I had never been on the metro before. The escalators taking us down deep into the earth were long and steep. We slowly descended in a tunnel of whiteness, all the people coming up watching all the people going down. The faces were blank and staring and it made me think of The Silver Chair, with all the little underworldlings with misshapen noses milling about emotionless under the ground in the dark, carrying spears and shovels through the murkey grayness. As we approached the bottom, which we could not see from the top, all the people spilled off the escalator and continued on to catch a subway, to continue on with their individual lives.

I was in awe at the cathederals we saw. In awe of their vastness. In awe of how old the structures are. Back home we don't have oldness like they do here. At home, if something is a few hundred years old, that's old. This weekend I stood inside buildings that were constructed in the 11th century. And I was in awe. In awe of the thought of how many generations of people had stood in these buildings before me. In awe of the beauty surrounding me. And I couldn't wrap my mind around it all.