My first complete weekend in England is now in the books, and an eventful one it was. In the sense that Saturday was eventful, Sunday wasn’t much to write home about other than the Skype call home of course. It was lovely to finally see some familiar faces. But you don’t want to hear me gush about how much I love my family, that should be assumed by now anyway, and I will thusly move on to transcribing the events of the Saturday past.

Much should be said for rising early. I am not one to inflict this torture on myself voluntarily, however when it is forced upon me, I really do quite enjoy it. After the first few minutes of agony passed, I was glad to find myself walking the pretty path across campus at 8:30 in the morning to catch the coach bus. The campus and park near my residence are wonderful places in morning. While the buildings and trees are cloaked in a dewy haze, the birds relish the chance to belt out a song into the misty silence. I suppose the joy of the morning walk was aided by the fact that it was my first truly sunny day in England, but the point is, I was in a very pleasant state of mind as I stood with the crowd of international students awaiting the bus.

Saturday was a full day, and upon leaving Oxford, we headed toward the small Cotswold village of Minster Lovell. Apparently it had been totally abandoned after the booming wool industry of the region collapsed, but thankfully, it was abandoned so hastily (people really just picked up and left without bothering to demolish anything), that when it came time to restore the town, most of the original buildings remained. The result is a picturesque cluster of cottages that are now occupied by some of the wealthiest media executives in England. Of course this is a broad generalization, but I think it speaks to the difference between the wealthy in England and the wealthy in Canada. The rich in Canada buy houses somewhere far away (“How choice would it be to own a villa in Italy?” they might muse), while the rich in England buy modest, thatched-roofed cottages in the countryside. It’s a strange comparison, and I think if I were to win the lottery, I would go the thatched cottage route, maintenance be damned. Anyhow, Minster Lovell is beautiful, nestled in a quiet valley by a river in the Cotswold hills, but the piece de resistance, is Minster Lovell Hall. The hall is a ruin of a once-spectacular country estate from Medieval times. It is haunting and beautiful and it was appropriate that we arrived in time to wander the ruins in the same subdued morning atmosphere as I described earlier.

After Minster Lovell, we were off to the town of Burford. Though much larger than Minster Lovell, Burford is just as charming, with lovely old stone buildings lining the sloping High Street. Like Minster Lovell, it is nicely nestled in a valley next to a river. So far, of the towns I have seen, there is never a sense that they are escaping their confines and beginning to sprawl like so many Canadian towns are wont to do. Streets follow no logical “grid” pattern, there is no imposed order on the landscape, instead streets follow a river, or all congregate at a square, or follow a ridge etc. The result is a cozy, jumbled mess that is perfectly appropriate for its rural setting and by design, fosters a strong community atmosphere. Such is my impression of Burford. I predict multiple and frequent returns there.

We then drove along a ridge to the Rollright stones, which are a collection of monoliths (for those who haven’t taken History of Cultural Form, a monolith is a pompous word for big rock). There is an old stone circle called the King’s Men, one called the King’s stone, and a cluster of three called the Three Knights. As you may have assumed, the stones are steeped in myth, and the legend is that a King was turned to stone by a witch, who then proceeded to turn the King’s knights and men into stone too, for good measure. It seems like overkill to me, but who’s going to argue with a witch who has a thing for stone? The answer is nobody argues, because arguing gets you turned into stone. Maybe the best part of the Rollright Stones was the vantage point we found ourselves on. It offered a spectacular panoramic view of the Cotswold hills that have been declared an “Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty” for good reason. The Cotswolds are typified by gently rolling expanses of quilted hills, patched with woods and towns and stitched with seams of clipped hedges and drystone walls (How’s that for prosaic excess?). They represent everything I pictured in the stereotypical “British countryside”.

After we had had our fill of rocks and ridiculous myths, we were finally off to our main destination of Stratford-upon-Avon. The “upon-Avon” means that the town is located on the River Avon. If applied to cities I know, we would have places like Guelph-upon-Speed, Belleville-upon-Moira, and Ottawa-upon-Ottawa. That last one seems redundant, but I think Guelph-upon-Speed, which could be shortened to Guelph-on-Speed, is an amusing improvement. As a landscape architecture student, one of the things I noticed about Stratford, and this may already be evident by its name, is the importance of the river to the town. In downtown Oxford you would hardly know you were at the confluence of two rivers, one of which is the mighty Thames, but in Stratford-upon-Avon, the river is the social hub. The Royal Shakespeare Theatre is next to the river, there is parkland and trails on either side, and I am looking forward to coming back in the summer and seeing it at its peak time. The priority of the riverfront wasn’t the only difference between Stratford and Oxford. Academia is replaced by drama as theatres predominate instead of colleges, and architecturally, the impressive stone buildings of Oxford are replaced by beautiful Tudor black and white buildings that seem to be taken straight out of Hansel and Gretel. The entire city feels Shakespearean, partly because of its age and class, and partly because there is either a theatre or souvenir shop on every street.

As a side note, I felt deliciously English during our pub lunch in Stratford. We sat facing a TV showing Manchester City vs Stoke City, and I dined on bangers and mash with a pint of Guinness. Needless to say, I was quite full, Guinness is basically a meal in a can.

Finally, what started as a disappointment turned into an interesting exercise in restraint. I discovered in the morning that I had left my memory card for my camera at home. This meant I had memory capacity for a paltry five pictures. I took, and subsequently deleted many, and the result is a fairly good collection of the images I want to remember from the trip. I am usually a compulsive picture taker, but on this day I was selective, which is why I only have five pictures to show you.

Saturday was the first of hopefully many great day or two-day trips that I will take during my semester here, and if they can all be as fruitful and memorable as the trip to Stratford and the Cotswolds, I will have done well.