14 Jan, 2007 (Thursday) London, Westminster

Looking up at Big Ben
1456 (London Time) 18 Jan, 2007
My first day out sight-seeing and it is windy. The buildings seem to be shifting and I'm in fear of being picked up and blown away. Only a step out of Westminster underground and I'm looking up at Big Ben and the House of Parliament . As I gaze up and watch the clouds drift by it looks like ol' Ben is swaying against the wind. Wish I had a camera today.

It's 3pm and Big Ben tolls his greeting to the hour. I trundle up the road, the traffic chugging away to my left - compact black cabs and white mini-vans. Locals power through the wind, heads down, pea coats buttoned. Tourists aren't thick on the ground, but you can recognise them by their cameras.

To get a better feel of the scale of the building(s?) I walk around and can't help but be gobsmacked by the scale of it all. Hundreds of slit glass windows, intricate carvings adorning every ledge and cornice, slate tiles. The whole structure is so big - hundreds of metres long and towering. I wonder how many levels are inside? Is it made up of offices or just big open auditoriums? I guess they must like stairs... good for the calves.

Ten squid
I leave the flouro and black garbed bobbies behind and cross the road to Westminster Abbey. The Abbey sits paler, but no less imposing than the Parliament Buildings that it neighbours - stained glass and Gothic towers carry a certain majesty, even when they're layered in grime. Apparently the Abbey is the traditional burial place of English monarchs, but today none are in evidence.

A gaggle of tourists stream by, even with the gale-force winds. I briefly consider going in, but the inner miser wins out - 10 pounds to wander around a big church? I'm still adapting to London prices and the asking price seems a bit steep.

Instead I walk south along the banks of the Thames. It begins to rain. The wind returns, buffeting me about. Not far off I spy another large structure. It looks like a huge mausoleum, or perhaps... a museum? As I get closer I mark it as Tate Britain. My feet slog on with renewed vigour now that I have found a place of refuge.

Meeting Tate
Tate Britain is the national gallery of British art, dating from the 16th century to today. It's big, with high ceilings and lots of glass. Kind of reminds me of the Art Gallery of NSW back in Sydney.

Inside it's quiet and contemplative. I've arrived late enough in the day to avoid the school groups. Now it's just older folk, university students, pensioners on day trip, travelers hiding from the wind.

The museum has some great works on display - strong and vital sculpture and vivid paintings. I've always favoured older, more classical pieces, and there are some fine examples to admire. I start with EC Burne-Jones' 'King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid' and move on. The afternoon passes with the interplay of light and shadow, the held movement of scenery, ripples on canvas-water.

I've read more than a few times that galleries are a good place to meet cute girls. Despite enjoying my wanderings I'm still waiting...

14 Jan, 2007 (Sunday) London, Chiswick

London Lingo
2145 (London Time) 14 Jan, 2007
One thing I haven't missed is coming home in clothes that reek of cigarette smoke. It's something that I'm apparently going to have to adjust to now that I've arrived in the UK.

We had a drink at Waxy O'Conner's Irish pub. A multi-leveled monstrosity that, after the second flight of stairs down, has you feeling like you're descending into the bowels of the earth. The interior is decorated with bits of an old cathedral, with a tree growing through the middle. We tried to enjoy our drinks while a trio of fishnet and short-skirtted floozies cavorted to the jukebox. Not a very attractive crowd, but the barmen atleast seemed to have real Irish accents.

The Porterhouse beer pub was our next stop. It boasts an extensive collection of brews from around the world. Inside it was crowded, loud and just a wee bit smokey. The house draught was easy drinking though, and very much required in our little corner. (They really should really rename the place the Boilerhouse if it's always that hot.) Three pints and a few hours later and we were out to catch the last tube before midnight. The curfew for drinking establishments is a lot earlier here in the UK. Megan was telling me that they reduced pub hours in the hope of reducing drunkeness. Unfortunately patrons compensated by drinking faster. It's not uncommon for work people to go out and get totalled early in the week.

Catching up
Today I woke up relatively early to meet Wendy for brunch at High Street Kensington. We used to work together while at Telstra and have kept in and out of touch. Wendy has been in London for about 9 months and in that time she's done pretty well for herself, recently scoring a role in HR with HSBC and living with her boyfriend, Will, in Bayswater (a swanky neighbourhood).
Tonight I met up with Justin a Tottenham Court Road. Back in the day we went to High School together, running into each other during university and then having lunch every so often once we started wearing suits. Unfortunately both the Central and Northern lines were closed where I wanted to go, so it took 5 line changes to get there - leaving me half an hour late. Love the tube. Love the tube. Love the tube. We had dinner at a Japanese noodlebar in SOHO. It was great to talk about old times and hear about his adventures in London. Funnily enough he's actually living in the next suburb down from Chiswick.

Translations:
Tube: Slang for the London subway. The tube is infamous for being unreliable and circuitous. Tonight I can vouch for this, changing lines 5 times due to unforseen closures.
Oyster: Despite the name it isn't an exotic contraceptive device or fashion accessory. An oyster is a magnetic travel card used to on the London subway. Oyster cards require a deposit of 3 pounds and can be either timed (day, week, month pass) or charged with credit.
Heathrow Injection: Refers to the weight gain new arrivals stack on when they first arrive in the UK. I'm waiting in hope for mine.
Chips: Wedges of fried potato. Often thicker and holding a closer resemblance to the original potato than North American french fries.
Crisps: Potato chips. Walkers is the brand to buy.
Walkabout: Chain of pubs run by South Africans but full of drunk Australians. Apparently they now serve beer out of plastic pint glasses as it helps reduce injuries when bar fights break out. Apparently.

So I'm doing my best to adapt to the culture here. Tonight I'm sitting in with my cup of tea and chocolate digestives (McVities of course!). It's all about drinking tea and being agreeable. The guidebook says so!

13 Jan, 2007 (Saturday) London, Chiswick

In Chiswick
1238 (London time) 13 Jan, 2007
For all of you out there it's pronounced Chis-sick. To further clarify, it's a surburb of London, a little South-West of the city core on the District tube line.

The last few days I've been living on Megan's couch in their spare room. It's a nice little fold-out number. No stray springs or inconvenient lumps. I get the room to myself and I've been doing my best not to spray my belongings across the room. Although the longer I'm here the more difficult it becomes.

In the past few days I've started the 'getting set in London' routine. Yesterday I got my mobile phone SIM and did basic grocery shopping at Sainsbury's. Today it was the agency appointment to set-up a bank account and initial arrival advice. The two guys from the bank tried to be amusing, but between the inane questions from my fellow new-to-the-UKers (how do these people find their way out of their countries? It baffles me!) and slow pace I just wanted to up it and run!

Arrival of Lauren
Lauren arrived in London today. She was waiting for me at Oxford Circus Station in a pink sweater and black boots. She's looking good, with that same cheeky grin. We went coat shopping, then walked up and down Oxford Street while I tried to find the agency office. The agency meeting was rivetting. I sometimes wonder how these people find their way out their front doors, let alone out to another country.

Sloppy Guisseppe's
I finally met Elliot, Megan's boyfriend tonight. We had a few drinks at the O Bar in SOHO, and found our way to Pizza Express, which turned out to be better than expected. He's very charming young chap, bright and relaxed. A self-confessed IT geek I quickly warmed to him. It also helped that he was impressed that I could remember what was on his pizza from a glance at the menu (Sloppy Guisseppe - named after the chef who first made the pizza by mistake, tomato base topped with beef, green peppers and mushroom. I'm so talented!).

10 Jan, 2007 (Wednesday) London, SOHO

In London
1340 (London time) 10 Jan, 2007
I've arrived in London. It's cool here, but not as chilly as Toronto. The streets feel older somehow and there is a different kind of bustle. Oxford Street at midday is crowded!

Flight AC848
Despite leaving an hour later than originally scheduled, the flight across wasn't too bad. Economy seats are inevitably cramped and I had an aisle seat, but the 6 hour flight passed relatively quickly. My only real complaint was that there wasn't a lot of time to sleep between the dinner meal and breakfast. Customs and immigration gave me no trouble at all. It was a pleasant surprise.

After gathering my huge pile of luggage (skis, boot bag, backpack, suitcase, laptop bag) I made my way to the subway. Unfortunately I didn't think to differentiate between the Heathrow Express and the Piccadilly subway line - so I ended up paying 15 pounds for my train into Paddington, when I could have paid just 3.80. Ouch!

Left Baggage
All my luggage is currently resting at the Left Baggage counter at Paddington. They charge 6 pounds per piece of luggage so 24 pounds is highway robbery. An expensive day. Nevertheless, I've got the freedom to wander without worrying about it.

So right now I'm typing away at a little cafe just off Oxford, drinking a huge cappuccino and telling myself that 2 hours sleep is plenty. I'm looking forward to getting all my things to Megan's this evening and starting to set up. So far I've visited two banks to inquire about setting up an account. They want to know my employment details and place of residence. It's a bit of a catch-22 situation as usually employers and prospective landlords want to know your bank details before committing. Will have to think on how to approach this one!

First impressions:
- London is an expensive city to live in. I can tell that it's going to take a little while before I get my head around the real value of money. Right now I'm trying to convert to CAD / AUS using a rate of between 2 - 2.5. Expensive!
- The girls aren't as bad as Benita described - they're not all buck-toothed, pimpled, units. Go London!
- Londoners are in a hurry. Not exactly the type who are going to stop you in the street to chat.
- London accents are... different. I'm still trying to decide whether I like it or not.
- You have to pay to use public toilets. It costed me 20p. At least they were kinda clean.


A narrative
After 2 hours rest on Air Canada flight 848 I arrived in Heathrow at 9am. Dazed and confused I lugged my 70kgs of luggage onto the Heathrow express (€15) and found myself at Paddington. The luggage was stored (€24) and I was soon enjoying my first breath of crisp London air ( ).

I wandered South and East, enjoying the newness of it all around me. Oxford Street was a mass of midday humanity, out in worship to the retail goddess. I soon escaped the crowds by ducking into the back alley ways of Soho.

Sucking in the atmosphere like a diet coke addict guzzles nutrasweet, I surveyed some of London's nightlife gems in daylight - wood fronted pubs and sleek bars. It was comforting standing there, the local denizens sauntering by and the grey clouds raining upon my head.

I walked on. The roadway was tight and sinuous but I soon found myself dumped out in Leicester Square, amongst billboards advertising The Lion King at the West End and the new Bond flick (Odeon - €12 tickets). Dodging through Chinatown behind a pair of bobbies I tried to remember to look right and then left, avoiding the black cabs (registered. Requires 2 years training to qualify for a license) when the green man was being reticent.

Piccadilly Circus: a long street of designer shops circling clockwise. I followed Piccadilly and then Regent, before heading due West out of Marylebone. White-washed house fronts and a school girl with a big blue backpack, the temperature started to drop with the sun.

It was past 5 by the time I arrived back at Paddington. My mass of baggage waited. So did three flights of stairs to my tube platform. No better wayto meet Londoners, right?

09 Jan, 2007 (Tuesday) Toronto, Pearson AIrport - Departure Lounge 145

A list of my favourite airlines
2037 (Toronto time) 09 Jan, 2007
I'm sure that many Canadians out there would be shocked to hear that Air Canada is not one of my favourite airlines. Being the superficial little bastard that I am it might be because last time I flew with them they charged people for sandwiches, or perhaps it is the poor choice of inflight entertainment. Then again, it's possible that I just find their selection of air hostesses to be pedestrian - what's wrong with a bit of selectivity? There are lots of pretty Canadian girls out there to choose from. I know a few if you want a shortlist.

But no, I'm afraid that my general dis-satisfaction runs a bit deeper than that. It has to do with their backward approach to customer service, their ability to make sure that every flight I might possbly be on is delayed in some way, shape or form (refer to: cargo door open over Brisbane, 3-hours in the air with a glass of water incident), the fact that they can stick me on a flight then forget to tell me that the boarding gate has changed. The absence of an attempt to apologise. Am I flying budget?

Perhaps I've just had a few bad experiences that have jaded me. In fact, I'm almost positive that I've experienced a few anomolies and the airline in fact functions with minimal turbulence. Am I jinxing myself by writing this all before I board the plane for my second experience? I'll let you know somehow.

The fact that they are paging people one-by-one to change their boarding passes, yes that's pissing me off a little. The fact that they have two aeroplane loads of people sitting in this space looking hungrily out at the 763 flying out to London is too. But then, that's me all over - easily irritated and wanting my seat (29C) so that I can kick back and close my eyes for a while.

PS - No pictures. Sorry, I left my camera in Scottie's car earlier in the week... and only got a call tonight once I'd checked through security that it had been recovered. Hopefully it will arrive in the next week or two.

09 Jan, 2007 (Tuesday) Toronto, Pearson AIrport

Farewell TO
I'm leaving Toronto. It feels strange to be flying out of this place - almost like I'm leaving home again. I think I've been in a state of denial this past week. Denial is a safe place to stay. Reality will probably only reestablish itself when I finally pass through immigration at Heathrow. Maybe not even then.

Since moving out of 18 Oxford I've been crashing on Benita's couch at her new apartment. It's strange to be couch surfing again after so long of being settled. My own personal limbo. But I haven't really spent that much time at the place - I always seem to be out. I've seen quite a bit of the Jersey Giant pub and the subway. Still don't know any of the street bums by name.

Scottie came by the apartment complex at 4pm and drove me to the airport in his sporty 4-door. Clem and Laura jammed themselves in with my skiis. It was cosy. The farewell was brief. I gave a round of hugs. Clem did a round of photos. We promised to stay in touch. Then we did a square dance. No. Really.