When you think Stonehenge, you think magic and fairy woods. You think rituals, possible sacrifices, Gods, giants - because really who else could have moved those massive rocks to this location? To discover Stonehenge, you should walk on a muddy trail, a thick forest should shadow your steps whilst becoming denser and darker. The trees, taller now, should be oppressive in their glory. Your surroundings would turn dead silent and you’d think of going back but couldn’t. As your steps would falter and slow you’d feel yourself being pulled by a force that you can’t see and can’t explain. You’d lift your hands to part the branches blocking your way and you’d see it; a perfect circle of light yet a structure so alien to its surroundings. You would brush one stone with the tip of your fingers and…

And nothing. Nope. Not even the trees. Even if my imagination were to place it in a flat field, your road would still be dark and lighted by the stars, something romantic but slightly sinister. In this case, reality truly kills fiction.

The site was one flat expense of green grass and there, framed by two perpendicular roads, stood our mysterious prehistoric monument - flanked by tourists and cameras, the mysterious part was nowhere to be seen.

One of my hopes whilst in the United Kingdom was to go visit the solemn Stonehenge site. Unfortunately, if there ever was anything grandiose about it in Olden days, there is nothing grandiose about it today. The sound of cars rushing passed made sure of that.

We had driven from Birmingham, my roommate and I, deciding on a day trip out of the city. On our way, we had stopped for lunch in Oxford. It was spring and I can still remember the beauty of the streets lined up with blooming blossom trees. Pink petals adorned the scenery as we walked sandwiches in hand.

I wanted to walk beneath the shadows of the stones feeling their unexplained presence and get hit by a dramatic ray of sunlight - I’ve got a very detailed imagination.

We reached Stonehenge a few hours later. The site was one flat expense of green grass and there, framed by two perpendicular roads, stood our mysterious prehistoric monument - flanked by tourists and cameras, the mysterious part was nowhere to be seen. We parked and entered a ticket office where we declined the offered audio guide. Closer, we noticed that a security cable surrounded the stone circle preventing the crowd from getting too close. As understandable as was the prevention, the site caretakers probably seeing the stones decay under a curious crowd’s too close examination, the whole experience remained deeply unsatisfying.

In my childhood, I had read fiction novels of old Britain and its Druids, philosophers and wizards of this faraway land. Although Stonehenge’s use is still unknown albeit multiple theories, my own ideas remained more magical, more impressive. I wanted to walk beneath the shadows of the stones feeling their unexplained presence and get hit by a dramatic ray of sunlight - I’ve got a very detailed imagination.

We left Stonehenge behind with none of our questions answered and none of our hopes met. The crowd continued to bend and stretch themselves above the security line to get the best shots. One particular silhouette stays in mind, its body stretching in a ridiculous position hoping for a selfie. We drove away.

             

The Writer

I write stuff for fun, if it was for a living I would be homeless.

Find out more about me, Stefanie, here.

Quotes

My fear of flying starts as soon as I buckle myself in and then the guy up front mumbles a few unintelligible words then before I know it I’m thrust into the back of my seat by acceleration that seems way too fast and the rest of the trip is an endless nightmare of turbulence, of near misses. And then the cabbie drops me off at the airport. Dennis Miller