"I have walked there, yes. At first out of curiosity. We know of hell what is preached within the walls of our Anglican Church. But those texts are poorly sourced. No reliable citations," the Mycologist smirks. He hardly looks the picture of a Christian, Anglican or any other. Well, besides the cross in his lapel, but he clearly hasn't been taking a good care of it, it is slightly bent to one side.
Maybe he likes it, because it is shiny?

"I assume thou art familiar with the existence of border control? Besides having to prove thy identity and right to entry or exit the country, they also ensure thou artn't carrying anything forbidden to cross the borders. Hell, being very secretive of itself, does not allow for memories of certain kind to be carried out - much like silkworms couldn't exit the Chinese Empire. Thus I do remember the gardens and the people I have met and talked to... but I have not retained most of the conversations, thus I suspect I asked of their society and economy. I remember church bells, but not post offices. I know of them only in their absence."
For a while he is quiet, and the he adds: "I do remember getting into a fight with a goat demon and spectacularly loosing. I landed in a fountain. Quite the flight. I haven't got the faintest why we fought."

The dancing hall they are heading towards is just at the end of the street. It is lit brightly, full of cheerful voices and even some singing.