When The Da Vinci Code exploded across bookshops two decades ago, I read it in one breathless weekend. I wasn’t chasing conspiracies; I was chasing the feeling that life itself hides clues – that symbols and geometry are the universe’s handwriting.
Now in my 60s, I travel not to collect sights but to collect sensations. So when London called again, I traded the Tower and the Tate for a quiet detour to Temple Church, that 12th-century sanctuary tucked between Fleet Street and the Thames – the very church where Dan Brown set one of his most mysterious scenes.
Where Fiction Meets Faith
Finding Temple Church isn’t easy. You slip down an unmarked lane, past legal chambers and courtyards polished to perfection. The noise of London fades until you hear your own footsteps echo on ancient stones.
Inside, time changes texture. Dust glimmers in sunlight like suspended gold leaf. The air smells faintly of wax and limestone. I half expected to find a Latin cipher or a discreet rose carved beneath a pew. No such luck – or perhaps better luck than I realized.
Because what Brown dramatized in fiction, the Knights Templar built in stone: a geometry of devotion.
The Round That Holds Everything
At the heart of the church lies The Round – a perfect circle modeled after Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Step inside, and the space rearranges you. Circles were once the purest symbol of creation, the feminine principle, the unbroken womb of life.
Nine stone effigies of knights rest across the floor, cross-legged, swords sheathed, gazes tilted toward eternity. They don’t look dead; they look in deep meditation. Whisper here and your voice returns a second later, softened – as if the church itself is answering.
You realize: this isn’t a place to decode. It’s a place to remember.
The Hidden London of Seekers
Outside, London’s cacophony resumes – double-deckers, bicycle bells, legal clerks arguing precedent. Yet within the Temple precinct, stillness persists. A barrister in a powdered wig hurries past, robes flying like raven’s wings. Truth and fiction, law and faith, all sharing one postcode.
Across the city, signs of sacred geometry keep resurfacing for those who look closely. At St. Dunstan-in-the-West, angels play instruments no musicologist can name. Near the Thames, Cleopatra’s Needle bears faint Rosicrucian symbols mistaken for scratches. Beneath St. Paul’s Cathedral, a whispering gallery carries words across the dome as if telepathically.
London is less a city than a palimpsest – centuries of belief layered like paint.
A Chance Encounter
Outside Temple Church, I met a young couple clutching a folded map titled “Da Vinci Code Trail.”
“We thought we might feel something,” the woman said shyly.
“Maybe you already are,” I told her.
She looked puzzled. But that’s the thing about sacred places – they rarely perform on cue. Their magic arrives sideways: in the flicker of light on stone, in a whisper that feels like your own voice returned wiser.
Echoes of Hydra
Earlier that year I’d stood inside a small Orthodox chapel on Hydra, the Greek island I half call home. There, gold leaf shimmered in candlelight and incense thickened the air. Temple Church felt different – stripped down, monastic, geometry instead of grandeur. Yet both spaces spoke the same silent language: reverence without dogma.
Maybe that’s what aging teaches – to trade the hunger for answers for the joy of presence. The younger me might have searched for secret codes. The woman I am now lets the mystery breathe.
The Architectures That Speak
I climbed to an upper alcove and peered through a narrow slit overlooking the altar – faith seen through a keyhole. It reminded me of every time truth has arrived indirectly: through art, friendship, loss, or laughter. Maybe we only ever glimpse the sacred in slivers.
Outside, rain polished the courtyard stones into mirrors. A carved Templar cross gleamed faintly under the drizzle. I lingered, umbrella forgotten, watching puddles ripple like mandalas.
If Dan Brown’s hero hunted for the Holy Grail, I realized I’d stumbled onto something subtler – a grail of perception, the ability to see wonder where others see weather.
Back Home, Another Revelation
Weeks later, back in Austin with my suitcase still half-unpacked, I learned that Brown had released a new novel, The Secret of Secrets. Naturally, I ordered it. Halfway through, I laughed out loud. I’d spent years chasing temples only to discover the real one isn’t in London or Jerusalem – it’s in consciousness.
My altar isn’t made of stone; it’s built of awareness, memory, and breath. The geometry I seek exists inside me: circles of thought, spirals of emotion, the perfect proportion between doubt and wonder.
Travel as Modern Mysticism
Travel after 60 is its own form of initiation. The body may tire faster, but the spirit grows infinitely more agile. You begin to travel not for distraction but for confirmation – that beauty still moves you, that mystery still matters.
For any woman visiting London, Temple Church is worth the detour. Not because of Dan Brown, but because it mirrors our own lives: structured yet spontaneous, symmetrical yet full of cracks that let the light in.
The Only Code Worth Cracking
So if you find yourself wandering Fleet Street on a gray afternoon, step through the archway marked “The Temple.” Follow the cobblestones to the Round. Stand at its center. Breathe.
Maybe you’ll hear it too – that almost-imperceptible echo when the outer world meets the inner one. The sound of meaning revealing itself, not through logic but through recognition.
Because the secret, dear seekers, isn’t hidden under centuries of dust. It’s inside the awareness that never ages. And that, I’ve learned, is the only code worth cracking.
Editor’s Note: Images courtesy of Elise Krentzel.
Read her other articles in the London exploration series.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
Have you visited any places that you’ve read about in books? What did you experience there? Was there any profound knowledge that was missing previously but finally found its place? Do you make it a habit to visit ancient temples during your travels?
