Yikes! I swore I would write more frequently, but somewhere along the way a lot of time – and a lot of adventures – slipped by.  We’ve packed so much into the last week that days have started blurring together a bit.   Now we are in a quiet place with a little time to relax and reflect, the perfect time to get caught up!  

When we were researching what to do in the UK, there was only one person I looked up to see if they were touring and that was poet Georgie Jones.  I had seen several of her poetry readings on social media and they really spoke to me.  BUT, it didn’t seem like she was touring anywhere near where we were going to be traveling. 

In addition, I joined a Royal Tunbridge Wells FB group because… that’s what I do – AND I discovered that five of seven days we were scheduled to be in RTW coincided with a  Literature Festival. I quickly looked at the schedule and immediately signed us up for three things: A play, “The Complete Works of Shakespeare…Abridged,” A poetry writing workshop with…. drumroll please… Georgie Jones, followed later that night with a Poetry reading by… Drumroll again… Georgie Jones.

Besides a rather dull day at the launderette, this was the PERFECT way to end our stay in Kent and Sussex.  

We showed up for the poetry workshop in the late afternoon and realized pretty quickly we were with serious writers.  I was a little intimidated and Scott had absolutely no idea what he had been signed up for.  In fact he didn’t even know it was poetry.

When we were asked to focus on an item in the room, I described an orange chair.  Literally.  With lines like “Not just any orange.  Burnt orange.  Low slung and sleek.”

The woman next to me had focused on the same chair and her poem began with a line about wanting to lick it. There were poems about the hounds of hell and lost friends, but my little chair poem was OK, and Scott didn’t do too bad either.

We  headed to the reading at 8:30 (we are usually getting ready for bed at this time, I might add).  It was a funky little venue in the middle of the town park with cement floors, strings of twinkle lights, disco balls and strobe lights.  There was 50 years of beer spilled on the floor and layers of old posters peeled away from dark walls. One of the posters bragged that this little 80 seat venue was a pop up for the likes of Mumford and Sons, Adele, Coldplay, Oasis, Greenday and a long list of less familiar bands.

You could feel the vibe of the place

. 

Georgie’s poems were about the common, relatable experiences of being human.  Of being a thirty-something woman.  Of love and friendship. Of loneliness and connection.  And she told stories, stories that blended into poetry without you really knowing.  It was gorgeous.

The next morning we packed up and headed to Bath.  The driving went pretty well… Bath itself was a bit of a nightmare… Serpentine roads, wild hairpin turns and tourbusses clogging the streets.  Scott white knuckled it into a garage with me perched on the edge of my seat calling out navigation.  The dream team!

It was a lovely afternoon and we hightailed it to the Jane Austen center – high on my bucket list.  Bath itself was really beautiful, butter yellow buildings – Georgian architecture.  What can I say about the Jane Austen center?  Our poor guide was a cute enough fellow, but his jokes all seemed to fall flat, starting with, “Hello, I am Mr. Willoughby.”  The content focused heavily on Jane’s  family and not much about her books, her writing, her education or about Jane herself.  The center was a bit of a maze and we were deposited in the “dress up area.”

 And yes, we dressed up.

 We were trying hard not to think of the hundreds of other people who had previously worn these hats, kerchiefs and dresses.  Scott was a good sport, though he wore a grim expression that I later learned was his reaction to the smell, which to be fair, I was noticing too. Lets just say it was a combo of loo and industrial cleaner.

To sum it up, the Jane Austen Center fell a little flat for me.  I never got the  sense of: This is where she was living when she was writing her novels, this is what she saw out her window, this is where she would have “taken air.”  The things that would have been reflected in Pride and Prejudice…It did not come alive for me.

Not to end on a bad note though, we wandered up to the “Circus” and to the “Crescent.”  At the top of a hill, in the last golden light of the day,  I really had a sense of history.  Even while watching a modern mom struggling through a door with a stroller, I could imagine someone, two hundred  years ago, in a drawing room behind a heavy curtain, waiting for a note on a silver platter that announced that So-And-So would come calling that afternoon.

I don’t want to shove too much into this post, but in an effort to get caught up, I will continue with our next activity… StoneHenge.   

Stonehenge was one of Scott’s requirements for this trip…Orignially I thought  I could take it or leave it.  Very early on we had booked a tour with “Mad Max Tours” to see Stonehenge, Avebury and a couple Cotswold towns.  Once we decided to get a car, I almost canceled it. 

I am SO glad we did not. 

 It turned out to be a fun way to tour the region.  Scott actually got to look at the countryside instead of driving, and our guide pointed out things we would never have seen on our own (white horse mountains).

And Stonehenge?  It completely changed my mind.  It is one of those once-in-a-life moments.  Right there in front of you. It was simply humbling to stand there in front of those stones.  The mystery of how they were built.  Who built them.  Why? The ingenuity.  The determination.   The sheer effort to create and leave it for us to speculate.

 It made me feel small in the scope of history. It made me feel spiritual, maybe even druid-y or earth mama-ish.

(And yes… I may have snoozed on the ride back to Bath) 

The next day was check out  day.  We left our bags and wandered the town a bit.  We toured the Roman Baths which were “discovered” when expanding the Cathedral, which begged the question, how does an enormous Roman Complex get lost?  Something that was a ritual and a pilgrimage?  The Romans left and the baths just disappeared?

 Also.  Can we talk for minute about what a jerk Henry the Eighth was?  

He Came.  He Saw.  He Appropriated. 

 After laying claim to all things church, he then gave them away as gifts.  In fact, during the beginning of his reign he proudly finished his father’s work and put in the most beautiful windows and unique fan ceilings in Bath Abbey.  Then came his break with the Church and he removed both windows and ceiling to sell them, leaving the church to decay.  We have come across his “legacy” again and again during this trip.

With that we headed our sights for the next phase of our trip… The Cotswolds.  We have now said goodbye to London.  Royal Tunbridge Wells, and Bath, and not one part of this journey so far has been exactly what we expected.  There have been pivots, changes, weather, wrong turns and surprises – but maybe that is the point of wandering well.  Not finding what we imagined, but finding something better.