9: Last Day in London

Sunday, March 30th, 2025 (Fourth Sunday of Lent/British Mother’s Day) Temperature 63 Fahrenheit/17.22 Celsius. Sunny.
 
Communion: It’s what’s for lunch.
Europe was literally built and civilized around the concept of cathedrals. Before the Catholics, it was the majestic temples of Rome. And way before that, places like Stonehenge where druids blessed the earth and trees, and people danced around naked. You know, like Burning Man but without all the pretension.
 
St. Paul’s was rumored to be built on the same spot that Druids once worshipped. The Catholic Bishops of Rome believed, hell, maybe the locals will not know the difference. And sure enough, a lot of them did not. They just showed up one Sunday morning and instead of hearing about trees, learned about the baby Jesus.
 
Located atop a hill and one of the oldest cathedrals in England, is Saint Paul’s. Once Catholic, it is now the Church of England, and as a baptized Episcopalian, that means I am practically a member. So, betting against the odds that it was no longer there and replaced by ancient tree worship, I decided to pay a Sunday visit. Putting on my slacks, white dress shirt, sweater, and tie, I made my way across town to the historic church that Winston Churchill once attended regularly.
 
The entire Church had been blocked off and encircled by police. Terrorists? Druids? Nope. Turned out they were filming a car chase on the streets directly surrounding the cathedral. And on a Sunday, no less. Positively shameless. A nice constable directed me to a way to get in for service and I wrapped my way around the backside of the structure, cutting through the courtyard and arriving just in time for Sunday services.
The services themselves were conducted under the dome of the cathedral, the attendees seated in, of all things, folding chairs. Ah, call me old-fashioned, but I do so prefer a hard, unforgiving pew with a fold-down kneel bar. The procession, led by a handful of Anglican Priests consisting of both men and women, was followed by a medium-sized choir consisting of boys to men (not the musical group Boys to Men but rather young boys and much older men). The blending of the two distinct vocal types and amplified by centuries-old acoustics while accompanied by the grandest church organ I had ever seen, was unforgettable and, for about ten minutes, actually had me considering going back to church. 
The new testament lesson was read in Zulu (yes, you read that right), with the remainder of the service pretty much in line with what I remembered of childhood Episcopal churchgoing and the movie Zulu directed by Cy Endfield . Not wishing to spoil my lunch, I decided to skip the sacraments and, while the attendees lined up at the altar, instead listened to the choir and basked in the art and ambiance of one of the oldest cathedrals in London.
 
Note: There is one small detail which, believe it or not, did not distract or lessen the overall experience of St. Paul’s. All during the service, the entire chapel was still open for tourists. So, while you worship, you are in a bit of a fishbowl, a line of hundreds of people circling the circumference of the domed sanctuary, ogling you as you come to a weekly peace with your maker. At least they are urged, all these “tourists,” not to disturb the service by taking pictures with their cell phones. Uh, right.
Lunch
Not staying for the car chase, I decided to wend my way down to the Thames and London Bridge. At 11 am on a Sunday, foot traffic in the city was more than I expected, but the journey was quick, and I was soon standing on the bridge, looking off in the distance to the London Tower and Tower Bridge. Deciding to walk along the river, I made my way past the hundreds of tourists and sightseeing boats moored along the river and headed toward the place where such diverse prisoners as Lady Jane Grey, Anne Boleyn, Sir Walter Raleigh, Guy Fawkes, and even Nazi leader Rudolf Hess had been incarcerated. 
Was it the rising balmy temperature in London or the fact that I was still unsure of my unstamped passport that was making me sweat the closer I got to the historic tower?
 
Coco Grill and Lounge
Or
Malt Vinegar Please
 
Apparently, holidays in Europe do not always coincide with the same holidays here in the United States. (Little-known fact: the metric system also happens to be used for some shared holidays. For example, when converted,  American Christmas, December 25, is celebrated on June 12th.
 
Famished from my walk and morning worship, I arrived at the Coco Grill and Lounge, located directly on the river beside the Tower of London and overlooking the Tower Bridge. As stated, it did happen to be Mother’s Day in England, something that I was woefully unaware until I happened to see every mother in the greater London vicinity, lined up and ready for an outside brunch on the Thames. 
Basking in my surroundings and, for London, what was a genuinely balmy day, I ordered Fish & Chips and the traditional drink to accompany my typical British meal, the Mango Mojito. 
As expected, the drink was cold, refreshing, and overpriced. The chips were exceptional, and while the Cod had a golden, crispy crust, the fish itself was rather soggy and bland. Service was very good, with only the constant reminder to review it on Google detracting from the view and my generally great spirits.