Days 20 and 21

I thought I'd start by notifying everyone that the pictures from the Imperial War Museum on Day 17 have been posted in that section, so go check them out.

There's not much to report on Day 20; we had another British Politics and Literature class, wherein we discussed the problems of representative democracy: earmarks and pork-barrel spending. After an hour and a half of discussion, however, Dr. King saw that our ability to comprehend was beginning to flag, and so we digressed into a discussion of the supposed destruction of morality in British youth in the past years, from the pitched street battles between Mods and Rockers in the Sixties to the random stabbings of today. When pressed, Dr. King admitted that although he was classified as a nerd in his youth, he leaned towards being a Mod. Mods wore jeans rolled tight, cut shirts, and shoes called 'winklepickers,' so-called because they resembled a tool one uses to pry winkles (a type of shellfish) out of their shells. Then it was back to Orwell, and next week we begin Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. V for Vendetta by Alan Moore has also been added to the syllabus, which I'm excited about, seeing as I'm a huge comics nerd who loves Alan Moore.

Day 21 was a Friday, and thus a free day. I decided to go to Westminster Abbey and Saint Paul's Cathedral. As I wandered down Whitehall Street from Trafalgar Square, I noticed that the Horse Guards were mounted, and so asked permission to pet their horses for a second, thanked them, and then meandered on my way. If I have to look like a stupid American tourist cooing over the poor Guards' steeds, I can at least be polite about it. The tourist area of Whitehall, which houses Westminster, the Eye, and Parliament, was teeming with people all there for the Pope's visit. Westminster was closed for the Pope's visit, and I got scammed out of fifteen pounds by these two women in front of the Abbey that represented themselves as being part of a charity. I'm not so much angry about the fifteen pounds (although it does hurt, since that's my weekly grocery budget and I'm also a miser in personality), but more about how they're so lazy as to try and get something for nothing and how they made me feel stupid. I can tolerate almost anything better than feeling stupid. So grumbling to myself about how horrible I felt, I continued on down the Victoria Embankment on the north side of the Thames, stopping to snap pictures of the memorials for the Battle of Britain personnel and the members of the R.A.F. that died in both World War One and Two.

After returning to the flat and having lunch, I departed again, this time for Saint Paul's Cathedral. A massive Anglican cathedral, it was designed by Christopher Wren, and has the bodies of both the Duke of Wellington and Admiral Nelson in its crypts. It cost 9.50 to get inside even with the student discount, but I suppose I can't be angry as it costs 7 million pounds a year to keep the church in good condition. Anyway, it was beautiful; gilt was everywhere, and the high domes filled the space with light and air. After wandering a bit, I took two hundred and fifty-seven steps up to the first of three galleries: the Whispering Gallery. Located inside the dome, this gallery is so precisely designed that someone whispering from one side of the gallery can be heard from the other side. I can't say I enjoyed the Gallery, as heights are not my strong suit, but I persevered and took the hundred and fifty steps to the Stone Gallery. This was located on the outside of the dome, and gave incredible views of London's surrounding boroughs. There's another gallery, the Golden Gallery, located at the very top of the dome, but my courage failed on the ascent and I had to come down.

As Rachel said, 'pics or it didn't happen.' So here is proof of my newly trench-coated status.

The approach to Saint Paul's from the side.

A shot of the interior. All of these interior shots are kind-of-sort-of against the rules of the church, but I took them anyway. If a team of masked bishops show up and take me away, just remember I did it for you.

Crazy awesome mosaics and gilt.
A shot from the Stone Gallery. In the middle of the picture you can see the replica of Shakespeare's Globe, the building with the only thatched roof in all of London. After the Great Fire, thatched roofs were banned in the city, and so Sam Wannamaker, the American actor who fought to rebuild the Globe, had to get an exception to the law in order to have his theater.

Also I've decided I want the Pope to leave. While he's here, the Tubes are a mess, which means that I don't get to hear their soft rumble beneath our flat as they pass. I've grown used to it, even find it comforting, and had a hard time falling asleep last night without the sound of London's subterranean heartbeat.