We took the train at Marylebone Station to Stratford-Upon-Avon and could not take our eyes off of the countryside. It was so gorgeous, what with it being late spring. We saw lambs and calves and fields of some golden flower that we could not figure out the purpose of at all. So many of the towns we passed through had townhouses, each with a garden and a washing line. And so many older building — we saw castles flashing in the distance, and manor houses surrounded by estates that (clearly) had been working since the middle ages. Over the two+ hours of our journey, people got on and off the train at nearly every stop — this was clearly a popular route.

Being in the country was also striking for the lack of pollution. Dramatically cleaner.

For me, this was the day I realized I don’t get homesick. Instead, I get to a point where I am tired of traveling (hadn’t happened yet this trip) and want to stop having ‘adventures.’ But I don’t want my _home_ so much. I carry my home with me in my heart.

We’re here, in the Bard’s home town, to see Sir Ian McKellan as King Lear. We’re prepared to have our minds blown — and they were. We were in the very last row of the theatre. (Here’s a link to a tour, from the opening image you want to turn around and look up.  That last balcony has seats — we were in the back.) I was o.k. with not being able to see subtle detail, but I worried about hearing the words . . . no worries. We could hear every single word, clearly. Interesting, J and I didn’t have as much trouble with the language itself — a clear example of native speaking compared with learning it. OSF barely holds a candle to RSC, in so many ways.

This is perhaps a ‘chintzy’ recounting of the two days, but we were completely overwhelmed by McKellan’s  performance and power.