Big Rocks

Happily, one of the most easily accessible sites-of-interest near to us is a wee circle of rocks, known to many as Stonehenge. It is about an hour's drive from our place, through some lovely countryside. Owned and operated by our friends at English Heritage, our passes get us in for free. It should be no surprise, therefore, that we've visited it a few times since arriving here a little over a year ago.

Ange's "aunt" Grazyna from Calgary was visiting this past weekend. Grazyna emigrated from Poland to Canada many, many years ago and married a Brit. But in all her travels to Europe, she had never stepped outside of Heathrow. With only a couple of days, we needed to maximise sight-seeing. So, with Stonehenge so close and--arguably--a wonder of the world, we went off to see the 5000 year old rock arrangement. Does that make it a "rockery?" I'm sure Monty Python would have an opinion.

To Anna, they're merely rocks. Big rocks, in fairness, but still rocks. Anna was more interested in running up and down the paths. So, Anna ran her socks off while Grazyna and Ange took in the audio tour. It is truly fantastic. But, on some level, Stonehenge is somewhat unremarkable to the casual observer. For instance, at first glance, the rocks aren't really that big in the scale of 20th century architecture. This, of course, is not appreciating that stone-age people somehow managed to move these rocks from south Wales... about 250 miles. Some of the rocks are over 4 tonnes. Then there is the stunning alignment of the rocks and how it coincides with the seasons. It's crazy. However, the site itself sits between a Y in the road. While the main road draws off to the southwest, another small road pulls northwest. These two roads meet just a couple of hundred meters from Stonehenge. So, you can see all of Stonehenge from the road. There's only a chain-link fence keeping you out, meaning that anyone can grab a quick photo and, from a bit of distance, walk around two thirds of it.

You're paying for the audio tour, to get a little closer, and to have access to the gift shop. Or, for us loyal English Heritage supporters, you're giving money to the upkeep of heritage sites around the country (since sites like Stonehenge subsidize the hundreds of free sites that aren't nearly as popular).

Yet, as Anna and I walked into the site, I was distressed to hear a North American couple lamenting the money they had spent to see it. There was a gentleman in is late 50s/early 60s, dressed in North Face jacket suitable for an Everest expedition. The jacket was proudly hitched up on one side to display his Blackberry, which was attached to his trousers with a giant plastic clip. He walked with his wife/partner, who had also come from North America prepared for the English winter in uber-expensive, arctic expedition trecking gear. He had noticed a mural on the wall of the access tunnel to Stonehenge and commented to his wife, "Ahhhhhhh! That is what it is meant to look like!" She responded, "Yeah, that was disappointing. I don't know what the big deal is. Half of it is missing."

I smiled. So did Anna. But for different reasons. They had smiled at Anna and she is friendly. Clearly nice people. But I was at pains not to ask: "What were you expecting?"

You can clearly see everything there is to offer from other side of the fence (that neither tries nor succeeds in blocking anyone's view of the site)! You can see it as you drive up, you see it as you walk by. What could possibly change by paying $12, apart from getting an audio tour (which, by the way, is excellent!)?!? Of course, the other question that lingers is the expectation of the completeness of a monument that is over 5000 years old. I should have warned them off of Greece. And Turkey. And Rome (the Italians have let all sorts of things, like the Collesium, deteriorate!). And most castles in Europe. And, of course--should they ever visit Alberta--Head Smashed in Buffalo Jump.

Anna enjoying the path in front of Stonehenge (which, by the way, I would argue is more enjoyable than Head Smashed in Buffalo Jump on a number of levels):


Grazyna and Ange enjoying the audio experience in front of the henge (which, doesn't really get a whole lot bigger or more exciting than this picture):

DVLA Update

For those of you that are holding your breath, wondering daily about wheter or not I am legally entitled to drive in the UK, there is good news.

I got my UK licence. And, I passed the test that allows me to drive a standard transmission vehicle. In fact, I passed the test first time. Angela was my instructor and is owed much respect in equal parts for 1)having taught me well; and, 2)being willing to teach such an arrogant punk.

Without going into the details, some interesting conversation from the test experience:

"So..." asks the tester [exagerated pause for reflection after having been driving for 5 minutes or so] "...you've driven a standard before." Was it a question or a statement? Did he think he had caught one of the stand-in applicants who have been doing tests on behalf of others (apparently hundreds of people have got their licence through these people pretending to be the new driver)....

"Yes." I replied calmly, almost proudly.

"So, why are you taking this test?"

"Because I can't prove with official documentation that I did my original test on a manual transmission vehicle."

"Ah, you're from Canada."

There's a government policy hard at work.

Lisa Squared

Somehow another month has slipped by without a blog update. Rubbish. I wish I could blame it on Facebook, but it too has disappeared from my daily radar of things to accomplish. Life just doesn't get any less busy.

But being busy has been a real joy. On Pauline's last day in England, we went to France. We had plans to go see Vimy Ridge, the Canadian war memorial near Arras. However, as the ferry shuffled across the English Channel and France came into view, I pulled out the map. A map always puts Europe in perspective. I suppose it puts anywhere in perspective, since that's exactly what they're designed to do. But somehow, it is especially true with Europe. As I plotted our route from Calais (the port where we were to arrive from Dover), it struck me just how close we were to Belgium. It only took a further moment to realise just how small Belgium actually is. Sure, it's bigger than Luxemburg or Monaco, but it only two thirds the size of our biggest national park, Wood Buffalo National Park.

It was a revelation to see that one of Europe's true gems, Brugge, was no further from us than Arras. So, on Pauline's final day in England, we skipped France and went to Belgium. Brugge rocks. Anna loved Brugge (especially the little fun fair in one of the squares). Pauline loved Brugge (especially the chocolate). And Ange and I love Brugge.

After spending the day in the medieval old town, we jumped back in the car to get back to Calais to pick up Lisa Brake. Lisa is a star. Despite being six months pregnant, she decided to fit one last sans-baby adventure in and came to Europe. Flying into Paris, she took the train to Calais to meet us. We rendezvous-ed without too much trouble and caught the ferry back to England. A long day, but thoroughly enjoyable.

One thing about Lisa is that she hates to miss out on anything. Our old roommate, Jason, and I quickly learned this about Lisa when we shared a house back in Hull, Quebec many years ago. It is worth asking Lisa to re-tell the story about Anu 'forcing' her to party one work night in Ottawa. Of course, there is also wildly popular story of Lisa participating in leaving messages on the "federal government Action on Smoking" voicemail, which was recently re-told in this blog (click here to re-live it!). So, when Lisa heard about Lisa Quattrochi (often known as simply 'Q') coming to visit us on the way back from Nepal, it was the impetus needed to spur her to booking the ticket. They overlapped their visits so they could check out England together and so Anna would only have to declare, "Lisa" to get half the room to respond.

Lisa Q arrived the next day from Nepal and suddenly we had two Lisas in the house. Not only that, but they were both a huge hit with Anna. Sowing little preference between the Lisas, Anna would call out "Lisa!" Invariably, the wrong one would respond to her, to which Anna would explain, "No. The other one." We laughed many times at this.

Lisa and Lisa didn't get as much sight-seeing in as I had hoped they might. Q was jet-lagged and feeling poorly from some nasty bug she picked up on the flight or in Delhi airport. She rebounded quickly, though, and they were able to come into Oxford with me one day. On the final day, I had hockey and had to be in Henley. Ange, Anna and the Lisas stuck close to Reading, coming into Henley themselves in the afternoon. It was all very nice, but I remained somewhat disappointed that their visit hadn't been more exciting.

Then, out of the blue, we had the most English of English nights ever. And, I mean ever. It was November 3 and there were advertisements for Guy Fawkes night celebrations. We went to check them out. Sure enough, thousands of people had gathered. We actually drove away to consider our options. In stopping to discuss, we picked up a movie and some dinner from a take-away. We decided to go for it.

So, our fish and chips in hand, we went back to the bonfire party. It was great. Held at the rugby club, it was all very, very British. And, there we were with out fish and chips. The fireworks display was really impressive. However, it clearly was not the only one going on. So, all across the sky--in every direction--fireworks were going off. Anna was mesmerized. I was mesmerised. It was really good.

After the display, we headed back to our little terrace where--to cap off an evening of bure Britania--we watched... Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail. Jolly good indeed.

Lisas and Anna: