Cambridge Excusion

On the 9^th of October I visited Cambridge. Of course Cambridge is known for their magnificent university, which they gained in the year 1209. A common misconception of Cambridge is that the university is centrally located on one large campus. The university is actually comprised of many different colleges that are located all through out the city. So for the appreciative traveler seeing all of the university is quite a challenge. Also due to the great distance between colleges, bicycle is the main method of travel in Cambridge. The Cambridge University Press was founded by a royal charter granted by King Henry VIII in 1534 and is the oldest printer and publisher in the world. Walking the streets it is easy to loose one’s self in daydreams of academic life at Cambridge. How grand it would be to count yourself among those who had studied in these halls. To live in a city so closely tied to it’s ancient roots and intellectual pulse. The buildings of Cambridge are monuments established in the name of knowledge. The epistemological landscape gives rise to romantic reveries and leaves the transcendentalist humming with sublimity. I came upon the Great St. Mary’s Church. I paid my fee, passed the turnstile and ascended the stone tower. Atop my castle perch I could see in all directions and was privy to quite a sight. All around me rose intransigent steeples; towering over the affairs of the wanderers below. I could see crudely coloured tents in the marketplace of transgression where hundreds of years ago a fool was crowned king for the day. Somewhere in the distance over loudspeakers could be heard Jean Valjean singing Bring Him Home. Lost in my own thoughts of the past I quit that great tower. Across the square stood the ominous King’s College Chapel, helplessly I entered the looming gates. Inside was a sight lost in translation. The vaulting Gothic ceiling immediately drew one's eyes toward heaven and thoughts of subservience. The organ music accented the colourful reflections in my peripheral from the stained glass as I walked the great aisle. I approached a huge canvas with a pudgy white depiction of the Christ. His shining head was peering skyward asking forgiveness for those whose hands distorted him so. Finally I was too overwhelmed to bare the turbulent meld of the sacred and profane within me so I left for the great lawn of untouchable grass. I was now lost in a labyrinthine complex of castle walls, lecture halls and gardens (of which traverse was strictly forbidden). I wondered until I came upon a sluggardly canal busy with leisurely punts. I refused to pay the exorbitant price asked of me by the fare-man and returned to face the labyrinth. Several hours later I returned to the bustle of the main square. Having all of the academia I could handle for the day, I resolved to search the halls of a museum for the remainder of my time. I spent two wonderful hours in the Fitzwilliam Museum but could have stayed for two more had my powers of perception not failed me. It was entirely too much to process in a single session. I was reflective while searching the wing of ancient archeology and imaginatively whisked away while viewing the salons of classic, romantic and impressionist art. I quickly strolled through the halls of modern art to avoid seizure and vertigo. Downstairs I saw brightly lit cases of china and silverware - the concrete realities of domesticity sobered me and I made for the exit. Outside the conventional smells of a modern city accosted my sense and I walked with hast to the point where I was to meet the coach and make my escape. As the bus crawled out of town I watched people walking their dogs and returning from work, I was again grounded and rested the whole way home.