I am an early bird again this morning, trying to be at the Tower of London when they open at 9:00 AM. I grab a quick bottle of orange juice and a maple pecan “flapjack”—which, as I discover, is not at all like a pancake—at a food stand nearby before heading in. Once inside, I go straight for the crown jewels and find myself alone with them, except (of course) for the heavily armed guards. I hop on the moving walkway, go around several times, and decide that I like Queen Victoria’s tiny crown the best. Next, I meet up with a tour led by one of the Tower’s Yeoman Warders (or “Beefeaters”) and discover, much to my surprise, that bloody executions of the innocent can be quite amusing when the stories are told in the right way. I spend the entire morning exploring the buildings and grounds, before stopping for lunch at the New Armouries Café, at which I once again stumble across that glorious chocolate fridge cake. It must be fate.
I tube to St. Paul’s Cathedral in the afternoon and sign up for a “super tour” with a wonderful volunteer guide named Chris at 2:00 p.m. Afterward, I decide to brave the climb up to the dome. I make it up the Whispering Gallery just fine. Onwards and upwards I climb to the Stone Gallery. Still OK. Along the way to the Golden Gallery my legs tire and my heart begins to race. Unmistakably, I begin to spot old graffiti carved into the plaster walls. In a flight of fancy, I imagine a similar soul making the same trek a century or more ago, writing his last words to family and friends before dying of a heart attack! I approach the last flight of narrow spiral stairs with trepidation, especially after seeing the open ironwork on the stair treads, which makes me dizzy. But thanks to my nephew’s fondness for his “Lord of the Rings” DVD set, I think of Aragorn’s speech in “The Return of the King.” I say to myself: “There may come a time when the courage of men fail, but it is not this day.” I push on and on, and… Oh, the view! Completely worth it!
I climb back down and stay for evensong at 5:00 PM. As at Westminster Abbey, the resident choir is on holiday, but the organ and the guest choir are both lovely. Following the service, I walk across the MillenniumBridge—which, thankfully, no longer wobbles—toward the Tate Modern. I eat dinner at the Pizza Express next door and then make my way into Shakespeare’s reconstructed Globe Theatre for a production of Simon Bent’s “Under the Black Flag.” I am disappointed, and not just because my aching feet have made it impossible for me to fulfill my dream of being a “groundling.” The seats, even with a rented cushion, are very uncomfortable and at nearly three hours in length the play is overly long and tedious. There is much death and mayhem, but the story would be better told by one of the Tower’s Beefeaters. Here, it is just not funny, even though it tries hard to be.
As I exit the theatre, the view of St. Paul’s illuminated in the night sky is beautiful. I take pictures and then walk east, past Southwark Cathedral, to the London Bridge tube stop, stopping by the edge of the water in front of City Hall to snap more pictures of Tower Bridge. As I balance my camera on the railing to keep it steady, the drawbridge opens and a ship sails through. Another great picture. I marvel at my good fortune.