After London (jeez, finally, amiright?) we went to Stonehenge. Unbeknownst to me, the Stonehenge visitor’s center has a whole lot more than just a bunch of big rocks. It begins with a nice-sized museum, which empties out into an outdoor section of experiential learning. There’s a replica of one of the sarsen stones (a particular type of standing stone) that would have taken one hundred strong men to transport. You can pull on it yourself to see how many ancient rock-pullers you count as. My dad counted as five. I barely counted as one, so I’m not showing you that picture.
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Just past the rock-pulling monument to my physical ineptitude are some recreations of the types of dwellings that those rock-pullers and their associates would have lived in. Also everyone else at the time.
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After the museum, we hopped on the tram over to Stonehenge. No, you can’t walk right up to the stones, but you can get pretty close. And it was a beautiful day, perfect for taking all the pictures my photo-happy heart desired.
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I’ll leave you with this beauty: it’s one of the remaining standing stones that marked the entrance to Stonehenge, back when it was being used for events other than tours.