London

London.

Let me preface this post by saying if you have been there I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.

Crammed, wet streets bustling with double decker buses and Euro looking four wheeled diesel machines. Tall, ancient buildings framing each avenue. Eclectic nationalities making their domain in this European melting pot of Urban Culture.



I’m from the friendly “big town” of Oklahoma City. Londonites are rude. I digress.

Bo and I rolled into the London Metro late on Monday evening. We spent 12 hours in the car – see photos below, squatted in an airport overnight, and endured a long “technical problem” on the plane just before it took off for Londy. We were lacking in sleep, water, and patience, but were psyched that we had made it in one piece.



We jump the subway system for a 25 minute ride to the stop where we’ll walk to our hostel. St Paul’s Cathedral was lit up in the evening light. It was the first thing we saw as we rode the escalator to street level. Cannon Street was dark, wet (as usual) from the drizzle, and pretty empty. It was midnight. After some minor trouble finding our Youth Hostel down what looked like an abandoned alley, we finally coast into our single bunk beds for what will amount to 4 hours of sleep.




5 am comes early. Our “roommates” were in bed when we came in and are still in bed as we walk out the door to head for the Liverpool Train Station. The dark, wet (still) streets of London are not yet moving. The 10 minute walk to the station is pleasant. I’m in awe of the oldness of the city. I’m a sheltered Midwesterner. This is a new, and intriguing experience for these eyes.

We are on the train heading out of the city. London is huge. I’m surprised to see what looks like massive amounts of construction going on in different districts. Cranes scatter the cityscape and prove my theory of rapid expansion. The world is still growing.


The train

It’s not long before we are out into the countryside, zipping past sheep and cattle grazing in their fields. 45 minutes later we find ourselves on a new train heading towards Harwich town where we’ll board the ferry for the Netherlands, and eventually Amsterdam. Lakes, green fields, manors, and livestock speed by in a blur aboard our fast moving train. I’m soaking it up.



All this time I’m wanting to snap photos of everything in sight. I want proof. Visual mementos of time spent here. Pride sucks. I pass on many opportunities for fear that I’ll look like an American Tourist. I guess I look like an American Tourist regardless huh? Ignorant.



The Stena Line is a large ferry the size of a cruise ship. This monstrosity is going to take us to Holland. Aside: Purchasing tickets here is always an event. The attendant always begins by asking “Do you have reservations?” followed by us saying “No” followed by a smug look by the attendant and speed typing on the keyboard followed by us saying “Sorry” followed by them not replying followed by us paying by VISA followed by us saying “Thank you” followed by no reply from the attendant. Unpleasant exchanges.

Before boarding, Bo and I scarf the “swift five” breakfast at a place called the Quayside Café. An egg laid over a bed of baked beans, fried bread, an odd shaped slab of bacon and a bland sausage link wrapped in what looked like wax paper. It was a decent filler, and at 8:30 am our second of the day (we pigged a MacDonalds value meal right before 6 am).

We are sitting in the open bar area with a sweet view of the channel, sipping coffee, and hogging bandwidth on the first wi fi access of the trip. It costs. The curious case of Benjamin Button is about to play on the big screen. My seat is cushioned and comfy. I have my lappy – yes I brought it. In 7 hours we’ll be in The Netherlands.

We are fat and happy.


Stena Ferry bar lounge


Bo journaling on the ferry


View from Stena's bow











IN THE CAR SHINANIGANS - the road to Chicago O'Hare Airport