There’s a reason I describe my podcast Audio Chimera partly with the phrase, “the fragility of memory.” I’m looking at the description of the Britain and Ireland Highlights trip itinerary and I’m thinking, “What? Where?” I seem to have forgotten a detail already.
The first destination of the day was one I was greatly looking forward to: Stratford-upon-Avon, the land of Shakespeare’s birth. (I’m trying to use travel to hit the places I’ve studied or talked about in 31 years of teaching and 46 years of doing theatre.) And I have to say, I found Stratford completely underwhelming. Maybe this is a function of the way my mind works; I think about a future event or a place and imbue it with some mystical notions (or sometimes great anxiety), and then, when I actually get there, I think, “Is that it?” And is this because, if I can be there, it’s suddenly mundane and without the imagined aura it had before? I’m not sure what the answer is, but this effect certainly kicked in here.
I did have this idea that, at some point, I’d have Joyce record me reciting the “To be or not to be” speech, but the moment never arose. I saw some museum-ish presentations of Shakespeare’s birthplace, but all in all I was not impressed.
On leaving Stratford, we ventured on to York—ironic, since I grew up in York, Pennsylvania, and never thought then I’d ever find myself in York, England, the White Rose of the War of the Roses. I felt a little more history here, with many buildings built centuries ago. And there was the York Minster, a cathedral opened in 637, so that was pretty impressive. Being surrounded by the many influences on England (Romans, Angles, Celts, Saxons, Normans, etc.) and thus on the English language, I did feel the weight of the history of the place. I remarked to an Aussie traveler, “There’s a restaurant in Berkeley, CA that proudly states, ‘Established 1979,'” and the many historic buildings of this York put that into stark perspective.
We found ourselves in Harrowgate for the night, with a Welcome Dinner. This was a detail I could not recall earlier, but working my way to this point through my recounting, I did. Joyce was not feeling well, so I went to the dinner myself and sat next to a New Zealand couple, Don and Olive. They asked if I had seen the Scottish play at the Globe, but I said just getting to London was enough for us. The buffet was fine, with nothing too exciting—though I think one guy put soup on his sliced turkey as if it was gravy—and I took Joyce some food…but it turns out this was the start of a nasty intestinal bug that would haunt her for two days, and then jump to me.
MUSOFYR 