I am worse than bad at blogging, with posts infrequent and always well after I have left the places mentioned, but I will soon be up to date, I know it...
I was lucky enough to get a lift all the way to Stratford, with Valdis, the lady I stayed with in Oxford, and we passed some more Cotswold villages on the way, with little churches and thatched cottages - all very English and charming.
In Stratford I passed guides on every street who pointed to chattering tourists: 'Shakespeare would have passed this house on his way to see Anne', and 'See this lamp post? Perhaps not the bard himself, but certainly his descendants may have touched this!' And the crowds would murmur excitedly and whip out their cameras to add to the collection for slide night back home. The river Avon that ran through the town was gilded over with Swans, and little boats were moored along the shore with the names of female characters from the plays. I can imagine it must be crazily touristy in Summer, with boats fighting for room to satisfy the hordes.
The hostel I stayed in, Stratford's only one, was not at all hostel-like, but clean and nice instead. It's a big old white building, with many rooms and friendly staff, and only a short bus ride out of town. I saw Twelfth Night at the theatre there, and had dinner beforehand at the 'Dirty Duck' pub, which is the actors hangout spot, and I listened to burly men discussing Shakespeare in posh English voices. The theatre is modelled on the globe I think, so even I, in the cheap seats had a great view. Seeing a Shakespeare play in his town is one of the many highlights so far, it was really brilliant, with a few well-knowns in the roles, like James Fleet (Hugo from The Vicar Of Dibley and Four Weddings) and Richard Wilson as well as others.
Of course, I saw all the Shakespearean things, like his grave, the house he was born in, and his wife, Anne Hathaways house, which was the most amazing thatched cottage surrounded in gardens of flowers and woods and all sorts of creatures. I saw things there that made some things in the plays make more sense, like a Willow Cabin.
Viola: Make me a willow cabin at your gate and call upon my soul within the house, write loyal cantons of contemned love, and sing them loud even in the dead of night. '
Willow was a symbol of grief or loss, and willow cabins were retreats for those suffering the pangs of unrequited love. So I sat in one, trying to remember Shakespearean sonnets (failing) and thinking that if I had a love unrequited, then I might find it a most pretty thing, as I am a little prone to melancholy romanticisms.
I stayed there for four nights and then headed back to London town once more, my load made slightly heavier with souvenirs. T'was a very pretty place and I highly recommend it.