My Canterbury Tale

It seems some of my best-remembered and most content moments involve coffee. Cappuccino or espresso, to be exact. One such moment was in Italy a couple years ago, on a ferry from Sorrento to the island of Capri on a chilly but sunny November afternoon. I remember having my coat and scarf on, watching the island's rocky cliffs draw closer across the surface of choppy blue water, when a steward on the boat kindly brought me a demitasse of hot espresso with a small biscotti. The boat was practically empty, except my two friends I was with and a few other off-season travelers. I think that espresso may have been the best I ever had.

The most recent java moment was last Saturday as I found myself in a rowboat (what is it with the boats and coffee?), on a picture-perfect canal in Canterbury, around 6pm on a lovely warm and breezy summer evening. Warm cappuccino in hand, cute blonde guy rowing the boat telling me and one other passenger all sorts of interesting trivia about the town. It had me thinking that sometimes a simple singular day can feel like an entire holiday -- and this was one of those days. But then again, I think “holiday” is really just a state of mind.

I had woken up unusually early that morning and wasn't in the mood for my usual weekend lie-in. So I got myself ready and walked down to Charing Cross Station and jumped on a train to Canterbury, about a 1.5 hour train ride southeast of London. The trip out was really nice. Quiet. Lots of pretty English country and scenery to enjoy as it whizzed by. My favourite parts were the golden fields with perfect rolls of hay positioned throughout -- the sunlight reflecting off the newly shaved ground making it seem almost illuminated. The colours in England are really so vibrant and beautiful. Guess it's all the rain....anyway, very ethereal and otherworldly at times.

I arrived at Canterbury and made a beeline to the great cathedral. The thing that grabs you about Canterbury as you walk through the cobblestone streets is how old it is. There are still remnants of various ancient civilizations built upon each other...from the Roman walls to the medieval gates through which you enter the old city -- it's amazing to see it all still there, mixed among the modern town of double-decker busses and red phone booths.

The cathedral is a wonder of grey stone and stained glass. In AD 597, missionaries from Rome converted the king of Kent (the region where Canterbury is located) to Christianity. Augustine, leader of the mission, was consecrated as Archbishop and his cathedra (official seat) was established there. The Cathedral has been the home of Anglicanism and the seat of the Archbishop ever since. For a born and bred Episcopalian like myself, this is all very cool.

I spent three hours inside, it was mesmerising. The tomb of St. Thomas is in the church...Thomas Becket, the real-life man, was actually murdered in that very cathedral, and on the spot where he was killed, there is a Martyrdom to which people have made pilgrimages for hundreds of years to pray. The windows go up and on forever and ever, I tried to see as many as I could and read their stories. My particular favourites were the Tree of Jesse window in the Jesus Chapel; a modern window made from old glass depicting St. Thomas; four windows by Hungarian refugee and artist Ervin Bossanyi themed around peace and salvation; The Christopher Whall windows depicting the Nativity, the Agony in the Garden, and the Resurrection; a jewel-like window depicting medieval pilgrims on the road to Canterbury placed immediately overhead an old Roman sarcophagus which is the tomb of Archbishop Hubert Walter; and a small window showing Mary fleeing Egypt with the baby Jesus on a donkey. There were about 50 other windows that had me captivated as well, but I have a feeling to go on about them may cause this entry to get boring fast ("too late" you say?).

There is a wonderfully atmospheric and expansive crypt below the cathedral, with one particular chapel that I loved, called St. Gabriel's Chapel, with a smattering of the remnants of 12th-century wall paintings as well as a Romanesque column. Also a main attraction is the elaborately ornate "Black Prince's Tomb," the burial spot for Edward, Prince of Wales (d. 1376). The tomb depicts him resting in all his splendid armour. There is also a glass case holding his funeral achievements.

The Cathedral boasts peacefully lovely Cloisters surrounding a grassy green. Around the Cloisters there is the large Chapter House (c.1300) with a gorgeous intricate vaulted oak ceiling. This is where Margaret Thatcher and French President Francois Mitterand signed the Channel Tunnel treaty in 1984. During the old days of the monastery, the Chapter House is where the Prior would read out the rules of St. Benedict (there is also an impressive Chapter House off the Cloisters of Westminster Abbey).

The cathedral grounds include the ruins of the old monestary -- its gothic arches, windows and gateways still hauntingly beautiful. There is a well-kept garden in the back perfect for quiet respite. The whole place is a tranquil and layered jumble of stone, glass, colour, art, ruins and a spirit of magnificent beauty.

I left the Cathedral and headed to the very dated Canterbury Tales exhibition (Canterbury is, of course, the subject of Geoffrey Chaucer’s many stories as told by pilgrims and travelers as they made their journeys to Canterbury). This was just downright creepy. Anyone who has read my post about my visit to the Polish salt mine knows I DO NOT like scary fake mannequin people. And the Canterbury Tales exhibit is FULL of them. And it's dark. And to make matters worse, I was alone on the tour -- it was like a haunted house! When you enter, they give you an audio headset and you walk your way through a very dark, musty building -- entering room after room after room where you stand or sit among scary fake mannequins that have not been dusted since 1952. At some points, the audio tour was warped, making it a garbled freak show. It took every bit of nerve and guts I had not to run screaming from the building. After 40 minutes in fright land, I was safely out the back door and into the light of day. I can't tell you much of anything about the Tales I heard, I was too busy focusing my breathing and trying not having a panic attack.

After the scary Canterbury Tales, I wandered around and did a little browsing in the shops. Then I stopped in a Vietnamese Bistro and had a light bite and wrote some postcards. I did some more shopping (stumbled across a neat little health food market where I bought tea) and then thought I might make my way to the train station around 6pm to go home. But while crossing a small bridge, I came across the rowboat tours and the (cute) guy trying to get people on them, so I signed right up. There was a 15-minute wait, so that's when I went into the coffee shop next door and got the cappuccino which I took on the boat with me. The boat ride lasted about 40 minutes down small, lush green waterways surrounded by old stone buildings and gardens. We went under old stone bridges so low that we had to duck with our heads practically in our laps so as not to knock ourselves out.

It was heavenly out, and our guide was interesting and witty. He gave us great little tidbits about the town....like how the French Huguenots settled in Canterbury after fleeing persecution in the Channel Islands, setting themselves up as master weavers (the Cathedral still offers Huguenot services in French at 3pm on the weekends); how many buildings in England feature bricked-up windows from a time when Prime Minister William Pitt (the youngest Prime Minister in England’s history I beleive) implemented the "window tax" that charged citizens for each window they had in their home (so you could tell people’s economic status by looking at a house and seeing who could afford windows); and how there was an old flour mill at the end of the canal that burned to the ground. What's interesting about this is that there is an old pub next door (The Miller's Arms) that also caught on fire, and apparently the firemen had to choose between saving the mill or the pub. The pub is still standing -- although I'm not sure how people could afford a beer at the pub after losing their job at the mill…

After the boat ride, I walked around some back streets of the town, following the old Roman wall and eventually ending up at the Catholic Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury, where I sat in the small garden full of flowers and read my book for awhile as a Saturday evening service took place inside. Then, walking back toward the train station, right outside the medieval gate, I stopped for dinner in a nice little Mexican restaurant.

The train ride back was nice. I was tired and happy as I watched an elaborate pink and periwinkle sunset morph over the fields until darkness fell and we pulled into the city.

Some days here in England are really, really good. Most days, life is good. Especially if there’s a cappuccino involved.