Meeting Chester

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

A damp chill penetrates senses muddled by jet lag. An overnight flight affords little shut eye for this eager traveler, now stepping into the past with eyes wide open. Tudor half-timber buildings, brick streets and iconic red telly booths greet first steps on distant soil. I am finally, serendipitously, in the U.K.

Chester, England is our inaugural stop on a 10-day school orchestra tour with 90 high school students. Our itinerary includes a stay in Liverpool to immerse ourselves in Beatles lore, performing in the ambiance of ancient venues, and wandering the grounds of several castles and monuments along the way through England and Scotland. A stop to stretch economy-class legs offers a charming introduction to a culture far older than these American youth can fathom.

The decision to chaperone such an excursion with so many fickle teenagers was grounded in both personal wanderlust and the desire to introduce next generations to international travel and culture beyond the confines of familiarity. Some of these kids had never been out of our state, let alone the country; the trip of a lifetime for most.

Chester, a walled cathedral city, was founded as a Roman fortress in the 1st century A.D. in Cheshire, England. We strolled The Rows – two-story, town center structures built in the Middle Ages, now home to modern shops and eateries. The black and white buildings transported me back to silent films as I received and processed this new place. British accents gradually seeped into my consciousness, but it was the feel of the place that would stay with me forever.

Most enchanting was Chester’s eclectic mix of centuries presented as one. Ancient brick and cobblestone side streets beckoned exploration, radiating out from a modern, paved central pedestrian mall. Sandstone buildings held the darkened patina of age and turmoil, while newer structures provided a touch of prosperous glitz. Contemporary signage remained historically genteel, reminding folks to: “Commit No Nuisance.”

An elevated pedestrian walkway offered a full-frame snapshot of whimsy and tradition; its elegant iron scrollwork, partially adorned with gilding, hinted at royalty in the otherwise utilitarian space. As history melded before my eyes, a common thread of community came into focus. Crowds of locals and tourists braved the characteristically gray, chilly day, relying on small businesses and human interaction. The chatter and laughter were charming and restorative. And while larger cities offered bigger venues, the villages and hamlets that we would come to explore always prioritized personal connection. I was in love.

As we wandered, I could not help but appreciate the reverence for these older structures and customs. While our country indeed preserves its (more youthful) history, there is often a tendency to raze and rebuild. To some extent this happens everywhere in developed countries. But the willingness to embrace the crumbling, wonky or higgledy-piggledy, and endeavor to nurture it for continued use feels refreshingly respectable. Chester Cathedral is such an example. Founded in 1092 as a Benedictine Abbey, it has undergone several iterations and additions; its architecture reflecting a plethora of styles as changes were made. As such, it is a decorative treasure trove that continues to warrant extensive restoration efforts.

I have always been smitten with cathedrals. Their sheer mass is humbling; hand-wrought stained glass, carved alters, and mosaics awe-inspiring; and acoustics impressive for their time period (and ours). Wandering the sanctuary and halls, I could not help but feel that higher power, arching through the ages. A timeless place of calm, peace, acceptance and refuge.

Some surmise that it was the lengthy flight and associated fatigue that contributed to my initial enchantment; that I would have been excited to see anything once off that plane. To the contrary, the charm of vintage community was reinforced as our journey continued. Each town seemed cozier than the next; their folks ever kinder and more genuinely happy to share their history with us. It was this intense pride of heritage that helped shape the demographics we know in the world today. We were all kin for ten days – even our small brood of 90-plus.

We arrived home forever changed. Regardless of how flippant young adults can be, I’m convinced the deep dive into UK history, replete with castles, cathedrals, monuments, a stroll down Penny Lane, and maybe, just maybe, the taste of haggis, has stayed with them. Perhaps in some small way, this trip which started in dear Chester, England, may even have ignited the flame of yearning for who we are and from whence we came.