Greg Wesson's Esoteric Globe

Living Life Bravely

2012-12-28T16:50:38Z

My father, Reg Wesson, died on November 27th of this year. He was 84, and had not been well for the past year. He was admitted to hospital in mid-November, and I flew back to Toronto to be with him and my family. We spent a week together before he passed away.

It is, I will admit, something that I had been both expecting and dreading since I moved to the UK. Moving overseas with an octogenarian parent, I knew at some point I would get that call. As much as you want to pause the hands of time while you are on the road, they keep ticking back home. I most feared a call saying he had died. Every time I spoke to Dad on the phone, I knew that the goodbyes we said before we hung up could have been the last. I was thankful that the call I got allowed me to get back to Canada and say my goodbye in person.

I count myself lucky on two counts, one that I was able to make it home in time to spend some time with my father before he passed, and also that he passed peacefully, without any prolonged suffering.

Me and Dad in 2011 in Florence

After my father passed, I stayed in Canada for a few more days for the burial and the “Celebration of Life” for Dad.

My dad didn’t want a funeral or a memorial service. “I’ve been to too many god-damn funerals,” he said. “I want a party.” So we planned a celebration, with music and wine and laughter. It was tinged with sadness, of course, but mostly was a great opportunity for people to get together and share memories of my dad.

Despite not wanting a memorial service, we did have a few parts that were memorial-service-like. One such piece was speeches. People wanted to get up and share, either through reciting a poem, singing a song or sharing a favourite anecdote.

I played emcee, and shared a few memories I had of my Dad. I wanted to share some big, life affirming story, but couldn’t really think of anything, so told everyone about the little parts of life I remembered with him. Most of them revolved around trains, actually, which I hope goes some way to explain the recent train nerdiness I have exhibited in the blog. It is (a tribute to / the fault of) my father (pick whichever one you feel best describes your feeling towards the train blogs).

My sister Jen spoke last, and I was struck by what she said. I paraphrase her here, because (true to my father’s spirit) she spoke without notes and I wasn’t taking a transcript. She said that when she was younger she wouldn’t have described Dad as a brave man. He didn’t especially like heights, and dealt with pain much in the same way I do, by feeling faint and nauseated. He didn’t partake in a lot of physical sports.

Yet as she looked back recently on Dad’s life, she realised her analysis was wrong. As a young man, Dad gave up the safe option of working for his father’s business as he really wanted to work in a bank. Having never been involved in auto racing, he applied on a whim to be part of the Oakville-Trafalgar Light Car Club and took up rallying. Later, he wound up a part of the Canadian Racing Driver’s Association, running Grand Prix and other racing events in Canada. After moving to Burlington, nestled at the edge of Lake Ontario, Dad went out for a walk one day, down to the local yacht club, and though he didn’t have a boat or knew anyone in the club, he joined.

He was a real “give it a go” kind of guy. He was constantly finding new interests, and on finding that interest, he pursued them. He didn’t let the weight of opinion of others influence him, nor the fact he was venturing as an unknown into an area he knew nothing about. He just did it. And in doing so, thrived. For every new club, organisation, interest or career he tried, he became an invaluable part of the group. Often acting as treasurer for groups, or working his way up into the executive. He would immerse himself in his new circle, making new friends, bringing in old friends to his new group, becoming a key part of the social circle.

My dad may not have been physically brave, but he was a brave spirit, willing to put himself out into a new world he didn’t know, and give it a try.

As my sister said this, and I remembered my big, life affirming story about Dad.

It was when I was between high school and university. While in high school I had worked as a waiter at our local Pizza Hut. I was pretty good at it, and saving a good bit of money for university. As summer approached, I decided I was a bit too good for Pizza Hut, and should be working at a more upscale restaurant. So I quit my job without another one lined up. “I’ll quickly find a new job,” I said, confident in my skills.

I didn’t quickly find a new job. I struggled, and even tried to go back to get my old job at Pizza Hut, only to find it was already filled. Desperate, I took a job doing door-to-door sales of … well, anything I could carry – tube socks, books, calculators – this company had the lot.

I hated it. The money was alright, but the job made me miserable. I knew by the end of my first week I wanted to be doing anything else.

My Dad, giving me a ride home from the train station on Friday evening, could see it on my face. “What’s wrong, son?” he asked.

“I hate my job,” I said. “I wish I could quit. It really makes me miserable.”

“You see no way you could be happy at this job, if you changed something,” my Dad asked.

“No,” I said. “I don’t like the sales part of it, and that’s the biggest part. I don’t know what to do.”

“Quit,” Dad said.

“Quit?” I asked. “I can’t quit. What will I do about money? I need money for university.”

“Don’t worry about the money. We’ll figure out a way to make it work,” My dad said. “You can’t keep doing something that you hate. Son, life is too short to spend it being miserable.”

I believe this was the philosophy that drove that braveness my sister had been speaking about. It is about putting aside those things that aren’t contributing to your fulfilment, and taking up those things that you think may contribute.

Obviously that isn’t the only decision point. My father was not selfish in his choices, he took his responsibilities seriously and if he said he would do something, he would try his best to see it through. But his current responsibilities didn’t hold him back from trying something new, and he didn’t feel the need to be chained to something that wasn’t working for him.

Dad always told me how proud he was of me for having taking the step to move abroad. I had never really understood why he used the word “proud,” until I started to look at it in the context of the bravery my sister described. I think he was proud of the move because it was me doing something daring, striking out on my own and taking a new adventure because I was pretty sure it would make me happy, in much the same way he might have done. In my actions are reflected his lessons and example.

So as we enter 2013, I take the next steps in that journey, in becoming a permanent resident of the United Kingdom, and continuing towards becoming a British citizen. More so, I start to think to myself, over and above the paper work, what can I do to become more integrated into my new homeland? To fully immerse myself in this, as my father had done before in the many adventures he undertook. I may not stay in the UK forever, but if I do leave, I want to leave knowing that I threw myself into my life here with all that I could give it.

I will bravely live this life, and in doing so, hopefully reflect some small part of my father, and honour his lessons and example.

Living Life Bravely remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: travel philosophy migration philosophy

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The Secret Trainspotter... Riding London's Old and New Rail

2012-12-30T09:58:20Z

I am going to apologise in advance for this entry, and provide a warning. This is an entry about two train rides from and to places within London, in one case from one point in London right around back to the same place. You might find it dull, but I find riding around on trains endlessly fascinating. It's in my heritage. Anyway, if you find train rides dull, I would suggest you stop reading now.

Still here? All right, you've been warned. You've only yourself to blame now.

I wrote recently about a trip on the parliamentary train from Clapham High Street to Kensington Olympia, and how the opening of a new train service from Clapham Junction to Surrey Quays was allowing this service to close. The new Overground service isn't just closing this (mostly useless) service, but also closing a twice-an-hour service from London Victoria to London Bridge. The Victoria to London Bridge service was closing on December 8th, and the new Overground Clapham Junction to Surrey Quays opens December 9th, so I decided to ride them both.

London Victoria to London Bridge, December 8th, 2012

The Inner South London Line was a twice hourly service running between London Victoria and London Bridge stations in central London, servicing Wandsworth and Southwark with a horseshoe service to these two main terminal stations in London.

I headed from Clapham Junction to Victoria to catch the 13:11 departure from Victoria. The train was due to call at Battersea Park, Wandsworth Road, Clapham High Street, Denmark Hill, Peckham Rye, Queens Road Peckham, South Bermondsey and finally terminating at London Bridge.

London Victoria has this great logo on the floor telling you to watch what you are doing with your roller bag. Don't be a trolley wally, it says.

I boarded the service, which is usually a two car train but Southern Rail had put on 4 car trains for the day. There were a few train spotters taking photos (much as I was), and a few people with placards about the service, but there was also a few people who were just taking the train to get where they wanted to go, looking a little bemused at those of us with cameras and placards.

I inadvertently ended up on the same train as the Southwark Rail Users group (SRUG), who were riding the trip a couple time around. They had signs and were taking pictures, and talking to people on the train. The woman I talked to said they weren't protesting, just communicating, though the information they were handing out was titled "South London's Loss".

They were handing out maps they felt better represented the new layout of the train services than the TFL tube maps, which they said don't show how Southwark is connected to central London. I didn't bother pointing out that the TFL tube map doesn't show any rail service other than the Overground, and that most of the new stops weren't on the old London maps.

Other than the chat with the SRUG people, the train journey was short and uneventful.

Battersea Power Station from the rail bridge

Peckham Rye station, last time that this Southern train upholstery could be seen here?

Between Queens Road and South Bermondsey, A view of the Shard

We arrive at London Bridge, and off I get. The station is undergoing a number of improvements, which is one of the reasons that this South London Line service is being discontinued, as platforms in London Bridge station are being closed until 2018. I wander around lost for a few minutes before I find the way to the Underground, passing in the shadow of The Shard, Europe's tallest building.

Arrival at London Bridge, walking out to see Europe's tallest building - The Shard

Off I went on the Jubilee line to do some Christmas shopping... For myself... I bought a laptop... at Harrod's. That really happened.

Clapham Junction to Highbury & Islington to Clapham Junction, The Orbital Overground, December 9th, 2012

The sun rose on Sunday, and "all change, please," when the old services stop and the new service begins.

The London Overground is a train service run by Transport for London, the local government body responsible for transportation in the Greater London area. In the past few years, TFL has taken on many train services, aiming to create an orbital railway running around central London. The last piece was to put together a link along the southern edge of the city, and a new service from Clapham Junction to Surrey Quays completes the link.

source:Wikipedia

I caught the train from Clapham Junction, catching the 11:52 headed towards Highbury and Islington. There were a few "train enthusiasts" on the train (you could tell by the literature printed off and the cameras), but there was mostly regular rail users, off on whatever commute they were on for the day.

We left Clapham Junction, and slowly made our way along, eventually passing underneath the main rail track and coming up on the previously unused portion of track heading to Wandsworth Road.

Wandsworth Road and Clapham High Street station, previously serviced by Southern Rail but now only serviced by the Overground, have been rebranded as London Overground stations, with the orange roundel. We pulled into the station, and I noticed a young boy (probably around 12) filming the train as it came in from the north end of the platform. A few minutes later, when we pulled out, the boy had moved down to the south end of the platform to film us pulling out.

Soon enough the train pulled into Denmark Hill, where I jumped off for a quick rest on my round-London journey.

I had heard that there was a decent pub in the Denmark Hill rail station building called the Phoenix. I popped in to the pub, and found an absolutely lovely pub with a massive beautiful clock. I got myself a pint of London Pride ale (decent choice for a train spotter).

Pint done, and reinforced, I headed back to the station to catch the train and continued my round the city journey.

Boarding the train at Denmark Hill, I found a much busier train than the last, with every seat taken, and people having to stand. Pretty impressive for the first day of service.

We pulled out from Denmark Hill and off to Peckham Rye. As we pulled into Peckham Rye, I noticed the same young lad who had filmed us coming into Wandsworth Road filming our train coming in. Arrival filmed, he jumped on the train and as the train ran from Peckham Rye to Queens Road Peckham, he worked his way through the open train to the front of the train, his mother following behind him.

At Queens Road, the lad jumped off, positioned himself on the platform, and filmed us leaving the station. His mother accompanying him must be a patient woman.

I was so busy watching the young boy filming, I missed the arrival of the woman who sat across from me. She soon got my attention, though, as she spent the entire time on the train sobbing to herself silently. Like a good Brit, I looked away in embarrassment. I seem to attract this kind of behaviour, first noticing crying on the Heathrow Connect in August 2009 and then recently on a flight in September where the woman beside me was crying.

We turned north, going over the newest bit of the rail network (actually a reconstructed old bit of the rail network) that connects us onto the line to Surrey Quays. We now had stopped being on the new bit, and were travelling now up the east side of London. We travelled down underground, and eventually under the Thames river in the Thames_Tunnel, the first tunnel built under the river. It was built in the mid-1800s as a pedestrian tunnel. In 1865 it was converted to a rail tunnnel, and other than a few years closure here and there, has been serving London by rail since that time.

We pull up out the tunnels and into Shoreditch, where we get some excellent views of the City of London and the area surrounding Liverpool Street station.

The woman left the train, still sobbing, at Shoreditch High Street, along with most of the rest of the train. A much emptier train continued along the east of the city, and then turned to the west to start along the Northern stretch of the circle.

We pulled into Highbury & Islington, and I decide to take another break, popping out of the station and to the nearby Famous Cock pub, where I take a quick break for the toilet, and then to replenish my liquids, another pint. I had a pint of Spitfire ale and watched the first 30 minutes of the Manchester derby between Manchester United and Manchester City.

After watching Man U's Wayne Rooney score a soft, rolling goal, I headed back to Highbury and Islington station, and down to the Overground platforms. The next train direct to Clapham Junction (heading west) wasn't for 27 minutes, so I hopped onto a train to Willseden Junction.

The train journey from Highbury & Islington was uneventful, though busy. This section of the line is well established, so not surprising to see it well used.

I snapped this photo during the journey of a TFL advert for the extension to the south. It promises quicker journeys to the clubs in Clapham, Camden and Hoxton. Given that I live in Clapham, and haven't made it out to the clubs there, I doubt that I will be using the train service to get to clubs in North or East London.

The young Japanese girl who was sitting under the sign looked at me somewhat strangely, but otherwise I was the only strangeness on this part of the journey. Mostly it was young people and families off to wherever they where going for the day.

The train terminated at Willseden Junction, and I wait 8 minutes for the next train to Clapham Junction. The train pulls in, and fills up with people. Other than the bit from Clapham Junction to Denmark Hill, and from Shoreditch High Street to Highbury and Islington, the train has been full on a Sunday afternoon. And not just with train spotters and nerds like me, but with people going about their regular Sunday afternoons.

It being Christmas time, and this being a train that stops at Shepherd's Bush station for Westfield Shopping centre, the train was busy with shoppers, either on their way to buy, or at Shebu (what us in-people call Shepherd's Bush) boarding the train with tons of bags.

In amongst that crowd, an older man with large, grey mutton chops also boarded the train. He stood at one end, and listened as the train pulled away from Shepherd's Bush.

The automated train announcement came on. "This is the Overground service to Clapham Junction. The next station is Kensington Olympia," the mechanical, female voice said.

"Olymmmm-Pi-Ahhhh!" the man sung out after the announcement had ended. "Overground... Underground..." he sang, and then stopped singing. The music didn't stop, though, he replaced his voice with a harmonica. Mutton chops played his harmonica until the train pulled into West Brompton, when he pulled his hat down on his head, turned his collars up and left the train. I had expected him to walk through the train asking for change, but he didn't. Simply played his music, and left.

A few minutes later, we pulled into platform 1 at Clapham Junction, and I had completed the circle. From Clapham Junction to Clapham Junction, a journey of 0 net miles.

A final pint of the day to celebrate the circle at Windsor Castle pub in Clapham Junction.

Home again, home again... Completed the circle and back in Clapham Junction. Celebration pint! A secret train spotter success.

Now, where'd I leave my anorak?

The Secret Trainspotter... Riding London's Old and New Rail remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: trains train travel

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Football of a different kind in London

2012-11-04T20:23:38Z

In the business of Sports, getting more people to watch (and buy extension, spend) is one of the keys. The National Football League, the highest level professional league of American Football, is one of the highest attended professional sports in America, with some of the highest television and radio rankings in American broadcasting.

So what is an American league to do when they have conquered America? Look abroad, of course, and grab international fans.

The NFL has been trying various permutations and combinations of this for years, including pre-season games around the globe, teams playing games in Canada and a league based in Europe in the early 2000s.

Recently, they have been playing the "International Series," which while initial envisioned to be a roving set of regular seasons game around the globe, have for the last 6 years seen games played solely in London, England at Wembley Stadium.

On October 28, 2012, the latest games was played in London, with the St. Louis Rams "hosting" the New England Patriots.

Before the game, the NFL held a "tailgate" party in the parking lot of Wembley. Tailgating in the USA is a fan driven, organic party - each group of people BBQing and drinking and watching TV merging into one monster party. Here in England, the NFL puts on the party, so while it has many of the elements of a usual tailgate - BBQ and beer - it is a more structured and lifeless affair.

They do have cheerleaders and NFL stars of the past, so it does have a few advantages.

The game itself was impressive within Wembley. After a pre-game which included our (choose one: loved / hated) London Mayor Boris Johnson and the band Train, Welsh mezzo-soprano opera singer (and beauty) Katherine Jenkins came out to sing the national anthems of America and the UK. The fans, given placards of red, white or blue, held them up to form two visions of country flags - one half showing the Union flag of the United Kingdom and the other half white stars and red and blue stripes of the American flag.

St. Louis was the "home" team, as one team is designated each year. St. Louis was initially announced as the home team from 2012 to 2014 in the summer, however pulled out of the future dates due to financial difficulties, making them a one season home team in London. The Jacksonville Jaguars will fill the role in the future games (at least until 2016).

St. Louis took the field, and many fans waved St. Louis flags. Though the flags were given out for free, so if the appeal of St. Louis could probably be overstated.

The game started, and the fans did take their role of home town fans for St. Louis seriously, cheering St. Louis and booing New England. It helped for the first little bit, with St. Louis going up by a touch-down. However, then the potent offence of New England took over, and the rest of the game was a bit of a romp.

The game ended 45-7 for New England, the "home team" of St. Louis returning to the Mid-west after their one home-game-away-from-home not being a success. New England, however, spent extra time in England, thanks to Hurricane Sandy cancelling their flights and stranding them in the city. A little more time to celebrate.

It was a dull game, but a good experience, and I had a grand time during the game. Next year, London hosts two games, including a smash-mouth Vikings and Steelers match up in September, and our new home team, Jacksonville playing the 49ers of San Francisco. I had a good time, so will look to attending one of the games.

After all, could I pass up a chance to see a different type of football here in the home of that other, older type of football.

Football of a different kind in London remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: sports

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Ghost Train: West London Parliamentary Train

2012-10-20T17:35:42Z

I have just turned 42 years old. Now, now, no need for the wailing. It’s not so bad. I find that I don’t wring my hands with worry and anxiousness too much about birthdays now I am in my 40s. In your 20s, your birthday is a cause of celebration. In your 30s, its about reflection and disappointment at the years slipping away with goals unachieved. In your 40s, expectations lifted, you are who you are going to be, likely, so you just roll with it. Or, more likely, you have kids and have to focus on their birthdays.

No kids for me, so just the freedom of not worrying about my birthday.

That is not to say I let the day pass unmarked. No, my hangover this morning is testament to the fact the day was celebrated with beer, gin, tequila and an ill-advised sambuca. The day was marked, and will be remembered. Other than the very last part of the night, which I struggle to remember now.

However, before the drinking... at least the heavy drinking... I fulfilled a bit of my inner-train-geekiness and rode a GHOST TRAIN!

<insert scary noises here>

Okay, it wasn’t actually an apparition of the Flying Scotsman rumbling down the tracks, nor even a train filled with the ghosts of long dead conductors. It was a Parliamentary Train.

A Parliamentary Train, while sounding quite grand - filled with MPs in plush carriages riding on secret railways to a station under the Parliament buildings - is in fact just a regular passenger train. These trains are just not run frequently, nor very well publicised, nor even really sensible.

In the Railway Regulation Act of 1844, the government of the day made it a legal requirement to provide passenger service along every railway line in the country. Not just between two stations, but on every single mile of track. To stop providing service on a train line, a train company and the government need to go through a very lengthy consultation process.

To get around this requirement in a crafty legal way, certain trains are run at very low intervals, just to provide service on a length of track. These trains, sometime running as infrequently as once a week, are called Parliamentary Trains, in reference to the act of Parliament which made these a requirement, though sometimes they are known in general chatter as ghost trains (mostly by the tabloids, who love to claim they are a sign of government waste. Government waste and sponging MPs is the third favourite topic of the tabloid newspapers, right behind how immigrants are ruining everything, and how fat or skinny celebrities are).

In West London, there is one such train. Running once a day in each direction between Kensington Olympia station and Wandsworth Road or Clapham High Street Station, the West London Parliamentary Train is in service to ensure that a passenger train runs over a small section of track on a branch connecting the train line into Victoria Station with the train line into Waterloo with the train line running round the edge of London on the west side. It’s probably no more than a couple 100 feet of otherwise unused(*) track along some of the busiest train lines in the country.

(*) Unused in the sense of no scheduled passenger service. The line itself is well used by freight traffic, charter services and to facilitate the movement of trains between their regular routes and maintenance yards.

So this once a day service runs, 20 minutes from Clapham High Street to Kensington Olympia, even though there are multiple options that could do the same journey (with a change) in 35 minutes. The service is of little use to anyone, unless they happen to be there at the exact time the train is going, and is travelling between the few specific stations that this train services.

Or, you are a train spotter or other rail geek, and want to go on a strange, little ride.

Even though the consultation process is lengthy, it sometimes is determined it is worth doing. For this particular line, because a new service is about to open that will use some (though not all) of the line and therefore the train companies can free up the line. Come December 8th, the service will no longer run.

The opportunity to ride a ghost train, and one that is soon to be discontinued. Well, that was too good for me to pass up.

So, half day of work off for my birthday, I decided to treat myself, and planned for a trip on the 16:11 departure from Clapham High Street station to Kensington (Olympia), calling at Wandsworth Road, Imperial Wharf and West Brompton.

I left my house and headed towards Clapham High Street from my house near Clapham Junction station. I caught the 345 bus towards Peckham, which handily drops me right off in front of Clapham High Street Station.

It was a very rainy and grey London day, wet and dull when I arrived at Clapham High Street station.

I arrived about 5 minutes to four o'clock. I looked at the departure board, and saw the 16:11 to Kensington (Olympia) listed as the 2nd service. The 15:58 to Victoria came and went, and the 16:11 service moved up to 1st on the departures board for platform 2.

I had been told that sometimes these trains don’t appear on the departure board, or are not announced, to try and keep people off them. Whether this is to keep up the pretence of the service not being needed in the event of a consultation, or simply because people could be confused about the destination, I don’t know. Surely if you arrived at Clapham High Street Station, which other than this one service only has trains going to Victoria Station, you could accidentally jump on this train without realising it isn’t going where you are expecting. However, this one seemed well advertised.

I was meeting a couple of people at the station who were interested in riding the train, though I had only exchanged emails with them, and so we were meeting sight unseen. Having bent over to grab the above picture, I heard behind me a voice say, "you must be Greg." I turned around to see one of the people I was meeting coming up the stairs to the platform.

"Indeed I am," I said. He explained that he guessed that someone taking a photo of a train schedule wasn't your average commuter. The third in our party arrived shortly, and we waited patiently for our train to roll in.

Having heard that the doors only open very briefly on these trains, we made sure we were close to one of the doors once the train came to a stop, and I quickly hit the "door open" button. Luckily we had no trouble getting on, and were joined by a few other people who looked to be commuters rather than people there to experience a soon to be discontinued parliamentary train journey.

I commute from Clapham Junction into Victoria every working day, so the train itself was pretty familiar - a standard Southern commuter train.

Wandsworth Road station is where we pulled into next for a brief stop. The doors go in and out of service very quickly on these trains, only being active for about 30 seconds. A few people jumped on at Wandsworth Road station, but the train remained for the most part empty.

Next up was the unusual bit, where the train departed from the main line up towards Battersea Park and Victoria, and instead took the cord off over Factory Junction and Latchmere Junction No. 1.

Quite a grey day, which meant there wasn't great views of much. However, living in the area, I was pretty sure there isn't much of a view we were missing.

There was a short delay as we sat on the track, part of a delay built into the schedule. We soon enough rolled on, passing not far from my house, and joining the line up towards Chelsea.

We crossed over a swollen-looking Thames, and pulled into Imperial Wharf. This station was busier than either Clapham High Street or Wandsworth Road, and we had a few people getting on, then upon hearing the announcement that the train was only going as far as Olympia, about half of them quickly jumped back off again.

The train passed by Chelsea's football grounds, quickly called at West Brompton and passed by the soon to be redeveloped Earl's Court before continuing to its final stop, Kensington (Olympia).

It was a short trip, but interesting. For me, beside for soothing the inner-train-geek in me, it provided a few other interesting points. First, we past close by my current house in Battersea, and ended up departing at Kensington Olympia, about a 5 minute walk from where I previously lived in London. Secondly, living near Clapham Junction, I often take the London Overground Service. Much of the service we took (From Latchmere junction through to Imperial Wharf to Kensington Olympia) is covered by the existing Overground service from Clapham Junction to Willesden Junction. And most of the part that isn't covered by the existing Overground service (Clapham High Street to Wandsworth Road and then to Factory Junction) will soon be covered by the new southern loop of the Overground. This new service starts in December, and is one of the prime factors in closing this route. It is, in essence, a preview for me of additional transport options coming to my part of town. (In fact, we saw an Overground train in trials on this route while waiting at Clapham High Street station).

After the journey, our party decided to have a celebratory drink (part of the many layers of booze that brought on my aforementioned hangover), and as a former local, I suggested a local pub. Jumping ahead, turns out the pub had turned into an Italian restaurant, and while they had beer on tap, no real ale, which would have seemed more fitting for a day of train spotting. Can’t say we were typical train spotters, though, as none of us had beards nor were wearing an anorak. But that is jumping ahead in the story, we were still at the station.

We watched for a moment as confused train patrons thought about boarding the train, now going out of service, but were turned away by the announcements from the staff. Umbrellas up, we headed off into the rainy London afternoon towards the pub. I took one last look back at the train, now pulling away, out of service and off to the yard, and watched as it disappeared into the light rain down the line.

Ghost train, disappearing slowly into the mist.

Ghost Train: West London Parliamentary Train remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: trains train travel

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Thanksgiving 2012 - The Gin Martini

2012-10-08T00:49:15Z

Stealing, as I do, posts from my facebook page...

Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend. So in the spirit - along with turkey sausages for dinner this evening - stuff I am thankful for...

my iPod;
people who don't point out my grammatical errors;
Ninkasi;
life's constant reminders that I am human so I don't develop hubris;
the opportunity to live abroad;
family and friends back home who love and accept me, even though I am far away;
friends here in the UK who accept me, even though they have to live close to me;
Teressa Bellissimo for inventing the Buffalo wing;
my general good health;
the fact that those of my family who have suffered ill health this year have gotten better;
and a good gin Martini.

As the day wore one - and I had consumed my Turkey sausages, I called my family back in Toronto. I spoke to the family back in Toronto as the clock turned over to 11 PM here in the UK. They were sitting down for Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and all the trimmings. I hung up the phone, knowing they would soon be on to pumpkin pie.

So to you all reading this, regardless of the day or your nationality, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. Early October may be the Thanksgiving day for Canada, but we should be aware of what we need to give thanks for every day.

Look up, this is the world you live in. It may be harsh and hard at times, but it can also be beautiful. It gives so many gifts, even when at the time they seem like blows to your chest. Hard lives are hard won.

Thankful for everything that has happened - the good, the bad and the ugly. If it hadn't of happened, I'd be a different man, in a different place, in a different set of circumstances. Maybe it would have been better, maybe it would have been worse. But it wouldn't have been me.

Thanksgiving 2012 - The Gin Martini remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: history travel philosophy migration experiences migration philosophy

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Travel Envy

2012-10-06T22:50:13Z

I used to travel quite a bit (as this blog attests). From 2001 until 2008 I spent a significant portion of my time on the road, away from my Toronto home. As an example, in 2006, I spent 215 days of 365 possible (58.9%) of my time outside of Canada.

Mostly that was for work, but I would often during that time be planning leisure trips. In 2002, I spent a good six months planning for my 2 months sabbatical in South America. Reading travel books, figuring out visas, planning routes, getting shots, researching and booking transport and hotels. After that, and up until I moved to the UK, I seemed to constantly be planning a new, upcoming trip. Whether it be to Costa Rica, Tanzania or Japan.

One of the biggest logistical challenges I faced was when I was planning for the Paris to Hong Kong trip in 2005. I was working at the time on a project that saw me jetting between Montreal, San Francisco and Paris. Obviously I needed my passport to perform all that travel. At the same time, I was trying to get visas arranged for Belarus, Russia, China and Mongolia. All of them required my passport as well.

In a feat of logistical planning brilliance (and paying for some expedited service), I managed to get all the visas and still be able to meet all my work travel requirements - arranging to pick up the Chinese visa when I was in San Francisco, arranging the Belarus and Mongolian visas from their Parisian embassies, and Russian visa in Toronto (as the Russians said I needed to get it from my home country in closest to where I lived).

During that time, more and more I would think to myself that the travel was so temporary. Even when I was staying in a place for months on end, there was always that apartment back in Toronto that I knew I would eventually return to. It started to dawn on me that what I was really yearning for was an opportunity to immerse myself in a place, to cut the ties to Toronto and take the brave, bold step of living abroad.

I was envious of those who lived abroad. They got to immerse themselves in a culture. It was like constantly travelling.

Even as far back as 2005, while I was running around trying to arrange those visas, was I already thinking of that next step.

I think it would be fun to live in a foreign country. As I travel from place to place to place, I am always on the lookout for places that I think I could live in. Maybe some day I'll actually pull the trigger and move some place for a year or two, but for now, it's just dreaming.

From Paris, The Liveable

A year or two? Naive young man. 4 years on in London, and no thoughts of heading back to Toronto yet.

So my wanderlust and constant travel planning has disappeared, replaced by the getting on with life in a new land.

The past few days here in London, I have been arranging dental appointments, arranging for a pick up of a parcel and shuffling around some investments in my various pensions (have managed to pick up 4 different pension accounts in my 4 years in the UK). I have no thoughts of upcoming trips in my head, save for a quick day-trip to Munich for work at the end of October, and vague thoughts about needing to plan a winter ski trip.

Yesterday, I came in the office early, and found a co-worker standing at the photocopier, looking perplexed.

"You're in early," I said.

"Oh, yeah," he replied, punching at the buttons on the machine. "I have been arranging visa appointments. I am dropping off my passport to the Russian embassy today, and just got off the phone booking an appointment for my US visa. It's not until the end of the month. I could have squeezed it in the week after next, but I'll probably only get my passport back from the Russian embassy on the Monday, maybe Tuesday, and I need to fly to Malaysia on the Thursday. Didn't want to take the chance that I wouldn't have the passport, or that the Americans still had it while I needed to be boarding a plane to Malaysia."

I laughed. "Reminds me of the time I was arranging for my Paris to Hong Kong trip," I said, and told the story of my logistical triumph above.

After I ended my story, my coworker cursed. "Can't get this scanner to work. It won't let me enter an email address to send," he said.

"Strange," I replied. "It was working yesterday, because I scanned my pension document and mailed it to myself."

"Technology," he said, shrugging, and walked off down the hall to use one of the other photocopiers in the building. I walked off to my desk.

Then I stopped.

Moscow, Kuala Lumpur, New York. These are the places that my coworker is going. Getting flights, booking hotels, arranging visas. All the things I used to do. What have I done this week? Pension, dentist, deliveries!

Right at that moment, I missed it. That adventure and excitement. I wanted to be planning a trip somewhere. Flying off to exotic lands. I wasn't. I wasn't going anywhere.

The feeling faded as the day wore on. A short burst of travel envy, that passed as I thought about my life and where I am now. Living abroad, the "constant travel" that I was envious of back when I was travelling. It sure looks like fun, but it can be awfully tiring. And I know if I was doing it now, I'd probably be looking at those who had moved there with a touch of envy.

The grass is always greener, isn't it. Even if you have lived on that lawn before.

Travel Envy remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: armchair travel travel philosophy

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You have Breakfast at Tiffany's, I'll do lunch at Harrods

2012-09-30T13:55:08Z

Last Christmas, I was given a very generous gift of a gift card to Harrods. Harrods is a high end department store in West London. The store has one million square feet of retail space, making it the largest retail space in Europe. The size of the store and scope of products on offer brings thousands of tourists through the door each day. Harrods has a Latin motto - Omnia Omnibus Ubique, meaning "All Things for All People, Everywhere." Many products are priced well above the price brand for "all people," but there is the food hall to find a decent priced item.

I spent the day walking the halls of the store trying to find items on which to spend my gift card. I must admit, mostly I just did double takes at the prices. £145 for a bottle opener? Luckily there were a few items I picked up - a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses and a calendar. Though I still do have lots on my gift card to go through.

I did find one way to burn through the card value, though. At the Caviar House Oyster Bar in the Fish Hall in the Food Halls.

I started out with a glass of Harrods Lager and a plate of Scottish smoked salmon. The lager is a German beer brewed by Hofmark Brauerei. The beer wasn't great, a bit thick and sweet, but actually worked out okay as an offset for the oil in the salmon and salty taste of the oysters.

Oysters were up next, a selection of rock oysters. Decent tasting, salty and sliding down easily. It made me recall my experience in the oyster bar in the basement of Grand Central Terminal in New York City.

I got the bill - £66 for 2 beers, a salmon appetiser and 12 oysters. Decent food, and while I probably wouldn't have paid the prices of my own accord, certainly a decent way to burn through some of the money on my gift card.

You have Breakfast at Tiffany's, I'll do lunch at Harrods remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: food luxury travel

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The Scotsman Trying to Get Home (so he says...)

2012-09-29T20:32:53Z

I was walking up Park Lane today, heading to get a Martini at the Grosvenor House Hotel, an attempt to try and shake off the emotion of Harrod's when the Scotsman stopped me.

Now, I should probably explain what the "emotion of Harrod's" is to you. Harrod's, in case you don't know, is one of the high end shopping department stores in London. So much so, that it has become a tourist attraction. Especially moreso since the owner's son, Dodi was killed in a car accident in Paris along with one Diana Spencer, oft known as the Princess of Wales, the first wife of Prince Charles, heir to the British and Commonwealth throne.

So you face in Harrod's a mix of the hoi polloi gawking at the Diana and Dodi memorial, food hall and outrageously priced merchandise, and the uber-rich trying to buy said merchandise. I, sadly, sat somewhere between the two - not rich enough to think that £156 was a decent price for a bottle opener, but also not there to gawk and instead to spend some money (I shall expand on that in a future entry).

After all that, I needed a drink. Feeling a bit posh after laying down a few quid on Ray Ban sunglasses (a bit of a guilty pleasure of this otherwise Protestant tight-wad), I decided a nice Martini would hit the spot. As the Martini is an American invention (H. L. Mencken called the Martini "the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet"), I decided to head to an American hotel and have my drink at the Redbar at the Grosvenor House Hotel by Marriott on Park Lane.

So I found myself walking up Park Lane - one of the poshest streets for tourists in London - with a Harrod's bag in my hand (containing my Ray Bans and a 2013 wall calendar (price £15)).

That's when the Scotsman approached me.

"Excuse me," he said. "What's the best way to Victoria?"

He didn't look a vagabond, cleanly shaven and carrying a small duffel bag, looking every part the out-of-town tourist you might expect in this area.

I looked over his shoulder, and watched a 73 bus pulling away from a bus stop just 40 feet up the street. Emblazoned on the front was the destination - Victoria.

I pointed over his shoulder. "Well, it's a long walk from here, but if you catch that bus it'll..." I offered, but he cut me off.

"Where you from, America?" He asked.

"No, Canadian," I replied. "So, you can catch that...". Again, before I could finish my sentence, he interrupted me.

"Canadian. Even better. Let me shake your hand." He said.

I shook his hand. He didn't let go for the next 4 minutes.

"Let me ask you a question," he said. "Do you know any Scotsmen? Do you trust Scotsmen?"

How is one supposed to answer that? In reality, with afterthought to compose any answer, my answer should have been, "I don't make judgements on how much to trust someone based on their nationality, but instead make my judgements based on their attitude and actions." However, easier said retroactively in a blog than at the time.

Instead, in the heat of the moment, I said, "Um, yeah. I know some Scots."

"So you trust Scotsmen then?" He pressed.

I shrugged. "Okay, sure."

He introduced himself. "Staff Sargent Harold Potter, first wizard corpse of the Queen's battalion," he said. Or something like that.

The Scotsman went on to explain he was SAS, having just arrived back at RAF Northolt this morning at 6 AM after a tour of duty in Afghanistan.

"I can't call any one to help me get home," he said. That comment went unexplained, but in my head I decided to believe it was because as a member of the SAS, your missions are so secret that even your friends and family can't be alerted to when you arrive back in the country.

After the story, he turned away. "This is so embarrassing," he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

I knew where he was heading. I have been hit up by this before.

But Staff Sargent Potter's request was a surprise. "I need 87 quid to get the East Coast line back home."

Ummm.

"Sorry to hear that mate," I said. "I don't have 87 quid, but can help you out with something."

I dug into my pocket, looking to see what loose change I had. I pulled out 3 one-pound coins.

Stf-Sgt Potter shook his head. "No, please, don't insult me with change." he said, looking away.

"Okay," I said. "Sorry I couldn't help. Have a good day.". I tried to pull away, but he was still shaking my hand and pulled me back into his orbit.

"I can't take the change, but could you buy me the train ticket?" he asked.

"Umm, sorry, no." I replied.

Already, there was too much about Potter's story that wasn't ringing true. He was trying to get an East Coast train to Scotland, but was heading to Victoria station (instead of King's Cross or Euston where trains to Scotland leave from). The whole, "I am SAS and thus can't call friends or family to help me," just seemed unbelievable. And the fact that the forces would just turn out someone on the street after landing less than 15 hours ago seemed unreasonably cruel, even for a Tory-led British government.

"Please, buy me the ticket to Scotland," Stf-Sgt Potter asked.

"No, sorry, I don't have that kind of money," I said. I started to walk away, finally pulling myself free from Stf-Sgt Potter's grip.

"Wait, wait..." He called after me. "Okay, I'll take the change."

I handed Stf-Sgt Potter the change. He took it without a thank you, and walked 10 feet down the street before he cornered someone else. I could hear the refrain "SAS just arrived at Northolt" as I walked up Park Lane.

I, Harrod's bag in hand, headed into the Redbar at the Grosvenor House Hotel, and paid £13 a Martini to drown away my troubles.

"That is why I moan for Moab like a flute. I sound like a flute for the people of Kir Hareseth. The wealth they gained has disappeared." - Jeremiah 48:36

The Scotsman Trying to Get Home (so he says...) remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Still Overseas. Still Outside.

2012-09-23T09:40:16Z

Night fall covers me, but you know the plans I'm making. Still overseas, could it be the whole world opening wide?
- View to a Kill, Duran Duran

It has been a busy few weekends past. First was my trip to the Paralympics, and then, with a friend from Canada in town, two weekends of day trips to Hampton Court Palace, Brighton, Canterbury and... um, this is a little embarrassing... The Harry Potter Studio tour. Actually, Harry Potter was surprisingly good, even though I haven’t read any of the books and only seen the first of the films.

Award winning beach, Brighton

Rose Garden, Hampton Court Palace

Canterbury Cathedral at Night

Dumbledore's office on the Harry Potter Studio Tour

Given all this activity, I decided to take it easy this weekend. I slept in, did some laundry and as a final activity got my haircut. I planned to grab some take-out chicken from Nando’s and head home for a Saturday night in.

My haircut finished up about 16:30, so a little early for dinner. Instead, I popped into a local pub to catch the end of the Saturday Premier League football. I had a couple of pints, watched the football scores come in and surfed the internet on my phone.

18:00 rolled around, so I decided to head home. Wandering out of the pub, a thought flashed into my mind. “I am enjoying visiting this country,” I thought, “I will miss it when I go home.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Wait a second,” I thought. “I am not a visitor here. I live here, just around the corner.”

It’s not the first time I have caught myself thinking like that. Thinking that this is just a temporary situation - a holiday away or a longer-term business trip. I still, after four years living here, sometimes find myself surprised at the fact that I really am living abroad.

The truth is, I don’t really feel like I am British. Certainly, legally I am not - not at least for another couple of years.

However, at some point I would have thought I would start to feel like I belong here.

This isn’t an externally driven feeling. The people of London who I know have never made me feel like I wasn’t welcome. I feel accepted here. I feel like I have a life here. I feel like people are happy to have me here.

But I don’t feel natural here. I don’t feel far outside, but I do feel like an outsider, just always outside of the circle of those who have lived in the UK all their lives.

I wonder if that ever goes away?

Still Overseas. Still Outside. remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: migration experiences migration philosophy

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Paralympics 2012

2012-09-05T20:32:20Z

I went to a few Olympic events, but didn't make it to the Olympic Park. Luckily, a friend of mine had a spare ticket to a few events in the Paralympics within the Park, so I got to head there for the day.

Got to see a couple of events.

First up, in the Velodrome to see a number of track cycling events.

Velodrome Exterior

Highlights on the day included Team GB Sarah Storey winning a Gold Medal in the Women's Individual C4-5 500m Time Trial

Sarah Storey after her race, cycling past the crowds

2012 09 01 Sarah Storey Podium Ceremony

There was only one Canadian on the day, Marie-Claude Molnar, who took place in the Women's C4-5 500m time trial as well. She came in 10th in the event.

Next up, we were off to the Aquatics Centre to see an evening of swimming. We were quite high up, but still had a decent view of the water.

The Aquatic Centre

The crowd was pretty excited about Ellie Simmonds, who won two golds in Beijing at the age of 13, and has won two golds here in London as well. I saw Simmonds smashing the world record in the 400m (classification S6) by more than five seconds.

Simmonds getting her Gold

World records fell like dominoes throughout the day in both the pool and at the velodrome.

There was a medal success for Canada in the pool on the day I was there. Valerie Grand-Maison win silver in the 50m S13 freestyle.

Valerie Grand-Maison, Silver Medallist

The swimming let out after 9:00 PM. As we were high up, we got some nice views of the stadium lit up coming down from the upper deck of the Aquatics Centre.

An impressive day of sport, and I was quite happy to have gotten to see the Olympic park.

Paralympics 2012 remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: olympics sports events

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Stranger in a Familiar Land

2012-09-02T18:44:03Z

Without a way to connect my iPod to the rental car’s radio, I was forced to listen to the local radio. I tuned the radio to a classic 80s station. Wave Babies by Honeymoon Suite came on the radio as I made the turn off from the Queen Elizabeth Way (Niagara bound) to North Shore Boulevard.

If I hadn’t caught a glimpse of my receding hairline and grey-haired temples in the rear-view mirror, I could have sworn it was 1988 again, my teenaged years spent in this same town, driving these same streets and listening to this same music.

But, as Honeymoon Suite sung, just like summer, it is over too fast...

= = =

I flew back to Canada to visit with my family, and take care of some personal business. I stayed in the town where I grew up, Burlington, which is about one hour outside of central Toronto.

Despite only having left Canada 4 years ago and having been back a few times since, I hadn’t spent much time in Burlington since I moved away 15 years ago (originally to Toronto, and then to London). I had spent a few days, and the occasional overnight, but mostly had focused my Canada life on Toronto.

On this trip I spent 7 days and nights in Burlington, the longest I had been there in a very long time.

It was all so familiar, but at the same time, very different.

I ended up feeling like a tourist in the town I grew up in. A stranger in a familiar land.

It was partially the physical changes to the town - new buildings erected, old buildings torn down, new roads build. The constant turning of a corner and being surprised by what was there.

That was only a small part, though. When I lived in Burlington, I knew a lot of people. This was, of course, because when you are a teenager you know so many people in your local area. Everyone in your school and the place you work are likely from the area, so you have a wide social circle.

Now, though, I knew no one. In seven days, I didn’t see a single person I knew by chance. Even though I walked through the malls and the parks and ate in the restaurants of the town, I didn’t happen upon a single person who I knew without pre-arranging a meeting.

Mostly, though, the feeling was driven by the changes in the life of myself and my family. When I last lived here, my parents were both alive and lived in a house on a leafy street. I returned to a place where I have just a single parent, and he is going through the process of moving from his modern, waterfront condominium to a care home. My family is in the process of moving from having parents as caregivers to giving care to our parent.

When I say I was a stranger in a familiar land, there is a double meaning.

Not just familiar because I knew Burlington from my past, but also familiar in the sense "of my family." I am in the place where my family lives, but much changed since I lived here.

New places, new configurations, new structures. Physical, emotional and mental.

All change. Same place, but different.

I am local, and I am the foreigner.

“You could not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you.” - Heraclitus of Ephesus, c. 535 – c. 475 BCE.

Stranger in a Familiar Land remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: migration experiences migration philosophy

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The Olympic Experience

2012-08-12T21:36:24Z

I was not looking forward to the Olympics coming to London.

I wasn’t in London when they won the right to host the 2012 Olympic games. I lived through two bids by Toronto, both that failed, to host the games (in 1996 and 2008). I was happy when Toronto lost. I frankly thought that the city would be overwhelmed by the visitors, and the benefits would be minimal.

As the games approached here in London, I expected the same. I assumed that a crowded, smoggy city whose transport system was bursting at the seems would become even more crowded, smoggy and we would see a transportation system fall apart.

Then something happened, about two weeks before the games started. I started to get excited. I was still pretty sceptical we could pull it off, but I decided if I was going to be inconvenienced by the whole thing, I should might as well get some benefit. So I booked a few events, figuring I would have nothing but problems getting there, but at least I should try.

Then the games started, and it all changed. I became a fan. I became an advocate. I started talking up the games to my friends and coworkers who weeks before had been of the same sceptical and cynical mindset of me, but it was for nought, because they had already come around to be fans themselves.

Soon it became apparent that the entire city, and the entire country had become fans. All the cynicism in the press disappeared, and all everyone talked about was the joy of hosting the game.

It wasn’t without its issues. Sometimes the seats were empty, corporate sponsors deciding not to come to the early events. The transportation system failed at times, but we in London are use to that, and got around it as we do. Athletes were caught cheating with drugs, and sent home. Athletes decided to not try in some events, and were reprimanded.

Overall, the negatives were far, far outweighed by the positives. Crowds gathered to cheer on Team GB. Usain Bolt wowed the crowds 3 times. Michael Phelps became the most decorated Olympic athlete of all time.

I was about to write that London embraced the world, but frankly that is the best thing about London - it is a city that welcomes all - Olympics or not. The Olympics is just London writ large. The world’s games, in the world’s city.

Opening Ceremony

Prior to being swept into the Olympic fold, I had booked a trip to Hungary to see the Grand Prix. On the Friday night, though, now swept up into the Olympic fever, I went out to an Irish pub in Hungary and watched the opening ceremony. It was crazy and strange but awesome, and pulled me into the games.

Boxing

The first event I saw was the boxing at the ExCeL centre in east London. I saw bantam weight, heavy weight and super heavy weight boxing. 12 bouts in all, and probably one of the most impressive the games. We saw a Japanese boxer knock down his opponent five times and still lose (he won on appeal). We saw Iranian heavyweight Ali Mazaheri disqualified. We saw a fight were the opponent didn’t show up (did you know they call that a “walk over?”). We saw two GB fighters win, and also a Canadian super heavyweight. Canadian Simon Kean won on countback against Yoka of France.

Women’s games

The last time London held the games, in 1948, the longest running event for women was the 200 metres. It was felt that they shouldn’t be made to run longer. In 2012, Tiki Gelana of Ethiopia set an Olympic record in the marathon of 2:33:07.

An important point about this games is about equality. This is the first games where every country represented had both male and female athletes, and the first games where every sport had representatives of both genders. Most visibly, boxing for women.

Beach Volleyball

Next up, the Beach Volleyball. Hosted in the Horse Guards Parade, which has been the tournament and parade grounds dating back to the time of Henry VIII. Unlike the jousting tournaments of old, this year it saw scantily clad women and men play volleyball on tons of imported sand.

It was undeniably entertaining. As long as I didn’t think about what I had paid for the tickets (well too much for sitting 22 rows back), nor that I was seeing an Olympic sport. I know that the people playing were undeniably athletic, and no doubt the best in the world at what they do.

However, I couldn’t help but thinking that what they were doing was playing a holiday game. “Hey, we are at the beach, I brought the volley ball and the frisbee. What do you want to play?” I couldn’t help but asking myself, “is that really deserving of a medal?”

Random Olympic Shots

BT London Live was a pair of viewing sites within the Victoria and Hyde Parks in London. Good place to get together with others to watch the games.

Of course, pubs were also high on the list of places to watch the games, with most pubs showing the games non-stop during the two weeks.

There were various places around the city where countries were hosting hospitality sites. Brazil was hosting in Somerset House, just beside my office. It featured a Brazilian flag flying above Somerset House and Brazilian music in the courtyard.

When I wasn’t at the events live, I was still watching. Here’s a few of my selected Facebook posts during the Olympics...

Watching Olympic fencing. A bit like watching Tron. Two warriors in darkness, blue and red lights highlight the play space, electronic beeps announce points. 2016 - light cycles as an Olympic sport?

Similar levels of athleticism, dexerity and showmanship. The only difference between parkour, Cirque du Soliel and men's Olympic gymnastics is uniform. Parkour wears hoodies and low rise jeans. Cirque dresses like clowns. Olympians dress in tight, tight, tight shorts and chest hugging vests. Think for the purposes of expanding their fan base, the Olympians should select a new uniform that is a little less YMCA.

Have been watching the women's Judo on and off during the day on M1 ELO in Hungarian. Two things I have learnt. (1) Women in the 57kg weight class are generally quite foxy. (2) I know nothing about how Judo is scored, and the Hungarian commentary is not helping my understanding.

Diving is a strange sport. It is like the start of a swimming race, but without the swimming. It is solely about the start of an activity, the transition from not swimming and being on dry land to swimming and being in the water. I can't think of other sports like that. There is no sport for starting a running race, nor for bursting out of the gates in skiing. Who came up with this?

Arrived at Heathrow terminal 1. No line for immigration. In fact, there were agents waiting. Through in less than a minute.

Why do people keep reporting, blogging and tweeting about how quiet the tube is? Keep your mouthes shut and let those of us still commuting have a decent journey for the next few weeks!

Sharing a table at the bar before heading into the arena. My co-table inhabitant, while pouring pints of stout into empty water bottles (lines are long when you get in, he explained) asked me, "have you travelled far?" I replied, "Clapham." <pause> "it's two transfers."

If I ran the Olympics, a javelin throw would not count unless the javelin stuck in the ground. Glancing off the ground and sliding along would not count. It's meant to be a weapon, and if you can't stick it into something, then it isn't a very good weapon.
(I am told this is only allowable in the multi-event sports like heptathlon).

Shouldn't Sharapova be playing for "The Independent Tennis Training Facilities of Florida?"

SOOO upset with myself. I had the opportunity two weeks ago to buy athletics tickets for the Paralympics. But I held off. "it's not like the Paralympics is going to sell out, right?" I said to myself. And now, nothing available at all. London has embraced this Olympics (now that it has started), and there is very little available to see at all. Just hoping that something comes up available in the next few weeks.

The Brazilian flag flies over Somerset House. Some alternate reality where Brazil won WWII? Nope, just the Brazilians setting up camp for the Olympics

(On the Canadian women’s football win, where Canada won Bronze over France, reported as Late Strike Seals Canada a Bronze). Good headline writing. Canada "seals" a bronze. Get it? Seals! Ar ar ar.

Ethiopian runner in the women's 5000 metres named Burka. Ironic a woman named burka should be showing so much skin.

Team GB dropped the baton, but Canada qualified. Take a lesson from them. Coat the baton in the sticky internal goo of clubbed baby seals, makes the passes flawless.

Yanquis just set a world record in the 4x100 women's final. Erased a record held by East German "women." The last record in the books held by East Germany. This is truly the end of communism.

Women's 1500. Turkey 1-2. Cakir followed by Bulut. Number 2 with a bullet, then?

Modern Pentathlon. Awesome. Here's a sword. Now here's a gun, run with it. Now here's a horse. Swim! Random goodness.

Amazing relay! WR for Jamaica. Bronze for Canada. Yes! - Followed closely by - NOOOO! A DQ!?! devastated - followed by - Oh no. one of the Canadians stepped on the line, and thus was out of his lane. Such a shame.

Rhythmic Gymnastics, solo and team, has impressed me. Generally (admitting to a bit of perviness), I watch women's gymnastics and think about the general prettiness of the women. Rhythmic Gymnastics, I am (like a house cat or gold fish) enthralled by the movement of the ribbons, balls and hula-hoops. I don't even notice until the end that there are actual people involved in throwing around the ribbons.

Marathon

Last day of the games, and the last free event - the men’s marathon. I went to Blackfriars Station, and watched the marathoners pass 6 times - as they ran 3 loops of the marathon route.

It was amazing how close you could get to the athletes. The first time they came around, I actually jumped back as they came around the corner and I realised they were just a foot from me. Amazing.

Closing Ceremony

It has been a great time. The volunteers were amazing. The Londoners were amazing. The visitors were great. I hope everyone had a great time in the city.

A final Facebook post repost form me - London 2012 has been an absolute joy. I was very sceptical before it started, but it has swept me up emotionally, been great to host the visitors and the volunteers here and has been no problem moving around. Well done, London. It has been an excellent games.

The Olympic Experience remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: olympics sports events

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Engines Running Hot: Hungarian Grand Prix 2012

2012-08-05T11:29:57Z

Last weekend of July saw me in Budapest for the Hungarian Grand Prix.

The temperature was crazy. I landed on Friday, and the thermometer said it was 41C. It was hard not to start melting right away. I managed some site seeing on the Friday, and spent Saturday and Sunday at the track. There was the threat of rain all weekend, but we didn't see any until Sunday evening, long after the race had ended. So most of the weekend was spent in the heat and the sun.

I had tickets for Friday, Saturday and Sunday, but because I only flew from London on the Friday, I missed the two practices and races on Friday.

Saturday was the first day at the track. I got up early, and headed up to the Árpád híd metro stop, where buses left every 10 minutes or so for the track. The bus was free, and took about 30 to 45 minutes to get there.

The Hungaroring is just outside the village of Mogyoród, Hungary. The bus dropped us in the village, and then there was a 10 to 15 minute walk to the track itself. You can bring food and drink into the track, so lots of people were lugging coolers and bags full of food, water and beer.

I was sitting in the Gold 2 section, along the main straight just by the finish line.

Saturday saw two sessions of Formula One, and races for Porsche, GP2 and GP3. First session for the F1 was free practice 3, and then later was the qualifying sessions.

Qualifying in F1 is split into 3 short sessions. After each session, a group of the slowest cars are eliminated. In the end, my favourite driver Lewis Hamilton took pole position, meaning he got to start at the front of the pack for the race the next day.

Good atmosphere at the track, and for those who didn't bring a picnic lunch (like me), there are lots of food options. While more expensive than similar food options in Budapest, it was certainly reasonably priced as compared to some of the other sporting venues I have been to, including other F1 tracks.

Sunday was race day. There were a few early races for the Porsche, GP2 and GP3 cars (including one of the cars coming sliding across the line scrapping the barriers after a last second crash), and then the F1 started.

After an initial restart due to one of the drivers lining up in the wrong position, the race was underway. Lewis Hamilton was first pressed by Romain Grosjean and then by Kimi Raikkonen, but in the end was able to take the checkered flag.

I've put together a video of my view of the race. About 8 minutes, if you are so interested.

Headed back into Budapest by catching the bus. It was the same walk to get to the track in reverse, and after a full day in the sun, the 15 minute walk was making me a little faint. One of the girls who holds the flags of the drivers at the start of the race had fainted already in the heat, and arriving at the bus stop and seeing thousands of people waiting and slowly crushing together, I was concerned I might faint as well.

Luckily, I kept on my feet, though I did see another fan faint. His friends decided that they would grab a taxi instead of a waiting for a bus, and wandered off.

Trying to catch the bus was a nightmare. The crowds were thronged out onto the streets, and the buses kept having to stop well from the front of the line, where people would pile on. I eventually squeezed by way onto a bus, and made it back to Budapest.

Sweaty, hot, rammed on public transit for 45 minutes after spending the day in the sun on hard plastic seats I was beat. "There has to be a better way to see these races," I said to myself.

That evening, as I headed out to dinner after a lie down and a shower back at my hotel, I saw Bernie Eccelstone and Red Bull Racing boss Christian Horner coming out of the fancy lounge bar of my hotel, and getting into the back of a black, tinted windowed Mercedes. They pulled closed the door, and the car roared off into the rainy Budapest night with a low throaty growl.

That's got to be a better way to travel to and from the race. Maybe next year...

Engines Running Hot: Hungarian Grand Prix 2012 remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: sports events formula one

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The A to Z of London

2012-07-21T09:07:02Z

When I first arrived in London, I got lost.

London's street layout has not changed much since the medieval era. They twist and turn, and there are many narrow little walkways and alleys to go down. I'd start out walking down a street, thinking I am heading east, and wind up heading off to the north, coming out somewhere completely unexpected.

Narrow London

Traffic in Islington on the Cally Road

Now getting lost in a new city is good fun, but if you are trying to make a life there, and get to appointments like job interviews or medical appointments, trying to find your way through the new streets in the quickest and fastest way possible without getting lost becomes important.

"I need a map," I said to myself.

I went into a local shop and said I wanted a map of London.

"Do you want a map, or an A to Z?" the clerk asked.

I had no idea what he was taking about. "A map," I replied.

"We only have A to Zs," he said.

I shrugged and walked out. It was only later the same day when I was in another book store, looking up at the London section, that I realized what an A to Z was.

Little and Big A to Zs

The A to Z (or in its written form, AZ) is a street atlas, in a booklet form. Back home in Toronto, we would have just called it a map, but here it goes by the name AZ.

AZ (that's A to Zed, my American friends) was a creation of the AZ map company, designed by Phyllis Pearsall. Back in the 1930s, Phyllis walked London street by street to create the first AZ, and named the map after the index at the back, an alphabetic list of every street in the capital. It, of course, seems completely and totally logical that something like this should exist, but back then it was a revolution.

The AZ took off, so much so that the description "A to Z" has come to mean any booklet form map. I own two AZs, though they are actually Philip's Street Atlases. I have a pocket sized one that I could carry around with me when I was out on the streets, and a larger one that sits at home on a shelf to be consulted in the comfort of my abode.

I used to carry the mini one around with me constantly, and would often consult it. Unlike in Toronto (whose streets are an understandable and easily navigated grid), where someone with a map out would be pegged as a tourist immediately, here in London the long time Londoner would take no shame in pulling out their AZ. All those windy streets, changing names every mile, with lots of little streets off them that run for only a few hundred yards. No one could really know it all (except the cab drivers, who must obtain "The Knowledge" (an understanding of where every street in London is) before being allowed behind the wheel of a black cab).

London's Twisty Streets

The AZ is such an institution, it inspires its fans. James May is a fan, as is Ham over at the London Daily Photo. The iconic east London blogger, The Diamond Geezer, has a whole series of A to Z posts, looking at the museums in the capital.

But the AZ is slowly disappearing. I stopped carrying my mini one around, and very rarely pull out the big one at home. It's been replaced, at home by the endlessly fascinating Google Maps, and out on the streets...

The New Maps

..the smart phone with GPS enabled. No longer do I pull out my AZ and then go through the process of staring at the street signs trying to place myself in the map. Instead, I pull out my phone, click on the "map" app, and wait while it "locates satellites." (Has it ever thought of looking up? The sky is full of them.)

The physical AZ still does have a soft spot in my heart, even if it doesn't have a place in my pocket when I head out into the streets of London. Getting my first one, and pouring over it trying to learn my new city will always be a key part of my becoming a Londoner.

The A to Z of London remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: books migration experiences

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Pimm's and Strawberries at the All England Club

2012-07-01T08:52:23Z

I talked recently about how I was starting to feel more British, saying that "now I feel that getting a British passport is not just a gateway to further adventure somewhere else, but instead I see it as cementing my position here in the UK. It is about giving me the paperwork to match with my feelings - that London is now my home."

If there is anything that demonstrates this, it is the fact that a few weeks ago as the weather turned nice, with the sun coming out and the weather increasing, I thought to myself, "I could really go to a Pimm's."

Pimm's Number 1 Cup is a gin-based drink spiced with various spices and fruits. It is most often mixed with English lemonade (a clear, carbonated lemon-based drink, like Sprite or 7-up for my North American friends), along with various fruits, cucumber and mint.

When I first tried Pimm's four years ago when I first got to the UK, I was not impressed. I have my first taste watching the tennis at The Championship at Wimbledon, and said, "I'm not really sure what Pimm's is, but it was a brownish, cold liquid poured into a cup with ice, mint and a slide of lemon and lime. It tasted a little like cold tea. I don't mean iced tea. I mean hot tea that has gone cold. Like all strange, foreign foods I don't know, it was worth trying, and then it was worth switching over to beer."

I now, however, have turned around on Pimm's, and now often enjoy one when the sun comes out and London heats up. It is a decent summer drink for picnics, patios or any other outdoor lounging activities.

So when I was recently invited to again watch the tennis at the All England Lawn Tennis club (aka Wimbledon), I was looking forward to having a glass or two of Pimm's.

My friend and I packed a lunch instead of depending on the often pricey food and drink at Wimbledon, which included handy pre-mixed cans of Pimm's, along with hard-boiled eggs, cheese, onion and cheese pasties and fresh strawberries.

The weather reports for Saturday were up and down all week, but once we arrived at the day the sun was out, but the air had a touch of a nip and a good breeze which kept it cool.

We had passes to Court One, which despite the primary numbering is the second best court in the championship (behind Centre Court). The order of play for the day was one women's match and two men's matches.

Varvara Lepchenko (USA) v Petra Kvitova (Czech Republic)(4)
Kei Nishikori (Japan)(19) v Juan Martin Del Potro (Argentina)(9)
Jo-Wilfried Tsonga (France)(5) v Lukas Lacko (Slovakia)

First up was Petra Kvitova, the 2011 Wimbledon champion on the women's side, who easily beat her opponent Lepchenko. We watched the first set and a half, and when it was obvious it was heading towards a rout, we exited and enjoyed our packed lunch.

Next up was Japanese Nishikori versus Argentinian Del Porto. The crowd was behind mostly Nishikori, who put on a spirited fight and took Del Potro to a tie break at one point. In the end though, Del Potro was too strong and big for Nishikori and Del Potro moved through.

Del Porto Serving on Number 1 Court, The Championship, All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon

Nishikori Stretches for it on Number 1 Court, The Championship, All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon

Another break, and so we headed out for Ice Cream. Pricey to purchase on the site, but a good on a warm day.

Back to the action where Tsonga, currently the 6th ranked player in the World. He faced up against Slovakia's Lukas Lacko. Tsonga was strong, and easily defeated Lacko. At the end of the match, Tsonga leaped and twirled around the court at the win, moving on to next face Mardy Fish.

Lacko waiting for serve from Tsonga on Number 1 Court, The Championship, All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon

Tsonga on Number 1 Court, The Championship, All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon

The shadows were then getting long, and dinner was calling, so we moved on, leaving behind the tennis.

On Centre Court, two long matches earlier in the day meant that British hope Andy Murray was just getting started, a match that lasted until just after 11:00 PM, meaning that after having dinner and a stroll, made it home to see the final end of the match.

Balls Up on Number 1 Court, The Championship, All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Wimbledon

Four years after my first trip to Wimbledon, and a different experience than last time. Seated tickets instead of general admission, full matches instead of wandering around and watching sets here and there, and an enjoyment of a few glasses of Pimm's.

Pimm's and Strawberries at the All England Club remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: sports events

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Jubilee #2: Linen

2012-06-04T13:47:37Z

While this weekend in London is focused on the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, another celebration is also being observed, though perhaps by fewer people. In fact, as far as I know, I am the only one marking the occasion.

Four years ago, on the early morning of the June 4th, 2008, I landed at Heathrow airport, and soon thereafter was admitted as a resident of the United Kingdom. Thus, today, June 4th 2012, is my Linen Jubilee. I am thinking of going out to the local Debenham’s and buying myself some new sheets to celebrate.

Recently I was talking to someone at work who is also an emigre from another land. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Almost four years,” I replied.

“Oh, so that means you are here for good,” she said.

How had she determined that, I wondered. “Why would you say that?” I queried.

“Most people say if you have stayed in a place for four years, you’re bound to stay and not go back,” she replied.

I will admit that I have no plans to go back to Canada. When I first moved here to the United Kingdom, I always planned on staying for six years. Six years would give me enough time to run through my visa, one year of Indefinite Leave to Remain and then allow me to apply for citizenship.

Beyond that, though, I really had thought I would take advantage of my new status in the EU and probably pull up stakes and resettle somewhere in Europe. Perhaps Paris, which originally called me to move to Europe in the first place, or somewhere in Spain to brush up on my Spanish. Maybe I would move to Eastern Europe, settling into one of the fast growing Eastern European economies in their beautiful capital cities.

At the time I was filled with a wanderlust, and I really saw the move to Europe as a chance to fulfil that lust for travel in a different way.

Over the last four years, though, my thoughts have changed. Certainly the ongoing drama in the Eurozone is partially responsible for questioning if I really want to travel into the EU (if there is even one left in another two years). However, there is more than that. Settling abroad as an immigrant has quenched my thirst for travel. I no longer get the itchy feet I used to if I am at home for an extended period. In fact, now when I travel, though I still enjoy it, I am also looking forward to getting home.

Now I feel that getting a British passport is not just a gateway to further adventure somewhere else, but instead I see it as cementing my position here in the UK. It is about giving me the paperwork to match with my feelings - that London is now my home.

Sometimes I am surprised how settled and comfortable I feel in London, because it certainly hasn’t been an easy four years.

I’ve struggled with work, at first to find any job, and since finding employment, to find the right job. I’ve suffered from a lack of UK experience, both real and imagined on the part of my employers, and am only now getting back to a level I feel is similar to what I left behind in Toronto. I am certainly not financially better off since leaving Canada, with my salary basically staying flat over the past four years in a city which is more expensive than my previous home town of Toronto.

I left behind a set of friends in Canada, and came to the UK with no friends to call on. Trying to make friends in your late-30s and early-40s hasn’t been quick or easy, and there was more than a few times early on when I suffered from loneliness. Luckily now I have a growing group of friends to call on, and have something that could be called a social life now. But I still don’t have the number or diversity of friends here in the UK that I had back in Canada.

Hardest recently has been the fact that you are far away from family and friends. I must admit when I left Canada, I think I subconsciously thought that life would just stay still in Canada. That things wouldn’t change. But they do change. People get married, people get divorced. Children are born, and then grow into adults. People grow old, people get sick, and people die.

Being in London is being far away from it all. I am not there to give the level of support I’d want to give to those who need it, nor can I get that level of support from those back in Canada. Email and international calling provides some value, and my family has been excellent about keeping in touch, but electronic communications can’t replace seeing someone, feeling their touch or having a good hug.

Recently my father had surgery. Luckily I was able to take a week off work and fly back to Canada to be there for the surgery, but in the run up to the decision to have the surgery, and now I am back in London and he is recovering, I feel the distance strongly. Often, I wish I could be there in Canada with him - both to offer support to him and the rest of my family, but also so I was closer to what was happening, and to draw some comfort with being involved and fully informed of what is occurring. I find myself suffering from the stress of feeling impotent - of not being a part of what is happening back home.

Despite these struggles - excluding a few times when I thought that perhaps I would be better off packing up and heading back to Canada - I find myself bonding more and more with London. In the past when I lived in Toronto, when I suffered from hardships, I found myself turning to travel as the escape. Getting on a plane and heading somewhere new, I would find my worries floating away as soon as the cabin crew shut the main cabin door.

Now, though, when something in London is getting me down, I feel myself retreating not to another place, but to something different within London, be it a nice walk along the Thames, or a wander through the historic streets of Westminster, or a night out in the vibrant night life of this city.

Whether it is London itself, or just the experience of living abroad that is providing this comfort, I don’t know. Either way, it makes me feel good to be here.

So tonight I will raise a glass to my Linen Jubilee, and to London. To the last four years, and to many more ahead of me.

Long live the immigrant in me, and long live London.

Jubilee #2: Linen remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: migration experiences migration philosophy existential migration

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Jubilee #1: Diamond

2012-06-04T08:24:12Z

For the last 60 years and 118 days (as of today), Elizabeth the second has been the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, and Queen and head of state of 15 other nations (including my home country of Canada).

She ascended to the throne on the death of her father on the 6th of February, 1952, and on the second of June, 1953, she was crowned the Queen in her coronation.

In celebration, there is a series of events this year, and most focused on this weekend, the anniversary of her coronation. One of the big events was a 1,000 boat flotilla on the Thames river on 3rd June 2012.

The day was not great, it was gray and rainy and cold. Yet people lined the banks of the Thames from Battersea to the Tower Bridge to see the Queen and the 999 other boats on the river in her honour.

I was up river from Battersea Bridge, so didn't see the Queen in her barge, but instead in the tender taking her from Chelsea pier to the barge. The Queen was dressed in white, stood beside Prince Phillip in his naval uniform, waving to the crowds.

The Queen in the Tender from the Britannia

Canadians guarding HRH Elizabeth II

Following that was 2 hours worth of boats. The cold came in, the wind whipped up and finally came the rain. Many people gave up, but I stayed to the bitter end.

Rowing boat Gloriana with Matthew Pinsent and Steve Redgrave

Letting off some steam

God Save the Queen

Flotilla passes under Battersea Bridge

Flotilla passes in the shadows of Chelsea Wharf

Fire Boat in the Flotilla

Those that stuck it out were committed, though. And they were loud and happy throughout.

Celebration Flags on Balconies

Mock crowns for all

Celebrations Along the Thames

I got quite wet, but was quite happy.

Greg gets very wet

After the last boat (a large modern boat carrying the London Symphony Orchestra, playing Rule Britannia) passed under Battersea Bridge, I returned home to watch the rest on TV. The Queen, once reaching Tower Bridge, parked her barge and watched the procession pass her.

HRH Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip aboard the Royal Barge (Taken from the BBC TV Coverage)

So, Queen Elizabeth the Second, long to reign over us. She is already the 2nd longest serving Monarch in British history. Only a few more years until she is the longest serving British Monarch.

Still a few years to go to be the longest serving ever, however. On his death, King Sobhuza II of Swaziland had served more than 82 years. Queen Elizabeth has another 22 years to match that target.

I hope she does it.

Long to reign over us. God save the Queen.

Jubilee #1: Diamond remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: events

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In Bloom

2012-05-26T09:04:04Z

I've almost been in the UK for four years now. For the first couple of years, when we hit March, I would start to get itchy eyes and start sneezing. There would be a period of about 3 weeks where I would have a mild but annoying hay fever.

This spring, though, has been so miserably cold and wet, I didn't experience any symptoms through March or April. Most of the way through May, I was still symptom free.

Yesterday, on the 25th of May, I woke up and as soon as I left the house I could feel my eyes itching. Within 10 minutes, I felt the tickle in my nose telling me a sneeze was coming.

"Of all the days," I said to myself. I ran off to the local pharmacy to get some Claritin, because May 25th was a very bad day for me to start my annual suffering from hay fever. I was off to a place that would aggravate my symptoms.

I was off to the Chelsea Flower Show.

The Chelsea Flower Show is an annual event held on the grounds of the Royal Hospital in Chelsea. The show, put on by the Royal Horticultural Society, is more than just a chance to see flowers and buy some seeds and trowels, though there is a lot of that.

In addition, Gardeners from around the UK and the world come and set up show gardens, often with crazy themes.

Garden celebrating the Queen's 60th Jubilee

Flowery Mini

Williams F1 Hedge. Fitting after they just won the Spanish GP a few weekends ago.

The wild garden was very popular this year. There were very few of the structured, sculptured gardens that you might think of when you think of gardening. Instead, there are a lot of wild and unstructured beds with a menagerie of plants.

Water Features were big this year

The Traveller's Garden, with maps and explorer's gear

Minotaur. There were some crazy garden statues available to buy.

DMZ Garden. Garden showing what might be growing in the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea, along with reminders of the on-going war between the two.

Luckily the Claritin did its job, and my sneezing and itchy eyes were kept to a minimum. The sun was warm, but there was often a nice breeze to keep things cool. After wandering around for a few hours, we found a nice place to sit in the shade on the cool grass, and enjoyed a cider. Music wafted through the trees from the nearby stage, and we watched the wide swath of people walking by - young couples, hipster artists, Chelsea Pensioners, upper-middle class retirees, accents from around the world - French, American, Spanish, Chinese and Japanese.

The world loves a garden.

In Bloom remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: landscapes events tourist sites

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Commute

2012-04-27T22:50:03Z

One of the great things about my commute is that, because I work in Central London, I have some awesome choices of commutes. In any commute, I cross the Thames River. I can take a bus from my place which runs through Parliament Square, by Big Ben, and then past Trafalgar Square. Or I can take the train in to Victoria, and get off at Temple tube, walking past Somerset House on my way into the office. The final (and most common) commute, I cross the Thames by walking across Waterloo Bridge to Waterloo train station and then on the way home.

The walk across Waterloo Bridge is amazing, though. To the east is St. Paul's Cathedral and beyond that the city. To the west, Charing Cross, the London Eye and the Parliament buildings.

A couple of weeks ago, crossing the bridge, there was a beautiful, red sunset, creating a gorgeous backdrop for the sites along both sides of the Thames.

Charing Cross rail Bridge and St. Stephen's Tower from Waterloo Bridge

London Eye and St. Stephen's Tower (aka Big Ben)

I never thought I would say this, but often the commute home can be a great balm for a hard day when the commute looks as beautiful as that.

Commute remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: sunsets and sunrises

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More Skiin' in Morzine

2012-03-31T13:26:42Z

I seem to have an on and off relationship with skiing. I started skiing when I was in my pre or early teens (somewhere around 12, 13 or 14 I think). I skiied a lot when I was a teenager, mostly in eastern Canada and the eastern USA. Then when I started working after University, I gave it up due to lack of time and money.

After 7 years, I picked up skiing again when I worked on a project over the winter in Denver, Colorado, followed by a project in California that allowed me to try out some of the resorts there. My last ski trip was the trip to Heavenly, California. After that, I spent 13 months in Atlanta, which is not really a hot bed of snow skiing, and skiing left my life again.

So it had been over 9 years since I last skied when a friend from London suggested a ski trip to the Alps. I had never skied in Europe, so how could I pass that up.

We spent a week in Morzine, France, part of the Portes du Soleil ski area spanning the border between France and Switzerland.

We arrived on Sunday, March 18th to a heavy snowfall. The week before the weather was bright, warm and sunny, and there was some concern that the snow would have melted off the hills. However, the snow continued through the next day, giving a hills an excellent coating of fresh snow and deep powder.

The snow was thick on the slopes that first day, and despite forgetting my goggles at home, it was a good day skiing. I got back after the first day we burning thighs. I jumped into the shower to clean up and soak my aching muscles. In the shower, I saw proof I had pushed hard. Embedded in my shins were small blue balls of fuzz from my thermals, pushed into my shins as I pressed against the front of my boots.

We were staying at an amazing chalet called Alaska right in the centre of Morzine. The chalet included a cook, chalet host and the services of a ski guide to take you around the mountains. I have never stayed at a fancy chalet before, and the experience was amazing. Good food, great advice from our hosts and champagne and canapes as apres ski. If there is any problem with staying in the chalet, it was that it was easy to over do it on the food and have too much.

Tuesday we woke to a sunny day on the slopes. I headed out with one of our ski guides on Tuesday and skied over towards the Swiss border.

This being France, on hill dining is a little different than the burger and fries that seem to be de rigueur in North America last time I skied there. Restaurants dot the hills, offering sit down dining for hot meals. Lunches over the week included roast chicken, pizza, sausages and fresh salads.

The week continued with sunny and warm weather. Beautiful spring skiing. One day I headed up to the top of Les Gets to check out Mont Blanc. There are views of Mont Blanc from all around Morzine and Les Gets.

Sunny and warm, I decided to sit down and have a half pint (or demi, as the French call them) over looking Mont Blanc.

Off the slopes, we also went and saw the Morzine Penguins ice hockey team play an exhibition match against a team from Megeve. The Megeve team plays in a lesser league, so it was a fairly one sided match, ending with the Penguins winning 15 goals to 3.

By the end of the week the sun had taken its toll on the snow on the slopes, exposing a lot of grass. One of the lifts goes over a horse farm, and the horses were enjoying an early spring forage.

It was definitely good to get out skiing again, and get my first taste of European skiing. Hopefully it won't be the last.

More Skiin' in Morzine remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: skiing

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Roll Up! Roll Up! The Rolling Bridge at Paddington Basin

2012-03-16T18:14:27Z

Imagine, if you will, you are walking along and ahead of there is a rather unassuming foot bridge. You might see a boat coming along, and think to yourself, "there is no way that boat shall pass under that bridge." Then the bridge starts to curl up, like a potato bug, getting out of the way of the coming boat.

That is what you will find at Paddington Basin, where Heatherwick Studio's have created the Rolling Bridge just outside the corporate headquarters of Marks and Spencer.

I previously worked in the area and had, in fact, crossed the bridge on multiple occasions without ever realizing there was anything special about it.

Then a couple of man come out, blocking off the two entrances to the bridge, and slowly it starts to curl up. It rises like a straight lift bridge at first, but then the end starts pushing higher, and the bridge starts to warp into a curve.

Eventually the bridge curls around onto itself, closing up into an octagon shape on one side, and freeing completely the channel it spans.

After a few minutes, the bridge unfurls, eventually spanning the channel again.

It becomes just a regular footbridge again.

The footbridge can be found at Paddington Basin, just to the east of Paddington Train station. The bridge is opened every Friday at noon.

Roll Up! Roll Up! The Rolling Bridge at Paddington Basin remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: tourist sites

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The City is Eternal, but the Snow is Just Temporary

2012-02-13T21:31:02Z

Usually if a flight pulls away from a gate at anything other than the appointed time, its because you are running late. My flight down to Rome was one of those rare occasions where a plane pulled away early. The pilot and crew had gotten everyone on ahead of schedule so we could get away early. "Hopefully to miss the snow," explained the captain.

Snow? In Rome? That doesn't seem like travel as usual.

It wasn't. In fact, the snow that fell on Rome was the first snow since 1986. The radio was telling folks to stay off the road, and I saw more than my fair share of cars rattling down the cobblestone streets of central Rome with chains on their tires. It was a unique way to see Rome for the first time.

The snow had finished falling by the time we landed, so the pilots rush to get us off the ground was for nought and the snow didn't impact the flight at all. We were 20 minutes early, though, which would give me an extra 20 minutes of site seeing in Rome. All I had to do was get into town. That's where the snow hit me.

I was already in a poor mood from the wait in line for customs (we arrived just after a couple jumbos from China and India) when I arrived at the train station. The train into central Rome was delayed by 30 minutes, and once it finally got going dropped us only halfway towards central Rome, at Roma Ostiense station instead of at Roma Termini. I had to transfer to the metro, and then try and drag my roller suitcase 20 minutes through the snow covered pavement and cobbled streets of Rome.

Once settled into my hotel (right by the Trevi fountain), my mood improved. Despite the cold, snow and ice, the site seeing was good when bundled up against the cold. It did provide a few hitchs - for example, the Colosseum was closed due to the snow, there were a few streets shut down due to falling ice and I did slip on the ice, fall and jam my thumb. However, it did provide a unique view of many of the famous Roman sites I had seen many times in photos and on travel TV shows.

Snow in the Coliseum

Columns at the Foro Di Caesar

The Forum from Via dei Fori Imperiali

Columns at Largo di Torre Argentina in the snow

Largo di Torre Argentina in the snow

Lights along Via del Corso

Spit it out! Piazza Novona

Trident wielder, Fountains at Piazza Novona

Quirinale steps

Arch and fork in the road showing the snow in Rome

Spanish Steps, icy and treacherous

Statues along Via Del Fori Imperiali

Tiber River at Night

Trevi Fountain at night

Villa Medici, atop the Spanish Steps

Santissimo Nome di Maria al Foro Traiano

Santa Francesca Romana o Santa Maria Nuova

By the end of my four days, much of the snow had melted, however the cold was still there. The snow and cold provided a unique view of Rome, but I would like to see it in a more traditional setting - perhaps with some sun and warmth next time. Definitely will want to come back.

So on my last night, walked around the corner from my hotel to the Trevi fountain. I took off my gloves, shivered a touch from the cold air on my skin, and then dug into my pocket. I pulled out a Euro coin, turned my back to the fountain, and tossed it over my shoulder.

Rome, I'll be back.

The City is Eternal, but the Snow is Just Temporary remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: tourist sites

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Rome and Ruin: Superbowl XLVI in Rome, Italy

2012-02-08T22:37:52Z

"I don't think I have heard this much English since I arrived in Rome!"

I overheard that as two people squeezed passed me through the pre-game throng. The place was packed with Americans, mostly students. Despite the fact that it was getting close to midnight on a Sunday night, the crowd continued to grow and showed no signs of easing up.

The reason they were there, and that late on a Sunday, was for Superbowl XLVI, and the place they were gathering was the Scholar's Lounge on the Via del Plebiscito in Rome, Italy.

The Scholar's Lounge is a multi-room Irish pub with a fine selection of beers on tap and an international menu. It is as one imagines an Irish pub should be - wooden paneling, pictures of Irish poets, books lining book shelves and lots of whiskeys lined up behind the bar along mirrored shelves. It also, in the manner of many pubs nowadays, had multiple TVs to show all the latest sports, including American football.

Superbowl XLVI featured the New York Giants against the New England Patriots, playing in Indianapolis, Indiana. The Patriots were heavily favoured, however the New York Giants had beaten a heavily favoured and previously unbeaten Patriots squad in the Superbowl in 2008.

As we got closer to midnight, the cramped quarters became even more packed, and I had to fight to find a space just to stand. Soon every inch of floor space was filled with people watching the Superbowl.

Getting to the bar became a chore, having to try and push through the crowds. At half-time, I switched from pints to bottles of Peroni, and ordered three large bottles so I could try and make it through Madonna's half-time show and through the end of the game without having to try and fight my way back to the bar. Luckily I was able to find a small space, which even included a small shelf to put my extra bottles on and provided a decent view of on of the big screens.

Despite the crowds, the Scholar's Lounge was a great place to watch the game. It had an excellent atmosphere, lots of fans and a beautiful setting. A few less people might have made getting to the bar a bit easier, but one can't complain too much.

The game came towards the end with the Giants having the ball. Afraid that New York would run down the clock and kick a game-winning field goal, the Patriots allowed the Giants to score a touchdown run, giving the Patriots 57 seconds to try and win the game. However, the Patriots were unable to move down the field, and the Giants ended up winning the game 21 points to 17.

My own game plan worked out well as well. I was able to run through the entire second half without having to go back to the bar, and as the game ended still had half a bottle of Peroni left.

The crowd thinned out as the lights came on and I finished off the last of my beer. I walked out into the cold Roman night, wandered past the nearby Palazzo Venezia, up the street past the Trevi Fountain and back to my hotel. Another exotic location to watch the most American of events in an Irish pub.

- - -

For more of my experience of watching Superbowl in international locations, check out my Superbowls Around the World Table of Contents.

Rome and Ruin: Superbowl XLVI in Rome, Italy remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The Land of Goat's Milk and Honey

2011-12-18T15:43:41Z

As November came to an end, I looked at my remaining vacation balanced and realized that I had almost as many vacation days left for 2011 as there were working days left. Booking off the time between Christmas and New Years and with carrying forward a week of holidays, I still needed to take a full week off sometime in December. So I booked a week and undertook the last minute planning of the unprepared.

After searching the internet for cheap flights and cheaper hotels, I wound up with a week to spend in Malta.

The Republic of Malta is a country that are a series of islands in the Mediterranean, 80 km south of Sicily and 284 km east of Tunisia. Situated rather strategically in the middle of the Mediterranean, Malta has throughout history been ruled and conquered by a number of people including the Romans, Arabs, Knights of St John, French and the British before gaining independence from the United Kingdom in 1964. Malta joined the EU in 2004 and in 2008 become part of the Eurozone (Not the greatest timing on that).

I was staying in St. George's Bay, part of a continuous urban area that runs along the east coast of the main island that also includes Valletta, the main city and capitol. The whole area seems to be in a state of flux - half new and half old, half under construction and half being torn or falling down. Along the seafront there are numerous new hotels and luxury flats, with fancy restaurants. There is a lot of construction under way, especially as it was the low season when I was there and the construction industry was taking advantage to build. At the same time, though, between the new buildings and construction sites were older buildings - some faithfully maintained, while others looks right ready to fall over.

I got myself a decent deal on the Corinthia Hotel, a five start that was going cheap because of the low number of travellers during early December. The hotel included a number of restaurants and bars, including Henry J Bean's American Bar, which offered two-for-one drinks during happy hour from 18:00 - 19:30 each night, and had a decent chicken wing appetiser.

One evening I was there enjoying my two-for-one pints of Cisk beer and watching the biathlon on Eurosport on the big screen. Biathlon is a winter sport that combines cross-country skiing with target shooting. A woman, who was ordering at the bar, saw me watching and asked me in a Manchester accent what I was watching. I explained it was biathlon.

"I've never heard of it," she said.

"There aren't many great British bi-athletes," I said. "It is more popular in the Nordic countries and Russia." Just as I said that, the announcer indicated that the French team was leading the race. "...and other countries," I said.

"Who are you cheering for?" she asked.

"Canada, where I am from," I said.

"How are they doing," she asked.

"Not bad, for Canada, they are eighth. That's good for us. I don't know why Canada doesn't do better at biathlon. We have lots of snow, plus there are wolves and polar bears and such that a rifle is good to protect against. There is so much wide flat space covered with snow that Canadians have to cross. You would think we would be good at skiing long distances punctuated with the occasional need to stop and shoot something."

= = =

The Maltese honey bee, Apis mellifera ruttneri, is a sub-species of the Western honey bee, and is native to Malta. The origin of the term Malta is uncertain. One of the most common etymology is that the word Malta derives from the Greek word meli, meaning "honey".

= = =

I was mostly in Malta to relax, but did get in some site seeing. It is a place with a long history, and to get a feel for it decided to do one of those hop-on/hop-off bus tours that take you round to various sites.

We breezed through Valletta (which I would go and see the next day), and spent my time in San Anton Gardens, Mdina and Rabat.

San Anton Gardens is home to the Presidential Palace, as well as a large and diverse garden.

Mdina is the old capital of Malta, a medieval walled town situated on a hill in the centre of the island with views off to the Mediterranean. The oldest building in Mdina is Palazzo Santa Sofia, of which the ground floor dates back to the 1200s.

The rest of the city is thin streets, and stone buildings. The island of Malta is very rocky, made of limestone, and many of the buildings - whether old or new - are made of the same limestone.

Outside of Mdina is Rabat (the Arabic word for suburb), which contains St. Paul's Catacombs. The catacombs were used for burials of all manners of faith and people from the 4th century to the 9th century. Some of the catacombs are open to the public, and you can see where numerous burials had taken place.

After wandering around, while waiting for the next tour bus, I grabbed a drink called a Kinnie. According to their website, "Kinnie was originally developed by Simonds Farsons Cisk in Malta in 1952, as an alternative to the innumerable colas that had proliferated in Europe since the Second World War. Kinnie is a unique tasting, alcohol-free, natural, refreshing beverage. Its golden amber colour, and the fact that it is made from bitter oranges and a variety of aromatic herbs, lend this beverage a bitter taste which is an excellent thirst quencher. "

It tastes something like a orange-flavoured ginger beer. It wasn't an immediate hit for my taste buds, but I could see it becoming a taste I could acquire.

= = =

The next day I went to Valletta, the capital of Malta. It is high on a hill on the water, and has massive walls. The city was founded by the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, the knights which ruled the island from the 1500s through the 1700s. The Knights of Malta, as their were known, defended the island in 1565 against the Ottoman empire.

Immediately after the end of the Siege of Malta in 1565, the Order decided to found a new city on the Xiberras peninsula to fortify the Order's position in Malta. The city is named after the Grandmaster of the Order, Jean Parisot de la Valette, who founded the city by placing the foundation stone on 28 March 1566.

The Great Siege of Malta in 1565 occurred when the Ottoman's tried to capture the island. The Ottoman Empire wanted to take the island to give them a strategic advantage for control of the Mediterranean over the Christian nations. Suleiman the Magnificent, sultan of the vast Ottoman empire, sent 200 ships with 40,000 fighting men and another 9,000 cavalry. On the Knights side were the 600 knights, plus a few thousand mercenaries and a few thousand Maltese irregulars – in all between 6,000 and 9,000 men.

Despite the differences in numbers, the Knights were able to hold the island thanks to its rocky, hard to take shoreline as well as the toll which sailing from Turkey took on the Ottoman soldiers through disease. After three months, what was left of the invading Ottoman force gave up and returned home.

A third of the defenders died, and up to 30,000 of the Ottoman's might have died, though numbers are disputed. In central Valletta, there is a monument to the defenders of Malta.

The second great siege of Malta occurred in the early 1940s, as the Axis forces of Germany and Italy attempted to gain control of Malta, which was being used by the Allies as an air and naval base. The attacks included a blitz by the German air force. 6728 tons of bombs to fell on Malta in April of 1942, 36 times the amount to fall on Coventry. In March and April 1942 more bombs were dropped on Malta than fell on London during the entire Blitz. Malta's people and her defenders were awarded the George Cross by King George VI for their bravery during the air raids "To bear witness to the heroism and devotion of its people during the great siege it underwent in the early parts of World War Two."

= = =

December 13th, when I was in Valletta, was Saint Lucia day, and in honour there were marching bands heading through the streets of Valletta.

The city was done up in its Christmas' finery, as well.

Round the corner from the busy Republic Avenue and St. George's Square was The Pub. The Pub is a small little watering hole, a cozy place filled with lots of British Naval memorabilia. It is also the place where Oliver Reed, while in Malta filming Gladiator, died after a bout of drinking. On the night he died, Reed had supposedly drunk eight pints of lager, 12 double rums and half a bottle of the Famous Grouse, and beaten a few young sailors in arm-wrestling contests. The pub is now also partially a shrine to Reed.

I had a pint in The Pub, just getting in at 5:25 PM for last orders. Apparently it often closes early.

= = =

Next to Valletta is Floriana. In Floriana There is a church there dedicated to Saint Publius.

Publius was the Roman governor of Malta. After Paul the Apostle was shipwrecked on Malta, he met Publius, and after healing his feather, converted Publius to Christianity.

Acts 28:7-9
In the same quarters were possessions of the chief man of the island, whose name was Publius; who received us, and lodged us three days courteously.
And it came to pass, that the father of Publius lay sick of a fever and of a bloody flux: to whom Paul entered in, and prayed, and laid his hands on him, and healed him.
So when this was done, others also, which had diseases in the island, came, and were healed.

Publius went on to become the Bishop of Malta, and Malta became one of the first officially Christian countries in the world. Catholicism was written into the 1974 constitution as the island's official religion.

= = =

As an island, the cuisine of Malta has a number of seafood options. In addition, rabbit features on the menu.

There is a Maltese cheese, as well. The Maltese goat breed, as the name suggests, originates from the island of Malta. It produces a large quantity of milk: from 500 to 600 kg of milk for 270–300 days, from which the Maltese goat cheese is made.

A name derived from Honey and goat's milk aplenty? Malta, the land of goat's milk and honey.

The Land of Goat's Milk and Honey remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: tourist sites

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Modern Day Frost Fair

2011-11-26T14:55:26Z

Back in centuries past, when the winters in London were colder than they are now, and the River Thames less contained and fast flowing, the River would on occasion freeze over. When the river would freeze over, frost fairs were held on the frozen water. These fairs involved "sleds, sliding with skeetes, a bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet plays and interludes, cooks, tipling and other lewd places, so that it seemed to be a bacchanalian triumph, or carnival on the water," as described by writer John Evelyn.

The last frost fair was held in 1814. Milder winters, along with embankments being built along the banks of the river and the new London Bridge allowing the water to flow faster through its larger arches meant the river has not frozen over since.

Rink and Tree, skating at Somerset House

However, there still are opportunities to enjoy a touch of the frost fair in London. Each year Somerset House gives over a large portion of its courtyard to an outdoor ice rink. I went recently with a bunch of co-workers for an hour of ice skating.

Rink with ghostly skaters, skating at Somerset House

Rink at Skate, skating at Somerset House

As a Canadian, I learned to ice skate at an early age. I wasn't ever really very good at it, though, and as compared to other Canadians, am a weak skater.

The great thing about skating in the UK is that most of them haven't ever been on skates, and are quite poor. Whereas on a Canadian rink, I look like a rank amateur, on an English rink I am in the top 10%! It's a real ego boost. I would recommend it for any Canadian living in the UK.

Greg Gliding, skating at Somerset House

Greg coming in low, skating at Somerset House

Not to say I'm by any means perfect. I did fall once, trying to stop a little to fancily in front of my coworkers. Bit of a wet leg after that... Oops.

After falling, a bit of a wet leg, skating at Somerset House

But for the most part I did well on the ice. And it was fun to get out.

Action shot, me skating away, skating at Somerset House

I think I'll go again this year. It is a good workout, quite fun, and at £15 for an hour, cheaper than the gym.

Modern Day Frost Fair remains copyright of the author GregW, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Post tags: events

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