Travel Writing Blog 4: The Tower of London is Falling Down. Wait. I Think I Have That Wrong..

View of The Tower of London from the front

Imagine being surrounded by stark, stone gray walls day in and day out, with as much freedom as a caged bird; nothing to look forward to except counting down the days until your public humiliation, which also happens to be your execution day. Such were the images and occurrences of numerous prisoners who had been imprisoned within the Tower of London. Alcatraz of San Francisco seems tame and childish compared to the bitter stories that lie within the immense structure of London, which is situated on the north bank of the River Thames. The Tower of London has been a symbol of oppression since its erecting by William the Conqueror in 1078. Surprisingly enough, however, the Tower has held many purposes throughout the years besides imprisonment that one would probably never suspect of occurring in Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress, the more formal title for the castle.

The Tower of London is almost always included in every London travel guidebook’s “Top (enter number here) Sights to See While In London” section, and for good reason. If you could think of a use for a building, the Tower of London probably pursued it. Every room is filled with historical replicas and displays that contain several centuries’ worth of knowledge and secrets.  The Tower also appears to be never ending, with several additions that have been added century after century and secret tunnels that lead to chambers and rooms most visitors don’t even know exist. Like most tours, this one began on the outskirts of the structure’s main walls where its daunting peaks and turrets glared ominously as if to warn you of entering its gates. The tour guide casually points to a building located outside of the realm of the main towers and informs the group that this was the most common place of execution.  What a great way to start a tour.

The first building the group entered was the White Tower. Inside the somber gray interior was livened up by numerous amounts of armor, shields, and weaponry, which lined pretty much every corner of the room. The tour guide was informative to say the least, but my mind kept wandering to thoughts of the people and monarchs who once inhabited the Tower’s domain. Were the kings as noble and grand as most historians suggest? Why were these items the “chosen relics” to be displayed for all generations to see? Nevertheless, the artifacts were glorious. The armor had been polished to pristine condition, and there were several weapons that could be worn as jewelry with all of the precious gems placed upon them. This area, which was open to the public, also housed what used to be the Royal Mint, but the group breezed by this area due to disinterest and throngs of tourists. Although this part of the tour was extremely instructive and covered a broad spectrum of what occurred within the Tower, it was the second half of the tour that still resonates in my mind.

Due to the fact that Baylor students travel in packs of 50, the group had to be separated in two. So after about an hour of touring with one tour guide in the White Tower, the groups switched guides and locations. It was then our group’s turn to head to the “restricted” part of the tour. This basically implied that we would be viewing areas of the Tower that weren’t open to the public, which also meant these rooms were a lot cooler. We were led to the Constable’s housing unit where he actually eats, sleeps, and lives while keeping watch over the Tower in the Queen’s absence. Inside the basic structure lay hidden a room located right off the entrance to the house. This, according to the tour guide, is where they housed the most “important” prisoners, considering they were right under the watchful eye of the Constable. One of the more notable prisoners who occupied this area was Thomas More. More was accused and tried of treason after refusing to acknowledge the annulment of King Henry VIII to his wife Catherine. The imprisonment of More, who was the King’s secretary of state, would be the equivalent of throwing Hillary Clinton in jail this day and age. What was interesting about More’s story was that while imprisoned, he was first allowed access to books and writing materials as well as allowed to see his wife and children. After continuous refusal to support the King, though, each privilege was slowly stripped of him until he was left with only his thoughts in that cramped, cavernous room. Inevitably, More was beheaded after being tried and found guilty of high treason for denying the validity of the Act of Succession. I just found it almost baffling how a man of such high authority could be killed simply for disagreeing with the King and his wishes.  I suppose the moral of the story is do what the King requests, or die. More learned this lesson the difficult way.

After almost three hours of touring, our final stop was located in another tower within the inner ward. At first glance, nothing seemed overly impressive or interesting about this space. We had climbed up yet another flight of steps into a dimly lit room with only a few beams of sun casting through the window, but this area of the Tower was nothing short of magnificent. Little did we know, we were standing on tile that originated back to the 14^th century.  Impressive considering the Guards who help give tours and work for the Tower lived in this part of the tower as well. After peering down onto the main area of the Tower courtyard, we ventured into a room just off of the entry hallway. In this room, paint still faintly clung to the wall just enough to make out the sanctifying images that created a true masterpiece. There was a plaster fireplace only half completed with the rose crest of the Tutor Family barely visible above the worn-down brick. Unfortunately, this fireplace covered the most stunning of all artwork. Depicted was, what most historians, believe, to be the Crucifixion. They can only speculate about this, however, because the fireplace is covering one crucial component of the puzzle, the crucifying of Christ. Luckily there still remain four visible figures, who are often included in other Crucifixion portrayals, that lead us to believe Christ is behind the structure. To the left is John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary weeping over the loss of their Savior. To the right are John the evangelist and the Byward Angel What I found extremely fascinating was image of the angel holding a scale, which scholars believed to be the scales weighing the souls of good and evil. On one side, if you looked carefully enough, there was a depiction of the devil trying to take back the holier souls and bring them to hell with him. Even just the sight of this was enough to send chills running up and down my arms.

Our tour of Tower of London concluded after viewing this closed off room, and I personally felt more than fortunate to view a piece of history not many eyes have seen before. Although the tour was over, there was still a plethora of activities to be had at the Tower. Of course I perused the Crown Jewels, stunning as expected, and checked out a few of the other “bloody” towers. However, it was the subtlety of being able view something that is still shielded from the general public’s eye that made the day seem somewhat intimate. So, I will most certainly agree that the Tower of London shouldn’t be missed by anyone visiting London. Even if you’re just breezing through the city on a whim, this attraction is a must for any body with a natural curiosity and appreciation for anything a little out of the ordinary.

Travel Writing Blog 3: The Great Walking Tour of '11 Continues. London Style.

Although walking tours have outgrown their welcome to many fellow BGB goers, sometimes all it takes to revive an interest in European culture is one charismatic tour guide who doesn’t take all things historical too seriously.  The Royal London Free tour was a refreshing change from the stuffy and often contrite tours given throughout Italy. Right away, it was evident the dynamic of this tour was going to be drastically different from the past week’s tours.

Nothing quite says London like a Queen's Guard. Agreed?

Groups from all different walks of nationalities, literally, converged in Hyde Park Corner next to the conspicuous Wellington Arch to begin the free walk around Westminster. Four tour guides stood on the Statue of Wellington waiting to divvy up the 100 or so waiting participants.  Tour Guide James was about as polar-opposite from Tour Guide Barbie as humanly possible. Outwardly, he seemed like a perfectly average male: not overtly tall in stature, mahogany hair, pale skin, and an already forming five o’clock shadow despite the fact that it was only one in the afternoon. But as soon as he opened his mouth, it was clear his seemingly haphazard appearance was just a façade concealing the true seedy underbelly of James’ obtuse personality. Every other word that James spoke in his thick Irish accent was either a sly remark or crass statement about the members of the tour group. And that occurred just within the first three minutes of the tour.

As usual, London greeted everyone with a brisk, wind biting enough to make a person almost not want to leave the house, but not cold enough to keep you from going outdoors and running the usual day-to-day errands. James couldn’t have cared less with what the weather was like however. Come hell or high water, he was planning on giving us that tour. After a brief introduction of everyone, yes, all 30 of us told him our countries of origin, the group walked a whopping 10 yards from the starting point and reached Buckingham Palace. One would assume a stereotypical tour guide would speak of the quiet yet powerful elegance that stood before you, but that simply was not James’ style. Rather, he told a few tales of drunken homeless men’s mishaps, and how one way or another, the sneaky fellows always somehow managed to break into Buckingham Palace. I have yet to confirm the story of a Michael Fagan, a fellow Irishman to James who apparently drunkenly wandered into the Palace one particularly nasty storming night and ended up chit-chatting with the queen. Sometimes it was difficult to differentiate between fact or fiction from our less than politically correct guide. But James simply proceeded to talk in his crass Irish tones and carried on with the tour.

Me and Lacey in front of Buckingham Palace. How smashing.

One very redeemable quality about James, among many, was his actual touring abilities. He always seemed to find the quieter settings within the area to explain what historical importance was placed on each particular sight. Of course, the area didn’t remain quiet for long, considering James yell-talked quite abruptly when wanting to alert the group he had something to say. Even though our group consisted of individuals living anywhere from Arizona to Australia to many other countries in Europe, James had an uncanny sense of dry and, at times, inappropriate humor that appealed to all who were in attendance. He had an aura about him that exuded hilarity and confidence. The walk from sight-to-sight was a pleasant break from James’ boisterous tones however, leaving everybody to talk amongst themselves as we scurried about from place to place. Greenery was everywhere you looked, considering we walked through several parks, utterly captivating to a person who hasn’t seen a drop of rain until arriving London for over 100 days.

One of the many picturesque parks we ventured through.

Weaving in and out of several other tourists, our group surprisingly didn’t lose a single group member. Some lagged further behind than others, but there was always a constant ebb and flow of how we arrived at each point, and somehow everyone consistently showed up to where the group was located. The sights were wondrous to see, purely London in every sense of the word (although technically the tour took place in Westminster). Buildings ranged from Clarence House, where Prince Charles and Harry reside, to a gentleman’s club, where no females were allowed and notable members included Charles Darwin and CS Lewis. The places themselves were interesting enough, but every little jab and antecdote James said made everything that much more interesting. This was the first time the group didn’t have to tape their eyelids to their eyebrows just to stay awake. Every fact was a little oddity, something most people would never think to inquire about or include. But not a stone went unturned when James was speaking. It was unconventional to say the least, but a refreshing break from the monotony and redundancy of every other guided walk. When else have you heard that the lions in Trafalgar Square actually have the bodies of Cocker Spaniels, since the sculptor who molded them had only seen a lion’s head and not its body? My point exactly.

The tour made a quick wrap up passing St. Stephen’s Clock Tower, which houses Big Ben, and concluding next to Westminster Abby and Parliament. The tour was sequential and easy to follow, expanding my already fast-growing knowledge of London geography. As James was saying his final adieus, I realized for a split second how sad I was to leave this tour. While three hours visibly breaches my gnat-sized attention span, the people in our tour group had become familiar faces, a rarity in a country halfway across the world from your hometown. A couple girls from Arizona quickly became our comrades, and it was pleasant to converse with someone not from within the Baylor Bubble. James’ final words came at a perfect time, because it started lightly sprinkling shortly after we made our final stop under a large oak tree situated next to Westminster Abby. For the first time in two weeks, it was a sad moment to leave the wonder that is called the walking tour and head back to the tube for our excursion home.  There is no doubt in my mind that James earned every pence of the 3 pounds, 25 pence that was tipped to him at the end of our time together. I’ll be honest, for a free walking tour, my expectations weren’t the grandest. But all that was necessary to change my perspective on walking on my already blistered to death feet for a few more hours was a witty tour guide and a proper (positive) attitude. Maybe someone will attend this tour and receive the same joyous honor of having Tour Guide James in the future.

Our fearless leader, James.

Travel Writing Blog 2: Gracias! I mean.. Gratzi?

Everything in Italy that is particularly elegant or grand borders upon insanity and absurdity or at least is reminiscent of childhood. - Alexander Herzen

If I never take another walking tour again in my entire life, it would be too soon. I have blisters on my blisters, and my feet haven't hurt this bad since I worked out 4 hours a day during volleyball and track season. You could say that I'm in a little bit of pain. Was this some form of Chinese water torture I hadn't heard about yet? Nevertheless, walking seemed to be the only mode of transportation to fully take in all the beauty and grandeur that is Italia. But trust me when I say that it is an extreme understatement that I should have listened to my mom when she thought I should pack at least one pair of "sensible walking shoes." Well played Mama Clay. Your wisdom outwits me once again.

We most certainly hit the ground running at the beginning of Baylor in Great Britain, or more affectionately known as BGB to Baylor business students. It literally felt like the moment we stepped off of the plane and onto solid ground, a walking tour awaited. Italians are in the best shape ever for two reasons: one, they walk EVERYWHERE; two, they suck on cigarettes like there's no tomorrow. Rome was the first leg of our soon-to-be many expeditions. When you think Italian history and culture, Rome should be at the forefront of your thoughts. If you've seen any type of Italian monument, sculpture, or painting on TV or in pictures, it's safe to bet it can be found in Rome. As oxymoronic as it sounds Rome was a lot more rundown than I had expected. Yes, I realize that the reason people visit the city of illusions and echoes is because of all the old historical monuments, but it was still surprising.

The first stop on The Great Walking Tour of 2011 was the Colosseum. The shear size of that building is enough to make you stop and awe in appreciation. Throw in the history of all the gory battles and deaths that occurred there, and you have something hauntingly spectacular. Thoughts of Russell Crowe and one of my personal all-time favorite movies "Gladiator" were all that encompassed my mind while we trekked around the massive structure. This is where I first learned that everything in Italy is one, and usually all, of three things:
1. Everything in Italy is suuuuuuper important. Not joking. Ask our tour guide Ingrid.
2. Everything is also covered in marble. I guess they got a discount somewhere.
3. Everything is super old. Like this one rock we saw was about 200 years older than our country.

Woo yeah Colosseum yeah!

After the Colosseum, we headed to the Roman Forum. Honestly, I had no idea what that was, and I'm still a little fuzzy about it now. I think it was where they held political things? Now it's just a bunch of old rocks. Ingrid kept saying "imagine this building here looking like this" but in reality we were all just trying not to pass out from heat stroke. Did I mention it's really hot in Italy? Because it totally is. Reminds of me home actually. Ah, memories.. After sweating out every ounce of water from our bodies, we headed on over to the Trevi Fountain. I thought it was interesting that it was a lot more closed in rather than a full circle, like most fountains are. Either way, I took my penny in my right hand and tossed it into the water over my left shoulder and made a wish (Italians really enjoy their odd customs too).

Tally and I like to throw coins into old fountains. No big.

The last stop of the day was the Pantheon. Not really sure what that was all about either, but it was still big, old, important and impressive just like the rest of Rome.

OH! I almost forgot to tell you about the Vatican!! It was nice.

Just kidding. It was breathtaking, majestic, and regal in every sense of the words. The detail was immaculate, but I've come to notice, Italians really appreciate exquisite minute details. I think that's what makes everything they build so special. I snuck a picture of the Sistine Chapel, but it was kinda blurry and not that great. I refused to get kicked out of one of the most holiest churches on earth though. That would make me look bad.

My sneaky picture of the Sistine Chapel. Told you it's nothing great.

Leaving Rome was sad, because I just got kind of somewhat sort of familiar with my surroundings, but there was more of Italy to be had. On the way to Florence, we stopped at a small Italian village called Assissi. This is the birth place and final resting place of Saint Francis. The Chapel of Assissi was pretty, just like every other church we had already seen, but the town itself was nothing short of picturesque. It lie on top of a hill overlooking the Tuscan countryside. The walk up to the center of the city was a daunting one, but well worth the effort. I now knew what it meant to  be under the Tuscan Sun.

Assisi was short-lived, as was most of Italy, but Florence was calling our name (as well as our wallets). The Italians definitely take pride in their food. Not only were their prices a little on the steep side, but you couldn't find a burger there if the Pope himself were to ask for one. I did, however, favor Florence over Rome overall. The landscape was a lot more serene, and the hustle and bustle of the city seemed to fade quietly within the walls of St. Peter's Basilica. Any place you stopped could have been a Kodak moment, and by the 600 new pictures I took there, I clearly proved that right. The most favorable gem I found in Florence (besides the smoking hot bod of the David) was the local market right across the square from where our hotel was situated. Shops lines the streets of Florence, inviting, almost taunting, you to not buy a delightful souvenir to take back to the states. I, too, fell victim to the alluring tents and now find myself the proud owner of a slightly overprice, yet beautiful nevertheless, original water color art. One souvenir down, 87 more to go.

St. Peter's Basilica

Our final stop in Italy was quite possible the most eloquent place I've ever been blessed to see. The town of Stresa, Italy, was nothing short of astonishing. It's hard to put into words how breath-taking these views were. If ever there was a place that resembled what heaven on earth looked like, Stresa succeeds it. The cascading hills that seamlessly blended into the clouds and skies and heavens had omnipresent steam rolling down from their peaks. The lake appeared as though it was glass, as though it hadn't yet been tainted by the touch of man. God has blessed this piece of land and water, the chills that continuously ran up my spine like someone had graced up against me were proof of that. Nothing about Stresa was ordinary. The boat ride we took going around the shorelines of the island gave a cool wind that was sharp, but didn't leave me feeling cold. Something out of the ordinary for someone as cold-natured and anemic as this girl. The The Hotel Grand Dino was almost as otherwordly as the island is was situated upon. Everywhere you looked was stained glass and colors so rich it wouldn't even satsify the sweetest tooth. Every experience was something I will truly take with me for the rest of my life.

View from the island Isla Bella in Stresa

Gardens at the Hotel Grand Dino

Inside the hotel. Fancy shmancy right?

I will say that while Italy was such a culture shock and good chance for me to break out of my comfort zone, I am pretty pumped about going back to a place where everyone speaks English. It's the little things like that which count. I guess I'm still just a simple ol' southern gal at heart. But with that I say..

Ciao, Italy! You've been great to my memories but awful to my diet. I'm more than ready for jolly old England slash London. Bring it.

Travel Writing Blog 1: And So The Rat Race Begins.

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness. – Mark Twain

The Official Courtney-Leaves-For-Europe-Yay-I'm-So-Excited Countdown is now at 2 days. Actually, the plane that will take me to my unknown destiny departs from DFW in exactly 48 hours. Is this real life? As usual the answer is yes, because in true Clay family fashion, I have yet to even begin the packing process. My theory has always been that if I just way overpack than necessary, then nothing can be forgotten. But time and time again I prove this theory wrong. True, I may have 57 dresses to choose from for a 6 day family beach vacation, but somehow my toothbrush, face soap, and bathing suit mysteriously gets left behind, without fail, every single time. I guess it's all part of my mental preparation process. Like any young responsible collegiate student, I like to put everything off until the very last possible minute. This post included. I'm hoping by today's end I'll at least have compiled a list of everything I should have packed by tomorrow evening. Baby steps.

This will be my first trip outside of the continental US. My family loves to travel, don't get me wrong. But Papa Clay enjoys the simple comforts of ice in his drinks, free refills, and English speaking folk. So in America we have stayed. Ironically and coincidentally, however, my brother decided to take his first excursion across the pond and will just so happen to be in Spain the same time I will be in London. Some days I question our kinship, but both of our hunger for leading a "cultured life" reminds me just how related we are. I've had high hopes for this trip since I bought my first Lonely Planet travel guide to London, and I'm fairly certain every single expectation will be met. Samuel Johnson said "When a man is tired of London he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford." All there is to say after that is, I'm ready to be in London.

I recently read the article "Milano, Ti Amo" in National Geographic Traveler. How appropriate was this article, since the first leg of our program begins in Italy? We won't be visiting Milan, though, which really is such a shame after the poignant picture Tom Mueller presents for readers in his latest travel article. In my mind, if New York City and Rome were to have a love child, Milan would be their baby. Tom initially considers Milan to "[feel] like a migraine." Apparently, Milan is a drastic step away from the serene valleys of Tuscany or the historic prowess of Rome. But after setting aside his bias and preconceived notions he once held for the fashion capital of Italy, Mueller finds a subtler, path-less-traveled side to Milan. He eventually concludes "That, I now see, is what I'm after: The unsung Milan." The main idea I took away from this article is to form opinions and conclusions only after experiencing a place for myself. The only way to express my view with validity is to breathe in the aroma of the city and write from the heart. I don't want to merely write about what I see, but what I experience. Every taste, smell, sound, sight will differentiate from person to person. I can only write what I know, which I'm hoping will suffice not only for this class, but for any one else who might run across this measly blog.

This past fourth of July weekend was satisfying for several reasons. I got to spend ample lake and hang-out time with a close friend  I haven't seen in several months, my legs got tanner (sorry I'm a little on the shallow side at times), and it made the wait time between now and Europe go by exponentially quicker. But the most important aspect of this weekend was that I was able to squeeze the last bit of Americana into my life that will have to sustain me for the next five weeks. Sometimes, as cliche as this is going to sound, I forget how truly lucky I am to have grown up in such a free and supportive environment. The plethora of war heroes memorials and fireworks displays always make me a little teary eyed when I'm reminded why this country is so near and dear to my heart. America truly is the land of opportunity, whether we like to admit that to ourselves at times or not.

Lake LBJ on the 4th of July

Fireworks show at Horseshoe Bay

 Am I going to miss everything that is America to pieces, family and friends included? Absolutely. You have no idea how much I care for my loved ones. But is the thrill of visiting someplace so alien and unnatural to me taking precedence over any anxiety I might possibly be feeling at the moment? Duh. I'll also have an old friend of mine accompanying me across seas, which should make the transition a little less painful. Mickey D always knows just what to do whenever I'm feeling down and out or out of place. I must admit, I'm a very lucky girl.

See ya in five weeks 'Merica. Europe, I hope you treat me (and my closet) well.