Passing through Britain, I never fail to feel like I've been kidnapped and teleported to an alternative reality where, had 1984 ever been written, it would have been a realistic novel. You can see this on the streets, but London Luton Airport is just a textbook case:
A long queue. A maze of queues. People shuffling along with their belongings, reminiscent of Auschwitz inmates. Signs everywhere: Warning: CCTV in operation. Smile, you're on camera. No liquids. No photography. Warning against verbal or physical assault to our staff, law provides strong penalties, including imprisonment. Guys in flashy costumes barking commands, herding: move on, this queue, over here, come forward. Over the PA system, continuously: THIS IS A SECURITY ANNOUNCEMENT. Don't leave your baggage unattended, it will be destroyed. Take off your coats and belts now. Have your ID ready for inspection. You can't carry more than one piece of hand luggage, or you will be denied boarding. Stand in line.
I take off my coat and belt, put everything in the scanner, step through the gate and get bipped. I had my phone in my pocket. Guy comes over, starts putting his hands all over my body, while reciting the mantra “You're all right mate, you haven't done anything wrong”.
I don't need you to tell me that, I know perfectly well, says I, I know that better than you. It's all right mate, it's just a security procedure.
No, it's not. This goes way beyond security. This is for display. It's a show. It's propaganda. It's brainwash. It's mind control. This I think but I don't get to say, 'cause now they want me to open my laptop and take off my shoes, to scan them. I've been wearing them for 48 hours non-stop now, so the smell that comes out qualifies as a biological weapon.
Now half naked and ready for a fight I wait while they also scan my laptop 3 times, intrigued as to whether after 3 chunks of radiation it will experience spontaneous combustion or not, one would imagine. In awe that it doesn't, they hand it back to me.
“You know the movie Brazil? Don't you feel like you're in it?”, I ask the guy. He doesn't know the movie. “Have you read 1984?” He hasn't. “Well mate, welcome to Airstrip One then”, I say as I leave.
Showing posts with label england. Show all posts
Showing posts with label england. Show all posts
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Saturday, 17 November 2007
Britannia 2007 - Afterthoughts
Even so, I’ve had some the most fun I can remember. I’ve loved every day, cherished every moment. (Okay, make that every day but two. If you’ve read the previous posts, you know why.)
Traveling on my own has been an incredible, wonderful experience. I can hardly wait to do it again. It sure does get lonely at times, but I say it’s a small price to pay for the freedom you get. Important decisions take seconds. Plans can be made on passing whims and instant curiosity. No discussions, no quarrels, no need for agreement, no resentment, no getting tired of your company, no feeling tied to anyone.
Just Express Tourism, the way I like it. Hop off the train, walk about, visit the local landmarks, take your pictures, hop on again. Conjugate that with the hostel experience: meeting some new, very interesting people in every new place you get to. Occasionally, add a few beers and shake, don’t stir. I know, that doesn’t make for a very comprehensive experience, but it’s just what I wanted to do on this trip. Getting the complete feeling of a place, really mixing with the locals, requires you to spend much, much more time there. This I don’t feel like doing right now. For now, it suffices that I have Been There, I have Done That.
And now for something completely different.
Britannia 2007 - Photos
Rejoice! Here comes what you were waiting for: the Britannia 2007 "best-of" photo compilation.
Wednesday, 22 August 2007
Day 9 - Liverpool
I had but walked out of the railway station when I stumbled upon the Museum Quarter. Impressed by the classic façade, but even more by the huge sign on it saying "FREE entry", I hurried inside the Walker museum. And inside I discovered two incredible special exhibitions: one of Josh Kirby's work (illustrator of most of Pratchett's novels, among other things) and another of a Peter Chang, who turns out to be outstandingly brilliant.
I had a lot of fun in both exhibitions. I loved seeing the originals (they're all illustrations on paper, classic style) for the Discworld books, among which was the one I carried in my sack.
And I also loved the crazy and great looking alien designs of this Chang guy.
I stayed until they kicked me out. And that was the high point in Liverpool. From there, it was all downhill.
As the hostel was well away from the city centre, I resolved to see as much of it as possible before going there. So I took a stroll around, saw the very famous club "The Cavern" (of which I had heard nothing before, but apparently was important in the Beatles era) and the Beatles memorial in front of it, the docks an a bit of the centre.
All in all, it's not a beautiful city.
At sundown, it was suddently very cold, with a cutting wind that froze my bones, so I started the 45 min pilgrimage to the hostel. I arrived there tired, quite depressed and feeling lonely, and finding myself in quite a dead place and alone in my room wasn't too good for my spirits.
That was, no doubt, the lowest point of the whole trip so far.
I had a lot of fun in both exhibitions. I loved seeing the originals (they're all illustrations on paper, classic style) for the Discworld books, among which was the one I carried in my sack.
And I also loved the crazy and great looking alien designs of this Chang guy.
I stayed until they kicked me out. And that was the high point in Liverpool. From there, it was all downhill.
As the hostel was well away from the city centre, I resolved to see as much of it as possible before going there. So I took a stroll around, saw the very famous club "The Cavern" (of which I had heard nothing before, but apparently was important in the Beatles era) and the Beatles memorial in front of it, the docks an a bit of the centre.
All in all, it's not a beautiful city.
At sundown, it was suddently very cold, with a cutting wind that froze my bones, so I started the 45 min pilgrimage to the hostel. I arrived there tired, quite depressed and feeling lonely, and finding myself in quite a dead place and alone in my room wasn't too good for my spirits.
That was, no doubt, the lowest point of the whole trip so far.
Monday, 20 August 2007
Day 12 - Leaving England
After heartfelt goodbyes to Shuo and Hiro under a Bloody British Rain, I hop on board The Flying Scotsman route.
I fly through the fields, by the cliffs, over the splashing sea, around the green hills, past Hadrian's wall, away from England and head-first into Scotland.
On the way, I pass Durham and Newcastle and regret so much not having the time to make a stop there. But time is scarce, and I've already spent most of it. Ahead of me, five days to see Scotland and four days for a glimpse of Ireland.
Behind me, days of travel and joy, through the green, yellow and hedgy soft hills of England. I've seen quite a lot, but there are still some other places I would have liked to visit, yet couldn't get the time. Bristol and the Lake District come to mind.
My plans for Scotland include going all the way to the edge of the Isle of Skye (after Aberdeen and Inverness), so I can just hope I'll find transport and accomodation to do that.
I fly through the fields, by the cliffs, over the splashing sea, around the green hills, past Hadrian's wall, away from England and head-first into Scotland.
On the way, I pass Durham and Newcastle and regret so much not having the time to make a stop there. But time is scarce, and I've already spent most of it. Ahead of me, five days to see Scotland and four days for a glimpse of Ireland.
Behind me, days of travel and joy, through the green, yellow and hedgy soft hills of England. I've seen quite a lot, but there are still some other places I would have liked to visit, yet couldn't get the time. Bristol and the Lake District come to mind.
My plans for Scotland include going all the way to the edge of the Isle of Skye (after Aberdeen and Inverness), so I can just hope I'll find transport and accomodation to do that.
Day 11 - Happy Birthday To Me
"Happy Birthday To Me, Happy Birthday To Me", sung I.
I visited the National Railway Museum and the York Art Gallery, and generally indulged in little pleasures, like taking the Ghost Walk (£4.00), eating cornish pastys and soft drinks (~£2.50), and talking to my parents and friends (£0.00, free calling cards).
I stayed forever at the NRM, first because it's interesting and second because I was dead tired and just fell asleep in a "Model 0" Shinkansen wagon for a good while. It was interesting, seeing all those old engines together around a turntable. It looked just like a screenshot from Sid Meier's Railroads.
Back at the hostel, I met these two great guys, Shuo and Hiro, and had quite a lot of fun together, and even more when more people came and joined the party.
All in all, a good birthday.
I visited the National Railway Museum and the York Art Gallery, and generally indulged in little pleasures, like taking the Ghost Walk (£4.00), eating cornish pastys and soft drinks (~£2.50), and talking to my parents and friends (£0.00, free calling cards).
I stayed forever at the NRM, first because it's interesting and second because I was dead tired and just fell asleep in a "Model 0" Shinkansen wagon for a good while. It was interesting, seeing all those old engines together around a turntable. It looked just like a screenshot from Sid Meier's Railroads.
Back at the hostel, I met these two great guys, Shuo and Hiro, and had quite a lot of fun together, and even more when more people came and joined the party.
All in all, a good birthday.
Day 10 - York
Behold! Ye Olde Town of York!
I arrived in the early afternoon, and it didn't take me much time to see all the center of the town, walk the walls (most of the medieval walls are still standing and are free and walkable), see Clifford's Tower and the Minster (on the outside, of course) and take a stroll through the Shambles and the other small streets.
Quite cute. I felt it wouldn't be a waste of time if I stayed here the following unbooked night. I had to decide between staying another night or trying my luck in Edinburgh, where the city was packed full, and I could book no hostels, guest houses or undersides of bridges to sleep.
When night came, after a nice long chat with my room-mates, I went down to the bar of the hostel ("the Dungeon", and very aptly named) with a good pint on my mind.
In the end it was three of them, in the unbeatable company of two Aussies, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Yank, a South African and many stories. Thus I celebrated my birthday.
I arrived in the early afternoon, and it didn't take me much time to see all the center of the town, walk the walls (most of the medieval walls are still standing and are free and walkable), see Clifford's Tower and the Minster (on the outside, of course) and take a stroll through the Shambles and the other small streets.
Quite cute. I felt it wouldn't be a waste of time if I stayed here the following unbooked night. I had to decide between staying another night or trying my luck in Edinburgh, where the city was packed full, and I could book no hostels, guest houses or undersides of bridges to sleep.
When night came, after a nice long chat with my room-mates, I went down to the bar of the hostel ("the Dungeon", and very aptly named) with a good pint on my mind.
In the end it was three of them, in the unbeatable company of two Aussies, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Yank, a South African and many stories. Thus I celebrated my birthday.
Day 8 - Stratford-upon-Avon
Or "Strap-fon-A-von", as people in Birmingham pronounce it. (If you aim to reproduce the sound, stick some grapes into your mouth first)
I arrived in Birmingham under some extreme BBW, which mutated into blue skies just as I arrived to the hostel. With higher spirits, and recently found good company, I set out to discover the Shakespeare Town® theme park.
And it's exactly that. I would have liked getting on the Shakespeare Rollercoaster and eating Shakespeare Mints, but unfortunately everything was both expensive and closed. I forgot that whatever the weather, everything touristic closes at 17:00. D'oh!
So we took a walk around the town, saw Shakespeare's Birthplace (£6.50, closed), Shakespeare's House (£5.50, closed), His Daughter's House (£5.00, closed), The Church Where He's Supposed to be Buried (free, but just closed) and The Place Where He First Farted (fictitious, but closed anyway). The really cool thing to do is to go see a play by the Shakespeare Company, but of course that was also expensive, and closed (the building was being rebuilt or something) .
So when we exhausted the entertainment possibilities of an empty town with 4 (restored) old-looking buildings , we took the first train from an empty station and headed back.
I arrived in Birmingham under some extreme BBW, which mutated into blue skies just as I arrived to the hostel. With higher spirits, and recently found good company, I set out to discover the Shakespeare Town® theme park.
And it's exactly that. I would have liked getting on the Shakespeare Rollercoaster and eating Shakespeare Mints, but unfortunately everything was both expensive and closed. I forgot that whatever the weather, everything touristic closes at 17:00. D'oh!
So we took a walk around the town, saw Shakespeare's Birthplace (£6.50, closed), Shakespeare's House (£5.50, closed), His Daughter's House (£5.00, closed), The Church Where He's Supposed to be Buried (free, but just closed) and The Place Where He First Farted (fictitious, but closed anyway). The really cool thing to do is to go see a play by the Shakespeare Company, but of course that was also expensive, and closed (the building was being rebuilt or something) .
So when we exhausted the entertainment possibilities of an empty town with 4 (restored) old-looking buildings , we took the first train from an empty station and headed back.
Saturday, 18 August 2007
Day 8 - Nottingham
I woke up dazed & confused, managed to have a late shower, was all but ushered out of the hostel by the complete asshole at the reception for checking out late, had a panic episode thinking I had lost my wallet, then found it and was born anew.
Oh, and also had my photo with Robin Hood's statue.
For that's pretty much it, about Nottingham. The castle is nice, with a cute park, and good views of the *shudder* ugly city below. I would have liked to go to Sherwood Forest, but it's one bus hour away, so for now let's just assume that I did go.
Anyway, there was some Bloody British Weather going on, so I though I'd had enough of Nottingham for now. Off to Birmingham.
Oh, and also had my photo with Robin Hood's statue.
For that's pretty much it, about Nottingham. The castle is nice, with a cute park, and good views of the *shudder* ugly city below. I would have liked to go to Sherwood Forest, but it's one bus hour away, so for now let's just assume that I did go.
Anyway, there was some Bloody British Weather going on, so I though I'd had enough of Nottingham for now. Off to Birmingham.
Day 7 - Nottingham - Great expectations
I arrived later than expected, to a city that was much less alive than I expected. The instructions to get to the hostel were less complete than you would expect, and the hostel was shabbier than expected. However, I met many more and much nicer people, and had great deal more fun, and a great deal more beer, than I expected.
All in all, a great night.
All in all, a great night.
Day 7 - Cambridge
There was still some direct sunlight when I arrived on Day 6 at the HI hostel in Cambridge, so I thought I'd go out and see something, but I bumped into a great fellow from Oxford who has the very mundane and boring job of sequencing DNA (!!!). So I nagged him for hours, discussing politics, technology, culture and more politics.
In the morning I met this indian guy who worked for Xerox and Microsoft and now for Symbian, and I started wondering what the hell is wrong (or actually, so right) with Cambridge. So I looked it up on the Wikipedia and discovered Sillicon Fen. Wow.
On that very morning I also discovered the Bloody British Weather,
getting well acquainted with the Bloody British Rain throughout the day.
I was roaming the streets aimlessly, in a singularly dreary, dark and gloomy house-of-usher mood, when I walked into the market square, where -holy sheep!- a second-hand book stall stood.
I had the most fun that can ever be had in the street under the rain, browsing through a nice collection of literary goodness, starting at 50p. I couldn't help it, and after some careful weighing, I took Bill Bryson's "Down Under" and the first Discworld novel, The Colour of Magic. It was difficult restraining from buying loads of them (most of Terry Pratchett's books, Discworlds included, in very good condition at £1.50 each!), but just like Great A'Tuin, I had to think of the Weight. No sense in carrying more elephants on my back all the way through Scotland and Ireland.
The thing is, Cambridge is loaded with second-hand bookshops, which I just love. On the architectural hand, I took a long look around (mostly in the company of a great lass I met in The Backs) and there's not an awful lot to see, apart from the Colleges.
Entering any of them and taking a look will leave you several pounds farther away from a fortune, so the thought never crossed my mind.
"Onwards!, to glory!", said I, and hopped on a train to Nottingham.
In the morning I met this indian guy who worked for Xerox and Microsoft and now for Symbian, and I started wondering what the hell is wrong (or actually, so right) with Cambridge. So I looked it up on the Wikipedia and discovered Sillicon Fen. Wow.
On that very morning I also discovered the Bloody British Weather,
getting well acquainted with the Bloody British Rain throughout the day.
I was roaming the streets aimlessly, in a singularly dreary, dark and gloomy house-of-usher mood, when I walked into the market square, where -holy sheep!- a second-hand book stall stood.
I had the most fun that can ever be had in the street under the rain, browsing through a nice collection of literary goodness, starting at 50p. I couldn't help it, and after some careful weighing, I took Bill Bryson's "Down Under" and the first Discworld novel, The Colour of Magic. It was difficult restraining from buying loads of them (most of Terry Pratchett's books, Discworlds included, in very good condition at £1.50 each!), but just like Great A'Tuin, I had to think of the Weight. No sense in carrying more elephants on my back all the way through Scotland and Ireland.
The thing is, Cambridge is loaded with second-hand bookshops, which I just love. On the architectural hand, I took a long look around (mostly in the company of a great lass I met in The Backs) and there's not an awful lot to see, apart from the Colleges.
Entering any of them and taking a look will leave you several pounds farther away from a fortune, so the thought never crossed my mind.
"Onwards!, to glory!", said I, and hopped on a train to Nottingham.
Day 6 - Through London
Just "through", not "to".
By the grace of its imperial majesty, the British railway system, it is impossible (slash highly impractical) to go by train from Oxford to Cambridge without passing through London first.
Knowing this in advance, I thought it a nice excuse for visiting London again for a few hours and seeing a couple of the things I missed last time.
Said and done, I alighted at London Paddington on quite a gray day and with not many hours of sleep in my sack. My plan was to walk to King's Cross from Hyde Park, thus visiting the famous Kensington Gardens on the way. How easy it looked on the map!
That's when I (re)discovered that London is huge. And very easy to get lost in. Which I did.
I walked my feet off around tens of very similar residential streets, looking for the way to the park, once appearing back where I started. I arrived in Kensington Gardens dead tired, so I just fell both on the grass and inmediately asleep. Same as I did on my first day in London, some months ago.
I awoke under a gentle sunshine, which accompanied me for a while. Saw the Albert Memorial and Hall (how many holes to fill it?), went to Hyde Park, and attempted to get the Tube. That's when I rediscovered how insanely expensive London public transport is. £4 for a single trip!! WTF!!!
So I ditched the Tube, went back to plan A and walked all the way to K's X. It was nice, walking the streets of the bustling city, seeing all those things that tell you you're in London. The red double-deckers, the hordes of rocketing taxis covered in advertising, the crazy hairdos, the cutting-edge touch-screen PDA phones in everybody's hand, the guys standing on the street holding a big sign for a theatre or club...
I walked all of Piccadilly, crossed the Circus and into the SOHO, past the British Museum into Camden and finally to LKX. Where I couldn't help it and took my photo with the "platform 9 3/4" trolley (at last!).
Thus I integrated my previous visit into this one and so stitched London into the whole trip. Sweet.
By the grace of its imperial majesty, the British railway system, it is impossible (slash highly impractical) to go by train from Oxford to Cambridge without passing through London first.
Knowing this in advance, I thought it a nice excuse for visiting London again for a few hours and seeing a couple of the things I missed last time.
Said and done, I alighted at London Paddington on quite a gray day and with not many hours of sleep in my sack. My plan was to walk to King's Cross from Hyde Park, thus visiting the famous Kensington Gardens on the way. How easy it looked on the map!
That's when I (re)discovered that London is huge. And very easy to get lost in. Which I did.
I walked my feet off around tens of very similar residential streets, looking for the way to the park, once appearing back where I started. I arrived in Kensington Gardens dead tired, so I just fell both on the grass and inmediately asleep. Same as I did on my first day in London, some months ago.
I awoke under a gentle sunshine, which accompanied me for a while. Saw the Albert Memorial and Hall (how many holes to fill it?), went to Hyde Park, and attempted to get the Tube. That's when I rediscovered how insanely expensive London public transport is. £4 for a single trip!! WTF!!!
So I ditched the Tube, went back to plan A and walked all the way to K's X. It was nice, walking the streets of the bustling city, seeing all those things that tell you you're in London. The red double-deckers, the hordes of rocketing taxis covered in advertising, the crazy hairdos, the cutting-edge touch-screen PDA phones in everybody's hand, the guys standing on the street holding a big sign for a theatre or club...
I walked all of Piccadilly, crossed the Circus and into the SOHO, past the British Museum into Camden and finally to LKX. Where I couldn't help it and took my photo with the "platform 9 3/4" trolley (at last!).
Thus I integrated my previous visit into this one and so stitched London into the whole trip. Sweet.
Day 4,5,6 - Oxford
"The city of dreaming spires" turns out to be just a tiny town. Okay, with spires and all, but still a tiny town.
That's what strikes me most about it. The city center is mostly made up of the university grounds, that is, the colleges (Christ Church, Merton,etc) and these are tiny themselves. I was certainly expecting something... bigger at the least.
The architecture is beautiful and the history is overwhelming, but everything is still tiny, even the spires. Though they do seem to dream big, those spires. It fascinates me how important some small cities can become (Venice, another example).
So, yes, I took a couple of good looks around the University Colleges, walked the streets, read the history, met some very nice people, took my pictures, saw a couple of falling stars during the meteor storm, and generally had a lot of fun. And of course, climbed to a couple of high points, to look at the city from above. I will provide photographic evidence of that as soon as I get the chance.
The thing is, the city is quite pretty, when seen from the appropriate angle, preferrably from one of the church towers (several of them are visitable). I climbed the one in Radcliffe Square and it is most recommendable, and cheaper than the other, more famous one, the name of which has slipped my memory. It is also recommendable to leave the big backpack you might be carrying somewhere, so that you don't end up carrying it all the way upstairs, and blocking the way with it, as I did.
So I managed to see a whole day of Oxford, though divided into the night of the 4th, the evening of the 5th and the morning of the 6th. Now onwards! to rival Cambridge.
That's what strikes me most about it. The city center is mostly made up of the university grounds, that is, the colleges (Christ Church, Merton,etc) and these are tiny themselves. I was certainly expecting something... bigger at the least.
The architecture is beautiful and the history is overwhelming, but everything is still tiny, even the spires. Though they do seem to dream big, those spires. It fascinates me how important some small cities can become (Venice, another example).
So, yes, I took a couple of good looks around the University Colleges, walked the streets, read the history, met some very nice people, took my pictures, saw a couple of falling stars during the meteor storm, and generally had a lot of fun. And of course, climbed to a couple of high points, to look at the city from above. I will provide photographic evidence of that as soon as I get the chance.
The thing is, the city is quite pretty, when seen from the appropriate angle, preferrably from one of the church towers (several of them are visitable). I climbed the one in Radcliffe Square and it is most recommendable, and cheaper than the other, more famous one, the name of which has slipped my memory. It is also recommendable to leave the big backpack you might be carrying somewhere, so that you don't end up carrying it all the way upstairs, and blocking the way with it, as I did.
So I managed to see a whole day of Oxford, though divided into the night of the 4th, the evening of the 5th and the morning of the 6th. Now onwards! to rival Cambridge.
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
Day 5 - George Orwell's Grave
"Not many people know he's buried here, so I'm trying to spread the word through the Internet"
I think that's a fairly accurate reporting of the words of the priest at All Saint's Church. I was in Sutton Courtenay, an almost completely unknown and easily overlooked small town south of Oxford. And I was standing in front of George Orwell's grave.
"Here lies ERIC ARTHUR BLAIR, born June 25, 1903, died January 21, 1950", was the inscription on the gravestone. Just that. A simple stone, a simple inscription, two rose bushes growing on his grave. There lies one of the most important authors of the last century.
The man left me to my thoughts, and I thought them, took my pictures, chatted a while with some other people who had come to see "the most famous grave", in the priest's words.
Then I left and went back to Didcot Parkway (closest train station to Sutton Courtenay, 1h walking). I managed to get lost, notwithstanding the TomTom in my pocket, so I walked my feet numb and arrived exhausted, and much later than expected, to Bath.
I think that's a fairly accurate reporting of the words of the priest at All Saint's Church. I was in Sutton Courtenay, an almost completely unknown and easily overlooked small town south of Oxford. And I was standing in front of George Orwell's grave.
"Here lies ERIC ARTHUR BLAIR, born June 25, 1903, died January 21, 1950", was the inscription on the gravestone. Just that. A simple stone, a simple inscription, two rose bushes growing on his grave. There lies one of the most important authors of the last century.
The man left me to my thoughts, and I thought them, took my pictures, chatted a while with some other people who had come to see "the most famous grave", in the priest's words.
Then I left and went back to Didcot Parkway (closest train station to Sutton Courtenay, 1h walking). I managed to get lost, notwithstanding the TomTom in my pocket, so I walked my feet numb and arrived exhausted, and much later than expected, to Bath.
Day 4 - The railway to Oxford
I had to change trains at Plymouth, so I grabbed the opportunity and used the 40 minutes in between them to make a quick recon mission of the city.
I couldn't see much, of course, but I think it was enough. "Welcome to Plymouth, Home to the Royal Navy" is the first thing you can read when you get out of the railway station. It does say a bit about the city, doesn't it?
I haven't seen more urban trash than here in Britain yet. Several separate individuals were very interested in finding out if I had any spare change. It turned out I didn't, so they focused their curiosity on someone else.
There's a nice park that goes all the way to the sea and a small lighthouse, with a small golf course and lots of nice lawn, a couple of interesting buildings, though nothing extraordinary, and the Royal Navy ships in their shipyards.
I ran to the station, narrowly arrived in time, had to change again at some place called Writing (or Comprehension or something), and arrived to Oxford too late in the evening to do anything interesting.
So I took a stroll around the town, which was bustling with young people going to clubs (pubs were already closing), found loads of free WiFis and thus felt I was back to civilization.
I couldn't see much, of course, but I think it was enough. "Welcome to Plymouth, Home to the Royal Navy" is the first thing you can read when you get out of the railway station. It does say a bit about the city, doesn't it?
I haven't seen more urban trash than here in Britain yet. Several separate individuals were very interested in finding out if I had any spare change. It turned out I didn't, so they focused their curiosity on someone else.
There's a nice park that goes all the way to the sea and a small lighthouse, with a small golf course and lots of nice lawn, a couple of interesting buildings, though nothing extraordinary, and the Royal Navy ships in their shipyards.
I ran to the station, narrowly arrived in time, had to change again at some place called Writing (or Comprehension or something), and arrived to Oxford too late in the evening to do anything interesting.
So I took a stroll around the town, which was bustling with young people going to clubs (pubs were already closing), found loads of free WiFis and thus felt I was back to civilization.
Tuesday, 14 August 2007
Day 4 - Land's End
From Here On, There Be Dragons.
I woke up early, and as I was checking out I bumped into a great fellow by the name of Curt. A californian florist from Illinois, if you can imagine that. It turned out we were going to the same place and there were not many buses to choose from, so we joined forces for the expedition.
The buses going to Land's End, though irrationally priced, like every British public transport so far (£2.80 one way, £5.20 round trip, £5.50 full day ticket. Say what??), are a lot of fun, as they're open-deckers. So for that price you get a full hour of dodging branches and having the wind destroy your hairdo and snatch things out of your hand. Cooool.
Once you get there, the first thing that strikes you is... well, nothing, actually. There is no single striking thing. There's a nice lonely lighthouse on some rocks out to sea (Longships I believe it's called). There's the Iles of Scilly (Scilly Isles!) just above the horizon. And rocky cliffs, and cliffy rocks. All very nice, but not in any way impressive. So what's there at Land's End that draws so many people?
Well, I guess it's Having Been There, and the famous Land's-End-to-John-O'Groats obsession. That was it for me, surely. Also, it's a nice location to go for some easy hiking. And it's as far away as you can get from England, in England.
For the hardcore tourist, there are of course other things to do and waste money on: the Mysterious Cave Adventure and such sort; the Official Signpost, where you can get an Official Picture, taken by a guy with "Official Photographer" written on his flashy jacket; Cornish Pastry, Cornish Clothes, Cornish Toilet Paper,etc.
Anyway, I tried to make good use of my time, and hiked about and took dozens of pictures of myself falling off cliffs. I liked the experience, though I realize it wouldn't have been as much fun if I didn't know where I was.
I got back just in time to hop on the last bus for 2 hours, and then on one to St Ives.
A seaside resort, St Ives is. Minuscule town full of shops, with a miniature port and a nice beach. "How cute", I said, and hopped on a bus back.
After a crazy run through the town, buying a travel power adapter for the weird outlets in use here, stockpiling food, going to the hostel and back with my sack, I arrived at the station sweating... and early, for the train was delayed.
I woke up early, and as I was checking out I bumped into a great fellow by the name of Curt. A californian florist from Illinois, if you can imagine that. It turned out we were going to the same place and there were not many buses to choose from, so we joined forces for the expedition.
The buses going to Land's End, though irrationally priced, like every British public transport so far (£2.80 one way, £5.20 round trip, £5.50 full day ticket. Say what??), are a lot of fun, as they're open-deckers. So for that price you get a full hour of dodging branches and having the wind destroy your hairdo and snatch things out of your hand. Cooool.
Once you get there, the first thing that strikes you is... well, nothing, actually. There is no single striking thing. There's a nice lonely lighthouse on some rocks out to sea (Longships I believe it's called). There's the Iles of Scilly (Scilly Isles!) just above the horizon. And rocky cliffs, and cliffy rocks. All very nice, but not in any way impressive. So what's there at Land's End that draws so many people?
Well, I guess it's Having Been There, and the famous Land's-End-to-John-O'Groats obsession. That was it for me, surely. Also, it's a nice location to go for some easy hiking. And it's as far away as you can get from England, in England.
For the hardcore tourist, there are of course other things to do and waste money on: the Mysterious Cave Adventure and such sort; the Official Signpost, where you can get an Official Picture, taken by a guy with "Official Photographer" written on his flashy jacket; Cornish Pastry, Cornish Clothes, Cornish Toilet Paper,etc.
Anyway, I tried to make good use of my time, and hiked about and took dozens of pictures of myself falling off cliffs. I liked the experience, though I realize it wouldn't have been as much fun if I didn't know where I was.
I got back just in time to hop on the last bus for 2 hours, and then on one to St Ives.
A seaside resort, St Ives is. Minuscule town full of shops, with a miniature port and a nice beach. "How cute", I said, and hopped on a bus back.
After a crazy run through the town, buying a travel power adapter for the weird outlets in use here, stockpiling food, going to the hostel and back with my sack, I arrived at the station sweating... and early, for the train was delayed.
Saturday, 11 August 2007
Day 3 - Penzance
After some waiting and a bit of confusion, the "First Great Western sixteen-twentyone service to Penzance" came into the station, packed full and drawn by an almost hissing engine by the name of The Black Horse. Pretty impressive.
The thing is, me and a literal throng of backpackers and carriers of other big travel accessories tried to get on. This resulted in most of us standing in the corridor and holding our luggage, and so making the Second Class into what and old gent very aptly described as "Cattle Class". We amused ourselves re-enacting classical comedy sketches, like "the Marx Brothers' cabin" or "the Ministry of Silly Walks", Train Edition.
Over the PA system, the guy offered his apologies "for the severe overcrowding", to us, "lucky people going to the beach". Later, they offered us free food and drinks in a self-service way, which I much enjoyed and felt repaid for the inconvenience. I took the opportunity to stockpile on cocacolas and snacks.
At 20:31, as scheduled, the train, almost empty by now, made its way lazily into Penzance station under an already setting sun. It took me much more than I expected to find the hostel, even with the help of the very useful TomTom Mobile. It was, as usual, with the help of some
incredibly kind people that I at last managed to arrive to the YMCA Cornwall Hostel.
Contrary to what you'd expect from the name, I found no evidence of the Village People ever singing anything in there. No Christian stuff either, fortunately. I guess they just liked the name.
I realized it was too late to go to Land's End and see the sunset as I wanted, so I sighed and went for a stroll around the town. Penzance by night has the feel of a charming small port, with its Ye Olde Taverns by the docks, spilling out light and music into the darkness, over the swooshing surf and the crying seagulls.
Day 3 - Stonehenge
I know what everybody says about Stonehenge: it's nothing much, pretty boring after the first 9 minutes, overcrowded and expensive. And, boy, are they right. But I just had to go. It's just one of those must-do things. So I did it.
After being robbed £7.50 for the bus there and back to Salisbury Station, I decided it was From My Cold Dead Hands that I would part with another £6.50 just to get 10 meters closer to the sodding rocks. However, I had an hour to kill until the return bus and I was determined to extract as much photographic goodness as possible from the previous £7.50 swindle. So I started lurking around the place (a fenced-off field full of sheep) and when I found a nicely
inconspicuous hole in the fence, I plunged in.
Lying low and trying to blend in with the crowd (baa,baa, they went, and so did I) I got to within 100m of the thingie and entered into a photographic frenzy. I have extensive proof of it. After a while I thought I should try to get nearer, and that's when I noticed a big chunk of woman very purposefully walking in my direction (I wonder how she recognized me; I was trying to look really sheepish. Maybe it was the first time she saw a sheep with a backpack.). With a very british cordiality she apologized for having to ask me to leave, as it was private property and I was not a ticket holder. Very cordially I too explained to her that it was all right and she should not worry, for it was not her fault, and I left.
I walked all around the "property", looking for a high spot where to get a good picture from. I walked on the side of a road paved with dead rabbits, packed with screaming trucks and full of horning cars full of people with very empty heads.
Every horning fuckwit screamed something at me (some very wise piece of advice, no doubt) in some language of the Doppler family, with which I am not acquainted. "Gheropaaaah", it all sounded like.
After a while I found the hill I was looking for, where I had to trespass again, for it was another private club, sheep only. After some more self-photo fun, I headed back just on time to jump on the bus and say good-baa-ee to Stonehenge.
Day 3 - Goodbye
After soullessly parasiting my friend Paula and her charming mother and sister for two nights, my stay in Brighton is over. We exchange heartfelt though quick good-byes, as I have to leave early in pursuit of an ambitious plan: crossing off my list both Salisbury and Stonehenge and getting to Land's End before nightfall.
I sleep most of the way to Salisbury, not surprisingly as last night's sleep consisted of 4 lonely hours. But I manage to wake myself up for the Big Thing: Stonehenge.
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