Trip to the Lake District

Our trip to the Lake District was absolutely incredible! Each day was filled with more and more exciting things to accomplish and learn, and provided a unique opportunity to really experience England. While on my travels on the continent, just prior to the start of this semester, I had one lady in Austria explain to me, “if you’ve seen London, you haven’t seen England.” I now am in awe of what this country has to offer: a beauty beyond my wildest dreams and imagination.

In addition to a fascinating and very informative guided tour through Yorkminster, we saw an incredible view in every direction after climbing the endless stairway to the top of the tower. The beauty of that Gothic architecture was striking. We even stayed for the evensong, which was a unique religious experience.

Our excursion to Fountains Abbey was especially neat; I absolutely loved walking amongst the immense, beautiful ruins. The abbey was accepted into the Cisterian order in October 1135. It became state property in 1535, under the rule of King Henry VIII. It was fascinating to learn of the bleak, humble life a monk; so much history is contained on those grounds. It was an adventure to explore the grounds, the abbey itself, the mill. The mill was vital to the existence of the abbey; although the monks only ate one meal a day, that meal included about a pound of bread!

Our stay at Windermere was especially enjoyable; one night in the picturesque mountain atmosphere, and the next day right on the lake. Driving around the Lake District provided my eyes with a feast of enchantment they will never forget. It was neat to satiate my literary passion through our trips to the home of the Bronte sisters, the museum and home of Beatrix Potter, and Dove Cottage, the home of William Wordsworth, and finally Chatsworth, the mansion estate claimed to be the inspiration for Jane Austen’s residence of Mr. Darcy. It was incredible, to say the least.

The church history portion of the trip, Thursday in Preston and Friday in Liverpool, was such a neat experience. I will never forget singing “Come, Come Ye Saints” on Albert Dock at Liverpool, picturing hundreds and hundreds of saints leaving their homes, jobs, and even families, to be with the saints in America. The faith, the courage, the sacrifice truly humbles me when I stop and consider how blessed I am today because of the strength and testimony of my ancestors and those stalwart missionaries. Walking around the grounds of the Preston Temple in Chorley was also unforgettable.

A Walk Around the City

I took a walk around "the City", exploring the busy, crowded financial district of London. Amidst the tall skyscrapers are a variety of structures unique in their architectural design, ranging from office buildings and monuments, to churches. Behind me in the picture is both a church, and an awesome, huge building that can be seen for miles and miles around.

A couple of the other sites I saw included London's first tea house (which appears extremely popular), Mansion House, St. Paul's Cathedral, St. Mary le Bow's church, and many other buildings. It is said that anyone born within the sound of the bells of St. Mary le Bow's church is a true cockney.

Upon reaching the London Monument, I couldn't resist climbing all the stairs to the top for an incredible view of the city, especially the portion I had just wandered around for the past couple of hours. The Monument was constructed in memory of the great fire that burned so much of London in 1666. It stands 202 ft. tall, a height that if it were laid on its side from where its foundation is right now, its top would be at the exact spot where the fire is actually have said to have started.

From where I stood at the top of the monument, I could see miles around in every direction. I had a great view of the Thames as well as Tower Bridge. It was pretty windy of there, and considerably colder, but enjoyable nonetheless. Those are the moments where pictures almost don't do the experience justice. You close your eyes and try to recapture those images for future reference; memories of sights that your eyes will always treasure.

After climbing down and down and down those endless spiral stairs, I was handed a certificate at the bottom that congratulating me for officially making it all the way to the top of the London Monument. It made me smile, but a pretty neat souvenoir nonetheless.

I considerably enjoyed my time on this walk, exploring and getting to know London better. The city feels more and more like home everyday.

Trip to Southall

I pull my scarf up over my head and ascend the cold, marble stairs in my stocking feet, my eyes wide and a few unsuppressed butterflies still fluttering in my stomach. I enter an immense room, and raise my lowered eyes from the interwoven patterns of royal blue and gold that stretch out down the center of the hall before me, to the white-washed walls and ceilings above. This is not the gilded crown molding, detailed frescoes, the elaborate art and iconoclastic symbols of the countless cathedrals and churches through which I have walked over the last month. Its simplicity is beautiful and effective.
My eyes are immediately drawn to the altar rising up before me, covered in a white cloth and placed in front of a colorful stained glass window, softly filtering light upon that which these people find most sacred: the Guru. These holy scriptures of the Sikhs are watched over by an old man, who dutifully waves a white, feathery duster across them from time to time. This is to keep the air clean about these pages that they esteem and attend to as they did to kings of old. Reaching the base of the altar, I respectfully bend over to touch the ground, not sure enough of myself within this culture to kneel and touch my forehead to the floor, as I have just observed Sikh worshippers before me do. I rise again and silently make my way sideways to sit upon the white sheet on the women’s side of the room, careful all the while not to turn my back on the Guru; a dire offense.
At last I sit cross-legged and let out a deep, relieved breath. Why was I so nervous? This is no big deal. As my eyes rove around the room, I observe the Sikhs in various stages of worship and meditation. Some walk to the front of the altar, bow their heads to the floor, they circle around to the back of the altar and repeat. One woman goes on to kneel in front of each window where in a different reading of the scriptures is taking place in each. She is showing respect to each one. I watch in fascinated curiosity as a man holding a toddler walks up the aisle with his wife. Upon reaching the front, the child is placed on the ground, to which he immediately touches his forehead. I doubt he can talk, and yet his religion is already an integral part of his way of life. All the while the semi-melodic rhythm of a woman’s voice reading the Guru echoes through my ears. A word, a beat never seems to be missed or uttered out of place. Beautiful flower arrangements are on either side of the gold donation bins.
Time to leave. I stand and respectfully walk out the back where a woman sitting on the floor places into my hands a greasy, mushy lump of a butter, flour, sugar and water mixture from the large basin in front of her. It tastes sweet, and I appreciate the symbolism of this gesture.
I proceed to another room where all are invited and welcome to a free, traditional meal of lentils, goulash, flat bread, and rice pudding. I love it! It is different, and new, and exciting. These people are so kind; their silence speaks volumes as you can sense their humility and understanding.
The small Hindu temple has a slightly different feel. Sitting in observance, I notice the colorful, glittering statues across the front and down one side of the room. These people’s beliefs differ drastically from monotheistic Sikhism, as I clearly see by the iconoclastic displays of their various divinities all with unique expressions, some with multiple arms. Peacock feathers adorn the gold coverings above the statues and altars at the room’s front. I watch as some of the worshippers bring forward bags of groceries to set before some of the statues; apples, milk, bananas, nuts. The atmosphere feels slightly less didactic, even quintessential. As I stand to leave, I first make my way over to the front corner of the room, where a man sitting in a chair pours a dab of holy water into my outstretched, cupped palm, and then hands me a banana from the basket of fruit at his side. I thank him and leave, struck by how giving these people are.
The larger Hindu temple is, as expected, very similar to the temple I just came from, only on a larger scale. The décor of the room, however, is even more extravagant, topped off with cords of bright, flashing lights strung about the magnificent display at the front. Elaborate architecture surrounds me on the doors, ceiling, molding. A few people present small bouquets of fresh flowers before the statues. One man sitting in meditation stares fixedly ahead, muttering a prayer and holding a string of beads and a small woven bag. As I sit, I look at the floor and realize it is not covered by a large white sheet as in the other temples. The colors featured in these Hindu temples seem to be red and gold. I wonder what they represent in this religion? An older couple back slowly out of the room as they leave, never turning their backs on the displays before them. Some go up to pray in front of each actor in turn. A bell is hanging from the ceiling near the front; some ring it as they pass, and I silently ponder why.

Pilgrimage to Canterbury

Thomas a Beckett was martyred in the cathedral by four knights who interpreted King Henry II’s enraged comment as a commission to rid him of the famous archbishop. Henry IV is the only monarch buried within the cathedral. The Black Prince, his uncle, is also buried there. The cathedral has two transepts. The cathedral also reflects influences from the Romanesque, Gothic, and High Gothic eras, as the church was built and then added upon for centuries. The nave is absolutely grandiose!
It is unbelievable to me just how incredibly old that cathedral is. Our guide knew so much information and the tour was fascinating and very informative; I enjoyed every minute! The grandeur and intricacy of the architecture and decorum was also pretty amazing. It was neat to see the influence of the different time periods on the architecture of the different parts of the cathedral. For example, there was one series of three small arches where the first two were rounded, reflecting the Romanesque period, followed by a third, Gothic-style pointed arch. It looked kind of out of place, yet was a neat preservation of architectural evolution. Seeing the exact spot where Thomas a Beckett was murdered was surreal. I could almost picture him at the top of the stairs, calmly answering the murderous knights yelling in the doorway, then bravely descending the steps to a certain and gruesome death. There is so much history within those immense walls, within each detailed stained glass window, below each vaulted arch.
I was impressed by the knowledge of my guide, but more especially with his respect and reverence for the church, this country, and its history. I sincerely appreciated his reminder that the Canterbury cathedral is not a museum, but a fully functioning church, and must necessarily be treated as such. I thought it was neat that we were asked to maintain reverential silence and abstain from photography while we went down to the church’s crypt.
It is amazing to have read Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and then make the same pilgrimage, from London to Canterbury. It’s one thing to read about it, but quite another to actually see the cathedral, hear its history as well as that of Thomas a Beckett, and get somewhat more of a real understanding of the importance of religion in the lives of so many people. The people that used to make the pilgrimage came from different backgrounds, with completely different roles in society. So very different, yet united under the essential role that religion played in their lives. I enjoyed the entire experience immensely, and learned so much both culturally and academically.

The White Cliffs of Dover

Background: Castles of this time period were built for three reasons: defensive, residential, and as status symbols. Henry II, who ascended the throne in 1154 and was the great grandson of William the Conqueror, commissioned the building of the castle at Dover. His attentions were divided between France and England.

Experience: I hadn’t realized how huge this fortress was. Looking at the view of miles in every direction by both land and sea, it wasn’t at all hard to determine why they picked this particular location to construct Dover castle.
It was neat, and very entertaining, to see the simulation with the king and his attendants of what the castle court life might have been like. He, pretending to be King Henry II, as well as a woman meant to be a princess visiting from France, had several of the girls from our group come forward and kneel. They were presented by the king’s herald as nuns from Rome, sent by Pope Lucius II. He acknowledged what a giggly group they were, and a few of the other girls and I, while laughing, decided we had maybe better move on to see more of the castle to avoid also being presented to the king.
The secret war tunnels in the side of the hill adjacent to the fortress were used during World War II, and were very interesting to see. It’s fascinating to me that such old, historical structures throughout Europe were utilized during the world wars. I can’t help but be curious what the knights and kings of old would think if they could see modern artillery and warfare amidst a setting so familiar to them. It is incredible how dramatically things have changed over hundreds of years.
The famous white cliffs of Dover were absolutely stunningly beautiful. It was so serene to walk along the beach, breathe in the salty, cool air, the breeze whipping my hair across my face. Hundreds of dying mussels were strewn along the length of the rocky beach, where waves gently rolled in. I can now definitely relate with poets and artists who find inspiration in the beauty of their surroundings.

Trip to the National Gallery in London

I chose a religious themed painting from the Medieval period and one from the Renaissance to compare in terms of both their subject matter and aesthetics:

Though both Duccio’s “Annunciation” (painted in 1311) and Raphael’s “The Madonna of the Pinks” (1506) portray the Madonna and are religious-themed, their subject matter and aesthetics set them worlds apart, clearly depicting intrinsic differences between medieval and Renaissance art. Duccio’s “Annuciation” is, as its name suggests, a painting telling of Mary’s visit by the archangel Gabriel to inform her that she will be visited by the Holy Ghost and will be the mother of God’s son. A dove is present in the top center of the painting to represent the Holy Ghost. Raphael’s painting, on the other hand, depicts Mary sitting, holding the infant Jesus on her lap, holding “pinks,” or pink carnations, to distract him. While Duccio’s subject matter presents a mood of solemn intensity through Mary’s divine call, especially shown by her surprised reaction of drawing her robes closer to her and leaning away from the angel, Raphael’s painting provides a subject of the tender bond of love between a mother and her child. As such, Raphael’s portrayal of the Madonna presents a subject that is much more personal and real to the viewer, as she appears more human; a mother looking playing with her child and gazing lovingly at him. Through portrayal of the Madonna, however, the pictures are similar in showing a religious subject that was a significant aspect of both medieval and Renaissance art.
The many aesthetic elements of the two paintings display significant differences that show the progression of realism in art from the medieval to Renaissance period. Raphael’s painting, for example, utilizes bright colors and the effect of light and shading to an exemplary degree, so as to create a more realistic scene. He accomplishes this with minute details ranging from the variation of color tones on Mary’s cheeks, to the shadows of the folds in her clothing and the pillow on which Christ is sitting on her lap, to the soft green, gray and blue colors that soften the scene and add to the sweet, gentle disposition of both Mary and the painting overall. Duccio’s “Annunciation,” on the other hand, is characterized by dull, but severe colors characteristic of the medieval time period, with the exception of Mary’s bright blue, gold-lined robe over her red attire to accentuate her importance in the scene. The gold background and halo above her head are also very characteristic of the era and give no sense of an attempt at realism. This painting is also characterized by clearly defined vertical and horizontal lines, with a few simple curves that attempt at dimensionality and divide the flat space between the angel and Mary, but differ significantly in comparison with Raphael’s almost tangible figures alive with flesh, substance, and definite form. The human anatomy of Raphael’s painting also enhances the scene’s realism as it is proportionally accurate, while Duccio’s Madonna, for example, has a long face and unnaturally long fingers. The paintings are similar in their symbolic content; Duccio places a vase of lilies between the angel and Mary to represent her purity and virginity, and Raphael’s Mary holds out pink carnations to her baby as a Renaissance artistic symbol of divine love.