As you read this post you may find it has a bit of a melancholic air about it due to the fact that I’ve started writing this on the eve of the day of our return back to Minnesota, and I finished it on the airplane ride back to Minneapolis. I have never wanted a holiday to last longer than this one, and the impending inevitability of its ending has hung heavily and ominously these last few days.
Still, some more spectacular sites to get you caught up on. Things have started slowing down a bit though. After some pretty intense days of traveling and seeing really quite a lot (from Stonehenge, Fawlty Towers, Kent Cavern, Westminster Abbey, the Fire of London Memorial, the Tower, to Madame Tousaud’s, in addition to so many other ancient churches and sites and streets and country lanes) our minds and bodies needed a break. There’s only so much seeing your eyes can do, only so much walking around your legs and feet can manage, and only so much your mind can assimilate and process. We’re definitely feeling a bit of sensory overload, as if you’ve been antiquing for 16 hours straight, searching for the perfect teapot to go with your perfect tea towels that have embroidered on them by your great grandmother yellow tulips and purple pansies, but you just haven’t managed it, despite all the wonderful teapots you see around you, because they’ve all started to look the same even though one has red polka dots on it and another has bees on it. It’s all the same. So, these last three days have definitely been the twilight of our travels. And it’s a bit sad.
Still… St. Paul’s Cathedral!
What’s immediately striking about St. Paul’s Cathedral, especially after viewing so many old and ancient abbeys and churches and castles in the countryside and in London, is how new St. Paul’s felt. Seriously, though! For a moment it felt like I was entering St. Mary’s Basilica in Minneapolis or St. Paul’s Cathedral in St. Paul (very new structures indeed, all things considered).
What’s also striking about St. Paul’s (the one in London, that is) is how spacious, organized, uncluttered, and uniform the whole thing is. Westminster (and this isn’t meant pejoratively) seemed more a frantic mishmash of little bits added over the years (as was the case, although not in a frantic way; it just seemed frantic because we got to view the culmination of hundreds of years of different people making decisions about the space in one glance or two; of course, this doesn’t refer to the structure as a whole, with its tall, Gothic arches and windows all forming a compete semblance of a whole; but rather instead all the different tombs and memorials and statues that were slowly added to all the different chapels, making each one of those feel especially cluttered and disorganized, gave Westminster that kind of frantic mishmash feel). But Westminster seemed more representative of all the churches and abbeys we saw in the countryside, as well, with their small little additions of various memorials and tombs, changing aesthetics over the years represented in one great space.
St. Paul’s, though, is clearly the design of one man: Christopher Wren. And all of the memorials and additions to the main church floor all seem to blend in with their surroundings. St. Paul’s felt very, well, American (wide open spaces, shiny polished newness), while Westminster was very clearly English (lots of space but all built up and filled in with something ancient, and everything was all a bit dusty). Again, these aren’t criticisms of either structure in the least, as they are both really quite outstanding and staggering examples of very fine architecture that invoke different responses for different reasons, neither good nor bad, just different.
(Although, I still think the audio guide narrator at Westminster took himself way too seriously while the one at St. Paul’s didn’t.)
The first thing you’ll notice on the ground floor when you enter is a giant baptismal font, a great, elaborate stone bowl raised up on a kind of circular stone dais, the bowl itself raised even higher by its own majestic pillar, kind of like those raised glass platters for displaying cakes. The audio guide talked about how important baptism is, even though all it is is pouring some water that an important shaman (or whatever) waved his hands over, muttering something important in a bored voice (at least I think that’s how holy water becomes holy, although he might use a magic wand with a unicorn hair at its core) over an unsuspecting baby or a suspecting adult.
Onwards to your left of the giant bowl, you have a chance to marvel at several things at once, and it is the dome that causes your eyes to look aloft, your neck tilted back to aid in viewing (as is often the case in giant buildings like these with elaborate paintings and mosaics on the ceilings and tall, tall walls). The dome itself is painted with eight (if I’m remembering correctly) separate moments from Paul’s life (he was the one who used to be called Saul, then Dionysus (I mean, Allah, I believe; I might be mixing up the religions; sensory overload, remember) allegedly spoke to him in a desert, if I’m remembering correctly, who said, “Why have you forsaken me?” and then Paul says something like, “Oh! Um… sorry…” and POOF! he’s a Christian called Paul who spreads the word that that some referred to as “good”) all done in a monochrome of a kind of brownish-grey.
There are also three quite striking mosaics above the quire area (the part of churches like these where boy singers in white robes with red collars sit with their backs to the cathedral walls in benches that run perpendicular to the stone table, er… I mean, high altar, and make you think of, “Oh, Lord! Oooo, you are so big!” from “Monty Python and the Meaning of Life”), each situated in a kind of concave circle in the ceiling (not quite a dome, just a large inverted bump) and each depicting scenes from “Star Trek II”: Khan placing those worm things in people’s ears; Kirk taking over as captain of the Enterprise; and Khan detonating the Genesis device.
No… wait… sorry…
The mosaics depicted three scenes from the Bible’s Book of Genesis, rather, not Star Trek II.
Sorry… got that mixed up.
They were really quite wonderful to look at, these mosaics. The one that really stuck with me was the mosaic that depicted the creation of fish and other sea life, because these mad looking whales framed the circle, and they were blowing water into the ocean that was teeming with marine life of all kinds.
Following marveling at the dome and the quire, you get to make your way around the main altar to a kind of mini chapel, and I was quite surprised to see what we found there: a small chapel area with an altar thing, all dedicated to American soldiers who fought and died during World War II. Behind the altar was an elaborate screen with an American bald eagle situated at the top, and behind that tall stained glass windows displaying various animals and icons of the United States. The altar was also fenced in with gorgeous, golden metal bars, and between some of the bars were small rectangular plaques, one with an inscription in Hebrew for fallen people of the Jewish persuasion, one that was blank for fallen non-believers, and other plaques for other persuasions.
It was all, of course, very touching, especially a giant book encased behind glass that listed all of the dead American soldiers in an overly serious script, and each day someone turns the page so that everyone’s name is visible a some point at regular intervals.
Sadly, our time at St. Paul’s was cut short, because ministers and other teachers from a nearby school were indoctrinating young teenager students into the faith with some sort of elaborate rehearsal for a ritual involving long processions with banners and children reading boring texts. So rather annoyingly we had to skip the Whispering Gallery and all 500+ steps to the very top of St. Paul’s. It was all really frustrating.
So, we very quickly made our way through the crypt which isn’t a crypt like you would expect in Indiana Jones with rats and spiders and cob webs and skeletons in little wall inlets like shelves that are big enough for human bodies, but rather a kind of smaller version of the main cathedral except with much lower ceilings. It is here, however, where you get to visit the tombs of Nelson, Wren, Wellington, and (unexpectedly, as I didn’t know he was down there) Arthur Sullivan. Really very pretty neat.
As we made our way out of St. Paul’s after buying way too many souvenirs, we went on a quest to find St. Peter’s Hill, a location that will always remind me of an iconic shot from an episode of Doctor Who called “The Invasion”: a large group of Cybermen descending the steps of the hill, St. Paul’s behind them, while a curious, pulsing, repetitious, electronic sound that could only have originated in the BBC Radiophonic Workshop fills the air with a hypnotic wave to control all humans. The steps on the hill are a little different from the steps that were there in the 1960s, as they’ve added some elegant ramps that meld into newer steps, but it’s still fun all the same to pretend you’re a Cybermen descending the steps of St. Paul’s to conquer London. The hill also allows for some marvelous camera opportunities for some wide shots of the cathedral.
If you continue onwards down the hill, you’ll have a chance to walk across the Millennium Bridge, which provides some stunning views of the Thames and also a marvelous glimpse of the Globe.
As we felt our time running out, we hopped onto the Piccadilly Line to stop at, naturally, Piccadilly Circus (which always reminds me of “The Catherine Tate Show,” the skit with the easily surprised woman who screams loudly whenever her husband places his teacup quietly on his saucer until she finally complains, “Christ! It’s like Piccadilly Circus in here!”), as no trip to London is compete without visiting this crazy intersection of tangled vehicle, bike, and pedestrian traffic with its iconic curved screen like a giant television set with attention deficit disorder that hugs the northern buildings and that displays constantly changing ads for various businesses, and where you can play a game and try to take a picture of the screen at a moment when McDonalds is NOT represented in the madness.
We also wanted to visit Waterstones, too, a fantastic bookseller over here and whose largest branch, or so they say, is located in Piccadilly Circus, but I have no reason to disbelieve their claim, as they’ve got five whole floors filled with books and a sixth floor with a quite posh cafe very dissimilar from a Starbucks you find in a Barnes and Noble, complete with important looking people with greying hair reading books with glasses resting on the edge of their noses.
It was at Waterstones where we discovered an author called P.G. Wodehouse, heralded by signage as the most hilarious British writer of them all, with all his books with quite colorful jackets displayed nicely on a round table. My mum and I opened up to any old random page in any old random book, and we found ourselves laughing out loud right then and there within a matter of seconds of opening up one of the books. It was really quite remarkable.
When we made it back to our hotel after buying some more souvenirs at Waterstones, I lamented to my mum that I was really bummed that we didn’t quite make it to the top of St. Paul’s and that I couldn’t decide whether I should make a return trip while we were still here before we left or whether I should wait until I return to London another time. She essentially ordered me to go, and I’m so glad that I did.
The following morning, I returned to St. Paul’s all on my own (and THAT was really fun, traveling about London all by myself) re-entered the cathedral, took a moment to marvel at the large dome, and then made my way straight up the stairs to the Whispering Gallery.
It’s called the Whispering Gallery because of some phenomenally awesome acoustics. The gallery itself is about a third of the way from the bottom of the cathedral floor to the top of the Golden Gallery, and it is a kind of five foot ledge with a stone seating area that runs around the entire circumference of the main rotunda, all enclosed by a dark metal barrier of iron bars about five feet tall. If you are on one side of the gallery and a friend (or a stranger, I suppose) who is on the exact opposite side whispers into the wall, you’ll be able to hear the whisper even though you’re separated by a 100 foot diameter. I didn’t get to try it myself, but others did, and if you place your ear close to the wall, you’ll hear all these ghostly whispers entertaining your ears.
Needless to say, of course, being a third of the way up towards the top of St. Paul’s, my fear of heights again triggered weak knees, but not nearly debilitating like at the 1666 Monument where there was only a foot or two of space for walking. Whenever I’m confronted with great heights I always experience these awful intrusive thoughts where I fear I might lose control of my conscience at any moment and throw myself over the edge at any second, and the sheer drop alone is just so staggeringly scary, it’s difficult to control these thoughts. Still, it was a breathtaking view of the cathedral floor below, and the gallery gave you a chance to have a closer look at the gorgeous monochrome paintings of moments from St. Paul’s life.
Following the Whispering Gallery and following a trek up some winding, metal staircases and through cramped corridors wide enough for non-obese people, you reach the Stone Gallery, which is outside in the open air and provides some nice views of the city, but is only about two-thirds of the way to the top, and isn’t nearly as exciting as the Golden Gallery, by way of some more winding, metal staircases and through more cramped corridors wide enough for non-obese people.
It is at the Golden Gallery where you can experience the finest views of the city, finer than the 1666 Monument and certainly finer than the London Eye.
(By the way, do it in this order: London Eye [or skip that altogether {no, really… just skip that altogether}]; the 1666 Monument [certainly don’t skip this]; and then the climb up St. Paul’s Cathedral [absolutely don’t skip this, even if you have to come back the next day because they had to close the cathedral early].)
But seriously and honestly!
What! A! View!
It was rather appropriate, doing this towards the end of our time here in London, as the views of the entire city (wind in your hair and everything) just made me fall in love with the city all over again.
The greatest city in the world! Seen from an incredible and irreplaceable vantage! And it was during the off season so the balcony wasn’t crowded with people! And the extreme height didn’t trigger my fear of heights because the great, lead dome obscured any immediate and sheer drops!
All you could see was London! As far as the eye could see! A seemingly never ending, restless ocean or vast mountain range of buildings! Old and new! Glass and stone! Metal and mortar! Side by side!
With people from all over the world! Speaking all types of languages! Practicing all types of beliefs!
This is my city, and I want it! I will live here some day. That is now a certainty.
I love this city unlike anything else or anyone else I’ve loved before. It’s really quite remarkable.
And so, there it is. At this point I’ve got just about a day and a half to catch you up on a trip that I will treasure forever. I’m finishing writing this with a little under an hour to go before we land back in Minneapolis.
And I’m already planning my return, not as a visitor, but as a resident.
I’m not sure when it will happen, but hopefully and boldly much sooner rather than later.
N.B. Next post I’ll recommend to you the best fish and chips in London, and I’ll fill you in on our final explorations of a really quite remarkable city. (Good word, that. “Remarkable.”)