My London Derriere
Are you wondering what became of me yet?
Here below, in way of an explanation, are some
excerpts from my London
Diary. For the first time since I’ve been here it is raining hard in
London.
It
provides the perfect opportunity to get a letter out.
April 25
Clouded but the sky has patches of blue. There is a
chill wind. I’ve
slept in again, not too late, its 10 am. One of these days I’ll get up
at a reasonable hour.
Went off to see Buckingham Palace, Big Ben and the
houses of parliament
yesterday. The great thing I saw was the National gallery, a place I
want to return to. It was full of paintings of a white Christ, but had
some authentic stuff too. Once could easily wander around in there for
days. 
Went out for fish and chips on my way back. Big
Mistake! Have spent
$240, or 120 pounds since my arrival six days ago. That’s a little
much.
My cash stash will last less than eight weeks if I keep that pace up.
Not sure why I’m struggling to get up in the
mornings. I’m getting
plenty of sleep. Must still be a little jet lagged.
Made contact with my friend Emma, whom I met on the
Green Tortoise
going
out of San Francisco six years ago, up in the Cotswolds. We had a nice
chat. Sadly, she’s too busy to meet up with me anytime before I leave
England. She did promise to connect at some point though. Also offered
me her house in the south of France. I may take her up on that.
Thinking
of looking into having my return ticket changed, or purchasing a new
one
altogether. I’m pretty sure, now I’m here, I’m going to want to stay
longer.
Plan to scout out Soho this afternoon, then meet up
with my friends
Frazer and Cara, who I took home to Kaslo several years ago. We’d met
up
in Texas, Arizona, San Fran and Vancouver during one trip. They live
over here.
My journey has once again become something of a
solitary sojurn. I’m
sad
about it on some levels but really there is little I can do about it.
Just have to open up and find some new friends, I guess.
April 26
Sunshine!
Up at 7 am. Good start for a change. Went and
purchased a
week’s travel pass yesterday, so I can ride around London on the busses
and trains at will until next Monday. Obviously, I got the extension to
stay in the guest house, one more week. I am now going to make the most
of my time here and see all I can see. Today I plan to do Covent Garden
and Soho.
Met up with Frazer and Cara last evening in Upper
Street, a mildly
yuppified area with the first street people I’ve seen, hanging out on
the sidewalks wrapped in sleeping bags begging, not doing so well by
the
looks of things.
Frazer and Cara were both well. Cara seemed a little
stressed and
caught
up in the fashion thing. She’d just come from having her hair done and
is off to Greece next week for a wedding. Frazer was his usual good
natured self, still wearing a suit and tie from working all day in the
Old Bailey, London’s law courts. He’s bearded now and looks like a
detective. All the detectives here in London have beards and stand over
six feet tall. The Bobbies, or cops, on the other hand, all look like
they’ve barely crawled out of their prams. Most of them are little more
than children, and look like they should be on the playing fields of
the
local schools, not out patrolling the streets in funny hats, or racing
around in little compact cars. Most of the police cars are little
Mercedes and Japanese compacts. The police cannot drive the big tanks
they drive in the Americas, they’d spend their whole time wedged in
traffic.
All that aside, Frazer and Cara and I went out for
Mexican. Twice
fooled. I won’t be doing Mexican in London again, although the second
was marginally better than the first.
While we were dining the waiter brought a round of
Margaritas to the
table. Cara assured me there was no booze in it, so I lifted a glass to
my lips. I did not need to take a sip to detect the tequila. It brought
back some memories, mostly of falling asleep in the orchards when I was
young. I set the glass down, glad I hadn’t just gulped it, then wiped
my
nose and mouth with a napkin. It was the closest I’ve come in nearly 17
years to tippling.
For about four hours we hung out talking, at one
point stepping into an
outdoor cafe for tea, where we were waited upon by a funny little
Spanish man who drew pictures on his table bills instead of writing
letters and words. When I asked for coffee, he drew a picture of a
steaming coffee cup, then put a worm in it because, he said, he was
pretty sure we were lousy tippers.
Mostly, our visit was a courtesy affair. Frazer and
Cara have split up
since I knew them and, although good friends, didn’t really want to
hang
out with each other. I left them in front of the Angel tube station, at
dark.
Moments after leaving them I found a five pound note
on the sidewalk.
This gave me just enough money to purchase the one week pass I
mentioned
earlier, with 2.50 left over. I bought the pass, then promptly lost the
2.50 change. It was the case of the magical fiver.
Once back to the Highbury-Islington tube, I got on
and came back to
Finsbury Park, my neighbourhood tube, walked a little, then grabbed a
bus closer to Hornsey. Then I walked some more, finally arriving at the
guest house at 10 pm. Plugging some Miles Davis into my ibook, I pulled
out the foldaway, opened the window, and caught a decent sleep.
Earlier in the day I’d gone around to visit my
friend Orla’s mom,
Helen.
She’d improved a lot since the first day I met her, when she was
suffering severely from an absessed tooth and swelling in the jaw. I
quite like the woman, she’s a decent sort, a little deep in her cups
tho’. She’s a hard core socialist who’s made as hell at Tony Blair, as
is most of London, and the rest of England, from what I can tell. In
her
thick Irish accent Helen complained to me that Blair has taken the
bright red socialist flag and turned it into pink chiffon!
I’m quite surprised by the level of socialist
simpathy here. Most of
the
media seems squarely in the socialist camp, at least as far as policy
and coverage goes. These days they’re on a bit of tightrope, between
Blair bashing, and keeping their socialist bent in tact. News coverage,
unlike in North America, always looks into how the news affects the
common people. If a new office building is the topic, then the follow
up
in on the need for more housing, and asks questions like; Why are we
building new office buildings when there are thousands of vacant office
spaces in town, and nowhere for people to live? It is questions like
these that we should be asking more in Canada.
In the papers there is as much news about social and
environmental
concern as there is about business, or more. Personally, I think it is
because there has not been a consistent attack on the unions here, and
the unions have not abandon their roots as they have done in Canada.
The
unions here still look out for the disadvantaged, whether they are
members or not. In Canada, the unions look out for their own, and only
seem to pay attention to the homeless and poor when it suits them
politically. On the other hand, the unions in Canada are fighting for
their existance, here, they are in little danger of being dismantled.
Began to look into transit to Holland today. It
takes some time to
figure things out around here. For the first time in my life I’m having
difficulty being able to tell north from south and east from west, or
west from south, or east from north and vice versa all around. The city
is designed like a hairball! Having the transit pass is helping. I now
know that I can hop on any bus or train that lists a station I
recongnize in its menu.
I am enjoing transit, particularly the double decker
busses. I sit up
top in the front, when the city is like a movie screen. Feel a little
odd about not riding Wheels, but I’ll get around to riding soon enough.
Riding a bicycle here in London is akin to being a
crack head, its all
adrenalin and it can take you out quick.
The tube is something else all together. Its noisy
and raucous, and can
take hours off your day and years off your life stress wise. The other
day I got on in rush hour. I was at the back and the train filled up. A
woman about 45, nice looking, long dark hair, well dressed, fit, stood
in front of me. As the train grew more and more full we were jammed
more
tightly together. Then, as the train moved and jerked, this woman, who
for the most part kept her back to me, kept driving her bum into my
pelvis. I kept saying, “sorry”, “sorry”, and she kept turning around,
looking me straight in the eye, and giving me a sly smile. In
retrospect, I should have asked for a date.
Becoming increasingly more comfortable here.
Starting to know my way
around. I’ll be a Londoner before long.
April 27
Up late! Slept in because I know there’s an
electrician coming to fix
the hot water. He or she is supposed to arrive by 1 pm. Its half eleven
now.
Got back here dog tired after passing my day in the
London Theatre
district and Soho yesterday. It was quiet, a little interesting, and
largely uneventful.
Haven’t found myself able to meet anyone in these
parts. It would
likely
be easier if I had someone to hang out with.
Spoke to Orla yesterday. I haven’t seen hide nor
hair of her or Peelee
since I got back from Brighton. They’ve invited me to a birthday party
at a bar of Saturday. I’m not entirely sure I’ll go. I’m just not a bar
person anymore.
Walked a lot yesterday. Was looking for a
tobaccanist with a variety.
Couldn’t find any, except one very expensive shop near Soho that had
American Spirit.
Found out the cafe’s in in busy places can have free
wireless signals.
Most of the cafes have signals that you have to buy a pass onto. I
found
one where I could sit out front and patch into several signals. The
only
message I had was from Emma, telling me she’d try to visit.
Today I need to gather some info n getting to
Holland. Plan to visit
Hyde Park later.
Saw a small second hand digital camera in a store
yesterday. They
wanted
25 pounds for it. Amost made the purchase. Would be nice to have some
photos to send home.
Go to do some work on my bicycle today. It would be
good to adjust my
gears and get my spokes tightened. Have half a mind to ride to
Hackney
and see if Peelee will do it. Then again, I need to learn to do this
stuff on my own.
Growing tired of London. Its starting to cost me
money and I’ve seen
most of the sites. Haven’t done the river cruise, its just a boat ride
down and dirty river overlooking a dirty city.
I’m a little down. After the initial sociality of
the first few days I
find myself quite isolated and alone in a huge metropolis where I can
barely find my way around and know no one. About all I can think of
doing is catching a play or some artistic event, but those cost upwards
of 20 pounds a crack, that’s $40 CDN for a couple hours entertainment!
There’s apparently going to be a critical mass cycle
ride on Mayday,
Monday. It leaves from Waterloo Bridge at 11 am. I may attend that.
Got to get back into what I’m doing. I’m not likely
to ever have the
opportunity to experience this place again. May as well get my fill of
it now.
April 28
Another nice day! Had a great one last!
First, I got up late and waited for the electrician
to appear. He did,
ahead of schedule and replaced the heating element on the other water
tank. Then he helped me with my bike. They guy was some sort of
mechanical genius.
Once he left, I loaded up and caught the bus to
Holburn Square, where I
put out some dough for a camera. Then I headed through Soho to Oxford
Street and on to Hyde Park, where I passed most of my day and evening.
I loved the park. Its an oasis in the urban sprawl. I wandered around
for hours on the wide lawns and down to Serpentine Gallery and pond,
where I taught myself how to use the camera.
A little later I wandered along to the Albert
Memorial and the Royal
Albert Hall. It was sunset then. I took some photos, which I later lost
to the technology, then wandered back through Mayfair, Soho and down by
the theatres. Eventually I wound up in Shaftsbury, where I had a cheap
Thai dinner.
Mayfair is near Buckingham and Kensington palaces.
It is full of
expensive hotels and high end diners. Every place has a compliment of
guards, usually dressed in black suits wearing ear plugs, and
accompanied a few feet away by men in cars, or just hanging out not so
discreetly. I was looking like a bit of a ragamuffin that day, with a
black toque on, and my muddy shoes. Many of these security guys gave me
the eye, and I took some time to observe them myself. At one place
there
was a contingent of real heavy duty guys. They looked like American
Secret Service, and were crawling all over one particular eatery.
Nearby
was a group of paparazzi, their cameras fixed on the doorway of the
eatery. Not sure who was in there, but I suspect it was either a member
of the royal family, or a high ranking American.
At another point I noticed a big black man standing
all alone, at ease,
in front of 13 gold painted steps that led up to what appeared, at
first, to be a mosque. The fellow had an uncharacteristic smile, most
of
the bouncers I’d seen were frowning, and was just about the biggest
human being I’ve ever seen, well over seven feet and, I’d bet, a good
280 pounds. He wore a skull cap and made direct eye contact with me as
I
walked by. It was then that I looked up and saw the sign atop the
building “Tantra Club.” I cracked up on the spot, thinking to myself,
‘tantra, smantra, its all about size!’
A short time later I found myself caught up in foot
traffic and was
being pushed into the narrow lanes of Soho past the thousands of little
eateries and bars, when all of a sudden I was in a narrow passage
engulfed by shaved head fellows with tatoos all over them, mostly
sailors on shore leave from Her Majesty’s ships. The testosterone in
that alley was so thick I began to wonder if I wasn’t in some war zone,
when I realized where I was, smack dab in the middle of the closest
thing London has to a red light district. On either side of me were
lines of neon signs above tiny little doorways that urged men to come
in
and check out the “peep shows” and “girls, girls, girls.” On the level
above the street were several windows with red lights glowing from
them,
while in little unmarked doorways were crudely fashioned signs that
read, simply, a woman’s name, and a number, of her room I suppose. At I
strode by one of these doorways I overheard two men talking. The gist
of
the conversation went something like this:
“Maryanna”
“Do you think she’s American?”
“Sounds American”
“I want a blonde American!”
“We could go find out!”
That was on a corner and I took a hard left, turn up
the street a block
to where the crowd was a little more mixed and genteel. This led me
to
Chinatown, which is surprisingly mediocre when compared to Vancouver or
Victoria in Canada. All through this area, and all over the city,
restaurants have staff posed in front of their establishments. If a
passerby so much as hesitates or looks into a place, these hawkers are
on them immediately; “good food, cheap, healthy, come in please.” I
escaped most of these folks until a tiny Thai woman coaxed me into the
place where I finally had dinner.
While dining at the six pound buffet, I listened to
two fellow at a
table beside me as they discussed stage set up, design and coregraphy.
It was quite interesting. They were working on a production of One Flew
Over the Cuckoos Nest and were looking for ways to make the scenes more
interesting. One of them made a point of wishing me
well as they left,
even though we’d not communicated.
As they left I heard him say to his pal, “Did you see who was sitting
beside us? To which his pal answered, “No, who was it? I was rather
amused by what the guy said next. “It was Nicholson.”
“You’re kidding,” said the second fellow, looking
back into the place.
He caught my eye and nodded. I nodded back, being
careful not to give
him a full look at my face and destroy the illusion. Those guys went to
work that night, on a production of One Flew Over the Cukoo’s Nest,
believing there was a strong possibility that Jack Nicholson was in the
crowd, as if he’d go to see Christian Slater do a bad impression of
him.
This was not the first time I’ve been mistaken for
the Hollywood actor,
nor for a character in that role.
After dinner I get back on the 91 bus and went to
Hornsey. It had been
the best day of my visit, I’d had a lot of fun, even tho’ it was of a
solitary nature. My reward was a long hot bath, something I’d not had
since my first night in town.
April 29
Up early, its’ about 8:30, after a long sleep.
Went to Camden Town yesterday and hung out.
Actually, I just wandered
in
circles for hours. It was just throbbing mass of people shopping but I
enjoyed it anyway. Late in the afternoon the food vendors starting
selling their wares off real cheap, one pound a plate. I had a huge
Chinese meal for the princely price of $2 CDN.
While eating I met a fellow from Columbian named
Alex. We talked travel
and he assured me I’d have the time of my life in Amsterdam. He told me
the cycling, the city and the people are all wonderful.
Camden is something like Gastown in Vancouver was
back in the early
1970s, on steroids. Must have had 100 guys offer to sell me “Hash”
“Skunk” and a variety of other drugs as I walked down the street. Alex
informed me most of these guys were gang kids seeling oregano and dirty
soap. I found the whole scene a mite disturbing, but caught some
amusement as I watched a squad of bobbies sneak up on some punkish
types
who’d taken up space on a bridge and were stopping traffic. They were a
rough bunch and it was amusing to see them tossing little bags and beer
cans over a railing when they finally noticed the cops coming. By time
the cops actually go on the bridge the punkers had all but vacated.
Really started to notice the women in this town
yesterday. There are
some incredibly beautiful ones around. Only wish I could relax enough
to
get to know some of them. Londoners, it seems, are a happy lot when
they’re with their friends. When they are not, they seem cold and
uncaring, staring straight ahead and refusing any attempt at eye
contact. In fact, they’ll barge right into you if you’re not careful.
I’ve made several attempt to engage in casual
conversation, only to be
totally snubbed by most. Helen, Orla’s mom, told me only the Irish will
chat. She’s been right so far, the only folks I’ve been able to get a
word out of have been Irish, or some other foreigner, like Alex from
Columbia. Actually had one fellow, with a limp, nearly knock me over
near Charing Cross tube. He came out of nowhere and glanced the side of
my face with his shoulder and pack. It was quite a hard hit and I
yelped, but he didn’t turn around or make any attempt to apologize. For
a brief instant I thought about chasing after him and making a point,
but then I just let it go. Had he done that to me even five years ago I
would have made such a point.
Still haven’t made arrangements to get to Holland.
Must do that today.
I’m also supposed to meet Peelee and Orla at some bar tonight. I half
hope they stand me up. The idea of spending my evening in a pub does
not
appeal to me. Still, I haven’t seen them since my first weekend here
and
I would at least like to touch base with them before I go.
Anyway, not a lot to write about this morning. Think
I’ll jump in the
tub, eat breakfast, and get out early. Number one chore today is
booking
passage to Holland.
April 30
Rough!
Was out to an outrageously loud bar with Peelee last
night. Didn’t
really enjoy the place at all. Met a couple people I liked but overall
it was an oppresive experience watching people get drunk and silly.
Met Peelee’s new moll. Little woman in her late 30s
named Kate, whom I
thought was a teenage boy to start. She was actually very nice, and
wore
a bicycle costume that matched her bicycle. I quoted Leonard Cohen’s
Closing Time at her. Also met the birthday girl, Amanda, who I felt I
had some sort of connection with, but she was busy being a birthday
girl, and with the noise and rabble, we didn’t really get a chance to
visit much. Orla showed up a little after last call. It was good to see
them but I have some misgivings they haven’t found it possible to spend
a little more time visiting. Its not like I’ll ever be able to just pop
over for a visit at any point. Oh well!
Bought my ticket for Holland yesterday. It cost me
45 pounds, and takes
me direct from Liverpool Street Station here in London to Central
Station in Amsterdam. The train goes on Wednesday. Well, it goes
everyday, but I’m going on Wednesday at 5 pm local time. I could have
gone at 8 am, but that would have been too difficult a manouver. It
puts
me into Amsterdam at 2 in the morning on Thursday. If I’d gone and
bought the ticket seven days in advance I could have got it for 25
pounds, foolish me! How was I to know?
After my visit to Liverpool Street Station I walked
down to the Tower
of
London, where British Nobility once, for many hundreds of years,
displayed their compassion and benevolence to thier subjects and kin by
either locking them up, brutalizing them, or lopping off their heads.
It
was an eery place.
I also walked over the Tower Bridge and back, which
many in North
American think is London Bridge. London B ridge is actually a
non-descript highway bridge. Once back on the north side of the river I
walked along the embankment route to Waterloo Bridge.
Along the way I discovered a tiny little church left
over from the
Roman
era. St. Urbains was built and rebuilt many times up until the middle
ages. It was finally destroyed by the blitz in 1941 and all that
remains
is a couple walls, part of the entrance, and the steeple, all overgrown
with vine and turned into a little garden set amid steel and glass
towers. I snapped some photos of it, which I’ve included herein.
From Waterloo I made my way to Soho, where I
knew I’d find some
decent
tobacco. Then I went by the National Gallery where there was a huge
concert-protest against British Petroleum going on. Mostly it was
50,000
teeny boppers jumping up and down to hip-hop noise, while a small band
of activists tried to make thier point from some booths set up in the
back of Trafalgar Square. The kids were mostly interested in the free
concert and the whole scene seemed to defeat its own purpose, which was
to draw attention to BPs involvement in the war in Iraq and the British
government’s allegiance to George Bush.
Once again I found myself hassled and jostled about
in the huge rude
crowd, an experience I’d also encountered earlier in the day when I
stopped into a “Holland Appreciation” fair at the Blackfriars Mission
down on the embankment. There I’d had a woman pushing a baby stroller
run me over, rather that ask me to step back, or take a wider berth
around me. Its an issue here in London. People just put themselves on
auto pilot, don’t pay one another any mind, and get rude. I think one
of
the reasons I’ve been so tired every evening is the struggle I’ve
experienced trying to make eye contact and be conscious of the folks
around me. I can honestly understand why some people move around in
limosines. People notice limos, and they get the hell out of the road.
From Trafalgar I made my way to Aldwych then
up to Holburn, where
I
finally found an uncrowded tube station and made my way back to
Finsbury
Park. Along the way I had a couple misadventures with the local phone
booths when I tried to call Alex, whom I’d met in Camden. The phones
cut
me off twice, stole my money once and were basically a nuisance to use.
Heck, you need superman fingers just to pry open the coin return
buttons
on the damn things.
After a short visit with Helen, I came back to my
pad, soaked my
blistering feet in hot water, put on clean socks, then headed off
towards Hackney for my night out with Peelee. That, in and of itself
was
an adventure. I missed my stop and wound up a couple miles beyond it in
a rough part of Hackney, where I had some rather mean looking fellows
follow me up the street until I was able to duck onto a bus going the
opposite direction. It was while waiting for the bus to come to a stop
that an ambulance came racing up nearby, where a fellow was slumped on
the sidewalk. I was suprised when the ambulance attendants came out of
the ambulance like a swat team, grabbed the individual off the
sidewalk,
started shaking him, and demanding to know what he’d swallowed. Turns
out he’d overdosed on something and moments before I’d arrived on the
scene some street worker had called in the first aid crew. They were
none too gentle on the fellow, and were basically knocking him around
to
keep him awake.
All in all, by time I loaded myself onto a couple
busses and got back
to
Hornsey for 1 am, it had been one full day.
I was mostly glad I’d finally secured my passage to Holland.
May 1
Yesterday was one of the nicest of my visit. After
rising late and
doing
some housekeeping, I went off to Hampstead Heath, a local park that is
nearly as big as Stanley Park in Vancouver. It is the most natural of
all the parks in London, with much of the native plants left in tact.
Its crown is a high hill overlooking the city, called Parliament Hill.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself wandering about totally lost for many
hours,
ducking off the main paths and into the forest, which featured lost of
trees that were several hundreds of years old.
Here I saw signs of what I’ve learned is a drought
here in England.
They
have not had a good wet winter in several years and there are grave
concerns about the water. In the park the creeks and streams have all
but dried up, although I saw evidence they have not been that way long.
Still, it is spring, and there should be lots of water in the stream
beds. There isn’t, and that could spell serious problems for this city
in the near future.
Again, I was alone and felt a little out of place,
but being in a park,
away from the traffic did help me to feel comfortable. I stayed there
well into twilight, then made my way back down to the river front,
where
I’d hoped to finally photograph some of the national historic
monuments,
like Big Ben and Westminsiter Cathedral, which I did.
On the way I stopped in Camden and caught another
cheap dinner. I’m
learning the practice of selling the food off cheap is a daily
occurence
there. And with prices in London being quite high, it is doubtful I
could feed myself any cheaper by cooking my own food.
Once darkness fell I made my way back to the busses
and Hornsey, where
I
arrived about 10 pm, downloaded my photos, pulled out the roll away,
and
slept like a baby, waking this morning to heavy wind and rain outside
the window.
That was three hours ago. The rain has now ebbed,
and the sun is making
an appearance. Unfortunately, I have missed the critical mass ride, but
I felt it was more important to let you all know I’m alive and well.
Truthfully, I wasn’t all that eager to go riding the wet streets on my
bike. This town is dangerous to ride to start, let alone with the
streets all wet. I will however get onto transit, go downtown, and see
if I can catch a bit of the ride, or its aftermath, on film.
London is famous for its May Day celebrations. There
are marches and
parades and concerts all over town. That’s all in keeping with the
strong labour influences I mentioned earlier. It should be fun.
Tomorrow I pack up, and Wednesday I ride across town
to Liverpool
Station, then onto Holland, where I have just found out some fellow
cyclists will be waiting for me, in the middle of the night.
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