I went on a wonderful weekend
adventure to a large rainy Island called Great Britain. More specifically I
explored the part called England, in the towns of Manchester, Nottingham, and
Mansfield.
As if Madrid wasn’t
cold and rainy enough, I thought that it would be best to go to an even earlier
sunset, in an even wetter place, to visit my good friend Edouard whom I met in Salamanca a few years back in a Summer Erasmus Intensive Spanish language program (we’ll call it SEIS). Who knew I’d actually spend more
time speaking Spanish to two wonderful French-ies known as Margaux and Edouard
than actually speaking with Spaniards!!! (It’s actually quite hard in a little
college town, but spending time with them linked me to more fun than I could
have imagined in that dark summer so long ago). It got to the point that
Edouard actually forgot that I spoke English - SUCCESS! haha.
Anyway, back to this story
for a rainy day, or in my case a story for a snowy day. I am joining you today
because my class was canceled due to SNOW! (For those of you non-Madrid
familiars, it hasn’t snowed IN Madrid in four years! ) So we get the pleasure
of spending it together, cyber-ly.
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| View out of my apartment window in Madrd!! |
When I got to
Manchester, I didn’t realize that I wouldn’t be able to understand many of the
signs, as the English speak English, I assumed that being an English speaker
would suffice. This is however incorrect. I stood on the platform assuming that
“calling at” meant stopping at, but then I decided I’d better be safe, perhaps “calling
at” meant the line finished there and to go to the next stop I’d have to change
trains and purchase yet another 7£ ticket. This seemed unproductive, but when
you don’t know, you start to worry that you are wrong, and when you are trying
to catch a long distance train to your intended destination, assuming does not
seem like a good idea.
So, what is a girl to
do? Hop on the train and just hope? Or ask the man standing next to her? (I
should note that I hate people knowing I’m a “lost tourist” in a place, I just
feel vulnerable, like an ant on a picnic blanket in June). At the very last
minute I made the correct decision.
“Pardon me” the
opening phrase seems just as foreign as a wild lemon tree in Alaska “Does this
train stop at Oxford Road?” I asked.
“Insert confused
question here?” He clearly did not understand my strange abolishment of the
English language.
“Does ‘calling at’
mean that this train stops at Oxford Road?” I rephrased.
“Ah, yes, I believe it
does.” The man smiled, which was mostly the only thing I understood. There are
many letters missing and vowels merged when one speaks English up here.
He believes so. Not
reassuring, but good enough for me. Luckily the train was the correct one, and
to my good fortune, they announced each stop before arriving at each platform,
which was good, because other than that there were no signs to indicate where I
was, only where I was going. I thought to myself that this was a perfect
representation of how we live life, always knowing where we are going or want
to go, but never quite knowing where we are exactly. If you want proof of this,
just ask any Spaniard at any bus stop in Madrid - at anytime.
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| Not a single one of these people know what the name of this bus stop is! Guaranteed. |
I made my way to the
station that takes me deeper into the middle of nowhere northern England and as
the previous train was 20 minutes late I was allowed to take that one and I
actually arrived 30 minutes early to my destination. Where, realizing I hadn’t
seen Edouard in a year and knowing that he doesn’t update his facebook photos,
I wondered if I’d recognize my friend. He couldn’t Not recognize me, I think I’ve
looked the same since I was six, because the secretary at my elementary school knew
who I was after not having seen me for over 10 years. I don’t know if this
makes me look young or childish, but according to Luisito (who you’ll meet in
the next blog) I have a “cara de piya” or a baby face. I’m still not so sure that’s
a compliment and secretly hoping I misunderstood the expression.
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| This is now the image I hold of Nottingham. So Cute! |
We found each other
and slowly made our way back to his apartment using each bar as a pit stop for
refueling the mind with stories of the past and catching up with what’s going
on in our lives currently. Discovering that we’re still the same people, we
decided that this would be a nice relaxing weekend.
The following day, to
my ignorant American surprise, I discovered that Nottingham is the town where
Robin Hood had once lived, and still lives on in legends, signs, statues, and
stone tiles all over the city. One statue’s arrow had even been “knit graffiti-ed”,
which was only significant because I’d just learned about “knit graffiti” a few
weeks earlier, and now seem to see it everywhere I go. It makes me want to
start “crochet graffiti” as I don’t know how to knit, but it sounds so “hipster
scandalous” that I just want to be a part of it!
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| Seriously, if I would have just typed Nottingham into Google, it says that Nottingham is Robin Hood's hood! |
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| Knit Graffiti - all the cool but "not cool" kids are doing it! |
After this I learned
more about the history of England, the infamous year of 1066 when William the Conqueror invaded the island -for the last time- and French was used as the language of
the elites. Now knowing why the English language is littered with French idioms
and legal terms, I felt as if my trip to England was yet another research project
on my linguistic quest to connect all languages and thus humanity into a whole.
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| The Castle Entrance |
The Castle of William
the Conqueror (Guillaume le Conquérant) is in Nottingham, and being a language
teacher and Edouard a history buff, we decided that wandering around the Castle
and seeing the exhibits was well worth our “quid”. We also had time to kill and
it is one of the only “key sites” to see in Nottingham, the others being three museums, a grand theater, a windmill and a banquet hall.
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| One of the Castle's Courtyards |
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| The Guardian Lion! |
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| The main building. You can see all of Nottingham from up there! |
After the pleasant,
but short adventure through the old castle, a lace exhibit and a child’s
playroom that we mistook for an exhibit, we met up with Florian for Dunch
(dinner-lunch). I could have had the typical fish-n-chips or actually gotten a
decent burger, but I had a fantastic risotto instead. It isn’t that I don’t
like English food, whoever says English food isn’t good, clearly has not had mincemeat,
pies, or a well prepared fish-n-chips, it’s just that the risotto looked and
smelled so delicious I couldn’t pass it up.
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| Edouard's Roommate and Friend, Florian |
After our meal in the
noisy but joyous pub, we took a 40 minute bus to yet even deeper nowhere
northern England to a town called Mansfield. Where we enjoyed an all day
concert of heavy metal music, pool, great Cider, and I met wonderful Mansfield
and Nottingham folk of my own age, all shocked by my American presence in the
middle of nowhere England. They were fascinated by the fact that a little
freckly American girl had made her way to their small town and even more so
that said freckle-face currently lived in Madrid. Upon which another English man
and I had a brief conversation in Spanish- I’m still not sure if this occurred because
they were testing me, or because they didn’t actually believed their friend
spoke real Spanish (even though his mom is Mexican).
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| Me and Edouard!! |
Unfortunately our
night came to a quick end and we had to catch the last bus back to Nottingham,
which we had to pay for again because our ticket wasn’t valid after midnight
and it was a “new day.” He found my joke about it still being the same day in the
US just as amusing as the not-amused-what-so-ever English boy at the bar found
my joke about being the Queen of England in disguise. Although Edouard and I
thoroughly enjoyed our “soy la reina de Inglaterra” song accompanied with
clapping and drunken pretend Flamenco street dancing, you clearly cannot, and I
repeat, cannot joke about being the Queen of England - while in England in the
presence of the English. They love that little old lady!
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| I mean look at that adorable face, who couldn't love a cute little old lady like that! |
Sadly and quickly
again, the weekend came to an end. I returned to Madrid full of knew knowledge
and appreciation for that Great little Island, and knowing how to “properly”
pronounce Naw-ing-am.
Until next time
lovelies,
Raelynne
