Dear Reader,
You will be pleased to know that we're on a farm in Northern Italy safe and sound. We have our afternoons off so when we're not down by the river I'm taking the opportunity to write about the last few legs of our journey, i.e., Swindon/ Avebery, London and Amsterdam. With a healthy dose of F.O.M.O. (Fear Of Missing Out) we decided not to go to Scotland after all. In the interest of more time spent exploring and less traveling, of saving a few extra dollar-pounds, and also because sometimes less really is more, it just made more sense for us to stay put. We'll have to make another trip there someday, that's all there is to it.
Thank you for your continued support and readership.
Yours sincerely, Liat
From Swindon to Avebury
About an hour west of London is the town of Swindon, once known as Swine Dune or Hog Hill by the locals this little city, like the town of Ruardean, has seen better days. During the railroad days (when cheep labor was abundant) Swindon was a bustling boomtown with a church tower to prove it. Since then, Swindons' seen its share of ups and downs, and presently it's down. On the last day of May, walking from the train station to our B&B (on the 25 min. walk the B&B owner said would "only take 10 minutes") we wondered if we were in a real live ghost town. Everywhere boarded up shop windows and flats were displaying "To Let" signs and as usual I wondered what in the world we were going to do for dinner?
Bath was sometimes too fancy and Swindon felt really run down. (Is it too much to say that I would like the best of both worlds please, what Permaculturalist call, the edge? Somewhere between the flourishing, expensive and gentrified communities and the depressed, rundown, cheep ones. I have been known to want it all- but a girl can dream can't she?) Any way, it just so happens that there was an amazing (and open) Indian restaurant just down the block from our B&B. And the next morning, like most of the people who live in Swindon, we were off to seek our fortunes elsewhere.
We took a 20 min bus ride to magical Avebury. On the way I said, "I hope we get to see one of those white horses" and looking out the window a moment later there it was! The horse is made out of white limestone and lays flat like a stamp on the ground. Stretching across the hillside hundreds of feet long, the first settlers of this region took cave painting to a whole new level. Like all great art you feel mysteriously pulled towards it, sensing something of yourself and all humanity within it, but often you're left only guessing (and projecting) what the artist "really" had in mind. Seeing the white horses was a dream of mine ever since I first heard of them. As the bus rolled on I felt both nourished and hungry for more. 5 minutes later we were in Avebury.
If you ever get the chance to go to Avebury- go for it! About 5,000 years ago a great big moat-like fort was dug out of white limestone (probably by cohorts of the White Horse artists) into a perfect circle about a half-mile wide- thousands of tons of soil were moved by hand. A few hundred years later massive boulders were brought in from a great distance, many of them over 15' tall, and were stood up, pointy side down creating a ring with in the fort. The circle has four major openings corresponding with the four directions. A remaining "Great Avenue" or ancient road also lined with massive standing stones stretches outward from the circle towards the south for over four miles. Eventually, "Many of the original stones were broken up or removed from the early 14th century onwards at the behest of the Christian Church to remove association with pagan rituals, to make room for agriculture, or to provide local building materials. - The Interweb. The Christens left behind a church and a town to go with it.
This is the town of Avebury. It hosts the holy trinity of Pub, Church, and Post Office that constitute the core of country living world wide- this one just happens to be within a monolithic archeological wonder.
Except for a few arrowheads there exists very little physical evidence about the life of Avebery's first architects, foremen and laborers. There is a bubbling cauldron full of questions about who theses people were, how this space was used, and what was "truly" intended. Filling this void of hard evidence Aveburys' become a magnet for forward and far-out thinkers alike, each claiming their stake in the mystery. The chachky (Yiddish for knickknack) store is overflowing with books about Goddess worship, sacred geometry and aliens all packed onto the same small shelves, each one silently hoping to be vindicated by your purchase.
No doubt this is a magical place- but for me the magic came from not knowing and from appreciating the wonder of human ingenuity, our monument-building instinct. We spent the afternoon feeling giddy with awe at the beauty of this place, walking around the massive stones slowly and snapping at least a hundred photos. The sun was shining, it was warm and breezy, clouds were dynamic and grass seemed extra green.
Under the thatched roof of the Red Lion Pub we raised our glasses to Earth's great mysteries. The following morning we were on the train to London.
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