Overslept on my last morning in London so I didn't do quite as much today as I had hoped to. Admittedly, my final day schedule wasn't going to be completed anyway because it included at least six hours of activities to be crammed into three. But waking up at eight thirty didn't help anything (what happened to me? A month ago I was waking up at six every day, even when I had gone to sleep at midnight or one. Maybe I need the threat of homework to wake up properly...).
I did have the opportunity to see Southwark Cathedral (according to Rick Steves that's pronounced SUH-thuck but I never heard anyone say it so I can't be sure), which was gorgeous and free, unlike Westminster Abbey (I spent all my money getting here and having a place to sleep at night so I'm going for all the free stuff this time around, I'll hit all the other sites when I visit as a rich engineer). It turns out William Shakespeare attended this church, and there has been a church operating here longer than anywhere else in the London area.
The main hall of the cathedral
A statue of Shakespeare; he's not buried here but he did attend this church
I then made my way into Tate Modern, one of the two big free museums I had not yet attended (the other is the Victoria and Albert Museum). I should probably have attended the other, since modern art and I don't get along very well. There was one exhibit about artists which have explored unusual materials for their paintings. As in not paint. As in not paintings. I kid you not, there was one piece labeled Untitled painting (mirror on canvas). It was composed of a mirror, attached to a canvas. That was it. Apparently, as the viewer walks by and adjusts their hair or whatever, they become part of the exhibit, which is a work of pure genius by whoever it was. Which means one of two things: there is a work of pure genius behind everyone's bathroom sink, or a great level of genius and mastery is required to glue a mirror to some fabric on a wood frame. I loved the National Gallery, but as soon as the switch is made from the nineteenth to the twentieth centuries I just don't understand anything anymore. This is why I enjoyed the Book of Mormon more than Once.
After the confusion of Tate, I got one last drink at the Starbucks in front of St Paul's Cathedral. This is where I spent most mornings and wrote the majority of my blog posts in London. It was nice having something so majestic to view as I sipped tea or coffee and struggled with wifi connections, and the people-watching could be intensly entertaining. I never knew how many people use their iPads as cameras. Some Asians have selfie sticks, these rods the length of a cane, at the end of which one can attach a phone and take selfies from a distance. Then they all pose for a good five minutes while they get themselves into the best positions to show themselves off before they move on.
A few farewell shots. I really liked this place
I regretfully bid farewell to the cathedral (another place that charged a rather steep entrance fee, which I will visit next time) and took the subway to Paddington Station. On the way to the Tube, I discovered Temple Bar, something of which I had heard but about which I knew nothing. I had always thought it was in the Temple area, given the name: not the City.
Temple Bar (that's a spire of St Pauls Cathedral behind and above it)
It turns out that it was in the Temple area; it was the gate into the city of London on that side until traffic flow became too great and it became constrictive. At that point it was purchased by a wealthy man whose name escapes me and moved out of there to somewhere else, where it slowly deteriorated. Then, somewhat recently, it was purchased by I think the Corporation of London (which is essentially the municipal government of the center part of London, like we would say the City of Corvallis--at least that's the impression I get which is mostly supported by Wikipedia) and set up by St Paul's Cathedral in a completely pedestrian zone, reopened in 2004.
I also walked past a little garden in what used to be a church, I think Christchurch or Gracechurch. It had been set up to resemble the interior of a church, with rows representing pews and those tower things representing columns (I think).
Church garden!
By the way, if anyone is planning a visit to London any time soon, I have an Oyster card with about two pounds on it that they can use.
Paddington Station is quite nice, nothing like London Bridge Station which is, in the words of your favorite travel writer, "a place where dreams wait to die." If anyone has heard of the Paddington Bear stories, this is where he was found and there's a little shop full of stuffed bears and copies of the books (for those unfamiliar with this, there are some children's books about a sentient teddy bear that a small family found in Paddington Station: they're pretty good if I remember correctly from fifth grade). I sat in a very nice train (also very different from the tired nag with the uncomfortably squishy seats which took me to Brighton and back) for about ninety minutes and arrived in the most gorgeous city I have seen yet.
Even though prettiest of three cities is not saying much, Bath is really beautiful. All the buildings are made of Bath stone, this lovely yellow material that gives the place an uncommon cohesiveness. But it's not creepily uniform; the architecture does show variation from the few ancient Roman structures that remain and the sixteenth-century Abbey of St Peter and St Paul through to the Georgian houses and holiday apartments created when Bath became the premier holiday destination of all of England.
The Parade Gardens with the city center in the background
There is a long, narrow park called Hedgemead Park which was created when a landslide destroyed a bunch of houses along the road; eventually after changing hands a few times, the property was given to the Corporation of Bath and then made into a park. The important thing to note is that the park had a pagoda thing where I waltzed a bit.
I wandered for a bit (finally found a yarn shop that looks promising) until I met my host for the next two nights, Natalie, a very sweet lady with a three-year-old son I wasn't prepared for. He's really cute, but I don't know how to act around children even when I do understand what they're saying (combine three-year-old speech with a strong accent and you get complete incomprehensibility to an American). I eventually got up and walked around a bit until eight, when I joined the Bizarre Bath Comedy Tour, which provides absolutely no factual information about the city or its history (well, essentially none: I did become a bit more familiar with the layout and saw some informative signs about the oldest house and the designer of the interior of the Pump Room in the Roman Baths) but it was funny. No Wulffs should attend, though, since it did involve chucking a stuffed bunny into a river as part of a "magic trick" (he was rescued, don't worry).
I had forgotten that nothing is open after nine o'clock in Britain so my intentions to get dinner after the tour were shot, so I returned to the flat and ate some bread.
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