no blogs please, we're british: Canterbury: City of Cathedrals, Canals, and Cuppas (but not street performers)

Our tour guide-more on this picture below. Honestly, when will I learn how to format photos?

Taken from a tour boat, on the narrow canals.

Quietly displayed on High Street in the city. Thinking back, there was a disquieting lack of entertainment.

More than a little foreboding

The Cathedral was, of course, the first event for international students. No sooner had we attempted to begin unpacking (but really left our open suitcases vomiting their contents onto the floor while we actually took a nap...or perhaps that was just me) than we were forcibly herded into official buses and dropped off in the cathedral parking lot. Being inexplicably fascinated with anything that existed before I did (admittedly, quite a large field here) I was ecstatic at the prospect of being force fed History with a capital Haitch. I read every placard; I actually asked questions of our beer-bellied, competently dignified tour guide; I even brought along a notebook and noted down tidbits I wanted to research in more depth later. Hell, I actually DID research them the next day.

A few days later, a few friends and I took the short bus ride into the city on our own. It really is charming- a mix of youth culture (Topshop, H&M, even Claire's) and that curiously British antique culture. This manifests itself not just in the sale of antiques, although there is that, but also in the numerous tiny, insignificant museums, the informative historical placards dotting the brick walls, and the various ancient buildings where one is politely encouraged to drop a few quid in the collection for purposes of preservation and repair.

(As a country, England has a higher percentage of scaffolds per structure than I have ever seen. They are established on every street, like mushrooms encouraged by the damp air to begin creeping up store-fronts and cathedrals. A sign of dedication and determination to appearance and heritage, or a symbol of the decay of an aging culture past its prime?)

Lesser known than the canals of Venice, and probably deservedly so, are the canals of Canterbury. This is not to say they aren't enjoyable. Our tour guide was a fetching emigré from Finland with an impeccable accent; he told us his name was Captain Finn. Something makes me suspect this was perhaps not his real name. (He is also a student at Kent; I have seen him several times, and even spoke to him once. It was, tragically, awkward.) The photo at the top of the page shows Captain Finn in a typical reaction to the woman on the right, a highly voluble, warmly intimidating pink-leopard-printed Irishwoman. She delightfully conformed to every Irishwoman stereotype better than I could have wished for.

We visit the city at least thrice a week now. So far, we haven't gotten tired of the cobbled streets, the tacky Oriental goods shops, or the numerous cafés filled with biddies sipping on their cuppas. And as cosmopolitan American students, we will never tire of H&M and Topshop. I'll be returning to this topic again soon, perhaps after I tackle Leeds Castle; I feel there's a lot left to show. And personally, I just can't get enough of scaffolds. Ta, dearies!