All the World's a Stage...

Do not get in the Ophelia boat

…and everything in Stratford-Upon-Avon is named after Shakespeare. Everything. Pubs, shops, these boats, everything. We spent two days there for class and I think I saw every Shakespeare pun ever invented. It's an adorable town, with great countryside a short walk away, but I have to imagine that the residents might find it less so. After all, there's not really much to do, aside from go to the pub or the theater (which is why I am going to retire there in an adorable cottage and do nothing but attend the theater, go to the pub, hike, and work in my garden). Or visit the numerous Shakespeare museums and locations, but then you'd have to join in the swarms of tourists. I'm sure it's a love-hate relationship.

Gorgeous sunshine trail

Burial site of the Bard himself

Of the many Shakespeare-related places we visited (Shakespeare's birthplace, grave, Halls' Croft, Shakespeare's school, ect), Anne Hathaway's cottage was definitely my favorite, if only for the spectacular speech given by our guide, who was wonderfully enthusiastic. It also just has these beautiful gardens that are worth the price of admission. Of course, we had to partake of the theater while we were there. Our play of choice (our teacher's choice, technically) was King Henry IV, Part 1, which featured the COOLEST SWORD FIGHT I've ever seen. Not that I've seen many. But it was spectacular.

The castle itself

On the way home from The Land of Shakespeare we stopped to visit Warwick Castle, which is kind of half theme park, half museum. I'm a sucker for castles regardless of their level of tourism, and Warwick did not disappoint. Apart from the minority terrifying wax figurines, it was great. I wish I could go back in the summer though, because there's jousting and a fireball display with their replica trebuchet. What's not to like about that?

I also wish I had appropriate contrasting photos to show how wonderful the weather was the first day and how terrible it was the second day (way to be typical, England), but this is the best I can come up with:

Day 1

Day 2

We managed to snap a great group shot at Shakespeare's birthplace while the sun was still out, however, so I present to you AHA International Spring Semester 2014, complete with Mary, our assistant director on the right.

Tea-ventures and Abbey Road

Sometimes it's fun to just spend a weekend doing tourist things. I spend so much of my time here actively resisting looking or acting like a tourist that going into the tourist "zones" is sometimes a relief. I can pull my camera out without furtively checking over my shoulder to make sure I'm not ruining my Londoner facade.

Our host mum graciously bought Jordanne and I a voucher for a full afternoon tea in Maida Vale, which was delicious. A full tea, for the uneducated, typically means sandwiches, scones, dessert, and of course, tea. Sometimes the fancier ones have more food, plus alcohol. Our was perfect and delicious and I felt very fancy and proper eating it.

Afterwards we meandered over to Abbey Road, which is one very posh neighborhood away from Maida Vale. Like, seriously, I now have about six different dream houses in that area. It was incredible. I want to go back just to drool over the beautiful architecture. The Brits do fancy houses better than us Americans-they go for history rather than size and newness. The best houses are the old ones, not the McMansions.

Once on Abbey Road Jordanne and I stopped at every zebra crossing (that's crosswalk to you uninitiated) and were like, "Is this it? It can't be it. There has to be more fanfare." Eventually we found it, right outside the famed studios. People have left tributes on the wall outside which were alternately touching and hilarious. The studio is still a work space (we saw a guy with a trombone go in), which makes me happy as I know it's suffered some financial troubles.

And yes, I did the walk.

Spring Breakers 2: Escape From Spain

So my roommate and I had a little adventure trying to get out of Spain after break. I'm going to preface this with the fact that I'm sure y'all have had way worse travel stories than this. This is a mild situation, like Travel War Story Level 3 on a scale of 1 to 10. But still. It was rough at the time.

The sun sets on our last day in Granada

I was somewhat shocked when, on our way into Spain, we descended directly from the plane onto the tarmac at the Madrid airport like some kind of rockstar or diplomat (although I doubt rockstars have to ride crowded buses to the terminal-I think they get limos). I was even more surprised when the Granada airport turned out to be a small building with four gates and minimal security. We could basically walk straight off the plan and cross the tarmac to our bus into town.

This was great coming in and less so leaving, because there were NO OFFICIAL LOOKING PEOPLE around to ask why our plane was mysteriously delayed for 45 minutes. I still don't know. It was like the staff turned up to scan boarding passes when it was time and then apparated back home until the next flight. Needless to say, the delay severely cut into our 55 minute layover at Madrid (booking a flight with only a 55 minute layover was mistake #1). When we touched down (again, straight onto the tarmac), we had about ten minutes to find our gate and catch our flight.

The risen sun was too bright in our losing eyes
 (10 points if you get the reference)

Now, this is the thing about the Madrid airport. I have a deep seated dislike for it based on both my incoming and outgoing experiences, and I know others who share my feelings. Instead of being laid out in some sensible way, it's just stretched, like as long as they could possibly make it, which makes getting from one gate to another (inevitably at the opposite end) just awful. The ceiling rafters are painted in a rainbow and you just spend the walk looking at the ceiling and desperately hoping the colors will shift from orange to yellow soon.

Back to the story. Ten minutes. Terrible airport. Jordanne and I started booking it towards the gate ASAP, with our huge backpacks on our backs. We ran towards our gate until we hit a train, at which point we realized the gate was in the other terminal, a 20 minute train ride and passport check away. At this point we had a minor breakdown on the train, much to the other passenger's enjoyment, I'm sure. We did the only thing we could-trudged to our gate in time to see the plane pulling away. Luckily, the next flight to Heathrow was only an hour away, we had no checked luggage, and they just printed us new boarding passes. Unfortunately, the gate was back in the terminal we'd just sprinted through.

So. We went. Back on the train, back through passport control, back through security (only to realize we'd filled up our water bottles in Granada and had to basically drown ourselves to drink it all in two minutes), and then through passport control again. Judging by my passport, I entered, exited, and reentered Spain all within the space of about twenty minutes. By the time we made it to the new gate, the flight was already boarding and all thoughts of bathroom use or food gathering were lost.

The point here is, of course, that we made it home. Had an adventure, have a story to tell. And that's one of the great reasons for traveling, isn't it? To have stories to tell.

Titanic Tip and Daring Dash, Adventurers Slash Explorers
(It's like a contest to see how many pop culture references I can make in one blog post.
Another 10 points for getting this one)