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Welcome to Shakespeare鈥檚 Globe鈥攐r, as some like to call it, the Bard鈥檚 comeback tour, 400 years in the making. This stunning open-air theater is a faithful, full-thatch, no-nails, "mind the splinters" replica of the original Globe Playhouse. The original Globe opened in 1599 but met a rather dramatic end in 1613 when a stage cannon misfired during a performance. Boom! Theater barbecue...

A few centuries on, enter Sam Wanamaker鈥攁n American actor and director with a British theater obsession and the patience of a saint. He spent decades rallying support to resurrect the Globe, and by 1997, his dream was finally realized. The new Globe stands just 200 yards from where the original once stood, crafted with the same old-school tools and materials (no concrete shortcuts here). Today, it stages Shakespeare鈥檚 hits, deep cuts, and even some gems by his playwright pals.

Now, if you're planning to channel your inner Elizabethan and stand as a "Groundling"鈥攃ongrats! You'll be closest to the action. But don鈥檛 expect a seat or sympathy for your aching feet. Want to sit like a civilized 17th-century noble? Great, there are benches鈥攚ooden, backless, and full of historical charm. Pro tip: rent a cushion. Or bring one. Or risk the full Tudor chiropractic experience...

And yes, this is an open-air venue. Come rain or shine, or heatwave, or hail鈥攖he show must go on. Umbrellas are a no-go (sorry, your neighbor鈥檚 view matters too), but you can grab a stylish Globe poncho, which doubles as a weather shield and souvenir.

The main season runs from April to October. If you prefer candlelit drama without the outdoor breeze, head next door to the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse, a 350-seat Jacobean gem lit entirely by candlelight. It鈥檚 cozy, atmospheric, and yes鈥攕ome benches are still backless. You鈥檝e been warned.

Why visit? 鈥� You may ask. Because this is as close as you鈥檒l ever get to actual time travel without a DeLorean (remember that car from the Back to the Future trilogy). So, if you鈥檙e a die-hard Shakespeare fan or just in it for the costumes and swordfights, the Globe delivers the drama, the laughs, and the full Renaissance vibes all the same.

Curtain up, ponchos on鈥攕ee you in Southwark...

Tip:
Join a guided tour before 4 pm (unless a matinee鈥檚 on, then get in before noon). Wanamaker tours are rarer, so book those in advance if you're lucky enough to find one.

Back in 1587, Philip Henslowe decided Bankside needed a little more drama鈥攁nd not the tavern brawl kind... So, he built the Rose Theatre, the first purpose-built playhouse on that side of the Thames. With leading man Edward Alleyn and hotshot playwright Christopher Marlowe on board, the Rose quickly bloomed into a major cultural hotspot. Even a young Shakespeare made an early splash here鈥擳itus Andronicus and a few other bloody masterpieces first hit the stage under its roof, though the Bard later jumped ship to the flashier new Globe, right next door.

A few centuries later, in 1989, the remains of the Rose were discovered hiding under an office block on Park Street. What followed was a fierce campaign, starring some of London鈥檚 finest theatrical luminaries, who fought to protect it from the bulldozers. Thanks to their efforts, the Rose lives on, though most of it stays tucked safely under waterlogged layers to prevent damage. Red lights now trace the theater's original outline, creating a ghostly, almost otherworldly vibe.

Inside, you鈥檒l find passionate volunteers eager to show off replicas of artifacts found at the site, plus a small exhibition and a short narrated video looping every hour鈥攑erfect if you love your history with a dash of theatrical flair. And yes, the space even hosts live performances today (check their website for what鈥檚 on鈥攁nd seriously, bring a coat, it gets chilly).

If you wander down Park Street today, you鈥檒l find a humble plaque and a few story panels marking the original spot where the Globe Theatre opened its doors in 1599. Back then, this stretch was called Maiden Lane, tucked inside The Liberty of the Clink鈥攂asically a medieval no-man鈥檚-land just outside the City鈥檚 rules. At one point, the Bishop of Winchester took charge, and instead of banning the local theaters, animal fights, and brothels, he simply taxed them. A solid business model, really.

Shakespeare鈥檚 company flourished here, and about 15 of his plays鈥攊ncluding some of the biggest hits鈥攆irst hit the stage on this very ground.

Of course, no great story is complete without a little fire. On June 29, 1613, during a performance of Henry VIII, a prop cannon misfired and set the place ablaze. The Globe, made of good old flammable wood and thatch, went up like a tinderbox. Miraculously, nobody was hurt鈥攅xcept for one poor guy whose flaming trousers were put out with a well-aimed bottle of ale. (Talk about happy hour.)

The Globe was rebuilt the next year, but sadly, by 1644 it was demolished to make way for housing. Fast forward to our days: Shakespeare鈥檚 Globe, the modern reconstruction, opened its doors in 1997鈥攚ith Henry V, naturally鈥攑roving that not even a fire, a bishop, or centuries of urban sprawl could keep Shakespeare鈥檚 spirit off the stage...

Locals call it "Suth-uck," but you can just call it London鈥檚 oldest Gothic church鈥攁nd one of its best-kept secrets. Parts of Southwark Cathedral hail from the 12th century, though you wouldn鈥檛 know it from the modest tourist traffic. Inside, you'll stumble across all kinds of treasures, like a late-13th-century wooden knight who鈥檚 been lying down on the job for about 700 years.

Southwark started life as a priory, became a palace church for Henry VIII, and was eventually bought by a plucky group of merchants in 1611. With a bit of a Victorian glow-up during the 1800s, it officially got its cathedral badge in 1905 (better late than never). The building took quite a beating during the London Blitz鈥攁bout 1,600 bombs were dropped on the site鈥攁nd you can still spot the scars on its outer walls if you look closely.

Now, if you鈥檙e in a browsing mood, look up at the colorful 15th-century roof bosses鈥攂asically medieval doodles carved in wood鈥攁nd don鈥檛 miss the tomb of poet John Gower. The latter was pals with Geoffrey Chaucer ("father of English literature", best known for The Canterbury Tales) and once served as poet laureate to Richard II. Fancy...

There鈥檚 also the Harvard Chapel, marking the baptism spot of John Harvard鈥攜es, that very Harvard鈥攖he local lad who went off and founded a university in the U.S. you might have heard of.

Back in Shakespeare鈥檚 day, Southwark wasn鈥檛 just the place to pray鈥攊t was the place to play. Theaters like The Globe, The Rose, and The Swan turned the area into London鈥檚 entertainment hotspot. William himself bunked nearby for a while, close enough to hear the cathedral bells, and he used to worship here, too.

Was he a regular churchgoer? Hard to say. Shakespeare鈥檚 religious leanings are about as clear as a London fog. But his friends certainly showed up here. Even Shakespeare鈥檚 younger brother, Edmund鈥攁n actor like his big bro鈥攚as buried here in 1607.

Today, the cathedral tips its hat to the Bard with a stunning memorial: a reclining Shakespeare statue, casually lounging beneath a stained glass window sparkling with scenes from his plays. It鈥檚 literary London at its finest.

Before you leave, wander through the churchyard, now a lovely herb garden, and follow the charming Millennium Courtyard right down to the river. It鈥檚 history, drama, and a breath of fresh air鈥攁ll tucked just out of sight from the tourist crowds.

If you ever wondered where Shakespeare鈥檚 favorite party animal, Falstaff, liked to hang out, look no further than the Boar鈥檚 Head Inn on Eastcheap. In Henry IV, Part 1, it鈥檚 the ultimate medieval dive bar, a place for bad jokes, good ale, and even worse decisions. Now, small catch: historians will tell you the real Boar鈥檚 Head didn鈥檛 exist in the early 1400s, when the play is set. But in Shakespeare鈥檚 time, absolutely 鈥� it had been there since at least 1537, well established as a landmark before getting flamb茅ed in the Great Fire of London in 1666. (Don鈥檛 worry, they rebuilt it 鈥� Londoners weren鈥檛 about to let a good pub die.)

The inn carried on valiantly until the late 1700s, when it swapped beer for buttoned-up retail, and eventually the wrecking ball finished the job in 1831. But the legendary boar鈥檚 head sign survived and now lives proudly at Shakespeare鈥檚 Globe Theatre, because some things deserve a second act...

Today, the original site is swallowed up by the modern approach to London Bridge at Cannon Street. But just nearby on Eastcheap, a new tribute arose: in 1868, architect Robert Lewis Roumieu designed a neo-Gothic fever dream of a building 鈥� think flying brick gables and a boar鈥檚 head bursting out of a hedge. One architectural historian called it 鈥渙ne of the maddest displays of gabled Gothic brick in London," while another critic summed it up as 鈥渢he scream you wake on at the end of a nightmare.鈥�

In short: if Falstaff ever saw it, he鈥檇 probably order another round just to process it...

Back in Elizabethan London, if you wanted to catch a play, you didn鈥檛 have to go to the Globe or the Rose. Plenty of people saw the latest dramas at... inns. Yep, inns 鈥� because what better way to enjoy a tragic monologue than from the comfort of your balcony, pint in hand?

Most inns back then were built around big central courtyards, designed for guests arriving by horse or carriage. Surely, this setup was just too good to pass up for traveling acting troupes. They鈥檇 roll in, throw up a stage in the middle, sell cheap standing tickets for the courtyard crowd, and offer premium balcony views to those willing to cough up a few extra coins. Smart business...

One of the most famous spots was the Crosse Keys Inn on Gracechurch Street. Between 1576 and 1594, it was one of only four inns officially licensed to host plays. William Shakespeare and the Lord Chamberlain鈥檚 Men themselves were regulars there, charming the crowds long before the Globe even existed.

Of course, all good things must come to a screeching bureaucratic halt. By 1594, city officials decided inn-yard theaters were getting a bit too lively (read: noisy, chaotic, and maybe a little too much ale-fueled enthusiasm). They shut down performances at inns like the Crosse Keys, pushing the action into purpose-built theaters. Ironically, those theaters 鈥� balconies ringing a central yard 鈥� basically copied the inn design they tried so hard to replace.

Fast-forward to our times: the Crosse Keys isn鈥檛 hosting Shakespearean dramas anymore, but it is still a lively gathering place. Now a massive pub with soaring ceilings and a stained-glass dome, it offers real ales, craft beers, and fresh coffee 鈥� no horse-drawn carriages needed...

Sitting just east of Bishopsgate, the late Gothic church of Saint Helen has seen its share of drama鈥攁nd not just the Shakespearean kind. Blasted by IRA bombings in the 1990s, the church managed to survive with its quirky personality (rippling medieval battlements and a Baroque bell turret that looks like it wandered in from another century) fully intact. St. Helen鈥檚 incorporates the original pre-Reformation Benedictine nunnery, plus five grand tombs that miraculously predate the Great Fire of London.

Post-bombing, the church got a bit of a makeover. Crews raised the floor, shuffled around the church screens, added a snazzy new organ gallery, and reoriented the seating to spotlight the pulpit鈥攑erfect for its now-evangelical mission.

But Saint Helen鈥檚 real claim to fame lies in a different domain. It once counted William Shakespeare among its parishioners. We know this thanks to a delightfully petty entry in the Bishopsgate tax records from November 15, 1597: out of 73 residents, our dear Bard was singled out for dodging a 5-shilling tax on 拢5 worth of goods. Turns out even Shakespeare couldn鈥檛 escape London鈥檚 paperwork. He was living nearby, probably in one of the buildings peeking over the churchyard鈥攔ight around the time he was busy penning Romeo and Juliet...

Tucked away on Love Lane, right where the old Saint Mary Aldermanbury churchyard once stood, you鈥檒l find a pink granite monument built in 1896鈥攃omplete with a very dignified Shakespeare bust giving you the side-eye. Officially, it's here to honor the First Folio of Shakespeare鈥檚 plays, but unofficially, it鈥檚 a big high-five to two of his old pals, Henry Condell and John Heminges. These two actors weren鈥檛 just theater buddies at The Globe鈥攖hey were the ones who gathered up Shakespeare鈥檚 plays and got them printed after he died in 1616. They lived in this parish, and fittingly, are also buried here.

Now, the First Folio isn鈥檛 just any book. It rounded up 36 of Shakespeare鈥檚 plays, missing only a few outliers like Pericles, The Two Noble Kinsmen, Edward III, and the now-legendary lost works Cardenio and Love鈥檚 Labour鈥檚 Won. Out of some 750 copies printed, just 235 are still around today鈥攎ostly in museums, libraries, and a few very lucky living rooms.

And if you're wondering what all that old paper is worth? In 2001, one copy went under the hammer at Christie鈥檚 in New York for a cool $6.16 million. But there鈥檚 more! In 2020, another copy smashed records by selling for $10 million, officially crowning it the priciest literary work ever auctioned. Shakespeare: still making headlines, four centuries later...

Before World War II crashed the party, a few corners of London still clung to their Shakespearean roots. One such spot was the crossroads of Silver and Muggle鈥攐r Monkwell鈥擲treets in Cripplegate. Sadly, the Blitz didn鈥檛 get the memo about historical preservation, and most of it was flattened.

Back in 1604, though, Shakespeare was very much alive and kicking there, renting a room in the house of Christopher Mountjoy鈥攁 French Huguenot who made fancy headpieces known as "tires" (yes, even back then, fashion was serious business). It is under that roof that Shakespeare hammered out heavyweights like Othello and King Lear.

Of course, London being London, disaster wasn鈥檛 far behind. The Great Fire of 1666 wiped the house clean off the map, and after WWII, the area got a complete makeover. Silver Street, once a short, lively lane, also boasted St. Olave鈥檚 Church, right across from Shakespeare鈥檚 digs. The church didn鈥檛 survive the Great Fire either鈥攂ecause apparently, history in London comes with a built-in self-destruct button.

Nowadays, if you wander along London Wall, you鈥檒l find a modest little square where a block of stone still bears a medieval skull and crossbones. It marks the old graveyard of St. Olave鈥檚. If you squint a bit, you might just picture Shakespeare, quill in hand, gazing out the window at that very symbol of mortality鈥攁 fitting backdrop for the man who gave us "to be or not to be."

For centuries, Saint Paul's Cathedral has stood tall, quite literally, as London鈥檚 ultimate comeback story in stone form. After the Great Fire of 1666 turned the medieval cathedral (originally founded in 1087) into a smoldering memory, Sir Christopher Wren got the challenge of designing the masterpiece we see today.

Construction began in 1675 and took 35 years. Wren鈥檚 first design was too modern. The second鈥攖oo modern again and too Catholic-looking. He eventually struck a deal with the Anglican clergy: throw in a classic English spire, but sneak in a magnificent triple-stacked dome instead. Now it鈥檚 the second-largest cathedral dome in the world after St. Peter鈥檚 in Rome. Subtle flex.

During WWII and the Blitz, flames again came for the cathedral, and again, it stood its ground. Brave volunteers fought fires on the dome, saving it from complete destruction. Saint Paul鈥檚 became a beacon of hope in the rubble. Fittingly, above the south entrance, you鈥檒l spot the Latin word "Resurgam," meaning 鈥淚 shall rise again.鈥� Very on brand.

Inside, the cathedral is pure English Baroque drama. Climb 257 steps to the Whispering Gallery, where even your gossip echoes in style. Add another 119 steps for the Stone Gallery and 152 more for the Golden Gallery鈥攂ecause apparently, stairs build character. But the panoramic views of London are worth every calf cramp.

Down below in the crypt, you鈥檒l find the final resting places of national legends: the Duke of Wellington, Admiral Nelson, and of course, Wren himself. His epitaph reads: 鈥淚f you seek his monument, look around you.鈥�

Saint Paul鈥檚 was basically Dickens' favorite rooftop. In Master Humphrey鈥檚 Clock, he climbs to the top for a bird鈥檚 eye view of life鈥檚 contradictions, which, come to think of it, London is full of. In David Copperfield, Peggotty enjoys the view too. Dickens knew this neighborhood well and even attended the Duke of Wellington鈥檚 funeral here in 1852.

Back in Shakespeare鈥檚 day, the area around Saint Paul鈥檚 was bustling with booksellers. This was the epicenter of the English publishing world鈥� the Bard鈥檚 plays were printed and sold right here. Odds are he browsed the stalls himself, possibly muttering, 鈥淭o plagiarize, or not to plagiarize...鈥�

And for the modern-day wizarding crowd: yes, that staircase you recognize from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is real. The magical-looking Geometric Staircase鈥攁ka the Dean鈥檚 Stair鈥攆loats elegantly in the cathedral鈥檚 South West Bell Tower. You might remember it from Professor Trelawney鈥檚 Divination class or The Goblet of Fire. You鈥檒l need a ticket to see it, but for Potterheads, it鈥檚 practically a rite of passage.

Tip:
Book online to skip the queue. And maybe spring for the audio tour鈥攗nless you鈥檝e got me in your ear, of course.

Here鈥檚 a little gem of literary history: this plaque marks the only surviving piece of mail connected to William Shakespeare鈥攅ither to him or from him. One lonely letter. The original is now kept under serious lock and key at the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust in Stratford.

The letter dates back to 1598 and was written by Richard Quiney, a merchant and local bigwig from Stratford-upon-Avon. Addressed to his "loving good friend Mr. William Shakespeare," it is basically an Elizabethan way of asking for money鈥擰uiney was seeking a loan of 拢30, which would be about 拢3,750 today. Not exactly pocket change...

Fun twist: Richard鈥檚 son, Thomas Quiney, would later marry Shakespeare鈥檚 younger daughter. So yes, they kept it in the family, after all.

At the time, Richard was stuck in London for four long months, trying to plead Stratford鈥檚 case to Parliament after a nasty new tax had the town in serious financial trouble.

Now, here's the kicker: it鈥檚 pretty likely Shakespeare never even saw the letter. It was later found stuffed among Quiney鈥檚 papers after he died in 1602. Still, records suggest Shakespeare tried to help anyway鈥攑ossibly through a face-to-face meeting.

And in the end, Stratford caught a break. Queen Elizabeth herself granted relief, and Quiney got reimbursed for all the drama and travel expenses. A happy ending... just without the loan.

If you head to the Cockpit pub in the City of London today, you're standing right where Shakespeare once made a very smart real estate move. The Blackfriars Gatehouse, sitting just a pint鈥檚 throw from the old Blackfriars Playhouse, was the Bard鈥檚 one and only known property purchase in London. Pretty handy location, too鈥擪ing鈥檚 Men, Shakespeare鈥檚 theater company, were performing his plays at Blackfriars just like they were over at the Globe, keeping the Elizabethan drama scene very much alive.

Now, a little backstory: the theater itself was built on the bones of a Dominican monastery founded way back in 1275鈥攗ntil Henry VIII, in full "dissolver of monasteries" mode, shut it down in 1538. Goodbye monks, hello actors!

Some decades later, on March 10, 1613, Shakespeare bought the Gatehouse from one Henry Walker鈥攁 "citizen and minstrel" (i.e., musician with property to spare)鈥攆or a hefty 拢140. That deed is still around today, safely tucked in the London Metropolitan Archives. And here鈥檚 the kicker: it鈥檚 one of only six places on Earth where you can see Shakespeare鈥檚 actual signature. Six. Total.

Despite all the juicy proximity to two major theaters, there's no hard proof that Shakespeare actually lived in the Gatehouse. Maybe he thought about it. Maybe he liked the idea of an easy stroll to work. But when he died in Stratford-upon-Avon three years later, the house stayed more investment property than bachelor pad鈥攂equeathed to his daughter, Susanna, who got the last word in her father's London affairs.

Perched proudly above Queen Victoria Street, Saint Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe has one of those names that sounds like it belongs in a fairy tale鈥攐r at least a very complicated medieval filing system. Originally known as Saint Andrew juxta Baynard Castle (because, naturally, there was a castle next door), it picked up its current title in 1361 when the King鈥檚 Great Wardrobe鈥攂asically the royal walk-in closet for crowns, capes, and other essentials鈥攎oved in just around the corner.

Both the castle and the church were reduced to ashes in the Great Fire of London in 1666. But like a phoenix鈥攐r at least a very determined architect鈥擲ir Christopher Wren rebuilt Saint Andrew鈥檚 between 1685 and 1693. And what's more: this was his very last church project and his cheapest, clocking in at just over 拢7,000鈥攃ourtesy of the coal tax. (Yes, Londoners literally paid for their churches one shovelful at a time.)

But that's not all the curious facts about this location. William Shakespeare himself had ties to this spot. For about 15 years, he worked just down the street at the Blackfriars Theatre and eventually bought a home in Ireland Yard, right inside Saint Andrew鈥檚 parish lines. Today, the church honors the Bard with a memorial in the western gallery: a charming carving of Shakespeare and his musical buddy John Dowland, both kneeling on a stage while cherubs dramatically yank back the final curtain. Because, of course, even angels appreciate good theater.

Beneath the scene, a fitting tribute reads:

"If music and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother鈥�
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense鈥�"

In short, apart from being a great name, Saint Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe is a backstage pass to Shakespeare鈥檚 London.