Our tour guide could only be described as an enthusiastic and educated old chap (yes, I try to use the would chap as much as possible but only when accurate.) He admitted that no matter how many times he visits Stonehenge (and as a tour guide, he does so often) he still gets a lump in his throat as he approaches. I found his explanations and commentary on the site to be interesting and heartfelt. But as he explained the mystery of these stones, how they got there and why, I started feel a little unlike my usual self.
Now when I say I felt unlike myself, I simply mean that I felt very little of anything. As some of you may know, I am without a doubt one of the most emotional participants in modern society––or at least I understand myself to be. I just genuinely tend to feel everything very deeply––be it happiness or sadness, excitement or anxiety. Most of the time, I just feel too much. It is a blessing and hell of a curse too, but it is who I'll always be.
The only thing I rarely feel to an extreme is apathy, but for some reason, I couldn't seem to care too much about Stonehenge. I thought when we arrived I might understand. I stood on a crowded path among hundreds of toursists with flashing cameras and I gazed at the structure, for once in my life, TRYING to feel something but ultimately... I was underwhelmed.
I'm sorry ancient contributers of Stonehenge. I'm sorry but I have to be honest: those rocks don't move me much farther than I could move them.
Perhaps it was the insane number of tourists who made it hard for me to feel it.
I was actually far more interested in the open fields around, the animals and English country side.
In perfect contrast to Stonehenge, I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of Bath, the second part of our day trip. From the people performing in the streets to the gorgeous old buildings to the flowers absolutely everywhere, I felt truly happy and almost hopeful.
Ahh, yes, I was right back to feeling everything as I almost always do. No worries friends. I am still me.
We were only able to spend a few short hours in Bath and I'm dying to get back there. For a day, for a weekend, for my future destination wedding? Ah, I kid on the last part, but honestly––I wish you could have been there. You'd understand what I mean.
In other news, I sort of went to church today. I located the nearest Armenian church, St Yeghiche in South Kensington, woke up early and dressed in my Sunday best. I had to venture alone on the tube for about 50mins down the Picadilly line and because I got a little lost, it took 20mins give or take to walk to the church from the tube stop.
Alright, I'm lying, by a little lost I mean very inexcusabley lost and by 20mins I mean an hour and 10minutes. I arrived at the church in time for a Hayr Mer and to kiss the Bible.
Not exactly what I was going for but looking on the brightside, I know where the church is now, and walking alone was fabulous. I was completely on my own from 11am until 4:30pm and I didn't say more than 20 words out loud the whole time. It was nice. It was a religious experience in itself and I couldn't have needed it more.
On a final note, because my word this is long!, I'd like to say YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS to SPAIN winning the world cup. Never ever in my life did I think I would care in the slightest about soccer but I officially understand the game AND felt emotionally invested in a team. Perhaps my emotions were a bit misguided––based on happy memories of the last few days in Barcelona and the need to justify the 20 euro I spent on a fake jersey, but no matter there.
So let me end by saying GOOD FOR YOU SPAIN! I wish I was still there to celebrate. And you know what, in this moment, I'm not even mad that one of your cerveza selling street theives stole my purse. You guys can have it! Go nuts!
Ok, yes, I admitted it. My purse was stolen in Spain. Its not funny and I don't want to talk about it. My God, you people are so nosey.