Shakespeare: Or, How I Fulfilled My Dreams ... Sorta

My dreams were coming true … I was going to Stratford-Upon-Avon, which is the birthplace of one of my great idols — William Shakespeare. Shakespeare, the man responsible for “Hamlet,” “The Winter's Tale,” and many other plays that show just how compelling the English language can be. As my tutorial focuses on Shakespeare's comedies, I was euphoric over the concept of seeing my education “come to life.”

After lunch with Ben and Khanh at a delicious Thai place, (It should be noted that my food came in a bowl made from a hollowed out half of a pineapple — I was really excited about that.) we headed to George & Danvers for some ice cream before catching the bus. Khanh ordered a waffle sundae, which they forgot about. And then burned the waffle. And forgot about again. Eventually, Ben asked for the sundae to go and we headed to catch the bus before it left without us.

On the way to Stratford, Brian (our tour guide from the previous trips to London and Windsor) told us stories of Blenheim Palace — most of which I knew already thanks to my weekend visit — and Winston Churchill. One amusing fun fact: When Churchill was asked about being buried in Westminster Abbey he apparently replied something along the lines of, “Good God no. I wouldn't take my afternoon tea with some of them much less spend eternity with them.” (That's not a direct quote.)

Once we reached Stratford, Brian took us on a walking tour of the town. According to him, Stratford is the center of British tourism — unsurprisingly as it is home to one of the greatest writers in history. We passed a possible birthplace of William Shakespeare, which requires an entrance fee. I wanted to go (although no one else in the group did) but only because Charles Dickens carved his name into a window that is displayed inside. Think about it — Dickens and Shakespeare in one place. Why would you not want to go? (Note: I lied about not wanting to go because no one else did. And I didn't want to go alone. Or drag someone along.)

I didn't get to go inside the birthplace, but I did get a photo. (Thanks for taking it, Bailey).

We made our way through town, and sites included a Shakespeare monument surround by four of his famous characters: Hamlet (my personal hero), Prince Hal, Lady MacBeth, and Falstaff (who Bailey is a huge fan of).

Shakespeare.

Hamlet inspires me to think. That's new.

We made our way to the Holy Trinity Church, which is where Shakespeare is buried. On our way, we walked by the river, and I saw one of my favorite sites of the trip: baby swans with their parents. It was precious.

Forget Shakespeare. Check this out.

After telling everyone in my sight about the swans (which included Dr. Snyder, Dr. Snyder's family, students from other universities, and the other MSU students), I realized that my voice was starting to disappear. I told Dr. Snyder I may lose my voice, but he told me not to worry — I could write down my thoughts for class tomorrow.

As we made our way to the church, I began to get a sinking feeling that I was getting sick again — and it wasn't just because I found out the show of "Julius Caesar" we were scheduled to see that night performed by the Royal Shakespeare Theatre Company would be set in South Africa. (Note: That's what Snyder told me, although Bailey insists it was set in sub-Saharan Africa.) I mean, does no one believe in traditional Shakespeare anymore?

Shakespeare's grave. It was a big moment for me.

Khanh and Josh have a moment. 

After seeing Shakespeare's grave, we headed back into town, where Brian would leave us to our own ends before the play. We formed a group (Spencer, Cameron, Josh, Bailey, Ben, Khanh, and I) and went to go grab a pre-dinner theatre. In our time at the pub, my throat got worse and worse. And then I got a slight fever. And felt dizzy.

But Shakespeare was calling. And that meant I had to press on. Even if it was in South Africa.

After paying for our meal and performing a ticket switch that I managed to pull off despite my illness, we made our way into the theatre. And when the lights dimmed, my excitement grew.

The thing is, I made it through over half the play without feeling too bad. And then the worst possible thing happened: I felt compelled to leave the theatre due to said illness. Being nice, they offered to go with me, but someone needed to enjoy Shakespeare. 

And that's how I ended up sitting at the bar with all the water I could drink, with about twenty theatre workers checking to make sure I wasn't going to pass out. Once the show ended, Josh found me, and we went outside to wait for the bus. At this point, I won't really stand by what I remember, but I'll just throw it out there. Someone compared me to barn animals. And maybe a mystical creature or two. We ended up on the bus, I ended up saying nonsense, which is what I do when I get sick, and Josh threatened to not go to London this weekend if I didn't get better.

We're not missing "Les Mis" again. We're not.

Once we reached Oxford, Bailey, Khanh, and Ben took me to Tesco to pick up things to help me get better ... which ended up translating to Bueno Bars. And then Bailey made me tea. Which I may have spilt.

And my voice began to fade away. I may love England, but I don't think it loves me.