An English Honeymoon: Day III (Part II)

After our tour of Shakespeare's Globe Theater, we walked back the way we came, through hordes of English citizens, tourists, magicians who set up their get-up - for whatever reasoning - smack dab in the middle of the walking lanes, little dogs, thieves, business men and women and whoever else. Dan wanted to pull me through the crowd with him, but I tend to walk fast or else stray, captivated by the people yet at the same time longing to get away. We made it out together though, and at the end of our journeying through the crowds we headed towards the Tower Bridge. Dan really wanted to explore the Tower of London. 

I didn't. For one, I had been there before, the summer after my Sophomore or Junior year of high school. I was selected as an Illinois Ambassador of Music and travelled with a group of others to perform in seven countries in Europe (England, Italy, France, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, and Lichtenstein). I didn't want to go through the Tower of London because I remember it being a gross tourist attraction of happy kids and happy adults smiling their way through this historical place known for its beheadings and slaves. Also, the whole trip (which I loved and I remember, very explicitly, crying with gratefulness after my mom picked me up back home, crying because it was, I remember thinking, a "profound" experience) was unnerving to me because how the hell was I supposed to understand any of these places without knowing, moreover, without understanding, its history or context. I barely understood my place in the U.S. Europe, as fascinating and as wondrous as it was, made little sense. Still, the crying when it was over. 

I digress! So Dan convinces me to check it out again with him, and I do. It's the same deal, with all the tourists, etc. 

When we walk in, the really nice guard who was checking purses and bags took a look at mine and had the courtesy to tell me, "Miss, may I suggest not to keep anything in this pocket?" - said pocket being one attached to the outside of my purse, just like a pocket, without a zipper or button or clutch, and a bit loose at that. I ask "Why?" "It's not safe," he says curtly. "OK" I say. But I don't do anything about it, because the entire trip I've been taking tons of pictures and it's just been easy access for when I wanted to get an image. Dan becomes flustered with me. He's been telling me the whole trip not to keep my phone there - then this guard tells me the same - and little unaffected me does nothing to prevent the inevitable (which I'll write about later, since it happens the next week of our trip).

We enter the Tower of London. I enjoy walking there much more than I believed I would. We've got another bright, sunshiny day, blue skies, hardly any clouds. 

We see the gate below us, the gate where centuries ago traitors were brought in to be imprisoned or hanged. We see the streets where Jews were made to cut coins, many of them taking the extra bits and when found out, punished for what would have just been made waste rather than money. We see the king's quarters, with its medieval tapestry, we see the big ravens (the curse is that six ravens must live there or else the tower will fall), we see arches and arches and everything is made of old stone, built stone by stone. We see where the royalty kept its exotic animals, presented as gifts. Imagine, an elephant in a room just large enough for it. Cruelty. We see through gated windows, we read about the revolts, the breaking into the Tower, the failure of that revolution. 

I realize I enjoy this space much the same way I've enjoyed other spaces we've visited in England because it is a bit like a hiding place. Where people could hide from violence and terror. Where people could stay, to sit, to think, to eat in peace. But then there are so many problems. The idiots inside, perhaps, the true intellect without. How does this happen? A hoarding of goods, rather than the sharing for the common good. I've become very interested in and curious about Anne Boleyn. I'm determined to read all about her and all the Henrys. English history is a bloody mess. But this is why I love it. I won't pretend to know anything, yet. I know a bit about the Roman Empire that invaded the island and the little Britons. More on that later. 

Dan and I like the ravens. We stand and watch them from the bridge for a long time. One finds it way to an entrance and sits waiting and watching people. It's fed enough, so we don't think it's there to ask for food.

Something horrid in me is suddenly proud of this Tower of London, this dark symbol of civilization. I can tell Dan is enjoying every moment learning about this place, too. We don't question this right then, but we seize the opportunity to accept this rare feeling. We are mostly quiet. 

In the prison, we see the mythological and astrological symbols and charts scratched into the rock by the prisoners, still not quitting the very thing they were imprisoned for. 

We walk some more. I don't forget to look up.

On our way out, we pass an incredible display of black weaponry (I don't recall what it looked like otherwise I'd describe it to you) with this caption: Arma Pacis Fulcra. Arms are the balance of peace. Or, Armed strength for peace. From Latin. 

Kind of like how some U.S. soldiers say, and a lot of our people: 

Freedom isn't free.

I'm not sure what to make of any of this. 

Dan and I sip hot coffee, right next to the exit, and eat some ice cream. We play with starlings, then leave.

- F