Harlaxton Trip: Days 1-3

When I first stepped—or rather jetlaggedly stumbled—off the plane in London, I was surprised by how familiar and non-foreign it felt. It wasn’t like my trip to China, where I was immediately bombarded with loud voices screaming in a language I couldn’t understand and smells that made me want to finally throw up the plane food that had been festering in my stomach for several hours. The airport seemed just like an American one, and the fact that we were mostly surrounded by other Americans all the way to customs probably added to the illusion that we hadn’t really left the States at all. It wasn’t until it was our turn to go through customs that I realized with relief that we had, in fact, reached our destination, and hadn’t just flown around in circles above the U.S. for eight hours.

The man who cleared us through customs was friendly with a thick British accent. While he was checking our information, he told us about how this lady he works with made him a carrot cake for his “tea” (break). Later, after we got our luggage, I noticed a sign that directed people to the “car park” rather than the parking lot, and then I overheard some ladies discussing whether or not one of their friends had “gone on holiday.” I was relieved that PBS hasn’t been lying to me about British culture all these years, and I was smiling like an idiot the entire time.

Our 2-hour bus ride from the airport to Grantham was relaxing. Perhaps a little too relaxing—every one of us succumbed to our jetlag and fell asleep at some point of the ride. In the moments I was able to keep my eyes open, I was entertained by all of the subtle differences between our culture and theirs. They do, in fact, drive on the left side of the road and their steering wheels are on the right side of their cars. The cars themselves are different, too; they’re all generally smaller and nicer than our cars here. I didn’t see any junkers with McDonald’s bags and empty cigarette boxes strewn about like you do in America, which was refreshing. But I did realize that there is no way that I could ever drive here, at least not without serious injury to myself or another person. The roads all seem to be a conglomeration of circles (they call them roundabouts) and sharp turns that don’t have any obvious rhyme or reason. Even on a bus we were required to wear our seatbelt and I can kind of see why. Our bus driver made me feel scared for my life a couple of times. Fun fact: Yield Signs are “Give Way” signs here, which I found entertaining. By far, though, the most striking parts of this country are the green, rolling hills, and the little cottages with red roofs and herds of sheep surrounding them. It was so simple, yet breathtaking.

When we finally made it to Grantham, the village right outside of Harlaxton, it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with it. It’s so charming and cute. I haven’t had the chance to go explore it yet, but hopefully I’ll have an opportunity this afternoon. The manor came into view not long after we went through the village. It is gorgeous, just as I knew it would be, but actually standing in front of it after we got off the bus affected me more than any picture ever did.
 
After my roommate McKenzie and I dropped our bags off in our room, which is modest but nice, we went exploring. It was the perfect day for it—cool with sunshine—and we spent several hours roaming around the beautiful grounds and the manor itself. Later, after dinner and a much-needed shower, we went on a tour of the castle with a funny, entertaining old man. Despite a limp caused by a stroke he had 17 years ago, he still gets around fairly well, but made the joke that he would always go first up the stairs so we would all be behind him to break his fall. His wit somewhat reminded me of Groucho Marx, and if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss some of his steady stream of jokes. He was hilarious, but also knowledgeable, filling us in on the history of the house and all of its past owners.
  
I still can’t get over how magnificent the house is. It is intricately detailed in every aspect, especially the ceilings. I think I gave myself a small kink in my neck from looking up too much during the tour. Our guide also showed us several hidden doors and closets in the house, which were mainly put in place to ensure that the servants would be heard and seen as little as possible when they went about their work. The complexity of the house increases the possibility of disorientation, which is why I’ll probably never go exploring on my own. I’ve gotten lost in Effingham before, for heaven’s sake. And even though I’m not one to believe in ghosts, some of the rooms are pretty dark and creepy, so it’s easy to understand why many feel that the manor is haunted. After the tour, we relaxed the rest of the evening and tried to go to bed early.
  
Yesterday wasn’t as sunny as the first day here, but still nice. It rained in the morning, leaving the air cool, clean, and crisp. Just like our guide said an English rain would be, it was basically a steady, light mist, not heavy enough for an umbrella, but still enough where you’d need a raincoat if you were to go out.

I spent some time outside after class and lunch reading and writing in my journal on the steps guarded by two stone lions outside the manor. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so peaceful in my entire life. In the air is a calm that compels you to whisper when you talk—if you talk at all that is—and to just listen to the birds. Perhaps it is the foreignness of their songs that catches my attention. I don’t know hardly anything about birds, but I do know, based on their sounds alone, that the birds here are very different from the ones back home. McKenzie and I have heard a dove outside our open window every morning.

Oh, speaking of that open window, not everything that has came through it has been pleasant. Twice while we were in the room yesterday, a huge—and I’m not at all exaggerating when I say this—HUGE hornet flew through our window. It sounded like a tiny chainsaw buzzing around, and it started to get angry when it couldn’t get out. It went out on it’s own the first time after a few minutes, but the second time it wouldn’t leave. It was terrifying. I just lay there on my bed motionless and cackling (danger makes me laugh apparently.) When it finally got too close for comfort, we fled our room and went down to the boutique (gift shop) for a while. It was gone was when we got back. Or I hope so anyways. I thought I heard it under my bed a couple times, but I’m crossing my fingers that it was just in the room next to ours. The walls are super thin so that could be the case, and I couldn’t find it when I looked for it. But if I don’t end up posting again anytime soon, it’s possible that the hornet has been hiding under my bed the entire time, and killed me in the middle of the night.

Anyway, back to things other people might care about, later yesterday evening, we met up as a group and watched the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice. We’re reading the novel right now, and we’re going to visit Chatsworth—A.K.A. the house they use as Pemberley (Mr. Darcy’s home) in the film—tomorrow. That house has always been one of the things I love the most about that film, so I cannot wait to see it in person.

All in all, I’m loving it here so far. I’m only 3 days in and I can already tell this is going to be an experience of a lifetime. I’m still not quite on their time schedule yet, but I’m slowly getting to where I don’t feel quite as tired all the time. The food has been alright—not great but not terrible either. I did try some of their candy from the vending machine in the basement that’s really good. It was called a Kinder Bueno—little wafer things with hazelnut cream on the inside and chocolate on the outside. So delicious. I’ll have to bring some home. Anyhow, I’ll try to post more often from now on to spare everyone the pain of reading novel long posts like this. Until next time!