My Own Pilgrimage to Canterbury

Long long ago, I went to Canterbury… but am now just telling you about it. I apologize. Anyhoo, onto my tale!

Ah... English countryside...

We hopped on a train at St. Pancras station, which turned out to be a little bit of a challenge because St. Pancras is in the same area as King’s Cross, and we honestly had no idea which station we needed. After asking around a bit and feeling like silly little Americans, my friends and I made the right train. It only took us an hour go to south of London and into Canterbury.

Canterbury

English countryside is gorgeous, as I think I’ve mentioned before when I went to Stonehenge. This time though, I got to see it while it was sunny! The weather was absolutely perfect, and made walking around the town a breeze. Quite literally, actually, seeing as there was a slight breeze reminding us it was still February.

It had been a Thursday, but the main street of the town was decorated as if for a festival. The old buildings loomed over us, whispering their history, as merchants sat next to their vendors, selling wigs, souvenirs, and snacks. Tavern signs reading things like The Black Griffin and Bishops Finger. Most of the shops said when they were established, and they ranged from the 1500’s to the 1700’s (note: all older then the United States).

Signs like these were all over the place. I like them.

Pretty, no?

We then headed for the Canterbury Cathedral, where pilgrims have traveled to for centuries. It felt odd to think of all the people who came to visit this place, but as I entered the enormous cathedral, I must say it all made sense. My jaw dropped to the floor within seconds as my head tilted ever farther back to try and look up at the ceiling, which seemed miles over my head (yes, this is an exaggeration). The cathedral never seemed to end, and took almost as long to walk around as did Westminster Abbey. We went down into the crypts and saw where Archbishop Thomas Becket had been originally buried and looked up at the creepy sculpture of nails making the human figure hanging eerily over our unprotected heads.

The inside. I felt like an ant.

As a quick history lesson, the cathedral was first built in 597 AD, but didn’t really get much attention until 1770, when Archbishop Thomas Becket was murdered in the center of the cathedral. They set a candle where he had died, and it’s pretty much dead center. In all honesty, it was a pretty thoughtful place to die. I’m getting off topic… After he was murdered by the British because of his thoughts against the king, miracles started to happen in Canterbury. People then flocked to Canterbury to try to get their own miracles because it had now been dubbed a holy place, and Thomas Becket later became a saint.

Where St. Thomas was murdered.

Which brings us onto the Canterbury Tales! Oh yay, what a great transition! I’ve read Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer at least three times now, and to finally be in the place where the pilgrimage was headed just brought everything to life. I was literally bouncing up and down as we headed for the Canterbury Tales exhibit down the road from the cathedral (we had gotten a deal from the cathedral which made our tickets only £5, but we were going anyway). The exhibit was well done, if not a little creepy. It pretty much went through the whole book—or well, how much Chaucer ended up writing... and I think for people who don’t really like reading epically long stories written in verse, I would suggest this as an alternative. Don’t worry, they spoke in Modern English, which obviously isn’t accurate at all, but since they had the smells of the 18^th century, I guess we can let it slide. Just so you know, I’m very glad people bathe now and that our stables are not as foul as they once were.

The entrance to Canterbury Tales. Unfortunately, no photography inside.

Back streets of Canterbury

All in all, it was a perfect day. My friends and I simply relaxed as we travelled about the town, not only seeing the touristy part of it, but also wandering off to more regular areas as well. After walking around for a good hour or so, we grabbed some tea from a cafe called West Cornwall Pasty. The sign had a pirate eating a pasty on it, and I felt the absolute need to go into it. My friends agreed good-naturedly. They had already seen me at my silliest about the whole Canterbury Tales thing, so I guess they were used to my crazy antics by then.

My most successful picture while on the train. We were heading back as the sun set.