The wind shrieked and swooned down the spiral staircase smacking our shivering faces; the draft carried with it whispers that grew louder with each upward step. At my eye level was a small window that framed a row of gargoyles looming over spikes that stood atop the cathedral’s buttresses.
Those voices were of tourists climbing down the south tower of the St Stephen’s Cathedral. We hugged the wall as people brushed past us. The stone walls were like that of a refrigerator with a texture of weathered leather, blackened by soot from candles probably held by many bell ringers, who have been scaling similar stairs in various medieval cathedrals. Continue reading