Greetings Jealous Readers! Matt here. The time is currently 8:40pm and Zach and I have recently returned to our shoebox room after indulging in a pint of beer at our local watering hole. When you think about it logically for a second – a pint of anything is quite a unusually large amount to consume. I mean you wouldn’t go in to a pub and ask specifically for a pint of lemonade, or a pint of cider. But, I digress – the reason we were at the pub in the first place was to reflect on our epic and marathon like journey to Salisbury, Stonehenge and Bath respectively.
Though we visited each place within the same day, these three places had little to nothing in common with one another. Bath was a preppy little town filled with rich, snobby kids and even snobbier parents. Salisbury was filled with country folk – the type of people who you’d expect to find on Midsomer Murders wearing those old English, orphaned chimney sweep boy style tweed caps. And Stonehenge...well I’m sure you’ve all heard about that one.
We began our trip similar to how our London day tour started. We were picked up by a coach which took us directly to a changeover where our main coach would lead us the rest of the way. As we got on, we were immediately greeted by the driver - a black man wearing a suit resembling that of Michael Clarke Duncan in the Daredevil movie as the Kingpin. When we got off at the changeover, we met our tour group, and unfortunately our tour guide and driver, who provided some interesting and awkward interactions and banter, which kept Zach and I entertained for the trip up to Salisbury. When Mitchell (our tour guide) and Michelangelo (our driver) communicated to each other, it felt like we were witnessing a live action scripted Abbott and Costello dialogue. Especially when Mitchell attempted to get a hold of the road map so that they could avoid any accidents on the highway;
Mitchell: Do you know another way to get to Salisbury apart from this one turn off?
Michelangelo: ...
Mitchell: Do you have a road map that I could look at to see if there is another way around?
Michelangelo: Yes.
Mitchell: Where is it? Could you get it for me?
Michelangelo: (reaches under his chair for a second, but then resumes driving)
(Silence)
Mitchell: I just would like to have a look at the road map so I can see if there is another way around.
Michelangelo: ...
Mitchell: (stern) Do you have a road map? YES OR NO?
Michelangelo: No.
Mitchell: (facepalm)
Anyway, we make it to Salisbury without any obstruction, and we arrive at the cathedral there and take a look around. Nothing that interesting in comparison to St Paul’s Cathedral, except for some cool stained glass windows and an awesome automatic door. But what really set apart this cathedral from others and made it special was that it contained the MagnaCarta. After standing in awe at that, and attempting to translate it (with little success), we went to Cloisters Pub for a pint of beer and lunch. As described earlier, Salisbury reminded me of the quaint little town of Midsomer, only with less murders. In fact, you’d wonder why you’d want to live in Midsomer if so many murders happen there.
After lunch, we drove to Stonehenge which was just as epic as first thought. It was completely cordoned off by some weak ropes, so we weren’t allowed to touch it or climb on it like some of our ancestors did (which ironically is the main reason WHY there are barriers up there now in the first place), but we did get some pretty neat photos, and learned a little bit about how it was built, its purpose and what it is supposed to look like today.
After that, we took to Bath. It was a very...clean...town, filled with lots of tacky and quirky crap to look at and do. Most importantly though, it housed the Roman Baths that were used back in the days they occupied England. The water looked like it has never been changed since then, as it was a lovely, mossy green and mounds of pooey brown clung to the surface of the water’s edge. After not listening to another stupidly boring audio tour commentary, and flicking the channel to number 69, we left and looked out over the most important Georgian town in the United Kingdom before we left for our 3 hour bus trip home.
Now here we are, sitting in our room listening to what seems like thirty Spanish women next door to us speaking and laughing loudly and clapping their hands and stomping their feet as if they are doing some salsa dancing or something. Who knows what the hell they are doing. All I know is that they are definitely eating nachos because I can smell them from here and I can hear them crunching between their teeth as they chew between their shouts of ‘Ariva Puete! Ariva Puete!’. EDIT: Just stepped outside the room, and there are five of them, all lying down outside of our hallway eating Doritos crisps. Until next time, Peace out!
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