This day would prove to be a huge culture shock.  Out of all the places in the world we have traveled I find it ironic that it would be England which would seem so foreign.  We started by visiting the Cathedral Church of St. Paul the Apostle, which sits on the highest point of London.  It reminded me of the white domes of Sacre Coeur overlooking Paris.  St. Paul’s dome has dominated the city’s skyline for 300 years and is among the highest in the world.  It is a working church with hourly prayer (which I loved) and daily services.  Once again pictures were forbidden.  We elected not to attempt the 550 stair ascent to the top carrying a baby.  They warned us it became very narrow and, like missing the climb to see the eaves of Notre Dame, my husband always says to leave something to want to come back for.  Next we went to have lunch at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, an historic pub rebuilt in 1667 after the Great Fire of 1666.  Situated in a narrow alleyway, there was a lack of natural lighting inside which lent the place a gloomy, medieval feel.  For some reason it was exactly how I pictured an old English pub to be.  The dark wooden interior had a labyrinth of passages and staircases and they served dark ales and traditional dishes like kidney pudding.  I found myself longing for the open air and pommes frites of France.  Then it was onward to Harrods — the store I had wanted to visit ever since I’d read about Christian the lion (Google it if you do not know the story; it’s great).  The department store was enormous.  Everything was also outrageously expensive.  Growing up poor in a superficial city that centers around high end shopping, I am accustomed to snobbery.  But I must say the Brits elevated it to a whole new level.  Old Texas oil money could not compete with new Saudi oil money, where one black robed woman bought a pair of $32 thousand dollar earrings without even bothering to stop shopping long enough to wait and collect them.  The startling thing was being surrounded by women in full burkas.  I had only ever seen one woman, working in a kitchen in Tangiers, wearing one.  It was unnerving to turn around and be faced with a black wall of women with only the barest of mesh slits open for their eyes.  There was a sea of them.  To be quite honest I found it frightening; the place was overrun.  Practically the only ones whose faces I could see were the employees.  How different this was from the smiling faces of the Muslim women in Paris, wearing only their colorful head scarves.  I did like the giant Harrods bears they had throughout the store on each floor.  The Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca once said, “It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor.”  I was the wealthiest woman in the store that day — able to travel, free to dress as I chose, and I had my precious little girl and handsome husband with me.  I could not have dreamnt for more.  I may not have left with a lion cub, but I did buy a little bear like the giant ones lining the windows in the world famous Harrods.