Intermission

I'm still traveling, and still blogging, but my love of technology has ham-strung me. I'm typing the entries up meticulously on my laptop, but due to the limitations of wireless networks (ie: there's none available), I can't upload them.

Good stories are on their way, I promise.

Day 12 – Poland and Propaganda.

We wake around midday, starving and wanting to see more of our new city, but before that, let me wrap up yesterday.

Firstly, our passports were not checked between Berlin and Krakow. Whether this isn't done, they do random spot checks or we successfully avoided a more thorough examination, I don't know, but we did. Secondly, the hostel we are in has a massive thick wooden door. Through this door, you have a broad tiled hallway, leading to a second wooden door. Through this door is a small courtyard, with a door in the opposite side leading to the hostel reception and rooms. Our room is on the fourth floor, and the reception staff are nice. (he looks a bit like a guy I went to high school with) Thirdly, my cold is getting worse, and I'm sick to the back teeth of it.

I wake to find D and J have headed off for food. Only having one key, and not knowing where they are, I send an SMS telling them I'm out and about, and will meet them back shortly. I am yet to get any currency, so my first port of call is an ATM, where I find out quite quickly, I have NO money. NONE. Panic enters, stage left.

Racing back to the hostel I jump on the computer and check my accounts, the resulting information calming me completely, and allowing me to form a new understanding of ATM's overseas. I use a credit card for all my banking, having all my accounts linked through it. My new info now shows that unless you get a choice of account on an ATM, they use the card type as a default (ie: credit), and draw the funds directly from there. So, I'm not out of money, rather my credit card is dead broke. A simple remedy of funds transfer applied once sees me happier with the state. J and D return shortly after, and we talk about what they saw. The exchange rate has really impressed them, and means we'll be eating like kings for our stay (plus, the size of the dishes is GINORMOUS).

Having regrouped, we head out for another walk around the city, and dinner. We traipse around the Old Town, and see some of the sights. Krakow as a city, is built around Vavel Castle, in two areas. The first area, is Old Town, which inhabits the space the original city would have (most buildings are fairly new, only a few hundred years old). The middle of Old Town is dominated by an open air market, that seems to run almost all hours of the day. Here you can by crafts, souvenirs, and a wide range of foods. We walk the square, and head down a street to walk by the castle itself. Sitting on the peak of a large hill, Vavel Castle overlooks all of Krakow, in remarkably good condition. After sighting a human sized beer tankard heading our way on it's own two legs, we continue our way out of Old Town.

J noted with some irony, that Old Town looks better and newer than the rest of Krakow, This can only be explained by the cycle of tourist money that is required to make an area more enticing, so as to make more money itself. Krakow itself is quite grey. There are tram lines, running an assortment of models, one that is the spitting image of the current 'new' trams in Melbourne. We head on and finally find a burrito bar for dinner. The burritos we order are massive, and leave us worried that we won't be able to finish the order. We make it through, feeling swollen, and head down the street for a drink. Finding a rather ramshackle looking place called “Propaganda”, we head in to find a liberally decorated bar, full of communist-era relics, posters and very very dim lighting. We drink, enjoy the gloom, and then head into the night again (D says the wine is atrocious). I head back to the hostel, my head feeling heavy and sore with cold symptoms again, the other two hunt down a jazz bar. Sleep shouldn't be a problem, tomorrow it might be as we are aiming to visit Auschwitz.

New Thing Learnt Today – Mexican food outside of Mexico is a varying affair.

Day 11 – Border Hopping and Secret Police.

Our final day in Berlin, we leave the hostel to make arrangements for our next leg. The working plan evolved last night quite quickly, the initial idea being that we head to Belgium to eat all the chocolate. Not a bad plan, but like so many, it did not survive contact with the enemy: ie timetables and expense. We could do Belgium, at a cost of 100 euros each, on a 12 hour train trip...and then not actually have a way back to London. (Ryan Air, the domestic/international european version of Jetstar and Virgin Blue, doesn't leave from Belgium for London!) Or...we could look elsewhere. We settle on Poland, it's new territory for the three of us, and it's also blessed with a way back to the UK. Buying our train tickets, we figure we have enough time to see some more of Berlin.

After learning about the struggles and political strangleholds that have afflicted Berlin, I was really curious to learn more about what was going on within the city itself. By now our knowledge of the Nazi movement, WW2 and the East/West Berlin scenarios are pretty good, but they are quite large-scale. Life within the city during those events was a very interesting, and in many cases terrifying, time. Our map had the “Stasi” museum marked on it, and like many important museums and displays in Berlin, it was totally free. We head there, and find it's not far off the track we've beaten for ourselves.

Supplied with english translations of the important displays, we make our way around. The Stasi started out in a dangerously flexible fashion. Being appointed for security, their charter was quite open and allowed them a lot of lateral flexibility. Over time they gained more and more powers, and became more and more aligned politically. Their role evolved to the point that they were becoming a secret police force tasked with monitoring the general populace for signs of insurgents, anti-party activities and espionage. The department grew and grew, at one time having 91,000 full-time staff, and 170,000 “unofficial collaborators” (snitches, informants, etc). The estimated ratio at it's peak was one Stasi member for every 24 Berliners, a hideous saturation and covert repression of all manner of basic rights.

The Stasi were involved in all kinds of clever and immoral activities – they tapped phone lines with abandon, could censor mail in any manner they deemed appropriate, counter-espionage tactics and equipment were created in meticulous manners. Their spycraft was mostly gained from stolen western technology, but advanced and re-applied in all manner of equipment. On top of that, it wasn't uncommon for someone to be pulled in off the street, made to sit on a special chair, and interrogated about their loyalties and activities. The poor person would be panicking and stressing, and in most cases, let straight back out on to the streets. The catch was that the chair had a piece of cloth attached to it that soaked up the sweat of the prisoner, and was then kept so that if that person ever went rogue, they had a method for tracking them down with their tracker dogs. People lived in fear of the Stasi – they could be anywhere, anytime, and working for the Stasi paid well, so the unofficial collaborators were often living quite good lives (covered by official Stasi legends to explain their wealth.) An oppressing time indeed.

As it turns out, this over-saturation appears to be also part of the death-knell of the Stasi's power. Having so heavily infiltrated communities and groups, if that group (such as a church congregation) decided they were going to march in protest, the Stasi spies had no choice but to join in – to step out would blow their cover. Eventually the department was disbanded, and their thousands and thousands of dossiers, reports and profiles were made available. The amount of paperwork they had generated is mountainous, and yet even more documentation was destroyed so as to keep the contents secret. Good riddance to them.

We retreat to the train station, and experience our final Berlin bar. The system here is quite high-tech, with the waitress wearing a mobile order device that allows her to type our request in, and then go serve the next table. The order has been transmitted to the bar/kitchen, and so she can just go pick it up once it's ready – genius!

Boarding the train, we have a cabin to ourselves, but as the tickets read 21, 22, 24 we think that's too good to be true. The train takes off and we start our voyage hurtling north through Germany. We stop at various places along the way, and pass through a barrelling storm that rocks the train ever so ungently. I slip in and out of sleep, mostly as we approach stations, fearing our cabin being invaded – and yes, it happens. A pair of german men join us, but keep fairly to themselves. I doze, and finally we pull screechingly into Warsaw Centralna.

Warsaw Centralna is a dark, concrete cavern. We shuffle up the escalators and find ourselves in concrete corridors, lined with small fluro tube-lit shops. to one side is a roped-off area containing a massive TV camera and crates of gear. We find an ATM, determine the exchange rate is highly in our favour (1 zloty is worth about 50c, or 22p), and get some cash. Further exploration of the station finds us a small smoke-filled bar, where we drink some much needed caffeine before heading out again. Not wanting to get trapped by choice as we were in Berlin, we decide to book our flights home now. A smart move, as we manage to find one at half-price. After wandering the station for another 20-odd minutes, we make our way down to the platform that we earlier determined as sort of being where we need to be (they don't mark the departures and arrivals by platforms, but rather by the group of platforms, ie: platforms 1 and 2 are back-to-back, you get the number of the entire area)

We wait patiently, as a train pulled in a few platforms away steams itself ready. Out of the window hangs 30-odd soccer hooligans waving scarfs, banging windows and chanting various soccer songs. I distinctly recognise the tune to “When The Saints Go Marching In.” Their train begins to pull out, backwards, and the chanting continues...then the train comes roaring back in, the chanting getting louder and more excited, before the train grinds to a halt. Chanting continues, and then abruptly stops. We hear a voice on a megaphone, and finally put two and two together – that camera from earlier is filming them. The director doesn't seem quite happy with that take, and so runs everyone back to their starting positions – train and all.

Ten minutes after our train was due to leave, we start getting a bit anxious. Not being able to speak Polish, our choices are limited. Suddenly, an announcement comes over, and everyone starts moving towards escalators. Figuring that they were waiting for the same trian, and that whatever affects them affects us, we follow. J bumps into someone who does speak english, and gets the gist of what's going on – due to our unruly actor friends, trains are being redirected to different platforms. We follow, happier in this knowledge.

The train backs in and out at least four more times that we see, the scarves waving more and more limply, the chanting becoming more discordant. Our train finally arrives, and I get my first truly eastern European experience. Everyone rushes to board, not caring on the carriage they got on, rather that they are on before it leaves. The train pulls out and we have to battle our way through four over-full carriages before we get to the sleepers. Thankfully we had paid additionally to have a sleeper, and it's well worth it. The beds are not brilliant, but they are mattresses, they have pillows and blankets, and I fall asleep in minutes.

We are woken at 6am by the helpful guard, who repeats “Krakow” as a mantra. We get ready and spend the last 20 minutes of our journey watching the Polish countryside trail by. Arriving at Krakow Glowny, (a much nicer station) we stumble off through a town that has an air about that says to me “Ballarat”, and find our hostel. We get in, we crash.

New Thing Learnt Today – Second Class travel is really not a great idea in Eastern Europe. Pay the premium.

Day 10 – Reichstag and Memories.

Today we have a day of wandering, armed with Tour Guide Mike's stories and knowledge. He very thoughtfully graffiti'd our map with an assortment of circles, acronyms and arrows to indicate places of interest that we really should see, but wouldn't on his tour. We deciphered the hieroglyphs, and recalling our newly gained geographic knowledge, decided to hit the Reichstag as a primary goal.

Marching down the Unter den Linden, we were stopped and asked for directions to a good restaurant. We had to laugh, as the question was asked in the vain hope that we were locals – see? A day here and already we've blended in! We're good. We sent them back the way we came, as we had seen eateries, value and quality being unknown.

The walk continued and took us past the main embassies. The british embassy is a modern design, with street blockades of silver vertical cylinders topped with bright red LED's. We saw a car approach, stop, and two of the cylinders retract into the ground to allow egress. Very slick! In contrast, the current American embassy has a 100ft danger zone surrounding it, with concrete emplacements, armed guards patrolling and checkpoint booths. I can't quite convey the feeling this evokes, but it's a mixture of sadness, irritation and being slightly bemused. They are so paranoid of terrorist attacks, they are exuding aggression in all directions. It's disappointing.

We reach the Reichstag, and are glad to find the oft-murmured tales of day-long queues are not true at this particular time. We do have to line up, but the line moves fairly fast, the doors opening and accepting approximately 30 people at a time. When the queue moves up sufficiently to allow us in, we see that there's an airlock setup, followed by a rather rigorous security check. The gruff german guard is directing people to put jackets, bags, etc on his x-ray conveyor, and not understanding a word of it, I watch closely to see what other people to, so as to be able to follow his instructions, language barrier withstanding. He must have overheard J, D and I talking, and switches to fluent english – these guys are good! We pass the muster, and head for a large lift, which takes the 30 of us directly to the top of the Reichstag.

The Reichstag was suspiciously burnt to the ground just after Hitler gained the power as Chancellor and just before Parliament could elect a new majority, and remained in a state of ruin for a long, long time. After the politics and breakdown of Berlin was resolved, the Reichstag was reinstated as the house of parliament, and a new glass and steel dome has been built to replace the original domed ceiling. A walkway corkscrews up through the dome to a viewing deck at the top, allowing panoramic views of the city. To be blunt, a lot of the view is quite unspectacular: roofs of buildings, grey smoke-stacks, lots of boring looking industrial emplacements. This is quite mundane, until you think about what this view represents – 17 years ago, a lot of this area was poorly built, and a great deal of what can be seen just wasn't there. Thinking in this frame of mind throws the view into perspective, and makes me appreciate it a whole lot more: I'm not just looking at Berlin, I'm looking at Berlin that wasn't here less than two decades ago. After walking the rooftop, braving the freezing rain and taking photos, we head back down the super-lifts.

From here, we're on the out-skirts of West Berlin, to our right is the new Government Quarter (shiny buildings of square and circle designs), and to the left is the Tiergarten. We decide to head left, and walk through a section of the garten as we head back towards the Brandenburger Tor. Something I noticed on the train ride into Berlin from their airport was the extremely common tall leafless trees. Tour Guide Mike had told us these trees were Linden trees, and that they are everywhere – he's right, they truly are everywhere. We stop at a Wurst stand, and eat some genuine german wursts (one wurst, many wurst?), which are truly some of the most delicious sausages I've ever had. The walk continues past the Tor, and takes us the grey expanse that is the Jewish Memorial.

Lining up, we are met by a multi-lingual guide (I love these people, yet am simultaneously hideously jealous) who informs us of a 15 minute wait, and a security check. The Memorial is a lot more than meets the eye – above ground it is the symbolic city of grey blocks, and all that may be represented by this, yet below ground is a startlingly in-depth Memorial that adds gravity and stark realism to what happened. A quote that Mike used was that “a death is a tragedy, one million deaths is a statistic” is fairly true – we cannot truly comprehend the horror and wickedness of such an act, as it's too enormous. The Memorial has stories of individuals who died during the Nazi regime, telling of their lives before, during and ultimately their ends. There are displays dedicated to families, again telling of their lives and the events they suffered, and ultimately where they are now, or how they died during the war. The atrocity is astounding. An organisation based in Israel is trying to gather a list of all those who died during this time, as records are incomplete, and entire families disappeared – Hitler's evil goals were almost achieved in some areas.

We leave the Memorial in a sober state, a much greater understanding of just how important this Memorial is, and what it represents. Now knowing this part of Berlin quite well, we guide ourselves back to Hackse Markt, and find a fantastic Turkish restaurant, it's décor a mish-mash of various mediterreanean styles (we spot greek plates on the walls), before retiring for the night to plan tomorrow's journey – that's right, off again!

New Thing Learnt Today – "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." George Santayana

Day 9 – Walking The Streets and New Nationality.

It happened again. The amusement of this was quickly silenced by the authority on the topic held by the proclaimer.

We met at the designated point for the guided tour, and were instantly welcomed warmly by Tour Guide Mike. An enthusiastic man, he did introductions with the three of us, then found out a little about us, quickly determining that J and D lived in London, and I was on holiday from overseas – New Zealand to be exact. I laughed, and said no, but close. He was a little embarrassed, as he said I sounded like one of his. He was a Kiwi! And he mistook me! He later covered this by claiming I have a very international accent – inflections on certain words from various places, but nothing definite. Considering how many people have mistaken me so far, I think he may have a point.

Kiwi or not, Mike was incredibly knowledgeable of Berlin. We started at the Berlin Ufa Palace Theatre, famous for hosting the premiere of “Triumph Of The Will”, quickly running through the history of the partial church and more contemporary church across the way, before we left to meet the rest of the group. We meandered through some of the same areas we had touched on the day before, but he gave us a greater understanding of where we stood in regards to East and West Berlin. This is where my education began, and still has me reeling. The easiest ways to figure out where you are, are as follows: if you can see tram-tracks: East Berlin. If your pedestrian traffic signals are being provided by cartoon-like men with hats, East Berlin. Enter Ampelmann!

When the Soviets occupied East Berlin, they altered a great many things, outside of the economic and social climates. One of the most obvious was the changing of the traffic signals to the aforementioned character. After the Berlin Wall fell (more on that soon) and the reintegration began, Ampelmann began to disappear. Realising how important it was as a cultural symbol, this assimilation of signals halted, and Ampelmann has remained in all areas of East Berlin. He's now to Berlin what the Flinders St Clocks are to Melbourne.

Mike took us through many areas, we saw the Bebelplatz again, we learnt about why some statues are currently in boxes, (being made of marble the freezing weather can actually crack and destroy them!) why all the construction work on buildings is devoted to massive banner ads (they can't afford the construction without the ad money!) and a whole lot of more important history.

Symbolism is a big thing in Berlin. Nothing seems to be done without symbolistic reason, from the traffic light guy, to the double-bluestone line that now traces where the Berlin Wall stood, The new ministry building has a bridge through the centre of it, that also intersects the line the Wall once stood on. The Reichstag has a glass dome over the parliamentary meeting rooms to symbolise the transparency of the country's running. The victory monument representing three victories for the country, and facing France...

*Friedrich The Great always took to battle at the front of his men, in a red outfit - this was to hide any bleeding and wounds he might suffer, so his men would see him fight on, and not give up whilst he was at the front.

*To satisfy a lot of the French migrants who took up the city's offers to replenish it's populous, they built a Calvinist church, and then to mollify the disgruntled Lutherans, built a near identical one opposite.

*During the war, to protect a lot of the historical statues, they were removed from their pedestals and buried in caves, pits and other safe areas. After the war, they were reinstated, allowing the buildings to be redecorated as before.

*A number of the famous buildings in Berlin were totally destroyed by bombing raids. TOTALLY. These buildings have been re-built using as much of the original stone as possible, and new material used to help recreate the original architecture. This disproves what I thought I knew yesterday...

*A great deal of the city that was built after the Wall fell is built of glass and steel. The symbolism here is to represent the transparency and modern outlook the country now has. A number of older buildings have also embraced this style, and plated their upper-stories with glasshouse-like installations.

*The Jewish Memorial is a field of grey concret slabs. No two are the same height or angle of lean, and the meaning of the entire installation is ambiguous. The only meaning the sculptor gave was that he used the Jewish cemeteries as inspiration to his work, and you can definitely see that.

One hell of an amazing city...

New Thing Learnt Today – The Germans built no monument, no building, no detail without good reason.

Day 8 – Berlin and The Pergamon.

Getting up at 3:30 at either end of the day is disgusting, but the early one moreso. Shuffling around in the dark we packed our gear, grabbed our passports and rugged up against the darkness still outside. Anyone would think this kind of plan was to avoid the authorities, but we had a better, greater motivation: cheap flights to Berlin!

We raced out of the house, just narrowly catching a night bus to Stratford station (an hourly opportunity). From here we travelled in air-conditioned comfort to Stansted, an airport far more to my liking than Heathrow (with the exception of the female cops carring machine guns – although that did raise a Skyhooks-related smirk). We get to the gate and sit calmly waiting. It's now almost 6:30, and I feel pretty awake, but in need of caffeine and pain-killers. My throat is beginning to really give me grief. The ground crew come out in their fluoro-laced jump suits, and mumble to the stewardesses – we hear nothing, but it continues, and then boarding begins. We shuffle through getting our tickets ripped one by one, and are led out to the tarmac where a plane has stairs awaiting us. I thought planes with stairs like this only appeared in Hollywood movies and footage of the Beatles arriving to be screamed at – shows what I know.

We board, find our seats, and are waiting calmly for the thrum of the engines to kick in. I wait so calmly, I fall asleep. (not surprising really) We are soon woken and informed that there is a fault with the plane, and they are trying to fix it. i have a quick flashback to Hong Kong, but calm myself – these things don't happen twice? HA!

It's unfixable, and so another plane has been called for. They finally get us off the plane to a bus waiting on the tarmac, now being pelted by gale-force wind and icy rain. We race across to the bus' security, and cram ourselves in. The bus then takes off, winding through the planes and detritus present, before pulling up at a plane with stairs, but firmly closed doors. A ground crewman runs out, waving and shaking his head – not our plane. We trundle off again, and after a bit more winding, find our way back at the first plane. J, D and I realise this, and when the doors open, we don't move...unlike the 18 year old morons that race for the plane, only to be turned back by a guy who looks suspiciously like Linus Roache, aka Thomas Wayne from 'Batman Begins'. Eventually we are led to our plane, which we all eagerly board. We are then told that due to the change, they have no idea how long it will be before take off, and that there are no refreshments on board. In fact, the best they can offer is boiling water with ice – the plain water is not fit for drinking. We arrive in Berlin three hours late.

Language barrier aside, I like Berlin, I really like it. Everything is set out in very sensible, logical ways to be as efficient as possible. The hilarity here is that whilst the efficiency to get the task done is present, there is NO efficiency or thought given to the next step, ie: there are entrance queues, very neatly ordered, but nothing in the way of exit queues or ways out. The airport actually had an additionally walkway built outside the building to get us from Customs to the carousels! The train ride into Berlin is smooth, and we see an awful lot of the city. We quickly find a hostel, get a room and go find lunch. J has been craving sausages, and so we find a hearty meal of...Doner kebabs. Surprisingly good, these sate our hunger and we ramble off down Karl-Liebknecht Strasse.

Having been here before, J does a good job of tour-guiding, taking us past the Berliner Dom and through to Museum Island. Sitting in the centre of town, the Island houses five museums of different types (one's actually an art gallery, but I'm nit-picking- it's old art), and we weave our way through to the Pergamon Museum. A great big slightly deco slab, this building houses the most tremendous display I have ever seen – they have rebuilt the temple and altar from the city of Pergamon within the museum itself. Walls are covered in the intricately carved friezes that ran around the temple, depicting the gods in battle against the giants – the enormous children of Gaia. This art runs around three of the room's walls, whilst the entire eastern component of the temple has been re-created (with new material where required) and fills the massive hall. This truly remarkable display is accompanied by a collection of statues and carvings from the city, including the Apollo gate, and ionic columns so tall they go from ceiling to floor in this cavernous building. (Being a certified moron, I left my camera in London, but wikipedia has some INCREDIBLE photos of the above)

The other displays include the Ishtar Gate, a brightly coloured brick entrance way into the fabled city of Babylon, and a large number of the Assyrian carvings and decorations. The scale and completeness of it all is ridiculous. We don't build anything like they did: No scale, no beauty. All of a sudden, I felt like a member of a truly boring culture.

The rest of Berlin did an incredible job of reinforcing this. We continued to walk down the Platz, which soon became Unten den Linden, the main avenue. All around us were palaces, royal armouries, the Humbolt Unversity and Staatsoper (State Opera). All of these buildings are hundreds of years old, their ornate structures adourned with statues, regal proclamations across their entrances and other wonders. J took us through the Bebelplatz, most famous for the atrocity which was Joseph Goebbels' Nazi book burnings. To remember this event, a symbolistic monument has been built into the ground – a square room can be viewed through plexi-glass below the platz, entirely white with book-cases floor-to-ceiling, completely empty. The starkness of this statement is obvious, and when I'm later told that you could fit one copy of each of the forbidden 20,000 titles in there, it rings true.

We retire back to the hostel and plan the next day's activities – a guided tour of the city, to really cover all bases and figure out what else we want to see, before heading out for true german food. We settle on a steak restaurant not far away, where the ever-helpful germans quickly determine our speech impediment, and alter their approach accordingly. This is a hallmark of the city – anyone who can, switches language and trips through it to assist us. I feel stupid, but very grateful.

New Thing Learnt Today – Traffic light men are of great cultural significance...

Day 7 – Shakespeare and Tradition.

We had left Lorna and Ben at the Holborn Tube station with rushed goodbyes and shouts of catching up together for a theatre show the following night (today). I half-remembered this upon waking, one because Lorna and Ben were cool, and my first real english friends (i'm discounting Shen at GW, he could only talk shop), and two because I have a bit of a sneaking desire to see a real-life West End show.

D and J finally rise from their slumber, like beasts awoken after aeons of hibernation. But not as many tentacles. We have a massive cook-up of various foods for breakfast, and decide to continue their long-standing tradition of trying to visit the Tower Of London. I do some e-snooping and discover that the Tower is still standing (a good thing), and is open for tourists. I'm a real detective like that.

The Tower has been standing for a hell of a long time, having served as a palace, an armoury, a place of torture and now the resting place of the Crown Jewels. Legend has it that if the ravens-in-residence are ever to fly from the Tower then the monarchy, the empire, the tower itself, will fall and be nothing but ruin. To avoid this, their must always be six ravens present. The Brits have dealt with this admirably – they currently have nine, and have clipped the wings of them all. (Incidentally, the oldest raven lived until 44 and was named Jim Crow. These birds live well)

As far as a resting place for the Crown Jewels goes, this is something the Brits have also developed to a fine art. This has been due to necessity, as they have proved to be a bit too tempting in the past. The best example of theft I could find (quite possibly the first), was by a man named Colonel Thomas Blood (yes, a military man!). At the time of Col. Blood's attempt, the routine was thus: a visitor paid a “viewer's fee”, and the Custodian unveiled the crown jewels for viewing. This is not a euphimism. Anyhow, Blood was a genius – he bound and gagged the Custodian and took them. Not exactly rocket science, but definitely a wake-up call.

As it turns out, J and D have a tradition too. In his two years, and her one in London, they have attempted to visit the Tower three times. On all occassions they were foiled by timing, delays or other (I never found the 'other' out, and think it's probably best not to ask). Anyway, today marks attempt #4. We arrived with time before closing, but only 15min before final admittance, which would give a maximum of 45mins. This wasn't enough time to do it justice, so we decided we'd try next week. We then decided there were numerous other objects of interest in the near vicinity, so we did them.

The monument to the Great Fire of London is a monolithic statue of great importance. Important enough to get it's own Tube station. (that's important.) It stands at such a point that if it were to fall directly north, it's gleaming tip would land precisely at the location of the King's Bakery – the starting point of said fire. It's also closed for repairs.

We hitch a ride on a Thames Ferry, and tootle on down to an object of much curiosity to myself, at least. Amongst the various buildings on the south bank, is the only building in London allowed to have a thatched roof (these rooves have been outlawed due to the above Fire), it is none other than Shakespeare's Globe theatre, a great white circular building most recently famous for it's real-life cameo in 'Doctor Who'. (p.s. the current build has more than 14 sides, just so you know...)

The Globe is not the original. No, the original turned to ash when a stage cannon fired a little too pyrotechnically and burnt the place down. The second one suffered a similar fate when the puritans decided that theatre was a 'den of sin'. Considering how prostitution was not only condoned but encouraged in certain parts of the theatre, this isn't too radical an idea. The third was built on a new location, close to the original, using traditional methods yet created slightly out-of-scale. Still in use, it's an open-aired theatre with seating, standing room (no mosh pits), and no stage cannons. A beautiful construction, we took our time trolling through the museum having a look at the stagecraft originally employed, the costumes used, and a great deal of props and scenes currently in use.

We left Shakespeare at closing time, along with a sighting of the strangest sundial I've ever seen (no really, it was on the side of a building and made very little sense). Down the way was a pub that we decided was worth a shot, and soon made our way home. D knew the area well due to working nearby, so this was a quick-n-easy activity. Getting home, I collapsed into bed not feeling myself, and also aware of the next morning's requirements.

I don't normally get up at 3:30...

New Thing Learnt Today: “The Walrus And Carpenter” is an eatery that doesn't serve Oysters. Shameful.

Day 6 – A Sleep In, and Werewolves Night

Today I slept in. We all slept in. In fact, the whole of London slept in. No one got out of bed until 11am at the very earliest. No really, it was a nation-wide event. Someone said Europe joined in as a show of solidarity.

Okay, maybe we just had a late one and we all paid the price. We started the day late, we ate a big breakfast and took the day sloowwwwly. This was also because we had an appointment to catch up with some of D's friends, who lived in various parts of England, Lorna and Ben. The five of us met at Holborn, a place I had previously grown to know as an interchange for various Tube lines, but apparently also has above-ground civilization – who knew? We met and trolled off to a nearby bar.

The night was a good one, drinking at most every place we came across that supplied alcohol, which in London means at least once every street block. The style and layout of pubs here seems to be an entire artform of it's own. Some follow the very straight-forward, front-door-big-space-long-bar, which seems to be the favoured form. But others, such as “The Princess Grace” (I think – I was a little worse for wear) are very different. This place had four front doors, each which led to a seperate segment of the room, with the circular bar in the centre. Each segment was seperated by glass and carved wood panels, giving a very cosy and private feel to what otherwise was a pretty bustling establishment. I liked this, not somewhere I'd go every friday, but it was different.

Soon, conversation turned to food. We wanted food, and we wanted it NOW. A few people suggested chinese. I grinned, and J suggested none other than the Mecca of Zevon. (Lee Ho Fook's), and so we did.

I was very quiet, and approached the front door as one would a place of worship. The wooden floor did not give away my presence, the door did not have a bell or chime to signal an entrance – I was standing on the hallowed ground previously trod by werewolves. The place was almost full, waiters doing that particular fast walk they do, clink of plate-on-plate as dishes are arranged on to an already jammed table-top, the distant riff based on a D to C to G pattern...

So we ate dinner. I ordered a “big dish of beef chowmein”, which really was the only choice I could have. The others had a variety of dishes, all were happy with the choices and quality, but i have to say that using the phrase “big dish” might have been a tactical error, as it was a BIG dish. We ate and drank, it was all good, until on the way I tried to buy a menu (it's a souvenir, honest!)

thenick: I'd like to buy a menu, thank you.
maitre'd: I'm sorry?
thenick: I'd like to buy one of the menu's, please.
maitre'd: The menu's? But...we need them. (she gestured behind her, looking dismayed as she realised the bustling restaurant still left a big stack of the menu's behind her)
thenick: so how much would one cost?
maitre'd: ah...20 pounds! the leather...it's expensive. (she looked like this would dissuade me)
thenick: sounds good. I'll have one, thank you. (she hadn't expected that)

Finally, another waiter came over, heard what was going on, and he gave me a look. He then said “you want a menu, huh?” I nodded, and he reached for a back-up supply of menu's, and passed it over with a hairy-hand, flashing a smile. A toothy, little-old-lady-got-mutiliated-late-last-night smile. He obviously was in on it, and so was the pile of menu's on the shelf. I thanked them and left.

We went outside. It was raining, I was carrying a chinese menu, I had found the place. I'm pretty impressed with how this all came together! We spent the rest of the night drinking in various places, imbibing a blue almost luminous liquid named “aftershock” and stumbling into a Tube station just in time to catch the last Central line train.

I think tomorrow will require another sleep-in. And plans to hunt down Trader Vic's.

New Thing Learnt Today – Missing the last Central line train is exponentially worse than missing the last Craigieburn train

Day 5 – A View To A Kill and All Tubes Day

It had to happen sooner or later, I knew it. After my first night in London, the thought had occurred to me, and was constantly dogging me during my sleep and waking hours. It was always there, every bit of travel-planning being a constant reminder...

Sooner or later, I was going to have to use every Tube line.

As it turns out, this is neither a stress, or a radical thing to do. Unlke Melbourne where the train-lines all splay out from the city, like spokes of a giant, metropolitan transit wheel, in London it's far more like a spider's web. In fact, I have the sneaking suspicion that 12 seperate people were given a mandate to create a train-line to take them to all their favourite places. By concidence these routes have overlapped in multiple locations, and created the spaghetti-mess that is the Underground system. But more on that later.

I had a number of small tasks to achieve whilst travelling. Some of these were purely selfish (awooo), and others were more philanthropic. Today's fell into the latter category, as I decided it was time to finally hunt down and experience the city's most often re-named attraction: the London Eye.

Considering this optically-titled wheel has only existed for a few years, it's suffered a tremendous amount of temporary re-branding. Opened officially in 1999, it refused to carry passengers until 2000. This type of insolence is not commonly found in major attractions, but then London is a funny place. The wheel is designed to offer a 'flight' of 30mins duration, with boarding and disembarking taking place while the wheel remains in motion. Not as dangerous as it sounds, as it moves pretty darn slow. The use of aviation terminology stems from the sponsorship initially provided by British Airways. They no long sponsor the beast that at one time was known as “The McCartney Eye”, but that doesn't stop them using it all the same.

So I took a 'flight', and found myself in a capsule with a princess (well, she acted as if she believed she were one), a small child who had no fear, and three men who could have been close blood relatives of Super Mario. Many happy snaps were taken from up here, but I found the 30mins began to drag after a while. Of note, was that the struts connecting each glass pod to the wheel itself, had an arrangement of pegs jutting out, that I can only assume were for climbing by someone in the line of work such as Jackie Chan – no sane mortal would leave a pod at any point of the journey that would make those pegs of any use. As I am not up to date on the world of amusement ride building, i will have to take this supposition as a logical possibility, and like a gypsy caravan, move along (and get people to cross my palm with silver, i guess)

Marching down the remainder of South Bank (which, I might add, maybe older but not more exciting than OUR Southbank – note the lack of spacing), I visited an exhibition going by the dubious title of “The Movieum”. Turns out this exhibition is a work of legitimate movie history, detailing the british contribution to cinema (ie; Michael Caine), and the achievements of their production companies and studios. Of particular interest to me was the number of authentic costumes, props and sets they had on display – Darth Vader, Batman and Superman costumes, The TARDIS, The blue Mini from the original Italian Job, Pinhead and the puzzlebox (sounds like a 70's pop band), it was truly impressive. One of the gallery assistants, dressed as a period director, gave me a personal tour among a number of the exhibits, pointing out the cinematic treasures and giving me the stories behind their inclusion. It was through this man, that I was introduced to the gong used in the Rank Foundation opening sequence (to most of you, this means nothing. to a slim few, you will share my grin). He also showed me a set with a real R2-D2 and C-3P0. Whilst the set was a reproduction, it was an actual set used by Lucas when filming some of the new footage added into the original trilogy – which vindicated it, as it was built to very exacting standards.

Finishing up with this extraordinary collection, I trundled off again and found that dark was now falling. It wasn't quite lunch-time (ho ho, you are all so very funny), but it didn't leave me time to see the Dali exhibition. I wanted to, but eventually the bleeting of the Town Cryer out the front decided my inner quandary. Feeling strong in my knowledge of the Tube, I found the closest station, and navigated my way home. SUCCESS!

I have now travelled all lines, to many locations, (sometimes in circles), but I can claim an experience that puts me on par with many Londonites. I feel like I am one step closer to being one of them...one of them... Evening was a good one. Fish found tickets to a comedy night, which we went along to and were thoroughly amused by it. I was frisked by a large black lady upon entry, which left me a little perplexed, and met the most hyperactive spanish woman on the planet – she was awesome, never stopped moving! Fish, J and I tubed home and played Zombies!!! and watched Metalocalypse. I haven't mentioned it before? Greatest metal cartoon ever. Go wiki it.

New Thing Learnt Today - “Robot World” does not contain any “Robots”

Day 4 – Time Travel and Egyptian Gods

The british have long been known for their fascination with Time Lords who travel in Police property, but did you know this is because they themselves ARE Time Lords?! TRUE! I learnt this fact after a day of wandering, but I'll start at the start.

The turning of the millennium brought about a strang affliction that left various government bodies foaming at the mouth, and deliriously planning celebrations. London was no exception, but rather one of the more ambitious, as an entire arena-sized structure was built for the occasion – a large, swollen white bubble called “The Millennium Dome”. Filled with millennium-inspired attractions, it was a highly expensive (if not well-publicised) affair, and genearlly thought of as “a complete waste of time” This is according to Sophie at the O2 store. After the year had passed, the Dome was emptied and lay dormant until 2007, when it was bought out by O2, the english equivalent to Telstra. They re-named the expo-oriented pustule, and began redeveloping it. and what a job they did. The initial Dome incarnation was criticised for it's lack of content in the displays, and a generally expensive/poor program. The O2 Dome now features an arena for concerts (including the upcoming Neil Diamond tour! Wow!), a circuit promenade of eateries and stores, and space for exhibitions such as the current Tutankhamen expo.

This last bit calmed my nerves, as upon arrival to the Dome I had seen Anubis, God Of The Dead standing out the front, just hanging out with some Japanese tourists. I feared for my soul, just a little. Turns out he's cool; he just posed for photos and went about his day.

After wandering the Dome, chatting with the O2 shop staff (they asked what i did, we ended up comparing their crappy Yell.com to our far superior yellow.com.au) I headed out to see what I could see of that near-fictitious town of Greenwich, where they make the time. Greenwich was not what I expected: no expansive mines where the mercurial ore of time is drilled out, no distillation plants to remove the impurities that would no doubt make the time slower or too fast. Instead, it's more of a maritime town, with a large University, the Royal Navel College, the Cutty Sark (currently burnt down – give it a miss) and the Royal Observatory. Being as in-tune as I am, I had no idea how to get to the time-oriented sections, and so walked in a massive circle throughout Greenwich, following various signs. This was fairly unproductive, but I did get to see the town, and I found it was time to test “Nick's Theory of Finding Places”.

“Nick's Theory of Finding Places”
I've found recently that I've developed a habit of walking around looking for somewhere, following all the cues, and ending up back where I started. Here is where the theory kicks in. “Once you have successfully completed a circle of reconnaisance, walk directly through the centre of it, as this is where your destination lies.” Worked like a charm, too.

I found the Tourist Info office, and after twiddling my thumbs waiting for the Info Woman to get off the phone, twigged that the Royal Observatory (building for looking at the sky) was inetricably linked to the production of time. With this realisation, I grabbed the pamphlet that sparked the brainwave, and marched out to climb the hill. Forethought would have told me that the Observatory would be on a hill, so it really shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. The climb was worth it, as the Observatory was full of cool stuff. The original Royal Observer (sounds like a flash name for an authorised pervert), okay “Astronomer Royale” was a guy named John Flamsteed, who invented time. His initial work was on solving the “longitude puzzle”, namely, whilst a ship could calculate it's latitude from the equator, there was no constant that could be used for longitude. After crashing various ships, the world gathered together, and decided on a constant. Flamsteed now getting on in his years, liked his comfort, and so suggested they draw a line through his observatory, as a universal measure of 0 degrees longitude. I can only assume no one had a better suggestion, and so it stuck.

In the mean-time, Flamsteed was getting sicker. This was due to his over-exposure to raw time, and finally his body failed. Being a Time Lord, he regenerated into Edmond Halley. This change brought about a whole new personality, which Mrs Flamsteed couldn't reconcile, and so by continuing life as if Flamsteed was dead, she moved out of the observatory – and took all his belongings with her. Halley continued working as Astronomer Royale, producing copious materials on the sky and stars. Unfortunately, a great deal of this is useless due to his idiosyncratic laxity regarding the recording of time. He soon grew tired of this position, and used his Tardis to travel the galaxy.

After this discovery, I made my way to Chiswick, home of J's work. We chatted with his boss, Anton The Mad for a while, and then met with D for dinner. Quite tasty. Fish, one of the other housemates encouraged us to come out and see a friend-of-a-friend play live music. As dubious as this connection is, the night was a blast! Daisy B played her heart out – fantastic music, fantastic voice, and we all marched off to the Tube before going our seperate ways.

I could grow to love London. Could stay here.

New Thing Learnt Today – My accent, as vague as it is, has now been classified as “New Zealand”. By another Australian.

Day 3 – Cold Weather and Crusade Destination

Before I left, everyone impressed upon me that the UK is cold. COLD. Dad pushed this point by buying me gloves – very warm, very good against frostbite. Mum worried that I didn't really understand what cold was all about. J told me it was like a Melbourne winter, and as he was at ground zero his opinion was holding a lot of weight.

Yesterday was amusing. It was a little chill (about 10 degrees), so I wore my light jacket and felt fine. Unless the wind picked up, things were a-okay. Jayson had bitched and moaned about the cold, which J and D found very amusing as the Melbourne boy had no problem, yet the lifer was having a rough time. So this built a sense of foolish bravado. Today seemed a little colder, so I decided to break out the heavy jacket (I've got light, heavy, and long coats.) And I'm glad I did. The wind was not push-you-down-the-street wind, but it was carrying an icy edge that sliced right through you, leaving you pining for the warmth of a blizzard. In a characteristic move, I decided this was a good day to put my Tube-knowledge to the test and in quite a maverick-style, take on London.

First stop was Tower Bridge. This location is remarkable for the following: The Tower Of London, and Tower Bridge. If you ever hear people talking about “London Bridge”, they are most likely incorrectly referring to Tower Bridge, or a rocky formation in Australia. London Bridge itself is quite boring, and I don't think anyone would be too fussed if it fell down, my fair lady. I wandered around the Tower, and took some photos. Having been there last time, I decided to give it a miss. I then foolishly decided I'd walk to the next Tube station, so as to see a bit of the real world. This wallk was re-planned 30mins into it, when I realised I had no idea where I was going. So I back-tracked along the Thames, had a nice time enjoying the bleak warmth from the sun, and finally ending up back at Tower Bridge. This time, I walked over Tower Bridge (a much smarter move) To my left, ferries and assorted warehouses. To my right, the HMS Belfast, moored in the river and all guns pointing at The Tower – interesting!

I wandered many streets, and stumbled across the London Dungeon. This place is a theatrical, gory-display oriented museum that show-cases the nastiness of british history (London in particular). Amongst the mannequin corpses, we were treated to interactive displays of the Black Plague, the Great Fire, Jack The Ripper and Sweeney Todd. To cap it all off, we were sentenced to hanging, via a theme-park styled ride. Fun! I learnt a lot about presentation theatrics, and how easy it is to scare people in darkly lit areas. Oh and London's history.

From here I found that I had arrived at a Tube station, and so got back on to see what else I could see. Covent Garden was my other place of interest today and I got there quite quickly. Covent Garden Market is the real crux of this area, and the easiest way to describe it is a re-purposed open-air market. It's quite a trendy place now, some boutique clothing outlets, hand-made jewellers and a Games Workshop store. The last one made me laugh. After seeing all there was to see here, I casually walked back through the streets, having been assured by someone that Oxford St was only a few blocks away. The definition of city blocks seems to be one of those context-dependent values, especially as London isn't built on a grid like fair-old Melbourne. I soon found myself in Chinatown, not far from Oxford, so the directions were not so bad. Wandering down the main street, I was dopely looking in windows and admiring paper lanterns, when I saw three words marked out in gold, that brought me to a halt:

LEE HO FOOK

To some of you, this makes perfect sense and you're already rolling your eyes. To others, this will be as useful as recanting “Klaatu Verata Niktu”. So allow me to quickly fill you in:

“I saw a werewolf with a chinese menu in his hand, walking through the streets of Soho in the rain/ He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook's – gonna get a big dish of beef chow-mein”

AWOOO. They have a poster of Warren in the window! They also have a brightly lit Mickey Mouse motif for the Year of The Rat/Mouse/Rodent in the window. I mentally mark this place on the map of London in my mind, take a snap of the front, and walk off grinning like an idiot. If only I'd found it a day earlier! J, D and I have already made dinner plans, but I make sure that I can take them past the place, so we can go there in future. We dine at Wong Kei, a chinese place that provides more than enough food for the three of us. We do what we can to it, and then head over to a nearby Dutch bar for a drink. This bar is famous in J's circle, as a friend who visited once managed to completely up-turn a plate of sausage and mash on to the floor before taking a bite – the others now know it as “That Mash Place” hence I don't know it's name. After a drink here, we decide we want another one – and so leave for another pub. This type of bar-hopping is not something I usually associate with pubs, but I think it has something to do with what's on tap. (or too much sugar) After the second drink, we call it a night and head for the Tube. D now confirms the existence of Tube Mice – J now confirms that he doesn't believe either of us, even though we can see the brown-furred ones below. We arrve home late, and I crash.

New Thing Learnt Today – Whilst the invention of chopsticks clearly explains why the chinese never developed custard, it doesn't explain why they chose rice as their staple food.

Day 2 - Plane Socks and Tube Mice

(no really, it does make sense)

Today the adventures began! J is still stuck at work this week, so it's up to me to amuse myself in a foreign town full of foreign speakers. This works out for the best, as he's most likely done all the touristy things he wants to, and so isn't forced through them all again. I woke at 8am, and promptly went back to sleep. I woke again at 8:09am, and slept again. Finally, I acquiesced and got up. My goal this week is to feel like a native, so I did what the Romans do, and made a cup of tea. I read the paper, too. (it's like the MX, but with more trash) Got ready, met another house mate (Jayson, a funny guy) and then left, walking to the big street at the end of the road, just to see what I could see. Today as an experiment, I was wearing the complimentary socks I received on the plane. Coloured like a first-aid bandage (and feeling like one), I was curious as to just how durable they were.

My walk took me to Maryland station, where I purchased a recommended ticket and found me a train. The job for today was to bend the Underground to my will, to understand it's bizarre machinations and make it a tool for my use and not a puzzle for my confusement. The interesting thing about the “Tube” is that it has 12 distinct lines, which all criss-cross each other at different points. No where is impossible to get to, it just may involve multiple changes. And they run every 5 minutes, making it a very simple matter to travel “across the grain” as it were. Something worth noting about the Tube is how aggressively noisy it is. I'm not sure what brings the cacophony about, but something about the design of the doors lets in the roar from the tunnel, meaning even with headphones you're not really getting much peace.

I then spent the day travelling around London, walking the streets and seeing the sights. I mooched my way up and down Oxford and Regent streets, and it was halfway down one of these, that I suddenly ripped my headphones out. Not due to any type of obscenity suddenly pouring from them, but rather I realised that I was in a foreign land, and following my usual patterns for avoiding the noise of the outside world. With those headphones in, I was suddenly gaining a deeper insight into the sociology classes I'd taken at Uni, and began to really click as to what Sony were all about. Plus, with the headphones in I could have been walking down a street in Melbourne – the accents would remove all doubt.

This casual stroll took me all the way up to Marble Arch, where I caught another train and got off at a random stop to continue my prowling. I eventually made my way through the edges of Soho, the theatre district, Picadilly Circus and Leicester Square. if I was really following my Monopoly board idea, today would have gained me bonus points for the locations I hit (quite by accident, too).

The day was drawing to an end and I thought it best to retreat back to Casa Di J. I had his house-key after all. Getting back to the required station, I stood on the edge of the platform, and noticed movement below. Small mice were zipping in an out of the rail-tracks, their brown forms blending in with the dirty concrete foundations. I had to look around and check that other people had seen them, as at first I thought I was getting delusional. Nope, they were definitely there. Then all of a sudden they vanished – not disappeared, just ran away. I figure they could sense the trains coming (like Tonto used to do) as the train did indeed arrive right after this. I boarded, like a piece in Tetris, fitting awkwardly yet precisely into the available gap. Unlike Tetris, this didn't result in a whole bunch of people disappearing and freeing up space. Eventually arrived back at J's, and fell asleep. All this walking around on 4 hours sleep is tiring! J and D prepared a lovely dinner, accompanied by chinese lager (pretty good, too) and we talked nonsense for hours.

Calling it a night, I unpacked my sling bag and took stock – camera worked like a charm, phone works like a charm (but you guys will never be able to call it), and as for the plane socks? Worn through on both big toes. Top marks for comfort, but failure in the durability department. Not quite sure what the airline expected me to do with them either.

New Thing Learnt Today – The Tube is chaos incarnate, but the british people have harnessed it's power and run it efficiently. Kudos!

Day 1 – Duty Free Time Travel

Things started just fine, and then inexplicably went downhill. I'm not one to worry about the vaguaries of travel (otherwise right now I'd be nigh-catatonic), but late Saturday I was gripped by a fully-fledged panic attack. At this point, little things began going wrong, but my hyperventilation was quicky inflating them to Marshmellow Man size in a few frantic heartbeats. That's now in the past, for which I'm thankful.

After that frenzied state, everything went well. Customs and Check-In were easy (But the other way aroud). I did get swabbed for bombs (lucky I had already swallowed the nitro-glycerine), and I fell into instant relaxation once on board. And by instant I mean I slept through take off. Slept almost the whole trip to Hong Kong, where we arrived a 7:15am. There's only a few hours difference (3) between HK and home, so felt great.

The airport is quite nice. Not the first place on my list of places to be kept in captivity for a day, but definitely one of the most stylish. I can't tell if my experience is indicative of all Hong Kong, but space does not appear to be a premium: Everything is arranged with abundant wiggle room. The concourses (of which the largest must be close to a kilometre in length) are designed with a vaulted ceiling motif, very much invoking the external look and dimensions of a hangar. Considering I had a whole day here, I thought it best to get some currency, and so headed rght to an exchange where I gave them all my Australian cash. ALL.

Swanning around with the resulting stack of bills, I thought the best thing to do before the daydreams of grandeur reached critical mass, was to get a coffee. Coffee, like the Big Mac is a pretty universal measure. Unfortunately, science does not reckon on the immeasurable, and my hunger got in the way, ordering a “quick fried beef with egg” as a close match for breakfast. It was better than close – It was! The repaste cost me $45, approximately $6.80Aus. Not bad! I spent the rest of my time walking around the gargantuan halls, meandered the free internet briefly, and then decided it was time to slake the thirst and start recording my thoughts. Ordering almost $100 of drinks (my perspective is shot), I went for my pen only to discover it had fallen in battle. The ink had erupted and filled the barrel. It was a sad moment for ball points everywhere. I finished my binge, and bought a new smooth writer for the princely sum of $15 ($2.20Aus). I still need to get over this exchange rate – when it's close to one-to-one, I can handle it, but when it's 6.7:1, I get confused.

So the days go by, and the airport begins to grow old. I waited at the gate for the connection and tried to focus on my book, but my brain was hammering away that it was almost time to eat. Naturally, brain is correct but flight comes first. We board, and this time my seat-mate is a lovely young lady who is almost the spitting image of Petreen. We didn't talk, but share a smile that puts her miles ahead of Captain Psycho from the morning.

Captain Psycho dressed in fatigues, had wild hair and an intense stare that looked determined enough to pull triggers on it's own. He didn't speak, but spent the whole flight watching Disney's “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”...repeatedly.

I promptly fell asleep, but this time am woken by the Captain announcing a fault on the plane that cannot be fixed, so we are being transferred. He hands it over to Ground Control, who opens with the very Shaun Micallef-styled intro: “Hello, my name is Director Manager of Ground Control.” I snigger. The joke is on me, as the concourse and I are re-acquainted for another hour. I contact family and friends to tell them of my plight, and eventually re-board. This time, all systems are go.

The flight passed quickly, again my mutant super power kicked in and allowed me to sleep through the majority of the trip. Pseudo-Petreen was good company, as it turned out we are in similar lines of work, and so we talked a little shop. She also worded me up on what to expect from english people – apparently they don't strike up conversations with strangers like Australians do. Interesting! Eventually the flight came to an end, and we disembarked – the fun now really began. Customs was a breeze – in fact, there was no customs. I contemplated what this would have meant had I stuff to declare, but this was a moot point as the declaration channel was empty too. After probing questions about who i was related to (part of me bit back the urge to say “The Queen”), I was let loose into the UK.

Relying on the train system to get me from Heathrow to Stratford, I found out that the delay had convenient had us arrive and get out of customs with about 30mins lee-way for travel. The first bit of advice from the train staff was “get to Liverpool St as fast as you can.” Which I attempted. I crossed paths with a traveller trying to do the same, a developer from Microsoft, and we tag-teamed our way through various stations and station staff (at one point I mused out loud that a bear had been stuck at Paddington station once – he looked at me like I was suggesting something absurd.) Eventually we got to Liverpool St and we parted ways. I walked out of the station to my connecting bus and took a deep breath – this was the first time I had stepped outside in God-knows how many hours...Getting on the bus, I popped out my trusty iPod and listened to the tune that was guiding me all this time. Man it felt good.

Finally got to my destination, and 30mins later so did my brother – he'd sent himself out as a search party to find me, and Heathrow had declared a delay that was a whole lot different to the truth. In the meantime I caught up with one of J's housemates, a guy who had been at high school with him. And another housemate, a french girl. Apparently the french greet strangers with hugs and kisses on both cheeks. To quote the All Stars, I really really love the french! :P At 4am we went to bed, and the travel officially ended.

(further posts will be shorter – this represents a period of 29 hours of experiences)

New Thing Learnt Today – I begin to act like a caged animal if kept inside for too long.

God Save The Queen

Because apparently a live-in security service, state of the art systems, guard dogs and a bunch of castles don't make her safe enough...

I've been planning a trip over the big blue ocean and around to the other side of this planet we call home, whilst the Martians refer to it as the “Funny blue marble”. This march, I'm finally getting the opportunity to make good on these plans. The initial driver to travel was to go visit my long-travelling brother over in our ancestral home ground.

Yes, that's right – we are of English heritage, and that is why i burn in direct sunlight. My vampirism has nothing to do with that. My drinking of blood in place of tea IS due to my vampirism, and receives no end of funny looks from my more conservative English family.

Another motivator is that the trip will allow me to get about as far away from work as physically possible. (To literally get to the physical extreme would put me somewhere remote in the middle of the ocean – not so enticing.) Living in this age of high technology, i understand work is only a web browser away, but the distance is a pretty compelling argument for “not being available”. I like the idea of not being able to work for a month. That unproductive idea holds a lot of merit with me.


Further reasons become flippant and border-line stupid.

* I want to hire a V For Vendetta costume, and wander around London, waltzing with the pretty ladies, and asking assorted people the best way to the Old Bailey.
*I want to go to the places on the monopoly board, and get a photo of me and that respective location's card.
*I want to smuggle the Ravens out of the Tower of London. All of them. And then send a postcard from Madrid allegedly posted by the ravens, to the Queen.
*I want to slip into my easily re-adopted accent, and confuse the hell out of tourists.

Lastly, a bit more seriously, I'm going to visit a chinese restaurant in Soho, named Lee Ho Fook's. I can't guarantee the presence of rain, but being England in the early moments of Spring, I'm not stressing it too much. What I can guarantee is an order of a big dish of beef chow-mein. This gorging will be followed by a pina colada at Trader Vic's. The whole time, my hair will be....perfect. HUT!

In case that last paragraph flew past you in a cloud of perplexity, they are multiple references to Warren Zevon's classic 'Werewolves Of London', a track originally conceived to be a bouncy number about the dance craze that was to be named for the track. As it turned out, Mr Zevon and his long-time collaborators were mulling over the project, when they were joined by another friend. “What are you guys up to?” He asked, with complete innocence. “We're writing the Werewolves Of London.” The sardonic songster replied. His friend blinked and said, “you mean, “AWOOOO?”'. The rest is history. Go listen to the song, dammit!

The trip will be more than my attempts to reenact a rock song's grooviest moments, as I'm also planning to see my family (there's a fair few of them over there still, we're the minority in those terms.) My brother and I have tentatively discussed the idea of a whirlwind tour of western europe (there's a rare turn of phrase), with a step and swivel through France as I've always wanted to go to a country where Superman has performed elevator maintenance. Next will be a hop and slide into Germany, the home of bratwurst, many beers and the Panzer tank. After this, we should be able to swing our way back over to Scotland, find ourselves completely thrown by the local dialect, before working our way back through to the ancestral home in Yorkshire. How's that strike you now? More than a silly song to power THIS jaunt!

But if whilst in Mayfair I come across a hairy-handed gent who ran amok in Kent, I won't let him rip my lungs out Jim, rather I'll treat him to a silver bullet. AWOOOO! I'm off to catch a plan. Bye!

Q: What do you see when you turn out the lights? A world without Ringo Starr's nose.
Song For The Day: "Werewolves Of London" by Warren Zevon