Day 12 - 12 October 2002I am not really in the mood to go anywhere or do anything during my short day in London so I take my time and linger over breakfast. Over toast with jam and peaches I decide that I should go out on at least a short excursion before leaving. It’s a waste, otherwise, isn’t it? To be here and not doing anything? Some people have never been here before, after all, and would love the opportunity to spend half a day in London so easily. I should do it for their sakes, right? (And speaking of having never been to London... on the Underground I am surrounded by some 18-year-old army cadets (or something) who are on leave (or something) and are enjoying being in the big city for the first time. Imagine that... in a country the size of England - a country with a single centralised major urban centre such as London - that there are people who have never been here before! That’s like people I knew back home in Medicine Hat, Alberta who had never been to Calgary before. It’s two and a half hours away! How is that even possible?!? And how does one reach the age of 19 without having ever been on an aeroplane before? But that’s another story, isn’t it? Not that any of us would understand it anyway... we’re all here, after all. Jetting around the world, living far from home.) It is also strange to be in London with all the tourists, whilst not really being here as a tourist myself. I suppose it's kind of like seeing tourists around your home town or something like that. Waiting in the Underground station today and yesterday I was reminded that I am back in Europe by virtue of all the good-looking chicks around (not that the UK is the best place to look, but there are lots of European tourists here). There was surprisingly few hotties in New York City. I wonder why that is? (There’s lots of time to think about strange things in commute, isn’t there?) It turns out to feel like a nice day. I almost wish that there was somewhere really cool that I did want to go to. There is one little stop I'd like to make, however. One that fits well into my available time as well as having a bit of a connection with something I did just a few days ago in New York City.  Look familiar? It should. If you haven't already guessed this is the "other" obelisk that I mentioned like the one we saw in Central Park on my first day in America. The so-called “Cleopatra’s Needle” on the Thames Embankment behind Charing Cross Railway Station (“so-called” because neither of these obelisks has the slightest bit to do with Cleopatra... Cleopatra being the Greek Ptolemaic ruler of Egypt before it became part of the Roman Empire, and the obelisks having been carved and erected 1500 years earlier when Egypt was actually still Egypt and was under the rule of the pharaohs). As I mentioned before these two obelisks (now 4000 miles apart) used to stand just a few metres away from each other at the entrance to the Temple of the Sun in Heliopolis (currently part of Cairo). And now, thanks to Freemasonry, these once important symbols of the amazing ancient civilisation of Egypt can be viewed (much like many other important symbols of the amazing ancient civilisation of Egypt) in obscurity and out of context in both London and New York. Not that I would suggest that these priceless artefacts would have been better off in Egyptian hands. The Egyptians wouldn't have taken any better care of them and would actually have probably taken even worse care of them. Sort of like the 4000 year old sarcophagus being used as a trash can outside of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo (just to give an example). They were the ones, after all, who sold them off in the first place, right?  A view of the base of the obelisk showing a plaque that lists six names of men who “Perished in a Solo Attempt to Succour the Crew of the Obelisk Ship “Cleopatra” during the Storm October 14th, 1877”. Now, I don’t know what that means exactly but I do remember that there was some trouble and ships sinking associated with getting the obelisks from Egypt to London and New York. Evidently this is in relation to that. (Fascinating lack of information huh?)  A view of the base looking across the River Thames and with the (British Airways) London Eye (what a stupid name) in the background. The Millennium Wheel, in other words - taken over and commercialised for lack of money. Why do they start projects that later run out of money and require big business to come bail them out?  The plaque explaining the obelisk’s origins. You can read it, I am sure, so no further commentary by me required.  And what would such a monument be without some fake bronze statues manufactured in 19th century England but made to look ancient Egyptian? And speaking of anachronistic things... the previously mentioned anachronistic Houses of Parliament (and Big Ben) in the background. An enduring example of the trendy Gothic style that was all the 19th century yuppie rage when the buildings were constructed (carefully constructed and artificially aged ancient ruins were also popular for backyard gardens at the time).  Well look at that.... fake Egyptian bronze statue, fake Gothic Houses of Parliament, AND the Millennium Wheel all in one picture!  A view of the obelisk as seen from the River Thames (photo taken from a footbridge, of course).  The view from a bit further out toward the centre of the river. Which reminds me... On this trip I have often mentioned various land reclamation projects (and compared that to the Dutch land reclamation). Well here at the Victoria Embankment we have another example of land reclamation that might be of interest.  Here you can see a map of the Victoria Embankment area. Just to orient yourselves I have marked, with a green dot, the approximate spot where I was standing to take the previous picture(s) (at the bottom). I have also marked the location of the obelisk with a purple circle. But the interesting thing here is the area that I have marked with the red circle - Watergate Walk. Flashback Begins It all started a few years ago when I was in London to master my last record (the CD that some of you have a copy of) I partook of one of my favourites London activities... a London Walking Tour. This particular walking tour must have been “meant to be”. It had all the elements of the classic Iain-story. Confusion at first throwing uncertainty and suspense into mix, eventual resolution of the tensions through sheer luck, and, of course, the romantic sub-plot where Iain falls in love. But all that was the subject of a much earlier Email from last year when I told the story of a recent trip to Nürnberg where I was visiting one of the two girls I fell in love with on that particular walking tour. Some of you might remember? Does “Backpack Girl” sound familiar?!? (If you don’t remember, and assuming you care, I will be glad to forward the Email to you... it makes for some more non-interesting reading about a fascinating ancient city with lots of pictures.) Flashback Ends Hmmmm. Where was I going with all that anyway? Oh right. Land reclamation and this map of Victoria Embankment! Anyway, on that particular Walking Tour (The Ghosts of the West End) I learned something very interesting about this particular area of London. Right at the spot that I’ve indicated on the map with a red circle is a stone arch with an iron gate. As you can probably guess from the map this is the “Watergate”. And as you can probably also guess the name has nothing to do with the scandal surrounding the resignation of former US President Richard Nixon. In fact, the reason why this particular gate is called the Watergate is because it was once located right on the waterfront. Some of you may have seen the movie Shakespeare in Love and if so you might remember that in the movie the characters were often being shuttled around London by means of rowboats on the Thames that sort of served as water-taxis (if you will). Well, anyway, this “Watergate” dates from the era in London where you stand at the edge of the river and hail one of these water-taxis to take you across or up and down the river. This Watergate served as a loading and unloading point for such conveyances. But what is interesting to me is how far it is from the current banks of the River Thames. It has to be a hundred metres, I would guess. Just imagine that Watergate Walk and Savoy Place were once perched at the edge of the river. Or perhaps all of this is just fascinating to me because I come from a place that is at such altitude and is so dry (not to mention where land is unbelievably abundant) that the idea of land reclamation is a bit foreign. I remember first hearing that Front Street in Toronto was actually called that because it was originally on the waterfront. I was amazed by that since it seemed like half the city was between it and where the actual waterfront is nowadays. The CN Tower and SkyDome included. I was amazed that they would undertake such drastic measures to create building space. I was also a little bit annoyed on behalf of the land-owners and developers who used to have waterfront property until they went and moved the waterfront. That has to suck. You’d think being at the water’s edge that you’d be safe from having someone zoom in a steal your view. Anyway... that was a length digression. My apologies. But one more thing of interest from the previous photo. Check out the little steamship that you can see off to the right side of the obelisk.  The name of the little ship is the Queen Mary, which I thought was cute since I was recently sailing with Cunard lines. This version of the Queen Mary has nothing to do with Cunard, but it’s kind of interesting to think about how many British sailing vessels there have been over the years with names like Elizabeth, Mary, Victoria, and so on. Or maybe it’s not interesting at all? Either way this particular Queen Mary is a far cry from THE Queen Mary, currently residing in California, or the soon to be Queen Mary 2 that will take over the role of Cunard’s flagship in less than a year’s time. Well... Looking at the time I realise that it’s time to get back to my hotel and grab my bags in order to make my train. Descending back into the Underground I catch a Circle Line train headed for Notting Hill. As we rattle along it occurs to me that I am suffered almost no effect of Jet-Lag on this trip at all. The trip West was gradual enough to avoid the effects altogether and the return journey was so quick, and on so little sleep - followed by lots of sleep, that I didn’t suffer then either. Very strange to have crossed oceans and changed continents without Jet-Lag, isn’t it? Grabbing my baggage I return, so burdened, to the Underground and head for Waterloo station. The timing for my train is perfect and I board almost immediately. Thoughts from the EurostarWell this is it. Waterloo Station and the end of my adventures. Or the beginning of the end anyway, although I can't imagine that many more exciting things await me between here and The Hague. The only adventure left is the adventure of getting my now INCREDIBLY heavy bags on and off the two remaining trains that lie between the rolling green hills of jolly old England and the almost non-existent hills of Southern Holland.  As always, the true sign that I am leaving London comes when my train passes the Battersea Power Station (Pink Floyd's Animals album cover sans floating pig balloon). For the first time in nearly two weeks I have some real time to reflect on the whole experience. This is not to say that I haven't had time to relax, of course. It's just the first time in a while that there is nothing hanging over me. Nothing to anticipate whether good or bad. At the outset of this trip I compared my upcoming experiences to a kind of time travel with champagne and caviar all along the way. Well, with the Chunnel behind me I'm back in my proper time again and I only had champagne and caviar on the one occasion. (Thank god too because I think I am still sick from it. Someone, somewhere must be rolling in their grave because I dare to get sick from what was certainly fairly high quality champagne, but it was truly gross. I don't know how or why you drinkers do it. And I don't know what disappoints me more... The weakness of succombing to such a vice or just the plain fact that anyone would voluntarily drink something so incredibly disgusting. I think I'll stick to Kool-Aid and my own vices from now on. And hopefully limit my actions so as to only be a disappointment to myself.) But "champagne and caviar" can still serve as a metaphor for the opulent nature of the trip as a whole. Travels aboard the finest ship in the world, the fast passenger jet, and even now aboard one of the fastest trains in the world. Of course that is only as far as Brussels. After that...  Having passed through the Passport Control in Brussels I am back on my own turf now - the European Union. No more borders. No more passport checks. I can now share with you my collection of stamps from this little journey. It’s weird that they put them all on the same blank pages in my passport, don’t you think? It’s like they were planning to assist me with this picture or something. Although I am annoyed (for the second time in my life) with the British Passport Control Stampers and how they stamped their stamp on TOP of a previous stamp. Why do they do that? No other nation on Earth is so insensitive! And this is the SECOND time they’ve done it to me! The last time is when I was ALL THE WAY in Switzerland and waited in line specifically to get a stamp (otherwise I wouldn’t need one since I am Canadian). And then, a month later, the stupid Passport people in the UK stamp over top of it! Well anyway, I am now back aboard the familiar NS Internationale Trein from Brussels to Den Haag. Which reminds me... International Train my ass. If that were true then the stupid Belgians would make the announcements for its change of track in more languages than just their own (IE French and Flemish). It also might have helped if they had mentioned that it was going to be 15 minutes late in any language (French or Flemish included). Belgium sucks. Every time I come to, or should I say "pass through", their stupid country something always go wrong. And I only ever spend like an hour here each time yet they still manage to screw my experience up. Imagine having to live here! Anyway... The NS train may not be the Eurostar. Or the Concorde. And certainly not the QE2. And yet I am deliriously happy to be aboard it right now. (You know the road is long when the Dutch railway can make you so happy.) Happy because I know that at of the end of this road is home. And even if home is a small apartment in a boring city with no Katz's Deli or Gray's Papaya and you can't order pizza after ten thirty at night... Even if home means restaurant service that would make the Maitre D'Hotel of the QE2 drop dead of an aneurysm... Even if home means going back to work on Monday for one of the most spiritually frustrating organisations in the world... Even if... Home is still home and there's no place like it. And so, like Dorothy, I am on my way back to Kansas. But of course the train is crowded. A train with enough seats would just make too much sense. And of course I have to "overstappen" in Rotterdam to get to Den Haag. Trains that actually go where they are supposed to would be too convenient. And of course the Dutch guy who sat next to me doesn't move to another seat when we arrive in Antwerp and the train thins out a little bit. Being polite and respecting someone's space just isn't the Dutch way, is it? You know I put those bags on the seat next to me for a reason. I didn't want anyone sitting next to me. I would think that you, being Dutch, would understand since your people practically invented the concept. And isn't it great when I finally get up and move instead? You get two whole seats all to yourself! If you weren't such a jackass you could have started that nap you're taking right now about 15 minutes earlier. (Don't worry... We crossed the border into The Netherlands by now. I'm allowed to complain. I think the Dutch invented that concept too.) And yet this is all a joy to me. What a powerful effect the idea of "home" is. We must all be very careful about choosing ours, I think. If, at the end of an amazing adventure, you aren't happy to return home, then perhaps you should live somewhere else? If, at the end of a unbelievable holiday, you aren't looking forward to getting back to work, then maybe you should change jobs. (And not looking forward to it because you have "so much to do" either... Looking forward to it because you enjoy what you do.) Life isn't the vacations we take. Life is what happens in-between. If you don't like where you are then maybe you should consider changing things. Or maybe you are somewhere difficult for a reason, perhaps to achieve other goals which are important to you. If so, you should perhaps still re-examine your situation just to be certain that you've made the right choices because (as I often quote - and quoted at the start of this adventure).... "Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once and while it will go right past you.” Or maybe your home and life just seem boring to you. If so then I have one final quote for you that speaks to that point and which, after the nature of my own recent adventure, seems particularly relevant. "If their lives seemed exotic and strange They would likely have gladly exchanged them For something a little more plain Maybe something a little more sane We each pay a fabulous price For our visions of paradise...” With that I am almost home. And I hope that wherever any of you are, that you are at home too. And so in parting (I have an "overstappen" to make in Rotterdam, after all)... As they would say to all of us (instead of goodbye) after dinner on board the QE2.... Thank you. 
 
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