The sun is high in the sky, the drums lie on the grass and under them the frost melts. The silence around them is only jagged by a buzz of voices that now speak almost whispering so as not to wake up the sky, not to disturb the rough stones of Stonehenge while they rest undisturbed.
The sun has silenced us by putting an end to the party, all that remains for us to do is to walk back across the lawn in a tired, dangling and disorderly Indian row. Next to me, the druid pilgrims yawn without covering their mouths, the jugglers drag their tools, the blankets are rewound and put in their backpacks. Nobody wants to talk, everything has been said. We quietly get on the shuttle and reach the nearest village: Salisbury.
Read the story of Day 1: Interrail in Southern England. Day 1 – Summer Solstice in Stonehenge
Arriving at the station we walk towards the cathedral with the intention of going to see the Magna Charta. But our attention is boycotted by an inviting perfume coming out of a rather small, dark, almost hidden restaurant with red and white checkered curtains hanging from the windows, reminiscent of the small marzipan house of fairy tales. We look out and a smiling lady makes us sit by the window. We have an extra large English breakfast consisting of eggs, beans, cheese toast, tomatoes and pancakes – vegetarian for me, with bacon for Maritina. Godly goodness!
Here, for the record, I should open a brief parenthesis on the dinner the day before. In fact, although I don’t have any pictures of the succulent breakfast, I have irrefutable proof of my lack of Italianness and also of a certain lack of style. Well, on the morning of my departure I had to cook something to take away and at that moment the only thing I found was some pasta. Stop. Since I didn’t have anything to season it with, I used some ketchup packets and the final result is the one shown here in the picture.
In my defence I can say that, to date, I don’t eat (almost) pasta and ketchup anymore. But pizza and ketchup do (and pizza and mayonnaise too). I know, I know, but what can I do? Anyway, let’s skip my strange habits and go back to Salisbury…
We enter the majestic and beautiful cathedral, which, as Wikipedia reminds us, holds one of the four copies of the Magna Charta, a medieval legislative document that dots the “i’s” and dashes the “t’s” on complicated and intricate issues of feudal law. We left the cathedral and after imitating the statue, we lay down on the lawn and took a nap.
After a nap, a coffee and a train ride, we arrive at Plymouth. We head straight to the youth hostel and book two beds in the dormitory. We drop our backpacks and go to discover the city. We are struck by the uniqueness of the lighthouse, Smeaton’s Tower: not an ordinary, anonymous concrete column but rather painted in red and white stripes! Smeaton’s Tower towers above the bay and stands out against the sky in contrast to the green of the lawn and the blue of the sea.
A curious and ironic fact and that today’s lighthouse is not the place of origin. In fact, the striped lighthouse replaces another lighthouse off the coast of Plymouth, which was signalling to sailors the presence of dangerous rocks (Eddystone Rocks). Alas, this lighthouse burned in a fire (which is why ironic: a fire in the middle of the sea!) and the striped lighthouse replaced it. After a century and a little longer they realised that the water was eroding the rocks on which the lighthouse was resting and, to prevent the collapse, it was dismantled and placed on the hill of Plymouth Hoe. From there it overlooked the town and the harbour.
Of Plymouth I remember it was nice to walk in the alleys at sunset, along the canals, watch the seagulls and breathe the sea air in a relaxed atmosphere.
Anyway, tired to death, we went to bed early.
