The Bee Chair Debates...

BCD’S FUN PLACES TO GO IN A COUNTRY THAT IS NOT YOUR OWN (UNLESS YOU ARE A CITIZEN OF GREAT BRITAIN):

Westminster Abbey

By Kristen

To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure I’m spelling that right, which is a terrible thing to do to a building that allows you to jump up and down on Thomas “Jude the Obscure” Hardy’s skull until you’re pretty sure his tedious, tedious zombie spirit can feel it from beyond the realm of the hideously boring undead.

The Abbey (as its friends call it) is a glorious, ornate homage to God and Country, begun by Edward the Confessor, rebuilt by Henry III, and perfected by lots of people who really liked marble. And though it’s technically a church, rife with piety-inducing Catholic imagery, Westminster shines brightest as a magnificent graveyard. British royalty and prominent literati are entombed everywhere you look, marked by hundreds of intricately crafted memorials, some of which date back to the 12th Century. It’s not uncommon to saunter through Abbey halls exclaiming things like, “I can’t believe Elizabeth the First was so short,” or “Honey, you’re standing on Charles Dickens.”

On the downside, Westminster (as its enemies call it) is a tourist haven, and a simple walkthrough involves sharing valuable personal space with the entire teenage population of Hamburg. A typical visit involves something akin to this: you’ll be gawking in wonder at some expertly-applied gold leaf appliqué when a trio of tweed-loving, Theodore Rooseveltesque U.K. academics will stop dead right in front of Mary, Queen of Scots’ coffin in order to debate the merits of monarchy over a republic. At first, you’ll want to beat them mercilessly with their own beards. But the funny thing is, after getting over that initial fury, you slowly forget their presence. They morph into wallpaper, background noise, air. And the reasons for this are twofold.

First, the Abbey’s artwork is truly awesome, in a my-god-I-didn’t-know-this-was-possible way, not in a hey-good-haircut way. Folks do dirty, nasty, fouled-up shit using Jesus’ name as their shield, but the Big Ol’ Bearded One (or, BOBO) inspired others to spit out inhumanly beautiful things.

Second, the church is a grand, breathtaking reminder of how young our country really is. If the America is the snotty, brash adolescent teetering on adulthood, England is our wizened stepgrandfather. He’s pretty cool to us, and on days when we’re not infuriatingly full of ourselves, he’ll let us rummage through the stuff in his attic. After a few minutes, it’ll become seriously apparent that grand-dad has a long, storied, fascinating history, and maybe, just maybe, we have still have some growing up to do. *sigh* If only we’d get our head out of our ass.

Torturously drawn-out metaphors aside, Westminster Abbey is worth every pound or pence or Euro or whatever weird currency they charge to get into. It’s a testament to British perseverance and a tremendous affirmation of human creative capability.

Also, you get to jump up and down on Thomas Hardy.

posted by Kris at 1:57 PM