I spent the previous night dying from, what I assume (or am just writing it off as because I cannot recall a time that I felt so crappy) was hayfever. I thought my allergies were bad back in the States. No amount of medication could have prepared me for the hell I suffered throughout the night. My roommate was removed from my room incase I managed to catch something contagious, in an effort to not ruin her trip. We held a discussion about what we had seen and done and the lessons we took away from our experience in London, and when it came time for me to share with the class, I heard myself echoing in my head, as if I were in stereo.
A word to the wise if traveling to another county (from the unwise,) you will most likely get sick.
The town is Stratford, the river that runs through it is Avon – thus, Stratford-Upon-Avon.
It’s another quaint little English town. Not exactly regal like Windsor was, but beautiful nonetheless. The town has about 30,000 residents, but millions of people are drawn to it thanks to the legacy of the one and only William Shakespeare.
The buildings are made with a lot of timber. The use of timber and the amount used when constructing the buildings were a sign of wealth.
The class took a tour of the town, and the tour guide took the opportunity to inform us of the Shakespeare-riddled history that each location held. These places included Shakespeare’s birthplace, the Holy Trinity Church where he was baptized and buried, and Hall’s Croft, which was owned by Shakespeare’s daughter, Suzanne, and where her husband grew herbs that he used in his medical practices.
It was a fulfilling day for history buffs and literacy lovers alike.