Paritally Hidden Canterbury

A view of a city park from the walk around the still-standing stone walls and towers, which encircle the city center.  The wooden structure at the base of the hill is a child's playground version of a castle labyrinth. 

The Wildflower Meadow, which is notably bare of wildflowers at the moment. The cathedral is almost completely washed out, but is peeking out from between the clumps of trees. 

This building, once used by the Dominican monks, straddles a slender canal. I wouldn't be surprised if it were still owned by the Dominicans. (The monks, not the people.)

Canterbury is not exactly an unknown gem. A gem, yes, but one with a certain name-recognition factor. Even if this recognition is usually followed by, "There's a cathedral, right? And that medieval poem thing?" Well, yes, and yes. But the pilgrims of those eponymous tales never actually reached the city itself; the cathedral, however, is worth exactly as much hype as it is given. Waiting for a bus last night, I caught sight of it, lit from below, over a mile away down the sloping hills; it seemed impossibly impressive and ancient and jarring. 

I suppose what I'm saying is that while Chaucer's legacy and Thomas Beckett's resting place are both fascinating parts of the city, those aren't the things we think of when we spend a free afternoon there. It is the high street, the shopping, the pasty shops, the tiny gardens that close at 4 in the afternoon, the gently aging church graveyards, the side roads that spider off to meander away into residences and corner shops. It's the shirtless dread-locked young man juggling every other day in front of the library, disregarding the previously mentioned "No Street Performers Allowed" sign. It's the swarms of preteens in pleated skirts and jumpers who appear after 3 o'clock. At the same time, it's indulging in any and all tourist sites, from Tiny Tim's Tearoom, to an interactive Chaucer exhibit, to the Rupert Bear museum. No one should refrain from these pleasures in the name of immersion. And I don't.