After a punishing seventeen grammar sheets, a long translation of a story from Bede's Ecclesiastical History, a shorter translation of a riddle from the Exeter Book, a commentary on each translation, and the final submission of a proposal for my term paper (whew!), I took a Saturday train into Stratford-upon-Avon with four friends.We began before the sun, scrambling a breakfast before trudging down Headington hill into Oxford to board the train. By the second station we reached the sun was splashing down on the platform, and when we reached Stratford at 9:30 the day was as bright as it would be. Our first goal was the Royal Shakespeare Company across town from the depot. On the way we passed a farmer's market that we would return to for lunch.
We made it to the box office for the theater in time to get tickets to Twelfth Night, showing at 1:30, so for the next three hours we scouted the city, walking the Avon river, exploring between the homes of Shakespeare's family, and eating fresh cheese, olive bread, and roast pork from the market. Delicious.
We took our time in the Nash garden, arranged beds of flowers and shrubs circled by statues evoking plays of Shakespeare, including stern Roman senators, disgruntled sorcerers, and twisting wood nymphs. The sun, shooting in at a low angel, was as high as it would climb, reminding us that we are much further north here than we are used to and pushing black shadows into all the crannies and crevices of carved beards. The glowering brass figures and our discussions of the various spirits embodied in each play set the stage for the coming show. Making our way to the theater just before the play began we were greeted by a steam draped wooden stage that dropped the story into a properly Eastern Mediterranean setting. The next two hours were a whirl of brilliant storytelling, and we all came out with questions and puzzled reactions. It was the sign, perhaps, of a good production.
As the sun set we made our way to the grounds of the Cathedral where Shakespeare is buried, then moving to the banks of the Avon to watch the white smudges of swans patter across the water before finally heading back into town to gather around a table in an Indian restaurant and share bowls of hot and savory sauces with rice and naan. Service was good, friends were better, and it was the prefect way to finish the day.
The train home was subdued, all of us feeling a satisfied weariness but still enjoying each others' company; sketching, writing, talking, and finally praying together before trudging back up the hill from the Oxford station.This was a great rest after the work of the week, and has been followed by a couple more mellow days of steady studying and relaxing with friends.
