May 28th: St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Struggle for Zorro

The only event scheduled for this day was St. Paul’s Cathedral, one of the city’s premier landmarks and a significant center for religious life for over a thousand years in its various incarnations.

Molly, the same woman who educated us during our bus tour, led us on an excellent tour of the church’s exterior, main floor, and the basement.

As previously implied, St. Paul’s existed in many different configurations across time. The first three structures dedicated to the titular saint all stood and fell before 1100 CE, and the fourth structure, colloquially known as “Old St. Paul’s,” was a massive Gothic cathedral, larger than the Wren rendition by a significant margin. I seem to remember Molly mentioning it as 600 feet tall at the spire, and describing how the building was so long that people opted to go through the building instead of going around it! It burned down in the Great Fire of London, and the current church, designed by Sir Christopher Wren, has stood proudly as a proud member of the St. Paul lineage since its completion, though World War II left it with a few battle scars here and there.

The interior was a gorgeous place, filled by light spilling through the windows and warming the marble floors and columns. Sound constantly reverberated through the giant, mostly open space due to its high, vaulted ceilings; thankfully most people visiting kept themselves quiet (our group included) so the echoes never became a problem. Molly led us all around the cathedral floor, informing us about the long history of the site, and explaining the significance of many of the tributary statues; much the same was done in the basement area, which, despite being a good deal dimmer than the main floor, felt warm in its own way and contained memorials to many more important war heroes, politicians, and scholars.

We parted ways with Molly after ascending from the basement, and I decided, as well as many of my other compatriots, to make the climb up to the Whispering Gallery, a place in the cathedral’s dome where, due to a unique feature of its construction, you can hear the whispers of someone standing g directly across the gap from you. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize that the Whispering Gallery was closed to the public until we had already started the climb up, and we had no way of getting back down other than making the significantly higher climb to the Stone Gallery and taking the down stairs from there. Some of the stretches of staircase were steep, narrow, or both, and I had to fuck my head on more than one occasion. When the option for escape was finally in reach, some of the group took a moment to rest and enjoy the breeze before heading back down. I, along with Cath, Maggie, Margaret, and Austin, chose to climb to the highest publicly available point on the cathedral. My reasoning was that, if I had come all this way, I might as well go all the way. The second set of stairs felt more cramped more often, and I hit my head on a ventilation shaft and a stone overhang as I rolled up my sleeves and huffed and puffed my way to the top.

All of the labor was well worth it when I made it to the Golden Gallery! It might not have been 600 feet like Old St. Paul’s, but 85 meters (278 feet 10 inches) is nothing to scoff at! The view was absolutely gorgeous; the whole city stretched out before me as I made my way around; the breeze cooled my face and arms after the work they had done to bring me there. I took some fabulous photographs (and had a few taken of me) before making the trek back down, speaking with Margaret about self-improvement and personal goal-setting along the way.

The group left and the individual members did their own thing after that. I wandered around (though at the time of writing, I cannot recall whether this was because I got lost trying to get back to the hotel from Holburn tube station or because I chose to amble around St. Paul’s for a while) until eventually making my way to the hotel and resting before I had to leave for the show I planned to see that night.

In hindsight, I almost certainly rested for a bit too long. The evening decided to whip me, for lack of a better word. I took a bit longer than I intended leaving the hotel, and I greatly underestimated my normal travel speed and how far away Holburn tube station is from the hotel. I ended up running to get there, but I made it in time to maybe make it on time. But no, my efforts were for naught! Because the app I used to track my tube route gives you what direction you’re supposed to go for your second station, but not the first! You know, the one that everything else hinges on?! So I’d gone to King’s Cross before I realized I went the wrong way, and then I got off and got back on the Piccadilly line going the right way. By the time I got off at Charing Cross, I was already late, but I hadn’t fully given up. But then I had to find the place! I had to frantically fiddle with my settings like a caffeinated squirrel to get Google Maps to work, and even then it didn’t show me where it was completely. I ended up toward the Embankment station, realized I was going the wrong way on Maps, and when one of the ushers outside the venue for Cabaret asked if I was alright (or something along those lines), I asked him where the Charing Cross Theatre was. I’d been legging it the whole way off the train, by the way. Turns out, it was UNDERNEATH the street level, down this little alley between buildings that anyone could’ve missed! I got there at about 7:45, and they couldn’t let me in.

I must say, the front of house people were absolute saints! They saw me panting like I was about to die, and they actually helped me out. They let me watch the first act on a screen near the bathrooms and dressing rooms (which was there for them to know when certain costume and prop handoffs were supposed to happen). One lady in particular went out of her way to find me a chair and give me a cup of water! Googling a synopsis let me know the gist of what I was missing, and at intermission, I went straight to my seat and got ready for a treat!

The way the set was built around a pre-existing balcony space meant that I couldn’t see some things that happened at the highest level on one side of the stage, but what I got to see was stupendous! The acting was good, the Spanish accents were nice and consistent throughout, and the singing and dancing was excellent! Some of the performers played instruments and danced at the same time! The lighting transitions were buttery smooth, and good mother of God the fight choreography was as extravagant as I’d expected and more! Maybe it was because it was the last show, but the energy from the cast was palpable, and it made the performance inherently engaging. This was reflected in the audience energy during final bows and the post-bow medley of songs in the show.

To summarize, missing the first half of the show put a huge damper on my spirit. But getting to witness the second half properly brought my spirit back tenfold!