11:04AM 24/3 Cairo/Giza
i'm waiting for the group outside the Hotel Zayed in Cairo and i can hear the call to prayer echoing off the buildings. i'm standing outside the Papyrus Temple in Giza and the call to prayer is going out over the tannoy at a nearby mosque. i barely notice the church spires in London, although if i search my memory i know that there are many. here the mosques are everywhere and when you're not used to seeing their tall, cylindrical spires then you notice them every time they break up the skyline. Egypt's been taken over time and again over the millenia since its own military power faded. they used to be the major power in the region, regularly fighting off the tribes of what is now Libya, the Nubians to the south and the Hittites from the East. since then the Persians (Xerxes), the Greeks (Alexander of Macedon), the Romans (Julius Ceasar), then later by the French (Napoleon) and English (who really cares? the English love taking over places - i swear they dived on Egypt so that they wouldn't feel left out). they've all left their mark in one way or another, but Islam stuck as it has a habit to, and now over 80% of the country is Moslem, the rest being Coptic Orthodox (yet another flavor of christian) and "Other".
flying into Cairo i didn't get to see much - sitting over the wing makes for shithouse mid-air sight-seeing. the BMI flight touched down in un-noteworthy fashion and parked. no terminal arms for these guys - it's an aeroplane car park. everyone hops out and onto buses that take you to the entrance. US$15 buys you a visa from the bank which gets pasted into your passport, then a surly looking guy stamps it and you're in Egypt. standing just inside the doors in no-man's-land were a couple of guys in suits or polo shirts waving clipboards with the tour company's names on them. hopping a tour seems the be one of the most popular ways to see this place. the signs are in Arabic. the people have a very different custom to where we're used to and getting around can be a nightmare even if you live here so why the fuck not? pay over some coin and let someone else deal with the mess while you get led around by the nose. GoBus have kept an eye on us every step of the way since we pulled up and there's been sights and tours and buses to everywhere we've been scheduled to go, but also with plenty of optional activities that you can take or leave if you just want some downtime or do your own thing.
the busload of people flying in from the UK for the tour assembled, shook hands, got to know and bummed smokes off each other outside the airport and we were loaded into a minibus to head for the hotel down an avenue lined with policemen every 50 metres or so (the President went for a drive earlier, so the coppers were out to keep an eye on things. apparently he can't understand why people think Cairo has a traffic problem) until suddenly the coppers were gone and the drivers threw their good behavior out of the window along with the rest of their rubbish. driving in Malaysia is a little daunting. roads in Thailand are pretty insane. Cairo's off the fucking charts. lanes? red lights? an Egyptian craves not these things. everyone's going everywhere and somehow, miraculously, i haven't seen any crashes or fatalities. Allah watches over these people or they'd all be fucking dead.
the tour company has deals going with hotels in the various tourist cities, or at least the prominent joint-signage leads me to believe. the bus pulls into a back-alley area of Cairo and disgorges wild-eyed tourists. the hotel's clean and tidy - two security guards ignore the beeping metal detector built into the doorway and the bar staff nod and smile while we eventually stop trying to work out what the fuck's going on and start to go with the flow. our passports disappear for a while, and eventually Louise and i are handed a room key and led up the elevator which's been painted with ancient-Egyptian themes. there are more of them in our comfortable little room and of course i can't resist taking photos. downstairs is a cafe with a room full of rugs, cushions and a low table with a hookah in pride of place - a couple of the Americans are already into the Shisha and there's a vibe of "what the hell?" floating around the place while the Aussies and the Kiwis start trying out the local brew. Louise and i have signed up for the evening's cultural event - a cuise down the Nile with a buffet and entertainment: a live DJ with singers and a troupe of drummers playing for the dervish and the belly dancer who come out after we've all finished eating and play with the crowd. she boogies on down, dragging the occasional member of the audience out to dance like a monkey before going table to table, cleavage flashing for the "professional" photographers who'll take your photo, get it printed out quick and try to sell it to you afterwards. it's popular around here, a slightly less sleazy version of "pay me 5 dollars for this photo or my father will beat me" game. yay! i'm in a photo with a half-naked (and very attractive) Egyptian girl! thanks but no my friend. the Dervish comes out, all copper-toned arabic good looks and a cheeky sense of humor, spinning like... well, a Dervish really. castinettes and skirts, pouring a glass of water and drinking it without stopping and spinning one of his skirts over his head while he goes over to give the ancient shrieking Cuban a kiss, which just makes him go off more. he was a old, white-haired gent who can't be long for this world, but he was having the time of his life... or what's left of it. i swear though, if he believes in reincarnation he's coming back as a fucking London Ambulance siren.
our friend the Dervish takes a break and his little buddy comes back. as something of a warmup there was a midget who came out to spin around and get some laughs. he was good though, and it's kinda nice to see that he's found a profession. where he can make some money and milk the tourist dollar. tourism is Egypt's 2nd biggest foreign-income. what the first is i've not yet been told but i'll pass it on if i find out. everything's designed to get you to come and spend up while you're here. it's a Developing Country, and with one of the Seven Ancient Wonders (unless they changed the list on me), on top of the beautiful temples and mysterious tombs, the beauty of the Nile and the fruits of its banks people are coming here in droves. if you come anyway, maybe you buy some postcards? i have beautiful statues. take a look at these laser-engraved pyramids my friend? i love your moustache! you look like Arab! where are you from! Aussie aussie aussie!
after a well needed crash we're up and downstairs in the restaurant by 7 for breakfast - a buffet of odds and sods - before loading up in the bus to head for the Cairo Museum. our guide is a funny Egyptian called Souphi, or Soobie as we're all calling him. he knows enough about the museum to be a guide there, and it shows. i thought the British Museum was a bit over the top. the Egyptian Museum in Cairo was once an impressive buiding, now run down with dust everywhere and the paint peeling. it's huge, and stuffed to the rafters with as many monuments, statues and relics as they can squeeze in there. this is where you can find pretty much the entirety of Tutenkahmun's Tomb, encased in glass and polished to perfection. Tut's was one of the few tombs that wasn't looted over the centuries - when they found it it was perfect, and because they didn't find it until after the British stopped being imperialistic arseholes they didn't get to nick any of it, so EVERYTHING is there, either gold or covered in gold leaf. it's impressive enough to knock you for 6, gaudy enough to make a Fillipino blush, as magnificent as anything i've ever seen. Tut died around the age of 19 in what archaeologists think may have been a hunting accident and the people were ao agrieved that he hadn't had the chance to build up much by way of riches that they went insane, loading him with everything they could find. the Pharohs were the sons of the Sun God Emon-Ra, and the glory shone on the king was reflected on his people. that generation must have gone to a VERY happy place.
Louise and i were left to our own devices for a while. there was the option to pay an extra 100 Egyption Pounds and get into the special exhibit where they have a dozen of the mummies of some of ancient Egypt's greatest kings, including Ramses II, but we decided instead to wander around and see as much as possible. we emerged into the sunshine and the garden out the front to meet back up with the group and head off - onwards to Giza and the (famous) pyramids (because there are more strewn around the contry) via the Papyrus Temple. the name is a bit confusing - it's a shop selling hand-painted knockoffs of classical pieces from antiquity on genuine papyrus paper, complete with a demonstration of how it's made. the were pretty, but i wasn't really caring much so wound up standing out the front watching the cars manage to not crash, pedestrians not die, and horse-buggy drivers not give a fuck about any of them. back on the bus and we were handed fantastic felafel sandwiches fron a nearby takeaway which the tourists crammed into themselves as we drove up to the pyramids.
"This is what you've waited your whole lives for!" proclaimed Soobie into the dodgy bus-mic as the bus pulled up in front of the man-made mountains that just about everyone not living in Bhutan heard or seen photos of. what can i say about it that hasn't been said before? they're fucking huge, beige and surrounded by touts. the tourists were running around like excited children, taking silly photos and climbing as far as they were allowed while trying to avoid being accosted by children postcards, and bedouins trying to steal their cameras. one of the popular ones is for a guy to come up and ask if he'd like a photo on his camel. once up there either the kid scarpers with the camera, or won't let the mark down until he pays up something exorbident. from Cheops Pyramid we bus up to the Panorama which affords some of the best views and we get back to running through our memory cards. we'd been briefed - whenever we're on the bus there's another briefing - and Louise and i are doing the optional extra: we're riding camels, baby!
you've heard of camels. big, smelly, foul-tempered, a penchance for dropping their bladders whenever the fuck they feel like it. ships of the desert. mainstay of the intrepid desert explorer. they're not particularly noble, but then neither am i and i'm riding one. loosen up your hips, roll with the rock, sit back and enjoy the view... or in my case, capture as much of it through the CCD of my camera as humanly possible. Louise and i are on different camels because a) it costs the same either way, b) this way we can get photos of each other and swap later and c) it's not as if we're attached at the hip or anything. she's struggling and i'm laughing, having a wild-good time. Mike (from Adelaide) and i have reached a mutual-imagery pact where i'll get as many good ones of him as i can and he'll return the favour. he was the first person on the tour to make a comment about my "Support Piracy" shirt, outing himself as a geek. he's got about as much available storage and backup as i have and we're snap-happy like Japanese tourists. i catch up to Louise again and we head back to the meeting point as the wind starts to pick up and drops of rain begin to fall. it's raining, however feebly, at the pyramids. how many people can say they've seen that?
meanwhile, the dust has started to kick up with the wind and it's stinging. this is nowhere near the legendary dust- and sandstorms you've heard about. this is a flurry and the locals seem barely fazed but for a bunch of whities it's murder. i'm starting to get an idea for how fucked up it can be in the desert as the dust gets in and around everything - the inside of my Oakleys has a thick coating by the time we get back to the second pyramid - the cheaper of the two to get into since it's a) not the Great Pyramid and b) a little further away from the entrance so most tours don't bother. the bus picks us up from the bedouin-boys and drops us off out the front - we could walk around there, but this gives us the biggest bang for the least ticks of the minute-hand. you go into a hole a metre high sloping at somewhere between 30 and 40 degrees for around 14 metres and the air gets thick and hot. fuck all ventilation, fuckloads of tourists sweating their ways in and out. across a short tunnel and you're heading up again around the same amount of space which spits you out into another small tunnel into the main chamber. it's spartan - an angled roof over square walls, an empty sarcophagus at the far end. it's hot and stuffy but Louise and i are standing there with looks on our faces that scream wonder and excitement. so much of the excitement of this trip has been freaking out that we're Actually Fucking Here and right now we're in a fucking pyrarmid! not for long though - it's hard to breathe in here and the only thing to see is the graffiti on the wall announcing that a mad Italian called Berlisconi was there in 1818 - he led the crews who were trying to get in and have a look around. there's a vertical hole in the 3rd pyramid from where he used dynamite to find the entrance, only to discover that the entrance is actually in the base, not half-way up. dickhead.
another bus ride gets us the the Sphynx and the duststorm's starting to find it's legs, and from the sounds of things the inner workings of my camera. arse. we get led through the Embalming Temple before being let loose on the Sphynx, sitting proud before the pyramids in the background - a lion guarding the Necropolis. if standing at the feet of Cheops' Pyramid didn't, this view captures your imagination, folds it into a crane and flings it out into Wonderland. you start to imagine someone coming across this all 3000 years ago and marveling at it all, the words of Ozymandias shuddering through your head: "Look upon my works ye mortals, and tremble." of course, we're bouncing around the place like hyperactive retards taking the stupid photos you've seen online - "hey look! i'm kissing the Sphynx!" or "i'm riding it woo!!"
it's fucking stupid, but by-gods i'm having fun trying to line up some of these shots. the duststorm's got its shoes and learned to run. visibility's started to fall and if you turn into the wind you'll be blinking dust, wraparounds or no. i've lost Louise - i thought she was with Derek (from Sydney), but while i'm waiting at the meeting point he's shown up but she hasn't. everyone else has made for the bus but i'm waiting - it's just her and the four americans left and i'm a little worried but no, there she is. the yanks can fend for themselves so we head for the bus and get the hell out of the wind.
it's back to the hotel now, via a local supermarket we've been told has non-tourist prices and we're stocking up on water and snacks for a couple of days from now when we'll be sailing for 2 nights up the Nile on fellucas - Egyptian yachts. you don't drink the water in Egypt unless you have the time to acclimatise to it. usually when people talk about not drinking the water you think of parasites, bacteria and other nasties. Egypt's solved that little problem, but not in a way that makes it any easier for the rest of us: it's incredibly, heavily chlorinated. take a shower and it feels and smells like you're in a swimming pool. i ask one of the Australians who works for the tour company and he said that he's gotten himself used to it, but seriously: steer clear, so it's bottled water for us.
tea's been arranged at the hotel. another buffet awaits with a mixture of vaguely-Egyptian and western food, but it's tasty enough so i'm not fussed. we're not sitting still for long afterwards because we need to get to Giza Train Station for our overnight to Aswan. we're delayed by phychotic trafic, but still on time and after milling around the station ("smoke em if you got em!") we're on our sitter-carriage. our group takes up more than half the cabin... for about 5 minutes before a pile of us head forward to find the smoky, cramped, but comfortable Bar Carriage and sit in sinking beers to make sleeping easier. Egypt heard about the whole "no smoking indoors" buisiness, thought about it for a minute, then presented a raised middle finger to the Eurocrats and announced they were having none of it. times they are a changing, but not very quickly. we're on reclining seats - bigger and with better leg-room than cattle-class on a flight, but not quite as swanky as business - the train's noisy (thankfully i have ear plugs) and the lights are left on all night. it's obvious that these trains were once quite grand, but years of neglect have left them feeling shoddy. the loo is utilitarian, but the seats ARE comfortable enough to get to sleep in. a couple of Luxor Classics and i'm in my seat, boots off but clothes on, a tshirt draped over my eyes and soon enough i'm out like a light.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Egypt Prolog: fly like an Egyptian...
sitting in a comfortable reclining seat on British Airways with all the legroom in the world while sipping on single malt Speyside Scotch that's older than the girl sitting to my left and burns like a slow-burning cedar fire is a wonderful way to start a trip. it's a shame that i'm crammed into a shitty little seat on bumpy BMI flight drinking Johnny Walker Red and Pepsi which is more like a kerosene lamp belching smoke in a rude mud-hut. BMI seems to be roughly where Qantas Domestic was a decade or so ago - screens hanging from the ceiling, not the seat-back, seat-separation designed to comfortably accommodate 12-year olds, cheap fucking scotch... actually, i don't think Qantas has changed in that particular regard. at least the drinks are laid on, unlike fucking Tiger. do i sound grumpy? i guess i must do. being woken up before 5 after passing out somewhat after 1AM is not high on the list of things that will put me in a great mood. being woken up before 10AM comes under the "you better be making this worth my while, preferably orally" category of irritations. that said, getting to Heathrow on time for the flight to Cairo fits that particular requirement and so no one died by my hand this morning. i'm being a little harsh - the Hosties are polite and friendly and the food is actually some of the best i've had on an airline. forget Coon or Cracker Barrel - these guys had good quality aged blue and decent fucking crackers. the chicken was actually chicken, not something congealed to look and taste right and the coffee doesn't make me want to go Scalding Jihad on the cabin crew.
the last week has been another one of 3-4 hours/day on the tube, working myself into a supersonic oscillation and not getting enough sleep. i've had no particular interest in going out and doing things, choosing instead to sit around the house of an evening, cook, watch a movie, pass out with the notable exception being Tuesday. St Patrick's Day is one of those festivals i like to observe when i can. Chinese New Year is another. it's almost like Ireland's version of Anzac Day. it means something important, but everyone just sees it as an opportunity to have a holiday and get drunk and i'm all for an excuse to get drinking (you know, like that the name of today ends in a "y". it's a miracle! you get the beers, i'll pick a lemon! i swear that Louise and London have teamed up in an unholy union to turn me back into an alcoholic). leaving work early turned into arriving at base-camp late thanks to a tube that decided to stop every 500 metres to have a rest. down 12km of track. i staggered in the door, sat down to read my email and had the amusing sensation of the room starting to spin around my head. i took myself back upstairs, pricked my finger and got a glucose reading of 14.3. i was pondering the consequences of this when my head decided that enough was enough and made a break for the floor. i was sitting in bed at the time and managed to divert it towards my pillow, where i proceeded to lie for the next couple of hours. Louise wandered in after a while - Inspector Morse had arrived to join in on some beers for the evening and i'd sent her to let him in just as i was about to eject from the cockpit and she'd popped in to check on me and see if i'd be coming to grab a bite to eat. i tried to say oh sweet jebus i don't feel very good and i'm afraid i'm not actually able to move at present. please come and give me a reassuring hug before you head off to eat. i was thinking it REALLY loudly. what came out was more along the lines of groan, moan, whimper which didn't really seem to get the point across because at this point she turned the light off and left. apparently i had the most shocked look she'd ever seen on my face when she walked in. somehow i'm not surprised - the whole experience was surreal like Dali.
regardless, by the time she and Dan got back from the Oval Lounge i'd managed to get back on my feet and was strapping on my boots to come find them, swaying on my feet as we went. i felt drunk. not tipsy, but seriously, appropriately drunk regardless of my drink-deficit. i felt cheated - all the effects with none of the joy of actually drinking the stuff, but then i had a couple of pints of Guinness and everything started to line up nicely. come Wednesday morning i woke up, dragged myself out of bed and through the shower before deciding that work was just not going to happen that day and called in. i slept square away until midday and spent the rest of the day feeling fuzzy in the head and enjoying the occasional dizzy-spell. by the end of Friday i was unemployed again - another contract come, gone and passed on to another temp. he made a comment as we walked out to the bus to GTFO that it was one of the most comprehensive handovers he'd had to date, and i basked in the glow of reflected professionalism. an hour and a half later Louise and i was catching the last 10 minutes of Happy Hour at the Bar Bar Black Sheep down the road from base-camp and working out way though a jug of freshly made Long Island Iced Tea. i'm liking the idea of celebrating the end of a working week with cocktails - the week beforehand it had been Gin+Tonic w/Lime slices. i'm going to have to get another job pronto so we can finish off the bottle of tequila we got started on after i finished cooking the Chicken Korma.
there's nothing like getting back in the swing of things again - getting the job done, digging into problems and being able to tell a user it's all sorted. you're good to go. after being out of the game for half a year i was actually looking forward to getting to work each day, almost as much as i'm looking forward to eventually getting paid for it. that all said, finishing my contract meant the imminent departure for the fossilised remains of one of the oldest civilisations on earth, nestled in a land of sand, disease, carnivorous lizards and millions of people who are desperate to walk away with some of my money. you might say i'm a little conflicted about it all, but i kinda like being on holiday and i cna get another job when i get back. maybe. hopefully. cross your fingers and toes.
yesterday i had two key tasks to complete: packing for Egypt and watching the last (ever!!!) episode of Battlestar Galactica. everything stopped for BSG - a double-length episode that promised to wrap up all of the loose ends and mysteries? i wasn't getting distracted from that. we managed to get a few other unimportant details sorted out, like getting our clothes washed and dried, having hour-long Skype video conversations (Louise's folks are looking healthy and Sandra's hair's grown down her shoulders - looks good!) and making an appearance at Jeff's 30th at Tiger Tiger (one of Piccadilly Circus's most popular, and thereby exclusive clubs. i fucking hated it and every motherfucker in it - 5 minutes after migrating from the restaurant to the club area my fighting-instincts were high-alert, my adrenaline was pumping and i was primed and ready for the first pretentious fucktard to get in my face. we got out of there REALLY soon after that). i'm somewhat relieved we thought to check the tube times for the morning before getting some shut-eye though - we had to change route at the last second when we realised that there was no tube that'd get us to Heathrow early enough to be SURE we'd be on time and wound up having to bus it to Paddington (the shops near the station are FULL of Paddington Bear plushies. awwwwww...) then take the Heathrow Express. great. a £3.80 tube ride suddenly morphed into a £17.50 bus+train ride. joy! not...
there seem to be express services to all of the airports if you know where to look. Victoria does them to Gatwick, Heathrow is from Paddington. Luton, City and Stanstead i've not seen yet, but i'm sure they're out there. they're all considerably quicker than regular tube or overland services, with the trade-off being that they're also considerably more expensive. still, we didn't have a lot of choice this morning so in these situations you do what you have to, which is why two bleary-eyed Australians were standing at the bus stop around the corner from Oval Station this morning at a quarter to 6 this morning. a Red Bull each vaguely took the edge off, but not in the same way that a Sugarfree Rockstar, half a litre of coffee and a double-nosefull of Columbian Snow would have. unfortunately, i've not found anyone stocking the Sugarfree around my place in Kennington, there wasn't time for coffee and i wouldn't know where to get cocaine (although i've been reliably informed that it's easy enough to score in London) so you go with what you can. the good thing about it all is that while it takes around an hour to get from Leicester Square to Heathrow Terminals 1,2&3 by tube, it's nominally 15 minutes by overland from Paddington, so if you're in a rush and don't give a fuck how much it costs then it's the way to
go.
at least getting through security and immigration at Heathrow was quick and easy. immigration especially - it wasn't there. no one checked my passport, no stamp to indicate exit. my paranoia circuits triggered at that one. with nothing to prove i've left the country and no passport swipe on the system i'm unsubstantiated. maybe it's just memories of the constant fear in Singapore - checking all the passports at each step to ensure exit and entry stamps all in the right places to avoid spending the next few months as a guest of the Malaysian government. Heathrow Terminal 1 is big enough to classify as a Decently Sized International Airport. what fucks you up is that it's one of five, and Terminal 5 is FUCKING HUGE. sitting in a plane looking across the apron is like looking out over a suburb. in fact, if they add another runway rumour has it that they'll have to concrete over an area the size of Croydon to do it. the joke is that they might as well just concrete over Croydon and call it a draw. look at it all on a map or an aerial view and you realise that it's big enough to have its own postal area code. the island i spent a few days on in Fiji would fit into the area of Heathrow and have room left over for the reefs and lagoon. do not underestimate the scale of that place. keeping it all working and operating with any efficiency must drive perfectly normal men grey before their time. for mere mortals like me, we just have to follow the bouncing ball until we realise we're sitting in the plane out on the tarmac waiting for our 30 second window in a never-ending queue of aeroplanes who are all wasting fuel while they wait for their turn to GTFO.
what can i say? i'm looking forward to landing and being surprised. my head tells me that i'll be showing up in a crumbling dust-bowl, but i've seen too many recent war-movies like Spy Game and Black Hawk Down so my perception's skewed. as long as i have somewhere (vaguely) secure to dump my kit and some streets to walk down while it's still light before i retreat to something resembling a bar to drink cheap Egyptian beer i'll be happy. come tomorrow the adventure really begins and i find out how many of my assumptions are real and how many will get blown out of the water like an unfortunate dolphin who became overly friendly with a sea-mine.
oh, and somewhere in there i anticipate i'll be trying to get some sleep. right after i finish trying once again to drink myself happy...
the last week has been another one of 3-4 hours/day on the tube, working myself into a supersonic oscillation and not getting enough sleep. i've had no particular interest in going out and doing things, choosing instead to sit around the house of an evening, cook, watch a movie, pass out with the notable exception being Tuesday. St Patrick's Day is one of those festivals i like to observe when i can. Chinese New Year is another. it's almost like Ireland's version of Anzac Day. it means something important, but everyone just sees it as an opportunity to have a holiday and get drunk and i'm all for an excuse to get drinking (you know, like that the name of today ends in a "y". it's a miracle! you get the beers, i'll pick a lemon! i swear that Louise and London have teamed up in an unholy union to turn me back into an alcoholic). leaving work early turned into arriving at base-camp late thanks to a tube that decided to stop every 500 metres to have a rest. down 12km of track. i staggered in the door, sat down to read my email and had the amusing sensation of the room starting to spin around my head. i took myself back upstairs, pricked my finger and got a glucose reading of 14.3. i was pondering the consequences of this when my head decided that enough was enough and made a break for the floor. i was sitting in bed at the time and managed to divert it towards my pillow, where i proceeded to lie for the next couple of hours. Louise wandered in after a while - Inspector Morse had arrived to join in on some beers for the evening and i'd sent her to let him in just as i was about to eject from the cockpit and she'd popped in to check on me and see if i'd be coming to grab a bite to eat. i tried to say oh sweet jebus i don't feel very good and i'm afraid i'm not actually able to move at present. please come and give me a reassuring hug before you head off to eat. i was thinking it REALLY loudly. what came out was more along the lines of groan, moan, whimper which didn't really seem to get the point across because at this point she turned the light off and left. apparently i had the most shocked look she'd ever seen on my face when she walked in. somehow i'm not surprised - the whole experience was surreal like Dali.
regardless, by the time she and Dan got back from the Oval Lounge i'd managed to get back on my feet and was strapping on my boots to come find them, swaying on my feet as we went. i felt drunk. not tipsy, but seriously, appropriately drunk regardless of my drink-deficit. i felt cheated - all the effects with none of the joy of actually drinking the stuff, but then i had a couple of pints of Guinness and everything started to line up nicely. come Wednesday morning i woke up, dragged myself out of bed and through the shower before deciding that work was just not going to happen that day and called in. i slept square away until midday and spent the rest of the day feeling fuzzy in the head and enjoying the occasional dizzy-spell. by the end of Friday i was unemployed again - another contract come, gone and passed on to another temp. he made a comment as we walked out to the bus to GTFO that it was one of the most comprehensive handovers he'd had to date, and i basked in the glow of reflected professionalism. an hour and a half later Louise and i was catching the last 10 minutes of Happy Hour at the Bar Bar Black Sheep down the road from base-camp and working out way though a jug of freshly made Long Island Iced Tea. i'm liking the idea of celebrating the end of a working week with cocktails - the week beforehand it had been Gin+Tonic w/Lime slices. i'm going to have to get another job pronto so we can finish off the bottle of tequila we got started on after i finished cooking the Chicken Korma.
there's nothing like getting back in the swing of things again - getting the job done, digging into problems and being able to tell a user it's all sorted. you're good to go. after being out of the game for half a year i was actually looking forward to getting to work each day, almost as much as i'm looking forward to eventually getting paid for it. that all said, finishing my contract meant the imminent departure for the fossilised remains of one of the oldest civilisations on earth, nestled in a land of sand, disease, carnivorous lizards and millions of people who are desperate to walk away with some of my money. you might say i'm a little conflicted about it all, but i kinda like being on holiday and i cna get another job when i get back. maybe. hopefully. cross your fingers and toes.
yesterday i had two key tasks to complete: packing for Egypt and watching the last (ever!!!) episode of Battlestar Galactica. everything stopped for BSG - a double-length episode that promised to wrap up all of the loose ends and mysteries? i wasn't getting distracted from that. we managed to get a few other unimportant details sorted out, like getting our clothes washed and dried, having hour-long Skype video conversations (Louise's folks are looking healthy and Sandra's hair's grown down her shoulders - looks good!) and making an appearance at Jeff's 30th at Tiger Tiger (one of Piccadilly Circus's most popular, and thereby exclusive clubs. i fucking hated it and every motherfucker in it - 5 minutes after migrating from the restaurant to the club area my fighting-instincts were high-alert, my adrenaline was pumping and i was primed and ready for the first pretentious fucktard to get in my face. we got out of there REALLY soon after that). i'm somewhat relieved we thought to check the tube times for the morning before getting some shut-eye though - we had to change route at the last second when we realised that there was no tube that'd get us to Heathrow early enough to be SURE we'd be on time and wound up having to bus it to Paddington (the shops near the station are FULL of Paddington Bear plushies. awwwwww...) then take the Heathrow Express. great. a £3.80 tube ride suddenly morphed into a £17.50 bus+train ride. joy! not...
there seem to be express services to all of the airports if you know where to look. Victoria does them to Gatwick, Heathrow is from Paddington. Luton, City and Stanstead i've not seen yet, but i'm sure they're out there. they're all considerably quicker than regular tube or overland services, with the trade-off being that they're also considerably more expensive. still, we didn't have a lot of choice this morning so in these situations you do what you have to, which is why two bleary-eyed Australians were standing at the bus stop around the corner from Oval Station this morning at a quarter to 6 this morning. a Red Bull each vaguely took the edge off, but not in the same way that a Sugarfree Rockstar, half a litre of coffee and a double-nosefull of Columbian Snow would have. unfortunately, i've not found anyone stocking the Sugarfree around my place in Kennington, there wasn't time for coffee and i wouldn't know where to get cocaine (although i've been reliably informed that it's easy enough to score in London) so you go with what you can. the good thing about it all is that while it takes around an hour to get from Leicester Square to Heathrow Terminals 1,2&3 by tube, it's nominally 15 minutes by overland from Paddington, so if you're in a rush and don't give a fuck how much it costs then it's the way to
go.
at least getting through security and immigration at Heathrow was quick and easy. immigration especially - it wasn't there. no one checked my passport, no stamp to indicate exit. my paranoia circuits triggered at that one. with nothing to prove i've left the country and no passport swipe on the system i'm unsubstantiated. maybe it's just memories of the constant fear in Singapore - checking all the passports at each step to ensure exit and entry stamps all in the right places to avoid spending the next few months as a guest of the Malaysian government. Heathrow Terminal 1 is big enough to classify as a Decently Sized International Airport. what fucks you up is that it's one of five, and Terminal 5 is FUCKING HUGE. sitting in a plane looking across the apron is like looking out over a suburb. in fact, if they add another runway rumour has it that they'll have to concrete over an area the size of Croydon to do it. the joke is that they might as well just concrete over Croydon and call it a draw. look at it all on a map or an aerial view and you realise that it's big enough to have its own postal area code. the island i spent a few days on in Fiji would fit into the area of Heathrow and have room left over for the reefs and lagoon. do not underestimate the scale of that place. keeping it all working and operating with any efficiency must drive perfectly normal men grey before their time. for mere mortals like me, we just have to follow the bouncing ball until we realise we're sitting in the plane out on the tarmac waiting for our 30 second window in a never-ending queue of aeroplanes who are all wasting fuel while they wait for their turn to GTFO.
what can i say? i'm looking forward to landing and being surprised. my head tells me that i'll be showing up in a crumbling dust-bowl, but i've seen too many recent war-movies like Spy Game and Black Hawk Down so my perception's skewed. as long as i have somewhere (vaguely) secure to dump my kit and some streets to walk down while it's still light before i retreat to something resembling a bar to drink cheap Egyptian beer i'll be happy. come tomorrow the adventure really begins and i find out how many of my assumptions are real and how many will get blown out of the water like an unfortunate dolphin who became overly friendly with a sea-mine.
oh, and somewhere in there i anticipate i'll be trying to get some sleep. right after i finish trying once again to drink myself happy...
Friday, March 13, 2009
... and then there was one.
i logged on to facebook an hour or so ago while i was sitting in the kitchen waiting for my pasties to crisp up in the oven and got an IM window from my kid brother saying
"hey, can you come to Perth for your birthday?"
i was half-way through typing a sarcastic reply when his status changed to
"[The Boy] isnt not getting married on the 26th of september this year."
at which point i nearly fell out of my chair. it was one of those things that shouldn't surprise me - 4 months ago we were talking about how he was going to pop the question 2 days before he went and did it. he was talking about asking her something like a year and a half ago and chickened out. it's been coming for a while, but having a date set makes it seem like it's like it's already happened so the way it hit me it might as well have happened yesterday. i was really glad when he finally did. Theresa's a beautiful, lovely girl who seems way too good for him - how she puts up with the little shit i have no idea, although i'll admit i'm biased.
it's a bit of a strange feeling to know that sooner rather than later i'll be the last one standing - my sister got married a couple of years ago, a year or so after her son John (named for our grandfather) was born. i got nicely drunk at the reception. come September i intend on being drunk at the ceremony (note to self - ensure that new suit has pockets that will fit a hip-flask). i'm the eldest of three, rapidly accellerating into the role of bachelor-uncle. it's funny, because it's always been a mark of some small pride to me - i've known for years that i was fated to stand alone while the rest of my generation coupled up. a penchant for mental-instability and changing cites every few years is not a basis for long-term relationships. even before i left Perth and built a new life on the of side of the country i was woeful at the "long-term relationship" game. i've been looking forward to being the favourite crazy, angry uncle to my siblings and friends kids, the single guy who makes the odd number at the dinner party before heading off drunk to his one-bedroom apartment. of course, having it actually smack you in the face and force you to confront the cold reality of it is entirely different.
yeah, i'm a little depressed about it all now - in 6 months time i'll be in Perth, standing next to my sister and her husband, my brother and his wife and our folks, posing for a photo that'll forever look lopsided. i'm torn between grinning through it defiantly and seeing if i can con one of my friends into coming as a Rent-A-Babe... i wonder if Sandra would be up for a trip to Perth? something about that smells cheap though, and dishonest. getting a mate to stand in so that i don't look like a loser in The Boy's wedding photos just sounds sad - like the obnoxious cock who shows up to his 10-year high school reunion in a rented Ferrari with a model he's paid for the night.
the other thing is, of course, that in 6 months i'm going to have to be in Perth. it's been floating around in the back of my mind that due to the investment of cash and time required to get to the other side of the world, i'd quietly intended that the next time i set foot on home-soil it'd be with a view of not leaving again for a while. i can't help but laugh that 24 hours ago i was saying that i had nothing impending that required me to make a decision one way or another and that i had the time to sort my shit out... now i have a fucking deadline, and inside of the next few months i'll need to make a call as to whether, when i book this flight, it's one-way or return. try to make a decision and the universe will make it impossible. refuse to make a decision and it'll find a way to force you. if you want to make the gods laugh, tell them your plans. i was planning on sitting around with my thumb up my arse for a while and see where the world rolled before i jumped one way or another. turns out: not so much.
"hey, can you come to Perth for your birthday?"
i was half-way through typing a sarcastic reply when his status changed to
"[The Boy] isnt not getting married on the 26th of september this year."
at which point i nearly fell out of my chair. it was one of those things that shouldn't surprise me - 4 months ago we were talking about how he was going to pop the question 2 days before he went and did it. he was talking about asking her something like a year and a half ago and chickened out. it's been coming for a while, but having a date set makes it seem like it's like it's already happened so the way it hit me it might as well have happened yesterday. i was really glad when he finally did. Theresa's a beautiful, lovely girl who seems way too good for him - how she puts up with the little shit i have no idea, although i'll admit i'm biased.
it's a bit of a strange feeling to know that sooner rather than later i'll be the last one standing - my sister got married a couple of years ago, a year or so after her son John (named for our grandfather) was born. i got nicely drunk at the reception. come September i intend on being drunk at the ceremony (note to self - ensure that new suit has pockets that will fit a hip-flask). i'm the eldest of three, rapidly accellerating into the role of bachelor-uncle. it's funny, because it's always been a mark of some small pride to me - i've known for years that i was fated to stand alone while the rest of my generation coupled up. a penchant for mental-instability and changing cites every few years is not a basis for long-term relationships. even before i left Perth and built a new life on the of side of the country i was woeful at the "long-term relationship" game. i've been looking forward to being the favourite crazy, angry uncle to my siblings and friends kids, the single guy who makes the odd number at the dinner party before heading off drunk to his one-bedroom apartment. of course, having it actually smack you in the face and force you to confront the cold reality of it is entirely different.
yeah, i'm a little depressed about it all now - in 6 months time i'll be in Perth, standing next to my sister and her husband, my brother and his wife and our folks, posing for a photo that'll forever look lopsided. i'm torn between grinning through it defiantly and seeing if i can con one of my friends into coming as a Rent-A-Babe... i wonder if Sandra would be up for a trip to Perth? something about that smells cheap though, and dishonest. getting a mate to stand in so that i don't look like a loser in The Boy's wedding photos just sounds sad - like the obnoxious cock who shows up to his 10-year high school reunion in a rented Ferrari with a model he's paid for the night.
the other thing is, of course, that in 6 months i'm going to have to be in Perth. it's been floating around in the back of my mind that due to the investment of cash and time required to get to the other side of the world, i'd quietly intended that the next time i set foot on home-soil it'd be with a view of not leaving again for a while. i can't help but laugh that 24 hours ago i was saying that i had nothing impending that required me to make a decision one way or another and that i had the time to sort my shit out... now i have a fucking deadline, and inside of the next few months i'll need to make a call as to whether, when i book this flight, it's one-way or return. try to make a decision and the universe will make it impossible. refuse to make a decision and it'll find a way to force you. if you want to make the gods laugh, tell them your plans. i was planning on sitting around with my thumb up my arse for a while and see where the world rolled before i jumped one way or another. turns out: not so much.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
i feel so good, i feel so numb...
i walked out of the tube startion at Heathrow as the bus was pulling up to the stop, the doors opening just as i approached so that i didn't even have to break stride to step up and on and i knew i was going to have a good day. i was late for work again - the last remnants of my cold giving me a crap night's sleep and i couldn't count the number of times i woke up coughing just to fall asleep again when my head met back up with the pillow. leaving the office for the now-familiar walk to the bus stop the sky was steel-grey, but that was ok because i'm wearing black. a dark blot on an indistinct horizon casting no shadow in the diffused light of a heavy blanket of cloud.
there's nothing like a good solid day's work to perk up your mood - if you don't believe me, if you think the idea of a 5-month holiday sounds like a grand idea i suggest you try it and let me know how you do. i love taking holidays as much as anyone else, but sitting around with no purpose to your days gets old, then starts to decompose, rotting your brain along with it. after a week of solidly kicking arse and noting the names down in a spreadsheet i can feel my blade sharpening and my mind feels clear and hard as crystal. i'm in a fucking good mood - untouchable and ready for someone to try it on.
last night i crashed back into the room just before 11 having finally completed an goal i'd set for myself a couple of months ago. i started this blog a year ago yesterday, and since then, between Phase Shifting and Futility Overdrive i've posted 100 entries, just squeezing #100 in before the date changed. it was inconsequential and means almost nothing to anyone, but it was something i wanted to achieve and it feels great to have done it. we're talking roughly 2 entries a week, distilling my life into something readable and coherent that people seem to want to read. the last week's been a flurry of over 9400 words - there was a two week period starting just before i went to Amsterdam where i just couldn't string a sentance together in any meaningful way, and had to wait until my headmeats cleared up my perception so that i could see what i was doing again. now i look down the list of old entries and see hours spent and cups of tea drained, pulling my days apart so that i can see the threads and then tie them back up to paint a picture. another one of Shadow's favourite sayings is from Socrates, who said that "The unexamined life is not worth living," and i try to convince myself that it's this, not narcisism that keeps me carrying my Eee wherever i go. i've even gone and paid extra on my travel insurance so that i can take it with me to Egypt, capturing the moment at the time rather than trying to stuff it back in a box at a later date.
it's a glorious feeling to be simultaneously numb and hyper - i'm as free commitment as i can be given the circumstances, which means that i don't have anything forcing me to make a decision about anything any time soon. a clean slate and a clear calendar after mid-April, plenty of pages left in the passport and enough cash to keep drifting for as long as it entertains me. my general care-factor is low, low, low. i've Given Up on plenty in the last little while, so a little bit more isn't going to stress me.
in the meantime, i'm going to try to take a break from blogging for a little while. spend some hours asleep in bed, playing games, getting around to watching the Godfather Trilogy. i have no idea how frequently i'll be online when i'm in Egypt, but i'll be trying to post when i can. in the meantime i'm having a holiday from my holiday, and a vacation from my blog... unless i get bored or have something that needs to be said.
later...
there's nothing like a good solid day's work to perk up your mood - if you don't believe me, if you think the idea of a 5-month holiday sounds like a grand idea i suggest you try it and let me know how you do. i love taking holidays as much as anyone else, but sitting around with no purpose to your days gets old, then starts to decompose, rotting your brain along with it. after a week of solidly kicking arse and noting the names down in a spreadsheet i can feel my blade sharpening and my mind feels clear and hard as crystal. i'm in a fucking good mood - untouchable and ready for someone to try it on.
last night i crashed back into the room just before 11 having finally completed an goal i'd set for myself a couple of months ago. i started this blog a year ago yesterday, and since then, between Phase Shifting and Futility Overdrive i've posted 100 entries, just squeezing #100 in before the date changed. it was inconsequential and means almost nothing to anyone, but it was something i wanted to achieve and it feels great to have done it. we're talking roughly 2 entries a week, distilling my life into something readable and coherent that people seem to want to read. the last week's been a flurry of over 9400 words - there was a two week period starting just before i went to Amsterdam where i just couldn't string a sentance together in any meaningful way, and had to wait until my headmeats cleared up my perception so that i could see what i was doing again. now i look down the list of old entries and see hours spent and cups of tea drained, pulling my days apart so that i can see the threads and then tie them back up to paint a picture. another one of Shadow's favourite sayings is from Socrates, who said that "The unexamined life is not worth living," and i try to convince myself that it's this, not narcisism that keeps me carrying my Eee wherever i go. i've even gone and paid extra on my travel insurance so that i can take it with me to Egypt, capturing the moment at the time rather than trying to stuff it back in a box at a later date.
it's a glorious feeling to be simultaneously numb and hyper - i'm as free commitment as i can be given the circumstances, which means that i don't have anything forcing me to make a decision about anything any time soon. a clean slate and a clear calendar after mid-April, plenty of pages left in the passport and enough cash to keep drifting for as long as it entertains me. my general care-factor is low, low, low. i've Given Up on plenty in the last little while, so a little bit more isn't going to stress me.
in the meantime, i'm going to try to take a break from blogging for a little while. spend some hours asleep in bed, playing games, getting around to watching the Godfather Trilogy. i have no idea how frequently i'll be online when i'm in Egypt, but i'll be trying to post when i can. in the meantime i'm having a holiday from my holiday, and a vacation from my blog... unless i get bored or have something that needs to be said.
later...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Snippets #14: you know you're a Londoner when...
you know exactly where to stand on the tube platform so you'll be set up just right for when you get off to change lines.
you check the Transport For London website for directions before you check Google Maps.
you stop minding that the pubs call for last orders at 10:45PM because it means you can still get the tube home.
the idea of owning your own car has become a somewhat alien concept.
you no longer laugh when you hear the name "Cockfosters" on the Piccadilly Line.
a 2 hour commute to work is something you'll live with.
you never, ever consider taking the Circle Line unless you're on a pub crawl.
you can get from anywhere to anywhere on foot at 3AM, just by reading the bus stops.
whenever you pass Trafalgar Square you think "bloody tourists".
you start thinking in miles rather than kilometres.
you know where East-17 got their name.
you instinctively know where to get the best chips within a mile radius of your house.
2 miles isn't THAT far to walk.
you pull out your mp3 player whenever you get on public transport, even when you're travelling with a group.
heading to Brighton for the day is nothing, but going to Shepherd's Bush to go shopping is a bit far, innit?
you don't bother carrying a book if you know you'll be traveling in peak times because you know there'll be a free newspaper to read.
you know the only two things you're allowed to say to a stranger on the tube are "excuse me" and "are you done with that paper?"
you can't remember how to tune a television because you don't own one and can't think of why you'd watch free-to-air anyway.
you firmly believe that anywhere past Zone 3 isn't really IN London.
you don't get upset when the pub's full because you know you can just go the one next door.
seeing the sun is more of a surprise than seeing naked women in the newspaper.
whenever you meet an Australian you think "not another one".
you stop expecting your beer to be ice cold and taste faintly of urine.
you consider any meal that costs less than £5 and fills you up to be a bargain.
you've stopped thinking about the exchange rate because it's too heartbreaking, but you can do it in your head if you have to.
you know exactly how far it is to the nearest Tesco or Sainsburys in steps.
you'd consider trying to carry a mattress home on public transport.
a flat that was advertised for rent more than 48 hours ago isn't worth calling about because you know it's already gone.
you can't understand why you can't find an ATM in other cities because you've already gone half-way around the block.
there's a public holiday coming up and you thought about going to Spain and Morocco before you even considered Liverpool or Bristol.
every time you hear someone refer to Milton Keynes you snigger.
it's raining. so?
you see a burst pipe spraying water down the street and you don't think of it as a criminal waste.
pasties and fried chicken have taken over from pies and pizza as your junk-food of choice.
you'll catch a tube anywhere, but avoid the overland at all costs.
you've developed a subtle disrespect for anyone who doesn't, or hasn't lived here themselves...
you check the Transport For London website for directions before you check Google Maps.
you stop minding that the pubs call for last orders at 10:45PM because it means you can still get the tube home.
the idea of owning your own car has become a somewhat alien concept.
you no longer laugh when you hear the name "Cockfosters" on the Piccadilly Line.
a 2 hour commute to work is something you'll live with.
you never, ever consider taking the Circle Line unless you're on a pub crawl.
you can get from anywhere to anywhere on foot at 3AM, just by reading the bus stops.
whenever you pass Trafalgar Square you think "bloody tourists".
you start thinking in miles rather than kilometres.
you know where East-17 got their name.
you instinctively know where to get the best chips within a mile radius of your house.
2 miles isn't THAT far to walk.
you pull out your mp3 player whenever you get on public transport, even when you're travelling with a group.
heading to Brighton for the day is nothing, but going to Shepherd's Bush to go shopping is a bit far, innit?
you don't bother carrying a book if you know you'll be traveling in peak times because you know there'll be a free newspaper to read.
you know the only two things you're allowed to say to a stranger on the tube are "excuse me" and "are you done with that paper?"
you can't remember how to tune a television because you don't own one and can't think of why you'd watch free-to-air anyway.
you firmly believe that anywhere past Zone 3 isn't really IN London.
you don't get upset when the pub's full because you know you can just go the one next door.
seeing the sun is more of a surprise than seeing naked women in the newspaper.
whenever you meet an Australian you think "not another one".
you stop expecting your beer to be ice cold and taste faintly of urine.
you consider any meal that costs less than £5 and fills you up to be a bargain.
you've stopped thinking about the exchange rate because it's too heartbreaking, but you can do it in your head if you have to.
you know exactly how far it is to the nearest Tesco or Sainsburys in steps.
you'd consider trying to carry a mattress home on public transport.
a flat that was advertised for rent more than 48 hours ago isn't worth calling about because you know it's already gone.
you can't understand why you can't find an ATM in other cities because you've already gone half-way around the block.
there's a public holiday coming up and you thought about going to Spain and Morocco before you even considered Liverpool or Bristol.
every time you hear someone refer to Milton Keynes you snigger.
it's raining. so?
you see a burst pipe spraying water down the street and you don't think of it as a criminal waste.
pasties and fried chicken have taken over from pies and pizza as your junk-food of choice.
you'll catch a tube anywhere, but avoid the overland at all costs.
you've developed a subtle disrespect for anyone who doesn't, or hasn't lived here themselves...
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
"I came here to find myself," and other banal comments...
i've never been anywhere it was easier to do a spur-of-the-moment pub crawl than here. i crawled Brunswick St in Fitzroy, Melbourne once, many years ago. i got lucky and there were plenty of bars, although some of them were crappy Old Man bars. i crawled The Rocks in Sydney and was bored by the end. Daniel and i crawled Leicester Square/Covent Garden on Friday night and had an awesome time. we were skipping places because they were too crowded and were still spoiled for choice. i didn't drink the same beer twice that night and by the time we jumped tubes out from Embankment at 11PM we were both staggering.
we met at the Bear & Staff on Charing Cross Rd because it's easy for us to find, as well as being a bit of a haunt for us now and meandered from there - out for a night on the piss for no better reason than that we're both working at the moment, it was a Friday night and we could. i'd like to say that it was the start of a great weekend, but to be honest i spent most of it in bed. the flu i'd started coming down with on Tuesday had lain dormant for the last 3 days and jumped on my back like a deranged monkey come Saturday morning screaming "SUBMIT," so i did. the previous week or so had left me more than a little fucked up and by the afternoon i'd come crashing down into a ditch and the dam burst, releasing a flood of disappointment and self-loathing. i had a nap in the afternoon hoping that i'd feel up to going out with Louise and her friends that night but woke up feeling worse and said fuck it, so she left me to my Stargate and my blanket and went out on the town.
Sunday came and with it an invitation to go see Watchmen down in Stockwell and i wasn't missing that for the world, illness or no. sitting around a nearby pub afterwards stuffing myself with the Sunday Roast and pint after pint of water, it seems like everyone's having problems finding or keeping work. contracts not extending, roles being made redundant, the party's over and the hangover's just starting to set in. the Children of The Southern Cross have a reputation around here as being here for a good time, not a long time and these folks are no different. Louise is great friends with them, but while i enjoy going out partying with them i know i'll never be. honestly, i appreciate being invited along when they're heading out for a fun night out, hearing people who seem to have all the introspection of an lobotomised otaku with a penchant for high-school romantic comedy talk about how they came to London to "find themselves" sounds shallower than kiddie's paddling pool, and almost as full of shit. as Shadow has been wont to say over the time i've known him: "The problem with going somewhere to get away from your problems is that no matter where you go, there you are." still, these guys DO know how to party so they're obviously onto something. i think perhaps i may still have much to learn from these people.
spin forwards and by the time i was standing at the bus stop on my way back to Heathrow i was already counting down the number of times i'd have to make that trip again. the job's fun enough and i'm glad to have it, but the percentage of my waking hours that i'm spending on public transport at the moment is ridiculous. i'm just thinking of the money and the trip i'll be up to the eyeballs in a fortnight from now and getting the work done.
the next few days are going to be quiet, i think. i need to get over this illness. Louise has come down with it as well and we've both been coughing up a lung. this is the third time she's been knocked for 6 since we came here - this is the first time i've got sick since the flu that laid me out right before we flew out of Sydney - and i'm a bit worried about her to be honest. i'm already starting to get over it and she's still going. the first one had her in bed for a fortnight. the second one lingered for almost as long, although she managed to keep going to work through it. she seems to get every bug that comes round (except for the vomiting-flu that did the rounds back in December/January - we both managed to miss that). i'm not her mum or anything, but it's still a bit of a worry.
London's the sort of place that invites an epidemic though. pack half the population onto the tubes, then into offices in town every day of the week and any airborne or sneeze/cough-transmitted pathogen is going to spread faster than a nymphomaniac student's knees after 4 litres of Fruity Lexia at a toga party. back in Canberra i saw how a cold could wipe out an office. here it could lay waste to suburbs as people infect and reinfect each other with every packed train they hop on, the public transport system becoming a machine of Mass Rapid Infection. when the Umbrella Corporation release the Resident Evil virus, all they'd have to do is drop a canister at Leicester Square and watch as the Northern Line spreads it out through Kings Cross and Waterloo,and the Piccadilly takes it directly to Heathrow then from there: the world.
that sort of makes me wonder whether, if London became Zombie Central, anyone would actually notice. maybe the leaflet and free-newspaper touts would be a little more polite. watch the people on the tube at 6:30PM and you start getting protective of your head-meats because most of the people are standing there looking like something's eaten theirs.
whatever the case, i can afford to have a quiet week. sit around, watch some movies, build up my strength and gird my loins for Egypt. i've been invited to a Pi Party on Saturday night - by the american calendar the date will be 3.14.09 (also, Einstein's Birthday. Happy Birthday Albo!), so the evening promises to be full of IT and Maths geeks getting drunk and eating pie. i'm missing out on going to The Car Wash (70's theme, with a foam canon) but i can't miss a geek gathering - it's been far too long since i've smelled my own kind. i'll go in with my 1337 hoodie, a six-pack of cider, a smile on my face and get my geek on. after that it's just one more week and i'll be getting a tan and trying not to let my pockets get picked or sand in my jocks. 3 weeks away to get some perspective and see whether, when i pull back up in Heathrow, i'm still wanting to hang around. with any luck Louise and i won't piss each other too much and i don't wind up feeding her to the crocodiles. as always, only time will tell, but i'm sure it'll be a whole lot of fun finding out...
we met at the Bear & Staff on Charing Cross Rd because it's easy for us to find, as well as being a bit of a haunt for us now and meandered from there - out for a night on the piss for no better reason than that we're both working at the moment, it was a Friday night and we could. i'd like to say that it was the start of a great weekend, but to be honest i spent most of it in bed. the flu i'd started coming down with on Tuesday had lain dormant for the last 3 days and jumped on my back like a deranged monkey come Saturday morning screaming "SUBMIT," so i did. the previous week or so had left me more than a little fucked up and by the afternoon i'd come crashing down into a ditch and the dam burst, releasing a flood of disappointment and self-loathing. i had a nap in the afternoon hoping that i'd feel up to going out with Louise and her friends that night but woke up feeling worse and said fuck it, so she left me to my Stargate and my blanket and went out on the town.
Sunday came and with it an invitation to go see Watchmen down in Stockwell and i wasn't missing that for the world, illness or no. sitting around a nearby pub afterwards stuffing myself with the Sunday Roast and pint after pint of water, it seems like everyone's having problems finding or keeping work. contracts not extending, roles being made redundant, the party's over and the hangover's just starting to set in. the Children of The Southern Cross have a reputation around here as being here for a good time, not a long time and these folks are no different. Louise is great friends with them, but while i enjoy going out partying with them i know i'll never be. honestly, i appreciate being invited along when they're heading out for a fun night out, hearing people who seem to have all the introspection of an lobotomised otaku with a penchant for high-school romantic comedy talk about how they came to London to "find themselves" sounds shallower than kiddie's paddling pool, and almost as full of shit. as Shadow has been wont to say over the time i've known him: "The problem with going somewhere to get away from your problems is that no matter where you go, there you are." still, these guys DO know how to party so they're obviously onto something. i think perhaps i may still have much to learn from these people.
spin forwards and by the time i was standing at the bus stop on my way back to Heathrow i was already counting down the number of times i'd have to make that trip again. the job's fun enough and i'm glad to have it, but the percentage of my waking hours that i'm spending on public transport at the moment is ridiculous. i'm just thinking of the money and the trip i'll be up to the eyeballs in a fortnight from now and getting the work done.
the next few days are going to be quiet, i think. i need to get over this illness. Louise has come down with it as well and we've both been coughing up a lung. this is the third time she's been knocked for 6 since we came here - this is the first time i've got sick since the flu that laid me out right before we flew out of Sydney - and i'm a bit worried about her to be honest. i'm already starting to get over it and she's still going. the first one had her in bed for a fortnight. the second one lingered for almost as long, although she managed to keep going to work through it. she seems to get every bug that comes round (except for the vomiting-flu that did the rounds back in December/January - we both managed to miss that). i'm not her mum or anything, but it's still a bit of a worry.
London's the sort of place that invites an epidemic though. pack half the population onto the tubes, then into offices in town every day of the week and any airborne or sneeze/cough-transmitted pathogen is going to spread faster than a nymphomaniac student's knees after 4 litres of Fruity Lexia at a toga party. back in Canberra i saw how a cold could wipe out an office. here it could lay waste to suburbs as people infect and reinfect each other with every packed train they hop on, the public transport system becoming a machine of Mass Rapid Infection. when the Umbrella Corporation release the Resident Evil virus, all they'd have to do is drop a canister at Leicester Square and watch as the Northern Line spreads it out through Kings Cross and Waterloo,and the Piccadilly takes it directly to Heathrow then from there: the world.
that sort of makes me wonder whether, if London became Zombie Central, anyone would actually notice. maybe the leaflet and free-newspaper touts would be a little more polite. watch the people on the tube at 6:30PM and you start getting protective of your head-meats because most of the people are standing there looking like something's eaten theirs.
whatever the case, i can afford to have a quiet week. sit around, watch some movies, build up my strength and gird my loins for Egypt. i've been invited to a Pi Party on Saturday night - by the american calendar the date will be 3.14.09 (also, Einstein's Birthday. Happy Birthday Albo!), so the evening promises to be full of IT and Maths geeks getting drunk and eating pie. i'm missing out on going to The Car Wash (70's theme, with a foam canon) but i can't miss a geek gathering - it's been far too long since i've smelled my own kind. i'll go in with my 1337 hoodie, a six-pack of cider, a smile on my face and get my geek on. after that it's just one more week and i'll be getting a tan and trying not to let my pockets get picked or sand in my jocks. 3 weeks away to get some perspective and see whether, when i pull back up in Heathrow, i'm still wanting to hang around. with any luck Louise and i won't piss each other too much and i don't wind up feeding her to the crocodiles. as always, only time will tell, but i'm sure it'll be a whole lot of fun finding out...
Snippets #13: on odd habits...
i've adopted some strange new modes of behavior in the last few months. creating a new life from scratch is a great method for reassessing whether you're doing what you do because it works in the here and now, or if you've just been doing for so long that it's ingrained. like pronouncing the 't' in '"often". or always having a diet coke with your meal. calling your girlfriend Jemima at the point of orgasm. some of it's completely inexplicable - for example, i've found that i tend to wake up at around the same time as Louise does most mornings. when she was working and getting up early i'd wake up either just before or after she headed to the bathroom to get dressed and say good morning, or make sure she was awake, then roll over and go to sleep. last week i did it again... except she didn't wake up until 12:30 in the afternoon. it was never a conscious thing, just something i'd fuzzily rembember having done when i woke up properly some time later. what's really odd is that she's been doing the same thing while i've been working - yelling at me to get up while i lie there looking at the numbers tick away on my mobile, then snoring away again by the time i'm out of the shower.
in the evenings when we eat together (we usually do), i'll usually do the cooking or preparation or oven-wrangling while she sits and keeps me company, then afterwards she'll wash up while i return the favour. i've taken to blogging down in the kitchen so that i can sit up typing late into the night while she goes to sleep, usually with a cup of tea, and i've become so used to it that i have difficulty collecting my thoughts to write when i'm up in the room even when she's up and about.
on the way to work i pick up a copy of the Metro and read it to save me from going through my book too quickly. on the way back to base-camp i sit and blog on the tube from Heathrow to Leicester Square while the people around me pretend not to stare at the stickers covering the lid of my Eee. in the mornings i always stand at the bus stop staring at the radar dish as it spins, wondering how much it weighs and time the spins in my head (~15RPM). in the afternoons i watch the planes take off and try to project how many must be leaving each hour (between 60 and 90).
i usually catch the bus into town in the interests of saving money, and even now i'm using an unlimited travelcard that makes the cost of the service irrelevant i still factor in the time it takes to use the bus and walk when i'm working out how to get anywhere. i've taken to hating on tourists who clog up the footpaths (even though i was one only a few months ago. no, i'm not still a tourist. i've got a lease on a place - i live here now), but i still look up at Nelson's statue in Trafalgar Square as i walk by and get slightly surprised that i'm actually here.
that said, when i'm sitting around bored my first instinct is still to call Sandra or Shadow, or Marcia and Rick, or Matt and Tiernan, or Jules. when i want to escape from the world it's always a bike i imagine myself on when i do. when i want a hug the same faces swim to the surface, shadows of my past who are long gone, but somehow still sitting over my shoulder whenever there's nothing else shedding light into my world.
in the first year after i left Perth i still used to think of it as Home. now when i think of Home i'm thinking of Canberra. when i go back to Canberra, will i be thinking of London - doomed to be eternally unfaithful to wherever i actually live? and will there come a day when the thought of freedom will be something other than the feeling of weight on my back and a pair of arms wrapped around my waist while i twist the throttle and point my front tyre at the horizon? now that i've cut myself loose am i ever going to consider the idea of settling down as anything more than a seocnd-best, if-all-else-fails contingency, or will i always be looking through Google Earth for the next destination?
it's odd - these little things. the habits you find you've picked up and the ones you can't leave behind. the thought processes that colour your judgement and you can't seem to shake. the things you catch yourself doing without thinking, or even being conscious of it and wonder why...
in the evenings when we eat together (we usually do), i'll usually do the cooking or preparation or oven-wrangling while she sits and keeps me company, then afterwards she'll wash up while i return the favour. i've taken to blogging down in the kitchen so that i can sit up typing late into the night while she goes to sleep, usually with a cup of tea, and i've become so used to it that i have difficulty collecting my thoughts to write when i'm up in the room even when she's up and about.
on the way to work i pick up a copy of the Metro and read it to save me from going through my book too quickly. on the way back to base-camp i sit and blog on the tube from Heathrow to Leicester Square while the people around me pretend not to stare at the stickers covering the lid of my Eee. in the mornings i always stand at the bus stop staring at the radar dish as it spins, wondering how much it weighs and time the spins in my head (~15RPM). in the afternoons i watch the planes take off and try to project how many must be leaving each hour (between 60 and 90).
i usually catch the bus into town in the interests of saving money, and even now i'm using an unlimited travelcard that makes the cost of the service irrelevant i still factor in the time it takes to use the bus and walk when i'm working out how to get anywhere. i've taken to hating on tourists who clog up the footpaths (even though i was one only a few months ago. no, i'm not still a tourist. i've got a lease on a place - i live here now), but i still look up at Nelson's statue in Trafalgar Square as i walk by and get slightly surprised that i'm actually here.
that said, when i'm sitting around bored my first instinct is still to call Sandra or Shadow, or Marcia and Rick, or Matt and Tiernan, or Jules. when i want to escape from the world it's always a bike i imagine myself on when i do. when i want a hug the same faces swim to the surface, shadows of my past who are long gone, but somehow still sitting over my shoulder whenever there's nothing else shedding light into my world.
in the first year after i left Perth i still used to think of it as Home. now when i think of Home i'm thinking of Canberra. when i go back to Canberra, will i be thinking of London - doomed to be eternally unfaithful to wherever i actually live? and will there come a day when the thought of freedom will be something other than the feeling of weight on my back and a pair of arms wrapped around my waist while i twist the throttle and point my front tyre at the horizon? now that i've cut myself loose am i ever going to consider the idea of settling down as anything more than a seocnd-best, if-all-else-fails contingency, or will i always be looking through Google Earth for the next destination?
it's odd - these little things. the habits you find you've picked up and the ones you can't leave behind. the thought processes that colour your judgement and you can't seem to shake. the things you catch yourself doing without thinking, or even being conscious of it and wonder why...
Friday, March 6, 2009
good news is golden when you're looking up from the Bottom...
standing at the bus stop just north of the Heathrow runways watching a plane take off every 30 or 40 seconds, Andy McKee providing a calming soundtrack, for a moment the sun poked out from between the clouds and it felt like the world was smiling at me. "You've been beaten and battered," it seemed to be saying, "so here's me giving you a break," and isn't it funny what a difference a day or two make?
i woke up on Tuesday morning feeling like i'd been hit by a truck. actually, saying "morning" is a lie - neither Louise or i were moving before 12:30PM. we were both feeling sick - i was coughing and sniffling, her with a developing sore throat, and shared a look across the room which seemed to say "well, fuck." my phone had rung at 9:15AM - a pimp from my favoure agency calling to get some details from me. it rung again at around 4PM while we fought our way to Sainsburys through the cold and the wind to pick up a couple of backpacks of groceries. neither of us were in any mood to go, but a lack of staples meant we were relying on takeaway so it had to be done.
"There's a job out near Heathrow. Fill in for someone on Compassionate Leave. There's some laptops to be sorted out and a problem with their Anti-Virus. I think I can get you £160/day. Can you be out there at 9:30 tomorrow morning?"
um... yeah. sure. why not. job's a job and i need the cash.
"Great! I'll get your CV over to them and get back to you soon!"
no worries.
on the way back to base-camp an hour later it rang again - checking i was still good, the cash was ok, that i had an umbrella company set up already. while we unpacked he rang to say that i was in for the next 2-3 days and he'd need details for payroll. while i was stowing my backpack under the bed he called to give me directions, contact names, the sort of things you need to know before you start a new job. an email with everything included is promised, and suddenly i had a job, if only for a couple of days.
Wednesday morning was a complete shambles. i know the commute is going to take a while - guesstimation is around an hour and a half, so i'm at the tube station by 7:45AM. 9:30AM rolled around just as i was finding the right bus to take out of Heathrow Terminals 1,2&3. by 10AM i'm in front of the wrong building and on the phone trying to get directions while i walk up and down the wrong street. at 10:30AM i finally stagger in the right door looking haggard, feeling completely unprofessional, desperately trying to salvage things. the manager's a dear and takes pity on me and i'm more grateful than polite words can express for the coffee that appears in front of me while i start interrogating her for intel on what i need to be doing.
my day's filled with coffee and technical issues while i start to assess their systems. you've got computers riddled with viruses because people are installing software of questional providence. "Yes, we know." what's your corporate policy on these things? some of this stuff is kinda illegal. and leaves you open to liability. "We don't actually have one." right. would you like one? "Yes please!!" i get a lot of stuff sorted and make my leave, with a plan of attack for the next day. i find the bus back to Heathrow and while i stand there watching the planes take off i switch from Cake to Death Cab For Cutie because i figure that if i'm going to be depressed i'll do it propperly. it takes me nearly 2 hours to get to base-camp, by which time i've read a LOT of my book. my trip involves an hour on the Piccadilly Line, changing at Leicester Square, then half an hour or so back to Oval
9AM this morning i've had a smooth run in. i'd stuck Andy McKee on my PSD while i was on the platform at Oval Station for its calming joy and i'm feeling pretty damn good when i'm about to walk in the door to the office and my phone rings:
"Tom here. Where are you at? At the bus?"
nah mate - i'm right out the front door. much easier to get in on time now i know where the hell i'm going. this place isn't exactly on my A-Z...
"Fantastic! Well done! I just spoke to Joanna and it sounds like she was well impressed. They were going to get a junior in for the next two weeks because he'd be cheaper, but she sounds really keen to keep you on for another fortnight. I know you're not keen on the commute, but what would it take to get you to stick around?"
damn... well, no, the commute sucks bollocks but they're nice here and there's free coffee. the cash is pretty dire though... i guess i'd take £180/day for it, but no less. i've got another possibility for next week which is closer to home but the cash is crap. it's a fallback at least...
"I think I can talk her into that. I'll try to get you more of course, but I'll be in touch."
legend. let me know.
2 hours later i'm onto my 4th coffee, my phone beeps its SMS tone and i've got a new contract. i let the manager know that it's all done and dusted and she's so happy that another coffee shows up in short order. i've got my work cut out for me - i've bitten off more than i think they expected i would but at least i'm going to have a bit of fun with this job. it's got the potential to hike my skills in a few things, as well as paying enough cash to make my life MUCH easier in the next few months. at Heathrow on the way back i spend £47 on a Zone 1-6 Travelcard - all the public transport i can eat for a week. with a little certainty it's well worth it. sitting on the tube my phone rings not once but twice with pimps on the line with jobs starting Monday, sounding disappointed that i'm suddenly unavailable. why it all had to come at once, and not spread itself out nicely the way it should is beyond me - punishment for the i'll get a job - no problems! arrogance i had when i left the homeland, i suppose. still, it seems that i'm suddenly popular and i'll have to find a way to migrate that over to when i'm next on the market.
as i've said a few times, Louise has been putting together plans to go and do Egypt. the framework is based around a 15-day tour she's found that covers most of the goddamn country from the looks of things, from felluca sailing down the nile to snorkling in the Red Sea, from Cairo to Aswan via Abu Simbel, from the Pyramids of Giza at sunset to hot air ballooning over the Valley of Kings at dawn. she was looking at doing it around the end of the month in order to beat the Easter Holidays. that's 3 weeks from now. meanwhile, i've wound up with a contract for 2 weeks, and with the ink on that now dry we've booked it for the weekend after i finish (convenient, since the flights for the original weekend would have cost 4 times as much). i'm stoked - Egypt was never a huge thing on my agenda, but she sold me on it when she showed me the trip she had planned, and in the last week or so it's become something of a lynchpin in my projections. even if i was still basing my plans around going back to the land Downunder in a couple of months, i was still going along for the ride to Egypt. now it's booked and paid for and the work i've got for the next two weeks will pay not just for the trip, but 2 months of rent and expenses in London.
once more i feel like i have something to look forward to, and it's a definite, not a pipe-dream. i've no room for hope or wishful thinking - see where that got me? i'm still bruised from the last thing i ivested hope in and i've no taste for it any more. a little certainty puts a smile on my face, even if it involves the certainty of 3 or more hours on public transport every working day for 2 weeks, and once that's done i've the wilderness and adventure of the ruins of one of the world's oldest civilisations to look forward to - the details can be found here:
http://www.thegobus.com/Group-Tours/Egypt/Pyramids-and-Beaches
i can't shake the feeling that in missing out on what at least i thought i wanted i'm settling for the first best thing to show up, but what the fuck? fuck hope and wishful thinking. fuck home and comfort. i was finally forced to Give Up on the one thing i couldn't bring myself to and the universe seems to have finally decided that i have found humility enough to accept what it thinks i need.
i woke up on Tuesday morning feeling like i'd been hit by a truck. actually, saying "morning" is a lie - neither Louise or i were moving before 12:30PM. we were both feeling sick - i was coughing and sniffling, her with a developing sore throat, and shared a look across the room which seemed to say "well, fuck." my phone had rung at 9:15AM - a pimp from my favoure agency calling to get some details from me. it rung again at around 4PM while we fought our way to Sainsburys through the cold and the wind to pick up a couple of backpacks of groceries. neither of us were in any mood to go, but a lack of staples meant we were relying on takeaway so it had to be done.
"There's a job out near Heathrow. Fill in for someone on Compassionate Leave. There's some laptops to be sorted out and a problem with their Anti-Virus. I think I can get you £160/day. Can you be out there at 9:30 tomorrow morning?"
um... yeah. sure. why not. job's a job and i need the cash.
"Great! I'll get your CV over to them and get back to you soon!"
no worries.
on the way back to base-camp an hour later it rang again - checking i was still good, the cash was ok, that i had an umbrella company set up already. while we unpacked he rang to say that i was in for the next 2-3 days and he'd need details for payroll. while i was stowing my backpack under the bed he called to give me directions, contact names, the sort of things you need to know before you start a new job. an email with everything included is promised, and suddenly i had a job, if only for a couple of days.
Wednesday morning was a complete shambles. i know the commute is going to take a while - guesstimation is around an hour and a half, so i'm at the tube station by 7:45AM. 9:30AM rolled around just as i was finding the right bus to take out of Heathrow Terminals 1,2&3. by 10AM i'm in front of the wrong building and on the phone trying to get directions while i walk up and down the wrong street. at 10:30AM i finally stagger in the right door looking haggard, feeling completely unprofessional, desperately trying to salvage things. the manager's a dear and takes pity on me and i'm more grateful than polite words can express for the coffee that appears in front of me while i start interrogating her for intel on what i need to be doing.
my day's filled with coffee and technical issues while i start to assess their systems. you've got computers riddled with viruses because people are installing software of questional providence. "Yes, we know." what's your corporate policy on these things? some of this stuff is kinda illegal. and leaves you open to liability. "We don't actually have one." right. would you like one? "Yes please!!" i get a lot of stuff sorted and make my leave, with a plan of attack for the next day. i find the bus back to Heathrow and while i stand there watching the planes take off i switch from Cake to Death Cab For Cutie because i figure that if i'm going to be depressed i'll do it propperly. it takes me nearly 2 hours to get to base-camp, by which time i've read a LOT of my book. my trip involves an hour on the Piccadilly Line, changing at Leicester Square, then half an hour or so back to Oval
9AM this morning i've had a smooth run in. i'd stuck Andy McKee on my PSD while i was on the platform at Oval Station for its calming joy and i'm feeling pretty damn good when i'm about to walk in the door to the office and my phone rings:
"Tom here. Where are you at? At the bus?"
nah mate - i'm right out the front door. much easier to get in on time now i know where the hell i'm going. this place isn't exactly on my A-Z...
"Fantastic! Well done! I just spoke to Joanna and it sounds like she was well impressed. They were going to get a junior in for the next two weeks because he'd be cheaper, but she sounds really keen to keep you on for another fortnight. I know you're not keen on the commute, but what would it take to get you to stick around?"
damn... well, no, the commute sucks bollocks but they're nice here and there's free coffee. the cash is pretty dire though... i guess i'd take £180/day for it, but no less. i've got another possibility for next week which is closer to home but the cash is crap. it's a fallback at least...
"I think I can talk her into that. I'll try to get you more of course, but I'll be in touch."
legend. let me know.
2 hours later i'm onto my 4th coffee, my phone beeps its SMS tone and i've got a new contract. i let the manager know that it's all done and dusted and she's so happy that another coffee shows up in short order. i've got my work cut out for me - i've bitten off more than i think they expected i would but at least i'm going to have a bit of fun with this job. it's got the potential to hike my skills in a few things, as well as paying enough cash to make my life MUCH easier in the next few months. at Heathrow on the way back i spend £47 on a Zone 1-6 Travelcard - all the public transport i can eat for a week. with a little certainty it's well worth it. sitting on the tube my phone rings not once but twice with pimps on the line with jobs starting Monday, sounding disappointed that i'm suddenly unavailable. why it all had to come at once, and not spread itself out nicely the way it should is beyond me - punishment for the i'll get a job - no problems! arrogance i had when i left the homeland, i suppose. still, it seems that i'm suddenly popular and i'll have to find a way to migrate that over to when i'm next on the market.
as i've said a few times, Louise has been putting together plans to go and do Egypt. the framework is based around a 15-day tour she's found that covers most of the goddamn country from the looks of things, from felluca sailing down the nile to snorkling in the Red Sea, from Cairo to Aswan via Abu Simbel, from the Pyramids of Giza at sunset to hot air ballooning over the Valley of Kings at dawn. she was looking at doing it around the end of the month in order to beat the Easter Holidays. that's 3 weeks from now. meanwhile, i've wound up with a contract for 2 weeks, and with the ink on that now dry we've booked it for the weekend after i finish (convenient, since the flights for the original weekend would have cost 4 times as much). i'm stoked - Egypt was never a huge thing on my agenda, but she sold me on it when she showed me the trip she had planned, and in the last week or so it's become something of a lynchpin in my projections. even if i was still basing my plans around going back to the land Downunder in a couple of months, i was still going along for the ride to Egypt. now it's booked and paid for and the work i've got for the next two weeks will pay not just for the trip, but 2 months of rent and expenses in London.
once more i feel like i have something to look forward to, and it's a definite, not a pipe-dream. i've no room for hope or wishful thinking - see where that got me? i'm still bruised from the last thing i ivested hope in and i've no taste for it any more. a little certainty puts a smile on my face, even if it involves the certainty of 3 or more hours on public transport every working day for 2 weeks, and once that's done i've the wilderness and adventure of the ruins of one of the world's oldest civilisations to look forward to - the details can be found here:
http://www.thegobus.com/Group-
i can't shake the feeling that in missing out on what at least i thought i wanted i'm settling for the first best thing to show up, but what the fuck? fuck hope and wishful thinking. fuck home and comfort. i was finally forced to Give Up on the one thing i couldn't bring myself to and the universe seems to have finally decided that i have found humility enough to accept what it thinks i need.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
the foolish man built his house upon the sand...
today Louise and i got ourselves up and went to the British Museum for a few hours for something to do, get out if the house and clear our heads - mine especially. it's a huge place filled of antiquities of more than a couple of bygone eras that have been looted and gifted over the last few hundred years of British Colonisation and Exploration - perfect for a bit of distraction. Louise loves museums, especially anything to do with Egypt (and there's a LOT of Egyptian stuff in the BM, including what's left of Cleopatra to whom we paid our respects), and i needed to get the fuck out of my own head lest i drown from trying to swim through the murky depths and junk. when we got back to base-camp i sat down and wrote the reply to the email i'd received in response to the call for clarification i'd sent out on Sunday. i'd received it first thing in the morning, read it while i drank my coffee and commenced to stew on it for the rest of the day. by the time i was finished over three and a half thousand words had crisscrossed the internets, and the biggest, most tenuous thing i'd used as a crutch for the last nearly half a year was gone, dissolved and revealed as fantasy and self-deception.
9 months ago i wound up catching up with a girl i'd known on and off for a while. a month or so later we were an item without ever intending to be. a month later i'd fallen for her harder than i had any right to given the circumstances and then 5 months ago i kissed her goodbye on her doorstep, climbed into a rented 4x4 and drove to Sydney on my way out of the country with a little piece of her riding shotgun in the back of my head. i've jokingly referred to it as being one of the most foolish things i've ever done, but then i've done a lot of stupid things in my time so perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration. today she told me "come back for you, not for me".
we've kept in touch here and there since i flew out - an email here, an IM chat there. i sent her a Valentine's Day message from Inverness while sitting in the common room of the hostel. before i left i told her that i'd be back for her and while the black on my boots has faded the feelings behind my promise didn't. when things have been fucked up and i've been in a pit of despair thinking about going back one day and finding her has kept me moving - my little Get Out Of Jail Free card. she said to me, one night out on the balcony when i was having doubts about my impending departure that "[i] seem to be under the misapprehension that there's something that won't still be here for [me] when you come back," and that stuck with me like a Kick Me sign. turns out that it may not have actually been worth the paper i'd written it on and now i've got no one to blame but myself for my presumption.
last Thursday we wound up having a long chat on IM and it all came out. for a while now i've been questioning the wisdom of hanging around here watching my slush fund trickle away while i sit around getting rejected for job after job and was thinking about making a move - go travelling for a few months before heading back. it wasn't really my ideal solution, but the idea of showing back up in Canberra and on her doorstep with a bunch of flowers and a bucket of Hoboken Crunch had some appeal. what i needed to know, though, was whether an hour later i'd be sitting on her couch exchanging stories and kisses, or out the back of Shadow's place with a hot mug of tea and tears running down my mug, and i REALLY needed to know this BEFORE i pulled the pin and flew half-way around the world. after a couple of hours we hadn't come to a conclusion and agreed to reconvene on my Sunday morning.
Sunday morning became Sunday afternoon and she wasn't answering her phone. i'd bought some SkypeOut credit so that i could call her mobile from here without destroying my credit (and got to test it the day before with Shadow, which was nice) and she wasn't answering. turns out she'd been exhausted after along day and was asleep before i could get out of bed, 11 hours behind, so i sat down for 2 hours with mug after mug of coffee and wrote it all down asking please. the next morning her response came saying "no". i'm not upset with her - it was always on the cards that something like this would happen, and in the finest form of trip it has. doesn't stop me from being gutted. it wasn't an "i don't care for you", more, a she put it:
"it doesn't much feel like our paths are lining up."
after our IM discussion on Thursday, on Friday night i booked a long chat with Louise to find out what she had planned. her job had just finished and i wasn't sure what she was thinking with regards to hanging around here. i gave her the rundown of what i was thinking - that i'd give it a little while longer, go with her on the trip to Egypt she's planning then spent the spring and early summer backpacking Europe. she told me that she wasn't going to be able to afford to come on the Eurotrip, but she'd be staying. find a place to herself and settle in, or if cash got too tight go and stay with family either in London or Manchester. i couldn't say what i was hoping to hear - i've no responsibility to hang around with her, although if she'd been thinking of pulling that same pin i knew i'd be able to walk away with a whole lot less guilt. my pack-leader instincts have been telling me to look after her, and as much as it's usually been unnecessary and much to her confusion i have done in my own way.
the loudest thought i had in my chaotic head was that if the girl i left behind had said "come home" i would have - gone for my wander through the continent and make my way back to the place where the constellations are familiar and the roads call out to be cut up by a pair of tyres. instead, she said "don't", taking with her my easy out.
now i'm sitting in the kitchen again pondering my increasingly unknowable future. now that the main impetus for my return is gone, should i still pack my bags and fuck off out of this place that i've come to love so much? the feeling i get is that if i wound up back in Canberra next month i'd go stir-crazy, but staying here may well send me insane. as The Clash (and B.A.D. covered in the years of my youth) said, "should I stay or should I go?" i don't know any more. i can't decide. 2 days ago i thought i had a clue... or at least, that the decision might conveniently get made for me. now i have even solid ground to stand on. in these situations i tend stay the course - sit still if that's what i've been doing, else keep putting one boot in front of the other. let the universe push me where it will, and since it seems to have gone to such great lengths to utterly confuse me i guess i'll just have to keep going around in circles until it gives me another nudge in whatever direction i'm sitting here waiting for.
whatever the case, tomorrow's another day and i'll assess it when the sun rises, and again the next and the next after that. don't make a decision without enough data, unless the clock's ticking and i still have all the time in the world and while there's a gap in the back of my head i know that "not now" doesn't mean "not ever"... it just won't be something i'll let myself rely upon, or even think about until one day i cross the ACT border on my own terms and in my own time. between now and then there's still things left i have to do, or have done to me. only time will tell.
9 months ago i wound up catching up with a girl i'd known on and off for a while. a month or so later we were an item without ever intending to be. a month later i'd fallen for her harder than i had any right to given the circumstances and then 5 months ago i kissed her goodbye on her doorstep, climbed into a rented 4x4 and drove to Sydney on my way out of the country with a little piece of her riding shotgun in the back of my head. i've jokingly referred to it as being one of the most foolish things i've ever done, but then i've done a lot of stupid things in my time so perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration. today she told me "come back for you, not for me".
we've kept in touch here and there since i flew out - an email here, an IM chat there. i sent her a Valentine's Day message from Inverness while sitting in the common room of the hostel. before i left i told her that i'd be back for her and while the black on my boots has faded the feelings behind my promise didn't. when things have been fucked up and i've been in a pit of despair thinking about going back one day and finding her has kept me moving - my little Get Out Of Jail Free card. she said to me, one night out on the balcony when i was having doubts about my impending departure that "[i] seem to be under the misapprehension that there's something that won't still be here for [me] when you come back," and that stuck with me like a Kick Me sign. turns out that it may not have actually been worth the paper i'd written it on and now i've got no one to blame but myself for my presumption.
last Thursday we wound up having a long chat on IM and it all came out. for a while now i've been questioning the wisdom of hanging around here watching my slush fund trickle away while i sit around getting rejected for job after job and was thinking about making a move - go travelling for a few months before heading back. it wasn't really my ideal solution, but the idea of showing back up in Canberra and on her doorstep with a bunch of flowers and a bucket of Hoboken Crunch had some appeal. what i needed to know, though, was whether an hour later i'd be sitting on her couch exchanging stories and kisses, or out the back of Shadow's place with a hot mug of tea and tears running down my mug, and i REALLY needed to know this BEFORE i pulled the pin and flew half-way around the world. after a couple of hours we hadn't come to a conclusion and agreed to reconvene on my Sunday morning.
Sunday morning became Sunday afternoon and she wasn't answering her phone. i'd bought some SkypeOut credit so that i could call her mobile from here without destroying my credit (and got to test it the day before with Shadow, which was nice) and she wasn't answering. turns out she'd been exhausted after along day and was asleep before i could get out of bed, 11 hours behind, so i sat down for 2 hours with mug after mug of coffee and wrote it all down asking please. the next morning her response came saying "no". i'm not upset with her - it was always on the cards that something like this would happen, and in the finest form of trip it has. doesn't stop me from being gutted. it wasn't an "i don't care for you", more, a she put it:
"it doesn't much feel like our paths are lining up."
after our IM discussion on Thursday, on Friday night i booked a long chat with Louise to find out what she had planned. her job had just finished and i wasn't sure what she was thinking with regards to hanging around here. i gave her the rundown of what i was thinking - that i'd give it a little while longer, go with her on the trip to Egypt she's planning then spent the spring and early summer backpacking Europe. she told me that she wasn't going to be able to afford to come on the Eurotrip, but she'd be staying. find a place to herself and settle in, or if cash got too tight go and stay with family either in London or Manchester. i couldn't say what i was hoping to hear - i've no responsibility to hang around with her, although if she'd been thinking of pulling that same pin i knew i'd be able to walk away with a whole lot less guilt. my pack-leader instincts have been telling me to look after her, and as much as it's usually been unnecessary and much to her confusion i have done in my own way.
the loudest thought i had in my chaotic head was that if the girl i left behind had said "come home" i would have - gone for my wander through the continent and make my way back to the place where the constellations are familiar and the roads call out to be cut up by a pair of tyres. instead, she said "don't", taking with her my easy out.
now i'm sitting in the kitchen again pondering my increasingly unknowable future. now that the main impetus for my return is gone, should i still pack my bags and fuck off out of this place that i've come to love so much? the feeling i get is that if i wound up back in Canberra next month i'd go stir-crazy, but staying here may well send me insane. as The Clash (and B.A.D. covered in the years of my youth) said, "should I stay or should I go?" i don't know any more. i can't decide. 2 days ago i thought i had a clue... or at least, that the decision might conveniently get made for me. now i have even solid ground to stand on. in these situations i tend stay the course - sit still if that's what i've been doing, else keep putting one boot in front of the other. let the universe push me where it will, and since it seems to have gone to such great lengths to utterly confuse me i guess i'll just have to keep going around in circles until it gives me another nudge in whatever direction i'm sitting here waiting for.
whatever the case, tomorrow's another day and i'll assess it when the sun rises, and again the next and the next after that. don't make a decision without enough data, unless the clock's ticking and i still have all the time in the world and while there's a gap in the back of my head i know that "not now" doesn't mean "not ever"... it just won't be something i'll let myself rely upon, or even think about until one day i cross the ACT border on my own terms and in my own time. between now and then there's still things left i have to do, or have done to me. only time will tell.
Friday, February 27, 2009
things are starting to fall apart...
London has this habit of sneaking up on you - sitting on the train you pass through village after village divided by miles of fields and pasture until the villages start to roll one into the next and you look over your shoulder to realise that that there'll be no more fields and there's London staring back at you with a guilty grin while it tries to pretend it wasn't about to shiv you with the sharpened pool cue it's doing a poor job of hiding behind its back. i've heard tell of people who commute into London from villages in the surrounds (even met a couple) but i'd never believed it was that popular until i rode the train back from Harwich first thing in the morning. by the time we're half-way there the train's crowded. half an hour out and it's packed. these people must spend almost as much time commuting as they do working (more so knowing some of the office-workers i've met over the years), but they don't seem to care... or at least, are resigned to it out the quietly desperate way of the English that Pink Floyd referred to years before i was born.
Louise and i parted company at Liverpool St Station - me taking the bags back to base-camp and her off to work. i walked into the cool quiet of our room. she walked face-first into a Don't Come Monday. the company she's been working for since December runs in cycles of workload and she'd already dodged two staffing cuts. this one got her. on the plus side, she gets to work out the week which means a bit of extra cash for her. on the minus, this leaves her at a massive loose-end, and no idea where her next paycheck's coming from.
my job search has showed little more than previous weeks and i'm not in the mood - going through the motions if for no other reason than that i have fuck-all better to do. i've had an increasingly sinking suspicion since Tuesday that this might be the beginning of the end and my mind's already started to build contingency plans and pondering dates of return to the a sunburned country. i don't know. i really don't. there are too many different factors pulling in different directions. what i'm hearing from the homeland hasn't been positive as far as the job opportunities are concerned, but at least i have infrastructure there - a strong professional reputation, pimps who take my calls, couches to crash on and the dole i can apply for... but i have this sinking feeling that if i wound up back in Canberra in a month or so i'd wind up sitting there staring out across Lake Burley-Griffin thinking WTF? my current temptation is to give it another few weeks or a month, pack it in and go travel the continent. Louise has been talking about doing a 3-week tour through Egypt, which sounds like a great way to get it started. St Patrick's Day is around the corner, as is Ireland, and that seems like the sort of thing that just has to be done, so i could probably fit that in before Egypt... then instead of coming back to London i could head on elsewhere... Greece is just across the Mediterranean. so's Italy, and from either or the rest of Europe's laid out in a patchwork of irregular borders and train lines, begging to be traversed. i could easily lose 2 or 3 months in that and get back into Aus at around Tax Time when budgets are full and the departments are casting around to fill in their FTE. or i could keep hanging around London...
i need to sit down with Louise and see what she has to say, and what her plans are. i don't think she's done yet, but it's a conversation we have to have. not sure whether, or how, it'll change my plans just yet, but if i can remove that variable then at least i can start thinking about how i want to attack things. there's also the small matter of a pretty little brunette who i've not spoken to enough since i left... knowing her mind will certainly help push me in one direction or another.
i hate to think about slinking home with my tail between my legs, but i know in my mind that i've made the best go of it that i could under the circumstances, and backpacking Europe would make a fantastic way to end it... or at least make the return smell less of failure and more of the grand adventure i'd envisioned a year ago when i was first putting my plans together. conversations i have in the coming days will tell me a great deal. i just hope that they provide me with some clarity on which way to jump. at very least i expect that they'll remove any excuse i might have to not make the decision i don't want to have to make myself.
Louise and i parted company at Liverpool St Station - me taking the bags back to base-camp and her off to work. i walked into the cool quiet of our room. she walked face-first into a Don't Come Monday. the company she's been working for since December runs in cycles of workload and she'd already dodged two staffing cuts. this one got her. on the plus side, she gets to work out the week which means a bit of extra cash for her. on the minus, this leaves her at a massive loose-end, and no idea where her next paycheck's coming from.
my job search has showed little more than previous weeks and i'm not in the mood - going through the motions if for no other reason than that i have fuck-all better to do. i've had an increasingly sinking suspicion since Tuesday that this might be the beginning of the end and my mind's already started to build contingency plans and pondering dates of return to the a sunburned country. i don't know. i really don't. there are too many different factors pulling in different directions. what i'm hearing from the homeland hasn't been positive as far as the job opportunities are concerned, but at least i have infrastructure there - a strong professional reputation, pimps who take my calls, couches to crash on and the dole i can apply for... but i have this sinking feeling that if i wound up back in Canberra in a month or so i'd wind up sitting there staring out across Lake Burley-Griffin thinking WTF? my current temptation is to give it another few weeks or a month, pack it in and go travel the continent. Louise has been talking about doing a 3-week tour through Egypt, which sounds like a great way to get it started. St Patrick's Day is around the corner, as is Ireland, and that seems like the sort of thing that just has to be done, so i could probably fit that in before Egypt... then instead of coming back to London i could head on elsewhere... Greece is just across the Mediterranean. so's Italy, and from either or the rest of Europe's laid out in a patchwork of irregular borders and train lines, begging to be traversed. i could easily lose 2 or 3 months in that and get back into Aus at around Tax Time when budgets are full and the departments are casting around to fill in their FTE. or i could keep hanging around London...
i need to sit down with Louise and see what she has to say, and what her plans are. i don't think she's done yet, but it's a conversation we have to have. not sure whether, or how, it'll change my plans just yet, but if i can remove that variable then at least i can start thinking about how i want to attack things. there's also the small matter of a pretty little brunette who i've not spoken to enough since i left... knowing her mind will certainly help push me in one direction or another.
i hate to think about slinking home with my tail between my legs, but i know in my mind that i've made the best go of it that i could under the circumstances, and backpacking Europe would make a fantastic way to end it... or at least make the return smell less of failure and more of the grand adventure i'd envisioned a year ago when i was first putting my plans together. conversations i have in the coming days will tell me a great deal. i just hope that they provide me with some clarity on which way to jump. at very least i expect that they'll remove any excuse i might have to not make the decision i don't want to have to make myself.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Amsterdam/Rotterdam: sometimes all you want to do is nothing...
the wind turbines at Hoek van Holland are whirling silhoettes against a cloudy sky stained orange by industial lighting, and i've been standing in the cold wind on the upper deck of the ferry that'll be taking me back to Harwich in a couple of hours. outside it's freezing, but inside it's temperature controlled and sterile. as far as I can tell, there are two ferries servicing the Harwich - Hoek van Holland route. each one does the round trip every day, passing each other somewhere mid-way with their loads of holidaymakers and freight. in twelve hours i'll be back in Blighty again, back to my job search and an increasing concern as to what the fuck i'm going to do with myself for the next few months... and in fact what country i'll be in by year-end.
this day's been one of relaxed cruising. neither of us could think of anything we desperately wanted to do before we left, so we hit the street and wandered some more, meandering our way through now familiar streets and the peacefulness of the canals with out bags left in the relatative security of the hotel. now on our 3rd day in this country i've found my feet, so to speak, and it no longer feels like every cyclist and tram driver is trying to kill me... or maybe i'm just getting better at avoiding them. once again we manage to find ourselves i the RLD completely by accident. it was between wherever we were and where looked interesting. the main harbor and the NEMO Science Centre is chanced upon in the same way - a huge green facility that i suppose is designed to be reminiscent of a sailing ship. by the time we're done with lunch we've had enough and resolve to spend an hour or so in Rotterdam on the way back to the ferry so bags are recovered and we sit on the train listening to our PSD's as we watch the countryside roll by again in reverse order.
after the "stuck at the turn of the last century" vibe of Amsterdam, Rotterdam's blisteringly modern - cobble and brick footpaths have given way to concrete and bitumen and we find ourselves in an obvious CBD where i never saw one in Amstedam. for 5PM on a monday afternoon the traffic seems light, but people are still bustling around with the "i'm not in a rush, but there are still places i'd rather be" attitude i've come to associate with the Dutch. i may have completely the wrong idea, but what the hell?
we find a cafe and drink coffee if for no other reason than that caffeine is good and we're not in the mood to wander far, and after a few hours we've decided we've seen enough and are between countries again.
i'd love to say more about the experience, but that's really it. it's been nice, but i'm underwealmed by it all. there's a new sticker on my Eee as a sort of "haha - see where i've been" to any onlookers, but that's all i'm leaving with souvenier-wise. if i'd wanted to be on the go the whole time i'd have been disappointed, but since i just wanted to cruise it was great. that said, if i REALLY wanted to cruise there's beaches in Fiji i've not swum at... but then a good coffee can be hard to find on a desert island. i came, i saw, i left again... and i can see this being a theme in the coming months as i gear up more and more towards what i think may be an impending European Backpacking Odyssey. in the meantime, there's a shower waiting for me which promises to clean the top 3 layers of skin off my back and a bunk calling with the promise of too little substandard sleep.
this day's been one of relaxed cruising. neither of us could think of anything we desperately wanted to do before we left, so we hit the street and wandered some more, meandering our way through now familiar streets and the peacefulness of the canals with out bags left in the relatative security of the hotel. now on our 3rd day in this country i've found my feet, so to speak, and it no longer feels like every cyclist and tram driver is trying to kill me... or maybe i'm just getting better at avoiding them. once again we manage to find ourselves i the RLD completely by accident. it was between wherever we were and where looked interesting. the main harbor and the NEMO Science Centre is chanced upon in the same way - a huge green facility that i suppose is designed to be reminiscent of a sailing ship. by the time we're done with lunch we've had enough and resolve to spend an hour or so in Rotterdam on the way back to the ferry so bags are recovered and we sit on the train listening to our PSD's as we watch the countryside roll by again in reverse order.
after the "stuck at the turn of the last century" vibe of Amsterdam, Rotterdam's blisteringly modern - cobble and brick footpaths have given way to concrete and bitumen and we find ourselves in an obvious CBD where i never saw one in Amstedam. for 5PM on a monday afternoon the traffic seems light, but people are still bustling around with the "i'm not in a rush, but there are still places i'd rather be" attitude i've come to associate with the Dutch. i may have completely the wrong idea, but what the hell?
we find a cafe and drink coffee if for no other reason than that caffeine is good and we're not in the mood to wander far, and after a few hours we've decided we've seen enough and are between countries again.
i'd love to say more about the experience, but that's really it. it's been nice, but i'm underwealmed by it all. there's a new sticker on my Eee as a sort of "haha - see where i've been" to any onlookers, but that's all i'm leaving with souvenier-wise. if i'd wanted to be on the go the whole time i'd have been disappointed, but since i just wanted to cruise it was great. that said, if i REALLY wanted to cruise there's beaches in Fiji i've not swum at... but then a good coffee can be hard to find on a desert island. i came, i saw, i left again... and i can see this being a theme in the coming months as i gear up more and more towards what i think may be an impending European Backpacking Odyssey. in the meantime, there's a shower waiting for me which promises to clean the top 3 layers of skin off my back and a bunk calling with the promise of too little substandard sleep.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Amsterdam: where XXX doesn't mean what you think it means...
Liverpool St Station is packed when we get there, luggage in tow. some fool's organised a Facebook Flashmob to convene in the foyer. i'm all for anarchistic protests and celebrations of public space by the public, but there are people trying to use this as a fucking train station you inconsiderate motherfuckers. the police-presence is massive - i stop counting at 20 of them, standing around eyeing everyone off, trying to work out who's travelling somewhere and who's there just for fun and they're getting more in the way than the Flashmobbers. next time go meet up in a Maccas or in front of Westminster or fucking Piccadilly Circus.
i'd met Louise at the station with her bag to save her from having to cart it in to work and then out again. between my ever-present shoulder bag and backpack, i still have a hand free when i'm dragging her little rolling luggage so it bothers me not at all. after sorting out our tickets (we had them all along, they just didn't look right, so there was something of a panic while we ran around trying to find an internet connection i could hook into with my Eee and check the details) we grab some food, then navigate the gauntlet of "For Your Protection" (yes we are travelling - can't you see the backpack and rolling luggage?) and find our train to Harwich. the arrangement is beautifully elegant: on the one site you book your ferry passage on Stena Lines from London to Hoek Van Holland. the package includes Liverpool St to Harwich tickets on the train for the day you leave, then Hoek Van Holland to ANY DUTCH STATION tickets for the next day when you arrive. yeah - ANY Dutch station, so no matter where you're going you're covered. hell - you could ride the Dutch rail system all day long if you wanted.
2 hours or so later we've got to Harwich, through customs and found our cabin on the ferry. it's not huge - 2 bunks, a little couchy thing and an ensuite bathroom, but it's all you need for an overnighter. the bar is hit where we burn the last of Louise's euro-change before we decide to sod it all off, grab a bottle of el-cheapo Californian wine from the duty-free shop (the entire bottle is ~50c more expensive than the glass Louise had at the bar, with the benefit that we have the comfort of our cabin to enjoy it in. win!) and we bed down for the night.
the beds are comfortable, but neither of us sleeps well. i have another shower under the torrent of scalding water the shower provides to wake up and we're off, through immigration and out into the Dutch morning. add a couple of hours and we've passed through Rotterdam and emerged slightly lost at Amstel Station in Amsterdam. the train from Rotterdam passes through village after village, spaced out by well irrigated (or is that "drained" pasture with the occasional windmill or turbine spinning in the distance. every available surface is graffiti'd, but not the train, or anything that looks to be of value. some of it's beautiful, most of it's amateur, but no one seems bothered by it. i can't decide whether i like it or not - i love graffiti art, i hate tagging random pieces of wall... but then most of the walls were grey and boring to start with so why not add some colour where you can?
we follow the map we printed out off the hotel website, only to realise that it's wrong. luckily my man Dan is staying in the same hotel and he comes and finds us. through happy coincidence Inspector Morse was in Amsterdam for an interview the day before and was staying until Sunday, giving us a day to run around, and run around we did. bags get dumped, maps acquired, and we're off into Centraal to find food, fun and adventure, which comes in the form of getting minorly lost, nearly run over by trams and flocks of pushbike riders with a god-complex, the Van Gogh Museum and the Heineken Experience (a tour through their old, inactive brewery, followed by getting fed beer and advertised at). hiking back to the hotel for a change of clothes and it's back out on the street in search of something to fill out stomachs prior to a night on the town. Amsterdam's an odd place to wander around after London. it's still flat, but full of canals, and you can turn down an seemingly innocuous road and realise that you were one street away from a restaurant or shopping district. there's Mexican, pub food, french, Italian, Indian, Thai, Indo (not to mention a thousand places to get great chips and mayo) and a noticeable amount of Argentinian food around, which is where we fetch up, waiting an hour for food to show up which turns out to be fantastic. throwing caution (and budgets) to the wind, Dan and i embark on the Meat Odyssey - a charcoal burner full of meat which lands on the table with escorting side-salads and we enjoy the most high-quality protein either of us have had in since we'd left. Louise sits through the whole thing listening to us moaning with the happiness of the satisfied carnivore with a smile on her face - i gather the show we put on was just as enjoyable as her meal was, although when i gave her a couple of bites to try she understood.
staggering out of the restaurant we find the red light district and wander around for a while, finding a couple of pubs and getting ourselves nicely wasted before finding our way back to the hotel... more by luck and guesswork than by skill or map-reading. none of us were in any condition to read the map anyway.
the next morning is a slow start. we're all hungover, but Dan and i grab some food from the breakfast bar while Louise gets an extra half hour of kip. he's got to get to Amsterdam Centraal Station for his flight out, so the day becomes one less of touristing and more of wandering around the canals and seeing what the place is really like to live there. there's a motivation behind this greater than exploration though - Dan's trying to work out whether he wants to take the job he interviewed for if it's offered. it's a hard call and he's going back and forth. on one hand, he's a raver and Holland would be insane for that. on the other, he's gotten attached to London and isn't relishing the idea of trying to make friends in a country where he doesn't speak the main language. it occupies most of our conversation until we put him on his train at 2ish.
this leaves me and Louise at a bit of a loose end. neither of us had come out to Amsterdam with much of an agenda past "get out of London for a weekend and have a couple of big nights out", so we take stock and check the map. taking a canal-boat ride is traditional, but too expensive for our tastes. after some meandering which took us unexpectedly through the Red Light District again we fetch up at the Jewish History Museum (don't bother unless you're really REALLY keen on Jewish History), followed by a short bus ride (the only bus i'd seen so far, but i'll get to that) to Anne Frank's House on the other side of town (DO bother - it's surprisingly interesting). out of there and we're wandering towards hotel, enormous burritos and another heavy night of drinking in front of Dutch television.
the Red Light District in Amsterdam is a curious beast. i've been to the equivalent in Bangkok and from that experience i was wary. Amsterdam was as far away as you could get while still being the same sort of thing. when we wandered through last night there was the scent of sleaze in the air. the streets are full of students on Eurotrip, smiling police paying less attention than you'd expect, tourists there for the spectacle, drunken louts who've come to make a mess, interspersed with actual punters looking for a good time and seedy looking men on standing in the shadows muttering things like "coca, coca, coke" and "heroin? got heroin...". these guys don't really seem to bother anyone. they're there. they're touting their wares, but they're not in your face and they're not trying to shove it down your throat. meanwhile, every so often you'll pass a series of 7"x3" windows with red fluorescent borders illuminating a girl in a bikini or similar who's generally standing there looking bored and smoking a cigarette. big girls, small girls, young and old, smoking hot or somewhat not so, they're there and they're working. a little research will tell you that they're actually incredibly well treated - there's a Support Centre (or so i'm told) where not only will they help you get out of the industry, but help you get IN if that's what you want to do - who to talk to, what the laws are, where to get medical advice... i heard this and i just about fell over.
the RHD didn't seem like a particularly happy place... these sort of districts don't leave me with the sweetest taste in my mouth. still, there was a vibe of "safe" fun to the place. i never felt like i'd be assaulted or attacked or coerced into losing my cash... but of course, anyone who wants to spend some cash would be well accommodated. it's clean, regulated depravity, with a constant whiff of high-quality marijuana for perfume. yeah, it's there. it's EVERYWHERE. "Coffee Shops" differentiate themselves from the cafes in that they ALSO sell coffee. the locals don't seem to care. go have your fun. get a couple of joints into you and you'll not be starting any fights, and you're less likely to vomit in someone's garden than if you go 10 pints and stagger home with a skin full.
the Dutch seem to be the most permissive, accepting people i've met anywhere. anywhere i went i was greeted with a smile and a hello. there were a couple of times i'd walk into a cafe to be greeted in Dutch - i'd smile and say "sorry... english?" and they'd just switch over for you. no english version of the menu? they'll be happy to translate for you. directions? happy to oblige. an ounce of award winning pot after banging an attractive prostitute? might i recommend my favourite establishment good sir? they don't care, just don't fuck around and be an arsehole and everything's mintox. i was really starting to dig it.
another thing you notice really quickly is the transport, and not just that the cars drive on the wrong side of the road compared to what i'm used to (i kept checking both ways before i crossed a lane to remind myself of which way the traffic was going to come from). yeah, there are plenty of cars, but i never once saw a petrol station. pushbikes are the kings of transport, and the only reason i think the trams have right of way is because they're bigger and will fuck your shit up. most of the "footpaths" are actually cycle paths, and woe betide he who strays onto one. put one foot wrong and i'll be greeted by bells. the cycle path us usually broader than the footpath, and while people will put signs and rubbish bins and cars in the way of peds, cyclists get free reign. everywhere we went there were people giving each other dinkies on pushies. even tandem bikes were not uncommon. and i wasn't kidding about the trams - they're frequent and fast and you get the feeling that they'll only stop to scrape you out of the gears, then they're off again.
still, we've another day here tomorrow. no idea what we'll get up to, but i'm not really fussed to be honest. it's refreshing to not have an agenda and be free to just wander. they'll be coffee whenever i want it, and canals to walk down. it's been overcast and dreary since we got here and i can't help but feel that if it was sunny it'd all seem just that much happier. still, i'm loving the cruisy pace everything seems to be at. every canal is lined with houseboats, and everyone seems to ride these rusty, clapped out old bikes. i haven't seen a fat person since i got here, except for maybe a tourist or two. Amsterdam seems full of fit, contented people going about their lives with no concern whatsoever. if only Canberra could be so contented...
i'd met Louise at the station with her bag to save her from having to cart it in to work and then out again. between my ever-present shoulder bag and backpack, i still have a hand free when i'm dragging her little rolling luggage so it bothers me not at all. after sorting out our tickets (we had them all along, they just didn't look right, so there was something of a panic while we ran around trying to find an internet connection i could hook into with my Eee and check the details) we grab some food, then navigate the gauntlet of "For Your Protection" (yes we are travelling - can't you see the backpack and rolling luggage?) and find our train to Harwich. the arrangement is beautifully elegant: on the one site you book your ferry passage on Stena Lines from London to Hoek Van Holland. the package includes Liverpool St to Harwich tickets on the train for the day you leave, then Hoek Van Holland to ANY DUTCH STATION tickets for the next day when you arrive. yeah - ANY Dutch station, so no matter where you're going you're covered. hell - you could ride the Dutch rail system all day long if you wanted.
2 hours or so later we've got to Harwich, through customs and found our cabin on the ferry. it's not huge - 2 bunks, a little couchy thing and an ensuite bathroom, but it's all you need for an overnighter. the bar is hit where we burn the last of Louise's euro-change before we decide to sod it all off, grab a bottle of el-cheapo Californian wine from the duty-free shop (the entire bottle is ~50c more expensive than the glass Louise had at the bar, with the benefit that we have the comfort of our cabin to enjoy it in. win!) and we bed down for the night.
the beds are comfortable, but neither of us sleeps well. i have another shower under the torrent of scalding water the shower provides to wake up and we're off, through immigration and out into the Dutch morning. add a couple of hours and we've passed through Rotterdam and emerged slightly lost at Amstel Station in Amsterdam. the train from Rotterdam passes through village after village, spaced out by well irrigated (or is that "drained" pasture with the occasional windmill or turbine spinning in the distance. every available surface is graffiti'd, but not the train, or anything that looks to be of value. some of it's beautiful, most of it's amateur, but no one seems bothered by it. i can't decide whether i like it or not - i love graffiti art, i hate tagging random pieces of wall... but then most of the walls were grey and boring to start with so why not add some colour where you can?
we follow the map we printed out off the hotel website, only to realise that it's wrong. luckily my man Dan is staying in the same hotel and he comes and finds us. through happy coincidence Inspector Morse was in Amsterdam for an interview the day before and was staying until Sunday, giving us a day to run around, and run around we did. bags get dumped, maps acquired, and we're off into Centraal to find food, fun and adventure, which comes in the form of getting minorly lost, nearly run over by trams and flocks of pushbike riders with a god-complex, the Van Gogh Museum and the Heineken Experience (a tour through their old, inactive brewery, followed by getting fed beer and advertised at). hiking back to the hotel for a change of clothes and it's back out on the street in search of something to fill out stomachs prior to a night on the town. Amsterdam's an odd place to wander around after London. it's still flat, but full of canals, and you can turn down an seemingly innocuous road and realise that you were one street away from a restaurant or shopping district. there's Mexican, pub food, french, Italian, Indian, Thai, Indo (not to mention a thousand places to get great chips and mayo) and a noticeable amount of Argentinian food around, which is where we fetch up, waiting an hour for food to show up which turns out to be fantastic. throwing caution (and budgets) to the wind, Dan and i embark on the Meat Odyssey - a charcoal burner full of meat which lands on the table with escorting side-salads and we enjoy the most high-quality protein either of us have had in since we'd left. Louise sits through the whole thing listening to us moaning with the happiness of the satisfied carnivore with a smile on her face - i gather the show we put on was just as enjoyable as her meal was, although when i gave her a couple of bites to try she understood.
staggering out of the restaurant we find the red light district and wander around for a while, finding a couple of pubs and getting ourselves nicely wasted before finding our way back to the hotel... more by luck and guesswork than by skill or map-reading. none of us were in any condition to read the map anyway.
the next morning is a slow start. we're all hungover, but Dan and i grab some food from the breakfast bar while Louise gets an extra half hour of kip. he's got to get to Amsterdam Centraal Station for his flight out, so the day becomes one less of touristing and more of wandering around the canals and seeing what the place is really like to live there. there's a motivation behind this greater than exploration though - Dan's trying to work out whether he wants to take the job he interviewed for if it's offered. it's a hard call and he's going back and forth. on one hand, he's a raver and Holland would be insane for that. on the other, he's gotten attached to London and isn't relishing the idea of trying to make friends in a country where he doesn't speak the main language. it occupies most of our conversation until we put him on his train at 2ish.
this leaves me and Louise at a bit of a loose end. neither of us had come out to Amsterdam with much of an agenda past "get out of London for a weekend and have a couple of big nights out", so we take stock and check the map. taking a canal-boat ride is traditional, but too expensive for our tastes. after some meandering which took us unexpectedly through the Red Light District again we fetch up at the Jewish History Museum (don't bother unless you're really REALLY keen on Jewish History), followed by a short bus ride (the only bus i'd seen so far, but i'll get to that) to Anne Frank's House on the other side of town (DO bother - it's surprisingly interesting). out of there and we're wandering towards hotel, enormous burritos and another heavy night of drinking in front of Dutch television.
the Red Light District in Amsterdam is a curious beast. i've been to the equivalent in Bangkok and from that experience i was wary. Amsterdam was as far away as you could get while still being the same sort of thing. when we wandered through last night there was the scent of sleaze in the air. the streets are full of students on Eurotrip, smiling police paying less attention than you'd expect, tourists there for the spectacle, drunken louts who've come to make a mess, interspersed with actual punters looking for a good time and seedy looking men on standing in the shadows muttering things like "coca, coca, coke" and "heroin? got heroin...". these guys don't really seem to bother anyone. they're there. they're touting their wares, but they're not in your face and they're not trying to shove it down your throat. meanwhile, every so often you'll pass a series of 7"x3" windows with red fluorescent borders illuminating a girl in a bikini or similar who's generally standing there looking bored and smoking a cigarette. big girls, small girls, young and old, smoking hot or somewhat not so, they're there and they're working. a little research will tell you that they're actually incredibly well treated - there's a Support Centre (or so i'm told) where not only will they help you get out of the industry, but help you get IN if that's what you want to do - who to talk to, what the laws are, where to get medical advice... i heard this and i just about fell over.
the RHD didn't seem like a particularly happy place... these sort of districts don't leave me with the sweetest taste in my mouth. still, there was a vibe of "safe" fun to the place. i never felt like i'd be assaulted or attacked or coerced into losing my cash... but of course, anyone who wants to spend some cash would be well accommodated. it's clean, regulated depravity, with a constant whiff of high-quality marijuana for perfume. yeah, it's there. it's EVERYWHERE. "Coffee Shops" differentiate themselves from the cafes in that they ALSO sell coffee. the locals don't seem to care. go have your fun. get a couple of joints into you and you'll not be starting any fights, and you're less likely to vomit in someone's garden than if you go 10 pints and stagger home with a skin full.
the Dutch seem to be the most permissive, accepting people i've met anywhere. anywhere i went i was greeted with a smile and a hello. there were a couple of times i'd walk into a cafe to be greeted in Dutch - i'd smile and say "sorry... english?" and they'd just switch over for you. no english version of the menu? they'll be happy to translate for you. directions? happy to oblige. an ounce of award winning pot after banging an attractive prostitute? might i recommend my favourite establishment good sir? they don't care, just don't fuck around and be an arsehole and everything's mintox. i was really starting to dig it.
another thing you notice really quickly is the transport, and not just that the cars drive on the wrong side of the road compared to what i'm used to (i kept checking both ways before i crossed a lane to remind myself of which way the traffic was going to come from). yeah, there are plenty of cars, but i never once saw a petrol station. pushbikes are the kings of transport, and the only reason i think the trams have right of way is because they're bigger and will fuck your shit up. most of the "footpaths" are actually cycle paths, and woe betide he who strays onto one. put one foot wrong and i'll be greeted by bells. the cycle path us usually broader than the footpath, and while people will put signs and rubbish bins and cars in the way of peds, cyclists get free reign. everywhere we went there were people giving each other dinkies on pushies. even tandem bikes were not uncommon. and i wasn't kidding about the trams - they're frequent and fast and you get the feeling that they'll only stop to scrape you out of the gears, then they're off again.
still, we've another day here tomorrow. no idea what we'll get up to, but i'm not really fussed to be honest. it's refreshing to not have an agenda and be free to just wander. they'll be coffee whenever i want it, and canals to walk down. it's been overcast and dreary since we got here and i can't help but feel that if it was sunny it'd all seem just that much happier. still, i'm loving the cruisy pace everything seems to be at. every canal is lined with houseboats, and everyone seems to ride these rusty, clapped out old bikes. i haven't seen a fat person since i got here, except for maybe a tourist or two. Amsterdam seems full of fit, contented people going about their lives with no concern whatsoever. if only Canberra could be so contented...
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