The Pasty, Cars, and Cider

I'm here to debunk three myths about traveling across England.

Myth #1: the English can't cook. All I've ever heard about English cuisine is that the cheese is great, but the food is bad. The latter must be a rumor started by a French chef. For example, the English have honed the simple Shepherd's Pie to a fine art--it's not your mom's shepherd's pie that consisted of browned hamburger meat spooned out over canned green beans and covered with instant potatoes. No. They begin with sliced carrots sauteed so that there's still just a hint of snap. Add three types of mushrooms, sliced red potatoes, and fresh green beans. Large pieces of lean pot roast nestle down amongst the veggies, and the whole pie is covered with garlic and parsley, whipped potato. Ladle on clear, brown gravy and serve with a fresh salad. Mmmmmmm. If beef isn't you dish, try the fish and chips. Sure, you've heard about this staple of the English diet, but you can't imagine what I mean. Seaside towns like Berwick-upon-Tweed, Portsmouth, or Bristol have access to cod fresh from the Atlantic or the North Sea. The other day, after having skipped lunch because a tour went long, we ordered the "Large Portion" of cod for dinner at a fish house. The 13-inch-long piece of white cod that arrived was an inch thick in the middle. No one who has ever stooped to eat a meal at Long John Silver's could complain about such a meal. Ah, but then there's the pasty! A pasty is a light, tasty pastry filled with almost anything imaginable--chicken, beef, fish, cheese, onion, mushrooms, sliced or whipped potato, carrots, peas, beans, or any combination of these and more. Almost every rail stop and large underground hubs boast a shop called "The Original Cornish Pasty." These sell deluxe pasties about five inches long and an inch thick, filled with premium ingredients--all for four to five buck each. Every small town had at least two or three pasty shops along its main street: some selling rectangular pasties filled with mashed potato for as little as 65 cents. In Salisbury, we found four pasty shops on one square. As a matter of quality testing, we tried two of them one day, and the other two the next. I never met a pasty I didn't like. And I tried them all.

Myth #2: driving in England is crazy. Well, this one's a little more difficult to discount. As much as I told myself "drive on the left . . . drive on the left," I turned out onto my first street and had to swerve from the right to the left side. I made a second mistake by deciding to pick the rental car up in downtown London, one of the world's most traffic-congested cities. It would have been a simple matter to take the underground to a suburb where a rental car would have been waiting. Live and learn. Actually, driving on the left side of the street isn't the most difficult adjustment to touring by car--it's a combination of the lack of signage and the dreaded traffic circle. The English paint directional information on the street surface. Good idea, you think? No. Circling a "roundabout" at 40 mph while trying to make out a worn highway sign painted on the road surface is a recipe for confusion. Having said all this, once you drive for a week or so, things do become a little easier. The motorways (multi-lane highways are designated "M" for "motorway") are fast and open, and the views afforded by small, country roads are not available any other way. Plus, the cars are uniformly compact, easy to maneuver, and get great gas mileage. Our Vauxhall gets about 43 miles per gallon, and we've been touring countless side roads.

Myth #3: English beer is warm, dark, bitter, and generally nasty. Well, truthfully, I can't say one way or another about this. I'm not much of a drinker, and less so when travelling. Nevertheless, I can say that the English love their cider, and it's very tasty. Only about 3% alcohol, this is a type of drink even an Oakie could love. Almost any fruit is fair game for conversion into a sweet, smooth cider, and most of the small pubs where we stop in the early evening for dinner offer a variety. I do see plenty of dark beers being passed around, but for me, a diet-coke with food and a "small cider" (about half a glass) after dinner makes for a relaxing break.

The Author and The Preacher

One of the pleasures of travel in England is the opportunity to visit the homes of persons whose lives I have heretofore followed from afar. For more than a week I have been carrying the memory of two such places that I visited in London. For several years now, I have voluntarily allowed a monthly deduction from my checking account to support, among other charities and organizations, Channel 13 and National Public Radio. I am, thus, a self-acknowledged geek, so it should come as no surprise that I have also been a member of the Dickens Fellowship. Members are mostly people whose level of boredom is such that they devote their spare time to reading and discussing the works and life of Charles Dickens. In the Fellowship (not to be confused with J.R.R. Tolkien's Fellowship), we habitually refer to Dickens simply and reverently as "The Author." At the February meeting each year, the customary final toast is always made to the memory of The Author. Little wonder, then, that I took the opportunity when I was still in London to visit 48 Doughty Street--Dickens' first residence which he shared with his wife, Catherine, and a place where they lived for about three years. The home has been a museum owned and operated by the Dickens Fellowship since 1925, and it houses an impressive collection of Dickens' manuscripts and memorabilia. In the lower level, a kitchen during Dickens' stay, the Fellowship has gathered the most complete library of editions of Dickens' works in the world. In fact, the remainder of the home is filled with artifacts that Dickens described in his novels, personal items, proof pages from his novels, and original personal letters. In the study on the second floor, Dickens completed "The Pickwick Papers" and "Oliver Twist," and he began work on "Nicholas Nichleby." In a bedroom on the third floor, his wife's sister, Mary, died in Dickens' arms; she was stricken by heart disease at the age of seventeeni and became the inspiration for the character of Little Nell in "Old Curiosity Shop." I walked the streets surrounding the house, passing the law courts, Grey's Inn and Lincoln's Inn, and walking through Lincoln Park to the Chancery Court. These places figured in three of Dickens' novels. The next morning, I visited a home and a chapel less than a mile away from Dickens' residence. Beginning in 1779 and for the final eleven years of his life, John Wesley lived in a small Georgian home at 49 City Road, London. He had built the chapel according to his own design in 1778, and he and his wife moved into the home on the same lot the following year. Almost all of the furniture and all of the books in the home belonged to the couple. Wesley's writing desk, his favorite chair (a gift from a convert who had been a slave auctioneer), his clothing chest and a robe in which he preached, and his small prayer table at which he spent an hour each morning were all in the building. His last portrait was painted in the second-floor sitting room; he died in his bedroom on the third floor. The chapel at the center of the courtyard was constructed of honey-colored limestone, and still has the original doors and windows. Wesley intended the sanctuary to be a classroom for the training of his circuit preachers; he placed the pulpit in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped structure so that the practicing preachers could be evaluated by their peers. Wesley himself delivered sermons from the elevated box, and he served communion from the rail that he designed against the back wall. The building also housed the small organ at which John's brother, Charles, composed over 600 hymns. A small museum beneath the sanctuary held a number of artifacts including the first list of circuit preachers, their destinations and dates along their respective routes were inscribed by hand. There was a pen with which Wesley wrote one of his sermons, and a bonnet owned by his mother, Susanna, along with one of her own manuscripts concerning childhood education. I never encountered any ghosts on my walks through London, nor did I ever sense strange fluctuations of temperature or an eerie breath that might indicate the presence of anyone long dead. But I did gain a clearer understanding of the day-to-day lives of individuals--and perhaps a keener sense of why one under-paid legal clerk became a famous novelist, and how a child plucked from the window of a burning house was destined to light the fires of faith.

The West Country

For the last several days I have been driving (!!!!!!!!) through the "West Country." Internet availability is almost non-existant here. Right now, I have 14 minutes (it took a minute of my time just to log in) at the Salisbury Public Library in which to make an entry on this blog--oops, make that 13 minutes. Here's just an overview of travel since last Saturday.

Windsor--stayed two days in the small town that is home to the largest occupied royal residence in the world. Visited the castle, of course, and saw its fabulous art collection, collection of gifts from around the world to the English crown, and the royal reception areas. The changing of the guard came with a full regimental band because the queen and royal family were spending the week here too.

Winchester--the ancient capital of Enland, the cathedral keeps the remains of Anglo-Saxon kings of the past. Really a fine city tour with a guide who lectured on subjects from the Iron Age settlements to the Medieval through the Renaissance. The 12th-century hall has been home to King Arthur's Round Table for more than 600 years--it's mounted on the wall. A huge table weighing several tons, it was painted in green, red, and white (the Tudor colors) in 1522 when King Henry VIII wanted to impress the visiting Pope with a connection to this famous king. Poet John Keats once walked along the River Itchen--we took his path. Jane Austen lived right outside of town, and died in a house near the cathedral--the visit to her home was splendid, of course. Lots of other great sights to see in Winchester--the old city gates, bishop's house, Medieval mill house, old coach houses, the oldest pilgrim's hospital in Europe--many buildings and locations dating to the age of King Alfred the Great in the 870s--could have spent a week.

Salisbury--the cathedral has the tallest spire in Europe--we walked to the top of the tower for a wonderful view of the Medieval city. The entire cathedral surround was filled with historic homes, buildings, and an archeological museum. Found the little church in which poet George Herbert preached and wrote--the rectory in which he lived and died is just next door.

I'm timed-out for now. Going to Stonehenge and Avesbury today.

Canterbury

In my last blog, I said that henceforth I was just going to write topically as I was impossibly behind in any sequential description. Here's an overview of what I mean. Just in the past few days, we've visited the historic site of Edward I's palace and castle on the Thames river that later would become home to an early Parliament House. The remains included the impressive Jewel Tower, a stronghold that once housed the royal collection of valuables and crown jewels. In the 16th and 17th centuries, it was home to the records of Parliament. We spent more than half a day in the British Museum, enjoying a tour lasting just over an hour and a half that covered the most ancient relics in the collection. Yes, this included the Elgin Marbles, the Portland Vase, and the Rosetta Stone. While in the neighborhood of Westminster Abbey, we, of course, had to visit Methodist Central Hall, London's largest venue for Methodism and the first meeting place of the United Nations.

Taking a little trip to the east of London, we visited Leeds Castle, a splendid fortification the main body of which sits in the middle of a picturesque lake. Rare birds, art treasures, and Medieval excavations kept us running all over the adjacent countryside. Then, we saw those white cliffs. There are no bluebirds native to England, so I didn't sing the song (do you know "There'll be Bluebirds Over the White Cliffs of Dover"?), but Dover is just as lovely as the pictures. We ate lunch atop one of the chalk cliffs and then went down into the port city to wade in the channel foam and enjoy the vista that included Dover Castle, called the "Key of England," and a Roman lighthouse four stories tall, the tallest Roman structure in the country.

And then there is Canterbury. In my last entry, I wrote that Westminster seemed more a ceremonial/historical shrine than a church. Canterbury is a shrine that nevertheless retains the best qualities of a church--connected to a past of religious worship and veneration and of political intrigue. If you don't know the story, in the late 1100s Henry II was emerging as a powerful king whose struggle to gain control of his country, courts, and tax structure led him into direct confrontation with the Pope in Rome. When Henry installed his friend Thomas Becket as leader of the English Catholic church--the Archbishop of Canterbury--the king thought his problems were over. Until Thomas became religious. In 1170, Henry told four knights that he wished someone would rid him of "this troublesome priest," so the knights rode to Canterbury and entered the cathedral. They caught Thomas as he was climbing the stairs to the alter for Evensong service. Thomas fled downstairs but was caught at the entrance to the crypt where three of the four knights struck him across the head and shoulders. He died in just a few minutes. His monks took his body and placed it in between two columns in the crypt. Miracles associated with Becket blossomed, and the faithful began to arrive on pilgrimage to see where this martyr had shed his blood. By the late 14th century, Chaucer memorialized the pilgrimage in his "Canterbury Tales."

With the catherdral over 600 feet in length, I had trouble capturing the entire structure in a single snapshot. It is constructed in the form of a Greek cross, which means that there is a long, central nave that is intersected by two crossbars. Few side alters or monuments obstruct the view of the entire length of this tall, gothic nave. In fact, the cathedral is an interesting combination of styles. An older cathedral in Romanesque style on this site left an under-croft of low, semi-circular arches, while the newer gothic construction of the 13th and 14th centuries created the 120-foot-tall, peaked arches of the primary nave. There is a lovely inner harmony--the sort of place that you could sit and just look up to marvel at the genius of the stonework. A monastic chapter house in gothic style and a beautiful yard enclosed by a peristyle complete the serenity the infuses the church.

And the pilgrims came. There is a single candle lited each day on the spot where the shrine to Becket stood until the Reformation. Four twisted stords hang over the place where Thomas fell. Also interred in the cathedral are Henry VI, his queen, and the Black Prince, but the pilgrims came to see Thomas. There were so many that the monks built a special tunnel underneath the main alter to take them to the site of his martyrdom without disrupting customary services. I came as a pilgrim too. Brought by the story of the argument between two friends--Henry and Thomas--and impelled by Chaucer's sometimes irreverent pilgrims, I wanted to see where the martyr's blood wrote itself into history, literature, and legend. And I found what I came for.

The Abbey

I'm four days behind in describing travels in and around London. Coming to the realization that I won't have enough time to cover everything until I fly home, I've decided just to blog about a few highlights as they occur to me (you did know that the word "blog" could be used as a verb, didn't you?).

On Monday, I entered Westminster Cathedral for the first time. I'd traveled around the place many times now but had been waiting for Dianna to join me before going in. We arrived early, just after the opening at 10 o'clock, in the hopes of finding a lessened crowd--those hopes were soon dashed. Passing the 15th-century church of St. Elizabeth, we could see the crowd four abreast stretching about 60 feet back from the north portal. A little disappointing, but what a portal! The great, gothic arch extended 30 feet upwards to where a stone stature of Christ was surrounded by a peaked gathering of angels playing ancient instruments. Admission is £10 (almost exactly $20) per adult, and the guided tour is another £5--a total of $30 apiece for the whole fee--pretty pricey. We paid our money and entered inside. Dianna's first comment was, "My gosh," followed by "What a clobbered up mess!" What she meant was that on first looking up, the rose window in the south transept is stunningly beautiful (that's the "My gosh"). One the other hand, the press of human flesh almost overwhelms the senses. Additionally, what should have been the beauty of a long, slender gothic nave was obscured by the countless--literally countless--memorials which seem to fill every possible space available in the church (thus we get to the "What a clobbered up mess!").

More than 3,300 people are buried in Westminster Abbey, and their interments are marked by everything from a simple diamond-shaped stone to a large stone scultpure 30 feet high on a base larger than my living room at home. Additionally, the war dead from every English conflict since the 1600s have some type of rememberance in the church. These do not include, by the way, the individual statuary and plaques mounted to honor the deeds of the individual dead--the ship captain who died just as his vessel overcame a French frigate at heavy odds or the general who fell in a cavalry charge during the Crimean War. Sculptors, hoping for a sizable fee from the families I'm sure, frequently represented these fallen heroes in the form of Greek gods clad in martial finery struggling against centaurs or some other such fanciful creatures. Some of the side chapels are so choked with busts covered with laural, angels with outstretched wings, or soldiers with sword in their raised fists that visitors duck and weave their way around, under, and through--often taking several minutes just to make their slow way into and out of a small area.

Happily, our guide, a church verger named Benjamin, took our group into the enclosed, central alter for an orientation. A verger, by the way, is an Anglican Church official who is responsible for leading all processionals and for assembling the Eucharist materials. To my great joy, we gathered around the tomb of Edward the Confessor, an early English saint and the king who in 1065 built the first cathedral on this site. Edward's tomb was a primary site for pilgrimage in England until Thomas a Becket's maryterdom at Canterbury Cathedral in 1170. Surrounding this alter were the crypts of Henry III, the king who had the current gothic cathedral built on this location in the 13th century, and Henry V, England's great warrior king and subject of Shakespeare's play of that name. Benjamin also made touring the cathedral a little easier by clearing our way into such tomb areas as the chapels where Mary and Elizabeth I, the daughters of Henry VIII are buried together, and where Mary, Queen of Scots, is buried.

Certainly for me, one of the highlights was the so-called "Poet's Corner" which is not actually a corner--it is simply the south chapel. A statue of a reclining Shakespeare dominates one end--even though he's not buried there. Several great writers are likewise honored, but not interred, in this location. Chaucer actually is buried there--he was the first to be placed in this area, though more for his service to the king and because of his friendship with the Black Prince than because of his writing. Charles Dickens is there--against his wishes; he had actually expressed a desire to be buried in a quiet service elsewhere. The church also serves as the final resting place of many great scientists (Newton, Darwin, Faraday, and Lyell--to name a few) and composers (a towering statue of Handel and a little plaque of Ralph Vaughn Williams--one of my favorites).

Clearly, Westminister Abbey has become a ceremonial certer for the nation. You may know that it has served as the place of coronation for every English monarch since 1066 in the age Harold. However, with plaques and memorials to Churchill, Roosevelt, Monty, Eisenhower, the Korean War Dead, and a capsized tourist boat from 1989, the place feels more like a monument and less like a church. Nevertheless, Westminster is a site of considerable history--even if it is "a clobbered up mess."

London, Inside and Out

Again, I'm pressed for time--less than half an hour--to make a blog entry tonight. I'm just going to make a few notes.

SHAKESPEARE'S GLOBE
Located just past "The Clink" (a museum dedicated to one of London's earliest prisons), Vinopolis (a wine warehouse and tasting room), and the ruins of King Stephen's abbey (nice 12th-century rose window left from the great apse) lies the reconstruction of Shakespeare's Globe theater. It's less than 100 years from the historic location of the original Globes. Yes, that's plural because there were two previous theaters. The first was built in 1599 and burned to the ground 15 years later when a canon fired from the "heavens" (the canapy covering the stage) set the tatch roof on fire. The theater was reconstructed in 1615 only to be closed and dismantled by the Puritans (spoil-sports!) in 1649. The latest Globe was opened in 1990 and is a "faithful reconstruction" of the originals--at least as close as we know based on sketches and diary discriptions. They used great, hand-hewn beams held together with wooden pegs and hand-cut board nailed with wrought-iron nails. The thatched roof was considered a fire hazzard (go figure) by the fire department, so a sprinkler system was installed along its apex and the whole place is sprayed with a fire-retardant material each season. The only other concession made to modernity was the use of a concrete floor where the "groundlings" would have stood--they actuall tried a dirt, nut shell, and ash floor in the first theatrical season, but it raised too much dust. In any event, just being in the facsimile of Shakespeare's theater rendered a memorable experience.

MILLENNIUM BRIDGE
After catching a bite at a wharf-side cafe, we strolled Millennium Bridge which connects Bankside which was once the disreputable (those theater folk!) side of the river to St. Paul's on the north bank. It's a suspension bridge and allows for a dramatic view of the river and most of Central London's sites. When it was originally opened, the Queen took the inaugural stroll--and then officials closed it for several months. The structure swayed dangerously up and down on the suspension cables and engineers were called in to stabilize the thing.

EASTER
Saturday evening we attended the first "Easter" service of the season at St. Paul's. This was actually the Confirmation Service that began outside the cathedral, processed to the baptismal font in the narthex, then moved to the main alter for Eucharist. The Bishop of London presided and the cathedral choir provided the joyful noise. Just one part of the pleasure of attending involved the treat of seeing the interior of St. Paul's illuminated for the evening service.

HAMPTON COURT PALACE
The country estate of Cardinal Wosley, this 15th-century palace is located about 15 miles outside of London. All I have time to say is, "Wow." Henry VIII took the place over--William and Mary made expansions and added a garden. It's on the Thames River--the monarchs could boat into The Tower when they were needed for state ocassions. They had costumed actors playing famous historic characters--including a fire-eating jester. Food was cooked on site in the way it would have been prepared 500 years ago. It was really like stepping back in time. And the location with its vast gardens held us until near nightfall.

Okay--no time to proof--check for type-o's or nothin'--this place is closing and I'm only up to what we did Sunday. Sigh. May never finish this blog.

Too Little Time--Too Much To See

I haven't made a blog entry for four days, both because the internet cafes tend to close before 10:00 and because Dianna and I have been trying to fit 14 hours of touring into 12 hours each day. I'm happy that she is finally able to experience the non-stop wonder that being in a city like London offers the diligent traveler. I'm not going to try to compile a nicely developed prose narrative--just a list of some of our stops for future use.

CABERET
Well, we haven't been spending all our time with ancient history or literature. We've taken in our share of the local entertainment including a trip to the Lyric Theatre for a performance of Caberet. Along the way, we've tried to experience the local cuisine, including fish and chips and mushy peas (the last is really quite good) down at the warf and a nice chicken pie with mashed potatoes and steamed veggies all covered in thick, brown gravy.

THE TOWER
This was an entire day's excursion. Americans tend to think of this historic location as "the" tower, but, in fact, the white stone tower and wall built by William the Conquerer in 1084 was subsequently surrounded by a secondary wall with 13 additional towers in the 12th century. In the 13th century, another wall was added with six more towers; thus, when you visit "The Tower of London," you'll actually see 20 towers--the white tower rising above the others in the center of an elaborate fortification. And what history! Not only did the early Norman kings settle here as their primary residence in England, but also Henry VIII and the Stuart kings used this location as well. Famous prisoners such as the two princes (see Shakespeare's "Richard III"), Sir Thomas More, two of Henry's wives, and John Stuart were murdered or executed within these walls. Ann Boleyn and Catherine Howard are buried under the alter in the Royal Chapel within the walls. Many prisoners left graffiti in their cells which were located mostly among the 13 towers of the inner wall. For those of you who care little about history, there's always the gross display of opulence known as the Crown Jewels. Yep, we saw them--several times. The display of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires and gold scattered like so many rhinestones on crowns, swords, canes, and clothes was pretty astounding. Also on the grounds is the museum of the Royal Fusiliers--very nice--and a fun changing of the guards ceremony.

SHERLOCK HOLMES
Yes, I realized a boyhood dream and visited the rooms of The Detective and the doctor at 221b Baker Street. The Baker Street metro stop is the oldest in London--first opened in 1863--and it would have, of course, afforded Holmes rapid transit throughout the city. On the street above, there really is a 221b address where an enterprising company has constructed "The Sherlock Holmes Museum"--strictly a tourist trap since old Sherlock is purely fictionally--but for me a fun hour. The rooms are decorated with period elements that replicate descriptions from the stories, and an actor playing Dr. Watson greets you as you are shown upstairs. He asked who I was, and I, of course, replied, "Mycroft!" (I'll just let you look that up if you don't know.) As you continue to climb the stairs up the apartments, you'll see scenes from the stories depicted using wax figures from Madame Tussaud's (pretty campy). Just a little up Baker Street from 221, by the way, we saw the work room and living quarters of a real person--author H. G. Wells.

KENSINGTON GARDENS
Dianna and I took a stroll across this natural marvel in the middle of a bustling city. Stopped to see the Elfin Tree--an acnient oak tree with figures of the wee folk carved by a 19th-century artist into its trunk and branches. At one end of the gardens is the impressive ALBERT MEMORIAL, a tall, neo-Gothic tower and monument erected to commemorate the passing of Queen Victoria's consort.

KENSINGTON PALACE
Located at the west end of Kensington Gardens is the city get-away of British monarchs William and Mary. A country house in the 1600s, the royals purchased the residence in order to have a home removed from the center of London. Christopher Wren (of St. Paul's fame) expanded the home into a palace, and it has remained in the royal family ever since. All four Georges lived there for a time during their reigns, and Victoria was born there. Indeed, Victoria was awakened in her bedroom there on the day that her uncle, George IV, had died, and she was told that she was the queen of England. More modern residents included Princess Margaret, the current Queen Elizabeth's sister, and Prince Charles and Princess Diana--right up to their divorce, of course. The rooms of William and Mary have been restored to late-17th-century spleandor, and the art work throughout the palace makes the spot worth the visit.

HMS BLEFAST
Resting at dock along the Thames River is the light-crusier HMS Belfast. Commissioned in 1938, she saw action in the North Atlantic, was part of the Normandy invasion bombardment, and supported British and American troops during the Korean Conflict. We climbed to the Captain's Deck, ducked our way into the forward batteries, and visited below decks where the crew lived and worked--a fun, floating museum.

BANQUETING HOUSE
Located just down the street from number 10 Downing (Tony Blair's current digs), the Banqueting House is the only surviving building from a great palace build by Cardinal Wolsey in the early 16th century. The poor cardinal was forced to surrender the place to King Henry VIII (it is good to be king!) who expanded the location into his primary London residence. Queen Elizabeth entertained ambassadors and saw dramatic perfromances on the location, and current Banqueting House was built by James I in order to house the elaborate court masques that he enjoyed. Designed and executed by Inigo Jones, the Banqueting House introduced Italian Renaissance design to England. The lower floor consists of row on row of beautiful low arches after the style of a monastery; James and Charles likes to bring close friends there for drinking parties. The upper room boasts a single, cavernous ballroom decorated with white stone walls and gold-gilded columns and a gold, coffered ceiling. Charles I commissioned the Flemish artist Rubens to paint eight vast works to decorate the ceiling--they were allegorical works that validated his divine right of kingship. Ironically, in 1649, following his capture and trial during the English Civil War, Charles I was marched through this room and executed on a platform built onto the Banqueting House just for the ocassion. William and Mary held court from the room, and, much later, it became a museum for the display of militaria taken during the Napoleonic Wars. Today, it is used for official state dinners. Several American presidents--to say nothing of diverse diplomats from around the globe, have dined there.

And now, a final anecdote. So, what's one of your greatest concerns when traveling? Of course, where can you find a clean bathroom!? Well, we're in the Banqueting House where heads of state are entertained, and Dianna says, "I have got to go to the bathroom." She goes downstairs, and I follow her down where another husband is already waiting. Dianna heads in through a marble doorway with a great carved door festooned with elaborate appointments. In a minute, a woman comes out, walks immediately to her husband and says, "It was just beautiful--I knew it would be." A couple of minutes later, Dianna appears at the door and says, "You should go the the Men's room just to see this." Okay, I'm game. I enter. It was heaven. To begin with, it may be the only clean bathroom open to the public in London. Marble walls and busts gleam white, while the tile floors mix grey and light blue. I'm nearly faint with the dazzling display and take a seat--you know where. Afterwards, I wash my hands at the polished fixtures using designer soap available in clear dispensers. I dry my hands on one of the thick, folded towels stacked beside each sink. I didn't want to leave. Finally, as I stagger out, I walk over to Dianna who says, "Do you realize that I might have just sat where Laura Bush once sat?" The thought is just too much for me to fathom.

This list brings us up to yesterday--but this internet location is closing. More later.

St. Paul's, Southwark, and The Author

Okay, so some of you are curious about what Dianna and I are seeing now. I'll just gloss over a few highlights. Yesterday, we spent half a day in St. Paul's Cathedral. The towering work of Christopher Wren, this is a 17th-century church built on the foundation of a 12th-century structure that went up in flames in the Great Fire of London (1666). A great mathematician, Wren had been given the job of renovating the old building that was practically falling down, built scaffolding all around the church that he said should probably be knocked down, and low and behold, the whole thing is consumed in fire presenting Wren with a blank slate. Personally, I think that Wren started the fire himself, but then, I've been reading a lot of Dan Brown. Its cavernous interior is gleaming white stone--gleaming because the whole thing has been cleaned in the past three years, having been covered by a layer of grey-brown London grime over the past three hundred years.

Since that other church--the Abbey over by Parliament--has been filling up with famous dead people since the 1200s, St. Paul's has become home to artists, composers, and statesmen since it opened. The crypt holds Admiral Lord Nelson, the Duke of Wellington, poet John Donne, Holman Hunt (the Pre-Paphaelite painter), and Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert & Sullivan fame!) to name a few. What you really need to know is that Dianna and I climbed to the very top of the cathedral following the tour. Yes, past the "whispering gallery" that looks down on the nave, beyond the dome porch, she kept going up until we stood at the tower overlook. She was stunning with the wind tossing her hair. London was nice, too.

Today, we crossed the Thames River to Southwark. We visited the catherdal that has been much rebuilt since a Christian church was first founded there in 606AD. There are several nice sculptures including a 12th-century, wooden crypt carving of a Crusader knight. It holds the burial crypt of Lancelot Andrewes, bishop and scholar whose claim to fame is that he worked on the 1611 translation of the Bible that became know as the "King James Bible." Additionally, the church is the home parish of one of London's most famous suburbs. John Gower attended, died, and was buried there. Gower wrote "Coffessio Amantis" and other Latin works in the mid-14th century that proved early English writers were capable of high art. Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Dickens were also known to have attended services there; in fact, Shakespeare's brother, Edmond, and friend and fellow playwright, John Fletcher, are buried in the transept.

Having visited the hub of the neighborhood's culture, Dianna and I wandered the streets of Southwark. We passed the one remaining wall of the prison where Dicken's father was held as a debtor and saw the street where Dickens' lodgings once stood. A park wedged between streets is called "Little Dorrit" after the Dickensian character. We walked down Tabard Street to near the spot where the Tabard Inn stood until a 16th-century fire. The Tabard is the location where Chaucer's 29 pilgrims are supposed to have gathered for their trip to Canterbury to see the grave of Thomas Becket. In fact, Tabard Street is crossed by Pilrgrim Street and Becket Alley. That's the way of walking in London--a little history around every corner.

P.S. To Kathy N.--I forgot to mention in my last blog that the Norwich Cathedral has just opened a stone labyrinth that they laid in the southeast yard of the church. Monthly walks have been very popular, and I had to think of you as I took a turn around the stones.

P.S. to Bonita--thanks for the quote from your comment. I had never read the passage, but I found it accurate to the word to the sights and feelings of my walk to and from Holy Island. Don't mean to be too sentimental, but it literally brought a tear to my eye.

Norwich: One Cathedral and One Saint

From the far north in Northumbria, I took the GNER (Great North Eastern Rainroad) train to Ely (pronounced "e-le," not e-li) where I made the change to local rail so I could continue through to Norwich (pronounced "nor-ridge"--ain't those English folks funny?). I arrived late in the evening, past seven, and had a little trouble finding a hotel. The small, private hotels were already full, and the Old Maid's Head, the historic hotel built in the 16th century, wanted the equivalent of $220 for a one-night, single. So, I settled for the Travel Lodge at the rail station; pretty boring, I know, but I am almost at the end of my travels and my reasons for coming to town had nothing really to do with hotels.

Usually, my first stop in a town in the tourist information office to pick up a list of opening and closing times for attractions and places of historic interest. In Norwich, however, I had one clear destination, and it didn't matter to me that I was sure to arrive before any doors were open to me. I went directly to the tiny church of St. Julian of Norwich. It's located in a poor part of Norwich, down the river and near where the tidal sweep of the ocean can reach up the fresh waters of town. The neighborhood still preserves a pair of timbered merchant houses built in the 14th century among the dilapidated apartments. Turning up St. Julian's Alley, a street that has been on city maps for 600 years, I came to the churchyard wedged between an auto shop and what had once been a grocery store. And there it was--St. Julian's Church.

At 10:00, a caretaker arrived to open the church door. I went immediatly inside, walked to the south wall, and opened the door of a small room. I settled quietly onto a prayer bench against the wall. This is where my idea for my Faculty Development Leave had begun. In a way, I felt like this is where it ended.

We don't know the name of the woman who spent 40 years living and working in this small cell sometime late in the 14th century. She is called "Julian," but her name is really just that of the location where she chose to devote her life as an Anchoress--a Medieval woman who lived alone in order to engage in spiritual exercises. She is so self-effacing that she never names herself in her work "Sixteen Revelations of Divine Love." What she accomplished is nothing less than the first work know to have been written in English by a woman. She survived a series of plagues that racked her country and saw her efforts to discover a self-directed life reined in by male mentors. Nevertheless, she produced this remarkable book and became a sage whom other women and men sought out by pilgrimage. Most notably, Margery Kempe writes in her own autobiography that she met Julian just before the latter's death around 1416.

In fact, three years ago I began reading these two women's works with an eye to developing a paper discussing how women discovered avenues of rhetorical power between the 14th and 15th centuries. They both mentioned the power accrued through pilgrimage; Kempe had, indeed, walked the Camino de Santiago. And that set me to thinking. Both Chaucer's Wife of Bath had also been to Santiago, and I began to wonder why pilgrimage offered women not only a path to holiness but also a road to self-expression and community esteem. I decided to make this the starting point for my Faculty Development Leave.

And so I sat in Julian's cell. I've read her works, but now I have touched her life with a visit to these few square feet. Inside this cell, she became one of the most powerful religious figures of her time. Norwich has a beautiful cathedral begun in 1094 that boasts the second-highest tower in all England, and the town is home to 30 churches that remain from the Gothic period. Streets are cobbled from flint stones, and 14th-century houses still reveal their oak timber skeletons. But I spent my morning with an un-named woman in a small, single-naved church with an 1,100-year-old foundation.

Today, I'm in London where I have been joined (after all this time!) by my wife, Dianna. We plan to augment the tourist economy. I'll try to make a few more entries--perhaps not about seeing "Cabaret," although we already have tickets for tomorrow night. I'll write about Canterbury and Salisbury, perhaps, but for me the last day of my pilgrimage will always be the day I spent in Norwich.