London

One of the items on my bucket list is to live outside of London for at least a year, sometime in my life.

I have longed to visit England for ages.  To be wrapped in its old world charm and adorable accents and breathtaking history.  Sometime in high school, I began listing all of the things I wanted to see and do in England.  Topping that list was this:

The Globe Theater.  Built in 1997, it is a replica of the very theater that Shakespeare himself performed in.  The original was built for his company, and was used primarily by them until one of the first major pyrotechnic mishaps in theater.  A canon was mis-shot during a performance and caught the thatch in the roof on fire.  There was no fire department to put it out, and the bucket brigades were just not fast enough or efficient enough for such a task.  Before long, the Globe had burned to the ground.

The New Globe is based on drawings of the original, and houses a museum of Shakespearean artifacts in the lower level.  On the main level, however, it is still a theater.  From the time I first read about it, I have wanted to attend a performance there.  In fact, I'd love to have season tickets and attend several performances.  The connection to a past I have studied so long would be thrilling, to say the least.

In fact, that connection to the past is what draws me to London, and to all of England, so strongly.  I want to see Big Ben in person.  I want to wander the narrow pathways of Baker Street, to see where Sherlock Holmes would have lived.  I want to touch the Tower of London, where so many queens and nobles were once imprisoned, often for the capital offense of disagreeing with the king.

I want to take short jaunts around England, visiting Stratford-Upon-Avon, where Shakespeare was born.  I want to stand near Stonehenge as the sun sets. I want to visit castles, and manor homes that once belonged to the most important and influential people in history.  I want to visit Canterbury, and see for myself the town that we portray at our renaissance festival.  I want to attend the Scarborough Faire.

With all of that on my agenda, a week would simply not be enough time.  Neither would a month suffice.  I need at least a year to soak it all in, preferably while living in some quaint little rented cottage outside of London.

Outside of London, because this is what the city looks like:

For all of its history and charm, it is still a major metropolitan area.  I want somewhere quiet.  A bit secluded, maybe.  Like something out of a storybook.

A place where I can write about everything I've seen, and organize my pictures, and breathe in the reality of being in a place I've only dreamed of.  Someday, little cottage, I will be there.

For now, I will but dream. . .