Welcome back, readers, to Travel Tuesdays with Serena where this week I’ll be writing about my travels on my days off from school and my horrible, horrible planning skills that almost led me to multiple panic attacks. (I’m fine now).
After settling into classes and getting a pretty solid daily routine going, I found myself getting extremely bored. At UOW, I worked and studied and had extracurriculars but here I have none of that – just a few classes. So, on an impulsive Friday morning I decided to buy a coach ticket to Yorkshire (about 2 hours north from where I am currently) and get a room in a hotel from the coach. Well, in doing this, I accidentally booked both the coach and hotel 2 hours away from my destination… Not the best organisational skills but I get along.
Let’s rewind a second. Basically, I wanted to visit the moors that inspired Wuthering Heights – because it’s my favourite book and I love the Brontës in general – but I got confused with which moors to go see and booked everything close to the wrong ones. Luckily, (but also silly of me) the moors closest to me, which I thought were the right ones, were closed during the weekend (I didn’t think moors could be open or closed but oh well). I quickly scrambled to find something interesting nearby to go see and found that the Brontë museum (their actual house) was only 2 hours by train. I realised on the train that the right moors were right by their house which makes so much sense now. (Don’t judge me, I’ve never travelled on my own before – can you tell?)
Of course, this whole plan of getting to the museum was also impulsively chosen at 11am at the hotel, so, naturally I ran to catch the last bus going to the train station in time and in my rush forgot my trusty portable charger. Dear reader, don’t be like me. Always remember a charger when travelling alone.
Anyway, I got to the train in time, had some lunch and waited and waited and waited for each train. I found the train ride to be one of the most relaxing of my life. A good book and hours of soft swaying side to side with the frosted greenery travelling fast past us. I obviously brought my battered and bruised copy of Wuthering Heights with me and got well halfway through the entire book before arriving at my destination.
Once off the train, I had exactly 2 minutes to get to the bus stop that would take me up a very steep and snowy hill to the Brontë Museum and I was stressed. It didn’t help that the train station had the most confusing exit ever and I obviously embarrassed myself close to 6 times – going back and forth and back and forth between platforms before figuring out where the exit was on my original platform. I swear the people were looking at me like I was on crack. But, alas, I made it to the bus and very excitedly got on with a group of old ladies that seemed equally as ecstatic.
Travelling up the hill on the Charlotte Brontë bus, I took about a million photos of the moors (the right ones finally) and almost cried, feeling myself so close to the place of origin of my favourite novel and authors. Once again, crazy looks. Going up, I got to see lots of snow which I haven’t seen in a very long time and got nostalgic of my time in Italy.
The bus, being a tourist-y one, dropped us off right in front of the main street where all the nice shops and restaurants were so a two-minute walk led me straight to the Brontë house where I had to stand outside for a good 10 minutes to collect myself because I was getting way too emotional. I went around and paid for admission and the kind lady informed me of the year-long admittance with the one ticket – it’s safe to say I’m guarding that ticket with my life and will definitely return once the season changes.
Walking inside the house was an absolute fever dream – at least it was for me (there were little kids running about not giving two you-know-whats about the place). Why bring your kids to places of culture when they can’t even form proper sentences yet? Anyway, most of the house was closed off but the few rooms that were open were straight out of a movie. I could just imagine the sisters walking about with their huge dresses and imagined how difficult that would’ve been inside such a small, quaint house.
I cried. If you’re a book freak like me you can understand my emotional state at the moment. I saw the couch where Emily Brontë passed away and the church where Patrick Brontë worked (and where the whole family is buried). I saw the churchyard in front of their house from which Emily’s ghost stories were inspired and the trail to the moors where the sisters took their daily walk. For a moment, I was a part of the place. I spent 3 more hours in the house than I had planned and finally, with 20% remaining on my phone, reluctantly decided to head back.
I managed to book an Uber back to the hotel and text the driver that my phone was on 1% before it died. The 10 minute wait for the Uber was the most stressful moment of my life – you know, after the whole 33 hour trip here – especially since there was a group of drunk men waiting for their Uber right next to me. I noticed I had been holding my breath a bit when I saw my Uber driving towards me and let out a relief-filled sigh. The Uber driver told me I was “a very lucky girl” in a thick Turkish accent and so I made it back to the hotel in one piece.
The next day I checked out of my hotel room and thanked the very nice ladies at the reception before getting a bus to the train station and two trains back to Nottingham. I had a look around the city centre before realising I was absolutely destroyed so I got on a tram and went home.
I hope you enjoyed reading my travel journey and if you did make sure to catch next week’s column where I’ll be talking about the crazy happenings out in the UK clubs and bars and of my adventures past 2am.
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