London in the Rain...and Adam's Adventure with the Boys from the Yard pt. 1

I ventured out in London for the first time (on this trip) yesterday. After checking out from the Dover, I hauled my gear to the other side of town to the Mellenium Hostel.
I don't really know what mellenium they are reffering to. Have you seen that movie, City of God, about the slums of Rio? I havn't, but I don't have to now because I've lived in basicly the same conditions. Unlike my previous hostels, which had been populated by mostly Americans and Australians and British, this one was mostly Brazilians and Eastern Europeans, who have different, shall we say, aesthetic values.
Anyway, I secured my bags tightly to my bed and then headed out to meet Reid at the London Eye.
Reid Benes: consultant, human factors engineer, author, my nextseat neighbor on the plane over. We meet at the London Eye (or, the London OY!). It was raining pretty hard, and rather unpleasent. We walked across the Westminster Bridge, past Big Ben, looked at the line to get into the Cathedral, went and got some fish and chips, wandered over to Buckingham Palace, then to Picadilly Circus before getting some pints in Soho. Then we wandered to Leister (sic) square where we finally gave up pretending to be dry and headed back to our respective domiciles.

So it was 5 when I got back to the slum, and I was beat. I crawled into bed, setting my watch to go off at 10 so I could enjoy the Kareoke.
I was awoke suddenly at 950 by a very aggitated man, motioning and and speaking in what I thought was Italian (but was Portugese). But what I could make out, someone had taken his 'coins'. I hadn't seen anything, and he walked out in a huff.
A few minutes later, he returned with the Brazilian 'manager' (slum/sweatshop lord) and the Polish guy Martin (a cook at the curry restaurant around the corner who'd been living there for a year). Turns out, coins is Portugese for 'money'- the poor (what a sad pun) fellow had had £1000 in his wallet and it all got, ahem, let me consult my cockney-chicago dictionary, nicked.

This looks like it'll take Scotland Yards finest to solve this case...

TO BE CONTINUED!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Staying over at the Dover

Caught the bus back to London yesterday afternoon. Took the Tube for the first time from Victoria Station out to Borough, where I checked in to the Dover Castle (which I had booked thinking it was actually in Dover. Check addresses twice, book hotels once).
My roommates:
Damian, a Chineese student studying marketing in Nottingham
Anna and Nikki: Two friends from Texas, studying in London and Barcelona
Eddie: A 40 something black man.
When I walked in, I found Anna and Nikki in be together cuddling for warmth, talking to Eddie. Eddie has a thick Caribbian accent- turns out he's from Barbados. Then he mentions he's reading the Da Vinci Code- in Norwegian.
Apparently, he married a norwegian, moved there, divorced, got in to leagal trouble, spent two years in jail, got released, got stabbed, sued his stabber, and is now on his way to Thiland.

Needless to say, it made for an interesting night of conversation in the Hostel Pub, along with a few other Hostellers, all Aussies and Americans.

Oh, and I met my first bonafide cockney soccer hoolagin. Really a nice guy.

Im getting kicked off, so I'll post about my fun day in the rain with Reid next time I get on.

Hope all is well with you, my loyal readers. Leave comments and let me know what you're up to!

Dover!

The White Cliffs of Dover- I had to lug my bags all the way up here, so you all better enjoy this picture.










See! I'm actually here in England!

No need for puns about my own Canterbury Tale

For some reason, I imagined Canterbury Cathedral to be set in a rural, rustic area, surrounded by little hills and farms.
Canterbury is actually a city, with a pedestrian shopping center built right up to the church yard.
The Cathedral itself is massive- when I first entered, I thought, wow, this is a big church. And then I realized I could only see half! When you think that it's been there for a mellenium and a half, and it has to fit the burial place of every archbishop from that time period inside, with their own monumental tomb, you get the idea for its' size.
The main attraction is that this is the place where St. Thomas Becket was murdered- you can walk right up to the spot, where a eerie sculpture of three swords drenched in blood hangs on the wall. Pretty interesting stuff.
Also in the town: the ruins of an abby founded by St. Augustine in the 6th century (which were closed, but you could get the idea from the outside) and the ancient Church of St. Martin, the oldest opperating parish church in England.

The snow is coming down- this may hamper my plans to reach the white cliffs of Dover tomorrow. I guess I'll have to just be satisfied with the Wikipedia article.

Class Strugle

So, when I get to the airport and check my bag, the woman says,
We havn't been able to arrange a seat for you. They'll call your name at the gate.
So I get to the gate and wait and wait. And they seem to call everyone else's name but mine. Finally, when everyone else is in line boarding, they call my name. I'm sure they're going to tell me that I'll have to take the next flight over.
"Adam Mays?"
"Yes?"
"Here's your seat" He slides a gold colored boarding pass to me, and scribbles a note. This, I'm sure, is a sign to send me in for a "random" security check.
"We're out of coach, so I'm upgrading you to buisness."
Niiiiicccccceeeeeee.
My own, private door to enter the plane.
Leg room you could raise cattle in.
Foot rests.
A little toiletry bag with socks inside.
Express passport lane at Hethrow.

I'll never go back!