Bath and Barnoldswick, England

I have arrived in England! ...Well, I did four days ago.

Due to a lack of wifi at my grandparents house, I have not had a chance to write since I landed in Heathrow last Friday morning.

After landing, my family rented a car and we drove to Bath, which is about an hour west of London. We spent the afternoon wandering about the city, exploring the ancient Roman baths and walking around both the Royal Crescent and the Circus.


The Circus of Bath

Once we had finished touring the more touristy spots of the golden-stoned city, my family and I walked along some of the city's cute cobblestone backstreets, following the canal.

We spent the night in Bath, and due to an out-of-whack internal clock, I woke up just before 7am on Saturday to this beautiful sunrise outside of my hotel window.

Next was packing, breakfast, and a long drive to the charming little village of Barnoldswick, one of the many small country towns nestled among the rolling green hills and the sheep-filled fields of northern England. My father's parents live here, so I've visited before, but the countryside in this part of Britain still takes my breath away: endless miles of old stone walls crisscross across the grassy hills, while the ancient stone towns tend to be clustered together around a local pub and a little country church. Yes, the terrain can be a bit rugged and quite a bit rainy, but I think it makes the views all the more beautiful.

Saturday afternoon, we simply visited with my nana and granddad, although we did take a short walk along the canal. For dinner, we headed to The Tempest Arms, only a 10 minute's drive from my grandparent's house. I ordered duck stuffed with apples and sage, while my father ordered a standard steak with chips (French fries), but the rest of my family had more traditionally English meals with my mother having a fisherman's pie, and my brother diving into his third steak pie of the holiday. Of course, I finished off the dinner with one of my favorite desserts: sticky toffee pudding!

Sunday morning, my family--along with my Uncle Anthony--drove the thin, twisty backroads to Malham to do a short, fairly easy hike up the cliffs at Malham Cove. There were actually a few people rock climbing up the sheer cliff face, but we just decided to head up the stair-lined trail.



On the way to Malham Cove

At the top, we encountered gorgeous views of the English countryside as we hopped across the rocks. I took so many photos! The wind was pretty strong, but unlike some of our other holidays in England, the weather was fantastic: Friday through Sunday was generally sunny and averaging between 70-80 degrees--quite warm for north of England, where usually we have to wear fleeces and jeans even in the middle of July!



My family at Malham Cove

David (my brother) had a great time chasing some of the sheep, and my dad had a great time yelling at him for it. After a while at the top, though, we headed back down, although my brother and I were treated to an ice cream at the end.

Monday brought another hike at Ingleborough, a bit under an hour from Barnoldswick. This mountain was about 2,400 feet high. Unlike the past few days, however, the sun was mostly hidden, the temperature had cooled, sprinkles of rain fell every few minutes, and the summit of Ingleborough was engulfed in clouds.

After about an hour and a half of walking/hiking, we had gotten up into the thick cloud surrounding the summit, and the wind had picked up significantly. We waited a bit for the clouds to clear, but after 15 minutes of just gray fog, we gave up and headed back down the mountain.



My mom, close to the cloud-covered summit.



Of course, the sun started shining near the bottom of Ingleborough.

Next, lunch in the pub in Ingleton--the village lying in the mountain's shadow--and then the long drive home.

Visiting with my granddad a little after the hike, I learned a few interesting facts about his early life. Apprenticed as a mechanic, he minded the boiler room in a ship during his late teens and into his 20's, and he sailed all across the world: Calcutta, Pakistan, Japan, China, Singapore, and he even sailed around Australia 5 times. He worked 84 hour weeks in the boiler room, and his monthly wage was only 32 pounds (roughly $55). The ship he worked on once carried a polar bear for a week and a half, and they sometimes transported kangaroos from Australia to Singapore for the zoos. And coming back from Japan one time, the ship got caught in a cyclone for three days and were blown nearly 400 miles off course, my granddad claimed.

After chatter and dinner, my granddad introduced me to a chocolate lover's wine--it's dark chocolate flavored red wine. Personally, I don't really enjoy wine (although I've really tried to--I mean, really, I'm going to France for a year--I'm going to have to love wine) but this chocolate wine was actually okay. Do they have this in France?

This morning, my mother and I went on a 5-mile walk to-and-from the next town over from Barnoldswick by following the canal. When we returned to the house, though, we packed up and set off once more. For the next few days, we will all be staying in York!

Packing

This will probably be just a quick little post, since I'm actually meant to be furiously packing at the moment.

Although the reality of it isn't quite sinking in, tonight's pasta pesto was my last dinner at home for at least a few months. Tomorrow night, I'll be up in the air, England-bound with my family. And in another week's time, I'll be up in the air once more, flying alone to Paris.

For now, though, I am attempting to pack a year's worth of clothes -- along with my laptop, a book or two, and a number of shoes -- into three bags: a decently-sized suitcase, a travel-sized duffel, and a backpack. I'm trying not to over pack or anything, but this seems to be an impossible feat.

Whenever I have to pack for a long journey such as this, I am reminded just how much stuff I actually have. It's amazing to think that even now, people immigrate to other countries with just a suitcase of belongings, while I'm struggling a little to pack my three bags knowing full well that I'll return to all of my stuff that I've left behind in 11 or so months.

Less than Two Weeks!

As of this very moment, the label "foreigner" really can't be applied to me, as I am still residing in my hometown in the USA. In less than two weeks, however, that will all change: in less than two weeks, I'll begin an 11-month adventure in Europe!

First, I am going to spend about a week in England with my family, hiking and visiting with my grandparents. From there, I'll fly to France, which is my main destination.

Of course, I fully intend to travel all across Europe while I'm abroad. It would be such a wasted opportunity if I didn't fully explore, say, at least five other countries, right? I have nearly 11 months, and there is really no country in Europe that I would drag my feet to visit. In all honesty, there are very few countries in the world to which I would turn down a chance to visit. Like thousands of others, I have dreams of travelling the world.

Young as I am, though, I'm not a complete stranger to being a foreigner. I am so lucky to say that I have already journeyed to England (to visit family), Scotland, Switzerland, and Japan, among other places.

So I am somewhat familiar with how alienating it can sometimes be to identify as a foreigner. Especially if you can't speak a word of the native language.

For example: I memorized a couple of key phrases before departing for Japan. However, the most useful phrase that I had learned, “Oh-tair aya-wa doko des’ka?” (it's a terrible Anglicization of the question "Where is the bathroom?") was of no use to me in Kyoto. I realized that knowing how to ask a question in a foreign language isn’t of much use when the person whom you ask responds in the language you barely know.

While I've been studying French for the past seven years, I still know that my speaking abilities are close to elementary (while in St. Martin a few months ago, I was bested in my French speaking skills by a six-year-old).

By the end of this almost-year abroad, I better be able to converse fluently with the next French-speaking six-year-old I meet.

Even more, I hope that by the end of this journey, I won't feel like such a stranger abroad.

Whatever happens, though, I'm sure I'll have some great stories and photos!