Outnumbered & Abroad: Stratford-Upon-Avon (Part 16)

Stratford-Upon-Avon (Saturday, September 29, 2028 | Day #5) - When I awoke, we were in some sort of suburb with beautiful trees and lanes. I learned that we were in Stratford-Upon-Avon.

Randi, our reliable tour guide in all things British literature, explained the significance of the town as the birthplace and burial place of writer/playwright William Shakespeare himself. Before we could explore and eat, we had to get checked into our new hostel.

Although a little spooky in the walk from the parking lot to the entrance, this hostel was just as charming as the last one. Apparently, they are all a part of a Young Hostel Association and I have to say, I was very impressed! Nicole had signed us up as a way to get us a more affordable cost for a place to sleep. We didn’t have two rooms this time, just one room with bunkbeds which I thought was such a novelty! And such fun! I love bunkbeds!

James Bonds’ house.

We got a map from the lady at the front desk and headed into town. On our route, we got to see none other than Daniel Craig’s house - as in Bond, James Bond! Albeit it was for sale so, by the time you are reading this it probably isn’t his house . The house didn’t seem that luxurious, nor did the rest of the houses, but we had been told to “drink in the glamour” because it was the seventh richest street in Europe.

In all honesty, it didn’t look near as fancy as the street of dreams in Lake Oswego, Oregon. There was some dispute on if the front desk lately had said “Europe” or “the world,” but we all had to agree that, yes, they were the biggest houses and yards that we had seen yet. Overall, it couldn’t compare to what our imaginations thought in regards to Dubai.

We found the recommended Italian restaurant with “the lively elderly Italian man at the front of the house.” After working at a hotel front desk for almost two years, I definitely take their recommendations to heart. Despite our rumbling stomachs though, the restaurant chef wasn’t going to start serving dinner for another hour and fifteen minutes.

The elderly Italian gentleman was everything that the hostess had promised and some. When he teased us for being too early, I couldn’t help but tease back! He was a joyful and welcome change to the typical cold hostility of the general Great Britain population. I had been quick to realize that, unlike our trip to Louisiana or any other part of the United States, people were not friendly outside of their circles in this country. This made me sad as I wanted to talk with locals and listen to their stories.

To kill some time before dinner, we walked around and went shopping. Our purpose of wandering was to find the house that Shakespeare was born in, m but there was so much to look at that we took our time to get there.

The house wasn’t much to look at, as one could probably assume of someone born in 1564 and the small town built behind it was already closing down for the day. A peculiar thought, need I remind you, since the restaurants weren’t even serving yet. Frankly, I was thankful that the house tours weren’t happening anymore with them closing for the day, because it would have costed money to go in and I would have rather sat at a coffee shop and wrote then get towed through more Shakespeare. Randi and Nicole both enjoyed it though, which I was glad to see their joy. However, Shakespeare, for some reason, just doesn’t do much for me. Both of them got books and other memorabilia before we were back on our way.

We made it back to our jovial Italian man for dinner, who greeted me with a hug and menus like an old friend - not someone he had met just an hour and fifteen minutes before. As soon as I aw the carbonara on the menu, I knew exactly what I was doing. So, self-confident, I’m pretty sure my quick decision convinced Randi and Nicole to follow sun. I used my initial like for our host to try and dispel the sense of disgust I felt as we were served and I had to scrape a dried something off of both the cutlery and my water glass. It’s a thing here - poor health code standards. I never knew I was a clean freak until I went to the UK.

As Randi and Nicole discussed something Shakespeare, I eavesdropped not he host as he came in in a flurry, muttering something to the staff about a guitar. There was some one there that was wanting to play it and, in the delivery of our food, I missed a vital part of the eavesdropping! The others had my back and explained that they had overheard that the young gentleman sitting just outside the front door on the veranda was some sort of a soft spot for the host.

They told me that he “supposedly designs for Aston Martin,” which got my attention. Now this was someone that I wanted to talk too When I found out that it was an Aston Martin clothing and not the sports car, I was disappointed but not completely uninterested.

I think that the one thing that made up for the cleanliness, or lack thereof, in the restaurant was the SALT. Salt has literally been found no where and has been sorely needed. Maybe it is some sort of sick joke by the government to keep the populations cholesterol and obesity at a low? Whatever it is, I hate it and have thus resulted in hoarding the addition of salt packets whenever they can be found in my camera bag. The carbonara was DEVINE.

Two very attractive friends joined the young designer from Aston Martin who was smoke a cigarette, drinking a beer, playing the guitar and softly singing songs by the door. One of the friends was wearing shades and a suede long-sleeve button up shirt… unbuttoned uncomfortably too low.

When we went to leave, off to find Shakespeare’s grave in the cemetery to my absolute dismay and fear, the host gave me a hug goodbye and told me he would miss me. I headed straight out the door and walked resolutely by the three British “bad boys” as I had dubbed them in my head, paying them no mind. I turned around to realize that no one else in my group was behind me! I could see them all getting hugs from the host through the window and realized all three boys were staring right at me. I planned that one well, I thought dryly to myself.

Then the one wearing shades, suggestively lowered them to look at me over the top as Randi walked out to jin me, eager to see more things Shakespeare. When she turned around to see them staring at us, she quickly whipped back around blushing. I couldn’t help but put on my best American cocky smile and eye roll.

“His shirt is unbuttoned uncomfortable low,” I said to Randi, not looking away. He raised his eyebrows and, because why not? We’ll never see them again and because it’s too fun to mess with Randi, I said wolfishly, “I think I kind of like it” before putting my arm in Randi’s so we could walk away. The boys couldn’t help but laugh as I know they overheard me.

After what Lauren had said at Dinerama about the culture here, I figured it would be a grand little story that they could tell the other blokes for years to come.

I guess when the others were still in the eatery and I was in a British flavored Mexican standoff, the old host had told the others that he thought we were a troop of actors. He said the assumption was because we were all so jovial and happy! What a turnaround from the previous night in Bath where the bartenders thought we were all mad at each other.

As it was still daylight, the walk was absolutely enjoyable… even with my growing anxiety of being in the graveyard at dusk. Randi was taking her sweet time, as one should when getting to experience their passion they’ve only read about first hand for the first time, strolling around and taking pictures of flowers. My real concern was the old British Cemetery in the dark so I had NO issue leaving her behind and, after jumping through a small gateway, I think we put some fear in her as she had no idea where we went.

Wandering the old cemetery, it wasn’t until we had taken a full and careful lap around the entire cemetery and church looking for some sort of marker for Shakespeare’s headstone, we finally resorted to using the help of our good friend Google… we realized that William Shakespeare was buried IN the church. Which, of course, makes sense as there was no security in the cemetery. How would they have kept grave robbers out?

If you had asked me before all of this if I would have regretted the trek to the cemetery, I would have told you HECK YES! But, since we got out while it was still daylight, I honestly don’t mind and it definitely adds to the story. Feeling exhilarated by being away from the dead and more alive than ever before, I helped the others in a search for ice cream. Every little shop was closed, but we found a small boat that was still serving. Unfortunately for me, he had already cleaned his mocha/coffee maker for the night so I was out of luck.

While walking along the river, I chance came upon an elderly lady out for a walk with a beautiful hunting dog. Said dog was locked in on the most amazing picturesque and textbook point on a squirrel.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I couldn’t stop myself. “Your hunting dog is absolutely beautiful.”

I’m sure she could hear the adoration in my voice. The lady seemed equal parts flattered and offended. Her reply explained the reaction.

“Why thank you. She’s only nine months old,” she said. Patting the dog on the head, she added, “She’s a Vizsla, wire-haired pointed. A gentleman’s gun dog.”

Not my photo but follow the link to find out how to rescue a wire-haired Vizsla.

It’s interesting that the word “hunting” is offensive, but the word “gun” is not. Maybe, in the UK, they as a population have understood that a gun is merely a tool. Guns don’t kill people, people kill people with guns.

Vizsla the pointer is now on my dog radar list and I sure as heck miss my little Jessie Rue back home.

Just that sight of that dog and the thoughts of Jessie Rue, I most definitely got homesick. Thankfully, my mom had set up the $10/day, 24-hour data passes to be used if I wanted too. Texting Rachel, one of my besties and podcast cohost, and my mom definitely helped with the homesickness all night (their day). I’m not sure if I would have made it through the rest of the trip without that little sense of comfort that day. I needed the change of pace and the different dialogue.

Walking back, Nicole and Warren Clayton were on a mission to get back to the hostel. Randi was running on her Shakespeare passion-induced adrenaline high. She had wanted to go to Anne Hathaway’s house which Nicole vetoed as it was on the opposite side of the town that we needed to go to go home. Anne Hathaway isn’t the actress we all know, it was the name of Shakespeare’s wife. A wife I don’t think he really loved in any sort of capacity.

A much better picture with the sunset - I am glad we got it! :)

But, because of Nicole shutting down Randi’s other Shakespeare inspired events, I felt inclined to follow her under a sidewalk tunnel under the road along the river. Nicole had just told her, “No,” flatly, for the third time in a row, and kept walking. Taking pity, I told her I would go with her although it would put us behind the others. I figured as long as we walked fast, we would catch up quickly.

Upon coming up to the street, Randi decided that she needed a better picture of herself with the Shakespeare and character monument. I wanted to say “no” as I saw Nicole and Warren Clayton getting further away. I felt that it would make me a hypocrite so I sighed and took the photo… and then another. All while balancing my bag, the camera and her ice cream because she “didn’t want it in the photo” which, in hindsight, does make more sense to me now than it did then.

The sun was truly starting to set as we hurried after Warren Clayton and Nicole, who had already turned the far corner for the hostel. I mentally started going through the path we had taken to the town of Stratford-Upon-Avon as I had no data to help me find my way home if we got lost. Taking an alternating cadence of 100 long stride steps and 100 short fast ones; using my OCD counting to help me go faster and calm my anxiety.

My knees were aching and starting to buckle, old injuries flaring from my Runner’s IT band that ended my college basketball career - a result, most likely, of furiously walking all over on hard cobblestoned streets causing my IT bands to swell and, subsequently, the spot where the IT band entered into my knee being unable to take a load and hinge aka walk. Between my knee and foot ache , we finally caught up with them about a mile and a half later. We were only a few blocks from the hostel, a path I now recognized with relief. I stopped to fix my sock that had drooped in my shoe, starting to cause a blister that I had been afraid to stop and fix while far behind, very aware of the younger boy who was standing next to me, heading across the crosswalk for the smoke shop across the street.

This is when Nicole had the impolite nerve to yell at me about “falling behind.” All I could do was stare at her in pain, exhaustion and shock and bite my tongue. She was the one that left us behind. We were doing everything that we could to catch up and I was appalled at her callous and unjustified actions. This was Randi’s dream stop and, if this was the only time that we’d get to be here, I wanted to make sure she had something to remember it by and, if that was a simple photo or two since the shops were all closed when we got there, then taking a few extra minutes to do that should not have been a problem.

Cuddling down in our bunk room, I was thankful that we all seemed to be of the same opinion after Nicole’s outburst to quietly take the time to wind down on our own while all uncomfortably close together. It was a much needed respite to be lost in the word of my pen and journal.