Accordingly, I wanted to take advantage of this beautiful sun we've been encountering lately. So, early on in the week, despite the gripping wind (results of the "storm of the century" that supposedly happened last weekend) I promptly took a cycling ride up north to the town of Woodstock, and in so doing, found myself at Blenheim Palace. Wind is much easier to deal with than rain, so it really was no issue. I had a feeling I would get cold on the ride up, so I prepared well by using the GLOVES my mother got me for Christmas this past year. Thanks Mom! They saved my life.
Ready to go:
Note rain jacket sleeve- because you NEVER know (it didn't, though)
Also discovered that the bike I got (aka Gladys, aka The Peugeot, aka BBE- Best Bike Ever) has a LION KING bell, which makes me happy:
The ride up north to Woodstock was…interesting. The road is called "Woodstock Road" and it goes north to Woodstock (duh). At a certain point though, it turns into "Oxford Road" because, well, it also goes south to Oxford, no? Roads are named like this all over the place. London Road, going east turns into Oxford Road at a given point. I'm burning with curiosity to know who decided the exact place where the name would switch. Obviously, there is the issue with traveling north on Oxford road and south on Woodstock road, didn't they think about this? You would think one side of the road would be named differently, but no, they didn't go that far. Clearly, I spend way too much time thinking about things that don't matter (ask my husband, it's true, he'll tell you the stories).
Enough of that trivial digression.
The ride was "interesting" because I was basically on the side of a highway most of the time. A turnpike, you might call it. Although it was smaller (more English version) of the huge American ones I'm used to, but still. GONE are the romantic images I had of England, that it was all charming cobblestones and village inns and vicarages. I mean, I saw a STARBUCKS AND A HOLIDAY INN EXPRESS AND A KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN!!! For crying out loud! "Where the bleep am I?!?!" Ran across my mind, practically tripped off the tongue as well (I've been known to utter angry things out loud whilst cycling, because I get nervous and everyone -pedestrians, cars, fellow cyclists- make me feel like they are about to kill me at any given moment).
But still. Starbucks. Holiday Inn Express, Kentucky Fried Chicken. What?? They were all in a cluster off the highway, just as you would see in America, like a truckers stop or for a traveling family's comfort. It confused me, to say the least. Keeping calm and pedaling on, I moved onward and eventually saw this old 16th century pub (sinking roof and all) called the Turnpike:
Just think, it was there when this highway road was no more than a dirt footpath, with the occasional horse and buggy, most likely. It looks older in real life. And you can tell mainly because you can see how short the doors are and how small the windows are, which is difficult to capture in a person-less photo.
Following the traumatic Americana event, the cool old pub, and other interesting sights. I came across this field of sheep on my left. The sun was shining, the clouds were puffy, and it just all looked magical. Faith in English charm restored, I snapped this photo:
Sheep friends. And in the distance you can make out a stone tower through the trees, I knew I was getting close to my destination.
After gazing at the sheep and the green fields for a few minutes, I pushed forward and turned left off of the busy highway and went down a country road, eventually arriving at the gates of Blenheim:
I talked them into giving me the student discount for entry (it wasn't hard, I was on a rusty bike with a lion king bell), and proudly cycled around the grounds in the bitter cold (but sunny!) weather. I was happy I had to take my bike, because only one other person was cycling around, and all the other poor souls had to walk because they drove here, in cars (no pity). The grounds are vast, and it would have taken forever for me to walk to all of the destinations. I had a half day to see all that Blenheim Palace had to offer, so I cycled up the path to the grassy knoll that led up to the Column of Victory, which you can barely make out in the distance here:
This is the left front side of the Palace:
These are the front gates. The sun was not my friend (rather, its angle wasn't):
But here is a better one:
Whizzing on from the front gates, I went toward the Column of Victory (as mentioned) and went over the bridge and river:
And here is that bridge I was on from further away, at a different entrance to the Palace grounds (Palace on the far left):
I watched out for pheasants:
I decided to park Gladys and continue on foot to the Column of Victory:
Wow, I trod on so much poop to get to this column of victory thing, it was almost traumatic. I went through a veritable mine field of fecal matter to get to this place, thinking the whole time that this old memorial to some pompous, wealthy, Churchill ancestor and his battle victories BETTER be worth it, because my Toms might never recover from this horror. I turned and snapped a photo of the criminals responsible for such a mess:
I looked down at one point and saw a smudge of something brown on my ankle. Please be dirt, I thought. And moved on. The Column got closer, as I dodged more and more of the mines (by the way, I was always terrible at the game minesweeper, I don't know why):
Closer:
Finally, I arrived at the base of it!
All of this writing is just to say that a dude back in 1705 won a great battle victory for the Queen, the Queen was happy, gave the dude title of Duke, Duke gets to build Blenheim Palace (after the name of the battle he won) and so on and forevermore is the 1st Duke of Marlborough (the 11th currently resides here):
Me at the base of the Column:
There is a Julius Caesar figure at the top, for victory I guess:
On the trudge back, couldn't help but glance at these fellows again, thanking them for the experience. It was a ball, really. Doing the poop-avoidance dance up to the column of victory was definitely in the cards for such a beautiful Tuesday. Thanks, sheep. (I think I made lamb for dinner that night, I really showed them).
Column of victory-ing over, I decided to get into the Palace and get warm:
Yep, then she happened:
It was inevitable, I suppose. But she actually gave a pretty amusing tour, and I joined in for part of it. She was in character as one of the old 18th century housemaids of the Palace, and all about ghosts and scaring the little kids. At one point, she was talking in a whisper about some previous Duke being dead and haunting one of the bedrooms, and then she let out a blood curdling shriek right in the middle of it, interrupting her own whisper-speech, and a kid watching fell to the floor. Needless to say, it made my day.
A ceiling in the foyer, they spared no expense and the Palace took 25 years to build I think, and even then it wasn't finished:
A cool directional clock:
More from the foyer:
I found myself in the room where Winston Churchill was born:
There was a tableau outside the bedroom with paraphernalia, including his honorary American citizen passport and letter from John F. Kennedy, which I looked ruefully at, wondering why I couldn't be good enough to be given honorary citizenship somewhere. Oh right, it's Winston Churchill we're talking about.
Moving on:
I loved all of these rooms, and their blatant excess. This tapestry was actually really cool, and one of the historians said it took 200 men EIGHT YEARS to complete, and it was so tightly woven that it looks like a painting (it is depicting the battle of Blenheim, in Germany I think, where the first Duke won the victory that gave him dukedom and the palace):
One of the Duchesses rocked two or three of her babies in this cradle, can you imagine? It's like solid gold and modeled from a famous one in Italy:
Library:
It's pretty sad to see books caged, but there were some valuable ones so it makes sense:
This library room was my favorite room. Very long, big, and open, with tall ripply glass windows on the left looking out into the gardens. There real reason it was my favorite, though, is because it was this room that was converted into a hospital and convalescent home during WWI, and that era is so fascinating to me. They even had a photo on the wall that was taken during the War, to show how many beds there were. I looked all over the wood floors and noticed the scratches where the iron beds would have been placed and moved, not to mention a few dark stains that could have been dried blood from long ago. It almost gave me chills- so fascinating!
View from library out to gardens:
More library, from the other side of the room:
The organ in the library:
Caged philosophy books:
After walking the length of the library, you exit and walk through a breezeway over to the chapel.
Statue in the chapel:
Chapel:
View from upstairs in the foyer, because I had to go through the Palace a second time!
Following a second tour around the Palace, just in case I missed anything, I collected my bike and rode through the town of Woodstock. It sits nestled in the shadow of the grand palace, and probably gets its name because yeah:
They are stocks, and they are made of wood…But Wikipedia disagrees! Since the town was established before the 1300s, it says that the name Woodstock came from the words for "clearing in the wood" (wodestock).
This town was apparently the birthplace of Edward, the Black Prince, in 1330.
I have a deep respect and fondness for a town with cool alleys (Fredericksburg VA excels at this). But so does Woodstock! Such cool old little stone buildings and alleyways galore, I could get lost roaming around this tiny town for hours.
Literary nerd moment:
All in all, a nice time at Blenheim and Woodstock. Heartily recommend. Adios!
