In 1998, I was volunteering in the Lake District in North England. On my random breaks from my full-time position, I would scurry away to Stratford-Upon-Avon to visit my favorite bard, William Shakespeare. I paid a menial five pounds to stand at the back of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and gaze in awe of the actors portraying my favorite characters on stage. One after the other, I sat through a handful of shows in only three days time. I wandered the streets of Stratford searching for more Shakespeare to sink my teeth into.
One day, the woman who was allowing me a spare room for the visit, took me to the Shakespeare Institute. Upon arrival, I knew that it would become my mecca, a place where I would have to study erelong. For weeks I obsessed about the Institute, wondering how I could become a student there, how I could be a scholar of Shakespeare, like those dwelling in the somehow sacred halls.
For years I thought about the Institute, and occasionally wrote them in curiosity about how I too could be a part of their alumni. After learning I would need a Bachelor's degree in Theatre, I set to work to receive my degree. In preparing for the summer break between my two final years of university studies, I found out about a Shakespeare Summer School at the University of Cambridge in England. Eyes open with enthusiasm, I applied to the school and was accepted to the program.
I was elated at the thought of being with other scholars, surrounding myself with others like me, who were thought of as theatre geeks or Shakespeare nerds. I spent a few weeks preparing for the journey, even visiting Stratford again before the program started. I lost myself in the performances, wandering aimlessly through the town again, finding myself at the doorstep of the Institute. I pulled myself away, and focused on reading in preparation for my courses. I booked a stay at the Cambridge Youth Hostel for the duration of my stay, and eagerly flounced off to wrap myself up in the complete works of Shakespeare.
Arriving in Cambridge, I couldn't find my hostel. The map was wrong, the streets weren't right...I was lost. After winding streets and swirling round-abouts, I finally found the hostel literally MILES from the campus. I was anxious to sleep, and was disgusted to learn that they had forgotten about me...so I slept on the couch in the hostel's living room for one night.
The next morning, I walked into town and registered for my classes. I found other Americans who were just as excited about Shakespeare as I was (definitely not something I was used to.) We decided to walk about the town, and stumbled on a Starbucks. I was sick..."a Starbucks in Cambridge? I thought I left this at home!" My previous visits to England were Starbucks free, and since I worked there at home, I was generally non-plussed at seeing their glaring neon sign in a city that was supposed to inspire with its great architecture and historical significance.
As classes started, I was overcome with excitement about what all I would be learning. My favorite teacher was enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and uber friendly. I was overcome when I learned that she was now the head of the Shakespeare Institute. I was on my way! The excitement quickly became nausea as I realized the actual size and expectancy of our assignments. I made fast friends with women who taught at different high schools in the US. We formed a Cambridge Karaoke Society, and found ourselves wailing out horrible 80's rock tunes at a local pub. We studied late into the night, and I gave in to the lure of the coffeehouse and often found myself seeking solace at the Starbucks I once despised.
Cambridge life was exciting, new, and altogether educational. On one of our last nights at the University, we heard of a lottery to hear a lecture from the world's greatest mind in science. Truthfully, I hadn't heard of the name mentioned, so I completely ignored it. After leaving a lecture taking place at the same time, a group of us wandered behind the lecture hall to see what all of the fuss was about. As the large group waiting slowly dwindled, the few of us remaining waited to see who was coming out the back door. To my surprise, it was Stephen Hawking...Stephen Hawking. The greatest mind of our time wheeled right out there door, smiling, "hello ladies," in a robotic happy tune.
No one seems thrilled at the thought of studying Shakespeare in England...but countless numbers of people are awed by Hawking and his genius. In a town where punting down the river Cam and sharing a pint at the pub are the norm, I found two very unlikely things that have become my memory of Cambridge. Opening up to the possibility of actually liking Americana in another country, I was able to really let myself experience England. Allowing myself to explore and search, I was privileged to meet the greatest mind of our time, despite the fact that I didn't recognize his name...
I have completed my degree in Theatre, and am anxiously awaiting the day when I can afford a return to England, ready to finish my Master's degree in Shakespeare at the Institute of Stratford-Upon-Avon. Too bad you can't pay for a degree with fond memories...
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