The day was cloudy, my mind, foggy. A lovely train ride, that old sleepy joy, took our group out to Hampton Court Palace. I didn’t nod off during this drive, but I did find myself slipping into a sort of drear. It was a kind of ironic aloofness that occasionally takes me over, where my thoughts feel veiled even to myself. A gentle rain pattered around us on the approach to the palace, droplets bouncing on the pretty poppies populating the front garden. I could still appreciate the majesty of this place. Still smell the flowers and absorb the atmosphere of import this place imparted.
The palace was larger than expected. A large entryway led us into a charming little alley and courtyard. It felt like a dense town more than a single building, and indeed many of the locations within the palace were separated in floorplan despite being connected by large covered walkways. Through these covered walkways we began our tour.
We visited kitchens, abound with herbs and old cooking equipment. The displays felt… not half-hearted, but almost… too clean. Too smoothed over. I can imagine working in this kitchen, and the image of a large space feeding dozens of denizens isn’t one marked by flat white surfaces. This place would smell stranger than an Olive Garden after closing, All, Of, The, Time. And I think I would love it? I would fit in amongst the chocolatiers more than the cooking staff. I fancy myself a baker and candy-maker more than cook.
Next stop on the journey were the apartments and Tudor-era area. I didn’t absorb much of the history, to be honest. It’s not my area of expertise nor interest. I liked the way this area was displayed more than the kitchens. It felt more honest and cared for. I could visualize the dining experience here. I could hear the whispers of gossip and drama in the corners of sitting rooms and hallways. I especially enjoyed one room with seats and speakers simulating a room where lords would debate politics, in which myself, some friends, and a few other tourists pantomimed speaking the lines our chairs produced. The final point of interest here was a set of displays using origami techniques I recognized, the Herringbone Tesselation. The pattern was used all over multiple displays, but here I have one of a duck.
The rain subsided, and I walked out into a surreal garden. It was huge, and ablaze with comfortable social activity. Birds of many kinds zipped among ponds and mushroom-shaped trees. I appreciated the reprieve from stuffy hallways. I think this is where I would spend much of my time, living in a palace like this. It is a sincere dream of mine to build a palace of a house with my partner, Goodwin. A home not so massive as this one, but certainly with a large and welcoming garden space to lounge about in. I left this garden yearning for that dream.
The train ride back was a sleepy one.
Theatre in London U of A 