I’m sipping my morning coffee in the newest mug, from Dublin.

I’ve briefly taken you on our journey from Norway to Great Britain. We are now home, a bit jet-lagged, but glad we took the trip. It may very well be the best, though every one has special memories. Traveling is hard work. Yes–it really is. There’s the waiting. The shuffling from one area to another. It’s–ahem–using different toilets and sinks and many things we take for granted in our country. There’s the long flight that seems to never end. And as one described a first day: you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. It’s true. “Is it worth it?” You may ask. “Oh my yes,” I say.

Today, I’ll share Canterbury–you know–Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and London.

Cathedrals

By far, the best visits are the cathedrals. The time and effort to build these buildings so tall as if to reach to heaven.

We enjoyed each of these churches.

St. Paul’s Cathedral was breathtaking. Anywhere you looked there was intricacy and detail. Christopher Wren, the architect, didn’t want there to be stained glass windows so the focus would be on the details of the building. The stained glass was added after World War II, in honor of the American lives given in the war effort. A beautiful section of the cathedral Americans love.

Canterbury was established by Augustine sent as a missionary to Britain in 596. It was begun as an abbey, and in 1550, became the Church of England.

The last church, St. James the Lesser, is “new.” Only 150 years old.

After exploring an art gallery on Sunday, we walked to a pub for fish and chips. Afterwards, we strolled along the busy street and I spied a church spire. “Let’s go see,” I urged. We did and came upon St. James the Lesser. There was a sign that said, “Casual evening service. All Welcome.” So we walked in and worshipped with about twenty people. We sang with the guitar, prayed with the vicar, and passed the peace with Londoners. It was just what we needed that last Sunday we were gone.

London

There’s so much to say about this city. I think Samuel Johnson said it best: When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. London is huge. The city’s population is 10 million. Surrounding area: 20 million. Traffic  is unending. Skyscrapers exceeding the tall cathedrals. Palaces. Museums. So much. Here are a few scenes:

I didn’t even begin to touch on the British Museum with sooooo many artifacts. Perhaps another time, I will.

It is good to travel, but also good to be home. To sleep in my own bed. Hear the many clocks in my home. The Westminster Chime from the living room, the old antique clock that bongs the hour, the clock that whistles with a different bird call each hour. It’s good to call loved ones and say, “we’re home.”

Though we don’t know what our homecoming at life’s ending will be like, I wonder if it might be similar to coming home after a long trip. Home at last!