Now that we explained most of Thomas a Becket, Thomas Becket and the strange fact they are the same person, we now move onto The Canterbury Tales, which Geoffrey Chaucer wrote in the 14^th Century with the purpose of torturing high schoolers. The people telling the tales were pilgrims. And why were the pilgrims going to Canterbury? To visit Thomas a Becket, of course!

The problem of course, is that Thomas Becket was, as mentioned, quite dead. He had been for a long time. That meant he had stopped taking visitors and had begun taking pilgrims. Thus, Chaucer decided to put together an interesting conglomeration of characters heading to Canterbury on a pilgrimage so that he could have a wide and varied group of people spending enough time together that each of them could tell stories. The next question was what they could do while they were actually in Canterbury, aside from visiting the tomb of a dead, former archbishop? Well, they could buy relics.

Hard as it may be to believe, one of the popular items there was the blood of Thomas Becket. Anybody who wanted to could go to Canterbury and pick up a vial or so of the blood of the martyred saint. I don’t know how much it cost, but it was apparently cheap enough that they sold gallons of the stuff. It was a serious industry, so obviously something was a bit amiss. Thomas a Becket, despite the fact he was taller than most, could only hold a finite quantity of blood. However, the monks there were selling the former contents of Thomas Becket’s circulatory system several times over. Thus, Canterbury Cathedral was the original tourist trap. The only thing they were missing was a large, balloon with "Fireworks" written on the side.

So, with our complete explanation of everything that ever happened involving Canterbury, we have, through a stroke of sheer luck and good timing, arrived there.

From the train station, it quickly becomes clear that Canterbury is a bit unusual. From the train station, you cross a footbridge that goes over a highway and onto the wall. No, not a stone wall. This was merely a fifteen to twenty foot tall earthenwork wall that surrounded the city. It was not entirely unlike a levee, aside from the turrets. No, I mean stone turrets. You know, the kind with tiny little slit windows to allow a person to shoot arrows at marauding Saxons, French or an entire army of people who all thought they were the rightful King. There was one of these towers for about every thousand feet or so, which is much more densely packed than the towers protecting, say, Westerville. For Canterbury not being that large of a city, it made one hell of a first impression.

After traversing a goodly span of the wall, I climbed the trail that spiraled up a sort of observation deck (i.e. big dirt pile) to get an idea of where I was going. The spires of Canterbury Cathedral were visible above the roofs of the city, so I headed that way. After winding through the streets, I finally found my way to a gate leading into the Cathedral and learned there some sort of Church service going on at the time, so I was not allowed in. I decided to skip the touring around the perimeter of the Church until I could see the inside as well, leaving me with no choice other than to go someplace else.

This area was absurdly pleasant.

The nice thing about Canterbury is that it is small enough to explore and random enough to be worth exploring. I found myself not so much going anyplace as much as ending up there. I found the ruins of an old fortress, a quiet country church and a small museum explaining the history of Canterbury, which included an educational video that told the whole story of Thomas Becket/a Becket. This was good because I finally understood what the big deal was about this guy was and it gave me something to rip off for my emails.

Canterbury was a very pleasant diversion because it allowed me to be by myself for a while. Obviously, this was nothing new, I’d been travelling alone for most all of the previous ten days. It was more the fact that I could go places in Canterbury and see nobody. I don’t know if you have this experience, but I find I am much more alone when I am alone around people than when I am alone by myself. It is as though I need somebody around to remind me that I am by myself. Thus, the wandering tour of Canterbury was a nice break from Dublin, London, Oxford and the entirety of the trip from Belfast and Glasgow. However, I soon made my way back to the main streets and the bustle of a very busy tourist city.

Canterbury is almost like a Disneyland version of what one would expect Canterbury to be. Three story buildings crowded around the narrow streets connecting the various town squares that popped up frequently. Straight lines were only designed to get you from one intersection to the next, whereupon the road would decide to take a different direction altogether. Large sections of the city had been designated pedestrian zones, which was probably more a safety concern than anything else. All those tourists have to go somewhere and when 2.5 million of them annually visit your city of 60,000 people, you are going to have a few people spilling off the sidewalks and into the paths of cars. Thus, the horde of people crowding the pedestrian zones.

The Cathedral was, from my calculations, approximately due to open, so I headed back toward it. However, I had not really seen the exterior of the thing yet, so I walked through what I believe is Christ Church Gate and, upon seeing the extent of the Cathedral, I must have had a religious experience because the first thing that came to mind was, "Jesus Christ."

It's pretty big.

The Cathedral is, to an observer in the streets of Canterbury, almost invisible. The tallish, close packed buildings obscure it to the observer on foot, so the first real view you receive of the Cathedral is when you, should you be coming from the direction I was, walk through Christ Church Gate and into the large open area around the structure. The first thing you see are the two towers extending upward from either side of the façade. The next thing your eyes do is trace along the length of the Cathedral, stopping at the monumental bell tower that soars upward from where the transept crosses the aisle. Then your eyes will probably run along the transept as you think to yourself, "This thing is really, really big." Then another part of your brain will tell the rest of it, "Well yes, this part of it is, I wonder what the rest of it is like?" because that part of your brain will realize the transept has obscured the length of the church that is beyond.

At some point, your eyes stop goggling at the size of the place and start taking in the details. This is a wonderfully futile task because of the usual medieval style of densely packing the exterior with all manner of ornament and decoration. Remarkable, I’d say, that a 540 foot long building could have been built with an eye toward conserving space. The architects and artists had a lot of information to convey to people before they entered the Church, and they did not want to miss anything important.

As you wander down to the front façade of the building, you will be greeted by something known as westwork. Westwork is known as westwork because Cathedrals are generally laid out in a west to east style. Typical of westwork, there are two towers on either side of the main entrance that are set wider than the main corridor of the church. The stuff between is usually particularly singled out to give the person entering the stone equivalent of a fireworks display. The area around the door is packed with enough saints and symbolism to really make the pilgrim’s head spin. Thus, you have a choice with what to do with your day: you can either see the interior or you can spend it trying to figure out just who all these people are outside and why they are all so anxious to hang out by the door when they know the bouncer is never going to allow them inside.

Having a limited amount of time in Canterbury, I entered. And I assure you, the exterior ain’t nothing compared to the interior.

As I wandered the first "room" of the church, I came to the conclusion that this was not the actual church. This was the porch. An enclosed, finely constructed, forty-foot high porch of elaborate stonework, but a porch nonetheless. This occurred to me because, as I came to the east end of this section of the church, there appeared to be even more westwork. I think I know how this came about:

Thanks to computer photo editing, the cathedral is no longer off-center and leaning to the left.

Contractor: We’re just about done with your church over here.
Archbishop: Great, let’s take a look… Hm, seems kind of small.
Contractor: You’re kidding.
Archbishop: Well, I agree, that it’s mighty big and all, but it doesn’t look like it’s 540 feet long.
Contractor: 540?
Archbishop: Yes, 540.
Contractor: Your plans called for 340.
Archbishop: Nope, it was 540.
Contractor: I beg to differ, Your Excellency, but the plans said specifically: 340.
Archbishop: Let me see those plans. Nope, see, it says ‘540’ right here.
Contractor: That’s not a five, that’s a three.
Archbishop: No that’s a five.
Contractor: Like hell it is.
Archbishop: Don’t you think I can read my own writing? If you don’t believe me, then ask anybody else.
Contractor: Nobody else can read.
Archbishop: Well I can read and I’m telling you it’s a five.
Contractor: Well tough shit, we bid on it as 340, you’re getting 340.
Archbishop: No, I think we’ll be getting 540.
Contractor: Go [commit the sin of fornication upon] yourself.
Archbishop: Do you know what ‘excommunication’ is?
Contractor: (Pause) Let’s see what we can do for you.

Thus, Canterbury Cathedral received a porch. From the porch, the visitor walks up a set of stairs to stand at the entrance to the rest of the church. Should you ever find yourself standing on the top of the stairs near the portal to the rest of Canterbury Cathedral, look up. No, straight up. You’ll see a rose centered in the ceiling of a tower, illuminated by the clerestory windows surrounding it, with the usual ornamentation decorating everything around. Try not to get vertigo, however, as falling backwards would leave you looking foolish and feeling a lot of pain at the bottom of the stairs.

From there we enter the rest of the church. Much like the rest of Canterbury, exploring this section is pretty overwhelming but definitely worthwhile. Whereas the porch was lit by relatively ordinary windows, the interior of this new section is darker due to the interior being lit almost exclusively by the light coming through stained glass windows. This is probably better for the mood, however, considering the number of tombs filling the room. These things ran along almost the entire length of the aisle because archbishops, from what I could tell, made it a real priority to ensure their remains were interred there.

I wish I could go into more depth about this section of the church, but it was a situation where I saw so much that it all seems to blend together. It is more a confused collection of images than a cohesive idea of everything I saw. I seem to remember spending a good fifteen minutes doing nothing but staring at one stained glass window trying to determine just who the people were and which Bible story they were representing. It soon became clear to me that I either don’t know much about the Bible or I don’t know much about artistic symbolism.

It's a little beat up, but it'll do.

I recall the tomb of Edward, the Black Prince, mostly because of the fact his ornamental armor hung above his tomb. The catch to this was the fact Edward died in 1376 and the armor hanging above his tomb looked awfully new for it to be 624 years old. That was why I was not surprised to see a sign nearby explaining that they were, in fact, replicas. However, I was surprised when it told me the original stuff was hanging in a display case right behind me. Well, of course it was.

The spot at which Thomas a Becket was forced into early retirement is marked by a relatively simple plaque. However, I think they should have mannequins in armor right nearby so that tourists could pay a pound or something and have their picture taken with the caption, "I was martyred at Canterbury Cathedral!" Presumably this would be popular with Spaniards, who seem to have a very strange sense of humor.

Chapels spring off of the periphery in abundance, and many of them are packed with small details that can be examined with as much depth as the grand architecture of the entire building. That was one of the most remarkable things about the Cathedral. Should you ask, "How big is Canterbury Cathedral?" the best response I can give is, "How big do you want it to be?"

After taking in the sights of the interior, I wandered the more outdoorsy sections of the grounds. If anything, these were more confusing that the rest of the city. Doorways, alleys and hallways all sprouted off in all directions and the only reason I never lost my bearings was the enormous Cathedral sitting directly south of me. Around the Great Cloisters, through the Dark Passage, I found myself at a colonnade (or was it an arcade? I’m not sure) sitting on the northeast corner of the building. With that accomplished, I retraced my steps to follow a few walls and paths around the altogether confusing grounds. Once again, it was entertaining for me, though there is little that I can relate about the experience. I explored all I could explore around the Cathedral, including the nice collection of freshly hewn gargoyles protecting the entrance to the gift shop, before I decided there was little more I could see while I was there. Thus, passing by the mariachi band that was just finishing their set (I am not making that up), through the city and back around the wall, I soon hopped the train back to London.