Allie Goes Global

So this, as I’m sure many people have guessed, was the real point of going to Watford: The Harry Potter Studio Tour. I’m not a massive Potter-head, though I was in my youth, and it holds a place of nostalgia for me. Of course, this meant that it absolutely had to be one stop on my grand tour.

After a relatively good night of sleep, I headed off to the studio just up the road. Now, something to know about me is that I have a crippling phobia of being late to anything. Consequently, I’m usually aggressively early and just wait in my car. The problem with this is when I book the earliest time for something. So when I arrived, the parking lot wasn’t even open yet. I had to drive down some residential streets, get stuck on a very narrow road, and was mildly late anyway. But this was fine, because they still hadn’t actually started letting people past the lobby.

The lobby was entertaining enough, with a dragon hanging from the ceiling and little vignettes of original costumes around the perimeter. The gift shop was also already open, so I was happy, thought I didn’t end up buying anything there.

The tour itself begins with everyone being herded into a room where videos play on the wall above. This room, and the one beyond, allowed no photography. The next room was a seated theater, where they show a short film, mostly with the stars of the movies talking about the impact of the series and their experience shooting at the studio. After that, we entered the Great Hall set. It was beautifully detailed, but smaller than I thought it would be. There were some surprises in this room, and I have no intention of spoiling them.

After that, we were set free in a sort of warehouse with all of the sets and some very impressive props. This room, in particular, proved to be a little challenging for a solo traveler. There were a few things that required two people to use, certain visual effects that don’t work for one person. But it was still incredible in the sheer amount of detail and effort put into every inch.

It was at this point that I came up against a closed gate. This was sort of a repeating theme throughout the tour. I was apparently going too fast, so I would complete an area and then try to make my way to the next one, only to be met by a locked door and a lengthy wait. I don’t really understand why they do this, unless it’s for the purpose of cleaning the areas not yet open (I did see some cleaners). Nevertheless, this wasn’t a big issue. Going back to the ridiculous politeness I mentioned in my last post, I was happy to wait. I will also say, at one of the locked doors, there was a staff member who was an absolute expert on the studio, the process of making the films, and all the props. He kept all of us waiting very engaged while we waited, and he was a pleasure to talk to.

I don’t need to go over every single detail of the tour. It is extensive and wonderful. There were a couple more highlights to mention. Firstly, there is a stop right in the middle of the tour for butterbeer. I’ve never been to any of the Harry Potter theme parks, so this was my first time trying it, and I found it to be delicious. You also get to take the mug home, and there are handy washing stations so you don’t have to put a sticky mug in your bag.

The final thing was the model of Hogwarts. It’s hard to describe the scale of this thing. It takes up the majority of a very large room and is obscenely detailed. Quite frankly, it’s beautiful in its workmanship. I left with a much better appreciation for the level of detail put into every single thing that was put on screen.

Now, I had plans for the rest of this day, and they all fell apart one by one. The main goal of the afternoon was to drive to my hotel in Limpley Stoke, which is just outside of Bath. This one, I succeeded in. But the rest of the plans just didn’t work out, mostly due to poor driving.

Now, I have already mentioned my issues with driving on the opposite side of the road, but the bigger problem was actually driving on the opposite side of the car. I just was entirely thrown off, with no gauge for exactly how much space my car took up on the road. Now, I was presented with two more issues. Firstly, the roads out in the country are painfully narrow for someone used to roads as wide as a house. And secondly, and the bigger issue for the moment, was the roundabouts.

For those who don’t know, the UK loves a roundabout. They’re everywhere. While I can manage the so called “mini-roundabouts” with no problem, these were multi-lane operations, and if you didn’t enter in the correct lane, you’re screwed, especially if the road is busy. And oh boy, did I screw myself over repeatedly.

I intended to stop at a restaurant in Reading (The Hatch Gate Inn) for a Sunday roast. The reviews looked good, and I was excited. But when I exited the motorway, I was immediately presented with a roundabout. And because I chose the wrong lane, I got spat straight back onto the motorway. No problem, I’m flexible. My GPS recalculated, and I had to go six more miles up the motorway to turn around. But what happens then? I exit, get presented with another roundabout, and screw it up again. This time, when my GPS recalculated, I needed to go 11 more miles to turn around, and then the 17 miles back in the opposite direction. Quite frankly, I gave up.

My next stop was intended to be Donnington Castle, which wasn’t super exciting as it’s basically a ruin, but I wanted to see it. It would have been easy to get to from my lunch restaurant, but because I missed that, I was now entirely in the wrong place. I would have had to backtrack significantly. So, on that, I gave up as well.

Finally, I wanted to see the stones at Avebury. And I did! From my car as I drove by. You see, normally, you can park all along the road and just get out and walk right up to them. On this occasion, all of the surrounding roads were under construction, so they were routing everyone to a parking lot. The lot had one available space when I arrived, which was, to my American eyes, way too narrow. I tried, I really did, but it was a busy lot, and my pitiful attempts at parking were blocking all of the traffic. I again gave up and, in my rearview mirror, watched a truck much bigger than my car pull into the parking spot with no issue. Rest assured, the problem for all of my missed plans was me.

Now to get to the hotel. There was no more motorway, and every time a car passed by, I was sure they were going to hit me. I just can’t understate how narrow the roads were in this part of the country. I had planned for this by attempting to reserve a tiny car, but as I mentioned in my last post, that didn’t work out. I did my dead-level best to be a conscientious driver though, turning out to let people by every chance I got. And, unlike the US, no one was on my tail or flashing their brights.

Before anyone gets too worried about my driving on this trip, I did well. I got honked at exactly one time (in London, for screwing up a roundabout), I didn’t hit anything, and I returned my car without damage. The main effect of my driving difficulties was on my own mental health, not on any other drivers.

Finally, and with a limited number of mental breakdowns, I arrived at my hotel. It’s an old country house (which I found out upon arrival is now a Best Western), so it had some quirks. I was on the fourth floor, and the elevator went up to the third floor, with sort of attic stairs above that.

I got checked into the hotel, and tried to rest, but no luck. The thing about being out in the country is that the restaurant options are limited to nonexistent. So I went to go get… I don’t know, lunch? Dinner? It was 4pm… in the hotel bar. I don’t know if I looked as sad and pathetic as I felt, or if the bartender was just really nice, but he helped me out. I ordered a curry (which was not good, tbh) and then I realized there were no tables in the bar, nor any bar stools so I could eat at the bar. It was all couches and side tables. He kind of saw me looking around and offered to open up the formal dining room early so I would have a place to eat. Various staff (including the chef) came to check on me several times. It was very much appreciated, and I went back to my room.

By this point, I was not doing well mentally, and I couldn’t really understand why. I was doing something I had wanted to do for years, and that I had been planning for months. I should have been excited. Instead, I started spiraling.

This isn’t the glamorous part of traveling, and I’m sure many people have had very different experiences, but if it vindicates even one person, I’m happy to put it out there. My first thought was that I needed to figure out how to return my car. I didn’t care if I lost all the money I had spent on it, I just needed to be rid of it before I hit something. Unfortunately, there was no way to do this other than going forward for a couple of days or driving back to London. Then, I just started thinking about how much I wasn’t enjoying the trip, and started seriously thinking about changing my flight and coming straight home.

Luckily, I had a sounding board in the form of my mother, who kept insisting that I was probably just jetlagged. This made no sense. I had slept a full night the night before, at the correct time for my destination. I didn’t feel tired, I felt horribly depressed. But she kept me from doing something I would have majorly regretted.

I went to bed again that night at the correct time, and just hoped the next day would be better.