Exploring London: Part Four

Due to me not writing up each day in detail much lately I have a backlog of seven days to write.... Hopefully I'll tap them out with this post, but likely in a shorter form than previous.

Friday the Twenty-Second of July, Two-Thousand and Eleven
I started my day by catching the tube to Westminster, passing hordes of tourists in the warm summer sun. Rather than queue up for hours to pay to see the inside of a few buildings, I wandered into the Supreme Court. Free and open to the public, and not particularly a tourist sight. Perhaps I would have appreciated it more had I been a law student, but even I was awe-struck sitting in a room where the Privy Council convenes.

I wandered out and found myself walking around the Horse Guard building... exiting through the main entrance, dodging the poop along the way. What greeted me from beyond the blinding light outside were masses of tourists, gathered to photograph the Soldiers of the Horse Guard. For once I felt as if I were being chased by the paparazzi, but no, they were there for the horses...

My stomach called out to me as I gravitated towards Chinatown, craving food and pearl milk tea. Which was odd since I didn't drink pearls in Brisbane all that often... I'm a pudding milk tea boy. It was at "Leong's Legends" that I had lunch, a plate of rice with pork and a powdery pearl milk tea. Sitting alone in the window gazing as the passers-by.

Finishing my late meal, I decided I'd wander around Soho for a while, then walk home, just to see how long it would take. My only stop along the way was at a camera store to pick up some film for my shiny new Lomo. The trip from Soho to Canada Waters, past the British Museum, along the Holborn Viaduct to Tower Bridge, then down Jamaica Road took just over an hour on foot and that was with a number of long detours. Central London ain't that big...

Saturday the Twenty-Third of July, Two-Thousand and Eleven
This day I bummed around until two in the afternoon, when my cousin Arthur arrived. He just recently graduated from law from a university northwards, and came to visit my cousin, her baby and I. After catching up Arthur and I went for a walk, then headed to Cafe East, a Vietnamese restaurant nearby. The pho was great, and the restaurant bustled with a growing number of patrons. Luckily, we had arrived early.

Sunday the Twenty-Fourth of July, Two-Thousand and Eleven
My notes for this day simply state: Lazy.
I think I just ended up watching season five of "How I Met Your Mother"... the Barney and Robin arc...

Sadly the light pollution and clouds each night mean I can't see you, Betelgeuse.
Edwin

Exploring London: Part Three

Since I haven't had a post for the last four days, I figured I'd combine all a few of them in fairly relatively short prose.

Wednesday the Twentieth of July, Two Thousand and Eleven
This was a day of domestic activities and rest. After having breakfast and washing the dishes, I set forth to make my whitey whites whiter. So, I just soaked them for ages and sat on the computer for the rest of the day. Fairly sure I wandered to Tesco's for a bit and bought some toiletries too. Never have I spent so much time just looking at body wash and toothpaste. What can I say? I'm picky and have time to kill. Ended up with a toothpaste with hydrogen peroxide in it, just for kicks, and a shaving brush, which seems kind of crappy quality, but, hey, it was three and a half quid.

Thursday the Twenty-first of July, Two Thousand and Eleven
I decided that I'd try and see just how small London is in terms of ground distance. So after finding my bearings and making note of a few key locations, I went on my way walking from my house near Canada Waters Station in south-east London, through Southwark Park and to Tower Bridge. IT was in Southwark Park that I spotted my first squirrel. A cute lil critter, far less freaky than the Australian possum, and less vindictive too apparently.

The whole journey took about thirty minutes, walking at my usual pace and took me though Bermondsey, which is apparently slightly dodgy due to the larger percentage of government flats. At times I wondered if a certain shady character would mug me, but my worries were baseless and I remained with all my trinkets. I initially aimed to reach a market in Bermondsey, but after taking a wrong turn I ended up much closer to Tower Bridge than I anticipated. As it turned out, that market only opened on Fridays, so I didn't miss out on anything. Luckily, I figured that the distance to the Bermondsey Markets wasn't much less than heading directly to the Borough Markets, which was much larger and opened daily, so decided to head there instead. It also meant I'd be much closer to the Tate Modern.

I walked along the Tower Bridge Walk on South Bank, passing an interesting mix of old and new buildings. Standing next to buildings perhaps hundreds of years old were behemoths of glass and steel. Eventually I wandered to and through the Borough Market, inhaling all the delicious food around me. Eventually I could no longer control the urges my stomach produced and decided on a sausage and baguette. The food was amazing. I had myself a venison and wild bore baguette, and by paying with exact change, scored myself a free lollipop. I chose grape.  The baguette was fresh and the meat strong as is the norm with game. It was a brilliant meal to counter the effects of walking so "far". The rains opened up and I search for cover to feed my wild beast of a stomach some wild beast.

Consuming my meal while on the wandering, I ended up outside the Tate Modern, a gallery of art, and there I stayed. I wandered from room to room, falling into the surreal would that surrounded me. Few words can adequately describe the art around me. I shall leave that to some photos I took. (When I get around to uploading them.) I lost track of time and soon I had been in a surreal world for four hours, having explored the majority of the Tate Modern. The rain outside decided to have a break, allowing me to stride back to the tube station to head home, remaining fairly dry.

Upon arriving home, I was greeted with some fresh mail which included within access to my shiny new bank account. If you'd like to transfer me money, now you can! Haha

Alas, even now I have not seen you, Betelgeuse.
Edwin

Exploring London: Part Two

Well today started differently to my usual day with a glimpse of my dear friends so very far from me. Their hilarious late night antics left me in a good mood for the rest of the day, the bastards. After delaying my departure from the house by around an hour, I escaped the claws of Google Hangout and escaped off to the tube to make my way to London Bridge. Deciding I should add some funds to my Oyster Card, I found myself facing a long row of ticket machines, and a perhaps longer queue of people waiting to use... the manned ticket office. It seemed few people actually knew how to use the machines to top up. Faced with this daunting task, I tried the first machine, but alack! It only accepted coins. Onwards to next machine, which I suspected it accepted notes, based on the note slot and, more distinctly, the label stating "Accepts coins and notes". "Aha!" I thought. The machine was simple, just like the Brisbane Go Card machines; slightly annoying and not as good as the Octopus system in Hong Kong.

I figured that since I had two and a half hours before my bank appointment, I would take a decent stroll along the Thames from London Bridge. As such, I unsurprisingly disembarked the tube at London Bridge Station. More unsurprisingly was the bridge I now faced, for it had no towers and did not raise, for London Bridge is not actually the bridge you might think. It is Tower Bridge that is the iconic drawbridge that houses royal relics. Determined to stand at the midpoint of the Bridge, I made my way eastwards towards Tower Bridge, and along the way passed the HMS Belfast, which I checked into to get the "I'm on a Boat" badge. Along the way I enjoyed the mixture of old stone buildings and cobblestone paths with enormous structures of glass and steel. An architectural overload.

Finally, I arrived at Tower Bridge. The sun's rays beamed down onto the bridge drawing the diurnal breed of tourist out; the ones with bum bags and cameras which far outweigh their needs. I dodged and dashed around the docile denizens, drawing nearer to the drawbridge's apex. There I stood, feeling each bump as a vehicle travelled over the bridge's midpoint. After a few odd looks from passers-by, I continued to the other side of the bridge, where I was greeted with a "One photo please?" To which I happily obliged. After all the photo was not of me, but rather the gent who required someone to take his photo. Luckily for him, he found me and my better than average framing technique.

As with yesterday, my stomach called out to me, demanding to be fed. I found myself wandering along Fleet St, passing a number of old buildings, and perhaps even the original Barclays Branch but, alas, not the one I'd be visiting for my appointment. Eventually, I stopped at a little sandwich shop named "Krüger", whose logo was a U with Umlaut stylised as a smiley face. For a grand £2.85, I scored myself a chicken sandwich, some choc chip cookies and a "cherry-ade", and it didn't taste bad either. Onwards I marched, searching for a place to enjoy my over-half-the-minimum-hourly-wage meal and landed at St Paul's Cathedral. A perfect location to feed... 


The green lawn spread out in front of me and the Cathedral's dome shone, illuminated by the sun's rays. This quickly changed as menacing grey clouds sailed towards me like the Spanish Armada, firing rain instead of cannonballs. Luckily, I had my umbrella with me and, being the lazy gent I am, balanced it on my shoulder as I ate. The rains quickly vanished and the radiant sun returned drying out all that was wet. My stomach decided that it no longer need as much sustenance as I provided, so decided to share some bread with the pigeons around me. Cracking open my Cherry-ade, I wandered onwards towards the bank for it was getting close to my scheduled appointment.

Arriving slightly early, I met with my personal banker and started the process to open a bank account. Slightly distracted by the banker's concerned glances behind me, I wondered what was going on. Apparently, a fire had started on the top floor of the building and, consequently, we had to evacuate the building. We headed outside into the rain, the Barclays staff huddled in the small shelter next door and thankfully I had brought my umbrella with me. In the distance, we could hear the fire engines' sirens wail and soon they arrived. All four. Within seconds, six or more fire fighters came out rushing upstairs. The remaining three fire engines drove off. British efficiency for you. Speaking of which, there was little actual fire to be put out, and only half an hour later I received the call to head back to the bank, as I had gotten quite bored waiting in the rain and decided to go for a wander around.

The appointment to open a bank account was more like an interview, with the banker asking me about my hobbies and future ambitions, about my insurance and qualifications, about why I decided to move to the UK. The gent was nice enough though, prompting me with little hints as to what he would note down on my profile. Thankfully, it was more like having a conversation rather than an interrogation. Finally, after all the fuss, I had my bank account set up, along with a savings account and my cash deposited. Mostly... still have a bit more to deposit... but I'll do that after I can access it.

Deciding that it was much too early to head home, I wandered off northward and found Covent Gardens. It wasn't until I was close did I hear the sound of live opera. Performed by a busker, surprisingly. Who sang "Nessun Dorma", one of my favourite arias that always sends a shiver down my spine. There I stood enjoying the mixture of opera and comedic street performance. (A video will be uploaded eventually.) It was only after that I had an inkling to find the Opera House, and coincidentally it was only a block away. My next way point was decided and onwards I plodded, facing the crowds of tourists and the cold drizzle.

The Royal Opera House was huge and though it was closed it still was impressive. I look forward to the day I can watch a show there but for now I will have to attend smaller productions, if any. Attempting to avoid the rain, I made my way towards some nearby shops and stumbled upon the second Muji I've seen, but this time I decided to wander in. It was not until I was well into the store did I feel that I had been there before. The feeling of déjà vu was extremely strong, forcing me to stop and make sure that this was not a dream. That I was actually here. That this was real. I fought the urge to follow through with what I knew would happen, but eventually I gave in to my predetermined path through the store, knowing which items I'd peruse and which price tags I'd take note of well before I even saw them. Perhaps subconsciously I knew where I'd be three years ago. Sorry.

After visiting Muji, I made my way to Banana Republic, but wasn't all that interested in their wares. So onwards I wandered, ending up once again as Trafalgar Square. Upon arrival, I decided that I'd wander on down towards Westminster and see Big Ben. The winds changed midway through my trip and the rains opened up, just as I passed "The Red Lion", just outside where Rupert Murdoch was being questioned. Amongst the camera crews and photographers I waited, for both the rain to pass, and to catch a glimpse of the chaos of journalism. The tip off was wrong, Murdoch took a different exit. The camerapeople bolted to the other exit, hoping their legs would carry them faster than Murdoch's Black Landrovers.

The moment was over so there was little of interest left to see. The rain had lightened too and so I continued towards Big Ben. When I arrived it was peak hour with people, cars and buses rushing about. The ambiance was lost, the scene wrong. I took a snap and decided I too would melt into the peak hour traffic headed towards the underground station. Yet I could not melt into it as there stood a mother with a pram, her friend and two other children, struggling to descend the wet steps carrying the young baby in pram. So I helped carry child and pram down the stairs, slowly and carefully so as to not drop the stroller nor slip and fall myself. Success. We landed safely at the bottom of the stairs and I continued on my way. Perhaps I left a tad too early as I noticed more steps along the path to the station. Hopefully they managed fine. Onward I travelled, drifting along the river of people, emptying out to the sea named home.

The sun sets too late for me to see you, Betelgeuse.
Edwin
2011-07-19

Exploring London: Part One

After wandering to the closest Barclays Bank Branch and being told I'd have to wait a week to open an account, but could try another, larger branch, I made my way to Canada Waters Underground Station to continue on towards Waterloo Station, just a short walk from the London Eye. Not feeling all that touristy, I decided to skip visiting the London Eye and instead made my way across the Hungerford Bridge passing a gaggle of graduates, to finally enter Central London.

I first made my way to the Strand to find myself another Barclays branch to open up and account with. Unfortunately, I couldn't open one on the spot, but have myself an appointment and a reason to go wandering again tomorrow. You might ponder the question, "why does he insist on a Barclays account?". Well my dear friend, simply put, the Barclays card looks awesome with their blue eagle on white background. That and their presence in Europe but I digress...back to our story.

Passing many theatres along the way, with a smorgasbord of plays, musicals, operas and ballets on show, I wandered towards Trafalgar Square and made a little game of spotting the tourist. This game, however, did not last long as nearly everyone around me was a tourist, and I wondered, "Am I just as obvious a tourist as them?". After all, I was rocking my favourite "New World Order" threadless tee and my usual grey blazer, with houndstooth pants (or trousers as they're known here). Perhaps the lack of a backpack, bum-bag or tourist map allowed me to blend in better than my contemporaries.

Deciding that the weather, while not raining, was not that great and the lack of a decent camera meant I had little incentive to take a few happy snaps for the masses, I made my move onwards to Tottenham Court Road, apparently the computer parts area. Through the winding roads I trundled, hoping that I was headed in the right direction. I wasn't. Lost in the small back streets filled with restaurants and speciality shops, I brought of my trusty phone and found my bearings with the aid of Google Maps...

Even with a legion of celestial, ground-based and handheld aids, I remained somewhat lost. Though I suspect human error comes into play quite largely... as I ignored their directions and continued my expedition into the well-known. The inherent tendency to aggregate with those of similar genetic heritage lead me to Chinatown, where I found such exotic drinks as "Bubble Tea". Moving on.

Also along the way, I found a number of bookshops and guitar shops with quality ukuleles for purchase, which I suspect I'll be perusing over in the near future. Eventually, I made it to Tottenham Court Road and was thoroughly unimpressed with the selection of computer stores. Clearly, Google had lied to me, then again, few compare to the electronic sprawls, of Hong Kong, Taipei, or Akihabara, that I had grow accustomed to. I did, however, stumble across what seems to be the stationary section of London, with store after store of stationary, along with one of my favourites: Muji.

Finally the grey clouds above broke open and the rains cascaded down. Well, not really cascaded... but more sputtered... Many around me were much better prepared and were carrying umbrellas, but, alas, my laziness meant I just had to enjoy the rain, and enjoy it I did. Thoroughly.

Between enjoying the rain, I hopped into the various shops along the way, more stationary shops, spectacles shops, and whatever tickled my fancy. My stomach, however, felt more attracted to food stores and while spoilt for choice, I decided a once-tried and tested chain store, "Pret A Manger", which does a nice organic selection of sandwiches and rolls. Going with a fresh Club Sandwich and a bottle of Pomegranate juice, I found my way towards the closest sitting area, which happened to be St Anne's Anglican Church. The rain had stopped and drying out in the sun munching on my sandwich felt good. A hobo slept in the corner, hopefully not a reflection of my future...

Stomach now satisfied, I continued my journey without a destination and eventually found my way to Piccadilly Station, home of "Eros" as signed, or more accurately "Anteros", the god of selfless love. It was here that I stood facing a fork in the road, do I go down to Piccadilly Station and avoid the rush hour, or do I continue on my way. While the former was the more sensible option, considering I was carrying about five hundred quid, I chose to continue my exploration. Yet again the heavens cried and, after taking a number of "wrong" turns, I continued to enjoy it's refreshing tears such that the soles of my shoes were starting to feel damp. It was then I decided I'd better stop ignoring, the now almost depleted, navigator of mine and find my way back to Waterloo.

Passing the Ministry of Defence, I made my way along the Thames and eventually hit Hungerford Bridge once again. Crossing once again, I noticed that another gaggle of graduates had emerged from their ceremony, yet again with hoods lined with magenta. From here I made my way back to Canada Waters via the tube, and thankfully did not have to be pried out from the train like a sardine from a tin. The rain had be long gone and the sun was shining, allowing me to dry off and plod along home in slightly squidgy shoes.

What greeted me when I arrived home was two world class chefs cooking away in the kitchen. A fantastic meal of bangers and mash with a wine gravy and a glass of wine to top it off.

A rough outline of the route I took:

View Larger Map
I am content, though I'd still like to see you Betelgeuse.
Edwin
2011-07-18

Note: I try to write these posts at the end of each day, but don't usually post them until a few days after when I get time to sit down and edit. Hence why there's three posts today. Hope you enjoy reading them.

Back to London

My last two day in Chelmsford were fairly uneventful, apart from a short drive and the rain, which finally arrived. The grey clouds had been looming overhead for the last few days but finally the broke. Housebound, I packed my things and went back to work on fixing my friend's father's computer. Vista, you fiend! Thankfully, my suspicion that it was a Windows service, and not a third party one, was correct. Eventuating in a computer that no longer froze after boot and also worked nicely with the TV. Alas, my geeky ways have followed me across the planet.... though I do suspect that was predetermined as I had set up my desktop to be remotely accessible, controllable and even bootable...

Moving on. I ventured onto the train platform of Chelmsford Station, navigating my way through the old brick building, to find myself an elevator. I was, after all, not up to the challenge of multiple flights of stairs with wet sneakers and about thirty-five kilograms of luggage. The train arrived shortly after and I finally made my way back to the sprawl of London.

I disembarked at Stratford Station and made my way to the underground. Keeping an eye out for gates to pass through to make use of my ticket. Eventually, I found myself on the tube heading to my destination of Canada Waters, without passing ticketing gates. Unfortunately, this meant I'd have to exit without actually buying, or tagging on for, a ticket... Hoping my Oyster card would be rejected, and that I'd be able to claim that I was a newbie tourist at the ticket office, I made my way towards the gate. Surprisingly, tagging off did work and the gate swung open towards the grey streets of London. (Actually, it was more just the usual station lobby of stairs and escalators, but that doesn't sound as dramatic.) My Oyster card cried as the tagging finished, for it had been drain of about £4, about three times the normal trip cost.

Exiting the station, I was relieved to see other Asians about and not just those of the Indian sub-continent. My time in Chelmsford made me wonder if there were other yellow folk about, but perhaps the population in Chelmsford is much more akin to that of the population of Asians in Ipswich... amongst other similarities...

Three turns and a block later, I arrived at my new temporary home. Greeted with not only two brilliant chefs and a hot meal, but a classical guitar in need of some strumming. Perhaps tomorrow I'll greet my two-month old first cousin once removed, for she was asleep... mostly.

I'll have to show her Betelgeuse when she's older too.
Edwin
2011-07-16/17

Paper Mill Loch

A shorter post today, as it's been nearly four days since this adventure.

After our mini road trip across the English countryside, my friend and I had a day of rest before wandering off to Paper Mill Lock. The walk itself took a good two and a half hours, through fields and along rivers. The highlights of my walk include feeding some horses and the foals, learning how a lock works to lower or raise boats and devouring product from some of the farms. The two main fields around were rapeseed, used to make canola oil, and wheat, which in its unprocessed form is a bit boring. By unprocessed, I mean not-in-cake form.

Along the way, we saw a number of narrow boats. Boats designed to travel along the canals of England. Some of which are long enough to live in comfortably. Perhaps I'll do that one day... but only after I get myself a yacht to sail around the Mediterranean.

Perhaps I'll learn to navigate by the stars. I hope you'll help me, Betelgeuse.
Edwin
Date of Wander: 2011-07-14
Date Written: 2011-07-18

Rolling Hills: Day 2 - Bognor Regis

After waking up to the sound of departing semi-trailers and a windscreen soaked with condensation, we made our way to the service station to freshen up and snack. Deciding we were too tired and too lazy to head back to Portsmouth for the Maritime Museum, we blindly drove until reaching Bognor Regis.

Bognor Regis, the coastal resort of the Kings!

..Or royal family members who may have at some point visited... possibly to by shoes (so says a plaque).

It was a dreary place at eight in the morning, with a slight ocean breeze that was more bone chilling than refreshing. Its beach was brown and pebbly, with decaying piers groping out towards France. Unfortunately, the seaside towns of England have fallen into disarray, starved of funds as holiday makers fly to the Mediterranean to get their dose of Vitamin D. We came up with naught searching for a breakfast cafe, and decided to make our way towards Brighton, another seaside town, but famous for another reason. Its white chalk cliffs.

We entered Brighton knowing that parking would be hell, so made our way through Brighton towards Rottingdean, a smaller town just east of Brighton. On the way we passed many a Victorian-era building, all built for the Victorian rich and famous. Rottingdean, however, was for more humble folk, and consequently featured more Bed and Breakfasts than five-star hotels. Parking on a cliff, we made our way down to the waters edge, to marvel at the chalk cliffs. The cliffs had clearly appeared over the years through weathering, and it's face was left a relatively smooth white, but with layers of "pimples", which were striations of flint embedded in the chalk. Satisfied by our toasted paninis and sunny view, we decided to drive onwards to return home later that day.

Taking a few wrong turns here and there we ended up driving through Ashdown Forest. Making a few stops to snack and absorb the freshly generated oxygen; of which one stop was Bolebroke Castle. Sadly, this castle was more a holiday home for King Henry VIII and due to a lack of visitors, somewhat dilapidated. After a quick cup of tea, we made our way back to the M25, the main highway that would lead us to our destination, and towards a couple of soft beds. Alas, our journey could not be completed without figuring out the oddities that are British road signs.

Instead of numbers for speed limits or short phrases for warnings, the British use symbols and stripes, that would mean nothing to the unknowing (i.e. us). Dealing with the obscure signs, and the sometimes hilarious road rage of fellow drivers, we finally made our way back to Chelmsford, where we prompted ate and passed out.

Sadly, I couldn't see you while sleeping in the car, Betelgeuse.
Edwin
2011-07-13