Isn’t it nice living out in the Country?

As you may or may not know, Canterbury is an agrarian center just 7 miles from the coastal city of Whitstable. In fact, one can hike down there on the Whitstable bike path, which makes for quite the tour of Southwest England’s flora and fauna. I’ve walked this path a few times, but never the entire 7 miles to the coast. I am just a little too dedicated to public transportation, but someday… someday I will make the journey and maybe even stop for a little picnic on the way. Until that day– I am content to make my way around the quaint Canterbury by UniBus and the occasional stroll. 

While the countryside is the ideological expression of my greatest affections for the land and expansive horizon– I must admit, that sometimes, it’s nice living out in the City.

This past weekend, I visited my good friend and former housemate, Rachel Weidner, at her dorm in Chelsea, London. I went with a couple friends from campus, Cody, Nile, Cecily, and Liz. We were all feeling a little too intoxicated by the country air and traversed to the metro in search of a little more grit to our porridge. 

Whenever I enter a big city– whether by coach, train, or car– I get a sudden rush of endorphins. It is as if I could suddenly feel the buzz of human brains, the beating of millions of hearts and the mumbly chatter of distant conversations. When I am in the city, I no longer feel the throat clenching solitude that is a country night. I no longer feel that I may look over my shoulder to find no soul behind me. I am suddenly second string in a never ending orchestral performance. My footsteps are inevitably in time. 

Upon arrival, we duck into a convenience store to pick up some drinks and a snack. At Victoria we find the Underground and take it to Scott’s Cottage. The gang is staying at Palmer’s hostel — restored Victorian with wooden lockers under the bunks– so we head there to drop off a load. Nile Cody and I took the coach while Liz and Cecily took the train, so we meet them in the lobby and they book up their rooms. Luckily, I don’t have to throw down the 20 pounds because Rachel’s roommate never moved into the dorm leaving a perfectly good twin bed for me to rest so sweetly upon.

We congregate outside to formulate some plans. Liz and I sit down on a bench and start looking up at the clouds with the other three compare notes on places to go and underground lines to take. Liz and I exchange indecisiveness and wait for direction. To the National Portrait Gallery! They say, and so we line up and down to the underground tube to tube to get around. 

We emerge at Tralfagar Square– first time for me. Stunning projection into the sky with sweet old Nelson perched perfectly atop the mast of England. We throw pence into the fountain like so many scenes of movies I’ve never understood. I wished I knew more about God, which I tell everyone, they keep theirs secret in hopes that they may be granted– I’ve personally given up hope on that little puddle. Up the stairs we go to the National Gallery, but as I step up, a suicidal pigeon dives toward my moving feet missing the pavement by a shoe and crash landing into my ankle instead. I scream- Liz got hit too, we scamper up the rest of the stairs and laugh that our previous joke kicks came true. 

In the National Gallery we see hundreds and hundreds of priceless paintings, Klimpt, Monet, Manet, Michelangelo, Van Gough, Goya and Da Vinci. To stand face to face with the fuel of in-numerous theories and debates about the state of man and creativity. To be nose to nose. Oh and the Execution Of Jane Eyre. Oh. Oh. To see what men did to preserve the absolute physiology of their subjects, and then to see three rooms later, the distortions that so logically followed.

Stendhal’s syndrome kicks in. I can’t even look at the paintings individually anymore, I walk by wall after wall trying to absorb a piece of every cake I can swallow. But I am dizzied with the sugar, and like a diabetic, I call out for nourishment. “I’m hungry. Anyone want something to eat?” We have all been passing this idea back and forth between masterpieces, it finally catches flame and we walk out into the bright white light of Tralfagar Square. We find Pretz- a kind of pre-prepared sandwich and soup shop. Savory Thai Chicken stew with little pieces of coconut floating. We eat and are full and warm and ready for another go at greatness.

Just up the street from the National Gallery is the National Portrait Gallery. I just keep thinking ‘ These aren’t photographs, they really aren’t Sagan.’ But I can’t believe myself so I stick my face closer and closer until I can see the tiny give away brush strokes. I hold my hand to my chest. If I were any older or ill of heart- I would be down in a second. I am amazed floor after floor. 

We jet out after drooling over Annie Leibovitz’s book- a collection of her works. Out into the open air and we decide to head to Chelsea, they’re off to the Science Museum, and (finally) I am off to meet Rachel. I haven’t seen her since I arrived about a month ago, and the effects of jet lag and preoccupation made our previous encounter less than satisfying.

She gives me text directions and we meet on a corner with a run and spinner. She is wearing a baggy black hoodie over a white skirt with primary color squares erratically placed. ‘Oh Rachel, where did you get that skirt?’ She bewilders me. She found this jacket on the side of the road with a huge Scooby Doo zipper pull, it is at least four sizes too large, but somehow– she pulls it off. We walk excitedly back to her dorm. I’m happy to be in comfortable company. Company that has seen me at every degree of health, wealth and disaster. We have fought and loved and screamed and got each other out of the country, making promises for tomorrow and the next day over and over. 

We hang out for awhile and just chat it up, we have a lot to catch up on. Later we go out to Brick Lane, which seems to be a pretty hipster hang out. A nice little club for free and some friends met and left and met again. Ride the bus home late. Wake up about 11 and walk to groceries and then to the tube in an attempt to hang out with my group. My phone dies- due to some heated text message battle on the way into London- and Rachel doesn’t know/ have anyone’s number. So we just turn around and go home. Talking about communes in Seattle and radio shows when we get back into Bloomington. Living like Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemingway- we say. Wish I’d lived in those days. Spend the rest of the day chatting and running small errands, lifted from here to there. Love love love that Rachel

Ride the coach back to Canterbury, sleeping then Subway where a drunk starts a fight and we catch the last bus home. I sleep and sleep and sleeeep.

Humans are Mostly musical.

Trippin’ it

The trip so far has seemed to last much longer than just seven little days.  Packed up all the things I thought I’d need for a year and climbed into a great plastic tube that was full of non-human mechanisms equipped for hosting a great deal of human bodies. Landed and 2 hours in customs. Dart out into London, the tube and great big luggage don’t agree and we’re pushing and pulling these giant packages made for stowing and not towing. 

Stayed in London for 3 nights. The 1st is hazy after having been awake for some 36 hours. Merry Wives of Windsor at the Globe Theatre and some coffee, a lot of walking and back to the hostel to sleep like tired lumps of Delusional human clay. Up the next day, Cody leaves first to go to Saint Paul’s Cathedral, can’t drag myself out, but rise rather early. I think this day we went to the Thames Festival with Rachel. Giant crowds of smiling and drunk people pushing through bright coloured shirts in search of the booth selling what it was they wanted. Westminster, the Clock Tower, Big Ben, The Thames, back to the hostel drinkin to sleep. Up again to the Tate Modern where Cody and I lost eachother, but I found Rachel. What a wonderful place to spend a free day, Francis Bacon, and on and on these Modern Artists’ sketch photo paint and pull these wonderful landscapes of the modern life. Oh my two hours we pass through every floor. Quite the time it was. Couldn’t find Cody even on the way out. To Rachel’s school and back to the Hostel, Cody gone to Greenich, Rachel and I get some Scrumpy Jacks English Cider drinkin until Cody comes. Lug our big suitcases to Rachel’s Dorm. Meet her bo Amz and out for a pint at the Green Man. Eat some pizza and wander until back to the hostel to rest. 

Leavin for Bath the next day. On the First Great Western out of Paddington. About 2 hours on the train. Bath is a beautiful cities with buildings like the eyes of God. So beautiful its hard to look at them for long. We quickly decide to play tourist big time and hop on a tour bus to Stonehenge. 15 pounds to walk around a rope that surround the great towering rocks. Must say that the location had a strange ambience so that I can understand the attraction ancients would have had, a quick turn and one can see in all directions. We’re on an audio tour so this hanging speaker about our necks tells us all about the stones. A bit that I didn’t know at all. Nearly half the stone underground?! Geeesus. Beautiful place, sheep everywhere. Back on the bus and into town. We walk about search out a place to eat and try to contact our couchsurfing host. My ‘International’ phone is fritzing so we pour pound after pound into a demanding payphone. Catch a taxi to University of Bath and when arrived we are instantly submerged in a Samba Jam Drum troop. Asked to Pick up instruments and play along with a group so widely ranged in age that I can’t even begin to compare it to anything I’ve seen before. We play and play sit out for second half and afterward jump into the back of Jackson’s mate’s Landrover. Dippin down the curvy roads listening to M.I.A. Stop by Jackson’s to drop off bags, then to the Riser, a little pub in his area and drink my first English Bitters. Refreshing and not nearly as strong as I thought it would be. Out of the pub with Jackson and co hanging out in the bus stop to encounter a bluenosed old man whose been patrolling the pub for what has to be 80 years. Shoot it with him telling us stories about pissin on the Rising Sun’s tomato plants, he catches a bus and we giggle down the street to Jackson’s home. Little music sharing and to sleep in comfy accomodations.

Next day we leave at 10:35 up too late to shower, shovel some cornflakes in and run to the train. Hug Jackson and we’re to Swansea in South Wales, heard it was a mite industrial for other’s tastes. A little anxious on the ride there, but pulling in to see I’ll get along with this town. Strip from the station spotted with discount stores and run down storefronts. To the City Centre which plays host to the largest open air market in South Wales. In to get a couple Pasties to quell the hunger seeping in our bellies. We look about for tourist information and decide to head out to Mumbles, a bay just down the road accessible by bus. Buy a belt and a redbull try to unlock Cody’s phone- no luck . ON the bus, we hop out when we see a castle. It’s the Oystermouth castle about 65 pence for students to run about and explore the ruining walls, walking down the falling stairs on the landings and towers and seats and windows. Explore for some 40 minutes and we’re out to another payphone to Call Doug out host of the night. Feeding the hungry pay phone coin after coin until he just calls us back and it’s free. He’s off work and will meet us at the White Rose at half fiver (5:30). So we skip down to the Swansea shore to frolic on the mud-flats. Found myself a cute little crab that I held for a bit and looked for good rocks to keep close to my heart. Into the pub and a Brain’s Bitters, Delicious. Doug in and we talk easily, comfortably. After the beer we’re out to his car and start towards the peninsula of Gower. Doug knows a lot about Swansea and is quick to tell us all that he knows. We walk and walk to the top of this great hill overlooking Oxwich Bay. Turn and turn you can see all the countryside host to runners finishing this strange scavenger hunt. Who knows what they are doing, but we’re standing on top of this hill and they are running around us in circles. It makes everything seem much dreamier than it ever did before. Went out to a great delicious Indian Restaurant, another pint and we’re at Doug’s place sleeping it all off

Back to London staying at a Hostel, can’t get a hold of Rachel for shit and we need our luggage, so we hop about, get a tube day pass ride it wherever. Made it to Chinatown and happened upon the HUGE Freddy Mercury statue glistening in the English moonlight sweet sweet rapture, snap it into my camera and we’re off again. Grab a drink at this Spanish bar in an alley where you set your glasses on the pavement and dip out. Drink it down and head to Rachel’s where we wait for some 45 minutes until she shows up and we get our luggage back to the hostel with the original intention of going out again. But we’re staying in a 4 person dorm with 2 older one a lady the other a fellow from France and Uruguay respectively. Don’t wanna come back pissed and disturb them so we stay in anyway. 

Next day up and out to explore. To Hyde Park, Regent Gardens, some palaces and Princess Di’s memorial playground with a great pirate ship, we can’t go in though because we aren’t and don’t have children so movin on we go to the British Library and see some of the oldest documents in existenz, including an original collection of Shakespeare plays, Magna Carta, and notes from Sylvia Plath. Jesus, so close but everything is in glass I dirty it with my face trying to get closer. Dip out quick to catch the coach to Canterbury.

At the station we are met by our next host Tom, nice guy carrying two bikes back to his place on a 40 minute walk. Lugging the big blue whale bag up all those hills about to die. But we get in and he makes us a nice meal, I can’t eat it all, but I’m happy to have a homecooked meal in my belly. We sleep I on the floor for a bit until I’m too cold to sleep. Up early and we’re to Campus.. Get into our place and I dump my stuff and spreadeagle on my bed. So happy to be in a place that is so mine and made for me to lock and keep my things so safe and I will be so safe here so wonderfully content. 

Pub crawl that night.

So that’s the quick tip of the berg about what’s been going on the past couple o’ evenings. 

Travelins is mostly Safe, Sick, Sound, Sweet.