I'm absolutely delighted that you got to see this, and have found so much else to enjoy in my home country. It is excellent that you've decided to see some of the "real" England too; the exquisite little towns and villages one finds scattered about the Home Counties exist as much as living history as functioning communities, and unlike Warwick Castle, you are likely to be warmly welcomed by real people. Oh, and as you've discovered, the food thing is either a myth, or recalls times long forgotten; excellent food, locally sourced, can be found practically anywhere in the country as long as you don't mind a little rusticity with your fare. It's a shame about the great London museums though, but then, I've long wondered how tourists can derive any pleasure or knowledge from such overwhelmingly large collections; locals can simply visit for a couple of hours here, a couple there, and over a lifetime gain an appreciation for the unimaginably great art treasures of England. For those who have only a few days in London, people tend to become quickly overwhelmed, everything becomes a blur, and many then simply act Japanese, ie taking photographs with their spouse next to every legendary artwork they come across, then moving on to the next one without even really looking at anything. Still, they're good if you have an overwhelming desire to see something specific.
Yes, Hamlet by the RSC can be a truly seminal experience in the original English; every academic I know working in literature thinks that their particular field is superior to all others "with the obvious exception of Hamlet". Shakespeare gets to the very nucleus of the human experience and expresses what he finds there in images of the first intensity; no excess, no unnecessary verbosity, no sense of strain, all this rendered still more remarkable by the fact that he was working within the strictures of iambic pentameter and blank verse, strictures serving to suffuse the work with an inner musicality without ever overplaying the fact. That the existential torments of a medieval Danish Prince retain the potency to render many persons of taste and intellect practically speechless to this very day well demonstrates the universality of the Bard's matchless understanding of the human condition. I suppose that the dichotomy between poetry/prose and music is that music is entirely open to the interpretation of he/she who hears it, while the likes of Hamlet does not lend itself to personal ambiguity of purpose on the part of the audience, the alinguistic quality that is both the boon and relative drawback of music being quite the opposite. Language is our most unambiguous mode of expression, and when honed to the pitch of perfection that is Hamlet, sensations are kindled within us with a great, almost surgical precision that leaves our minds reeling in the staggering realization that we have been