The Final Update

I'm in Oxford-- yay! So this will be the final update in this blog-- er, or the final update for this trip. I may update about the progress of the project.

Wow, so my room in Oxford has a mirror above the desk. I keep getting distracted by my own image.

Okay, I left off with Friday night in Plum Cottage. I wasn't sure if I would actually go to Plum Cottage, because-- wait, I have laundry going. I should check on it. Back in a few minutes. Back! Anyway, Plum Cottage is in a village called Meadstead, actually five miles out of Alton. I wasn't sure if it would be a wise investment to take a cab to the house. I can tell you now, it was. The other bed and breakfast I stayed in (in Bath) was very much like a hotel. The people were nice, but very professional. In this bed and breakfast, I stayed in the daughter's room (coincidentally her name is Joy) and felt like a part of the family. And the family I stayed with treated me so kindly-- so kindly. It was a bed and breakfast, but they fed me all three meals of the day, because there was nowhere to go in Meadstead, really. I needed to take the bus to Winchester-- they drove me. I wanted to walk to Chawton-- they dropped me off at the top of the woods on their way to church. And, most incredibly, I was going to take a bus or a train to Basingstoke, fifteen kilometers off from Meadstead, and connect to Oxford this morning, and the mother (her name is Jean) drove me to the train station in Basingstoke. She even walked me up to the platform (the ticket man said "Would you like to be a good mum and walk her to her train?"). Really, this family was so incredibly sweet and caring. To my family-- I was in good hands. :-)

And also of note, the son is stupendously good-looking. I think he is about 24, maybe a little younger or older. He looks rather like Hugh Grant, but with good teeth and dark blond hair. I kept wanting to say "stupidly good-looking," but it didn't really work-- and by "stupidly," I mean that I was reduced to a state of quiet idiocy around him. Anyway. That's my aside.

I went to Winchester on the bus and walked around. Winchester was once the capital of England, in King Alfred's time. How do I know this? Well, I learned a lot about King Alfred and the wars he fought in a children's book called King Alfred the Great. It was my bedtime reading on Friday night. It's funny, because I was there for a while, but I feel like I didn't really do much at all. First, I walked up and down the High Street, looking at the shops. I went to the library and wrote the entry before this. Then, I went for lunch. Afterwards, I found the house where Jane Austen died-- it didn't really move me, not like seeing some of the others places have-- and actually got there just as another tourist was taking a picture. Oh, Jane Austen. I went to Winchester Cathedral next, and found Jane Austen's tomb. I took several pictures of it, as well as the plaque on the wall next to it. The family I stayed with was pretty funny on this topic-- on one occasion, the good-looking son was talking about the epiphany chapel near the back of the church, and gave the directions to it as "You turn left at the doorway, walk over Jane Austen, and go up the steps." Walk over Jane Austen... apparently something everyone does, without realizing what they're doing. And then they go into the cemetery and ask, "Where's Jane Austen buried?" I took so many pictures in the cathedral, many just of the very small chapels dedicated to various bishops. Since the cathedral is one of the largest in England, there is room for at least ten of these smaller chapels inside the overall cathedral. It's incredible.

After that I walked up to the Great Hall and took pictures of the Round Table. Perhaps not that of Arthurian legend, but supposedly very old. King Alfred had a Round Table, so perhaps this was it. That was moving, anyway. I couldn't help thinking of Monty Python-- especially since during the snowing on Friday, and while I was waiting for almost an hour for a train to come, I distracted myself with a fantasy of meeting the almost 70-year-old John Cleese and marrying him. *blush* I've revealed myself to all. After that, I went out a side door into Queen Eleanor's Garden, and took pictures of myself to indulge my vanity.

I caught the next bus back to Four Marks, the nearest bus station to Meadstead. The family told me I could call them and they would pick me up, but I decided to walk the two miles or so back. So I did, and it was a pleasant enough walk. When I got to the house, I took a nap and basically just puttered around for a while. It was a pretty cold evening, so I sat by the fire and watched "Impressionism: Revenge of the Nice" in the living room. Jean made rice for dinner. After that, I went back up to my room and puttered around for a while.

Upon waking up on Sunday morning, I looked out my window (I had a gorgeous view of the fields and hills toward Southampton and the Isle of Wight) and saw a girl ride by on a horse. By the way, this family not only has a garden with fruits and vegetables, but goes hunting, are incubating chicken eggs, and make all of their own bread and jam. So cool. And so rural. Wow, besides Monty Python, the Beatles have some more relevance now. I'll be visiting Liverpool this weekend, and now "Eleanor Rigby" is playing on my iTunes. I don't think national borders are drawn across such things-- particularly not Monty Python-- but I do feel some deeper connection now. When I was in Winchester, there were some street performers playing bluegrass and I was just like, "Dudes, you don't get it." How can you, without experiencing a hot summer evening in the south? Anyway, having gone to country churches here, I feel something stronger listening to the lyrics of "Eleanor Rigby" now. Rambling of the day...

The family dropped me off on their way to church, and I walked to Chawton to take pictures of Jane Austen's house and Chawton. I couldn't really go inside, but I got the pictures. The woods were gorgeous. I was basically just walking for four and a half hours, so I have a few pictures from that. When I came back, I had Sunday lunch (beef sandwich, apple, orange juice), helped Jean tidy up the kitchen, and took another nap. Basically lazed about for the rest of the evening.

And now I'm here at Oxford, with the explanation above! So take a look at the rest of my pictures, and at my regular blog for a continuation of posting there. I'll be starting the academic site this quarter, so... ooh!

More pictures, ever...

I'll explain the title in a moment. Er, I hope I will-- right now I've got 25 minutes remaining on a library computer in Winchester. Where, by the way, I decided not to bring my laptop and then saw a Caffe Nero in the first five minutes. Great, Joey. Clever girl.

I didn't go to Royal Victoria Park. Instead, I set off immediately for Beechen Cliff, the hills I mentioned. It was a tough walk-- it really is a cliff, so the road coming up to it were quite steep-- but the view at the end was worth it. There is a little park on top of Beechen Cliff, with a view out over all of Bath. It was raining lightly, and I read the part of Northanger Abbey where Catherine Morland and the Tilneys go up there. It was a little bizarre. I really wish I'd had my camera charged, because the views were breathtaking-- all of that yellow Bath stone and the green hills and the overcast skies. Afterwards, I went back down the hill and had dinner at an Italian restaurant to celebrate my last night in Bath, and then I went back to the bed and breakfast. I woke up at 6:00 am the next morning to pack, and ended up being so early for everything that I caught a train an hour and a half before the one I expected to take.

It was cold, by the way, both raining and snowing, and I took four trains to get to Alton. At one point I had to walk between train stations in the snow-- brr. Once I was in Alton, I caught a cab and directed the driver to "the Jane Austen house," which he dropped me off at. I was a little confused, because in my e-mail to Chawton, I was told to head up the long drive through the gates. This did not have a long drive or gates. The house is a little cottage. It wasn't until my guide in the house (who misunderstood me and rather deferentially called me an "American journalist") had given me a brief history of William the Conquerer and explained the background behind Chawton that I was made to realize that Jane Austen did not live in Chawton House, but in this cottage. I was supposed to be at Chawton-- that was where I had made my reservation-- I was in the wrong place! It was good, then, that I was early. I asked the guide if Chawton is open on weekends (although I know that it isn't) and said that I should probably go there immediately.

"You have to call ahead," he said.

"I think they might be expecting me," I replied.

"No, you can't just walk in there."

I didn't want to hurt his feelings and say that I hadn't meant to come to the Jane Austen House at all, so I let him call ahead. Luckily-- sort of-- he got the librarian I hadn't talked to, and she said I could come up. I walked the ten minute path to Chawton House, a rather beautiful and scary Elizabethan/Jacobian mansion. As I came up the front walk, I felt very much as if I were in Northanger Abbey. I rang the buzzer on the gate and stated my name, and I was buzzed in. I rang another buzzer on the front walk. Okay, 14 minutes left. I might not make it to the bed and breakfast stuff, so I'll say now that my hosts figured out that any AA batteries could go in the camera, and my camera is now working. So I'll have pictures to post once I have internet access from my laptop. I think I must have burnt out the fuse in the little charger thing, though, so I'll have to fix that-- when I'm in the United States. Anyway, after some confusion, I was shown through Chawton House, which is sort of a mix of every building style since it was built, hundreds and hundreds of years ago. I saw the little alcove where Jane Austen might have sat to write, I saw the lawns, I saw the original painting of Chawton which is really famous (if you see a painting of Chawton, it's probably that one), the kitchen (complete with wine corker and coffee grinder), the Great Hall, the libraries (7000 titles on and by women writers, including Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe), stained glass windows and portraits of the Knight family, and more. It was wonderful, and the guide knew a lot.

After that, I walked down to the church on the property, and looked at the graves of Jane Austen's mother and sister, Cassandra. That was sobering. Rather morbidly, my next stop was at a cafe across the street from the Jane Austen House, called Cassandra's Cup. I don't know-- naming your restaurant after the long-dead sister of Jane Austen famous only for being the sister of Jane Austen seems a little off to me. I shared a table with two elderly women since the restaurant was tight for space. Then I went back to the Jane Austen House (really necessary because they were storing my luggage). As a museum, it's not great-- a lot of the explanations and information there was kind of facile. However, the stuff they have is incredible. A writing table of Jane Austen's, her jewels, letters (including one to Cassandra after the publication of Pride and Prejudice), inscribed books to her nieces, tableware she mentioned in her letters, a mirror-- all sorts of things. And I got to go into her bedroom. Pretty strange...

I walked back to Alton from Chawton, which was sort of an unpleasant thing to do. I had to walk along the freeway, in the mud. Worse yet, I didn't know anything about my bed and breakfast other than its name, Plum Cottage. So I spent some time wandering around Alton-- the armpit of the UK-- looking for an internet cafe. Finally went to the library there and found out the address of my bed and breakfast, had pizza for dinner, and caught a cab to Plum Cottage. I'm glad I went, because the people are nice, it's beautiful, and it's quiet.

And now I really have to go. Only three minutes left! But I'll be in Oxford on Monday (THANK GOD) and I'll update then.

No more pictures, ever.

Maybe not ever. I think I must need a power converter (if you know the quote I'm thinking of RIGHT NOW, put it in the comments section) for my digital camera charger. On top of the adaptor! Sigh. So I need to get one here or borrow one in Oxford. But that means, of course, that there probably won't be any more pictures for Bath. It's kind of disappointing, but that's the way it crumbles, cookie-wise.

Last night, I went to the Fish and Chips Take-Away place again. As I was coming out, two homeless men stopped me and asked for money. Okay, so I normally don't give money to homeless people. It's not really a policy-- it really depends on the situation and on who's asking-- but I don't do it. I can't give money to everyone, for one thing. For another, I support the perhaps somewhat WASP-y argument that everyone has the ability to draw themselves up by their bootstraps, etc. It may get harder, but it's possible. Even if I'm privileged enough to be at a rich and exclusive university, I've worked hard to get there, continue to work hard, and have had at least four different jobs in the last two years to supplement my income. I'm willing to help homeless people-- I don't want the United States (or the world) to have poverty and people on the streets. But giving my money that I worked for to homeless individuals-- beggars-- doesn't work for me. I'd rather pay the government in taxes to support homeless shelters, employment programs, etc. It's not a topic I feel entirely easy about, because I do tend to be a little hypocritical about it. It's still something I'm trying to figure out for myself, but there are some basics. Anyone want to shed light on the situation, or debate it, or talk about their own views on the subject? So anyway, I wouldn't normally have given these men any money, but when you're on an empty street at dusk and two grown men approach you-- I wasn't terribly scared, but I was not comfortable. The man played some psychological games by standing only a few feet away from me-- anyway, I gave him twenty pence (only 40 cents or so), keeping my purse angled away from him. He sort of grumbled under his breath when I gave it to him.

I was so angry at myself for even giving that to him. What claim did that man have to my money? None. I like to give money to street performers here, because I am paying for a service rendered-- they create beauty, wonderful music, and I show my appreciation. I can give money based on pity. But this man only got money based on fear tactics. I should have said no and walked away.

So that was my angry moment of the night. I was angry at him and at myself, for doing what I did and for night feeling entirely comfortable on the subject of giving to the homeless and to beggars.

I slept in again this morning. It was raining lightly when I came into the city centre. I'm not sure what the weather is like right now. I'll definitely make it to Royal Victoria Park, and we'll see about the hills. As I mentioned, no pictures, unfortunately. So will pass my last day in Bath. Tomorrow I take a train to Alton, and visit Chawton. Saturday and Sunday I will just walk around Alton-- there isn't much to do, I think, but I have to go to Chawton on Friday because it isn't open on weekends. So this is probably my last update until Monday, when I'll be in Oxford. I won't really have internet access until then, unless I go to an internet cafe. We'll see.

Strolling Up and Down the Pump-Room

I forgot to mention that yesterday, I heard a French woman talking on the phone and I could understand basically everything she had (even though she was mostly just giving directions). I was so proud, until two French girls walked by and were speaking so quickly that I couldn't understand anything. It was terrible.

Another fit of homesickness last night, as I went to the California Cafe for dinner. The California Cafe, of course, was fitted out in Mission-style furniture, and featured both salads and hot dogs on its menu. Like, Sizzlers maybe would do that, but no other restaurant in California. If you want a hot dog in California, you go to some place called the Hot Dog Shack or something. Anyway, the menu also featured New York steak, Lousiana blackened chicken, etc. California indeed. I got another Caesar salad and it was something of an improvement over the one at the pub the night before.

Afterwards, I went to wait for the Bizarre Bath tour and this time, people actually showed up! In fact, there was a group of about 25 people. Our guide was an older man in a purple coat, and he led us around Bath, incorporating the local sights in his jokes. Easily the best two moments were when:

1) He was finding the "lay lines"-- lines across England, with magic where they meet. Anyway, he wore a blindfold to get to one. Once he took it off and stood on his little crate and started talking, this guy rode by, out of the blue, on a bike, with a blindfold on. It was pretty funny, and pretty nonsensical.

2) Also, when he pointed out this very tiny, square, plain church built not twenty feet away from the Abbey. I hadn't even noticed it before. If I ever get my camera to work, I'll take a picture. The guide said, "What optimist built that?"

The tour was okay. I walked home afterwards, with my laptop, digital camera, purse, and 150 pounds in my pockets. I was prime thieving material, I'll tell you what. I went to bed almost immediately.

This morning it was very rainy and unpleasant outside. I did the minimum amount of preparation for going downstairs. Breakfast was as usual, save for the two American tourists there. I'm still having trouble definitely telling American accents apart from British accents. Okay, great, the couple next to me is smoking. I hate this. I really do. I want to hit them both. And tell them that they're going to die young. Back to my story. The couple is originally from Florida, but have moved to upstate New York. The woman was so loud-- so loud-- and she just wouldn't shut up when the owner of the bed and breakfast asked her, "How was your night?" She started with the Indian restaurant she and her husband went to last night and ended with the prices of gas here. Literally, she talked for like ten minutes straight. She had a heavy accent, was also fat with dyed blond hair, and-- God-- blue eyeshadow. Her husband was a cowed-looking, thinner man who spoke very quietly. We talked about travelling, prices here, and my studies-- or rather, she mostly talked. I didn't really get a chance to.

I went back to my room and slept until 1:30 pm. I was so tired, and the weather was awful. It turns out to have been a wise decision, because when I woke up, the rain had stopped and the skies were clear, with big fluffy white clouds. The walk into town was a pleasant one. Kristina-- I passed two girls with boots like yours, so at least they are in style in one country! Although unfortunately, one girl paired them with orange tights and a jean miniskirt. I immediately went to the Pump-Room, where I sat by myself and had afternoon tea. The Pump-Room is very elegant, but not that fancy-- it's just the slightest bit dirty. My tablecloth had a few small stains on it already when I sat down, and the carpet was sort of dingy and dirty, as well. But the chandelier is beautiful and I loved the carpets, which were salmon and mint green and cream stripes. I ordered the Pump-Room cream tea, which came with two pastries (a chocolate eclair and a lemon tart), two mini scones (with strawberry preserve and clotted cream), four tea sandwiches (all with mayonnaise and pickle and onion and fish and egg, all the things I hate ), a dressed salad, and coffee. Clotted cream is very bizarre, like a combination of ice cream (it's cold), butter (in color and consistency), and whipped cream (in flavor). I ate all of my pastries, didn't touch the sandwiches, and drank the coffee. A pianist played standards the whole time, including "It Ain't Necessarily So," kind of an odd choice. People walked through the restaurant to look at it, which I think is pretty cool.

I also noticed a little girl playing a video game at the table, and I was horrified. This also happened at California Cafe last night. It's such a breach of etiquette. Only slightly better is when people read at a table when other people are there (unless everyone is reading)-- it's massively rude. I tried it once when I was younger, and my parents wouldn't let me eat dinner with them. I applaud them for it. It would have been bad otherwise...

The restroom of the Roman Baths has a little sign above the sinks that says "Warning: Very hot water." That amused me-- that the water at the hot springs is so hot that it demands a separate little card to warn visitors.

Not much else to talk about-- since I haven't charged my camera yet, I'm saving my walk into the hills for tomorrow. I may not get to take pictures there, but I'm optimistic. I'll go have dinner soon. On my way to Caffe Nero from the Pump-Room, I stopped in a very expensive little store (sort of like Claire's, but expensive...) called Accessorize. The store had the sweetest purses I've ever seen. One was a lavender velvet purse, with a top flap made from satin in the same color. The top flap had dull, silver sequins and little mauve roses and ribbon dangling from it. Another was made from a pale gold, sheer fabric that bunched at the top (but not like a drawstring, still a regular purse), with fake pearls, rhinestones, and silver beads at the top. A third one was made from strips of different fabric, with the middle one made from cream canvas with pink and white embroidery. Some of the different fabrics were pink and white riboon, lace, and muslin. There were more ribbons were glass jewels dangling from the end. They were really lovely. The coin purses were cute too, one green with orange polka dots and another that matched the pale gold purse. But to give you an idea of how expensive they were, one really extravagant hair clip with ribbons and feathers and flowers cost 30 pounds (almost $60). Next door they had clothing, including really lovely skirts. Between the purses and the skirts, I wished that I had both worked with LiLu and taken a sewing/printmaking class.

Yep... okay... more updates tomorrow.

Jesus Works His Magic on the Receipt

I forgot to mention that on the receipt for the Pump-Room, the water is called "house wine." Hm. Fermentation? Anyway, worst name for the water ever. It's like the people at the Pump-Room are pointing their fingers at you and laughing.

Any other suggestions for the title of this short entry? I feel like it invites a lot of different quips.

The water isn't that bad...

I went to Sally Lunn's for lunch. It was a little expensive, but not too bad-- and apparently it's a staple here, so it was essential. I read in one of the guidebooks that Bath has more restaurants per capita than any other city in England, so I guess eating is just as much a part of the experience of being in Bath as visiting the Pump-Room or the Roman Baths or the Abbey.

No...

First, a little rant about pigeons. FEVER! (Sorry, song playing on the radio here.) When you sit in the Abbey Square, pigeons will get all up under your feet and you have to literally kick them away, or pretend that you're going to. And they are such ugly birds, with those little stupid eyes and big fat bodies. The fattest pigeon I saw yesterday must have been a beggar pigeon. He had a limp, with one of his feet all curled up. He hobbled around with his handicapped leg and fat body. The others just waddle. They will fly a little if you kick, as they startle, but if someone is walking behind them, they run on the ground. Their little plump bodies just wobble back and forth. As Zach would say, they're all fatties.

At Sally Lunn's, all of the waitresses were dressed in period costumes, apparently from the 1600's or something.

WAIT, I FORGOT SOMETHING FROM YESTERDAY. The 1600's thing reminded me. These two Americans came into the Jane Austen exhibit in the Museum of Costume, this older man and his kind of dumpy, a little bit older than teenage daughter. The man was like, "Oh, Jane Austen movies! I guess these costumes are all supposed to be from the 1890's or something." Okay, so I would have been okay with 1830's-50's. Like, that wouldn't have been so bad. But 1890's? Dude, that's almost the turn of the century! That's the Gibson girls, and the Spanish-American War. Sense and Sensibility takes places at the end of the 1700's! Okay, so I was annoyed by that. Then the dumpy daughter gets to the Emma exhibit. Now, the exhibit is very much like, "Ohhhhh dear, these silly Americans. The costumes aren't a bit accurate, and they wanted to make their main characters pretty. How shallow they are! La! Hollywood!" So here I am, Joey McGarvey, Ambassador of American Culture, giving equal time to all of the BBC adaptations, oohing and aahing over the Pride and Prejudice costumes. And all of my work unravels-- get it?-- when the dumpy daughter goes, "Oh, Emma! I've seen this! Now here's something I care about!" Great. Thanks, Ms. Dumpy, Ambassador of American Annoyingness.

Back to Sally Lunn's. It's the oldest building in Bath, and serves the Sally Lunn bun, a very light bread. I sat upstairs in the Jane Austen room. What a find, this shrine to Jane Austen. The Jane Austen room seemed to have no connection to Austen-- nothing in its decorations distinguished it from the rest of the restaurant-- although I saw six green books in a bookhelf in the corner, so I suppose those might have been the novels. Sally Lunn's also serves the Jane Austen cream tea (with clotted cream and raspberry jam) and Jane Austen coffee. Jane Austen coffee is a "clever blend," with "no bitterness detected in the cup." Strange. I'd never thought that coffee could be a medium for literary criticism, but there it is. "Clever blend" imitates Austen's writing and attempts a description of her, and "no bitterness detected in the cup" is sort of a bizarre rewriting of Virginia Woolf's criticism A Room of One's Own, in a description of a beverage.

I, however, ordered a sandwich made from a toasted Sally Lunn bun with chicken breast, smoked bacon, and cheddar cheese. Bacon here is essentially very thinly sliced ham-- by which I mean it really isn't the thin, narrow strips of the United States. It's hard to describe. It's a staple of my breakfast (I've definitely got my regular breakfast now, I think I've mentioned it all before though). It was good in the sandwich. But really, the distinguishing feature of the meal was the drink. I ordered a soft drink, "Traditional Dandelion and Burdock." I went to use the restroom after ordering and when I came back, there it was in a glass on my table. I forgot what I had actually ordered and thought that perhaps it was a diet Coke, because it was caffeinated and dark brown. But oh no. Only the first moment of taste was anything like a Coke. It is much, much sweeter, in a sort of sickly way. The taste is basically like drinking liquid licorice. It was unpleasant, but the aftertaste quickly died away, so it wasn't as unpleasant as it could have been.

At the next table over was a British couple and an American woman. All three were very overweight, with little pinheads and a very dull, bland appearance. I eavesdropped. They weren't dull to listen to, really. The American woman had a very light Southern accent, and I guessed she must be from the Midwest or Florida. When we got to talking, I found out she was from Oklahoma. Okay, with my defense of their intelligence a moment ago, I feel bad saying this, but they originally talked to me because they couldn't figure out how to open their very basic and ordinary three-panel menu. Um. As I listened to them talking together, the American woman say, "I just remember those rugged cliffs slamming into the sea and-- and--" It's that sort of bizarre pseudo-poeticism. It's bad enough when my writing takes that on, but when anyone does it while speaking and can't carry it off: really bad. And that's a direct quote, by the way. I was taking notes at my table, which I think might have freaked out the waitresses.

A man at another table had a voice like Alan Rickman's. Unfortunately, he was so massively unattractive-- not all that fat, not really ugly, just generally unattractive-- that not even the voice could save him. Alan Rickman is lucky to have-- why is "You Give Me Fever" playing again?-- FEVER-- good looks as well as the voice.

I'm writing from my notes now, and I have a question jotted down. Is the reason why you breathe in after drinking alcohol because alcohol evaporates so quickly, so you can rapidly clear the taste from your mouth? Or does the air have a different function? Does it work with other drinks? (This comes from that dandelion drink.) Ooh, if you want to read about the other bizarre beverage I drank today, keep reading. Okay, I also liked the sugar cubes. Whatever. They were irregularly-shaped, with both white sugar and brown sugar cubes.

Next I went to the Roman Baths museum. I tried to take pictures. I still haven't been able to charge my camera, but I've found if I turn it off for a couple of minutes, I can get enough power to take another picture. So I squeezed some in, and I've put those online. I'll keep trying to figure out how to charge the camera, anyway. The Baths were very nice. I put my hand in the water, and it was indeed very warm. The water was also green. Only a couple of things particularly moved me there. Well, I liked seeing the steps where people descended into the Baths during the Georgian period. I also liked seeing the mist curling off the surface of the Baths, both the main bath and the King's Bath. The spiralling was very beautiful. I liked the frigidrium, where the Romans went as a last step after goin through the baths and the heated rooms. It was lit with green spotlights, and the pool was deep-- about 5 feet. The room was cold. The Romans left sacrifices, including metal plates inscribed with wishes and curses, in the baths, so there was a sign posted in the frigidarium saying that we could use that pool as a wishing well. I threw a penny in and made a wish. It would have been nice if I could have taken a picture, but alas. In parts of the pool, there were so many coins that the bottom was completely coated with silver, with flecks of copper and gold. The green lights made the silver look tarnished.

A note on one of the curses-- the letters were so squashed and badly-written that a modern historian believes the writer was dyslexic. Most of these curses run along the lines of "Whoever stole my finest pair of gloves has gone against you, O Goddess, and should be made to pay with loss or with blood."

After the museum, I went upstairs to the Pump-Room. I'll be going there tomorrow for afternoon tea, but I decided to try the infamous bath water today. I've heard that it's so awful that you want to take it back, or spit it out. But it's pretty cheap-- fifty pence a glass. There is a little water bar in the Pump-Room just for people to try water. I bought a glass and was surprised. The taste isn't so bad-- our cold mineral water is much worse. But I could not finish the glass. The water was warm, first of all. The taste wasn't bad, just slightly earthy and salty. The smell was much worse. When you go to drink and your nose is in the glass, you can smell this salty, warm, slightly eggy smell. It's terrible, sort of sulfurous. I drank the first half of the glass pretty easily and then couldn't go any farther. I did meet a few American tourists who were also trying water. I had some trouble at first-- I can't tell American accents as easily as I could before, and I don't know why. Everything just sounds the same now. The tourists were from a town about two hours north of Lexington, Kentucky.

And now I'm here. I was going to go on a tour tonight, and it's still a possibility, but I'm pretty tired. I was going to go home to nap, but I ended up spending longer than I anticipated at the museum, and it would have been useless to make the trek. So now I can spend the next two hours at Caffe Nero, doing stuff on the internet, and then get dinner somewhere, and try to do one of the walks again. Or I can grab dinner and then go back to my room and sleep like crazy.

I've been eating so much. I'll get nice and plump before going to Oxford. Like a sleek racehorse. Or a Thanksgiving turkey.

Eureka!

Okay, I've got it. Planned schedule for the next few days in Bath:

3/5/2005 (today)
12:00-1:00 pm... lunch at Sally Lunn's Bun Shop
1:00-2:00 pm... Roman Baths Museum
2:00-5:00 pm... go back to the bed and breakfast, nap, walk back into Bath
5:00-7:00 pm... back to Caffe Nero for internet
7:00-8:00 pm... dinner somewhere
8:00-9:30 pm... Bizarre Bath

3/6/2005
9:30-10:30 am... Caffe Nero for internet
10:30 am-12:30 pm... free walking tour of Bath
12:30-2:00 pm... Queen Victoria Park
2:00-3:00 pm... high tea at the Pump-Room
3:00-6:00 pm... walk into the hills
6:00-8:00 pm... dinner
8:00-10:00 pm... Ghost Walk

I have no idea what I will do on the 7th. Maybe I should take a day trip to Stonehenge or something. Because seriously, I'm running pretty close to exhausting the possibilities in Bath as it is. Not that there isn't a ton of stuff to do here, but a lot of it doesn't pertain to or enhance my research at all, and I'd feel badly going places that just won't help. I'd rather sit in a cafe and listen to and watch people, something that actually does help my research. So we'll see. If nothing else, I can sit in my room and finish rereading Northanger Abbey.

Okay, I'm off to lunch and the Baths and then a nap. Back later.

Dusk in Bath and a Shady Man

So it stopped raining after I wrote my entry yesterday. After the Caffe Nero closed, I had about an hour to burn, so I went to have dinner. I thought about going to Pulteney Bridge, but as I approached it, I saw the Saracen's Head and decided to go there instead. If you'll remember from the picture captions, this was Charles Dickens's favorite pub here in Bath. Well, it lacked the charm of the Eagle and Child (Bird and Baby) of Oxford, the favorite pub of C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkein. I was a little disappointed-- I expected it to be filled with smoke and ghosts.

And on the subject of smoke-- everyone smokes here, and most of them indoors. I can feel the cancer starting to grow in my lungs already. Don't they know they're killing themselves?

Anyway, one more note: never ever order a salad at a pub. I don't know what I was thinking, but that was not really a salad. It was some shredded lettuce drowning in dressing. I was still hungry after the Bad Salad, so I got some cookies at the grocery store and went down the street to the pub where the Bizarre Bath tour is supposed to meet. It was almost 8 pm, and the sun was setting. Bath at dusk is very beautiful: the sky was a combination of blue and of the light and dark grey clouds, the hills were bright green with the yellow houses catching the sunlight and the windows sparkling-- everything was in bright shades of purple and gold and green and blue. It was breathtaking. The air was very cold and everything was clean from the rain, and the bells in the Abbey were chiming almost constantly.

I waited until five minutes of 8 pm and no one was there for the Bizarre Bath tour yet. I didn't want to be the only one there to go on the tour, so I went across the city centre to the pub where the ghost tour was meeting. But the only one there for that was the tour guide, a shady-looking man with a dark, slouched hat on. I pretended to be looking at some posters at the theatre next door while I waited for someone else to show up, but no one did. Something about going on a ghost tour alone with a man who looks like the Shadow did not appeal to me, so I went home. I watched the premiere episode of "Casanova" on the BBC, and went to bed. That was my day.

Today I'm going to go to the Roman Baths Museum and have a Sally Lunn bun for lunch. I think I'll try my luck again with the tours tonight at 8 pm. Other than that, I'm not sure-- I'm saving high tea at the Pump-Room for tomorrow, and I think I want to save a walk into the hills for then as well. There are some museums around town, but they are in things like American Art and Victorian Art-- although normally I wouldn't mind going, they don't really apply to my project, and besides, I could see good examples of those kinds of art in the United States. Or in London. The ghost tour and Bizarre Bath tour apply to the idea of what makes Bath special-- why one would choose to write about it in Georgian times and today-- but looking at art in a museum doesn't really do that. The art could be in any museum. (Whereas the Museum of Costume is special for Bath, particularly because of the Jane Austen exhibit.)

Walking the Upper Rooms

I was so taken with the corsets yesterday that I completely forgot to mention that while I was at the Museum of Costume, I also visited the Upper Assembly Rooms. You're not allowed to take pictures inside, but they were beautiful. It's too bad they're not the original rooms-- as I mentioned in the picture captions, the originals were bombed during World War II and these are just exact replicas.

Couples and Corsets

I'm so embarrassed. I posted this on the other blog and thought I had lost it, because it wasn't on this blog...

Anyway, I'm out for the night, but here's the earlier entry.

So I honestly don't know how this keeps happening to me, but at least three times I've been here, in this basement room in Caffe Nero, and it's absolutely empty. A young couple comes in with food and drinks and chooses the couch which is less than a foot away from me. This room is big! Look at the picture I posted if you don't believe me! And we're all congregated alone at the end of this big room. The two of them eat-- always disgustingly, and I have to listen to it, and I hate listening to it-- and drink. After this is done, they start groping each other. The guy always sits on the left, the girl on the right, and he begins the grope session. It makes me really uncomfortable, but I can't go anywhere, because the outlet is here.

Go away... go away... go away...

I had lunch at the Fish and Chips place again, and went to the Abbey Square to wait for the walking tour. I listened to a man playing a guitar-like instrument, with heavy hemp and bead work on it. I thought it might have been a dobro or a mandolin, but I think I was wrong. It had a very beautiful sound, like a harp but rich and deeper. Two o' clock came around, but alas, I saw no one for the walking tour. I'll try again tomorrow. So I went into the Abbey and took pictures. The stained glass windows-- well, really, the whole Abbey-- were spectacular. On the hour, we said prayers. I can say the Lord's Prayer now, which is sort of a big accomplishment for me. I don't feel quite so lost in service anymore-- and no, I don't mean as a lost soul, I mean confused, and no, I don't mean a confused soul, I mean out of place. I lit a candle for everyone, but particularly for Kristina because I thought of her while doing this. Lighting candles is one of the most beautiful customs I can think of, and one that really doesn't need to be religious at all. It's just a lovely way of keeping people in our thoughts. Unfortunately, my computer died while in the Abbey, so no pictures after that. I'm trying to figure out how to use the charger.

After that, I walked up to the Museum of Costume. The people who run it had a really great idea, which is to give everyone a little audio kit. You choose what you want more information on-- each display has a number above it, which you enter into a keypad. After the basic information, you have the option of hearing more elaboration. Historical details, literary passages, quotes from historians and fashion experts-- you can craft your own tour and learn about what you want to know. I thought it was a lovely idea. There are two main exhibits, aside from the regular part of the museum-- one is on corsets and the other is on Jane Austen film adaptations. Ah, two of my passions under one roof! The corset exhibit had corsets to try on. All around me, grown women saying, "This is quite comfortable," and a little girl who said, "Mum, can I have one?" I tried a red one on and wished my digital camera hadn't died. After I took it off, I went to the Jane Austen exhibit. There were costumes from the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice (two of Elizabeth's dresses, one of Darcy's costumes), the film of Sense and Sensibility with Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet (one dress each, one of Colonel Brandon's outfits, one of Willoughby's), the Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma (one dress for her and one for Toni Collette), and every other BBC adaptation of Jane Austen you can imagine. There were also muslin slips to try on, although I couldn't really figure out how to put them on. I enjoyed it a lot. After that, I went back to the corset exhibit and tried the red corset back on. I was hoping to ask someone to take a picture and e-mail it to me, but alas-- no one had a digital camera. I'm so addicted to corsets-- I love them and it's an irrational love, because they were a terrible idea, restricting women physically and emotionally and mentally, etc.--it's like wishing you had bought a dress and going back to try it on later (I've done this too, of course).

I browsed the gift shop for a while, then came back down here. I was a bit lost at first, then realized I was right by Milsom Street. I wanted to go on the Bizarre Bath walking tour tonight, but it's starting to rain-- sort of unfortunate, because the weather's actually been pretty nice all day. I guess I'll wait it out a bit and see what happens. I know the city centre well enough now that I won't feel like I failed if I miss any more walking tours, but it would be a nice experience and might supplement my writing of my experiences well. We'll see, I guess.

I'm a lazy girl...

Or, perhaps not lazy, but easily cold. After coming here yesterday, I went in search of food. Food and a notebook. I got a beef pasty-- how British am I?-- and finally found a notebook. I'm so glad for that. I've written addresses, lists of all the money I've spent, a detailed calendar for the next few days, and notes in it. I've been so good, and it's been amazingly helpful. Anyway, I went to the Abbey to discover that evening service is not at 5:30 pm as I thought, but at 6:30! I went into some shops to try to keep warm, but they all closed early since it was Sunday. Finally, I sat in the Abbey square and worked in my notebook. A street performer was playing his guitar nearby, in front of the Roman Baths. He was thin and stringy-looking, with a very raspy voice. Occasionally an older man accompanied him on the recorder. He played a really bizarre version of "The Sound of Silence," "Danny Boy," and "Knocking on Heaven's Door" (prefaced with a story about his pilgrimage over Easter to "Mecca. Covent Garden, that is, Mecca of my folk."). He also played "Annie's Song," which he said he played for Annie Denver when she came to Bath.

Hm.

Saturday was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm. Yesterday it was sunny sometimes, but windy and cold all the time. I was not dressed for the weather at all. I thought that it would be like Saturday, so I had only my light sweater on. Bad idea. Today I was smarter and wore my heavy raincoat (we're supposed to have scattered showers as well). I managed to sit outside for about forty-five minutes, but by 5:15 pm, I couldn't stand it anymore. I went home. It would have been nice to have had service in the same church where Jane Austen might have gone to services (I don't know what denomination an Abbey is, really). But I'll go inside today or tomorrow, and that will be fine. At home, I worked more on my notes and then took a hot shower and curled up under my blankets. I went around the corner to Chelsea Street and got a pizza with tomatoes and mushrooms-- ah, delicious-- and came back with it. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention in this blog that the guy at the counter gave me a free diet Coke. Okay, it's silly, but he was cute. I think girls understand this... Kristin Chenoweth expresses it well in "Taylor the Latte Boy":

"As he smoothly flipped the lever to prepare my double latte,
But for me he made it triple! (And he didn't think I knew.)
But I saw him flip the lever, and for me he made it triple,
And I knew that triple latte meant that Taylor loved me too.

I said, 'What time are you playing? And thank you for the extra skim.'
He said, 'Keep the $3.55,' because this triple latte was on him."

When I came back, I ate my pizza and watched "Britain's Top 50 Greatest Comedy Sketches." Of course, Monty Python really dominated the list, but here were a couple I liked:

1) "Lumberjack Song," Monty Python. I think it was number 48 or something. I'd never seen a couple of these Monty Python sketches before, and they are so classic. So this was good. There was also commentary by John Cleese-- so hot-- and Michael Palin and Terry Gilliam.

2) "Four Yorkshiremen," At Last the 1948 Show. Famous sketch, really funny, and the show had a great cast.

3) "The Jockey Safari," Big Train. So funny. A herd of jockeys in the grasslands, hunted down by the Artist Formerly Known as Prince.

4) "Gerald the Talking Gorilla," Not the Nine O' Clock News. Also good, where a gorilla is the subject of an experiment, and becomes more cultured and literate than the scientist who is studying him. The scientist says, "You were wild when I captured you!" And the gorilla says, "Wild? I was absolutely livid!" The gorilla is played by Rowan Atkinson.

5) "Ministry of Silly Walks," Monty Python. Oh John Cleese...

6) "Andre Previn," Morecambe and Wise. Andre Previn is a surprisingly funny guy.

7) "Spanish Inquisition" and "Dead Parrot," Monty Python. Again, classics. "Dead Parrot" was number two, but "Spanish Inquisition" is so much better...

So yeah, look those up. I spent the evening surrounding myself with these comic hallmarks of Britain.

There is a family next to me in the coffee shop and they have the most horrendous accents. I used to think, "Oh, British accents, they're so pretty and nice and distinguished-sounding." The priest-in-training I met said, "British accents are so much more cultured, don't you think?" And you know what I say now? British accents are, at least by half, quite ugly. Maybe it's because I don't hear American accents anymore, but a lot of British accents are abrupt, with no music. American accents sound more lyrical to my ear every time I hear one or I speak. I know that some people speak heavily and the accent can be ugly, but really-- there is so much variety in accents here that among the beautiful ones, you get some very ugly ways of speaking.

Also of note is "Old Man River"-- it was the background music in one of the sketches last night ("Breakfast Routine") and it was playing in one of the stores I went into yesterday. A little bit odd.

I'm going to go mail my postcards next, then go for a free walking tour of the city (provided it's not raining), go to the Abbey, come back to Caffe Nero and update my blog and add new pictures, have dinner, and go on the Bizarre Bath walking tour. Tomorrow, I plan to go to the Roman Baths museum, the upper Assembly rooms, the Bath Museum of Costume, high tea at the Pump-Room, and the Ghost Walk. On Wednesday, I'm going to go to the Sally Lunn bun shop and walk around the city-- to Royal Victoria Park, #4 Sydney Road, etc. I'm not sure what to do after that.

Okay, so off I go.

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Gobbles and Graves

Last night after I finished working here, I was quite hungry, so I went in search of food. But as I wandered about, I found little that was relatively inexpensive, filling, and delicious. And then, as I passed an upscale French restaurant, I saw Them. Two wealthy-looking, middle-aged folk walking towards Their red sports car, with food wrapped in butcher paper in Their hands. They were eating fries-- or chips-- out of it, looking quite happy with Their greasy and delicious food. I almost stopped Them, the saviors of my stomach.

But I was embarrassed, so I moved on.

But then-- I saw another boy, sitting down and eating hungrily out of another wrapped bundle. I knew I was close on the trail. I passed by the Caffe Nero and there it was! Carry-out fish and chips! Well, I'll tell you something. Fish and chips are excellent. First of all, it's cheap-- regular chips (more than I could eat) costs one pound, and the fish cost like two pounds or something. I think next time, I won't get fish (chicken would be better), and I know it's greasy and fatty, but it is so filling and hot and yummy! So anyway, I'll probably be heading there again, but I'm not sure if I'll do that tonight.

The same pop standards CD that was playing in this coffeehouse yesterday is playing here today. It's an okay CD, but really, I could use some new music. I don't know how the baristas can take it.

I walked home eating my fish and chips. I felt like some sort of fatty hobo, with my fish and chips in my hands, and with a definite waddle caused by the off-balance walk of mine (I carry my laptop, purse, and digital camera with me everywhere, so I'm always leaning towards my laptop-carrying side). As I crossed in front of a gas station, a homeless man offered me a basket (er, now I wonder if he meant it for all of my junk), but I declined it. Instead, I offered him my chips, because I had way too many to eat, but he said he wasn't hungry. I wrapped the rest of my food up and kept going. Just before I reached my street, as I was passing by the cemetery, a boy jumped out of the bushes to the cemetery. He had long, curly brown hair, a beard, and a long dark coat. He also had a green bottle in his hand. He turned around and offered his hand to a black girl with curly hair, also wearing a long black coat with a green bottle in her hand, as she jumped out of the bushes. It was dusk, and they must have been drinking in the cemetery. It felt very surreal-- they ignored me-- but it was very like a scene from a movie or a book.

When I got back to the house, I settled into bed to write postcards to Jenny, Jasmine, and Jessi, and ate some more chips. Watched TV, etc. I saw the news about the Pope's death. I also watched a TV show called "Stars in their Eyes," which is where people dress up as their favorite pop stars and sing. Last night it was the celebrity version, and Jerry Springer sang as Elvis. It was very bizarre.

This morning, I went to breakfast downstairs, and had my usual-- orange juice, coffee with lots of cream and sugar, corn flakes with sugar (I have to put sugar in everything...), toast, bacon, and roasted tomato. Today I had the strange feeling that perhaps this dining room is my mind-- every time I go in, songs that I know well and like and are very much a part of me are playing on the radio. Yesterday it was "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys and "Mellow Yellow." And today it was "Let's Get Together" by Al Green, "Son of a Preacher Man" by Janis Joplin, and "Lovin' You." Very much a relaxed Sunday morning selection of songs. The room has walls covered in dark red wallpaper, and although it's a bit stuffy, it isn't entirely so. It's a bit cluttered, with trinkets everywhere. Er, so anyway, that was my feeling of the moment. I was really afraid I was going to lose it. I need to get a small notebook or pad, because I don't have anything to jot notes or thoughts down on. It's really getting bad. I don't want to forget anything.

I went upstairs and got ready after breakfast, and then went to Locksbrook Cemetery. When I say I like cemeteries, I mean it. I spent a while there, and I'll put pictures up soon. Yesterday the weather was lovely, sunny and warm-- today it is foggy and chilly. I couldn't stay at the cemetery as long as I would have liked for that reason. However, the hills and the rest of the city were very lovely, distant in the mist (the cemetery is on a hill). Some of the tombstones, and the layout of the cemetery, were also very nice. I came into town after about forty-five minutes there, and I've been at the Caffe Nero since, drinking hot chocolate and typing captions for photos. After this, I'm not sure where I'll go, but I'm thinking of going to the evening service at 5:30 pm at the Abbey, and maybe the Hysterical Bath walking tour at 8 pm, if they're going tonight.

I should get a spanking--

-- for being a day late already.

So, I got into Bath yesterday. My trip through London was a hard one-- I was so stressed-- and I stayed the night in a youth hostel. That wasn't really a bad experience. I was just tired and upset. I took a bus at 9:30 am yesterday, and for about three hours travelled through the south of England. The countryside was really very nice. I enjoyed it a lot. When we arrived in Bath, I couldn't figure out where to catch my bus, although it runs every ten minutes and I should have been able to. I finally found out that the bus stops outside the train station, not the bus station, and I caught it there. We travelled past Victoria Park, up to the bed and breakfast I'm staying at. Immediately I was charmed by the empty milk bottle waiting to be filled outside the door. Immediately the mistress of the household hated me because when she took me into my very small room, I didn't lift my very heavy suitcase and I scraped the corner of the wall. I don't blame her for being upset-- in fact, she was much less upset than I would have been.

Anyway, my room is small, but it's lovely. I debated youth hostels versus bed and breakfasts, and here is my rationale on choosing a bed and breakfast:

* I don't have to pay for breakfast.
* I don't have to pay for luggage storage, because my room is a single and no one can get in to steal my stuff.
* It's only like 6 pounds more a night (okay, that's like $12), if that. It's really not bad. The currency change and the weakness of the dollar is really what is throwing me.
* And it's just so much more comfortable, and I can read and write there without being disturbed. I really don't think this would have been possible in a hostel.

That's why I'm staying in a bed and breakfast. I hope all is well with this.

I was exhausted, so I had some cookies-- Kristina was generous enough to provide me with food for travel, and it's been keeping me up in some low times-- and then I took a nap. When I woke up, the day was still young, so I decided to go into town. It was 4:00, too late to really do anything in town, so I just decided to find the Caffe Nero (where I'm getting my wireless access) and have dinner. I was going to catch the bus back into town, but when I got on, I couldn't find the right money. I had kunas mixed with euros mixed with quarters mixed with pounds-- and then the paper money-- I told the driver I would get my purse straight and catch the next one. But then I started walking into town, and I found out it's only about a half hour walk, and a pleasant one at that. So I'm not going to take the bus anymore, unless I'm going to the bus station.

When I got into town, I almost immediately bumped right into the Pump-Room and the Roman Baths. I love Bath. It is beautiful. Everything is honey-colored at this time of day, late afternoon into early dusk. As I walked toward the Pump-Room I heard a street performer (there are many here) playing part of Swan Lake on a recorder, and later he played "Amazing Grace." It was lovely and eerie. I wandered around for a bit and finally headed up towards the Jane Austen Centre, which is when I found the Caffe Nero. So I came in and connected to the internet, checking up on my e-mail and taking care of other small tasks. Finally, my computer died because I didn't have access to an outlet (the key tables were all taken by other customers so I was outside) and I took off. I have to admit, I was feeling pretty homesick, so I finally gave into all of my darker and deeper urges and went to a McDonald's. I was hungry, I needed that heavy and greasy feeling in my stomach, and I just went for it. It was satisfying, too. The McDonald's was filthy, by the way. I thought McDonald's restaurants in the United States were dirty, but they are pristine palaces of sanitation and beauty compared to the restaurants here. Food all over the floor-- literally-- people eating in the messes of other people. I finally ended up eating at the computer consoles so I didn't have to sit with other people who were eating, and because that part was almost clean.

And I had to take my cheeseburger back, because I ordered it plain and it wasn't. Was it my accent? Perhaps. I feel like the McDonald's restaurants in the United States have adapted to my needs, but they certainly haven't here!

I won't have such a guilty relapse again, hopefully-- I'll try to immerse myself in pub culture and such. Although there is a Ben and Jerry's just across from the Pump-Room, and I haven't had a dessert yet in England, so I think a trip there may be in order. But the contrast between Ben and Jerry's and McDonald's is a very great one. After I had dinner, it was still light out (until 8 pm, actually, a lovely improvement over the winter sunsets). I walked up to the Jane Austen Centre, so I had a decent idea of central Bath-- I was also looking for a store to buy a notebook at. This is is something I need to do, so I can keep track of receipts and such, because I'm paying for this out of my own pocket now. I think I'll probably end up going over budget-- the pound is just so strong that I can't see not doing it-- and I hope I don't encounter any problems. I won't elaborate too much, but it's a fear right now. Luckily, I've been reassured somewhat by the URP on this matter. This, too, is a part of my travel experience and should be logged.

I walked home after that, singing to myself (Sheryl Crow, Melissa Etheridge, other female, um, rockers). I carefully stopped mumbling whenever someone was a couple hundred feet away. It was a nice walk. When I got back to the bed and breakfast, I wasn't really ready for bed, so I gave into another American urge and watched "Friends" and "The Simpsons," and then two British TV shows. One was a talk show, with David Carradine as a guest (the weird, silly, dumb American I guess). I don't usually watch much TV, but there it was. Read a bit of Northanger Abbey, took a shower, finished off the cookies. That was my day.

Now today, I was ambitious. I woke up at 7:30 am and got ready, then went to breakfast downstairs-- a sort-of full English breakfast (I don't eat eggs, so it wasn't completely full). I had coffee, orange juice, corn flakes, bacon, sausage, tomato, and toast. Wow, so much food. And it was delicious. The bacon was particularly good-- cut like our bacon, but thicker, more like sliced ham. I wasn't a fan of the sausage. It was too finely ground. I went up to my room and grabbed my laptop, digital camera, and purse, and I was off! I spent two hours at the Caffe Nero, doing e-mail stuff again, and then found out that the Jane Austen Centre walking tour left at 11 am, not 1:30 pm, as I thought. So I took off for that, and bought my tickets. We went around the city, but I won't update on what we saw here-- I'll provide that as captions for my pictures. I was amused by the other Austen fans-- old women, mostly, who kept commenting on the BBC productions-- by also amused by myself being amused. I was the only one who had read Northanger Abbey and felt like it was my secret weapon.

After the tour, we went to the Jane Austen Centre. I listened to a talk upstairs, where the woman gave a brief biography of Jane Austen. Most of it I think I can find online, but I did think it was interesting that Henry, Jane Austen's caddish brother, was possibly the inspiration for Mr. Wickham of Pride and Predjudice. After the talk, we were admitted to the museum. There were some period costumes, detailed explanations of each place that Austen lived, several displays on the importance of income in Georgian times and what each income actually means, examples of Austen's letters, pages from the Bath newspapers, displays on the importance of the Navy in Austen's writing, a discussion of what might have killed Austen (the disease has been generally agreed upon, any Austen scholar knows it, sorry for not remembering here), a cross-stitching by Austen, a dollhouse of a Georgian mansion, an example of a Georgian garden, and many other things. The museum was very full at first, but the crowd quickly thinned. I watched a DVD about discovering Austen, but it was more about how witty and charming she is and how much we all love her. Afterwards, I went to the gift shop and bought some postcards. I understand books, postcards, bookmarks, mugs... all that. What I don't understand are the doilies and quills they were selling. Why buy those? You could buy them anywhere.

So after that, I came back here to Caffe Nero, and I had lunch. I've been here ever since, working on the computer. I feel like I'm secluding myself with the internet, but I'm going to go get dinner soon. I want to get the pictures from today onto my computer, and maybe get them online? We'll see. My entry for tomorrow will be more detailed, because I won't have to worry about two days. And also, I'll hopefully have more detail to record, rather than skipping all of the museum info you could find anywhere. It's been informative for me, but I don't think it matters much who you read it from...