Cheers England

5 months 10 days
161 days
23 weeks
3864 hours
231,840 minutes
13,910,400 seconds

6 countries visited
(England, France, Spain, Portugal, Belgium, Ireland)

I am happy to be returning home, but because this is the longest time I have ever spent away, it's still odd for me to accept that I won't be returning. I was beginning to feel like I'd never be leaving, as though my independent life was now actually starting. Few of my travels were thoughtfully planned beforehand. For the majority of my trips, I would arrive in a destination without knowing any of the attractions, popular activities, or, to my shame, history. This kind of spontaneous international travel was a luxury for me that I feel lucky to have been able to experience. I hope to return to England, there is always more that I could have done and seen.

Ipswich

My final English excursion was presented to me by two other international students (one Latvian, the other Italian). 

Me: 'so, what's there to see in Ipswich?'

Antonino (Italian or Latvian, you guess!): 'Ipswich.'

With only twenty-four hours left in England, that was all the explanation I needed.

Ipswich is just two train stops north of Colchester but for some reason costs four times more than going to the town that precedes it i.e. Manningtree.

Besides a bustling shopping-oriented town center, Ipswich is known for its waterfront area, only known simply as 'the docks.' This area has undergone extensive rebuilding, transforming the docks from an industrial to a commercial and residential center marketed toward higher income-earning individuals, atypical of those who currently inhabit Ipswich.

Boats

Town Hall

A historical church that had been converted into a cafe, complete with holy water hand-washing basin as you enter.

The closest I ever came to seeing a castle in England

Dedham

Knowing that my last week in Colchester would mostly be spent alone, with little means for travel, I began enquiring about nearby single-day excursions two weeks ago. Time and time again, among locals and internationals alike, the town of Dedham was mentioned. It had been described as your typical, charming, English country town featuring farm shops, historical buildings, and local crafts--an apparent authentic English experience.

However, getting there is not so apparent. There is no public transportation to Dedham whatsoever. For a town as well-known and highly recommended I found this a bit odd, but figured that perhaps the inconvenience of its inaccessibility just made it that much more special. Instead, as a quick internet search revealed, besides traveling by car, Dedham may be reached via an equally authentically English footpath. 

Serving as the subject of many of 18th century landscape artist John Constable's paintings, Dedham Vale, or 'Constable Country' is the quintessence of historical English countryside and remains little changed from the time of its established fame.

'Dedham Vale Morn' (1802)

The 'Walk in Constable's Footsteps,' as it were, is a seven mile (there and back) walk directly from the Manningtree train station to Dedham, with the option of detouring to another small, country town, Flatford. Wooden, arrowed signs directed the way 

Under bridges...

Around marshlands...

Through croplands...I walked through a field of wheat!

Past some sheep...

and a multi-racial group of cows

True to it's name, you could say, the town is a bit dead.

Spanning across two blocks, Dedham offers a handful of eateries, an arts crafts center, three hairdressers, two clothing stores, two groceries, a butcher, the above abandoned auto garage, and the one remaining historical building: a church, of course.

The bread shelf at the farm shop. 

It took me forty minutes to get there, and had I not been visiting for the first time I'd say I would be spending little more than thirty upon revisiting.

Clacton-on-Sea

Just thirteen miles south east of Colchester can be found the quaint, seaside city of Clacton-on-Sea. Six pounds and a forty-minute bus ride will basically get you a Pier 39 or Coney Island experience, only much windier.

 Clacton-on-Sea is the largest town on the Tendring Peninsula, in Essex, England and was founded in 1871. It is a seaside resort that attracted many tourists in the summer months between the 1950s and 1970s, but which like many other British sea-side resorts went into decline as a holiday destination since holidays abroad became more affordable. It is currently more popular as a retirement location these days. 

Besides the fact that the water is brown, Clacton was a pleasant three-hour excursion

The most miniature golf 'course' I've ever seen.

Summer Ball

Just as soon as you've recovered from your hangover from The End comes the traditional, more official end-of-the-school-year-party, Summer Ball. Promoted weeks earlier before students are even considering to begin studying for their final exams up until the week of the event itself, this is the university's biggest, most expensive, most highly attended event of the year, and the only one with an 'enforced' dress code: semi-formal. Suits for men; all white, top hats and canes, and metallic appeared, and dresses for girls, many of which prove to be of the longest length you will see worn by an Essex girl.

Basically, it's an eleven-hour (5 p.m. to 4 a.m.) outdoor carnival/dance party. Attractions included four carnival rides, and a handful of game booths, casino tables, a hasheesh tent, several bar tables, most notably serving fishbowls of cocktails, two designated dance areas, food vendors, a 'curiosity shop' (really just a smaller version of the actual campus shop), and the piece de resistance, a silent dance party (apparently there were some noise complaints last year).

My personal highlight was going on a carnival ride for the first time in five years. Behold, the Meteor!

I only lasted until 1 a.m. before experiencing a combination of system overload and total body failure.

The End

To celebrate the end of every term, the University of Essex hosts a party. But unlike any of the other parties that have taken place six days a week up to now, this get-together occurs atop two courtyard squares (3 primarily, 4 secondarily), is without music, tickets, entry fees, a limited capacity, and in fact, has become regionally famous, attended by both students from nearby universities and sneaky townspeople. It is the simplest, yet most notorious evening of revelry known to the Colchester community.

The End is nothing more than an all-day, school-wide, 'sanctioned' drinking binge. Commencing around three in the afternoon for most, although, many begin with a breakfast brewski, The End is supposed to be an unforgettable celebration that few if any can actually remember by the next day. Partygoers are fenced in and subject to an i.d. check should they attempt to re-enter; also, glass is strictly forbidden but definitely makes its way in more often than not for those who attempt.

Extra security guards have been brought in, as well as on-site medical staff, and as such self-fulfilling prophecies work, over the course of the night, I witnessed a pair of hospitalizations and fights (man v. man and the legendary girl-fight). The campus shop and student union bar are also well prepared in advance, having stocked extra reserves of alcohol, in case someone should attempt to venture outside of campus to retrieve more...and never return.

At some eventual point, usually sunrise, enough people have dispersed, or at least passed out, that The End ends. The courtyard is flooded with spilled alcohol, as dripping pant leg bottoms will attest, broken glass and soaked beer can and wine boxes abound--it is a veritable Haiti-- and provide an anything-but-understated reminder of how thankful one can be that despite whatever fate has befallen them up to now, at least they're not a member of the Essex University campus cleaning staff.

Anyone who miraculously manages to make it through The End without a story of some kind inevitably has a mentionable hangover, a tale as old as time, but just may prove to be one's last...that is, until The End of next year.

To Wivenhoe

It was not until 4 days ago, having lived here for 135 days as of writing this, that I discovered the Wivenhoe Trail. And like so many hidden treasures, it was right in my own backyard. Well, more like down some stairs and across the street from my building, but close enough that I'd passed it countless times without ever suspecting the 2.5 km water-side walk that awaited me.

Contrary to what the sunset suggests, the water was actually brown

Chamber of Secrets? Medieval Gutter? whatever it is, I kept afar

topless/decapitated tree

I appreciated the unassumingness

   

Yes We Can..terbury!

The second trip sponsored by the study abroad office was a day spent in the historicized birthplace of both Christianity and more famously, the Canterbury Tales.

Canterbury once seated the spiritual leader of the Church of England, so I was surprised to see

...Moses

Equally pleasantly surprising was spotting this pronoun reference oversight

Oh, and here's Canterbury Cathedral

Leading us past these amazing sights was our incredibly stereotypical old-British-lady of a tour guide, Lynn, who offered a Canterbury Tale of her own:

Stonehedge and Bath

Upon arriving at the University back in January I was quickly faced with the task of establishing allegiances to various student groups, during a seminal ritual commonly known as 'club day.' I joined the Travel Society, presented with an itinerary of already planned trips to places far and wide. However, it was not until the middle of March that I finally was willing and able to attend an excursion. 

Up until a few years ago, visitors could walk amongst the stones and touch them, but too many people were removing pieces from the site to keep as free souvenirs, so now you're kept 100 feet away and get to walk a lap around the monument.

Also, Stonehedge is located in the middle of two bisected freeways, though this is often omitted from pictures and postcards, and a herd of sheep have been added in an adjacent area of field grass for visual interest, I presume.

Situated on the opposite side of England from Colchester, spanning nearly the entire width of the country, in fact, and built in the mouth of an extinct volcano, with hots springs beneath, is the historical Roman city of Bath. Famous residents have included author Jane Austen, artist Thomas Gainsborough, and most recently Nicholas Cage, who had to put his Bath abode up for sale in order to cope with the financial crisis.

Unfortunately, much of Bath is overflowing with shops and attractions intended to pander to tourists (a designation of which fortunately I am spared thanks to my student status) To this end, child labor/humiliation/abuse disguised as street performance serves to entertain enthusiastic visitors:

Sad (note the head bowed in despair) Scottish Terrier sign

It should be mentioned that we never actually saw the Baths of Bath, since there was an entrance fee, and personally, I prefer showers.

The w is silent: Norwich

So way back when, when I was regularly updating this thing, roughly 3 weeks ago, some of the international students and I spontaneously ventured 167.34 km (104 miles) north to the small, rural town of Norwich, in Norfolk county. Although, during the 11th century Norwich was the second largest city in England, after London. Having been ranked the eighth most prosperous shopping destination in the UK in 2006, we had been advised to visit. With four shopping centers, known as arcades, and seven distinguished shopping 'districts,' there are approximately 200 different stores to see...I managed to cover four and didn't purchase anything. 

The train ride to Norwich is about an hour long, but due to 'a signaling error,' the train had to stall in the middle of a desolate prairie for an hour. The bright, warm, countryside scenery was a pleasant, albeit disorienting, change from Colchester, but five minutes before arriving in Norwich the weather returned to its usual chilly, bleakness, complete with a frosty wind-chill. On such a blustery day as this, my contacts were going to shrivel within minutes, so for the first time since arriving in England I wore my sunglasses. It was unanimously agreed among the international students: I looked 
1) ridiculous
2) like I was about to blow something up and/or shoot someone
2) a celebrity incognito*


In fact, I got double takes from two different pairs of women whilst browsing over the course of the afternoon*

Norwich Cathedral

By far the most amusing part of the trip: discovering one of the shopping centers was built on top of a historical graveyard, which no one seems to notice

Unfortunately, those are the only pictures I have that are worth showing from this excursion.

Tesco, Let's Go

So, my fifth visit to Colchester's beloved Tesco has left me inspired. The more I wandered, the more I was fascinated...that is, until I was accosted by an employee, "There's no photography allowed in the store!"

Umm suspicious, much?! I wanted to ask exactly why a national grocery chain felt it needed to employ the same policy as a national museum, but feared that drawing any more attention to myself might render me as some sort of 'customer/person of interest' or target for enhanced surveillance, or really that I'd just end up on this particularly aggressive employee's s*** list. Not to worry, though, next time I'll know to be sneakier.

A main staple of any Brit's diet is the biscuit--not to be confused with your southern granny's soft, buttermilk bread biscuits (I myself have no such grandmother to speak of)--these are basically what Americans know as cookies. It is more formally called a digestive biscuit, the term 'digestive' being derived from the belief that they had antacid properties due to the use of sodium bicarbonate when they were first developed. Predictably enough, biscuits are frequently eaten with tea or coffee. In the UK alone, the annual sales of chocolate digestives total about £35 million. This means that each year, 71 million packages are sold - and each second, 52 biscuits are consumed.

A customer stands stupefied by the infinite array of biscuits to choose from. So many biscuits, so little time!

Another noteworthy product is 'Long Life Milk.' I first became acquainted with LLM (no one in the UK actually refers to it by this acronym) when I wanted to purchase milk that wouldn't expire within 10 days of its purchase. I was instantly directed to aisle 23...

It's powdered and/or not actual cow's milk, despite the picture of the cow that predominates the packaging. Needless to say, I'm making the 10 day limit work.

This is my section of the store, which is to say, it's gluten free. I was pleasantly surprised that Britain's Safeway equivalent would offer this much. The UK's main g-free brand is called 'Free Mom,' as in Mom is free from the burden and annoyance of having to prepare gluten free stuff, I guess.

I'm still debating whether it would be worth the pain of enduring my symptoms for a day....

BANANA BREAD BEER!!!

Fun Fact: Eggs are not refrigerated. Have we been living a lie this whole time in America?

Another sexist marketing strategy! go figure...