Nov 1, 20229 min read

In Love with Windsor

My wish to visit Windsor had come true.

After a whole rainy night, Guildford was covered in puddles. My modest jacket and long sleeve turtleneck were not enough to provide me warmth. I arrived at the station around nine in the morning, so the morning was cold and quiet. The flowers had disappeared, only the shades of red and yellow remained. Eating a cinnamon roll and a warm cappuccino, I waited for the rest of the Photography society to arrive.

The green train arrived ten minutes earlier; I had yet to see any of the familiar faces. The red number on the digital clock moves forward, and some people had already boarded the train. Where could they be?

There they were, making their appearance from the underground passage.

The Multiple Train Shifts

The forty minutes long journey to Reading was peaceful, just like the journey I had one month ago. Everyone on the train was immersed in their own world. I tried to read In Patagonia, one of the core readings for my module, but Yohan’s conversation with two of the girls distracted me away from the text. Due to the distance, I could only catch the puzzle pieces from the overall conversation, such as ‘orange leaves’ and ‘beautiful shots’.

We reached Reading, and we had a twenty-minutes interval before our next train. Returning to this station reminded me of the working-in-progress Reading visit I had yet to complete. We waited at a crowded platform, waiting for the upcoming train that would head to London Paddington.

I was still freezing, despite the amount of walking for the morning. Catching the sun’s warmth with my bare hands was my only hope for a heat source, but I could only feel the chilly winds resting on my palms. In Malaysia, just a short exposure to the sun could grill your skin to medium rare.

“We call the UK sun the ‘fake’ sun,” Yohan said. “It’s not warm, just bright enough to illuminate the place.”

As soon as the vehicle stopped, everyone fought their way into the carriages, hunting for any vacant seats. The group dispersed, but we knew we had to jump off at the next station called Slough. Afterwards, we continued battling against the other passengers on the train to Windsor and Eton Central. I secured a seat, but the others were not lucky. Within the five minutes, I had a quick chat with my newly acquainted friend Virginia and Yohan about trains in our respective countries. Virginia had the stamina to stand in a public transportation for a long period, thanks to her lifelong training as a Hong Konger.

We finally had a breather once the train reached our destination. This old station only has one functioning platform, with the most parts have converted into a shopping heaven. We awed at the bare red bricks and exposed ceiling beams, the beautiful architecture that brought us back to the dawn of 1900s.

Romantic Windsor and Upmarket Eton

The beautiful Windsor welcomed our arrival with flower-themed pubs and vintage cafes. We walked down the street, taking photos on every corner of the town. Someone discovered a secret passage underneath the ivory bust of King Edward VII, where one could find the map of Windsor drawn on the ceramic tiles. At the other end of the dim alley was a gorgeous garden and a tennis court.

There was no signboard showing where we were. I wished to name this place ‘I-have-no-idea’ park. Someone opened Google Maps, and the name Diamond Jubilee Water Fountain appeared on the screen. I had yet to find the fountain-oh it was behind me. The little fountain was barricaded within metal fences, yet the distance did not stop the photographers from capturing its beauty.

Right opposite the garden was Windsor’s River Thames, a handsome habitation for the swans and ducks. They had accustomed to human presence and were ready to pose for Max’s camera. Yohan was anxious around them, but Virginia and I found these little fellas charming. They even had their own mansion on a little island in the middle of the river.

“I would love to stay here,” Virginia said, looking at the charming riverside houses. “What a dream to wake up in the morning to find a gorgeous river view with boats and ducks.”

Me too, Virginia.

We crossed the bridge to the other side of the river. There was a black banner greeting anyone who stepped into the territory of Eton, the legendary land of the posh white people and schoolboys.

Eton High Street is the more reserved version of Diagon Alley from Harry Potter, displaying century-old tailor boutiques and antique shops. Some of the old stores were in the middle of renovation, draped in blue waterproof sheets. I was intrigued by the second-hand bookshop where a trolley of books was resold for three pounds each. What a bargain. I would love to adopt one home, but it was impossible to carry it around for the whole day.

Going further, we stopped at Eton College Chapel’s graveyard. Why the graveyard? It was the only entrance that was open to the public. Aside from the faded grey tombstones and trees bearing red berries that looked like plastic ornaments, we could not peep into the chapel grounds except for the colourful tainted glass. The elite college ground was so sacred which they only allow public viewing on weekends. Yet this did not stop us from taking photos of the bishop sculpture and hideous gargoyles spouting out a grey pipe out of their mouths.

Best Burger in the UK

Virginia wanted to try out something local but inexpensive. The local Asian eateries were overpriced, and we also doubted their authenticity. We found a burger outlet offering a meal deal, just a few miles away from the train station.

A young server led us to a small corner of the restaurant and gave us a clipboard menu. Both of us knew what we wanted: the smashed beef burger with rosemary chips. For drinks, I had soda while Virginia asked for plain water. My companion found the design of the drinking glasses amusing; she had never seen the rim extended outwards like disposable plastic cups.

Virginia is into film development. She commented how the use of props and setting to convey the mood and narrates the characters’ backgrounds. The interior displayed a wild west vibe, embellished with wooden furniture and dim lights. Somehow, I could imagine cowboys and sheriffs having a quick drink at the bar before chaos erupted. The common ground of filmmaking and writing is the craft and attention to details, so we could understand each other’s language.

Our order arrived. The presentation of the dish was simplistic but looked appetising. After taking the first bite, a feeling of euphoria washed over me. The smashed beef was tender, there were no chewy tendons or hard meat. Onions may not be my favourite, but the burger’s caramelised onions toned down its original sensation. I did request for an extra cheese, but I could taste none of it until I finished much of the burger. Could it melt into the meat when it was cooked? The bite-sized rosemary chips were the slight imperfections of this dish, with most of the cuts were too small or solidified like pebbles. Otherwise, it was the best lunch I had since I arrived in the UK.

We learned the name of our lunch spot, Honest Burgers. We were glad that this tiny restaurant in Windsor lived up to its name.

(When I was writing this, I discovered this is a part of a burger chain store across the UK. Shhh...don’t tell Virginia about this. I hate to spoil the magic.)

Long, Long Walk

Windsor Castle was just in front of the Windsor and Eton station. Protected by colossal stone towers and walls, the massive castle layout was sheltered from the humble citizen’s view. Many yearned to venture the royal grounds during the weekends, and you would find tourists convene in front of the entrance and the ticketing booth. We did not expect the Saturday crowd to be this overwhelming, so we moved to the other side of the castle instead of visiting the grounds.

Another Windsor attraction was the Long Walk, right behind the castle grounds. As the name suggested, the Long Walk is a straight pathway where the ending looked far from reach. Even London’s The Mall or Guildford’s High Street could barely cover half of the track. People came with their dogs and children, just to enjoy the autumn view. The trees, in orange, red, and yellow, stood parallel to each other like the royal guards. Their shedding leaves had fallen onto the ground, enveloping the grass in brown and yellow. In between those leaves, I found little round chestnuts laying in silence. A layer of shell sheltered these sleeping babies, not ready to meet the light of day. Right beside the path was a privately owned zone where the field was well kept. One area belonged to a herd of cows lazily grazing on the grass. The old ones were still and stiff, compared to their offspring, who leapt up and down. One of them peed, the clear spring water gushing out from its behind. Yuck! What an unsightly view.

As we had completed the middle of the path, Yohan became intrigued by a horse-shaped statue in front of him. Two girls had to excuse themselves to venture more around the city, while the rest of the group completed the journey.

A metal gate stopped our steps. It stated: DEER PARK, BEWARE OF LICES, DO NOT WALK BEYOND THE PATH. The entrance was a tiny rotating door which could fit one person. One by one, we crossed the barrier to the other side. We did not encounter any deer along the way, but these creatures stayed far from human contact. There was a signboard in the middle of the walkway, warning visitors not to approach the deer as they were in rutting season. Otherwise, we could capture a stag as a stand in for Steve the Stag.

We did not reach the top of the hill where the statue stood in pride, except for Max. He ascended to the foot of the statue to have a closer look, and we soon lost sight of him. I suspected he had fallen into another dimension when he was out of our sight. It took around ten minutes for Max to reappear. This time, he came back as a different person.

The way back to our starting point was a long, exhausting walk. Virginia helped to estimate the time taken to walk on this path. Our steps were steady, conserving as much energy as possible. Yohan hated the fact we were heading a little ahead of him, and he had to run to distance himself from us.

“Remember,” he cried. “I am the fastest person in the group.”

“What’s his problem?” I whispered to Virginia.

“Boys,” she said. “And their competitiveness.”

My legs were wobbling when we arrived at the castle grounds. The total journey took around fifty minutes, just like the walking distance and timing between my accommodation to the campus. With no twists and turns, the trip felt more exhausting.

Tired Evening

We did not walk back to town; we dragged our legs back to town.

Yohan suggested we could chill in a local café. He assigned us a number each and let Siri to pick a random number. The cold, robotic voice chose number three, me.

“How should I know?” I said. “I’m not even local.”

Max suggested we could find a random cafe in the station, making it more convenient. All of us marched towards the beginning point, passing by the busy pedestrians and the long queue towards the castle entrance.

Soon, we settled for Black Sheep near the station entrance. There is another outlet opening soon in Guildford, but at this point everyone had given up looking for a local specific café. We ordered hot drinks and pastries and huddled around near the window. I bought a carrot cake and a raisin roll for dinner. By the time I reached Guildford, it would be harder to look for food. In Malaysia, eating out after six is not a big deal. Even past midnight, people still linger around mamak. Besides, I had a fridge problem in my accommodation.

After living in the UK for over one month, I finally found a cafe that served matcha drink. I missed the bitterness and the shade of green. Taking little sips, I enjoyed it to the fullest. Max detested his coffee order and gave a cruel 2.5 rating. I had forgotten what coffee order that was, but I would figure out once the Guildford store begin operation.

We were still waiting for the other two girls to return. They informed in the group chat that they were queuing up for the St George chapel, but we did not know when they would return. With droopy eyes and a charging phone, I resumed reading In Patagonia. Chatwin’s writing was easier to comprehend than the other travel writings we had for the past few weeks. His paratactic writing created a series of fragments and montages in this book, like Hemmingway.

The girls returned when the sky became a little darker. They entered St George's chapel and witness its beauty. However, payment was required for any photography within the premise. They showed us a few of the interior structures they had captured on their phones.

No one talked on the way back. The quick break barely charged our energy, still beaming red and crying for low power. Once the train reached Guildford, I dashed towards the bus station, waiting for the bus to arrive in the cold and dark.

I would like to visit Windsor again. Next time, I would venture among the castle walls and the chapel, and never visit during weekends.

Date of Visitation: 23rd Oct 2022

Windsor & Eton Central/Windsor Royal Station

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