And so, as of June 13th, 2025, Squirt and I’s time in London came to a close. I have a thousand words I’d like to write here about it, but at some point I’d start crying and Squirt would start crying cause I was crying and then I would… that is to say… it would be a whole thing. So I will just say this: I miss it already. Now, anyone reading this blog can see I’m posting this more than a week after the 13th, so it would make more sense for me to be “missing it already” than if I was writing this right after leaving. And to that I would say… well I don’t really have a rebuttal, but you’re messing up my chronology so please just let me get on with it. Jokes and chronology aside, it was such a great time. I got to see 23 shows, go to so many awesome places, and make friendships that will last far beyond our return to the States. I am eternally grateful. However, anyone who has looked at our handy-dandy itinerary linked just beside these blogs would know that the date at the top of this rambling paragraph didn’t mark our departure from England. It marked a shift in our trip to a much more secluded location. The last stretch of our journey, our epilogue, took us to the birthplace of a one of theatre’s greatest playwrights and practitioners. As of June 13th, 2025, our time in London was over, but our time in Shakespeare’s birthplace, Stratford-Upon-Avon, had only just begun.
If I thought Bath or any other piece of our time in England was a true change of pace from the hustle and bustle of London, then Stratford-Upon-Avon must have been another planet. The lack of smog in the air and tube systems on every corner was change enough. We arrived to the Stratford on the afternoon of the commonly mentioned date of June 13th. And the charm of this (compared to London) little town was not lost on me a bit. The first sign of this was our change in digs.
Our departure from London also marked a departure from the Royal National Hotel. Now, the Royal National was great and convenient, but it also was a hotel with lots of people. In Stratford, we upgraded to the more cozy rooms, better breakfast, and lack of constant police sirens of two adjacent bed and breakfasts owned by a mother and daughter. The charm is honestly represented quite well through the pictures above. For breakfast we could have a true and fresh Full English (beans and all) or a delicious, hot, and fresh croissant. I would go back for the croissants alone. Apart from them though, our new residence was lovely in every way. Just like the town around it.
As I’ve stated before, Stratford hardly could have been more of a switch-up from London. For starters, it was just so quiet. You get used to the constant sound while in a big city like London for long enough. Even while in the beautiful parks and historic areas of London, if you just looked out a window or through the trees, the towering buildings and screeching traffic was just a ways away. Here, it was just little-old Stratford for as far as the eye could see. This is one of the things that I think truly allowed me to feel like I was walking in the footsteps of The Bard himself.
In Stratford, we got to see the birthplace, home(s), and church (place of baptism and burial) of William Shakespeare. Stepping into these places really was like a portal to the past. In a few spots, we were walking on the exact floorboards that Shakespeare did in his lifetime. Despite all the obvious signs of the sort of time we were in, the phones and lack of plague – the fact our 3 hour bus trip wasn’t a 2 day trip on a horse drawn carriage – it all didn’t affect just how special this all felt.
Although I’ve tried in this post and every other post here to say just how special this whole trip has felt, I still feel as though I come up short. I write this blog from the comfort of my own home, Plane rides and all behind me. And I just feel so grateful to have been on this trip. Thankful to my friends who went on this trip on me and to friends and family at home who checked in on me. Thankful to Shawn and Susan for teaching me so much about that wonderful country. And lastly, I’m thankful for my good friend Squirt for being along with me every step of the way. My mother said I’d lose him in the first week, but I never did. And now I bring home about a thousand more pictures from the trip and one more friend. So thank you, all, what a time it was. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Theatre in London U of A 