Before I can begin describing it, you readers must know something about me: I love England. You may think to yourself, Oh, I love England, too. Harry Potter was brilliant. And not to say that your love of England is any less valid than mine, but you must understand--I LOVE ENGLAND. It has been for many years my second home, in a way; a world I would visit in books and in my heart. I had made a home for myself in books, and it was in my book-England that I felt the most at home. I loved all the countries of Great Britain: Scotland, England, and Wales. They felt like intimate friends, even though I hadn't really been to them before. While I was applying to Brigham Young University, I also looked at study abroad programs. I had always known I wanted to study abroad, ever since my eldest sister went on her study across Europe. As I searched through the programs, I found one--British Literature and Landscape. A program in which students would hike across the British countryside, visiting literary sites, reading the best literature of the land, and writing essays on their experiences. It was as if someone had created it just for me.
I knew, I knew, right then that I needed to go on this trip.
Two years later, I am walking out of a plane and into the Edinburgh airport and its real. I'm here, I thought, it's real. Even though everything felt like a dream.
Writing this, I don't even know where to begin. How do I summarize such an experience? But I suppose I must try.
{ARTHUR'S SEAT, EDINBURGH}
This trip was hard, taxing and challenging me beyond anything I had faced before. Before leaving, I realized that I would be hiking a lot during the course of those seven weeks, but I, for some reason, never really thought it would be difficult. (what were you thinking, natalie???) In my mind, we would just walk for miles and miles and, to quote Elizabeth Bennet, "I am very fond of walking."
You can imagine my surprise, then, when I found myself at the foot of a mountain in Scotland.
{ON TOP OF BEN LOMAND}
{ben means mountain in scottish gaelic btw}
Another thing you must understand about me: I balk in the face of difficulty. I don't like to push or challenge myself, preferring much to stay at home in a comfortable chair with a plate of cookies nearby. I'm a lot like Bilbo Baggins at the beginning of The Hobbit, really. I hated climbing the three mountains--Ben Lomand, Sty Head Pass, and Helvellyn (which were somehow all in the the first week of the trip). My legs ached and my breaths wheezed and my mind shouted, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!?!" As we went up Ben Lomand, I couldn't feel my body for all the cold. Through Sty Head Pass, the rains and winds battled us so fiercely I could hardly help staggering about and was soaked to the bone by the time we finished. On our way up Helvellyn, we climbed up a way so steep I considered just sitting down on the mountain to die amongst the wildflowers and sheep poop.
I loved it so much.
During these hikes, I complained and screamed inside my head, but when you reach the top and you see the country expand around you--you forget about the cramps in your legs and the shortness of your breath. The world becomes a sea of mountains around you, sometimes misty and magical, sometimes bright and bold. I had never summited a mountain before this trip, and when I reached the top of Ben Lomand (which is the first mountain we climbed) I couldn't help feeling proud of myself. There is something so satisfying in the knowledge that you faced and conquered the hard thing that was before you. Like I said, I'm not one to leave my comfort zone; the world outside seems much too hard and frightening. But hiking those mountains made me think that perhaps I'm better able to meet those hard, frightening things. Or maybe I'm just really good at lying to myself.
I enjoyed each and every one of the hikes we did during those weeks. Britain is so beautiful and I came to feel so at home walking amongst the long fields of grass and wildflowers. After the great rains of Sty Head Pass, the weather became quite fair for the remainder of our trip. Whenever I think of England now, all I see are blue skies and green fields (the deepest, brightest green you can imagine) and yellow flowers that push through the ground wherever they can. (I wish I were there now.) Perhaps one of the more memorable hikes was the day we walked from Earby to Haworth. We had already walked fourteen miles the day before along the Pennine Way, which we were to continue on for another fifteen miles, partly through the famous moors of the Bronte sisters. I was really exited to see the moors, less exited to hike another long, fifteen miles. The day was warmer than previous days and I found myself drinking more water than usual. By noon, most of my water was gone and we hadn't gone half the distance we needed to for all our turning around and getting lost. By the time we reached the moors, I felt quite weak from dehydration. Also, I had a cold.
{THE MOORLAND}
To better communicate my dramatic experience on the moors, here is an excerpt from my travel journal. I can't really say it better than I did then:
Walking along the moors was a most bizarre experience. Before we began the hike, some other [students] told stories of previous groups of this study abroad and how they went crazy. The idea seemed wildly Romantic to me, going crazy on the moors. I could not wait to feast my eyes on the rugged landscape that influenced one of my favorite novels. I felt crazy the moment we stepped into the moorland. The flat, barren expanse goes on forever, only the purplish-brown heather giving it any sort of life or color; it was easy to see why people went mad here. Or perhaps it was just the dehydration addling my brain. The only word to describe my movement is dragged: I dragged my body along with all the meager strength within me. I felt dizzy and footsore and altogether drained. Did the moors do that to me?
I am nothing if not dramatic.
It's funny, though. I went into that hike wanting to feel like Jane Eyre, not realizing that I would feel more like her than I wanted.
The whole trip was filled with moments like this--moments that let me experience my favorite books and authors in tangible, intimate ways. In the Lake District, I saw the lands that inspired Wordsworth to compose his poems; I wandered lonely as a cloud through the gardens around Dove Cottage that he kept wild and untamed. In Wales--rugged, beautiful Wales--I felt so giddy with joy because one of my ALL-TIME favorite authors, Diana Wynne Jones, was half-Welsh and in Howl's Moving Castle, my favorite of her novels, the eponymous Howl is Welsh. It was like sharing a secret joke with myself that only I could understand. To be there, to see those lands, tore the veil between me and my book-England. It wasn't just words on a page anymore; the story was right in front of my eyes.
I had countless moments like this: at the Elephant House, at Chatsworth, at Jane Austen's Home, the Bronte Parsonage, in Oxford ... everyday, really, brought something new and dear to my heart because of the books and country that I loved.
{THE ELEPHANT HOUSE AKA THE BIRTHPLACE OF HARRY POTTER}
{the bathroom walls were covered with homages to the books}
{ANNALEE AND I AT JANE AUSTEN'S HOUSE}
{basically we could be in the next bbc mini series}
{AT THE EAGLE AND CHILD}
{which is where the inklings aka j.r.r tolkien and c.s. lewis et al would meet and discuss cool stuff}
I struggle to write this summary because there is so much to say and I just don't know how to properly communicate each precious moment. Even if I did, I don't know that I would want to; some experiences are too dear to share. But I will share this: we were at Tintern Abbey, a ruined edifice near the Welsh / English border. The abbey has been the subject of many literary pieces, not least of all Wordsworth's "Lines," which I adore. Here is my journal entry from that day:
I am in Tintern Abbey and I am writing. The sun feels like a sweet kiss on my skin, warming me despite the breeze. The grass within the ruins lays as a soft blanket with daisies peppering its face. Its one of those rare, perfect days, when the heat and the cold settle their battle and combine beautifully. When I look at the divided sky above me, all I see is blue.
I have never seen the abbey before, but I can understand why Wordsworth felt so strongly about it. Everything feels so quiet here. No--there is sound. From my seat against this pillar, I hear a tour guide describing the abbey to a large group of tourists. And the birds sing. They know how lovely a day it is. I love this old thing. I love the way the skeleton of it cuts through the sky, forming odd shapes and lines. I love the fact that people still care so much for it, this shell of a once glorious building. It's still glorious, in its shadow and memory and in the joy we still find from it. Tintern is a sacred, special place.
I hope I never forget how I felt in that moment: peaceful and content beyond belief. How for class that day, my professor read us Wordsworth's poem as we laid amongst the grass and daisies, closing our eyes and listening quietly.
We stayed in London town for ten days near the end of the seven weeks. I loved London. How could I not? I loved the ease with which I could navigate myself through the city. I loved its vast history. I loved its grand parks that were quiet and still despite the millions of people nearby. I loved seeing a play every night (I literally saw a play or musical each night; Peter Pan in the park was my favorite). I loved le pain au chocolat from Pret-a-Manger. But my heart belongs in the country. It belongs with the cottages and the peace and the wildflowers. It belongs with the green hills that go on for miles. The countryside always surprises me with its newness and diversity. I cannot get enough of it.
With all my excitement for this trip, before I left, I felt such an exceeding anxiety. I was going to be living and traveling with the same group of thirty people for seven weeks and, in my mind, there was a 99.98% chance that not one of them would like me (because that is how my mind works). But this trip and the people surprised me. Each one's kindness, hilarity, and sincere goodness made me feel so at home, despite having been practically strangers. I grew to love all of my classmates (classmates isn't the right word; we went through too much together to be anything less than family) so much it astounded me. Some of the best moments of the trip were the times when we were all together: on hikes, cooking and eating dinners, sneaking extra Digestives late a night, playing Werewolf ... I treasure each of these experiences. The friends I made on this trip healed my heart and helped my soul in ways I cannot describe. (If any of you guys are reading this, thanks for that.)
{SILLY FACES IN HYDE PARK}
{THE WHOLE DANG BUNCH // LONDON TEMPLE GROUNDS}
This small post does not begin to tell about my study abroad. I don't think I ever could properly. It is too much, too precious. But I wanted to share something because this trip changed me. I look at the world, at people, differently now; I look at myself differently now because I am different. And I think it is for the better. I am so, so grateful that I could go on this study abroad. With out a doubt, those seven weeks were the best of my life. I miss Britain so much my heart aches to think about it.
I'll go back one day. I know it.
