When it came down to the nitty-gritty of choosing a location to study abroad, it was by far the easiest decision I had to make. I spent more time debating what shoes (*cough 3 days cough*) to pack than I did researching a country to go.
The reason choosing England was such a non-decision was because of, what else, but the summers I had spent working as a counselor at CFA. There, I was fortunate enough to befriend dozens of international counselors and staff members whose home base is either England or continental Europe.
Note: Befriending maybe be putting it kindly. We were forced (i.e. paid very very little) to spend nearly everyday for 10+ weeks together under a scorching Texas sun with little-to-no contact with the outside world. Since a Lord of the Flies situation is off the table, the options are to befriend your companions or quit. Luckily summer camps seem to draw in a certain “type” of person that make for cohesive work environments and always have a couch for you to sleep on when you’re I dunno, spending six months abroad in England!?
So to regroup: I spend these countless hours working and bonding with these people. For nearly three months they are my ONLY friends. Then the summer ends, their visas expire, and they go home. Cue heartbreak and tears. We have Skype. There’s always Facebook. But it takes a month or two to transition back into life without them.
Back to present day. I’m in Nottingham. I find out I’m actually going to a great school* with a reputable science department and I have a handful of friends to visit scattered round Great Britain. After roughly one month in and zero excursions out of the city (except the day trip to Oxford) I’m chomping at the bit, raring to go.
Enter Matt.
Matt worked at CFA summer 2011 and I had seen him once or twice each year since when he visited the States. After several group messages between him, Julia**, and myself it was decided that on February 22nd I was going to Manchester. WAHOO.
Being the experienced traveler that I am (ha ha ha) I quickly opened up a new tab on my browser and Googled “nottingham to manchester trains help”.
Success! After following a link and inputting the various details of the trip along with checking off the 16 – 25 Railcard option (THANK YOU MOM AND DAD THANK YOU MOM AND DAD. BLESS YOU) I booked my first train tickets with only minor difficulties. The biggest being that there was more than one train station in Manchester. This was remedied by repeatedly texting Matt and Julia “help”, “SOS”, “yo”, “are you there? help” until they answered.
Flash forward to Friday, February 21st, it’s 11 PM and I’m setting my alarm clock for…4:45 AM. Yep. The day I had booked my tickets was coincidentally the day I had made my budget here. Realizing that every time I went to the pub or used the bus or went to the pub or bought wine cost money was a harsh realization. Ouch. So with a new sense of ~frugality~ clouding my vision I thought it was best to get the 6:40 AM train out of Nottingham. Why? Because that ticket cost 4 pounds.
Keep in mind I had never traveled by train before. I legitimately thought there would be a security checkpoint equivalent to that at an airport. I had never even been to the Nottingham train station. Ooops. The only bus I could get to the train station came at 6:05 AM and if I missed it I would undoubtedly miss my train. I did however know exactly where my bust stop was. You win some, you lose lots right?
Also it was very dark and very cold and very quiet when I left…but again, it was only 4 pounds!??!
As luck would have it I made my bus, but SURPRISE, the bus station and the train station are not the same. Crap. As I stood there with my large backpack and sleepy eye boogers still crusted on, I notice several more, errrrr, determined, more confident travelers all heading in the same direction with suitcases. With nothing left to lose (but all of my weekend plans and sense of independence) I chose to follow them.
My gut was right! After a short walk I ended up standing at the Nottingham Train Station. Deciphering the time tables was a whole other battle that I will spare y’all the details of. Essentially, I boarded a train crossing my fingers that it would get me to Manchester Piccadilly.
I made it though, with all my fingers, toes, and possessions no less.
After finding Julia, screaming her name across a terminal, startling the reserved British travelers and then repeating the process when we found Matt, the three of us were ready to go.
Word had spread of my freaky fondness for castles, and Matt’s countryside hometowns provided not one, but TWO to explore. The three of us piled into his very British car and left the city limits as quickly as we had arrived. Don’t cry for me just yet Argentina, we’ll be back.
I had caught glimpses of the English countryside from behind the dirt encrusted train window, but due to it being around 7 AM I didn’t feel like subjecting my fellow train passengers to my gleeful squawking.
Seeing the same sights from the backseat of Matt’s car was an entirely different experience. British radio was blasting and just on the other side of the window was one green hill after another. Each seemed to be dotted with flocks of sheep and spattered with little countryside cottages. It was a “movie moment” if there ever was one.
Continuing the very “English” theme of the day, we stopped to eat in a sort of up-scale pub(?). The establishment seemed to host an eclectic crowd to say the least. Picture bikers, cyclists, 20-something backpackers, and a few families thrown in for good measure, crammed in a room with exposed rafters and looooooots of HP Sauce.
The first “castle” we visited was less castle, more fort maybe? Only about 1/4 of the walls were still standing. This only left more for me to imagine. Ha! Wandering from room to room, I rambled aloud stories inspired by anything I could regurgitate from Conor forcing me to watch the History Channel. I’m 80% sure Julia and Matt tuned me out after the second sentence. Seeing as they’re in their 20’s and not 12, I can understand their lack of amusement and will find it in my heart to forgive.
Reunited, ahhhhhHHHHhahhhah!
We left and drove on to Clitheroe. There, since we are nothing if not thorough, we had ENGLISH tea time at an ENGLISH castle (number II). Is my life even real at this point?
The wind was not a friend.
Like any good castle does, the Clitheroe Castle gave way to panoramic views of the small town that were absolutely stunning. Particularly the hill in the background of the second photo. Yes, the hill that’s just behind mine and Julia’s furry hoods and hook ’em sign. Upon further inquiry, Matt informed me that the hill was home to a “gnarly witch hunt or something. Yeah. It’s famous or something. Yeah.”
As helpful as that was, Google aided me further. I’ve included the link below because I actually spent a gross amount of time reading more about the “gnarly witch hunt” aka the Pendle Witches, while the others were getting ready for a night out. If there is one person who clearly knows how to get ready to party it’s me. Ammirite? Am. I. Right.
http://www.pendlewitches.co.uk/
After an hour or so of down time (i.e. Matt took a nap) and a feast of Chinese take away we met Matt’s “lads” upon our return to the city of Manchester. These guys treated us to a “proper” night out and were much more English gentlemen than obnoxious bros. Between offering us their jackets and cooking us an English breakfast in the morning we couldn’t have asked for more. One fellow even gave Julia and myself a parting gift (see photo below).
It’s something Lord of the Rings related. Because I’m shameless and have neither watched the movies or read the novels I don’t know what it is, but I WILL keep it foreeeeeeever, just as I will the memories from the weekend.
And scene!
Muchos Besos.
*Jokes! I knew that the University of Nottingham was a very good school well before I boarded a plane. This is partially thanks to UT only partnering with schools of comparable prestige and partially thanks to who else but ~Google~.
**For those who aren’t in the “know”, my roommate from the past and of the future (Julia) is also studying abroad in England this semester. She’s residing a bit farther south in the posh city of Bath.
Notts and Bolts 