INTRODUCTION

"Britain's a funny place," I said.

"What do you mean, funny?" Mark asked.
I was sitting at a table on the terrace of a bar in Madrid with my friend Mark,
who's from England. We were both drinking cold drinks and eating tapas and talki
ng about countries. "Well, it's ... different," I said. "There are so many contr
asts and contradictions about Britain. The people, for example. Sometimes they'r
e cold and distant. When they sit on buses or trains, especially on the Tube (a
name for the London Underground), they don't usually look at anybody and nobody
talks. But they like travelling to different countries and meeting different peo
ple. Another thing is their appearance. Tve seen lots of young people with red o
r blue hair and some of their clothes are, well, strange!"
"You're generalising," said Mark. "Not all British people are reserved and not a
ll young British people have red or blue hair. And are you talking about the Bri
tish or are you talking about the English? Because we're not all English, you kn
ow. It's called Britain for a reason. It includes the Scots and the Welsh as wel
l."
"Yes, I know, and I know that I'm generalising. But I've seen some strange thing
s in Scotland and Wales as well," I explained.
"Antonio, what are you trying to say?" Mark asked with a smile.
"I'm trying to say that I think Britain is a fascinating place. I think the Engl
ish, the Scots and the Welsh are fascinating people and that Britain has a wonde
rful culture and history. Every time I go there, something surprises me."
"Well, you said you wanted to be a writer. Perhaps you should write about Britai
n," laughed Mark.
"Yes, perhaps I should. That's quite a good idea," I answered.
My name's Antonio and I'm Spanish, but my father is American and we spent a long
time in the United States when I was young. I've just finished university. I st
udied English and journalism in Salamanca. Salamanca University is probably the
most popular Spanish university among foreign students. Sometimes there were so
many people from Britain around me that I almost forgot that I was in Spain. I m
ade some good British friends who were studying in Salamanca and I love going to
visit them in Britain. So, when Mark said I should write about my experiences,
I did. I wrote about my first impressions, the country, the people, the culture,
the food and, of course, the weather! Here's the book - I hope you enjoy it.
CHAPTER 1.- Traditional London
I love visiting London. It's one of the most exciting cities in the world. There
's something for everyone - a rich history, wonderful museums, great theatre, in
novative music and an incredible variety of ethnic food.
Recently, I visited London for the New Year with Pablo, a Spanish friend of mine
. He had never been there before. At the end of our first day, we went to a pub.
Like many pubs in Britain, it had a very relaxed atmosphere. There were comfort
able chairs, a carpet on the floor, and the lighting wasn't very bright. Like mo
st British pubs, it also had an enormous selection of beers, which are usually s
erved in pint (a pint is approximately half a litre) glasses.
We got a couple of pints of beer and sat down to talk. Our conversation was soon
interrupted by the barman.
"Sorry, gentlemen," he said. "We're closing in twenty minutes. Can I get you any
thing else?"
I ordered two more pints and promised the barman that we would finish them befor
e closing time.
"He's joking, isn't he? It's only 10.40!" exclaimed Pablo, as the barman went to
the bar to get our pints.
"No, he isn't," I laughed. "That's what happens here."
"Then let's finish our beer quickly and find another pub that doesn't close so e
arly," said Pablo.
"You don't understand," I explained. "Most of the pubs in Britain close at the s
ame time - 11.00 pm."
"That's crazy!" exclaimed Pablo. "There are bars in Spain that don't open until
11.00!"
"Well, maybe that's the reason why British people drink so quickly!" I said.
As we walked out of the pub, I asked Pablo what his first impressions of London
were. His answer surprised me.
"I think it's a very traditional city," he said. "The buildings, the way of life
- even the time that the pubs close!"
I had never thought of that before. He was right! London's a very modern and cos
mopolitan city, but it is also very traditional.
"Well, Pablo," I said. "Tomorrow I'11 take you for what / think is Britain's mos
t distinctive tradition - afternoon tea."
"But the British drink tea all the time. Why is drinking tea in the afternoon so
distinctive?" asked Pablo.
"You'll see why tomorrow," I said. " Trust me."
The next afternoon, I took Pablo to a good hotel in the centre of London. We sat
at a table in a beautiful room enjoying the tea and the atmosphere. Everyone in
the hotel's tearoom was nicely dressed.
"Everything is so civilised !" Pablo suddenly exclaimed.
"Yes it is, isn't it?" I replied, smiling.
The tearoom was full of people sitting at tables, drinking tea and talking quiet
ly. Many of the people were eating small cucumber sandwiches, cake and scones. S
cones are a type of sweet bread that you eat with jam and cream. I don't like cr
eam, so I ate my scone just with jam.
"It's difficult to believe that I'm in the largest capital city in Europe at the
end of the twentieth century," said Pablo. "It feels like I'm in one of those o
ld British films!"
On New Year's Eve, Pablo and I went to Trafalgar Square, which is the traditiona
l place to celebrate New Year's Eve in London. It is an enormous area quite near
Big Ben, the world's most famous clock, and there were more than 20,000 people
in the square. Almost everyone was wearing funny hats and there was a very festi
ve atmosphere. Midnight finally came and we waited to hear Big Ben's bells annou
nce the New Year. The countdownbegan. "Ten! Nine! Eight! ... Three! Two! ... 'Sudd
enly, people began shouting, "Happy New Year!" We couldn't hear the bells becaus
e there was so much noise. A man turned round to wish us a Happy New Year and sa
w that we looked disappointed .
"What's wrong?" he asked. "It's New Year's Eve! It's time to have fun!"
"I didn't hear the bells," I replied. "I thought that people came here to listen
to Big Ben's bells at midnight."
The man smiled and said, "Well, I've been here many times on New Year's Eve and
I've never heard them. There are too many people here. You need to be nearer to
Big Ben to hear the bells."
Pablo and I were completely confused. "Then why do you come here?" asked Pablo.
The man didn't hesitate. "Because it's tradition, mate," he said.
***
One of London's greatest traditions is producing some of the best theatre in the
world. I don't think a visit to London is complete without going to the theatre
. There are 52 theatres in the West End, London's theatre district. I try to go
to the theatre at least once when I visit London. My most memorable theatrical e
xperience in London was two years ago and it wasn't in the West End. It was in a
n area called Southwark (pronounced 'Suthark') on the south bank of the River Thames
, at the Globe Theatre.
The original Globe Theatre was where most of Shakespeare's plays were performed for
the first time. It was built in 1599 but unfortunately, burned down in the middl
e of the 17th century and was destroyed again 30 years later. The new Globe Thea
tre was finished a few years ago, only 300 years later!
I had a fantastic time at the Globe. I had studied Shakespeare at university and
was excited about seeing one of his plays in the theatre where they were origin
ally performed. The Globe has the shape of an 'O' and plays are only performed d
uring the warm months from May until mid-September because there isn't a roof ov
er the centre of the building. If it rains, you get wet - and it rains a lot in
London! I went in August and it rained both before and after the performance, bu
t fortunately not during! The theatre has seats for 1,000 people and another 500
people can stand in the centre of the 'O'. The people who stand are called 'gro
undlings'.
I bought a 'groundling' ticket for the afternoon performance. Nearly everyone ha
d an umbrella with them and the ground was wet and muddy from the rain. I was quite
cold at the start of the play, but soon forgot about it because I was having a g
reat time. The actors made some of their entrances and exits by pushing through
the audience. I almost fell into the mud when one of the actors pushed me as he was
exiting. Luckily, a young man behind me caught me.
I took advantage of a five-minute break between acts to thank him. His name was Mi
ke and he was a lighting designer from a theatre in the West End.
"This is incredible," I said. "Except for the fact that everyone is wearing mode
rn clothes, I feel like I'm back in the early 1600s."
"Well, there are a few other differences," said Mike.
"Really? What are they?" I asked.
"Well, one difference is that today women play the female roles," Mike explained
. "Women weren't allowed to be actresses in Shakespeare's time. The female roles were
played by teenage boys."
"Yes, I know. I must admit that I prefer seeing real women on stage!" I said.
"So do I, mate," agreed Mike.
"What are some of the other differences?"
"Probably the biggest difference between Shakespeare's time and now is that the
'groundlings' then ate, drank and talked during the performance."
"But then they'd be too distracted to watch the play, wouldn't they?" I asked.
"Believe me, they paid attention," Mike assured me. "As a matter of fact, if the
y didn't like an actor's performance, they shouted at him and even threw food at
him!"
"It's a pity that modern audiences are much more polite. It would be fun to feel
like a real 'groundling' from Shakespeare's time," I said with a laugh.
"Listen, I've come to the Globe many times," said Mike. "The audiences are more
polite, but I've seen some strange things happen here."
Before I could ask him to give me some examples, the next act began and we both
started to watch the performance. About ten minutes later, Mike whispered in my
ear, "Do you want to see something strange?"
"Of course," I answered.
"Then look to your right."
I casually looked to my right and was completely surprised by what I saw. There
was a girl standing a few metres away from me feeding a small dog she had under
her arm! It was definitely the first and only time I've seen a dog in the audien
ce at the theatre!
Mike and I went for a coffee together after the performance. He told me that he
could get me free tickets to the theatre whenever I visited London. He's a good
person to know!
CHAPTER 2 .-Cosmopolitan London
London's ethnic diversity makes it a very special city. People from almost every
part of the world live here. This was obvious to Pablo and me when we took the
Tube from the airport to the centre of the city. People of every nationality wer
e travelling on the train and it was nice to see that everyone seemed accustomed
to the great variety of races and religions in this city. We were fascinated by
an orthodox Muslim woman who was sitting opposite us. Only her eyes were uncovere
d and we couldn't stop looking at her because it was the first time that we had se
en a woman dressed this way. No one else paid any attention to her.
If you're a person who likes eating different types of food, London is the place
to go. I've eaten food from many parts of the world here and most of it has bee
n excellent. Indian food is especially popular.
When we arrived back at our hotel on the afternoon of our second day in London,
I asked the lady at reception to recommend a few good restaurants in the area. S
he said that there was a very good Indian restaurant close to the hotel. Pablo s
hook his head. "No, I want to eat something that's typically British," he said.
The lady laughed. "You don't understand," she said. "Indian food is typically Britis
h."
"Oh, I see," replied Pablo. When we got into the lift, he looked at me and said,
surprised, "Perhaps London isn't as traditional as I thought." I laughed and de
cided to take him to places that showed London's ethnic diversity, like Chinatow
n.
London's Chinatown is in the middle of the theatre district and it feels wonderf
ul to cross a street and enter a completely different culture. There are lots of
excellent Chinese restaurants there, as well as many Asian supermarkets. We esp
ecially liked walking through the Chinese fruit markets.
"Look at this!" exclaimed Pablo.
"Look at what?" I asked.
"This fruit," he said. "I've never seen most of this fruit before. It's so exoti
c."
"There are lots of exotic things in London, if you know where to look," I told h
im.
"Like what?" Pablo asked.
"Well, London has a Caribbean carnival. It's a huge annual carnival and it takes
place on the last weekend in August, in an area of London called Notting Hill.
My friend Mike took me to the carnival a couple of weeks after I met him at the
Globe," I explained.
"That sounds interesting. What happens during the carnival?" asked Pablo.
"Well, Notting Hill has a big West Indian population and thousands of people go
to the carnival to eat West Indian food and dance to Caribbean music. Mike and I
walked through the streets and there were people of all cultures celebrating to
gether. At one point, I closed my eyes and it felt like I was in the Caribbean i
nstead of London! I was surrounded by West Indian accents, music and smells."
"It sounds fantastic!" exclaimed Pablo.
"It was ... oh, and I remember another interesting thing that happened that afte
rnoon," I told him.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Well, from the carnival, we went to Mike's flat in one of London's famous black
taxis. After a few minutes, the driver began talking to us. He was speaking Eng
lish but I couldn't understand him! He was using Cockney rhyming slang!"
"What's that?" Pablo interrupted.
"Luckily, Mike explained it to me. He told me that the driver was a Cockney and
that Cockneys are traditionally from the East End of London. They have a very st
range way of talking, called Cockney rhyming slang. For example, "When my friend
called me on the 'dog and bone' (phone) last night, I ran down the 'apples and
pears' (stairs) to answer it."
"That's incredible!" exclaimed Pablo. "London's full of surprises!"
CHAPTER 3.- York
When you visit a place or a country alone, I think you see more. You watch and o
bserve things more closely because you're not distracted by the people you are w
ith. It can sometimes be lonely, but most of the time you experience more, meet
more people and make new friends - like the weekend I was in York.
I didn't know anyone in York, but I really wanted to go there. It's only two hou
rs by train from London, so when Pablo went home after the New Year, I decided t
o go to York on my own for a weekend. On Friday afternoon, I went on the Tube (It's th
e mostcrowded place on the planet on Friday afternoons!) to King's Cross railway s
tation and bought my return ticket. On the train, I got out my guidebook and fou
nd the section on York. I wanted to read the Information about this famous histo
rical city again before I arrived.
The book said that King George VI (the father of the present Queen, Queen Elizab
eth) once said that the history of York was the history of England. The Romans w
ere in York, as were the Saxons and the Normans, but I was going to York because
the Vikings had been there. I still had in my head the pictures from the cartoo
ns I used to watch when I was a child. Images of the Viking invaders, who were f
ierce and strong with big beards and horns on their helmets. The real history of the
Vikings was sometimes violent and terrible, but I al so think that these men we
re brave to go to sea in their longboats more than a thousand years ago, to look
for new lands and for adventure. My guidebook said that the Vikings built the c
ity they called 'Jorvik', or York, as it is called today. They were in York for
almost a hundred years after that, from 866 AD to 954 AD.
I found the page in my guidebook about the museums in York. It said, 'The Jorvik
Viking Centre is unique. Archaeologists found part of the Viking town preserved
in mud under the modern town. Experts have recreated the sights, sounds and eve
n the smells of Jorvik in 948 AD.
The old lady sitting next to me on the train was looking at my book.
"Have you been to York before?" she asked.
"No, this is my first visit. I'm really looking forward to it," I told her.
"Well, I think you'll like it. I remember when I went with my daughters. They we
re about fourteen and seventeen at the time. My eider daughter was learning abou
t York in her history classes. We went to York Minster, the famous cathedral, cl
imbed up to the top of the tower and then walked round the city walls. I remember th
at my younger daughter loved the Jorvik Viking Centre, especially the toilets!"
"What do you mean, the toilets?"
"You'll see," she smiled. "I don't want to ruin the surprise."
"Do you live in York now?" I asked her.
"No, I go there to visit an old school friend occasionally," she answered. "Barb
ara and I have been friends since 1950. She has a small guest house in the city
centre which she has owned for the last twenty years."
"What's a guest house?" I asked.
"It's a type of hotel. Sometimes it's called a B & B - Bed and Breakfast. She ha
s four rooms and cooks breakfast for the people who stay there. Are you looking
for somewhere to stay?"
"Yes, but I don't have very much money to spend," I told her.
"I think it's quite cheap!" she said. I'll write down the name and the telephone
number and you can call her from the station."
I found a piece of paper and a pen and she wrote:
I was lucky to meet that lady on the train. The Green Guest House was cheap and Mrs
Green was very kind. I took a room and it was like staying with my own grandmoth
er! At 8 o'clock the next morning, she cooked me a traditional English breakfast
of bacon, sausages, fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and toast! It was enormous,
but for a cold January morning it was perfect. It's lucky that most British peo
ple only eat this huge breakfast occasionally. If not, they would all be really
fat - and late for work! After breakfast, she gave me a map of the city and show
ed me how to get to the Jorvik Viking Centre. I decided to go there later in the
morning.
***
I bought my ticket at the door and then Vikings (actors, of course!) took a grou
p of us down the stairs into their town. We walked down, deep under the ground,
to the level of York's streets as they had been in 948 AD, before they were buried u
nder all the layers of the next 1,000 years. We got on a little train, which took us
back in time, closer and closer to the world of the Vikings in York. We travell
ed down a corridor, past models of people from the 1960s. Next, we saw models of
soldiers from the Second World War in 1939-1945 and then the First World War in
1914-1918. After that, we saw models of people from the 1800s, the 1600s ... fu
rther and further into the past. Finally, we arrived at Coppergate Market in Oct
ober, 948 AD. There were the old streets and scenes with models, and there was a
soundtrack of people shouting, laughing and talking. Our little train stopped a
nd we watched the animals, the people in the market and the children playing. Th
ere was even a strange smell. I can't describe it ... it was ... different, a sm
ell from another time.
After the market, we went down a hill and past a river where there was a boat an
d two fishermen. The fishermen were sitting on the bank next to their boat and t
hey were telling a little Viking boy about their adventures. He was sitting on the
ground and was clearly fascinated by their stories.
"I tell you, Toki, we've had a rough sea for the last few days. Ivar nearly drowned!" sa
id one of the fishermen, who was holding a net.
"That's not true! I was only trying to see the fish in the water," said the othe
r fisherman, laughing.
"There was Ivar, with his head under the water. We pulled him into the boat by h
is boots!" exclaimed the first man.
"Did I tell you about the time ...?"
Our train continued on its journey. We stopped outside a house where a Viking fa
mily was making dinner. There were herbs drying above the fire and animal skins an
d furs on the bed. Chickens were running around the house and you could smell the
food. You could also smell the toilet! So thiswas what the old lady on the train w
as talking about. There was a toilet - with the original seat - behind the house
, with pieces of old clothes next to it, for toilet paper. There was even a mode
l of an old man on the toilet!
The visit was incredible because it wasn't just old things in a museum, it was t
he recreation of a real town. The characters had Viking names like Eric Bloodaxe
and Ivar the Boneless, With the sounds and the smells, I felt I really was in a
Viking town. There should be more exhibitions like that - learning history woul
d be much more interesting.
When I left the Jorvik Viking Centre, it was a lovely sunny day. It was cold, bu
t the sky was blue and I decided to go for a walk around the city. The weather i
n Britain is generally so bad that when there's a nice day, you really appreciat
e it! There were lots of people in the streets. The people who lived in York wer
e walking quickly. The tourists (like me) were walking slowly looking at the old
city walls and the buildings and sometimes stopping on corners to look at their
maps. On one crner someone stopped me
"Excuse me," he said, "could you tell me the way to York Minster?"
I laughed and explained to him that I was also visiting York but that I had a ma
p if he wanted to look.
"Are you here on holiday?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I'm from Chicago and I came to Britain for Christmas to see my cousin. Sh
e's working in London at the moment," he said. "Where are you from?"
"I'm from Madrid. I'm Spanish, but my father's American,' I answered. "He's from
New York."
"Nice to meet you. I'm John," he said.
"I'm Antonio, pleased to meet you."
We looked at the map together and I decided to go with him to see York Minster.
York Minster is the biggest Gothic cathedral in Europe and is very impressive. I
t took more than 250 years to build and was finished in 1480. The windows have sta
ined glass - coloured glass that tells a story. The most famous window is at the e
ast end of the cathedral and tells the story of the beginning and end of the wor
ld. We climbed up to the top of the central tower and we could see the whole of
York. The city centre is quite compact and is still enclosed by the old walls, l
ike vila in Spain. I got my guidebook out and we both looked at the map and tried
to name the places we could see below us.
It was fun spending time with John. He was so surprised an impressed by everythi
ng he saw. It was his first trip to Britain and he wanted to see and do everythi
ng. Everywhere we went he wanted to know if there were ghosts! We visited the Ca
stle Museum and the guide told us that at night, people sometimes hear the ghost
s of former prisoners, crying and pulling the chains across the stone floors. John w
anted to stay the night in the castle and listen to the ghosts! Fortunately, I p
ersuaded him that his hotel room would be much more comfortable!
The next day, we decided to take the same train to London On the train, we excha
nged e-mail addresses and we still write from time to time. He says I must go an
d visit him in Chicago when I go to the States.
"In Chicago we've got gangsters, not ghosts!" he laughed "but they're just as fr
ightening!"
CHAPTER 4.- OXFORD
A few years ago, I had a girlfriend called Lisa who w studying at Oxford Universi
ty. I say 'had' because she isn't m girlfriend any more. I won't explain the rea
sons for the end of our romance here. After all, this is a book about Britain an
d not about ex-girlfriends!
One of the positive things that came from my relationship with Lisa was the oppo
rtunity to visit Oxford. I had wanted I go to Oxford for a long time, because it
's one of the mo historically interesting towns in Britain. Oxford University is
one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in the world. Twenty-five B
ritish prime ministers have been educated there as well as many other famous peo
ple like the poet and write Oscar Wilde, and Bill Clinton, the former president
of the United States. The university is also known for preserving traditions that
are centuries old.
Unfortunately, I was immediately disappointed when arrived in Oxford. I got off
my bus and found myself in the middle of the town's shopping district. There were
modern shops, Burger Kings and Pizza Huts everywhere.
When Lisa arrived to meet me, she saw my disappointment. "What's wrong?" she ask
ed.
"This isn't what I expected," I replied. "I expected a town that's full of histo
ry, not pizzerias."
Lisa laughed. "There is a lot of history here," she said. "You just have to look for
it."
The next day Lisa had classes all day, so I went for a walk to find the 'real' O
xford. It didn't take long. I soon found all the different colleges that form Oxford
University. I walked past buildings that were centuries old, all with beautiful
gardens. I walked through the gardens in Magdalen College, down to the river. M
agdalen (pronounced 'Maudlin') has a very beautiful bell-tower, next to a mediev
al bridge.
By 1.00 pm, I was hungry and decided to have some fish and chips, a typically Br
itish meal. I walked back towards the town centre to find a traditional pub that
served fish and chips, but it wasn't easy. The centre of the town was full of r
estaurants and cafeterias that offered everything except what I was looking for.
I continued walking until I reached a working-class neighbourhood that had a fe
w traditional-looking pubs. I stopped outside one of them and looked at the menu
. They had fish and chips! Success!
I was completely unprepared for the reception that I received when I walked into
the pub. Everyone stopped talking and looked at me in silence. The barman took
my order and walked away. He didn't even say hello. I was confused by everyone's
cold attitude. Normally, British people are friendly in pubs.
I tried to begin a conversation when the barman brought me my food.
"Thanks," I said. "This is a nice pub. It's my first time in Oxford and I wanted
to eat somewhere that wasn't a pizzeria!"
The barman looked surprised. "You mean you're not a student?"
"No, I'm just visiting," I replied.
The barman finally smiled.
"Sorry, mate," he said. "We thought that you were a studen from the university."
"I don't understand," I said.
"Townspeople and university students haven't got on well with each other for more than 6
00 years," the barman explained. He told me that the problem began with the Scho
lastic a Massacre in 1355.
"A fight began between two drunken students and a tavern owner," he said. "Most
of the townspeople and students soon joined in the fight and hundreds of people
were killed. Since then, relations between the townspeople and the student haven't
been very good."
"Really?" I replied. "I usually like tradition, but it seems a pity to have a 60
0-year-old tradition based on bad relations between two groups of people, doesn'
t it?"
***
On my way back to Lisa's flat, I passed a sign marking the place where the origi
nal tavern of the massacre had been situated. But when I got to Lisa's flat , I
didn't have much time to think any more about the Scholastic a Massacre. We had
to get ready for one of Oxford's more pleasant traditions, the May Ball and May
Morning. This medieval tradition celebrates the arrival of spring. The May Balls
are very elegant dances where the men wear dinner suits, called 'black tie', an
d the women wear formal dresses. I really enjoyed the Ball. There was plenty of
good food and champagne and I spent most of the night dancing with lots of diffe
rent people.
By 4.00 am, I was tired. I went and found Lisa, who was talking to some of her f
riends.
"I'm a little tired," I said. "How do you feel? Do you want to go home soon?"
"I'm quite tired too," she answered. "But we've got to stay until the Ball ends.
We have to see the sunrise."
"Why?"
"Because it's tradition, silly," she replied.
Just before sunrise, the Ball ended and everyone walked together to Magdalen Bri
dge. A large crowd of people was already there. At 6.00 am, a boys' choir appeared a
t the top of the college tower and began to sing madrigals to the people standin
g on the bridge. It was one of those moments that you never forget for the rest
of your life. The beautiful singing of the choir complemented the beautiful sunr
ise that we saw. It was magical. The sun, big and red, was rising on the horizon
and illuminating the sky with a wide variety of colours - yellow, orange, red,
blue, violet.
Suddenly, a couple of people from the Ball jumped from the bridge into the river
.
"Are they mad?" I asked. "They're jumping into the river i their expensive cloth
es!"
"No, they're not mad," Lisa answered. "That's the tradition Come on!" She smiled
at me and jumped into the river. I didn't hesitate and jumped in after her. Wit
hin minutes, most of the people who had been on the bridge were in the river. Ev
eryone was laughing, screaming and singing.
"Do you want a drink?" I heard someone next to me say. I turned round in the wat
er and saw a young man in a dinner si offering me a bottle of champagne.
"You didn't jump off the bridge with that bottle, did you?' I asked. " You must
be crazy, champagne's very expensive!"
"Of course I did," he replied. "It only happens once a year. Do you want a drink
?"
I laughed and took the bottle. Then I saw that there were lot of people in the r
iver with bottles of champagne in the hands! British people never stop surprisin
g me. Afterwards everyone changed into dry clothes and went into the city centre
. All the restaurants and pubs are given special permission open early on that d
ay. There were many acrobats performing in the street and Oxford was one big car
nival. I finally went sleep at 1.00 pm!
Lisa and I separated soon after my visit to Oxford. However, the best memories o
f my relationship with her are the ones that I have from my visit to this lovely
old town.
CHAPTER 5.- A Country Christmas
In the United States, when I was young, the same films were on television every
Christmas. One film was my favourite and watched it every year. It was called Chit
ty Chitty Bang Bang and it was about a beautiful, old car that could fly and took
the owner to a magic land. The story was great, but what I really wanted was tha
t car.
Fifteen years later - last Christmas Eve - and my dream ha come true! I was driv
ing (well, I was in the passenger seat) through the English countryside in a 192
5 Bentley, a beautiful English car. It wasn't the same car, but it reminded me of my fav
ourite film and I felt like a child again. I was wearing leather hat, a leather jack
et and goggles. It was very, very cold and the sky was grey, but I was the happiest
man on earth.
One of my friends from university, Nicola Caswell, who is English, had invited m
e home to her parents' house for Christmas. My parents were in the States and I
hadn't made an plans for Christmas. She told me her family liked celebrating the
festive period 'properly' and would be happy to show me an English Christmas.
"But I don't want you to be bored," she told me.
"Bored? How could I be bored?" I replied. 'I've never spent Christmas in England
before and I would love to go to your parents' house."
"My parents live in a little village in the country, a long way from the nearest
town, which is called Stamford. It's a beautiful little town and there are lots
of old houses and churches, but it not very exciting."
"I'd love to go and spend Christmas with your family; You've told me so much abo
ut them. I'll have a wonderful time, I know I will," I insisted.
Nicola had told me about her family, but she hadn't told me about her father's o
ld Bentley - it didn't occur to her that I would be interested. She had grown up
with it and for her, it wasn't important. But going for a drive in the Bentley
was the best Christmas present I'd had for many years.
We drove through narrow country roads to a village where the members of the Bent
ley Drivers Club were having a Christmas reunion. We were the first people to ar
rive and we parked outside the pub, next to the village green, an oval area of g
rass in the middle of the village. There was a duck pond and old stone houses and su
ddenly, there were three more Bentleys coming down the road towards us.
"Look, Nicola!" I cried.
"Yes, I know. What would you like to drink?"
How could she be so calm? This was all so exciting!
"Quick, take a photo of me in the car," I said and gave her my camera.
"You're funny!" she said, as she took my photo. "You're like a little boy!"
"I don't care! I'm having a great time - and you were worried that I'd be bored!
"
I spent the next hour outside with Hugh Caswell, Nicola's father, talking to the
owners of the Bentleys and looking at the cars and their engines.Then, when we we
re all so cold that we couldn't talk, we went inside the pub, sat next to a big
fire and drank a pint of good British beer. It was like so many films I had seen
about England, but this was real!
It was dinner time on Christmas Eve, but something was wrong. Where were the roa
st turkey, the roast potatoes and the vegetables, the traditional food for a Bri
tish Christmas? We had a nice meal, but I was disappointed because Nicola had to
ld me that her family celebrated Christmas 'properly'.
While we were having coffee, I whispered to Nicola "Listen. I don't want to be i
mpolite, but doesn't your family like turkey?"
"What do you mean?" She looked surprised.
"Why didn't we have turkey for dinner?"
Nicola started to laugh and then she explained that in England, they eat the tra
ditional meal on Christmas Day, not o Christmas Eve like we do in Spain. I felt
so stupid! I had forgotten that that was what we used to do when we lived in the
United States.
Of course Nicola told her parents and her sister, Claire, an they all thought it
was very funny.
"Don't worry," Claire said, "we've got a turkey for tomorrow and it's enormous!"
***
After dinner, we all went to Midnight Mass in the village church, just like peop
le do in Spain. I sat next to Nicola's mother, Judy.
"There are a lot of people here tonight," she whispered to me. "Normally, on Sun
days, there are only thirty or forty people in church but it's a tradition to co
me to Midnight Mass. Many people come who don't normally go to church."
"This is wonderful," I whispered to her. "Thank you for inviting me to spend Chr
istmas with you."
"It's our pleasure," she said. "We're very happy that you're here. It's lovely t
o see you enjoying yourself so much."
I was enjoying myself because it was different and because everything was new fo
r me, but also because Nicola, her parents and Claire made me feel like part of
their family. I felt very lucky and when we stood up to sing Oh Come, All Ye Faithfu
l, a traditional British Christmas carol, I sang with everyone else. I had a big s
mile on my face.
That night, Father Christmas came to the house and left presents for everyone. O
bviously, it wasn't really Father Christmas, but Nicola, Claire and their parent
s continued the tradition they had had when the girls were children.
"Most families leave stockings for Father Christmas, but we always have pillow cases
. We're lucky - our Father Christmas is very generous!" Nicola told me.
"When we were young, we used to leave mince pies - the traditional Christmas pastrie
s - for Father Christmas next to the fireplace. He could come down the chimney a
nd have something to eat before he left our presents for us," explained Claire.
"One year, Claire left a carrot in the garden for the reindeer," laughed Nicola, "an
d in the morning there was only half a carrot!"
"Hmmm. I don't normally eat carrots at one o'clock in the morning," said their f
ather, "but Christmas is a special occasion!"
On Christmas morning, when I got up and opened the curtains, the whole world out
side was white. It was snowing!
"After we've opened our presents, we'll go for a walk," Nicola told me at breakf
ast.
"But it's still snowing, we'll get wet," I protested.
"I know, but it will be fun!"
We all sat around the Christmas tree and opened the little presents from Father
Christmas. He had left some traditional English mustard for me, made with beer! Then
, the family exchanged their presents with each other. And they hadn't forgotten
me - Nicola's parents gave me a bottle of Scotch whisky and Nicola gave me a bo
ok about Shakespeare. And then, as Nicola had promised, we all went for a walk i
n the snow.
"We have to get some exercise before we have the turkey Judy told me.
We walked across the fields and through a wood to the next village and then home
again. We got cold and wet, but we had great fun in the snow.
At dinner time, when we sat down, there were things called Christmas crackers on
every plate. These crackers are cylindrical in shape and made of different-colo
ured paper. Two people have to hold each end of a cracker and pull. The cracker
opens with a "Bang!" and inside there is a coloured paper hat, a joke written on
a piece of paper and a small present. We all ate dinner wearing red, blue and g
reen hats. At first, I felt silly, but then I realised that it was part of the t
radition of Christmas. And our traditional Christmas dinner was exactly what I h
ad hoped it would be. We had turkey and lots of potatoes and vegetables, good re
d wine (from Rioja!) and then for dessert we had Christmas Pudding, the traditio
nal Christmas dessert made with raisins and almonds. Delicious!
That night, I told the Caswell family that for me, this had been a very memorabl
e Christmas.
"We like Christmas to be special," said Hugh. "For Judy and myself, the religiou
s side is important, but the opportunity to celebrate as a family is more import
ant.
"I like coming home and having a day when we all enjoy being together. And I lik
e the fact that Christmas is the same every year," added Claire.
"I like the tradition," said Nicola.
Exactly, the tradition. It was a Christmas that I will never forget.
CHAPTER 6.- Cardiff
One Sunday morning, two years ago, I was at home Madrid reading the paper in bed
. As usual, I had started to read the travel section first because I love readin
g about differ countries. I was imagining life on a small island in Caribbean wh
en the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Antonio! Hi, it's Gareth."
"Gareth! How are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "How are you?"
I've known Gareth since I was a child. Our fathers were university friends and o
ur families always spent our holidays together in Almera. Gareth comes from a very
old Welsh family and lives in Cardiff. Although Wales was a country I had always
wanted to visit, I still hadn't managed to go there.
"Listen, I'm calling you to tell you that you must come Wales at the end of July
. This time, you have no excuse," Gareth said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I'm getting married!" Gareth replied.
"Congratulations!" I said. I'll be there. I can't miss your wedding."
I was excited about finally going to Wales. The only thing that I knew about the
country was that a language called Weis, a completely different language from E
nglish, was spoken there. In this sense, it reminded me of the different parts o
f Spain which all have their own languages as well.
The wedding invitation said that the ceremony and the reception would be held at a p
lace called Castle Coch, five miles north of Cardiff. I wasn't prepared for what
I saw when I arrived there. It was a fairy-tale castle like the ones you see Di
sney films! The interior looked like Cinderella's castle.
During the reception, I took advantage of a moment when Gareth was alone to ask
him about the castle.
"This place is incredible!" I exclaimed. "Can you tell me a little about it?"
"Sorry, I don't know much about it either," he answered. "But I know someone who
can answer all your questions. Wait here. I'll be back in a minute."
He came back a minute later with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
"This is my cousin, Angharad (pronounced 'Anjarad')," he said. "She's studying f
or her Master's degree in Welsh culture and history."
Angharad had long red hair, pale skin, big blue eyes and an angelic face. When s
he smiled at me, my heart melted. I was in love.
Angharad started to tell us about the castle.
"It was built between 1875 and 1879 on the foundations of a thirteenth-century c
astle by a local nobleman and his architect. They wanted to build a fantasy medi
eval castle ..."
I wanted to listen to her all evening, but another woman arrived and interrupted
Angharad's explanation.
"Angharad, the bride is waiting to have a photograph taken with you," said the w
oman.
Angharad excused herself and promised that she would return in a minute. I turne
d to Gareth.
"Why didn't you introduce me to your cousin before? I asked.
"Because you've never come to Wales before!" he replied.
"You're absolutely right," I said. "I must see her again. Has she got... ?"
" ... a boyfriend?" interrupted Gareth. "No, she hasn't."
"Do you think that I can convince her to have dinner with me?" I asked.
"I don't know. You'll have to ask her and find out," said Gareth. "However, I ca
n show you something that will impress her when you ask. Do you see those spoons
?"
Gareth pointed to a table in the middle of the room that was covered with food a
nd wine. The table was decorated with ha painted wooden spoons.
"Those spoons are called 'lovespoons'," Gareth explained. "There's an old Welsh
custom in which a young man gives a lovespoon to the girl he likes as a symbol o
f his affection for her. Give one to my cousin before you ask her to have dinner
with you."
Angharad returned and Gareth excused himself to talk to some other guests, leavi
ng me alone with his beautiful cousin. British people can be so discreet! As Ang
harad continued talking about the castle, I slowly walked with her towards the t
able. I put my hand behind me and picked up a lovespoon. I gave her the spoon an
d asked her if she would like to have dinner with me. She was so surprised and imp
ressed by my offer of the lovespoon that she immediately agreed to meet me the f
ollowing evening.
That was the beginning of a lovely romance between the two of us. We were togeth
er during the rest of my two-week stay in Wales and she was the perfect guide to
show me the country.
***
We went down to the coast south of Cardiff for a weekend, and Angharad tried to
teach me to windsurf. She was not only very cultured, but she also loved watersp
orts. There were lots of people in the bay who were experts, and it was fantasti
c to watch them race across the bay, jumping the waves.
Angharad was a very good windsurfer. However, I had never tried to windsurf befo
re and I must admit that I found it very difficult, especially in the cold sea!
I picked up the sail and fell backwards into the water. Then I picked up the sai
l and fell on top of it. I think I spent twenty-nine minutes out of thirty falli
ng off the surfboard. I'm sure that I drank litres of water. All the time, Angha
rad was very patient and she tried very hard not to laugh at me! Eventually, I d
ecided to stay on the beach and watch her. It was much safer - and drier!
Apart from my disastrous attempt at windsurf ing, we had a lovely weekend. I pre
ferred walking along the beaches; I could stay warm and dry and talk to Angharad
.
The most enjoyable day of our time together wasn't on the coast. It was my last
day in Wales and the day that Angharad took me to the Royal National Eisteddfod.
It's the largest popular festival of competitive music-making and poetry- writi
ng in Europe and it takes place every August for eight days. I was very impresse
d by the magnitude of the event. There were 6,000 competitors and over 150,000 s
pectators - and no one was speaking English. Every thing was in Welsh! I had hea
rd that Welsh people love singing and that they have wonderful voices, and it wa
s true. There were some children singing in the Eisteddfod who were only about 12
years old and they had incredible voices. I didn't understand the words of the p
oems and songs, because they were in Welsh, but it wasn't important. I could hea
r so much emotion that I could imagine the meaning of what I heard.
There were a lot of very, very talented people participating in the event and it
was a wonderful way to spend my last day in Wales. I felt very lucky to have be
en to an Eisteddfod. There was real pride in the Welsh language and the tradition of
poetry and song and I enjoyed sharing this special occasion.
CHAPTER 7.- Cornwall
During my holiday in Wales, I saw a competition in a travel magazine. One of the
categories was to write an article about a coastal area in Europe. I wanted to
write about somewhere in Britain, so I phoned Gareth to ask him for ideas on whe
re to go.
"You could go to Cornwall," he said. "It's a remote area in the south-west corne
r of Britain. It has a beautiful coastline, a lot of small seaside towns and very dr
amatic scenery. It's also rich in folklore and myths. It's a great place to writ
e about and it will be an opportunity for you to see another part of Britain."
I was convinced. I bought a book about Cornwall and decided to start my trip alo
ng the coast in a town called Bude. According to the description in the book, Bu
de was a small enchanting, seaside town. I hired a car and drove to Bude. I rese
rved a room in one of its little hotels and then at 8 o'clock I went to a pub to
have some dinner.
The inside of the pub looked as if it hadn't changed for hundreds of years. The
walls were stone and all the tables and chairs were made of dark wood. There was
an empty table next to the fireplace and I sat down to enjoy a peaceful dinner.
As I was finishing my meal, and old man approached the table and asked if he co
uld share it with me. I looked around and saw that all the other tables were occ
upied. I invited him to sit with me and soon discovered that I was very lucky to
have met him. His name was Richard and he seemed to know everything about Cornw
all, its history and its myths.
"Most of the legends here are about Giants and Piskies," he began.
"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "I know what Giants are, but what are Piskies?"
"Piskies were little old men, two centimetres tall, who were all identical," sai
d Richard. "They were good people who helped the old. However, they also liked t
o play jokes on people."
Richard's stories were fascinating and it seemed like only fifteen minutes had pas
sed and not three hours when the pub owner announced that it was closing time. "
It's been a pleasure talking to you tonight. Thank you," I said to Richard, as w
e stood outside the pub.
"Thank you for listening to an old man's stories," he replied. Richard smiled, shook
my hand and walked away. Although I never saw him again, Richard and his storie
s accompanied me throughout the rest of my trip through Cornwall.
I remembered one of the stories when I arrived in Poundstock the following day.
"There's an old church in a little village called Poundstock," Richard had told
me. "In the 14th century, a man called William Penfold was the priest of the chu
rch. Although he was a priest, he was also a member of a group of pirates that a
ttacked ships leaving the area. Eventually, William Penfold had a fight with the
rest of the pirates and left the group."
"Is that the end of the story?" I asked.
"No. A short time later, the pirates interrupted a Mass that William Penfold was
giving in his church. They brutally murdered him on the altar."
"What a horrible story!" I exclaimed. "It's so violent!"
"There's more," continued Richard. "People say that his ghost still haunts the churc
h."
Words can't describe what I felt as I walked through the empty church rememberin
g Richard's story. It was very quiet and cold in the church and it was easy to i
magine Penfold's screams as he was being murdered. It was good to go outside aga
in, into the warm sun. I sat down next to the car and looked at my map. I decide
d that the next day I would go to Tintagel Castle, home of the legendary King Ar
thur.
***
I grew up reading stories and seeing films about King Arthur. There are many sto
ries that describe him as a virtuous king who attracted the best knights in the
Christian world to serve him. They were called the Knights of the Round Table an
d their mission was to fight against all the evil forces in England. Richard had tol
d me something about King Arthur that had surprised me.
"You know that King Arthur was born in Tintagel Castle, don't you?" asked Richar
d.
"No, I didn't know that," I replied. " Actually , I've never thought about exactly w
here King Arthur was from. I just thought of him as English."
"Well, he was from Cornwall," said Richard. "The legends say that Merlin, Arthur
's teacher, lived in a cave below Tintagel Castle. When you get to Tintagel, sta
y at the Castle Hotel. It's opposite the ruins of the castle. The town is a few
hundred metres away."
I did exactly what Richard had suggested. I arrived at Tintagel just in time to
see the sun going down into the sea behind the castle. It was a romantic moment
and it was suddenly very easy to believe that all the legends about King Arthur
and his knights were true.
I continued my journey early the following morning. The next few days were filled wi
th beautiful views and the sound of the sea and the wind. And I wrote my article
sitting in small hotels, on beaches, in pubs and in tearooms.
As I approached Chapel Porth Beach three days later, I remembered another of Ric
hard's stories.
"There is a famous legend here of a Giant named Boster. He was an evil man who t
errorised the people who lived here."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"Well, he fell in love with the beautiful Saint Agnes. She saved the people from
him," he said.
"How did she do that?"
"She asked him to prove his love for her by filling a hole in the mountain at Ch
apel Porth. She knew that the hole didn't have a bottom. Giant Boster didn't know. H
e cut his arm with his sword and tried to fill the hole with his blood, but he d
ied from the loss of blood. That's why even today, the sea at Chapel Porth is re
d with his blood."
I stood on a mountain looking down at the sea at Chapel Porth and discovered tha
t Richard was right. The sea looked red!
The remaining eight days of my drive through Cornwall were full of Richard's sto
ries. I passed by towns like Zennor, where the local legend tells of a mermaid w
ho hypnotised a nobleman's son. He followed her into the sea and drowned. I also
passed Rill Point, where people first saw the Spanish Armada on its way to atta
ck Britain.
By the end of my trip, I had finished my article, which was well received by the
magazine. I didn't win the competition, but they published my story and I have
Richard to thank for telling me about the legends of Cornwall. They made the art
icle much more interesting. I will always have a special place in my heart for t
hat old man whose stories converted Cornwall into a mystical and magical land fo
r me.
CHAPTER 8.- Manchester
"Look!" exclaimed Louise.
"What?" I asked.
"Look! Over there."
"Where?"
"There! In the corner ..."
A few months ago, my English cousin, Louise, and I were in Chiang Rai, a little
Thai restaurant in the middle of Manchester. The food was delicious - lots of fr
esh fish and chillies, which I love. The owners were from Thailand, but they had imm
igrated to England from the city of Chiang Rai, in the north of Thailand, almost
thirty years ago. Our waitress was their daughter. She was born in Manchester a
nd she spoke English with a very strong Manchester accent.
We were waiting for our meal, when suddenly, Louise started shaking my arm in he
r excitement.
"It's him! It's him! I'm sure it is!" she exclaimed.
"Who?"
"Him!!"
She was pointing to a man in his mid-twenties, sitting at a table in the corner
of the restaurant. He had short, blond hair and was quite tanned. He was also good-l
ooking. I suppose. There was a woman with him, sitting with her back to us.
Louise realised that I didn't understand what she was talking about and took a d
eep breath.
"It's David Beckham!"
"Ah, OK. I know who David Beckham is," I said. "He plays for Manchester United F
ootball Club." What I didn't understand was how Louise knew who he was. She does
n't especially like football and she definitely doesn't understand it. I remembe
r the only time I persuaded her to go to a match with me, it was a total disaste
r. We were at the Old Trafford stadium, Manchester United's football ground, wat
ching United play Arsenal, a London team. We were supposed to be supporting Unit
ed (they're my favourite English football team), but the problem was that Louise
didn't care who was winning. Every time either team scored or came close to scoring s
he jumped up and cheered, which didn't make the United fans around us very happy
. I tried to explain the rules to her and the fact that she should only cheer fo
r one team, but she told me that it was much fairer if she encouraged both sides. Ev
entually, I pretended that I didn't know her until we had left the stadium.
"Louise, how do you know who David Beckham is?" I asked.
"Everyone knows who he is. He's married to Victoria Adams from the Spice Girls, th
e one they call Posh Spice. I can't see her face, but the woman with him must be
Victoria. I'm going to ask them for their autographs."
"Louise, you can't do that! It's embarrassing ... and they're having dinner."
"Rubbish!" she said, taking my drink mat from under my drink and getting a pen o
ut of her handbag. "They're famous and that gives everyone the right to ask them
for their autograph."
"But..."
That's another thing about the British. A famous person is automatically public
property. The members of the British Royal Family can't go anywhere without bein
g followed by a photographer from one of the tabloid newspapers ( sensationalist
newspapers which publish a lot of stories, with photographs, about the private
lives of the rich and famous ). The rules are the same for pop stars, actors and
football players, especially football players who are married to pop stars. I s
at and ate my fish and tried to become invisible. A few minutes later. Louise re
turned triumphant.
"I told them that the autograph was for my foreign cousin who is here on holiday
. I told them that you don't speak English, so please wave to them and smile to say
thank you!"
I'm very fond of Louise, but sometimes, I could kill her!
***
Louise may not like football, but she loves music and Manchester is a great city
for good music. She says that it's one of the reasons she stayed in Manchester
when she finished university. There's something for all tastes, and a lot of fam
ous musicians come from Manchester. For example, there's Mick Hucknall, the sing
er from Simply Red, and Liam and Noel Gallagher from the enormously successful g
roup, Oasis.
"Did you know that Mick Hucknall was bullied at school?" Louise asked me, as we walk
ed to a nightclub. "The other kids were always tormenting him and hitting him."
"No, I didn't know. Why did they bully him?" I asked.
"He says it was because he had red hair. Some of the boys didn't like him becaus
e he looked different. Being bullied must have been awful!"
"So what happened?"
"Well, he says that he started to go to the park instead of going to school beca
use the teachers didn't help him when he was bullied and because the lessons wer
e difficult for him. He didn't know that he was good at Art and Music, he only k
new that he wasn't good at Maths and Biology. Eventually, when he was 16, his ar
t teacher told him he should go to art school. He says that if he hadn't gone to
art school, he would probably be in prison now!"
It was a Friday night and there was already a long queue outside Joop, the night
club Louise wanted to go to on Peter Street. I don't like waiting in queues, but
the British queue for everything - and they always stand in tidy lines, not lik
e the big groups of people in Spain.
"It's cold waiting here. Why don't we go somewhere else?" I complained.
"Please, be patient," Louise told me.
"But it's starting to rain. Why do you want to come to this club when there are so m
any in Manchester?"
"Because this club is fantastic," said Louise. "And it's free.
You have to pay to get into a lot of clubs in Manchester and some of them are qu
ite expensive."
The club was very small and quite dark and parts of it had carpet on the floor,
which was sticky from where people had dropped their drinks. (I will never under
stand why the British insist on putting carpets on the floor in places where peo
ple drink!) But the dance floor was well lit (no carpet!), the DJ was brilliant
and Louise was right - it was a fantastic club. We both danced until 2.00 am, wh
en it closed. We decided to go home then because the next day was an important d
ay for me - I was going to Old Trafford to see a football match. Without Louise!
I walked through the city centre to get a tram to the Old Trafford stadium. Before a
rriving in Manchester, most people don't realize that there are many beautiful o
ld buildings here. The Town Hall is from the early 1900s, and behind the small c
athedral is the oldest free public library in England. Libraries in Britain are
wonderful places where you can find not only books, but also records, cassettes
and videos. Many libraries also have Internet nowadays.
At the stadium, I met David and Steve (two of Louise "s friends who like footbal
l). Today was an important match, the 'Red Devils' (Manchester United) against t
heir traditional 'enemy', Liverpool, the two great teams from the north of Engla
nd. There were literally thousands of people there and most of them were United
fans. As the teams ran out onto the field, the announcer read the names of the p
layers and there were loud cheers for many of the United team. The biggest cheer
was for David Beckham. People started singing. "Come on, you Reds" and United kic
ked off. 'Man United' dominated possession of the ball in the first half, but by h
alf time, there was still no score.
"I hope they score in the second half." David said. He was excited and nervous.
"I think they will," said Steve. "They're playing well and there are more man 40,0
00 people here who want them to win."
"How many people can this stadium hold?" I asked them.
"67,000," Steve told me. "It's the biggest football stadium in Britain, you know
."
"Manchester United are also the richest football club in the world," added David
. "They've got their own television station. Look, you can see the cameras down
there, next to the field. They've got M.U.T.V. written on them."
I could feel the excitement in the stadium during the second half and when centr
e-forward Andy Cole scored with only five minutes to go before the end of the ma
tch, the crowd cheered and shouted, "United! United! United!"
I, of course, cheered and shouted as well. The 'Red Devils' had won and it was t
he perfect end to my visit to Manchester.
CHAPTER 9.- Edinburgh
Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, is one of the most beautiful cities in Europ
e. Dominated by a medieval castle on a volcanic rock, it has a fascinating histo
ry and there is a lot to see. It's the home of one of the best summer festivals
in the world, the Edinburgh Festival. It's also the home of a very old friend of
mine called Martin.
Martin and I met at my school in Spain. We were both 14 years old and my family
had recently returned to Spain from the United States. My English was better tha
n my Spanish, so I had problems at school that year. Sometimes I didn't understa
nd what the teacher was saying or what I was supposed to do. I also felt isolated be
cause I didn't know about the same things as my classmates. I had different clot
hes and I liked different music. People were friendly, but I wasn't happy. After
Easter, my school had an exchange with a school from Edinburgh. Some pupils in
my class didn't know what country Edinburgh was in, so our teacher showed us on
the map.
"Here's Edinburgh, on the east coast of Scotland," she said, pointing. "It's the
capital of Scotland and the country's biggest tourist city. After London, more
people visit Edinburgh than anywhere else in Britain."
Twenty Scottish pupils came to our school for three weeks and stayed with our fa
milies. I was the only person who could speak English and Spanish. Suddenly, eve
ryone needed me to translate and help them so that they could talk to each other
. By the end of the three weeks, I felt I had a lot of new friends, both Spanish
and Scottish. Martin was the most popular person in his class. He was funny, in
telligent and very good at sport - and he was staying in my house! We soon disco
vered that we had a lot in common and we became good friends.
"It's been great having you here," I told Martin on his last day. "I like my sch
ool and Spain more now, because you've helped me to make new friends."
"Thanks," he said. 'I've had a fantastic time. You've shown me your city and you
've taught me Spanish. One day, I want you to come to Edinburgh to visit me and
I'll show you my city. Come in summer, it's the best time."
'I'll definitely visit you. That's a promise!" I told him.
I was finally here. Six years later, in the middle of August, I got off the trai
n at Edinburgh's Waverley Station and there was Martin! When he saw me walking d
own the platform, he shouted so loudly that everyone stopped and turned round!
"Antonio! Hey, Antonio! It's so good to see you!"
He took me to his flat, which he shared with two friends, and told me all about
the plans he had for my visit.
"It's wonderful that you're here for the Festival. I love Edinburgh all year, bu
t during the Festival it's crazy! There's so much happening all day and all nigh
t. I hope you got lots of sleep before you came because we've got a lot to do an
d a lot to see. I know you're going to enjoy this city."
"So, what are our plans?" I asked.
"Well, I thought we could go and visit the castle this afternoon and go for a wa
lk around the Old Town, the oldest part of Edinburgh, which is the area where I
live. Then, tonight we can go and see a show at the Festival," he began,
"Which show?" I interrupted.
"There are a lot of shows that have good reviews. The local newspapers have a specia
l section for the Festival and the Fringe ...
"What's the Fringe?" I asked .
"OK," he said, I'll start at the beginning. But you must be hungry. I'll tell yo
u about the Fringe while we have lunch."
We had lunch with Paul and Alison, Martin's two flatmates. While we were eating,
they told me more about the Festival. It started in 1947 and every year, there
is an official programme of classical music, opera, theatre and comedy. The Fest
ival Fringe started the same year and is basically another unofficial festival tha
t happens outside - on the 'fringe' of - the main festival.
"There are lots of free performances every night and hundreds more that you pay
to go and see. You can pay anything from 1 upwards. You'll see what the Festival
is as soon as we go outside," said Martin.
"It's difficult to describe the Festival in words," added Alison. "You have to l
ive it. The atmosphere is like one big party, and everyone in Edinburgh is invit
ed."
Martin and his friends live in the Old Town, which is like a labyrinth with its
narrow streets. We walked slowly up the High Street (also called the Royal Mile)
past the beautiful Saint Giles Cathedral. This is the road that goes to Edinbur
gh Castle. The streets were busy and among the tourists and people shopping. the
re were clowns, mime artists, actors in costume and musicians playing alone and
in groups. The city was alive and full of colour and everywhere I looked, some f
un thing was happening.
"This is great!" I exclaimed.
Just then, someone put a leaflet in my hand. "What's this?" I asked, looking at
the piece of paper.
"During the day, actors advertise their show for the evening. By the time we arr
ive at the castle, you'll have at least 10 leaflets!" Martin promised me.
He was right. I had 12 pieces of paper in my hand when we arrived at the castle,
and all the shows looked interesting.
"Choosing one show is going to be a problem," I said to Martin.
"Don't worry, I've got a few ideas!" he laughed.
***
About one million people visit Edinburgh Castle every year. There is a museum in
the castle, but it is also an army base because the Scottish division of the Br
itish army is based here. From the castle, the view of the city, situated betwee
n the sea and the mountains, is superb. Inside the castle, we saw the Royal apar
tments. There is a tiny room here, where Mary, Queen of Scots gave birth to the
boy who became the king of both England and Scotland.
"He became King James VI of Scotland and King James I of England in 1603, when Q
ueen Elizabeth I of England died. It was important because England and Scotland
were separate countries then and they had different kings. James was the first k
ing to be the king of both countries. It was called the Union of the Crowns," Ma
rtin told me.
I must admit, I didn't know very much about Scottish history, but Martin was an
expert. He was studying history at university and was a very good guide.
Martin and his flatmates were also good guides for the Festival. They had a surp
rise for me on my first night. We went to see Rowan Atkinson perform in one of t
he theatres. He's the actor and comedian who created the character Mr Bean, and
his comedy act was very funny. I thought he was even better on stage than in the
television programme. After the show we went to Bannerman's pub, near Martin's
flat. Paul worked there at the weekends. He told me that a lot of the people who
were performing in the Festival went there.
"Hi, Bob," he said to the barman, "can we have two pints, please?"
As Martin and Paul talked to the barman, Alison and I looked around for somewher
e to sit. Someone standing at the other end of the bar looked familiar.
"Alison, do you recognise that man? Is he famous?" I asked her.
"Antonio! That's Rowan Atkinson!" she exclaimed.
Bob (the barman) knew Rowan Atkinson because he had been into the pub before. So
I met Mr Bean and you know, he looks completely normal when he's not acting!
We went to see lots of different shows while I was in Edinburgh. We went to list
en to a choir singing Verdi's Requiem at Saint Giles Cathedral. The singing was love
ly and the cathedral itself is very interesting. We also went with Alison and Pa
ul and had a picnic in Princes Street Gardens and watched a circus. There was wo
nderful music, people who juggled with fire and very talented acrobats and gymnasts.
The circus was very unusual because it was a circus without animals. The Garden
s were full and the performers moved amongst the people. I loved the music so mu
ch that I bought the CD after the performance.
All the time I was in Edinburgh, I was lucky with the weather. Everyone I met sa
id the same thing to me.
"You're here for a week?" they asked.
"Yes," I told them.
"Ooh, it's lovely, sunny weather for your visit. You are lucky!"
Martin had decided to take me north for a few days, to see some more of Scotland
. I hoped my luck would continue.
CHAPTER 10.- More of Scotland
Scotland is marvellous. It's a country of mountains and lakes, and everything I
saw in my few days there was, without exception, beautiful. I am not exaggeratin
g and I can say this even though, from the minute Martin and I left Edinburgh, t
he weather was terrible. It rained and rained, and then when the rain stopped, i
t rained again. As we drove north, Martin started to tell me a few things about
Scotland. He didn't want me to think about the rain!
"Did you know that Scotland includes 787 islands?" he asked me.
"No, I didn't," I answered, looking out of the window at the grey sky, the dark
grey clouds and the rain.
"Yes, and only 62 of the islands are bigger than five square kilometres," he add
ed.
"Hmm, do you think the rain will stop soon?" I asked.
"I hope so. We'll go to Dunkeld first. They've got their Highland Games on at th
e moment."
The rain was getting worse and I couldn't see the car in front of us. The mounta
ins in the distance had disappeared.
"Antonio, you're not listening, are you? Stop worrying about the rain. I was goi
ng to tell you about the Highland Games, but you're obviously not interested."
"I'm sorry, Martin. Of course I'm interested. What are the Games?"
"They're a competition of the traditional Scottish sports," he explained.
"But you do sports outside. Won't they be cancelled if it's raining?" I asked.
"No. This is Scotland, not Andaluca! If we cancelled something every time we had
bad weather, we'd never do anything!"
Of course, Martin was right. The Games continued, despite the rain. We parked the ca
r outside the pretty town of Dunkeld and walked out to the field where the compe
tition was being held. There were hundreds of different-coloured umbrellas and e
veryone was wearing a raincoat -- everyone except' the competitors (who were mos
tly men). They were wearing kilts and T-shirts.
"People really do wear kilts!" I exclaimed.
"Of course they do, but not every day!" laughed Martin. "Men have worn kilts sin
ce the end of the 1700s. Women also wear kilts sometimes. I wear one on special
occasions, for a wedding, or something like that."
"You wear a skirt?!" I exclaimed.
"No, Antonio. I don't wear a skirt, I wear a kilt. The kilt is a symbol of Scottish
nationalism, the same as tartan."
"What's tartan?" I asked him.
"It's the special pattern in the material that kilts are made from -- the materi
al with the different-coloured squares. Nowadays, mere are more than 2,000 diffe
rent patterns. Some of them are officially recognised and some aren't. Historica
lly. every 'clan' or family has its own pattern. For example, the Gordon clan ha
s a tartan, the MacDonald clan has a different tartan and ... Look!" Martin poin
ted to the corner of the field.
There was a man with what looked like a tree trunk in his arms!
"What's he doing with that tree?" I asked.
"It's not a tree," he said. "It's called a caber and the competition is called '
Tossing the Caber'. Imagine the face of a clock on the ground. Each competitor s
tands in the middle of the 'clock', lifts the caber vertically and puts it on hi
s shoulder Then he throws it so that it spins in the air and it must land in a strai
ght line on the ground. The person who can throw the caber closest to the 12 o'c
lock position wins. Watch!"
We watched several more competitions. Most of them consisted of throwing somethi
ng heavy. There were also some women competing, but they didn't have problems be
cause obviously, these games require skill as well as strength.
"Come on!" said Martin. "You've got to try some haggis before we leave. It's a t
ypical Scottish food."
In the village. there was a little market selling local produce. There was honey
and jam. cakes and biscuits. And haggis.
"Yuk! What is that? I asked, when Martin showed me the haggis.
It looked like a plastic bag with something brown and lumpy inside it.
"It's a sheep's stomach." Martin told me. "There's lamb inside it and onion and
the heart, liver ..."
"Don't tell me! I'd prefer to eat it without knowing. Why aren't you having any?
"
"Oh, I've already tried it!" he laughed.
The lady selling the haggis gave me a little plastic plate with hot haggis on it
and I ate it with a fork. When I didn't look at what I was eating, it tasted qu
ite nice!
***
That afternoon, we drove through the Grampian Mountains. It was still raining, b
ut I didn't mind. The scenery was beautiful. In between the mountains there were
wide open spaces and it was all so green. The hills seemed endless .
We stopped and camped that evening outside a little village. It sounds crazy to
camp in the rain, but it was wonderful. We had bought some tins of food and some
bread and wine and we sat in the tent and cooked on a little camper stove. Then
we played cards. Eventually, the rain stopped and we could see the sun through
the clouds as it disappeared behind the mountains. It was truly beautiful.
"Tomorrow, we'll go and find Nessie!" said Martin.
"Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster?" I asked.
"Yes. There will be a lot of people at Loch Ness, but you can't leave Scotland w
ithout going to its most famous lake."
"So is 'loch' the Scottish word for lake?" I asked.
"That's right. There are lots of lakes in Scotland but Loch Ness is the biggest.
It's 39 kilometres long and the deepest part is 229 metres deep. There's a lot
of loch for Nessie to hide in!"
That night I dreamed about monsters.
I woke up to the sound of rain. I looked at my watch; it was 6.00 am. By 6.30 am
the rain had stopped and I opened the tent. The sun was rising and there was wh
ite mist on the ground. I put on my jumper and my boots and went outside. I walk
ed up to the top of a hill and looked down into the valley. Everything looked ve
ry mysterious, quiet and calm. There was complete silence except for the birds.
"It's perfect!" I thought.
I stood there and watched as the sun came up. When the mist had evaporated, I sa
w the sun reflected on the water of a loch below me. It was a very special momen
t.
When we got to Inverness, Martin turned right. I was looking at the map.
"Martin, we should have turned left to go to Loch Ness," I told him.
"I know, but I want you to see something special first," he said. "My parents li
ve in a village not far from here. Near the village there's a castle. It's a bea
utiful place and it has an interesting history. The legend is that in 1454, the
Lord of Cawdor wanted to build a new castle. He filled a bag with gold to pay fo
r the castle, put the bag of gold on a horse and said he would build the castle
at the place where the horse stopped. It stopped under a tree. so he built the c
astle around the tree. You can still see the tree in the cellar."
We stopped near the castle and got out of the car.
"I usually spend New Year's Eve at my parents' home," said Martin. "When I do. I
always visit the castle. It's a special place, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," I agreed. "By the way, how do you and your family celebrate New Ye
ar's Eve?"
"Well, we usually have a big party with lots of people and then at midnight, we
listen to the bells of Big Ben on the radio," Martin answered. "After the bells,
we stand in a circle, hold hands and sing a traditional Scottish song called Auld
Lang Syne."
He sang some of the song to me and I realised that I knew it! We used to sing it
in America at New Year as well.
"Does everybody kiss after that and say 'Happy New Year'?" I asked him.
"Of course! I think people kiss each other at New Year in most countries!" Marti
n exclaimed. "But you know, New Year's Eve is a very important celebration in Sc
otland and is called Hogmanay. And the traditional way of celebrating Hogmanay i
s very interesting. The tradition is that people stay at home until after midnig
ht and the first person to come into your house after that must be a man with da
rk hair."
"Why?" I interrupted.
"Because that's the tradition, I don't know the reason!" Martin answered. "The m
an must also bring three specific presents, to bring luck to the house. He must
bring a piece of coal, so that the house will always be warm, a bag of salt, so
that the family will always have something to eat and a bottle of whisky, so tha
t the family will always have something to drink. Anyway, my parents have an old
friend who loves this tradition. He's a dark-haired man and after midnight, he
always comes to my parents' house with these three presents. Of course, all the
whisky is drunk that night!"
"And then what happens?" I asked.
"Well, then we continue with the party, like everywhere in the world at New Year
!" Martin laughed.
"But the tradition of Hogmanay makes Scotland unique. I like that," I told him.
We went to Loch Ness and I took photos of a big, empty lake. About 80 other tour
ists were doing the same thing! A man called Hugh Gray took the first photo of N
essie in 1933 and several people since then have said that they saw 'her'. I don
't know if there really is a monster in the Loch, but I like the legend. I think
it's important that we keep our legends and myths about where we live. They're
part of our history.
Unfortunately, I didn't have time to see much more on that visit. It is a little
difficult to see the whole of Scotland in three days! Next time, I want to go a
ll the way up to John O'Groats, Scotland's most northern point, and then take th
e ferry to the Orkney Islands. Even if it's raining!
EPILOGUE
I've finished the last chapter of this book and there are still so many places t
o visit and to write about.
Every country is different and every city and place has something special. That'
s true of Britain and of everywhere else in the world. Different cultures have s
omething to offer us and if you travel with an open mind, you will always take s
ome special memories home with you.
The places in this book are a selection of cities, towns and reas that mean a lot
to me. Sometimes they mean something special because of a person or an occasion
, and sometimes because they are simply beautiful places. For my next trip, I'm
going to Ireland as well as John O'Groats and the Orkney Islands. Perhaps I'll w
rite about that too.
I hope you've enjoyed reading about my experiences of being a foreigner in Brita
in. I also hope that one day you too will travel and that you will enjoy your tr
avels - wherever you go.