Saturday, July 31, 2010

Brussels




Waking up fairly late for us, it wasn't probably until 11am that Sam and I set out to explore Brussels. Mark had given us a key so we were able to come and go as we please while he was at work. First up, breakast. We made our way to the Manneken Pis, the peeing boy statue where there were plenty of touristy waffle shops. Sam ordered a waffle with strawbeeries and chocolate while I settled for Nutella. They melt the Nutella, which comes in five kilogram tubs over a pot like fondue and are just as liberal when spreading it across your waffle. I love Nutella, but I couldn't finish mine and Sam ended up consuming his and the rest of mine.
After that it was time to find the red tourist bus that every European city seems to have. We didn't ride the one in London because it was so expensive but here in Brussels it was only 20 euro each. You can hop on and off the bus at 14 different stations around the city or just stay on the whole hour and a half trip and listen to the commentary.
Sam and I chose to do this to start as it was a beautiful sunny day and riding up the top of the double decker bus was lovely.
With our head phones in and our cameras ready we enjoyed a scenic tour or some of Brussels main attractions including the royal palace, the Atomium - a relic of the World Expo Brussels hosted in the 50s which is a huge 100m high structure supposed to be an atom made up of molecules that are metres wide. Escalators and a lift allow tourists to ascend to the Atomium dizzying heights but we passed and stayed on the bus.
Other things included parks, another palace, some old cathedrals and other things I have forgotten the name of.
Back to where we began, we hopped off the bus to find some lunch. Now, Sam and I are hopeless at deciding what to have for lunch as anyone in Tamworth can attest to, so choosing an eatery in a city like Brussels tested both our patience.
We finally settled on a small Itlian place on the Grand Place, the centre city square with buildings dating to the 17th century.
While all these eateries had lovely terraces, rain threatened so we chose to sit inside and within minutes it was pouring, catching hordes of Japanese tourists out in the centre of the square, forced to negotitate slippery wet cobblestones to shelter.
With another cherry beer with lunch (these things are awesome - kriek), some food in our tums and the sun shining again, we hopped back on the bus for a return to the royal palace.
We must have been one of the last people let through for the day, as it was probably close to 5pm. Inside we were taken back by the expensive simplicity of the sitting rooms, the ornateness of the ballroom and the most amazing chandeliers we have seen.
Another room had been converted into a hands-on activity area for the kids - some science type exhibition. It was a real shame because this room had the most amazing ceiling. In about four sections was a green/blue shimmery iridescent material that kind of looked like feathers or shells.
For the life of us we coul;dn't work out what it was and then as we were leaving the room, a sign told us. The ceiling was covered in the wings of 1.4 million thai beetles, hence the iridescence of the colours. It was mind boggling to think this ceiling was covered with the wings of an insect and the amount of time it must have taken to do.
Out of the palace and the gates virtually closed behind us, we set back towards Mark's house on foot, mostly downhill luckily.
Sam and my feet are becoming increasingly more hardy as time goes on but by later afternoon the pain begins to kick in and again and usually at least one of us has to ask the other to slow down.
Sam wanted to buy some Belgian beer to post home or at least carry with us home, so we entered a boutique beer shop that sold hundreds of different types of beer. Sam bought a Carolus, recommended to him by the staff there. It's 8.5%. A lot of beer here has a very high alcohol levels.
I was keen to buy some Belgian chocs, as they were being sold in the more touristy stores for only 10 euro for five boxes of shells or truffles or a combination. But the thought of more chocolate actually made me feel so ill, I couldn't bring myself to buy any, a fact I regret now as I write this in Amsterdam.
Back at Mark's, our host cooked us dinner, a pasta, chicken and vegetable satay dish.
After dinner we really had to work out how we were leaving in the morning for Amsterdam, a small detail we should have worked out earlier.
Days before we had looked at bus times and costs and were expecting only to have to pay less than 10 euro but when we went to book, it was sold out unless we wanted to leave at 9.30 that night and arrive in Amsterdam after 11pm.
So the train it was, but the Thalys, or super fast train was way too expensive at over 100 euros for the two of us so the slow every day train it was, with no reserved seating. You bought your ticket and hoped for a seat. It's not at all like the trains at home though. Plush seats, even in second class and a tray table you can pull down like on the planes.
It was a three-hour trip that would put us in Amsterdam about midday.
We also took th opportunity to book our tickets to Dusseldorf from Amsterdam, that would be the next leg of the journey. Mostly we can use e-tickets so a printer is usually necessary and Mark was kind enough to let us use his.
Close to midnight, we hit the hay and prepared for an early start to catch the train.
Alysia (July 28)

London to Brussels

Wow, would probably sum up in a word our trip from London to Brussels on the high speed Eurostar. From point to point was just two hours. Three-hundred kilometres per hour sounds fast but in actuality is even faster. The scenery moves bloody quickly.
The trip out of England was almost quicker than our trip from New Cross to St Pancras Station, London. Maybe the trip to St Pancras station seemed so much longer because of the weight in our packs - and the fact we stood almost the entire way. After days of walking they now feel as though they’re lead-lined. The way they sap energy makes one feel a little slow, as if they’ve had a big dose of the malleable metal as a child. On our red London bus we quickly learned to sway and shift our weight to compensate for our load and the motion of the bus. Perhaps it could be the next training technique for surfers or pro mountain bikers. It was certainly a good workout. Indeed I was desperate to be rid of the bags for a couple of hours until the Eurostar departed. But the long line at the baggage drop off discouraged us both and pushed my patience to the limit. Instead we sought some chairs and after walking past several rows of people and baggage taking up more than their share I asked one woman to move - nicely of course. There I left Alysia with the bags and set out for the Post Office at the same time hoping to clear my mind. Across the road I pushed my way into the heavy hot air of the convenience store-cum-post office. Unlike home the postal service doesn’t make money from retail sales so I handed over a couple of Pounds for a tube to post our oil painting home. To make the most of this opportunity I first made my way back to Alysia. I hoped to stash a few other trinkets in the cardboard tube-to-home.
“Can you just open you’re bag and get the souvenirs out,” I said.
After some fiddling with the lock the answer was: “No”.
Somehow the combination had changed.
“No problem,” I said, “I’ll break that piece of flimsy rubbish when we get to Brussels”.
But, Alysia being Alysia, this would not do and she set out breaking the code. 000, 001, 002 and on she went.
“Don’t just stand there and watch,” she said.
Defeated, I went back to the post office and sent the tube to Haley.
Mission complete I walked back to the station with the curious Cornish pastry and with a very sweet coffee thanks to the one (extra big) sugar deposited into it. I wish I hadn’t tipped the cashier now. I expected the worst , to find Alysia sobbing quietly but there she sat as calm as could be. In fact she was now more bothered that I had been gone so long. And had taken the chance to stuff my face. She’d cracked it. Cracked it like in The Italian Job, she said. She’d gone through almost every possible combination to find that it was 719. Her original combination was 161.
“My finger’s a bit sore,” she said.
No doubt I thought.
Hurtling toward France on our way to Brussels we could finally relax. Getting to stations and on transport is quite testing and tiring. So after just two hours we were doubly relieved to be in Brussels and were equally happy to hand over seven euro to be ejected on our host’s doorstep in central, central Brussels. And after some more stairs we were shaking hands with Mark. After hosting people ourselves this was our first time surfing and we we’re keen to make a good impression. I could see the quiet uncertainty that I had harboured each time we hosted. But it quickly evaporated and we talked like friends from a past life or something. We grabbed some Mexican food and learned some more about one another. Dessert was a walk to the Grand Place - a cobble-stoned square surrounded by gothic buildings built in the 17th century - which was food for the soul. A short walk away we found Maneken Pis, which is just like it sounds: a small boy statue taking a piss. Our Dutch born and raised host informs us it was built during quite a conservative time - any bigger than this little boy would have been too erotic. Next to the peeing boy was one of many tourist-geared waffle shops. These golden-hued treats were heaped with strawberries, bananas, chocolate and cream. Or just Nutella or icing sugar, as the locals eat them. Being the chocolate capital of… the world (kudos Clarkson for dramatic emphasis) we could not help but notice the sweet smell of pralines wafting out of the numerous store fronts. But the beer was calling louder and Mark was determined to introduce Alysia to one of the sweetest brews known to man. Into Delerium we strolled with its 27 beers on tap - 2004 in total were available over the counter - it could be heaven. Off the menu I chose a blonde which tipped the scales at a hefty 10 per cent alcohol content. Alysia was loaded up with a cherry beer of some eight per cent. Mark had one of his favoured monk-brewed beers. Our host was happily becoming more Dutch with every sip, I felt, in a good way of course. We talked history and he admitted he was proud of his heritage if not patriotic. Fair enough too. While not happy about his nation’s past treatment of Indonesia the Dutch have been quite entrepreneurial in the truest capitalist spirit.
Back up the four (possibly five) flights of stairs we were ensconced in Mark’s rented loft. It is an amazing space with natural timber floors and contrasting white walls and built-in furniture. Above our heads was the mezzanine where he slept. Quite spacious and not cheap at 1200 euros a month, he eventually told us. Still I found it an inspiring space and for Mark it’s only a few hundred meters to work with Belgium’s national phone network, where he was engineering a software solution I still can’t quite grasp. Something to do with up selling services including subscription television. Having drawn the blinds on the attic windows we eased ourselves onto our inflatable ensemble for a well earned night’s sleep.
- Sam (July 29)

Monday, July 26, 2010

Our last full day in London didn't go at all to plan. I awoke to the muted sound of the New Cross road and lowered myself off the creaky bunk with no ladder like every morning so far. After a quick freshen up I woke Alysia. It was 6.43am - two minutes before the alarm was due to go off and soon enough we were out the door and feeling pretty good. The 436 to Victoria Station was already at the stop opposite the hostel and we just weren't quick enough. And besides they come every 6 to 10 minutes, right? Well, they're meant to, but it didn't and it was 7.20 before we leapt on the next one. Dread filled me every time I caught a glimpse of my watch while the traffic became more and more manic the closer we drew to central London. Climbing over the Westminster bridge I couldn't help but notice the tide on the River Thames was out - fitting because I knew the damned bus had left us stranded high and dry with no chance of making the coach to Stratford Upon Avon, a shrine to Shakespeare. At 8.05 we leapt off the inter city express in the vain hope it's regional brother would share it's tardy habits. At 8.17, when we found gate 17, people were already boading the next bus. Damn. Alysia was close to tears and there was nothing I could do to make this dream day trip come true now.
Defeated we found a locals' type cafe to... I don't know what. I ordered but Alysia just could bare the thought of food just yet. With the maps and guide book out we resolved, without any spoken pact, to make the most of the day. 'London Tower it is'. Alysia grabbed a croissant as we left that cafe to find a direct route without the need to change buses several times - our former fondness of the red London buses suspended. On a morning that had gone so wrong we had nothing to lose but to finally tackle the tacky and tasteless affair that is souvenir shopping. It was here we pledged to only buy souvenirs of strict practical applications - with tongue in cheek - having picked up a key ring that serves as a bottle opener and nail clippers. Alysia smiles. Things don't seem so bad.
We walk past Buckingham Palace for the third time and Alysia tells me 'that's the freshest croissant I've had'. I tried hard not to laugh. It only took missing a bus to the final resting place of one of Alysia's favourite writers; finding an ultra-fresh pastry was not really a goal on this trip. Let's just hope there are even better croissants in places like France, perhaps, to shake any sugestion fate was responsible for this cruel morning.
The next surprise for us was London Tower. It's a castle. How did we not know that? Anyway, we walked in and with no expectations, we found it was great. For a place that's seen its share of nasty stuff it was truly peaceful. A mixture of sandstone, coblestones and green grass. But with the skies rebelling against our fortunate run of sun we sought some shelter, in the actual tower where the Crown Jewels are stowed. Having seen so much footage of the jewels and pictures we knew what to expect and weren't disappointed. We probably could have spent longer inspecting the intricate detail but the crowds weren't co-operative. Back outside we strolled past the ruins of a wall constructed during Roman occupation and could only wonder what it might once of looked like. From there we climbed the stairs onto the perimeter wall overlooking the Thames and the city with great views of the Tower Bridge. Or the storming peasants, perhaps, a few hundred years earlier - the Royal family's only enemy to raid the fortress.
A quick bite to eat at Subway (hey, at least it wasn't McDonalds) and we were off to the Tate Modern museum within the cavernous bowels of London's old electricity building and wow, what a big space it is. You could probably stack five double deckers in there and not touch the ceiling. Well, there's five or six floors spearing off this main 'foyer' at least. The works were generally typical of the genre - they looked like kiddy scribbles. Alysia took some time out to rest her feet while I kept looking. Till I found a piece by Joan Mitchell and was drawn to it. I could have stood there a lot longer pulling out the different aspects buried within. A face here, a ship there and other stuff I just couldn't place, but knew was there.
Outside our London marathon continued. We strolled across the Millenium Bridge (of which, coincidentally, there is a drawing of across the entire common room wall at our hostel) and to the steps of St Paul's cathedral. It's trully massive but I was on a mission to get us to Portobello Rd in Notting Hill. On the bus again we passed through Piccadilly Circus, with it's massive billboards and expensive looking shops, while thousands of people fought one another along the street. Aysia summed it up well: "we've found where the rest of the tourists have been hiding". A change of bus had us roaring past Hyde Park - the bus drivers here are insanely brave - as the traffic dispersed and we were soon at our destination. We walked down the famous market strip and at first saw nothing. But, before we knew it, we were flicking through some acrylic on canvas street scapes and had bought one of old London Town. Not high-couture art but we both instantly loved it. On we walked past street stalls with clothes and fresh produce. Most amazing was a corner clothing store, in the windows of which were stacked old, black, Singer sowing machines. An amazing sight. I wouldn't be surprised if had every one of the world's know remnants stacked floor to seiling in the windows right around the frontage and on the wall inside.
We turned for home with aching feet and shoulders and, for Aysia, a painful hip - shooting pain down her leg. It was a frustrating end to a day we otherwise had salvaged. Then Alysia dropped the bomb: "our tickets through the sites at Stratford Upon Avon are valid for a year, we'll have to come back". I think to myself 'not a bad idea'. And on the bus trip back to our hostel I wonder quietly how a couple of young journalists might land a job here; home to what seems like the world's largest concentration of print media. You just can't escape the sheer number of papers on news stands and being handed out for free on the street. The place certainly has more soul than Sydney.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

London day four - sore feet

Well, we have walked our feet into blistered, swollen, dirty hobbit-like meat trays that decided today they didn't want to go very far. We had to pick up our tickets for our bus for tomorrow's trip to Stratford Upon Avon but apart from that it was a laid back day. We took in Hyde Park, where some sort of triathlon was running with some major athletes from around the world - apparently. That's what the announcer was saying anyway.
Turned out to be a beautiful day after a cold and overcast start. Got a touch red on the shoulders.
OK so today we saw the changing of the guard - turns out what we thought was it the other day was just a pissy little changeover - probably going for smoko.
Anyhow, saw the real deal today and Sam got in on film. Good luck more than planning, we rocked up to the palace after a walk through James Park and there were thousands of people lining the street that was closed to traffic and wouldn't you know it, a fancy band and some dudes in furry hats.
Oh and I saw squirrels!! Lots of them. The first one we saw just as we headed into the park and I was not expecting it at all and it came right up to me and for a moment I thought it was going to run up my leg. After it scurried away and I cursed myself for not getting my camera out fast enough to snap more shots, we walked along only to discover plenty more of the "pests" as Sam calls them. They are soooo cute! Kate I hope you're reading this, cos trust me you want one.
Was able to get plenty more shots and Sam even took some footage at my insistence though he wasn't nearly as impressed with them as me.
We had lunch in a proper English pub complete with warm beer, fish and chips and 28 peas. Yes, Sam counted his peas. Thought they were a bit light on. Perhaps Britain is in the midst of a pea shortage - there's some front page news for you.
And then, like I said we wandered through Hyde Park and then Kensington Gardens where someone must have stopped paying the gardener because compared to Hyde Park, separated only by a roadway, they are different worlds of maintenance.
Onto a bus for a quick trip back to South Bank where Sam wanted to check out the London Eye. The queue was enormous and while we probably could have got on - eventually - we decided not to try. We did however, get an ice cream and sit on the grass and people watch for about an hour. Plenty of street entertainers around and of course thousands of tourists to watch.
We took a stab at buying souvenirs but I honestly couldn't bring myself to buy a cheesy fridge magnet. Later this evening, however, I did regret not buying the bottle opener with a red phone box on top because Sam bought some beer and we didn't have a bottle opener. he had to use a garlic crusher thing to pop the top and bottle number two ended in a cut finger for Sam. In this place, he'll be lucky if he doesn't get an infection.
Was another cold shower this morning. I tried for one last night, in two different bathrooms but not only could I not get hot water, I couldn't get any. Sam has somehow always managed to score both water and heat, but alas pressure enough to rinse the conditioner out of our hair still eludes us.
Have actually been sleeping quite well, most likely due to exhaustion. Pop in the ear plugs provided for free by reception, pop on the eye mask and I'm gone. I wake when the others in our room come in at odd hours in the morning but once I see who they are, and that they are not Jack the Ripper copycats, I fall back asleep fairly easily.
Sam has still be getting up super early - perhaps to avoid the rush for ice cold water in the showers.
Sent away from more requests for couches in Amsterdam but don't really expect to hear back. Looks like we will be hostel-ing it again.
Have a host in Brussels from Tuesday and then we are staying with Hugues sister in Dusseldorf. Not really sure what's happening after that.
It's about 10.30pm here and the sun has not long gone down. The music is blaring from the bar downstairs and my feet are vibrating on the floating floorboards in the common area. We are all "watching" James Bond: Quantum Solace and drinking beer. Well Sam is, I'm on Zero. Still getting dizzy when I stand up - must have an inner ear infection because the earth is always moving under me at the moment.
- Alysia 10.34pm local time

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Day Three in London - Westminster, Big Ben, British Museum, London Bridge, Houses of Parliament
















So after feeling like we wasted a day yesterday, checking into our hostel which has run out of toilet paper in one of the bathrooms, we decided today we were going to pack in as much as possible.
Sam was up super early sussing out the bus situation. Getting to New Cross from London was one thing, getting from New Cross to Westminster another. So he was up and about and I had my first shower in the hostel. Hmmm. Cold, cold and cold. Oh and the shower head was one of those hand held contraptions that in theory should have stayed in it's holder on the wall but in practice managed to fall out with the water pressure and land on your toe. So washing yourself in icy cold water, while trying to wash your hair with one hand so you could hold the shower head with the other for fear of leaving it on the floor of the shower where tinea and all sorts of grossness was breeding, was tricky.
Feeling much refreshed and a little bit nippy, we headed downstairs for our "complimentary breakast" in the pub underneath our accommodation. We walked in and on the bar was a tub of margarine, a jar of jam, sliced white bread, cornflakes, milk, coffee and tea. Glad I brought my own vegemite.
So we filled up on not a lot and headed out the door by 9.30 ready to start the day. I might mention here that I am totally over carrying a backpack all day. My shoulders are going to be more knotted than a kindergarten's shoelaces by the time this trip is over.
So I dumped the laptop for the day in our storage locker and headed out with minimum weight - much better!
Sam had sorted the bus situation so we walked to our stop about 200m away and the bus pulled up as we did so the timing couldn't have been better.
A pleasant 20 minute bus ride later and we hopped off at Westminster Bridge. We didn't realise how lucky we were to get here at this time until later in the morning. The bridge spans the Thames, on the banks of which sat the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. We had unobstructed views of both and not many people to fight to get some clear shots off. Promising myself I won't buy any cheap souvenirs - yet - we set off across the bridge for Westminster Abbey, our first stop for the day.
We expected queues, delays, something. We walked straight in, paid our 15 pound each, picked up our audio guides and spent the next two hours exploring this amazing piece of history. This isn't about religion at all, but architecture and history and culture. We explored every inlet and chapel of that beast of worship. I saw the tombs of Lawrence Olivier, a truckload of kings and queens long dead, Charles Darwin, Sir Isaac Newton and memorials to Shakespeare, Tennyson, Robert Browning (actually I think that was his grave), Lord Byron, Keats, Shelley and even Jane Austen got a look in. I think the Poets Corner excited me more than Sam however, I resisted the temptation to get down on all fours and kiss the ground.
For those curious, there are hundreds of people buried at Westminster within the vicinity of the church. These are mostly marked by slabs of marble or something on the floor, walls or monuments. So you are quite literally walking on people's graves every couple of metres. I'm surprised the floors of the Abbey don't shake with the vibration of dead poets turning in their graves.
We even dropped in on a couple of Sam's old relatives, Lord and Lady Norris who are buried in the first chapel on your left as you walk in, and paid our respects.
So after a jaw dropping walk through the many alcoves of the abbey we headed back out into the sunshine. Yes, Australians, sunshine. It's hot and sunny and lovely to be in warm weather again. Hope you're all freezing at home hehe.
We hopped on another bus opposite the abbey (we're getting really good at this bus thing) and took a very slow trip up to Trafalger Square. Slow because the traffic was so bad and it probably would have been quicker to walk but nice that we didn't have to. We drove past the Horses Guard Museum and a big crowd was hanging out at Downing Street, in the hope of what I don't know. Who on earth wants to see the Prime Minister while visiting another country, added to which you couldn't even see THE door and isn't that what Downing Street is all about. The whole street is cordoned off with a big iron fence and plenty of bored looking cops who occasionally posed for pics with tourists. Probably American.
Sorry, American tourists shat me today. You can't take photos in Westminster and yet you could bet your arse people did and when I saw them, and then heard them speak - American. I rest my case.
So, we hadn't meant to get off at Trafalger but when we were headed past them anyway on the way to the British Museum, we decided to just hop off there. And guess what, it's a square and yeah it has fountains and the National Gallery is right there but apart from the thousands of people eating lunch on the steps and the thousands of pigeons eating their scraps, there wasn't much to it.
Still it was an excuse to have lunch and we found a nice organic sandwich place (funny coming from me, I know) but everything was fresh and homemade, like it actually was, and it was doing a thriving trade and it was nice.
We sat and ate on the steps of somewhere opposite Trafalger before walking up to the British Museum. We must have been in the theatre district. For you Sophie I took a pic of the theatre playing Priscilla.
We found the museum without too much trouble and join a fast moving crowd of people heading toward the entrance. Entry is free so you pretty much just walk in. It's just about avoiding the tour groups and old ladies with bumbags and hats.
Once inside we didn't really know where to start. It has more than 70 galleries and they are all on different levels and rooms just lead off each other all over the place so it's very easy to get lost. We did manage to find the Egypt collection. Spent some time with my homegirl Cleopatra, saw some shrivelled up thousand-year-old mummies before taking some time to schmooze with busts of Julius Caesar, Augustus and Tiberius in the Roman Empire room.
There was no way we were ever going to have enough time to see it all. No way we could have if we wanted to at that point. Both our feet were busted and sit down breaks were getting more and more frequent. Finally we called it a day after about two hours in the museum.
We were still hopeful of getting to the Tate Modern and Shakespeare's Globe before closing time. In reality this was never going to happen. It was already about 4pm and most stuff closes at 5 or 5.30pm.
We gave it a shot anyway and found ourselves on the Southbank walk with thousands of other tourists. It was a nice enough walk but like I said, our feet were giving us hell and for some reason mine in their thongs were blacker than the teeth of the locals and I was feeling somewhat self conscious.
We soldiered on, slower now, much more sedate. Sam's backpack, still loaded up, was cutting into his shoulders and getting uncomfortable. It was soon apparent we were not going to make it in time. We arrived at the Tate about 5.20pm. We didn't even try to go in though we probably could have. We still wanted to hit the Globe and swing by London Bridge.
London Bridge became our goal and Sam was determined despite his swollen hurting feet that we would make it.
Well, when we made the Globe it was closed for rehearsals. Damn actors. We saw it from the outside but nothing worthy of a pic. Most of it was obscured by neighbouring buildings and a big fence.
London Bridge it was then. Very slow now. Entire legs are sore from two days of walking up 64,000 stairs in our hostel and all the walking from the day.
We ploughed on and on and all the signs kept saying "five mins to London Bridge", just "three mins to London Bridge". It was closer to 20 at the pace we were going.
And then, as you can expect, we missed it. We walked right past it, this rather boring and ordinary looking bridge. We thought the London Bridge was actually what was the Tower Bridge. So we had walked past the actual London Bridge and when Sam's feet could take it no longer and we stopped and looked at the map, we realised our mistake. Disppointed yes. No wonder London Bridge fell down. It's damn ordinary.
Defeated we call it hometime and made our way to the bus stop. One hour later, the bus that was supposed to arrive didn't (and yes we had the right bus at the right stop), so we walked to another stop and caught a different bus which turned up within a minute of us getting there. You have to hand it to the British, they have a kick-arse transport system.
On the bus and headed home and the only thing of interest to report was the woman who got on to our now crowded bus with a pram - that had a dog in it (Mexican rat actually). And this woman proceeded to make a big deal about having enough room for her dog pram and was rude to those around her.
Off the bus and stopped to get some pasta and sauce to make dinner. Cooked, eaten and now drinking, we are in the hostel common room, talking to our fellow residents about travel and the differences between Aussies and Kiwis - how about everything?
- Alysia 12.03am local time
We awoke feeling pretty fresh in the morning of our first whole day in London. Time would tell us very quickly how quickly we would miss this part of the city. We soon checked out and crashed headlong into the world of travel options in London. In reality it was pretty easy but very daunting. We were headed for divorce before we even climbed onto our first bus with our "Oyster" card. It's just three pound for the deposit and you just load it with cash at almost any newsagent or convenience store. I can only assume it's thus named because the city on the Thames becomes 'your Oyster' with this card. Either that or you alight smelling like a local; a dirty oyster. If I can dare suggest such a thing. It was only 20 minutes or so before we were on foot again if only a few stops too early. And what a shock. New Cross is about as clean as West Newcastle (Australia) and with not many more occupied shops. Our hostel initiation started smoothly enough. We dodged what we think was the (possibly blind) safety inspector after climbing 64,000 flights to our six bed dorm. Having passed the first step in our hostel initiation we went off to explore while the Sadie broke out the nuclear-holocaust cleaning apparatis. We stumbled upon a flea market filled with junk; nice junk, the large number of locals scrounging there would suggest. The only thing more interesting was the type of 'proper' shops. It went something like this: convenience store, hair dresser, fried chicken shop, pub, secondhand furniture, fish and chip shop. And repeat. There are a lot of second hand retailers and the rest are almost entirely fast food shops. We soon realied that if every London borough is like this it's little wonder Jamie Oliver has been banging on for so long about the cheap, fatty food obsession his countrymen have developed. If you don't want take away you can buy a frozen cheese burger for 50 pence or some bullshit-low price. About a dollar Australian. We grabbed lunch at a pub nearby where I ordered chicken chow mein and Lys chicken pad thai... yeah we copped out. We dodged the bangers and mash but we weren't the only ones; there were a few locals eating the Thai-Chinese fusion menu. After a bit of web surfing Alysia fell in love with the idea of going to Stratford on Avon to see the resting place of William Shakespeare and I couldn't argue with that. In fact I insisted. We'll daytrip from London on Monday. By the time this was sorted the day was a write off and although we dare not talk about it the thought festered in our minds all afternoon and night. Not the good coffee in the funky bar across the way or the cheap fish and chips could make amends for it. I pledged to do better the next day. Ear plugs in (with band pumping in the bar below) and face mask on (with near daylight-strength light flooding in from the street ) we hit the sack.
-Sam 25/7/2010

Our first night in London





























Sorry been a bit slow with the updates. Had a very busy few days so forgive me if I play catch up a bit.




For those that I haven't told already, we arrived in London safe, sound but weary, so weary. The original plan, such that it was, was to catch the train or the tube into Central London and find out hostel. A quick chat to the old duck at the ticket counter and she advised us we'd be better catching the bus cos it was more direct. So back we trundled the way we had come and found the bus station. Bless the old bird at the ticket self service who helped me figure out where we needed to go for a grand old price of 10 pound for the two of us to get to Victoria Station, compared to the 17 pound express tube a scrawny chick in the aiport tried to sell us.





After a short wait for the bus, during which time we read the daily telegraph and the weirdest letters to the editor I have read - take that R Kitching and Judith Law. They were all about squirrels and the best way to deter them from your home ... anyway.





On the bus we hopped for our ride into London. Took about 40mins and then once there a quick scan of the map and a guess in the right direction and we walked up the road and within three mins found our hostel.





But things only got better. When we checked in we got told we had been upgraded to an aprtment, two streets away from the hostel, but only streets from Buckingham Palace. When we opened the door to our "apartment" we found it not only had two bedrooms, but a kitchen and washing facilities as well. The street it was on looked like something out of Mary Poppins. It was amazing! After two days of travelling, I was finally able to take a shower and it was the best shower I have ever had in my entire life. Period.





After we washed up a bit and emailed home to let everyone know we were ok with the free broadband in the room as well, we hit the streets of London to seek out Buckingham Palace - just cos we could.





By this time it was about 7pm local time though the sky was still so light it felt like mid afternoon. This caught us unexpectedly and before we knew it it was 10pm and we had lost all hope of an early and desperately needed night's sleep.





But back to the palace. We got there just in time to see the last changing of the guard for the evening. We took all the usual happy snaps, which I will post at some stage, and hang out a bit on Queen Victoria's monument.





It was nice just to be out and about and walking around. So we finally headed back to our amazing apartment for our first night's sleep in more than 48 hours.





Wednesday, July 21, 2010

First leg: Sydney to Kuala Lumpur.

We've concluded, it - this trip - still doesn't seem real. Despite the fact we're sitting in KL international waiting for our connecting flight to London, via Cairo.

It'll probably get very real when sleep deprivation comes knocking somewhere between here and Cairo. When our patience wears thin and we just want to crash. Damn those people who can sleep anywhere...

Really, the first leg today, has gone rather well. In the airport security stakes Alysia continues her red hot form, being bomb tested (non-destructive), and frisked. That's three from three past international flights whilst Sam maintains a clean record.

The tail section in the Malaysian 747 was a empty as Peel St after 5pm giving almost everyone, us included, the chance to spread out across a "bench". Sam's record for not being able to sleep on internationnal flights is still zero from three (his ability to speak in the third person is unshakeable, however). To sum up: a good flight with above average food and in illness inducing quantities. Doesn't get much better really. Just what Egypt Air will be like time will tell. As long as we remember it's not a holiday, but an adventure, we'll do fine.
-Sam 23.46 Eastern Australia time. (9.46pm KL airport)

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

The Hunt for Red October, rattles away on the TV in the background, as our accommodation bookings and transport documentations are filed in their homes for the next three months. As we close in our European adventure the US sub confronts its foreign target and pauses. They Shadow box for a moment, sizing each other up, concluding it is safe to fulfill that which has just been a plan until now. The captain prompts CIA agent Ryan to go ahead and take the final calculated step: "What do you want to say?"

Our being is not perched upon such a knife edge but the nerves; they are real. And the excitement of that which is now tangible. In just a few hours we'll rise in the dark and drive south out of the Hunter Valley, our home, toward Sydney and onto London.

Our first steps in our loosely dubbed European tour will be into the Georgian House bed and breakfast in Westminster, ready for sleep. It's not the start to our couch surfing oddessy we had pictured having read such great tales and hosted so many strangers ourselves. But after several requests without a single response we've no choice. That fun will come later. In London we will test our backpacking legs to see if we can stand the trials of hostel living; dirty loos and crowded dorms in the heat of an English summer. It's what deodorant was made for.

We can only imagine the adventures that wait for us there. The friends we'll make over pints and the challenge of capturing landmarks like The Big Ben in uncommon ways. It's gunna be great. But now its time for sleep.