Allie Goes Global

Just the previous morning, while waiting for my breakfast reservation, I got talking to a man waiting outside the cafe. He asked me where I was going next, and I said Nottingham. His response was, quite simply, “Why?” I didn’t understand this response, and he wouldn’t elaborate. I purchased two guidebooks for the trip, and both made it sound like Nottingham was a great place to check out. Plus, there’s the whole Robin Hood mythology. So, to answer why I went to Nottingham, I would say that I was tricked.

After a fairly easy drive, I arrived in Nottingham with the usual amount of information… where to park, exactly how much it would cost, all reservations made in advance. Only I think my GPS was experiencing some confusion, because it tried to have me turn down a pedestrian-only road to get there. Never mind, I’m flexible, so I drove a ways down the road and parked. However, this seemed slightly too easy. I checked the curb, not painted in any particular color. I looked for signs, and there were none. I even committed the terrible sin of asking some locals walking by if they thought it was okay to park there, and they said they didn’t see why not. Predictably, this will all become important later.

My first stop of the day was Nottingham Castle. Now, what none of my guidebooks adequately explained is that Nottingham Castle is gone, and has been gone for about four centuries. It’s been replaced by an estate. While some of the original wall is there, the bulk of what remains was built in the 1870s, and serves as a museum and art gallery.

If you like art, or just a good view, this is worth your time. Once you climb the stairs (either inside the estate or outside), you come to a large paved area from which you can see all of Nottingham spread out before you. Inside the house were several art galleries and exhibits about the history of the area and castle. The grounds are also very pretty.

Below the castle, however, is the real draw. You enter a long tunnel and arrive at an exhibition all about the mythos of Robin Hood. Was he real? If so, who was he? Was he an amalgamation of several different people? This exhibit attempts to answer (as much as possible) all of these questions. There were also several activities that were geared toward children, and some fun Robin Hood-related art.

After killing an hour or so at the museum, I went off for my lunch reservation. I hand wanted, in my time in England, to have one Sunday roast. This was the only Sunday that worked, so I did a fair amount of research on the best roasts in town, and I ended up at the Cross Keys. I was sadly disappointed. However, I will point out that I’ve never had a Sunday roast, so the problem may be with me. Maybe this is the standard. But I found the gravy flavorless and the vegetables to be wildly undercooked. It did look tasty though.

Now, it’s worth pointing something out about why Nottingham wasn’t the best spot, for me at least. I have lived in cities. I’m used to homeless people and buskers. But oh boy, I’ve never been shouted at so much by random people as I was while walking through Nottingham. At one point, I passed by a man playing some kind of large wind instrument. Not a didgeridoo, but something in that vein. I looked when I walked by, but I didn’t stop or even slow down. He stopped playing to start screaming at me that if I was going to enjoy the music, it was cheap to not pay for it. I think, at one point, that a homeless woman was following me, but that could just be paranoia. The point is, I felt like I had to keep my guard up at all times.

I had a couple of other things in my plans for the day, but now my hackles were up, so I just went on to my last stop of the day, Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem. This pub is constantly battling it out to be named the oldest pub in the country. It’s been serving since the time of the crusades (hence the name), and the building is carved into the rock face behind it. Technically speaking, you could have a pint in a cave.

The problem for me was one of timing. I happened to be there during half-term, which isn’t a thing in the US, so I didn’t even think to check on it. This meant that everywhere I went during my trip was a lot more packed than anywhere should be in February. Ye Olde Trip was no exception. I managed to get inside and get a drink, but there was nowhere indoors to sit. No complaints to the pub for this… it was afternoon on a Sunday during half-term. They did have a nice area out front with picnic tables, so I sat out there to enjoy my cider. While I was out there, a ladybug landed on me and wouldn’t leave, which I took as a nice omen.

At this point, I was fairly done with Nottingham, so I trekked back around the castle to my car. Upon arriving, I discovered that I had gotten a parking ticket. I still don’t know how I would have known that I wasn’t allowed to park there, given that there was no signage, but chalk it up to a learning experience. I tried to appeal after I got home, but the Nottingham District Enforcement weren’t playing ball. I ended up just paying the £40 and counting it as a lesson.

When I was planning my trip, my mother very helpfully gave me a ton of Marriott points, so the remainder of my trip is in modern hotels. This means there’s not a whole lot to say about the hotel, other than that I got there unscathed. I ordered a pizza from a local spot and had it delivered, and thanked all that was holy that I hadn’t booked yet another day in Nottingham.

Oh, there is one thing to mention about the hotel, actually. I stayed at the Delta by Marriott Nottingham Belfry. It was a pretty nice hotel, and my room had a decently large balcony that looked out into the forest. But for some reason, the way to flush the toilet was a button on the wall, and opening the toilet seat would lean it up against the button. So if you leaned back at all, you would get a little butt wash. Not the end of the world, but it was an odd thing to overlook. And I’m not going to tell you how many times I activated the button unintentionally. More than once.