Daytripper: West London

Victoria Coach Station

A few weeks ago, I went out for a day around London, making my way from Covent Garden all the way out to Victoria Station. Why? Because a English friend of mine was to came to London for a weekend of fun (I.E. Drinking) and good times. He arrived later on in the day, so I had some time.

I first got off at Tottenham Court Road station, right by a place called Denmark Street. It's only a block wide, but packed with music stores. Some were just run of the mill music shops stocking all the average ware, others made you check twice before walking in for fear of wrecking some 4000 pound work of electric guit-art.

There was this one shop that stocked some very old, very rare, very worn instruments. I managed to find a twelve-string electric for only 350 quid. Of course, knowing I had to eat and needed a roof to sleep under, I told the man working at the register I'd be back tomorrow.

Stepping out of the shop, I noticed a wall of ads, each one searching for a bandmate. I picked up a few numbers, texted here and there and left for Covent Garden.

Of course, the area has nothing to do with the religious. Nowadays, it's filled with restaurants, bars, clubs, sex shops and homosexuals, not sure many from the church would agree with that. Moving up and down the busy, crowded streets and alleys, you can see the latest trends and fashions flowing by, as well as lots and lots of tourists.

I headed due south, out towards Victoria Coach Station, which meant walking through Chinatown and Piccadilly Circus. I was greeted by a huge gate, cooked ducks just hanging out in shop windows and the smell of grease hanging in the air; not much to see, I had moved further along.

My path brought me back towards Buckingham Palace, I walked through the park and ended up at the famous Marble Arch, the huge war memorial dedicated to the Second World War. The mood around the shrine was dour, the air hung under low lying clouds as I took it in. Solemnly walking onwards, I could only think of the many people that the site was for and the presence the event still has in the British consciousness.

On the final leg of my trip, I was surprised by a flag I didn't expect to see anywhere in London.

A "Maison du Québec" in London? Who would've guessed.

And that's the last interesting thing that happened until I got to the station. We met up and headed out. I frankly would rather not get into detail, more because I can't remember than anything.

Pictures From This Daytrip

Hey! I'm Not Dead!! (Yet)

Well, it's been a while, but y'all just sit tight - it's alright. More written accounts are on their way!

Daytripper: The London Eye

The sky was blue,
The sun was high,
The trip was due,
The London Eye,
Walked for a few
And soon I sighed
The longest queue
I'd ever spied
Waiting so soon
And by my side
Without ado
the Children cried
no patience to
Wait for the ride
I lined up soon,
thorn in my side
The lineup grew
I was inside
Another view
Upon the tide

Old ben and 'loo
And Regent and Hyde
Gherkin and slews
Boats moored and tied

All shrunk and grew
With circular stride
The minutes flew
They passed me by
And soon 'twas through
Shucked from the sky
Step one, step two
Walked pass the line
Of the many, the few
to touch the sky

Pictures from this Daytrip 

Daytripper: Windsor Castle

Finally managing to get up in the morning after a week of work, I had rushed off to Waterloo Station to meet a friend of mine, Andrew from Washington D.C. He had just returned from a weekend trip to Vienna and was eager to fill me on the details, as well as see another English landmark, the Queen's official residence, Windsor Castle

Getting to the station two minutes after the train was supposed to leave, I had discovered it was perfectly delayed, so both of us made it in time. MY friend was late becase the tube (Subway) was clogged with closures. Workers were repairing the oldest subway system in the world so that it doesn't embarass the british nation during the 2012 olympics.

The train shot off, taking about 50 minutes to get out to Windsor, which is on the far, far western side of London, past the ring road that traces where the city ends and the country begins. The castle's peaks grew and blended in with the overcast of clouds as the train grew closer. Walking up the hill leading to the gate, I couldn't help but notice the McDonalds, the Starbucks, the Pizza Hut, which was sort of odd considering the "British-ness" of the place.

So we paid, got in, got thoroughly searched and followed the tour. The castle's immensity revealed itself inside and out, walking through the sheer classiness, past the centuries of work, the completely flat view looking three miles out. The whole place was adorned with gold and velvet and priceless artefacts. No flash photography please, 'cause it could blind someone, what with all the shiny things.

On the down side, I didn't get to see any of the royal appartments, just rooms adorned with countless paintings and relics. In one room, the coat of arms of every knight of the garter hang upon the walls. The Order of the Garter was a small circle of incredibly important knights formed by King Edward the 3rd. Since it's foundation, there have only been 1000 knights in the club with a history stretching back to the 14th century. All of which had been selected by the reigning monarch and inducted in the chapel inside the castle's walls. In fact, members of the order had only three responsibilities, to eat, to train and to pray.

All of which they did in the safety of the fortress.

Of course, the trip was worth it, but as I had remarked before, the sheer commercialisation of the site was incredible. Within the castle walls, there were no less than 3 gift shops. Built up around the area were streets filled with pricy shops selling anything from cell phones to milkshakes to pints to chinese food. I guess it's just a testament to the millions of tourists and foreign dollars that pass through here every year.

 Does this hat make me look fat?

Afterwards, me and Andrew headed back towards the train station, walking through the main streets, past every shop and stall. Stopping into a pub for a quick ale, waiting for the train, we watched the Thames flow onward towards the british countryside as the sun set for what was to be another London night.

Pictures from this Daytrip

Daytripper: Tate Modern

This is the first installment of my Daytripper series, because a rolling stone doesn't gather moss, after all.

So about a week ago, I decided to go see a bunch of paintings that don't look like things.

I kid, but that seems to be the opinion of many people. Some would wonder why you'd pay to see this. I'm guessing that's why it's free.

I get it! Someone dropped their rock flavored ice cream!

 So off I went, entering the main room, filled with over 99 999 hand made, porcelain replica, sunflower seeds. Covering most of the hall, stretching off to the back of the room, the immensity of such a simple thing overwhelming the senses. It's said to represent the human condition, how one sunflower seed is almost nothing, but thousands brought together is a piece of art.

Of course, the gallery also has it's own permanent collection. Among them are some of the most important works from the last century by the most influential artists, as well as newer works from relatively unknown folks in the art community. You'll see Picassos, Warhols, Monets, Dalis, Matisses, Pollocks etc ad nauseum.

This was my favorite, painted by Roy Lichtenstein, a major player in the pop art movement. It was as wide as the room!

Of course, some of the works were a bit more abstract and ephemeral, open to whatever you could imagine it to be. A certain artist once said it's not technique or representing anything that matters, but simply if the work is good or not.

Worst. Game console. Ever.

Overall, though, the experience was enriching. Viewing the many ways (As colourful and diverse as the world itself) that artists portray the realities around them makes us view what surrounds us differently as well. With each different view we are able to take in, the better prepared we are to understand the views of others.

Canadian Cubism, a work by David Bromberg depicting soldiers tunneling under enemy trenches in the First World War. 

View More Pictures Here! 

Since The Tourist-y Bit

So, the last post told about what happened a few weeks ago, but what have I been doing since?

Honestly, nothing of interest, really! Most days I would be at BUNAC, the agency that helps those in the SWAP program over here find work and lodging. They provided free internet, job listings and ads for flats (That's apartment in Canadian). Within a considerably short delay, I've already found work at the customer service department for Habitat, a furniture company that has stores in England, France and Germany. I essentially take care of anybody in France who is still waiting for their couch two months after they ordered it or that need to return something. It's not that great, but it's something while I look for something more serious.

I've been in youth hostels for weeks now, so the next logical step is a nice little flat to share, I'll be doing that all day tomorrow.

However, the most interesting thing that's been happening is, in reality, the people I've met. From all over, they flock to London for something and in the brief time they share together, they share in the disbelief that of all the places they could be at this moment, they are here in London. All come from different walks of life: well off Americans working in finance, charming French women who come for a weekend, Turk-born Belgians fleeing a non-existant government and looking for work, young Japs wanting the time of their lives before the inevitable wife/kids/desk job combo, Israelis wanting to unwind before mandatory military service, Canadians either on the first or last leg of a trans-european journey, Italians who can barely speak English, wanting to change that, Australians from Perth looking for excitement 'cause Perth is just too damned boring, university students, football fans, neo-bohemians trying to be poor (but their parents won't let them), artists, musicians, socialists, republicans, anarchists. This ragtag group of people, all trying to fit into the mosaic of English life, a palette as bright and colourful as the day is long.

The important thing is that they all enjoy a drink, some tunes and good company, it helps a lot.

Things So Far, So Far

Of course, I had to open with this picture! It neatly sums up what I've been doing since I got here, the tourist thing. After a day of aches, pains and jet lag, I went out and had a full English breakfast, which has eggs, baked beans, bacon, sausage and chips. When it comes to the English breakfast, it's heart attack or money back. 

I headed onward, the sights unfurling like on a screen: Piccadilly Square, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Cathedral, Big Ben. One particular stop I enjoyed was the Imperial War Museum; they had preserved the bunkers from which the british ran their campaign in the second world war. Definitely not for the claustrophobic, but it goes to show the resilience of the British in the face of near defeat. Partly, it was thanks to Churchill, they try to hammer that in with a personal museum about the man, also in the bunkers under London. That last visit essentially wrapped up the day, the sun had set and it was getting dark. I headed south, over the Thames, towards the London Eye, which shone like a beacon against the south side skyline. I thought it best to save the ride for another, brighter, sunnier moment.

The next day, I had an orientation at BUNAC, the British Universities North America Club. Just a small class on the dos and do not dos of british employment, the services they offered, the things we had to do prior to applying for the job. They also had numerous job listings, as well as sample resumés and cover letters. I got to work on those straight away and started sending them out, mostly for positions in administration, office work and linguistics. After a fruitful day of work and also meeting some new people, I headed out. That day, I had to find another hostel. Luckily, while using the computers at BUNAC, someone had left a page for a hostel on the screen, luckily it still had room and wasn't too far from where I was or where I was staying. Frankly, I was glad to have to move! The room I had at the other place was directly under the bar, you could hardly sleep at night.

The place I had moved to was called Clink, which is because it used to be a courthouse. The computer and TV room look like they could still hold trial. Apparently, The Clash were prosecuted there, but I'm not one to believe advertising. 

On saturday, more touring, more visiting, more walking. I got to the Tower of London just in time for the guided tour. Bloody tales of gruesome executions, death sentences, murderous conspiracies and mass graves somehow became very entertaining, I had laughed through most of it. After a few hours of touring, looking at the crown jewels, old relics, medieval weaponry and armour, I headed south, across the Thames on the Tower Bridge.

Somewhere, a pimp weeps...

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly, stopping in at the HMS Belfast, a world war 2 battleship that had seen action in the high arctic. They had received a reindeer as a gift from a Russian commander who had benefited from their help. Sadly, the battle that ensued shortly afterwards, the noise from the guns and torpedoes, drove her mad. The ship's butcher made steak out of her. Which, in the end, isn't that bad. I mean, you would have to feed it and the crew, but doesn't it make sense to feed it to the crew?

So I kept going, following the shoreline, passing by Shakespeare's Dome and the Tate Modern Art museum, finally crossing the river once more on the millenium bridge, heading to St. Paul's Cathedral. I had arrived just in time for the grande finale of the church's resident organist. As his fingers hit the notes, the notes hit the walls and echoed right through the centuries old building, sounding just as it did all those years ago. The piece ended with a triumphant, resounding finale that shook foundations and stirred hearts. People there just to visit, moved as if the sound waves passed right through them.

After being warmed by the concert, I headed out into the night, walking down a main street, counting the Starbucks' as they went past. There were at least 11. Eventually crossing the Thames again, I took the Tube from Waterloo train station on home.

With that last day, I had essentially finished the tourist part of my trip. Sure, there were still many museums and sights, but the fact is, I could always come back and do it, I have months ahead of me, after all. The priorities were set; I could just tour and tour and spend money on a short trip, or make an effort, find work, and have a much longer one.

Here

My flight, British Airways number 94, direct to London Heathrow, left after a quick wash of de-icer. It was a very pleasant flight, two meals, good movies, free beer, a quilt and even one of those things you put over your eyes to block out light. (They won't ever see that again, Ha-ha!) After 6.5 hours of time killing, I got here, flying over the bouquet of sights London offered: the tower bridge, the Big Eye, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace.

Got my bags, got on the train, got to London in about an hour. Taking the train into town, passing ramshackle, downtrodden suburbs next to big smoky factories, green fields, cars on the wrong side of the road. It all seemed to come clear through the fog. Dragging my luggage through the Underground, getting on a train, steaming in my winter coat, the car jam packed, to the brim, full of people. A free sauna nobody asked for.

Finally checking in, here at The Generator Hostel, time to eat, rest and most importantly shower.

And I Left...

One final look, one final gaze upon the pricy high rises, the crowded gas station, the greasy spoon doling out delicious, dangerous globs of grease to those who could afford a little bit more fat lining their arteries, the health food store trying to turn back the tide, all would be things far removed from my reality as soon as I stepped out the door. All would be left behind me as I rode past them in my cab.

After taking care of some business which has plagued me for the last month, I felt alleviated that it was finalized. Nothing tied me down to Sherbrooke anymore but a certain lingering sense of belonging, leaving behind the people I've come to know, the places I've come to haunt. Feeling a light sting, knowing I wouldn't see good friends for months, but also knowing that those months would be an experience impossible to live here.

My lift met me at the Sherbrooke mall. Luckily, or rather unluckily for him, his other clients didn't show up. I had more room for my overpacked bags, he less money for gas. We made it to Montreal just after nightfall. Snow was falling softly as I grabbed a taxi to my friend's place up town, dropped my bags off and ran for the nearest subway station. Of course, it's a bit rude to do so, but I had an important appointment that could not be put off any longer.

Finally meeting up with my uncle Ricky, in downtown Montreal, we went off to eat at what I knew was the best smoked meat place in town. I was sure he'd appreciate it, being a smoked meat connaisseur. Easy to say that the food was easier to swallow than the bill.

After walking around St-Laurent, a quick coffee and a fruitless wait at what we though was a trendy dessert place (We settled on Tim's instead), Ricky brought me right down to the docks and showed me around the ship. Apparently it was sailing around the Phillipines for the last 5 years, I had no trouble believing it.

Finally, when it came time to say goodbye at the subway station, a hearty shake and some kind words and I left.

Returning to my gracious hosts, we watched movies, I played songs, just a generally relaxing night.

The next day, I was invited to an all you can eat Sushi place by my host, Max. Of course, I couldn't turn it down and I was wise not to. We were bursting by the time we left, full of miso soup, sushi, dumplings and some things I could barely pronounce. Funny, I thought I had eaten enough japanese food to start speaking jap.

As soon as I was done, I rushed for the airport only to get stuck in traffic, it felt like a huge parking lot that went on for miles and miles. Thanks to that, I had missed my flight.

Angry, pissed and in the midst of a lot of hate, both of self and of Montreal, I admitted defeat and returned to my friends', who was kind enough to welcome me back with open arms.

The following days were uneventful, mostly making more preparations, changing my ticket and booking hostels. Of course, I made the best of it and managed to meet another dear old friend of mine, Thomas Dufour. If anyone's wondering, he's doing alright, still drawing and working when he can. His last job was with Sida du Québec, basically helping out the foundation any way he could.

The days passed slowly, as my flight date came closer and closer.