Abandoned mini shoe, Burntwood LaneSince then I've updated this website from my mother's swish new laptop in the family home in Western Australia, in a searing hot internet cafe in Phnom Penh, on a computer that gave off electric shocks in Hoi An and an internet cafe terminal with a brokenspacebarinLaos.
These days the updates are written on my new Ausus laptop in my temporary home in Earlsfield, south west London.
How things change eh?
Labels: Travel
Borough marketThe worst ones are tired, scabby events held in scungy lanes with dodgy types selling stock that might have fallen off the back of a truck.
But the good ones sell a great selection of food and interesting clothes. They're more like the markets of Vietnam and Laos in that they sell goods you actually need or can't find anywhere else. They exist to sell fresh produce or unique clothes, not just to offload the same goods you can buy in any high street.
Like Camden, Portobello, and Borough markets. They have some great stuff on show, but they're also very, very busy.
We braved Brough market first. We popped in after the Tower of London (see here) for something to eat and spent half an hour simultaneously being jostled by sharp-elbowed Londoners and trying the amazing selection of cheeses and cold meats.Later we jumped a tube with Andy and Gab, two old friends from Perth, and travelled north to Camden Town. This is probably London's most famous and busy markets. A lot of the guidebooks describe it being as past its prime but I quite enjoyed the people watching aspects of the place.
Goths, punks, emo kids, tourists and other freaks buzzed around stalls selling some pretty outlandish clothing and trinkets. Jacq and I especially liked Cyberdog, which sells rave t-shirts with flashing display panels sewn onto the front.
You know you're getting old when you look at the clothes teenagers wear and shake your head.
Labels: UK
White tower, Tower of LondonLondon, United Kingdom - After a break of a couple of weeks Jacq and I were back among the tourists this weekend with a visit to the Tower of London.
We'd been told it gets very busy so we managed to kick ourselves out of bed and arrive at the Tower Hill tube station not long after 9am.
We were rewarded by viewing the Crown Jewels with only a handful of other people about. But I suspect it gets jammed packed at other times as there were rows of zigzagging barriers to corral the tourists in the movie rooms and a travelator to take you past the famous jewels.
We also took an hour guided tour with one of the Yeoman Warders, or Beefeaters. As well as learning about the history of the buildings within the tower walls, we heard about some of the strange traditions - which almost seem compulsory for any self-respecting, traditional English institution.Like the need to keep seven ravens on the grounds at all times. Without the birds the tower - and the monarchy - would fall.
I don't know about that but I do know those big black birds scared the shit out of me. They're enormous. They make crows look like caged budgies.
Labels: UK
Earlsfield cemeteryA fairly impressive set of blisters on my feet from four consecutive games of touch rugby at Tooting Common on Saturday meant I wasn't too keen to spend the rest of the weekend walking around anyway.
My travel buddy, Jacq, came down with a London flu on Sunday. And combined with some fairly ordinary weather (bitingly cold winds, sleet etc) I was happy to hang around the house in the central heating.
On Sunday afternoon when the sun came out briefly I practically dragged myself out for a couple of hours. I ventured one train stop north to Clapham Junction to buy some underclothes. I also did some window shopping and tried to see as much of Clapham's high street as I could.
So I suppose I did do a bit of touristing.
However, I soon got caught in the previously mentioned sleet and ran for my life back to the train station. Back at Earlsfield I stocked up on my favourite beers - cans of Kronenbourg 1664 - and started the longish walk back home.
The sun came out briefly. Since I had lugged the Nikon all the way out to Clapham and back but never got close to shooting a frame, I thought I'd wander through the Magdelene Road cemetery and see if I couldn't find something to shoot.
Labels: UK
Bodiam Castle
East Sussex, United Kingdom - After a bright, sunny day in the English countryside recently I've got to admit I felt a little flat upon returning to the traffic and busy streets of London.
Even my home of Earlsfield, one of the nicer suburbs in this city, looked a little cold and austere after the rolling hills and winding country lanes of Sussex.
Our grand day out of London began in the early morning. An old friend from Western Australia picked Jacq and I up in his Vauxall (what luck - a car!) - equipped with GPS navigation (even better luck) - and we sped south through the outer suburbs and used the M25 ring road as as slingshot into the south east.
Our first stop was Bodiam Castle. It's somewhat renowned for being a 'typical' English medieval castle. Squarish with turret towers on each corner and surrounded by a moat. The sort of thing you'd expect to see in Robin Hood or any other movie set in medieval times.
We climbed the steep spiralling stairs to the top of one of the turrets and I tried hard to imagine how the castle must have looked in its hey day of the 14th century. Apparently it was just one of several castles in the area forming a string of fortifications in south east England.
Today it sits among farms and is so popular it requires parking attendants to direct you to a car park and an information centre that charges £5 for entry.
Continuing south we took back roads all the way to the coast. I was amazed at just how 'English' everything is. Two metre high hedges line the narrow roads between paddocks. Fluffy white sheep dot rolling green hills. Red-cheeked farming families were out on morning walks, dressed in gumboots and with a border collie following loyally behind them.
Rye is supposed to be one of the nicest English seaside towns. It certainly looked it but we had arrived shortly after a hundred or so bikers from London had. This, combined with the normal tourist traffic, made for a busy little town so we didn't stop for long. However, I did spy some remarkable old wooden houses stacked together all the way up the hill. They overlooked the network of canals and low-lying paddocks at the bottom of the town that led to the sea.
Nearby at Winchelsea I saw the ocean for the first time in England. It was as depressing as I imagined an English beach would be: cold, windy, churned brown water and pebbles covering the beach. Almost the exact opposite of the last time I saw the ocean: six long weeks ago in Ao Nang, Thailand.
After that we got stuck in a weekend traffic jam in Hastings, a thoroughly unpleasant seaside town that seemed to have gaudy amusement parlours and fish and chip shops but not much else to write home about. We managed to get out of there and, by this stage desperately hungry but not wanting to settle for any old stodge, high tailed it to the town of Battle where we found a decent enough pub still serving lunch.
English pubs are a huge source of wonderment for me and I'll probably write about them in more detail in the near future. But briefly, The Chequers was everything you'd want in a public house. Low ceiling, blokes playing darts and half a dozen real ales on tap.
Even my home of Earlsfield, one of the nicer suburbs in this city, looked a little cold and austere after the rolling hills and winding country lanes of Sussex.
Our grand day out of London began in the early morning. An old friend from Western Australia picked Jacq and I up in his Vauxall (what luck - a car!) - equipped with GPS navigation (even better luck) - and we sped south through the outer suburbs and used the M25 ring road as as slingshot into the south east.Our first stop was Bodiam Castle. It's somewhat renowned for being a 'typical' English medieval castle. Squarish with turret towers on each corner and surrounded by a moat. The sort of thing you'd expect to see in Robin Hood or any other movie set in medieval times.
We climbed the steep spiralling stairs to the top of one of the turrets and I tried hard to imagine how the castle must have looked in its hey day of the 14th century. Apparently it was just one of several castles in the area forming a string of fortifications in south east England.
Today it sits among farms and is so popular it requires parking attendants to direct you to a car park and an information centre that charges £5 for entry.
Continuing south we took back roads all the way to the coast. I was amazed at just how 'English' everything is. Two metre high hedges line the narrow roads between paddocks. Fluffy white sheep dot rolling green hills. Red-cheeked farming families were out on morning walks, dressed in gumboots and with a border collie following loyally behind them.
Rye is supposed to be one of the nicest English seaside towns. It certainly looked it but we had arrived shortly after a hundred or so bikers from London had. This, combined with the normal tourist traffic, made for a busy little town so we didn't stop for long. However, I did spy some remarkable old wooden houses stacked together all the way up the hill. They overlooked the network of canals and low-lying paddocks at the bottom of the town that led to the sea.
Nearby at Winchelsea I saw the ocean for the first time in England. It was as depressing as I imagined an English beach would be: cold, windy, churned brown water and pebbles covering the beach. Almost the exact opposite of the last time I saw the ocean: six long weeks ago in Ao Nang, Thailand.After that we got stuck in a weekend traffic jam in Hastings, a thoroughly unpleasant seaside town that seemed to have gaudy amusement parlours and fish and chip shops but not much else to write home about. We managed to get out of there and, by this stage desperately hungry but not wanting to settle for any old stodge, high tailed it to the town of Battle where we found a decent enough pub still serving lunch.
English pubs are a huge source of wonderment for me and I'll probably write about them in more detail in the near future. But briefly, The Chequers was everything you'd want in a public house. Low ceiling, blokes playing darts and half a dozen real ales on tap.We grabbed a table out in the beer garden and sunned ourselves while tucking into some typical pub food. Steak and kidney pies, roast of the days, baked potatoes, sandwiches with ham and cheddar. That sort of thing. I washed it down with a pint of warm, flat ale and couldn't have been happier.
After our late lunch the chill was starting to return to the air and the shadows grew longer so by default it was time to return to the warmth of the car and head home. As we headed north back to London I began to remember just how big and busy the city could be. Even 40 miles out the weekend traffic was clogging motorways and B roads
Labels: UK
View from the Observatory down to the Queen's House and River ThamesGreenwich, United Kingdom - 21st century travelling is anything but simple. The amount of technology I have to cart around with me just to record my adventures in full resolution glory and keep in touch with friends and family is astounding.
To ensure my digital camera, Mp3 player, mobile phone, laptop, wristwatch and work mobile are all in sync, I took the whole lot out to Greenwich today and set them to GMT.
You can't get much more accurate than that. Straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak.
Despite being almost inner city London, Greenwich has a great village atmosphere to it that makes it an ideal day trip destination.
The Cutty Sark (a famous tea clipper sailing ship from 1869) had been removed from its dry dock for restoration. But we did check out the excellent Maritime Museum. Despite guide books indicating there would be an entry fee, tickets were free.
Free entry was also on the cards for the magnificent Painted Hall. A kind of English Sistine Chapel, the place took 15 years to paint. And no wonder, the artist James Thornhill was apparently paid by the yard. I would have painted the ceiling too.
But the Observatory was what I, and my AUD$4000 worth of equipment, had come for. I hiked up the hill ,got my ticket and unceremoniously stepped over a puddle at the front gate - and the Prime Meridian.
Without even meaning to I had stepped from the Eastern to the Western Hemisphere.
In the old observatory, which is now a quirky museum full of ancient telescopes and intricate clocks, I joined the other pilgrims to with their mobile phone and watches at the ready.
At the sound of the next beep, the time will be...
To ensure my digital camera, Mp3 player, mobile phone, laptop, wristwatch and work mobile are all in sync, I took the whole lot out to Greenwich today and set them to GMT.You can't get much more accurate than that. Straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak.
Despite being almost inner city London, Greenwich has a great village atmosphere to it that makes it an ideal day trip destination.
The Cutty Sark (a famous tea clipper sailing ship from 1869) had been removed from its dry dock for restoration. But we did check out the excellent Maritime Museum. Despite guide books indicating there would be an entry fee, tickets were free.
Free entry was also on the cards for the magnificent Painted Hall. A kind of English Sistine Chapel, the place took 15 years to paint. And no wonder, the artist James Thornhill was apparently paid by the yard. I would have painted the ceiling too.
But the Observatory was what I, and my AUD$4000 worth of equipment, had come for. I hiked up the hill ,got my ticket and unceremoniously stepped over a puddle at the front gate - and the Prime Meridian.
Without even meaning to I had stepped from the Eastern to the Western Hemisphere.
In the old observatory, which is now a quirky museum full of ancient telescopes and intricate clocks, I joined the other pilgrims to with their mobile phone and watches at the ready.
At the sound of the next beep, the time will be...
Labels: UK
The old Battersea power stationLondon, United Kingdom - With our London sightseeing now mostly restricted to the weekends, Jacq and I decided to make the most of our Saturday by heading into the city's well-heeled inner suburbs for a look around.
Strangely, the red double decker bus we hopped onto must have inadvertently slipped through a worm-hole somewhere past York Road because it delivered us to a strange land that, although it looked very much like the London I know, it was in fact very, very different.
I'll call this place Planet Chelsea.
For starters, the Chelseans look almost the same as you and me. Except they have a very particular uniform that they all wear.
The men can be identified by the designer blue jeans, pointy Italian leather shoes, a shirt with a collar tall enough to almost cover their ears and a slim blazer.
The women also favour jeans, but they prefer them skin tight and tucked into stiletto boots that were last fashionable on Earth in 1987 (and isolated pockets of Europe and Australia in 2006). Enormous black goggles shade their eyes. Very large leather bags hang from their shoulders.
The terrain of Planet Chelsea must be very formidable. I say 'must be' because the part we visited was well and truly urban.But the number of enormous four wheel drive vehicles in the vicinity made me think that just behind the high street the roads must be rutted, pot-holed tracks impassable to anything but the most high-end European sport utility vehicle.
They also communicate differently to how we might on Earth. I'm unsure whether its because of a biological limitation or that they're governed by a strange social convention, but Chelseans communicate exclusively by portable telephone.
While they may appear to be enjoying a social occasion with other Chelseans, such as drinking coffee at a cafe, no one will be talking directly to anyone else nearby. Instead they are forced to communicate via their telephone with people who are not even there!
It sure was a strange world. Full of unusual fashions and conventions we could never begin to understand. Luckily, we eventually managed to catch a red bus back through the worm-hole and home to Earlsfield. Where people drive sensible compact diesel vehicles and talk to each other.
Except the shop assistants. I don't care if you're in London or Chelsea, they don't talk to nobody.
They also communicate differently to how we might on Earth. I'm unsure whether its because of a biological limitation or that they're governed by a strange social convention, but Chelseans communicate exclusively by portable telephone.
While they may appear to be enjoying a social occasion with other Chelseans, such as drinking coffee at a cafe, no one will be talking directly to anyone else nearby. Instead they are forced to communicate via their telephone with people who are not even there!
It sure was a strange world. Full of unusual fashions and conventions we could never begin to understand. Luckily, we eventually managed to catch a red bus back through the worm-hole and home to Earlsfield. Where people drive sensible compact diesel vehicles and talk to each other.
Except the shop assistants. I don't care if you're in London or Chelsea, they don't talk to nobody.
Labels: UK
It's just so typically EnglishSawbridgeworth, United Kingdom - I’ve been in London for a month now and until last weekend I hadn’t ventured beyond Zone 3, let alone made it out of this city.
An old friend from school invited us out to his home near Sawbridgeworth, about an hour north west of London.We took the train out there. The tightly packed Victorian terraces and blocks of flats quickly gave way to industrial parks, then suburbs and finally rolling green fields, quaint towns and canals.
It was typically English. I saw grand-looking halls and mansions surrounded by acres of woodland. We ate dinner at a centuries-old pub with low ceilings. They served ploughman’s lunches and real ales - the kind the barman has to pump into the glass.
At first I was a bit taken aback by my beer. It really was warm and flat. That old antipodean joke about English beers was true.
But you know what? I quite liked it. Now I just need to master the taste of their god-awful pork sausages
Labels: UK
