by Jeff Kay

During our Big Winter of Planning, we decided we wanted to see more of England than just London. But we didn’t want to hassle with renting a car, driving through roundabouts from the passenger seat, and getting our asses lost in some mysterious village, with a name like Pissing or Little Pancreas. So we settled on a couple of organized day trips, by bus.

The first was to be to Warwick Castle, Stratford-upon-Avon, and Oxford. And it required us to be up, showered, and breakfasted by 7:30 in the freakin’ a.m. Man, what a pain in the crapshaft...

We ate at the hotel again, and the guy who runs the restaurant operation is some sort of English/Filipino hybrid, impossible to understand. He’d always been very friendly to us, but on this morning seemed to be making accusations.

He kept telling me I had to pay for breakfast, I couldn’t just charge it to our room. I hadn’t said a word about charging anything to our room, and had every intention of paying. What was this guy’s problem? He was starting to piss me off.

I said, “You want me to pay now, before we finish, just to ease your mind?” My blood pressure was ratcheting up, and I was getting sarcastic with the dude... And he smiled and said, “Not today, my friend! Only on Tuesday.”

WTF?

The youngest boy poured himself a bowl of cereal, and the milk-dispensing machine was empty. I told a worker about it, and she shouted to Mr. Accusations, “Raul, we’re out of milk!” He didn’t understand (of course), so she said it again, while pointing at her breasts. “Milk!  Milk!!” she hollered. You know, the stuff that sometimes comes out of these things? It was like a sitcom in that place....

We had to pick up the bus at a neighboring hotel, and there was already a gang of people when we arrived. Nobody was saying anything, they were just hanging around and looking at their watches.

We had almost fifteen minutes to spare, so I asked Toney if she wanted something from the Starbucks across the street. She did, and I bought us two enormous vessels of that Costa Rica stuff, which isn’t very good - but better than what the Brits were serving up.

I’d taken maybe two sips, when the guide walked in. And she eyed our giant cups, and said, “No food or drinks on the coach! I’m just going to pop into the loo, so finish up your coffees.”  

Grrr… I tried to suck the thing down, but it was fire-hot, and nearly destroyed my esophagus.

We got settled on the bus, which she insisted on calling a coach, and I assumed our tour was underway. But I was wrong. We were driven to an office building with a courtyard, and instructed to “queue up” behind the sign that described the “journey” we’d be taking.

It was like a cattle-drive. People were everywhere, and no-nonsense women with clipboards were hollering, trying to make some sense of the chaos.

We found the Warwick/Oxford queue, and fell into position. Then one of the clipboard ladies came around, and asked our names. Toney gave her the information, and they had absolutely no record of us. We’d paid in advance, before we even left Pennsylvania, and Toney called to confirm the day before – as instructed.

But we weren’t on the list, and the woman clearly believed we were to blame.

“This tour is over-sold!” she spat.

“Well it’s not our fault,” Toney replied. “I called yesterday, and they told me everything was fine.”

“Well, obviously everything’s NOT fine!” Clipboard hollered, before storming off in a huff.

We finally got everything straightened out (turns out it was their screw-up, not ours – go figure), and we climbed on the bus that would carry us to Warwick, and all points beyond.

Before we’d even left the parking space, our guide was laying down the law. You must wear your seatbelts, she told us, and if we’re pulled over and a fine is levied, you’re personally responsible for it, not the tour company. No food or drinks of any kind on the coach, and the “loo” is strictly off-limits. Plus, she’d only be speaking English throughout the day, and if that was a problem, we should just get off now.

She seemed to have a (fish ‘n’) chip on her shoulder.

We finally started moving, and there was a lot of traffic until we got outside of London. This also irritated the guide, who launched into a speech about how “the whole world and his wife” go out for a drive, whenever the sun shines. “I think it’s so people don’t have to sit at home, and talk to each other,” she reported, as if she had some kind of personal investment in it.

Was this woman crazy? I was starting to have my suspicions... But whatever. I just sat there and looked out the windows, fascinated by every little thing. Once we got away from the city, it started to look like Kentucky. It was just green, rolling farmland in every direction. Very pretty.

At one point it started raining a little, and Crazy picked up the microphone again. And I wish I had what followed on tape… The woman started talking about umbrellas, and got herself all worked up about it. By the end she was clearly angry. About umbrellas!

She insisted they’re stupid items, invented in the 1800s and never improved upon. They’re inconvenient, she said, and “people just go around poking each other in the eyes with the things.”

She told us they get in the way when it’s not raining, and require at least one hand to use, at all times. “God, how I hate them! I really do!!” she shouted, as if she were running for office on the No Umbrellas platform.

And everybody on the bus just looked at each other, with the international expression for ho-ly shit.

Warwick (the second W is silent) Castle is amazing and historic, but all touristed up. In fact, it’s now owned by the folks behind Madame Tussauds Wax Museum, so there you go. The castle itself is authentic, but they’ve got people walking around in period costume, and much of it’s Disneyfied.

The Ghost Tower, especially, is pretty much ruined by the goofiness. They’ve got it set up like a haunted house, with flashing lights and fog machines. It was supposed to be scary, but it was more chaotic and irritating than anything else. People kept jumping out of the shadows, and there were lots of loud, startling noises.

Some pasty-ass teenager emerged from nowhere, at one point, stuck his head right up in my left ear, and whispered, “Muuuuurder.” I have no idea where he came from, and he almost got punched in the throat. That kind of crap rubs me the wrong way…

But we had a good time there, overall. It’s hard not to be awed while walking around inside an honest-to-God 11th century British castle. And there was plenty to see, despite the overblown tourist crapola. I’m glad we did it, but was also glad we didn’t have to pay for it… directly, anyway.

Here are some pictures I took at Warwick Castle .  

Our next stop was Stratford-upon-Avon, birthplace of William Shakespeare, and now home to The Gap and other well-known retail outlets.

We had lunch at a place called Marlowe’s, with a sign out front that said, “Rebuilt in 1595.” The choices were fish ‘n’ chips, and some sort of mysterious “meat pie.” I went with the former, because the latter frightened me. Meat pie? Were they talking about shepherd’s pie? I didn’t know; there simply wasn’t enough information.

We were herded into an ancient dining room, upstairs, and it felt like we were getting ready to have lunch during Benjamin Franklin days. Except, you know, for Lionel Richie’s Greatest Hits playing softly in the background... That kind of broke the spell.

Seated at our table was a Japanese man, and (presumably) his daughter. The old guy couldn’t speak a lick of English, and slurped his food like nothing I’ve ever heard. I mean this dude could make Nostrils shake his head in disgust. The four of us kept sneaking glances at each other, every time another loud sluuuuuurp went up, and were having trouble not laughing.

Then we went to Bill’s house, the place where Shakespeare was born. It was mildly interesting, I guess, but I would’ve been more into it if it had been the birthplace of Larry David, or somebody really important.

The guide allotted us way too much time, and we had a sizable surplus of minutes after we toured the Shakespeare shack. I suggested we go hunting for a pub, and Toney agreed.

We found one, on a side street, called Oddfellows Arms. I went inside and asked the bartender if kids were allowed in there. “Absolutely!” he roared, very warm and friendly. And out of the corner of my eye I saw a large dog walk across the room.

Toney and I each had two pints of John Smith’s Bitter. I told the guy to surprise us, and that’s what we got. It wasn’t bad, but not spectacular either. It was a lot of fun being inside a real neighborhood public house, in England, though. We were already on Day Four of our adventure, and this was our first pub visit. We had some catching up to do…

As we sat and sipped our beverages, we eavesdropped on two guys bitching about work, in local accents. I guess some things are simply universal?

Here's a pic I snapped as our bus drove past, on our way out of town.

And the day went downhill from there. It started to rain, and we sprinted, almost literally, through Oxford. Our guide told us we’d better stay close to her, or else we’d “never find the coach.” I didn’t like the sound of that, so we stayed close.

It was cold and rainy, and we ran from one old building to another. The boys had had just about enough, and I wasn’t far behind them. We saw the Great Hall, which was the model for the dining room at Hogwarts, in the Harry Potter movies, and that was pretty much the highlight.

At one point we were walking through a cobblestone alleyway, just a herd of tourists, as two locals shoved their way through us. One shouted, “Out of our way, nutters!” and I wished I could just break away from the group, and go drinking with those guys. I have no doubt it would’ve been much more fun.

After we finished with lots and lots of old buildings, the guide ran us through a gift shop. I have a feeling she (or possibly the tour company) and the owner have some sort of agreement. There were a dozen similar shops lining both sides of the street, but our guide took us to one specifically. How much you wanna bet there are kickbacks involved?

We all jammed inside the joint (in my case to get out of the rain), and people were buying up all manner of crapola with the words “Oxford University” printed on it. Toney asked if I wanted a mug or something, and I told her I dropped out of West Virginia State College; Oxford would be stretching things so far, it might rip a hole in the universe.

It was a ninety minute drive back to London, and our guide never stopped talking for even one of them. She got herself all jacked-up about “teenage boys” and how irresponsible they are. She said she doesn’t understand why they have to stay up so late(?!), and when they go on trips they always take too much stuff with them.

“All I know is, they can damn well carry their own bags at the airport,” she exclaimed.

What in the ever-lovin’ hell??

She also sighed at one point, and begrudgingly told us we could use the loo on the bus (as if by popular demand), but said we’d have to sit down. “I don’t care what sex you happen to be,” she said. “Men could be standing up and we make some kind of sudden maneuver, and it would go spraying everywhere!”  

Everybody laughed at this, and the guide seemed surprised by it. She and the Japanese man were confused by the whole episode.

They dropped us off at Gloucester Road Station, which turned out to be only a short walk to our hotel. At first we were turned-around, and thought we might have to use the Tube to get home. But we got it all straightened out, and started hoofing it.

Along the way we passed an Italian restaurant that smelled incredible. We were all extremely hungry, and decided to go inside. And we were the only people there. Our youngest son said, “Is this the Dream Café?” a reference to the Seinfeld episode featuring Babu Bhatt.

A waiter was right there, and started passing out menus. He gave one to Toney, then to each kid (saying “one for the little boy, and one for the big boy…”), and when he handed over mine, he said, “And one for the REALLY big boy.” Simply excellent.

The food was very good (possibly helped by our hunger), and several other diners arrived while we ate. So it wasn’t as uncomfortable and weird as I’d originally feared... The fact that they automatically added fifteen percent to the bill, but also provided a space on the credit card slip for a tip, kinda irritated me. Wonder how many people don’t pay attention, and double-tip?

While we ate Toney mentioned that the boys had a dentist appointment the following week, and it made me sad. I didn’t want to think about life beyond this little British fantasy world we’d built for ourselves. The thought of being back in our normal routine, worrying about stupid shit, and going to work… No, I preferred to pretend that would never happen.

We returned to our room, and everyone was exhausted. It was almost nine o’clock at this point, and the kids started getting ready for bed. Toney said she hitting the sack as well, so I went downstairs to the bar and had two pints of Boddington’s, and worked on my Surf Report notes.

While there, a whole gang of teenage girls converged on the place, accompanied by a handful of adults. Most were wearing shirts and jackets with the words “North Liverpool Dance Academy” on them. The adults drank beer, and the girls had Cokes in those old-fashioned 7 oz bottles.

They were generating a big noise, and I just sat and listened to their conversations. Like I said before… every little thing was fascinating.

And in in the next installment I’ll tell you about our day in the “snow,” and the beginnings of a making-up-for-lost-time pub frenzy.

See ya then.

Read about Day Five