’t hear the traffic or the chatter. I felt the air coming off the Thames; I felt the sunlight sneaking under the horizon behind me, and the wind blowing my hair into my face. 
.  .

Lindsey, Laura, and I stood on that bridge until it was empty and we started to shiver. We’d only been in Europe for four days and we’d decided to take on one of its biggest cities with little planning or safety nets cushion our experience. At that point, we weren’t even sure how we were going to make it back to our Worcester home three hours away. 
.  .

Until that moment, in that breeze on the bridge, it hadn’t felt like I’d gone anywhere despite all the hours I’d spent on buses, trains, planes and coaches. We’d been so wrapped up in following our maps, reading street signs, and looking for the things we’d only seen on postcards that we’d forgotten to look up and realize where we were. 

That is, until Lindsey turns to us, smiles and proclaims, “We’re Here! We. Are. Here.” Following this she launches into one of her famous rambling diatribes about tutor history and what not…
.  .

It was then that despite my lingering jet lag, my tired feet and growling stomach, I knew that this trip wasn’t about seeing all the famous places I could or buying I-heart- London t-shirts, it was about collecting experiences in places I don’t know with people I’ve just met. 

. .

My reaction was delayed, but I didn’t react eventually. 

I am here. And I am excited.

Worcester. (It's long)

I am comfy, tucked in my bed, bundled up, and ready to not move any more for a long time.  I’m fighting sleep after a long day, so just ignore my inevitable grammar mistakes. J

Thursday I spent the day exploring the city of Worcester and I have to say, I couldn’t be happier that it’s my hub while I’m spending my time here.  It’s got such a rich history.  The British civil war was fought here.  In fact, some of the buildings on campus were hospitals during the war.  (I hope they’re haunted, I’ll investigate later and report back)

We started the day with the cathedral.  I wasn’t too hyped up about it, but once I got there, the vaulted ceilings, stained glass and raunchy tour guide really struck a cord.  I loved it. The cathedral is over a thousand years old and it’s the same one King Charles camped out in during the civil war.  We went to the library where a jittery librarian in white gloves showed us some literary masterpieces including a hymnal written by the monks at the cathedral over 500 years ago.  It’s the only copy that survived the book burnings.  We weren’t allowed to touch.  I poked. 

Also in the library were books with century old doodles in the margins, illustrations made from crushed rubies, King John’s thumb bone and some skin (still confused). 

We got the opportunity to climb to the tower and see an amazing view of the city of Worcester.  It was an arduous climb with the suffocating, narrow space and vertical staircase (I’m pretty sure the lit professor behind me could see up my skirt the whole time.)

But the time we reached the top, I realized that my camera was dead.  (Grrr!) but I was kind of glad.  So much of traveling is spent trying to take the perfect photo and capture every moment.  Not enough time is spent really experiencing the places you go.  So I just got to focus my day on everything I was seeing and learning instead of lugging out my camera every time I saw something cool.

After that we headed for tea with the mayor at the Guild Hall.  He was funny and reminded me of my Grandpa Pridemore, but he had a sword.  He said he’d actually heard of Arcanum, Ohio, but I’m skeptical. 

I ate pork chops at a fancy fancy restaurant where King Charles II hung out.  I have no idea why I ate pork chops because that is not something I’d normally go for…but it was awesome.  

I had no idea that this town I’m staying in was so instrumental in English history, but it’s also got the bustle of being a modern city and I love that it’s not overrun by tourists.  I can just go through a stroll in the city center and be surrounded by locals, history, and good tea.

Photos soon.

On another note, the weather here is finally becoming the English weather I’d been expecting.  Howling winds, cooler temps, overcast…I love it.