My life has seen many periods of transition. One such time was about sixteen years ago when I reached out to an old friend to break the cadence of my course. We got involved with a group of school teachers in a community theatre group. I lent my skills for some technical aspects of lighting and sound. Performing or production was very inappropriate for my nature. The group was looking toward their spring break and one put together a package to London for eight days in the theatre district. I signed on for the good airfare but England had more to offer than London. With an infant Internet, I located a Viking Festival in the northern city of York which put me within the proximity of Hadrian’s Wall. My Latin teachings put that two-thousand-year-old Wall at the extent of civilization as the Romans knew it and an effort to keep out the barbarians. Kind of where I wanted to be.
Upon arrival at Heathrow, the right-hand drive rental car adapted quickly with
York as the next stop. Online reservations for a B&B worked out well within the fortified walls of the ancient city. Jőrvik to the ruling Vikings in the eighth and ninth centuries, York was having a week-long celebration. We took part in the Feast of the Jarl at the thirteenth century Merchant Adventurer’s Hall. Hoisting a Goblet of Mead and a “Wassail, Drinkhail” with the local business people, it was extraordinary to be the only tourists for a feast of medieval cuisine.
After two days in York, we moved on to see the remnants of the earlier conquerors at Hadrian’s Wall. The journey north through the barren coal mining region was as
chilling as the February weather. After two centuries Roman’s 118-kilometer structure was woven neatly into the countryside. Not the magnitude of China’s Great Wall or as foreboding but Emperor Hadrian left an indelible mark on this landscape. Like many historic elements of our world, the need to experience it had been 
accomplished.
Friends were awaiting us in London but a brief stop for genealogy research and a visit to Cambridge broke the long drive back. Where most of our group scheduled eight plays in seven days, we settled for Miss Saigon and Carmen. This was entirely adequate for my taste. Keeping with our historic mode, the Victoria and Albert Museum was a good choice. Yet the British Museum displayed the pillage that this Empire made on the antiquities of the world during their reign and conquests.
Upon arrival at Heathrow, the right-hand drive rental car adapted quickly with
York as the next stop. Online reservations for a B&B worked out well within the fortified walls of the ancient city. Jőrvik to the ruling Vikings in the eighth and ninth centuries, York was having a week-long celebration. We took part in the Feast of the Jarl at the thirteenth century Merchant Adventurer’s Hall. Hoisting a Goblet of Mead and a “Wassail, Drinkhail” with the local business people, it was extraordinary to be the only tourists for a feast of medieval cuisine.After two days in York, we moved on to see the remnants of the earlier conquerors at Hadrian’s Wall. The journey north through the barren coal mining region was as
chilling as the February weather. After two centuries Roman’s 118-kilometer structure was woven neatly into the countryside. Not the magnitude of China’s Great Wall or as foreboding but Emperor Hadrian left an indelible mark on this landscape. Like many historic elements of our world, the need to experience it had been 
accomplished.Friends were awaiting us in London but a brief stop for genealogy research and a visit to Cambridge broke the long drive back. Where most of our group scheduled eight plays in seven days, we settled for Miss Saigon and Carmen. This was entirely adequate for my taste. Keeping with our historic mode, the Victoria and Albert Museum was a good choice. Yet the British Museum displayed the pillage that this Empire made on the antiquities of the world during their reign and conquests.
1 comment:
I remember your Miss Saigon t-shirt vividly and now I know how it came about it! Just more proof that no matter how many hours of stories I will listen to, you will never run out. And for that, I am more than grateful. Thank you, Dad!
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