Re-thinking the Re-thought

My thesis is changing quite significantly in view of the responses I have been getting in my interviews.

Originally, I was trying to come up with a system (or at least a guideline) for classifying Neo-Pagan groups. Already, scholars have tried classifying them according to the sources they use, where they live, what they believe, what they do, and what they call themselves. I was trying to explore the possibility of classifying groups by the intent of the practitioner. But I have realized that nearly every Neo-pagan has a different purpose in practicing his religion! So there goes that idea.

Then, I realized I was thinking about it in the wrong direction. Instead of going from the individual to the classification, why not go from the classification to the individual?

Now, I'm trying to distribute questionnaires and interviewing people that are already in a specific tradition such as Druidry, Heathenry, Wicca, or Goddess-Worship. I am asking the individuals what draws them to that specific tradition, so instead trying to classify already uncertain people, I am using the people to define the classifications! I think that this is quite a different attitude than has been felt before. Since paganism is so tied with personal spirituality, why wouldn't I use the individuals to further define these vague, contested labels.

I also have a faint suspicion that New Agers and Neo-Pagans are the last people that should be thrown together, which they often are. I think the attitude and intent of the practitioners are completely disparate. But I will soon find out whether they intentionally draw that line, or if it is a difference in political views to the extent that it seems like a true disparity.

Anyway, I thought you might like to hear something about my actual research for a change.

On the Cuisine of the English

English food has a reputation in America for being made of of parts unfit to eat. Therefore, we Americans also believe, English food must then be unfit to eat...
'Their food is too cool and their beer too warm' we say.
However, at this point in my jouney I have made a point to sample every traditional English dish I come across, and I must say that the people who originally came up with the idea that the English make bad food was just jealous.
Their food is delicious. It is true that much of their food is served closer to room temperature. But the things that really should be hot, like soup, are kept hot, as well as the tea. The worst tea in Britain is better than a mediocre tea in America. We, however, know how to brew coffee. The English...eh.
The beer is almost all real ale, and lagers are thought of as rather silly by many Englishmen.You can ask for it 'normal' or 'cold,'which means the difference of about 4 degrees Centigrade. But that's not the half of it.
I didn't like the idea of a meat pie... I've never quite liked pot pie or shepherd's pie...
But there is something delicious about a steak & ale pie, or a steak & kidney (yeah! a steak & kidney). I've been told that they're especially good in Northumbria, so I can barely wait.
The first time I bit into a British sausage, I flinched. I'm used to ALL MEAT sausages. In England, the percentage of meat is, well... unpredictable at best. Your more likely to find fat, flour, sugar, and spice. They're really quite delicious when you get used to them. How I like it best, however is around a Scotch Egg, which is a hard-boiled egg, wrapped in English sausage, then covered in bread crumbs and fried.
Chutney is an Indian thing originally, but the English have done quite well with it. It's nice on crackers and toast.
I hate liver usually, but I think the English actually know how to cook it. I even ate pate, which is a liver-like paste, and I thought it was delicious.
My favorite so far, though, has been the experience of treacle. What a big deal Alice in Wonderland makes of this substance of which I knew nothing...what was I missing?!
Treacle is the most delicious thing to happen to sugar since honey. I now want a treacle well in my backyard, even if there are two girls learning to draw from it involved.
Treacle tart, treacle pudding, treacle cake... I could eat it all, anytime. It's delicious.

Even they call biscuits 'scones,' cookies 'biscuits,' and whatever else, I have a feeling that us Americans have grossly misjudged the English when it comes to cooking. Sure, they may eat the 'foul' (the more unpleasant part of the animal), but a long time ago, when English cooking was just starting, the peasants gave all the flesh (meat) to the lords. They had to find out what to do with liver, kidneys, and fat. Well, I can now tell you from experience that they have found plenty of ways to make the foul anything but foul. Sure, they may eat a lot of strange parts, but they serve it in smaller portions, and don't waste a drop (a leftover from the rationing period).

All in all, the English can cook. Well. Did someone say treacle? I might not lose wait after all.

Quick Update

Today I meet a favorite philosopher of mine. I've been looking forward to this for months now and I hope that I don't come off as an idiot.

Here are some pictures from yesterday's exploration. After my meeting today, I'll be going to the Eagle & Child pub, where the Inklings met!

The Radcliffe Camera, which used to be a theological library

The incredible view from the St. Mary's tower.

Looking up St. Mary's tower.

And back down the winding medieval staircase.

The meadows where Lewis Carrol walked, writing Alice in Wonderland.

From Rose Hill

I am right now in Oxford, city of Strength and Truth, with a nice and hospitable family. Tomorrow I shall go exploring and picture-taking, and end up with a nice family in a town adjoining Oxford. Today was a bit stressful...although I woke up really late, I still am a bit tired. I spent some time at a town called Lechlade, writing in my journal, wandering in a massive antiques arcade, and watching ENGLAND WIN. I don't usually enjoy sports at all, but there is something exhilarating about getting behind an entire country and watching them triumph. It was a great game to watch, as well. Exploring a beautiful little out-of-the-way church made me late for my bus to Swindon, and I hitch-hiked instead, which turned out really well. A nice guy picked me up and drove out of his way to take me to my destination. On the way there, ironically, we talked about how tragic it was that people didn't seem to trust one another enough to hitch-hike anymore.
While I waited for the bus to take me to Oxford with an affable Philippine girl, there was a group of drunken homeless men with two pitbulls. One of them sat next to me and took my pipe and drew on it! Believe me, that stem is soaking in bleach before I'll have it again!
A few of them were on the road to Oxford, and as the Philippine girl was afraid of drunk men & dogs, she sat looking terrified in the front (next to them) until I came and got her. Their conversations were horrific to the point of comedy. On the way out, the bus driver said, "you can't buy entertainment like that." Then, he chuckled to himself and said, "Fortunately..."

Staying in a tent again tonight. This time though, with an air mattress and blankets. Fortunately.

Cheers.

Great Day Near Swindon

This morning, I had a spectacular breakfast from the B&B lady (cottled eggs, back bacon, fruit salad, hash brown, and toast with local comb honey) and went on my way. I doddered around Devises for a bit, stopping to get some batteries (my battery charger broke!), and in 'Famous Shambles Antique Market,' in which I purchased two pipes for a scandalously low price.  I then took the bus to Swindon, where I was picked up by my first Couchsurfer: MacCauley. When he picked me up, I was still visibly exhausted and a bit sick. In fact, he told me later that he thought that I might have 'had too much of a good time at Stonehenge.' But after a refreshing shower, I perked up immensely and he took time out of his day to taxi me to some great places in the area. First, he took me to see the Uffington White Horse, a huge Neolithic monument near the highest point in Oxfordshire. He told me that up till about seven years ago, all of the local villagers would come up to the Uffington Horse, re-chalk it, roll cheeses down the hill, and have a gigantic festival on the nearby Iron-Age hillfort. Industrialization, however, caused all of the villagers to move to Swindon, so now the festival is completely gone, which is very sad. In the valley under the horse, there is a hill with a very interesting legend (although it is not factually true at all). The hill is called St. George's mound, or Dragon Hill, so named because it is the traditional site of St. George's slaying of the Dragon. There is a half-moon shape of chalk on the apex of the hill, which you can see below, where it is said that the dragon bled, and now no plants will grow there. The valley itself is said to be where the dragon lived.
After we saw those great things, MacCauley took me walking down the oldest known road in Europe -- Ridgeway. People have been using that road for 4,000 years or more by now, which, as he said, is quite humbling indeed. Along the road, we made a detour for a long barrow, where there was not only a rich cultural background, but a practicing Neo-pagan (Heathan) performing a little personal reverence to the people buried here. Needless to say, I took the oppurtunity to interview he and his wife, and that was quite nice.
Next, my intrepid couchsurfing friend and I found a little copse (private grove) where rituals had taken place, the pictures of which you will see below. We walked up the path, got in the car, visited a little pub called the Trout Inn (on the Thames river, no less!), and saw a 'tithe barn,' where peasants would put their lord's share of the crop. Then we went through picturesque village after idyllic hamlet until we were home again, where I tried smoking one of my new pipes, and he cooked a delicious curry. All in all, it has been a downright incredible day.
Tomorrow I will be browsing around in the famous antique shops of nearby Lechlade, and will get a bus from there to Oxford. Only two days until I meet Roger Scruton! There are, of course, many, many reasons I want to go to Oxford, but Scruton is chief among them, frankly.
Hope you enjoy the pictures below...

Uffington White Horse's head

The highest point in Oxfordshire

St. George's Mount, the legendary location of the slain dragon

The edge of the hillfort. Rolling cheeses down it seems fun!

 

The Neo-Pagan honoring the ancestors associated with the land

The Barrow, or Wayland's Smithy

Looking back to White Horse Vale from the mouth of the grove... Ridgeway stretching back in both distance and time.

The little grove we found

An arrangement of rocks left by a Neo-Pagan to honor Mother Earth  (Note the hard-to-see spiral pattern). It had a stick of incense next to it, half burned.

From Hellish to Heavenly

The last few days have been...interesting.

First of all, I met some absolutely incredible people--an old couple that I met at Salisbury camp site, where I stayed for a night in my tent that is as big as a dog house. They were going to an event at Old Sarum (the nearby iron-age hillfort) called Romans & Barbarians...they themselves were specialists in Anglo-Saxon history. At the event, which was small-scale but avoided being cheesy, I met some of the most incredible people... and suddenly, here were early medieval combat re-enactors offering that I stay on their campsite on old Sarum itself. Of course I accepted, and a night of medieval festivities ensued. I also had my first interview for my research with a heathan (practicer of the Norse/Saxon religion), who was, honestly, one of the most genuine people I have ever met.

However, the roaring fires were not to last. When I went to bed, I realized that, in Britain, it gets cold at night. I mean, really, really cold. Apparently the 'average summer temperature' does not account for nighttime. Also, the inside of my tent gets a massive amount of condensation, making every droplet that falls with the slightest movement like a ball of ice. When I was at the Salisbury campsite, it rained, but it wasn't too cold. Well, the night on Old Sarum was too cold. I have no coat, no sweater... it was miserable.

In the morning, I woke up and didn't worry about changing-- I had on a long-sleeve shirt and pants, and I spent most of the day with the re-enactment troupe. But, I had things to do, namely, go to the summer solstice celebration at Stonehenge. In the evening, I walked about 13 miles up to Stonehenge. I was in for a wierd night.

Until sunset, I watched the Stonehenge order of Druids perform there rituals, and afterwards, interviewed their newest initiate, a very nice girl. I then had some magnificent conversations with some of the higher-up druids in the group about their mission.

Seeing the Stones was incredible. However, in between the stones, what was happening was not a gathering of reverent pagans, but a massive party of irreverent, loud, drunk teenagers. I felt a bit ashamed. Then it got cold.
As I said, I have no coat, and the clothes that I wear are light and allow air to pass through. This is a bad thing when it is 20 degrees outside. Now, I have what the English call 'hay fever,' a mixture of allergic reactions and a bad cold. I pronounce Stonehenge a success because the research gained there was important (even key) to my research. Great pictures, too (See Below) . But otherwise, that was a miserable, miserable night.
When the morning finally came (at about 4:57 am), I took some quick pictures and then rushed to get on a bus to Salisbury (from whence I would go to Avebury). After walking 13 miles, then standing for more than 8 hours, the mile and a half hike to the bus was excruciating. Finally in Salisbury, I made my way to Avebury, only to find out that there was no accomodation for under 50 pounds! I got a tip to try Devizes, a pleasant nearby town that I could get to from a cheap bus service, because they have a Travelodge, which supposedly charges 19 pounds a night. Great! After waiting with the Avebury Antiques store owner for more than an hour, I finally made it to the Travelodge...only to find out from the lady at the front that I have to book online three weeks in advance in order to get that rate... otherwise it would be, you guessed it, 50 pounds.
By that time (aobut 5:00 pm), I am disheartened, still cold from the night before, sick, sore, and irritable. I took the yellow pages and started calling every B&B that I could find. Finally, a woman answered the phone and gave me a reasonable price, and when I asked how expensive the taxis were in Devizes, she offered to come and pick me up.
This wonderful lady has now brought me to her beautiful house, let me use her computer, gave me a cup of much-needed tea in an authentic English garden, fed me a very nice meal, and let me shower. The shower was the most refreshing thing I have done in ages; the problem is, since this was the first time I had taken off my shoes in more than 32 hours, I discovered a horrible thing: The tips of both big toes are completely frostbitten. Just so you know I wasn't exaggerating the cold.
But I feel much better now. I have been enchanted time and time again by the polite generosity and abundant kindness of the English people. Tomorrow, a couchsurfer is picking me up from Avebury, and I'll be staying in Swindon for a couple of nights... with a computer and electricity and a soft place to sleep. As for now, I will go finish my tea in the beautiful garden out back.
Cheers (as the English say)



 

I call it "The Tube in Which I Live"

Old Sarum Hill

Re-enacting... What a great picture!

RomanoBritish Sentries

The camp where the re-enactors stayed

Sunset over Old Sarum

STONEHENGE

The Statue of the Ancestor of the Druids
This was made of thousands of pieces of
metal, spot-welded together.

A Druid High Priest Blesses the crowd.

That is magic if I've ever seen it.

As the sun rose, the sky turned red.

And then Gold.

Then, the sun finally broke through.

Morris dancing, a traditional English folk dance.

 

 

The beautiful little garden at the bed & breakfast where I am.

Good Morning, Salisbury!

Journey in the bus to Salisbury

The ancient-looking King's Head Inn

 Inside the Salisbury Cathedral

From the Bed & Breakfast window

These are just a few pictures, but more will come soon! Old Sarum today, and a walk into those hills you see in the last picture.

Airports, Wiltshire, and on being Home.

I am in ENGLAND!
Despite an inordinately long wait at Heathrow for my bus, the trip from London to Salisbury was incredible! The countryside started out looking like Pennsylvania or East Texas, even, but the, as we passed through Andover (which was such a beautiful little town that I would probably be happy to live out my entire life there), the landscape changed into these beautiful rolling hills with woods and groves...
Needless to say, I am thrilled to be here! Now if I could find a place to stay... (my couchsurfer can only host one night!).
I'm safe, sound, a bit hungry, and giddily happy.


As I told a guy from Birmingham when we landed on England's pastures green (or tarmac black), I know it's silly, but it feels to me as if I've just come home.
 
 

Leaving on a Jet Plane...

Tomorrow, I am leaving to go to England for the first time in my life. I can hardly wait!
It is likely that I will not go to Ireland, and only a bit of Scotland. Ferries and/or planes from the English coast to Ireland are expensive, and since my research does not address Irish paganism, I feel it would be a waste of precious money. Instead, I'm thinking about visiting Cornwall and Wales, and going to Oxford twice instead of a measly four days.
Cell phone calls from America are a ridiculous amount of money, so no one call me! Just email me or comment on my blog to communicate.

Pictures, notes, happenstances, apologies, and complaints are liable to be on this page from here on out, beginning with this one:
Because of my horrible habit of procrastination (and also due to the fact that the particular task I have been given is perhaps one of the most boring things possible), tonight my main task is not planning for my trip, but converting 14 pages of footnotes from one format to another. I am meeting with my religion professor tomorrow for breakfast to discuss logistics, and so my father can meet him. It is he that requires this tedious work, and he better pay for my breakfast!
I spent about ten minutes checking in online, but then I couldn't print the damn things. Oh, well.
And, final complaint for the night:
I miss Rachel and her family. I hope they're having a great time at the beach. See y'all in a month and a half!

Perhaps soon I will see places like this!
Photos will certainly be up for people to see.