I know I posted the first part of the Nerd Quest way back when I started this, but it occured to met that I never got around to posting photos of Tintagel, which is especially unfair, as Tintagel may have been one of the best places I saw the whole time I was away.
In Sevilla, which is so hot I´m wearing a tanktop and finding excuses to stop walking around so much in the unfamiliar sun; I only have a few minutes left of what I´m pretty sure is free internet at the Tourist Office, so for now I just wanted to say that the high point of being in Spain (aside from making it to Chapter Two of Harry Potter y la piedra filosofal) has definitely been the Antiguo Museo de BrujerÃa, or museum of witchcraft, which tragically does not have a huge internet presence, unless you count numerous directions to the travel sites that tragically advise their readers to´walk past the witchcraft museum¨ on their way to bigger, less unexpectedly awesome and kitschy venues. The museum itself is about five euros (though the guy gave me two books for free, so it sort of balanced out) and made up of several dimly lit rooms that house a comprehensive exhibit of medieval poisons and hallucinigens (from which comes the title of this post) and a collection of false relics, including but not limited to: the holy grail, the head of elizabeth bathory, the hand of a hanged man, a mummified mermaid, a fairy floating in a jar of formeldahyde, the elixer of eternal youth, an impressive array of stuffed mythological animals and a case of what I can only describe as 'penis monsters.' And, lest you think being a witch was all potions and sex with demons, the basement includes a slightly more somber collection of torture implements and accounts of witch trials. BEST MUSEUM EVER.
In Madrid, where I shouldn´t write too much since I´m on the communal, free internet in my hotel, and where I am probably over-enjoying the easy accesibility of upside-down punctuation (¡¿) on the keyboard. This is the last leg of my trip, which is a bit sad (though I miss home like crazy) and so far I´m having a great time exploring and trying to pretend like I know how to speak Spanish (I have a really horrible ability to nod like I understand when in fact I don´t, which seems ... ominous, but I´ve also been able to more or less politely get by, if not interact overmuch, so, hooray for dimly recalling those four years of high school Spanish and not starving to death or sleeping on the street.
In hopes of at least marginally improving my inexcusably bad Spanish, I actually bought a copy of the first Harry Potter book in Spanish (along with a Spanish to English dictionary) today, in large part because I´ve almost finished the only book I brought with me and the only English books for sale were $20 paperbacks by Michael Crighton or Patricia Connolly and the like. I spent a good 30 minutes painstakingly making my way through the first two pages, dictionary in hand, and can confidently say that I a) have spent an unreasonable amount of time feeling almost sympathetic for the Dursleys, with their boring ties and tuneless humming and as-of-yet unexplored tendencies towards child abuse, and b) know the Spanish word for drill! So much better than a Michael Crighton book. I don´t really know if this will help me communicate while I´m actually here (unless Voldemort stages an attack against Muggles, in which case I´m all over that) but at least my brain can stop atrophying at least a little bit and maybe I can even make friends with a dentist. Or something.
Two things that have very little to do with travel and a lot to do with sheep:
a) I didn't even know blogs had to have names till I started up this blogspot, but, hey look, in honor of Wales and its many many sheep (and also what is a more accurate reflection of my travels so far in lieu of "ruins, rain and islands"), hey look - new blog name (with apologies to one of my favorite books ever....sorry, favorite book ever). And also new banner, featuring a real live sheep that I actually saw. Will probably take this down in about 12 hours after waking up and deciding it is in fact pretentious rather than clever, so enjoy my mad photoshop prowess while you can. Figuring how to do a star is deceptively difficult.
b) In the veins of other things I didn't realize, "sheep beer" was not the tag I intended to attach to my last entry (again, tags being one of those things like names that I didn't realize blogs needed to have) but now I kind of like it. It is demonstrably the only "sheep beer" tag floating around out there, and it sounds slightly disgusting.
Dear Let's Go Tour Books:
On an unrelated note, by the way, I'm totally breaking up with the Let's Go guidebooks; I used to swear by them religiously and I still love their emphasis on the cheap places, but they never have enough information and they've gotten me lost too many times now. Rough Guides seem to be emerging as a slightly better (though heavier - oww, my poor back) if more uptight alternative (I highly recommend their one on the Scottish Islands), though I'm open to suggestions (still have yet to use a Lonely Planet - every one I flip through in the bookstore seems so bland, am I just not looking hard enough?) Anyway, sorry Let's Go. It's not you, it's me; I think maybe I've grown older and less appreciative of your four pages of pub listings to one-page of actual restaurant listings ratio. To be honest, I sensed things were going sour after you got us hopelessly lost in Marseille (even if you did sort of make it up with the amazing dinner recommendation) and I just can't take your dismissive attitude towards things I want to see and your constant holier-than-thou reminders I should totally never hitchhike coupled with the insinuation that you so totally have like, a million times, and are just that much cooler for it. I'm sure we can still be friends and I'll totally flip through you in the bookstore to get those pub listings, .
In Kirkwall, the main city on the Orkney Mainland, where I've finally been able to get internet access; I got here by ferry on Monday night after taking a slow bus that wove its way through the highlands and up the coastline from Inverness, and spent the first two days in Stromness, a smaller city on the south end of the Mainland. My first day here I took a bus tour (as no one in Orkney would appreciate it if I tried to drive) which went to a handful of the major archeological sites on the island; the whole landscape is peppered with neolithic and viking ruins, most of which are largely unrestricted, which means there are giant stone circles older and vaster than Stonehenge that you can frolic around (if you're so inclined) and touch, and partially excavated prehistoric village settlements that you can wander around freely. Yesterday I rented a bike and somewhat stupidly set off through cow pastures and past two lochs back towards some of the stone circles I'd seen the day before; it was about ten miles round trip and I haven't ridden a bike in years, which means I can barely walk today, but it was probably worth the searing pain to be able to stand all alone in the middle of a cow pasture with just the cows and stones for company.
Glastonbury correspondingly itself feels like a town I might have fantasized about when I was fourteen, replete with Avalon-goddess-allusions, crystal jewelry shops, tarot cards and a statue of the Wise Woman of Wookey Hole (elsewhere referred to as the Witch of Wookey Hole, whose remains are the star attraction of a nearby museum).
