31.08.12 - (Woodstock, UK)
About forty minutes from Oxford in Oxfordshire is a little village called Woodstock. It is known primarily as the location of the 2500 acre estate,
Blenheim Palace, which Queen Anne gave to John Churchill, First Duke of Marlborough, in the 18th century, in honor of his service and victories along the Danube against the French and Bavarian armies. The palace was built in the early 18th century by Sir John Vanbrugh, but under dispute by its owner Sarah Churchill, forced a redesign soon after. It was later redesigned by the aptly named Capability Brown, who has given it its current shape and landscape.
It is primarily a World Heritage Site, but it's also a residence. I'm told that the Duke of Marlborough is a very unlikable chap but that he still lives in the portions of the palace that are marked as private. It's big enough, it seems for a Duke and Duchess and about a thousand tourists.
And the tourists flock to see the place where Winston Churchill was born, 30 November 1874. No big deal. This is the place:
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| Well, he was born in there. Not in the courtyard, in case you were wondering. |
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A stupid face! Proof I didn't just
pull these photos from the web. |
Yeah, it's no wonder people hate the aristocracy.
Blenheim Palace is huge. Mammoth. It makes one feel diminutive, peewee, bantam, mousey. Its gates tower over you. Its space rivals Disneyland. You look up and kink your neck to see it's columns and then you see the sky, perhaps angered by the hubris of such a building, gathering in gray deposits above you.
"Britain's Greatest Palace" reads the pamphlet. Yeah, I need to read the pamphlet like I need a kick to the head. Blenheim is basically "palace on rails" meaning that you can't stray too far one way or the other without getting dragged out and reminded that you're just a peasant here. Go this way, go that way. See what they want you to see. We're all just peasants here, ogling what we'll never know or understand. I'm not bitter about it. The place is beautiful. It is incredible. It makes the Hearst "castle" of San Simeon look like an exercise in futility. At Blenheim, any overt megalamania, a la Hearst, has been naturalized and dispersed in the architecture. It's grand, but it isn't gaudy. It's functional and traditional. Blenheim was not built to be looked at. This is a palace that you're supposed to
not look at.
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| I wasn't supposed to take this photo. |
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| I wasn't supposed to take this photo either. Sorry that it's tilted, they're always watching you in the UK. |
After I wander through the Churchill exhibit, see the bed where he was born (seriously), and look at a collection of his academy citations and listen to his most famous speech, I head out to the gardens. I have said only moments ago that Blenheim is a place that you do not look at, and that' true, it's a place that you just walk through, content, no honored, to be there. That's what you're probably supposed to feel. I don't feel any of that. For the first time since arriving in Cambridge, I feel inexplicably
othered. The proper young lad routine is gone forever. This feeling is reinforced by the innocuous sign to the right, which I find standing in the garden, English passive- aggressiveness at it's most diabolical: refined into a small white powder that citizens swirl into their afternoon tea and eat with digestives. I think of
Bioshock, and then I think that England, this real place,
is Rapture. The sudden feeling of waking. Would visitors kindly note gardens close at 6pm? I do not have a choice; it has been noted.
This feeling of otherness perhaps began when I arrived at Jane's. I've met two Australians, one German, one Japanese, one Chinese. My hosts are Scottish. They are like mirrors to my Americanism, they reflect it back to me. But my hosts are hyper aware of their own idiosyncrasies, so I cannot reflect anything back. How do you say it in America? How do people do this in America? Neither my Cambridge compatriots, even the ones who liked talking about difference casually and critically, who have helped me acclimate to England, nor any of the people I met in Edinburgh, whose company I enjoyed greatly, have made me feel so
incredibly American before.
"There's that big American smile!" Jane has said right before taking a photo. (Do people not smile in other countries? What makes my smile American? It should be Austrian, German, Polish, mixed up, nondescript. I don't understand.) Do you have marmalade in the US? You should try the lemon curd spread. (We have those too.) You say "I'm going to go do it"-- it should be "go and do it". (I didn't say that or bring it up.) We've picked up all sorts of these Americanisms like that here in England. It's terrible!
Yes. This is terrible. I enjoy talking about other cultures, even about my culture--such as it is--but for some reason I do not enjoy this. I get the sense that Jane enjoys other cultures but more enjoys relishing in pointing out difference.
Here's a pathway, you don't use footpaths in your country do you? Never. We all think they're for squares. (Okay, okay, now I'm being a jerk.But I am skeptical of someone who doesn't understand or like the
Big Lebowski.) Actually, I
do like the family here; they're friendly and have a lot to say. They're well educated. The food has been good. The accommodations are comfortable and quiet....
Okay, back to the palace. As I was saying, it's big, and the total property is somewhere between massive and gargantuan. There are two lakes. There is a bridge. There are a few homes on the estate for groundskeepers. Someone I run into, from the States, asks me if I'm a "big Churchill fan" and I'm not sure how to respond. I think I say "oh he's pretty good," stupidly, as though I'm talking about the performance of a football player.
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| Because, you know, a waterfall totally brings the grounds together. |
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| If you haven't noticed, I really like crazy looking trees. England is full of them. |
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| I suppose this is the "money shot"? |
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| These are the Italian gardens, they were off-limits to visitors, but I am tall enough to get a few decent photos of it. |
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| I'm pretty sure this needs no explanation. |
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A statue of the 1st Earl of Marlborough. You can probably see that the text, on the base
of the monument is in the shape of a cross, you know, because it's England. |
After walking around the estate and up to the statue, I head to the "Pleasure Gardens," wherein lies "Acorn Oakbot," several miniature town pieces that are being repaired, a playground, fountain, and a
hedge maze!
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| This is "Acorn Oakbot" and he's my new best friend. I didn't name him, that's what the signage said. |
A HEDGE MAZE!!!
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| A HEDGE MAZE!!!! |
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| A FREAKING HEDGE MAZE!!!!!!! |
Alright, I feel better. Until next time.
Posts
About forty minutes from Oxford in Oxfordshire is a little village called Woodstock. It is known primarily as the location of the 2500 acre estate, Blenheim Palace, which Queen Anne gave to John Churchill, First Duke of Marlborough, in the 18th century, in honor of his service and victories along the Danube against the French and Bavarian armies. The palace was built in the early 18th century by Sir John Vanbrugh, but under dispute by its owner Sarah Churchill, forced a redesign soon after. It was later redesigned by the aptly named Capability Brown, who has given it its current shape and landscape.
After I wander through the Churchill exhibit, see the bed where he was born (seriously), and look at a collection of his academy citations and listen to his most famous speech, I head out to the gardens. I have said only moments ago that Blenheim is a place that you do not look at, and that' true, it's a place that you just walk through, content, no honored, to be there. That's what you're probably supposed to feel. I don't feel any of that. For the first time since arriving in Cambridge, I feel inexplicably othered. The proper young lad routine is gone forever. This feeling is reinforced by the innocuous sign to the right, which I find standing in the garden, English passive- aggressiveness at it's most diabolical: refined into a small white powder that citizens swirl into their afternoon tea and eat with digestives. I think of Bioshock, and then I think that England, this real place, is Rapture. The sudden feeling of waking. Would visitors kindly note gardens close at 6pm? I do not have a choice; it has been noted.
"There's that big American smile!" Jane has said right before taking a photo. (Do people not smile in other countries? What makes my smile American? It should be Austrian, German, Polish, mixed up, nondescript. I don't understand.) Do you have marmalade in the US? You should try the lemon curd spread. (We have those too.) You say "I'm going to go do it"-- it should be "go and do it". (I didn't say that or bring it up.) We've picked up all sorts of these Americanisms like that here in England. It's terrible!
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