Today started out like yesterday: drizzly and damp. We woke up to thunderclaps again, and the air felt thick with rain. I know
it was only a week or so ago that I was complaining about the “heat wave,” but
today I longed for it. When the drizzle clouds roll in you feel like they are there
to stay. Of course, in all my years of doing this trip it’s rained every day we’ve travelled
to Stratford except one. So I was prepared for it.
We all boarded the coach at 9:00 am. Our driver was an
incredibly genial man named Alton. We’ve had colorful drivers in the past, but
Alton was pretty drama-free. He knew where we were headed, was flexible about
time frames, and didn’t snore through the walls of the Bed and Breakfast. We travelled in a 20 seat coach
instead of a giant Redwing, and it seemed to fit us perfectly. I always feel a bit
guilty when we’re tooling around in a 50 seater with 12 students on board.
Our first stop was Highclere Castle, but nobody has called
it that for five years at least. It’s Downton Abbey. And it’s really beautiful.
Smaller than it appears on TV, but impeccably groomed and surprisingly free of
the masses of people we’d expected. The rain had stopped and it was the perfect
time to go. And though we were told online that the tickets were sold out, we
had no problem getting in. It was really fun to see the interior of Highclere
since so many of the rooms are used in the show:
The Dining Room, where the countess says acerbic things
The gentlemen's room, where marriages are arranged and re-arranged
Lady Grantham's bedroom, where she sleeps and stuff
And what's this? Lady Mary descending the staircase in her bridal gown?
Outside the castle several Model T's, Packards, and other period cars
starting lining up and it quickly became apparent that they were filming that
day. We tried to find Lady Mary or see the new baby but all anybody spotted was
Lord Grantham’s yellow lab. No Maggie Smith. But still – season four is
happening! I saw proof.
After lunch under the big tree we boarded the coach and
headed another half hour or so to Blenheim Palace, which I sort of went loony for last year. We didn’t buy tickets to the palace, because it
looks like all the other ones, but we did buy tickets to the gardens. We saw
fountains and flowers and Japanese people and a giant lake. It really was
beautiful- perfect weather, and even starting to warm up. We had great
conversations and I heard some funny stories and it was so nice to breathe
fresh country air for a few hours.
We checked into the Linhill Bed and Breakfast in
Stratford-upon-Avon and then we all headed into the town center to eat dinner
at the Dirty Duck. Devin fell in love with the boy at the counter and Tatijanna
and I both ate bangers and mash with a side of mac and cheese. And giant pints
of Diet Coke! With so much ice! Josh was in rare form and tried to kiss Aubrey,
though I’m sure her boyfriend at home won’t mind. It’s not like we were at a
quaint pub in downtown Stratford as the sun was setting.
It’s interesting to me that Titus Andronicus, which is
generally considered to be one of the worst plays Shakespeare ever wrote, is
still today the best experience I’ve had at the Globe in London. And now it’s
the best experience I’ve had at the RSC in Stratford. A play about revenge,
blood, hands cut off, throats slit, dudes baked into pies, people raped and
tongues cut out, and general mayhem, it’s not for the faint of heart. Or even
the bold of heart. This production didn’t shy away from anything. It was
terrifically gory. It was also terrifically funny. It was stylish and loud and
the direction was masterful. I can’t remember the last time I saw a Shakespeare
piece this inventive or captivating. I wasn’t bored for a minute. Titus’
descent into madness became our descent; what started so formally and with such
restraint devolved into an old man dressed as a maid, serving human flesh in a
pie to a Gothic woman in heels with fur and a Mohawk. And that happened just before
the entire cast stabbed each other to death, littering the stage with blood and
knives and stacks of bodies in tuxedos. Wowza. I was kind of blown away.
We decompressed, per my tradition, at the Trinity Church, where
Shakespeare was buried. We sat on the lawn near the chapel and Emily and I
shared ghost stories with the group. At one point, Emily saw a dim light coming
from a basement window of the church. The next day, upon further investigation,
she found that there were no basement windows. The light was just hovering, for
a few brief moments, at the foot of the church. Hello, William! Loved the show!
