It was the summer of 2012 when I first jumped the Atlantic puddle to visit the mystical island of Albion, whence my literary dreams originated. WWU’s UK Study Tour made this magic possible.
The flight there was not so magical. It was my impression that overseas flights of such distance would be more accommodating in the way of extra legroom, extra seat padding, and reclining backs. I was sorely mistaken. My toes pressed firmly against my backpack stowed beneath the seat in front of me. The poorly cushioned seat left me completely numb from the waist down. (Keep in mind that this eight-hour redeye flight from New York City to London was my immediate connection from my five-hour flight from San Diego). And the questionably reclining seat kept my posture as that of a proud brigadier at dinner with the Queen.
Barely alive by the time I had arrived at Heathrow Airport, I took a train to Paddington Station where I commandeered a bench for the next six hours, waiting for my classmates to arrive. As the rest of us trickled in, we got our BritRail passes and took the train to Bath Spa. Soon we were settled into our week-long home at the YMCA.
Bath was a beautiful town with cobbled streets, corner stores, parks, and ancient ruins. From there we traveled outward, visiting Salisbury, the Stonehenge, and Old Sarum castle. Then came London, with its historically rich Westminster Abbey, architecturally impressive Saint Paul’s Cathedral, and the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square.
After feeling like we had seen half the world, it was time to pack up and move to our next destination: York. The predecessor of New York was unlike anything we had seen before. The Shambles had soaked up the history of the town for centuries, aging gracefully while preserving the original architectural shapes that we now only see in period films.
From our new home at York, we continued our travels. The air was thick with ancient reverence at Lindisfarne, the Holy Island. The tides came in daily to sequester this peninsula into a spiritual retreat, separating it from the sinful banality of the mainland. Crossing the boarder into Scotland related a very different kind of sanctuary. Edinburgh had a nature all its own, with its signature overcast skies, ominous fog, and the charred black stone that possessed its streets and castles. However, the spirit of the crowd was much brighter as we waved to the Queen and Prince, passing in their motorcade on their way to Holyrood Palace.
A week spent in the dorms of the Queen’s College at the University of Oxford had us all feeling like royalty. And the lavish breakfasts in the dining hall were certainly no less magical than Hogwarts. From here we discovered the Bodleian Library, the Sheldonian Theatre, and the endlessly tempting Blackwell’s Bookstore. Taking a train to Stratford-upon-Avon, we explored the home of Shakespeare’s childhood, and enjoyed the picturesque gardens of his wife, Anne Hathaway.
This is only a small fraction of the awe-inspiring sights and experiences of which we were lucky enough to partake. It is my opinion that the UK Study Tour should be required curriculum for all students with a mind for literature, history, or travel.
Originally published in The Collegian, Walla Walla University’s newspaper, on February 20, 2014.