London: day ninteen

There are some times when I am actually glad that I am somewhat of an insomniac; staying up until 2:30 – 3:00 in the morning and getting up at 6:30 is one of those times. If I didn’t have insomnia, there is no way in hell I could have done that and then spent a whole day constantly wandering through the streets of Cambridge, seeing all I can see. Even still, I am not entirely certain how I am still functioning at the moment. Regardless, it was a good day, and I was awake and alert the whole time so the short night didn’t cause any interfering problems. By 8:30, our bus was zigzagging through Northern London before breaking out into the English countryside. Even in winter, the countryside is a shocking shade of green, and the hills roll gently across the horizon like ocean swells. Little cottages and farms dot the hills, and large hedges divide the plots of land. Unfortunately, because of our speed on the freeway, I was not able to get a clear picture that did any justice to the beauty of the land that stretched for miles on both sides of the road.

When we got to Cambridge, our group was led through the cobblestone streets and between the ornate brick buildings to Market Center – a place in the center of town behind Great St. Mary’s Church that is set up as a farmer’s market of sorts. The large group was then split into smaller groups and we were each given a tour guide to lead us through the city.

Our guide first led us to the Eagle Pub and RAF Bar – one of the oldest and most famous pubs in Cambridge as it was here that Francis Crick and James Watson declared that they had discovered DNA. The RAF (Royal Air Force) Bar is also quite the historical location due to its popularity with the soldiers during WWII – many of whom graffiti-ed their names and initials on the ceiling, which can still be seen today.

Across the street from the pub is St. Bene’t’s Church, the oldest standing building in Cambridge as its Saxon bell-tower dates to the year 1033. The building is so old that the ground on which it stands is sunken down from much of the rest of the town. This marks the original ground level of the town, before years of building and of new dirt deposit throughout the years raised the ground level by about three feet. The church was small, and compared to some of the other spectacular chapels in the city, rather plain, but in some ways I found it to be one of the most beautiful buildings. The old, brick walls were trimmed with ivy and bushes grew around it, a leaf-less tree spread its branches over the roof, almost touching the iron weather-vane at the top. The little yard was, like I said, sunken down, and there were several graves that were clustered to the right side of the wooden door, quite close together and very near the walls – moss grew on the stones. Inside, it was very plain. The simple stained glass windows let specks of colored light fall onto the white walls. Like I said, it really was nothing spectacular, especially not compared to the King’s College Chapel which we saw later, but it was beautiful in its simplicity and history all the same.

Next, we wove our way through the crowded streets (more crowded than normal due to graduation celebrations going on), toward the aforementioned King’s College Chapel which commanded attention and dominated the skyline of the city. Before arriving there, we wove through some back alleys and also stopped to marvel at the Corpus Clock. A rather disturbing piece of art, not only due to the sculpture of a rather horrendous looking creature atop it, but also because of the note of truth which rings in its meaning:

“A large sculptural clock at street level on the outside of the Taylor Library at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge University...It was conceived and funded by John C. Taylor, an old member of the college. It was officially unveiled to the public on 19 September 2008 by Cambridge physicist Stephen Hawking...Taylor calls this beast the Chronophage (literally "time eater", from the Greek χρόνος [chronos] time, and φάγω [phago] I eat). It moves its mouth, appearing to "eat up" the seconds as they pass, and occasionally it "blinks" in seeming satisfaction. The creature's constant motion produces an eerie grinding sound that suits its task.

Below the clock is an inscription from the Vulgate 1 John 2:17: mundus transit et concupiscentia eius ("the world passeth away, and the lust thereof").

The clock is entirely accurate only once every five minutes. The rest of the time, the pendulum may seem to catch or stop, and the lights may lag or, then, race to get ahead. According to Taylor, this erratic motion reflects life's "irregularity".

Conceived as a work of public art, the Chronophage reminds viewers in a dramatic way of the inevitable passing of time. Taylor deliberately designed it to be "terrifying": ‘Basically I view time as not on your side. He'll eat up every minute of your life, and as soon as one has gone he's salivating for the next.’ “   – Wikipedia

From the clock, we went around to the entrance of King’s College Chapel which is right near Clare College. King’s Cross Chapel took 90 years to build, and was begun by Henry VI but finished by Henry VIII. Originally, Henry VI wanted a rather architecturally “plain.” However, when the Tudors got their hands on it, these original ideas went completely out of the stain-glassed window. Outside, the building is magnificent, but inside, it is mind-boggling. One encounters an immediate sort of sensory overload by the grandeur of the stained glass windows, the sculpted crowns and crests, the carved wood center divider, the gold organ pipes, and the breathtaking vaulted ceiling with columns that fan out on top. Everything about it is big, bold and absolutely stunning. At the east end, past the choir chairs, there is a painting by the artist Reuben which is equally huge and splendid, that was a gift to the church and was put on display after having been completed in a mere eight days; one could not even venture a guess at its worth.

Outside of the Chapel, one exits out the south door and enters a large lawn that is on the backside of the gate which one sees from the road. We took the path back out to the main road and again went weaving through the buildings before returning to our starting point at Market Center. From there, we were left to our own devices for the next few hours to get lunch and explore at will. I immediately sent off in search of good photography opportunities, winding through crowded cobblestone streets and snapping pictures of the beautiful buildings as I went. Eventually, I even came across a short hike which led up to a hillside that overlooked the city. Back in the earliest days, this was once a place for the village watchtower, the building for which has long since disappeared. Now though, it functions as the perfect place to get a look at the whole city and the surrounding countryside. One can see for miles from atop this hill; see all the brick and chimney-ed rooftops of Cambridge, but also the green rolling hills which stretch out of sight in all directions. In general, the land is fairly flat, as the hills are not particularly large and there are no mountains, but neither is it boring, as the bright green is dotted with groups of trees, cut through by streams and canals, and trimmed in hedges. Even in the winter – I can only imagine it in the summer – it looks like something from a fairy tale.

Coming off the hill, it was at this time that my stomach decided to remind me that I had not yet eaten, so I wound my way back to the Market and bought a small loaf of banana walnut bread and some dried apple pieces, which I munched on while I continued to walk – wasn’t about to sit down and waste the time I had here. When I felt as though I had sufficiently covered the main part of town, I then crossed over the canal and started following a muddy, dirt pathway that paralleled the water. This was surrounded by a kind of park-like setting, with some open fields between the path and the town, and had plenty of trees, bushes, and flowers throughout. I walked for a long time that way. Even though I felt torn, a little paranoid that there were things I had possibly missed seeing in the town itself, but I couldn’t tear myself away from the green and dirt path. I played hop-scotch over puddles, and had a good time taking pictures of the water, and the foliage. After living in the heart of London for the past few weeks, I was aware that I had been craving the fresh air and space of the countryside. It was immensely refreshing and I walked until the dark grey and threatening clouds began to worry me some. I headed back to the general area in which the bus would be meeting us so that in case it did start to storm, I would be able to duck for cover quickly and easily. This led me to follow the canal and the road in the opposite direction (south instead of north of our bus) for a little while. Even though I did not go down nearly as far, I did find a place where the canal widened into a pond, graced with weeping willows at its banks. I walked around the next block and circled back toward the bus, now that it was time to be heading back.

The timing for when we loaded the bus could not have been more perfect, because no sooner had we all loaded, my prediction came true and the sky unleashed a torrential downpour. And that is an understatement. Put it this way, I’ve never seen rain like that before in my life. No joke. The wind blew it in great gusts, and it didn’t come down as individual drops so much as it seemed as though someone were tossing water out of five-gallon buckets. I couldn’t see out of the window because there was a waterfall off the roof of the bus. All I could see were the blurry outlines of the poor saps who were unfortunate enough to get caught in it, running for their lives. There were even a few peals of thunder and lightning and a bit of hail. And yet, it stopped nearly as quickly as it begun, dissolving into a drizzle as though it were saying “who me? I didn’t do that. I would never.”

And we set off in the failing light, making our way back to our home in London.