Scene 1 -20th June
The flight was long and boring; with no one to bug and no one to be bugged by. One of the perks as well as problems of flying solo. Also there weren't many movies on the aircraft - or rather, not many nice movies. But this turned out to be a blessing in disguise as I was probably be prompted by a higher power to go catch sum shuteye. Higher power, in this case refers both to that of divine nature, as well as that of corporate nature. Unfortunately, the latter did not take into consideration the difficulty on sleeping on a Y-class seat in an aircraft. At least for me. Fortunately, I reckon I still managed to get in some sleep; perhaps on the order of an hour or so.
And so we touch down on London Heathrow. For once, I pass through immigration (or border control, as they term it here in the UK), and collect baggage by myself. Here we have our first blunder. Note to future self: Check the carousel number before trying to collect the luggage. I have been waiting at carousel 9 for around 10 mins; and now I realise that SQ322's baggage is being deposited
- I had followed my Asian brethren. Those of Far-Eastern descent. Being around them have made me overly comfortable following them; assuming they were Singaporean.
- What ultimately tipped me off was the baggage tags claiming to be Cathay Pacific Baggage.
- There were some of my South Asian brethren who followed suit. I know they were wrong too because I saw them waiting at both carousels.
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As they term it in UK
Quick observation - British (UK) is different from British (Singapore).
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London at 6am is bright - sunny even. Taking the tube down to South Kensington: 40 min. Waiting for Gobi AT South Kensington: 30 min.
In my pacing up and down the station with two huge backpacks and a plastic bag, I probabbly look suspicious. Strangely, nobody bothers to ask me what's going on. Good. Oh, there's a map on the wall. Perhaps I could locate my destination on the map and walk in the blistering cold (well comparitively) there. Great. The location is off the map. So the compass in my hand is redundant.
But then just as I decide to walk anyway, Gobi arrives.
As we walk I begin to realise that it would have been one of the dumbest ideas of all time to have walked. Firstly because it was a strange route. Secondly, and more importantly, the hostel room has relatively high security; much like RVR in NUS.
First on the itinerary today: Visit Gobi's Granduncle to deposit stuff.
The route to Epsom is fascinating - but only because it passes the sacred ground of Wimbledon. Where RF won his first Grand Slam.
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Gobi's godgranduncle lives with his daughter in Epsom; but he spends 6 months in Singapore. Serangoon Gardens in fact. So its strange when his grandchildren speak British English of significant accent, while he speaks as Malaysian-Singaporean English as pretty much possible. Also strange to hear Tamil spoken accent-less. Then again, how could one possibly accent Tamil British-ly? If you are down, try thinking about it. It'll at least put a laugh in you.
The uncle has a beautiful garden; possibly partially an effect of living in Epsom where the air is cleaner and fresher than in either London or Singapore. The flowers are huge and there is a huge tree growing in the middle of the front yard.
Aunty prepares a wonderful Singaporean-Indian lunch for us. I have missed it - its been a whole day since I had Singaporean-Indian food. Obviously, I believe Gobi misses it more. It might be on the order of months since he's last eaten Singaporean-Indian food. I'm not too sure.
In true Indian tradition they insist on also packing dinner for us; as well as sending us to Wimbledon station. Basically, spoiling us. I accept rather quicker than usual - for two reasons mainly. First, I have enough experience to know that refusing is futile. Secondly, I hadn't had much sleep on the plane; so I'm terribly bushed.
We're at Wimbledon - I reckon I did sleep in the car. Which had a gear 6. Well, there's a first time for everything.
Second and last on the itinerary today: Watch Ivory Coast vs. Brazil
Football is a true British tradition. Its possible that it was actually invented in Britain. Although one could possibly be forgiven for thinking so if one follows the most recent World Cup. I think if you do follow it, you'll probably sooner think it was invented in Argentina than in England. Perhaps even New Zealand would seem a better canditate.
But as I suspect in England, a saving grace would be that they're still better off than France. For whom dismal is an understatement. Dismal fits the English game, though. Back to the point. We watch the football match in a bar. I reckon its probably the second best place to watch a match. After perhaps the stadium itself. I recall that alcoholic drinks are much more worth it than their non-alcoholic counterparts; so I order the cheapest beer. I reckon it is cheaper than coke.
Brazil dismantle Drogba's Ivory Coast - the disparity in class between a country that has 11 good players gelling together and one that has 3 good players gelling together is clear. Drogba does get in a say with a goal. But still, we do know that Brazil's defence was never famous for being airtight.
Scene 2 - 21st June
Today will be a very busy day. Firstly, there will be a lot of things to do; secondly Gobi won't be there. A truly sight-seeing day. Today Eugene and I will be proper tourists. The agenda for today is mainly so fly up on the London Eye (and Big Ben and Parliament House) and then to walk to the tourist information center on Regent Street. To get a proper map of London.
We start with breakfast at a french cafe. This costs a bomb, but heck, we saved so much money yesterday and I don't want to go around Europe attracting the attentions of more than one of the many pickpockets whose skill many have experienced. But nonetheless breakfast is fantastic. Say that word in a french accent; because it was, after all a french cafe. Gobi says that its a pseudofrench cafe because any honourable frenchman wouldn't serve bread and cake at the same shop. Something like that.
Gobi has just left us to be tourists - he's got some lab-work to do. Besides, he's seen all of London. And I reckon that the best way to be tourists is to be tourists. So we see the London Eye, but not before exploring the Natural History Museum as well as the Science Museum. At the London
We have lunch at that area - nutella crepes and cheese crepes. Sweet and Savoury. The guy accurately guesses us for Singaporeans. I guess back silently that everybody else at his stall's queue is Italian and that he's from Jamaica. Mainly from their accents. All very cool accents. I'm going to assume that I'm right.
As I've mentioned above, the second agenda for the day is to find the tourist center along Regent Street. Armed with a highly wanting map; printed from GoogleMaps, we struggle to find the tourist center. Along the way, we pass by a few interesting sights of London.
The first of these sights
is a peace protest. For those who don't know, a sight of any protest in Singapore is impossible. Unless, perhaps you're refering to the blogosphere. This is probably due to the Asian mentality of not making too much noise. Or perhaps it's because Singaporeans are generally politically apathetic. Or perhaps because Singaporeans find they're very well treated by their government; and thus have no reason to complain. Or maybe we're not complaining people. Whatever the reason, London is not blessed as such. And hence, protest!
While I won't go so far as to say that this behaviour can be likened to that of the people of Thailand who decided to, in protest, invade the touristy centre of Bangkok and pretty much burn it down (exaggeration here), these people are in fact camping outside a famous monument - Westminster Abbey. Okay, not exactly a monument, moreso a church. Now, as warnings received prior to this expedition to the Motherland suggested that churches and castles are ubiquitous in Europe, the fact that we need to pay for entry into this church was a sufficient deterrent to keep a couple of pounds in our pockets. Also, we're Okay, but we really need to move on to find the Tourist Center so that we can plot an efficient route to see the many other sights of this lovely city!
We soon pass by another tube station - which is about the only thing that is decently visible on the dismal map that we are using. And outside the station we see what (to us) is a demonstration of English sentiment towards France (as mentioned above).
Walking down this "street?" we soon arrive at Buckingham Palace. It turns out that the changing of the guards occurs only at 11am, so there's nothing to see at Buckingham palace. Except perhaps...
Okay fine, there is actually something to see because the guards start to march up and down. But then, there really is nothing much to see, much like standing outside the istana and watching and waiting for the president.
We go one round and then somehow we end up in some park where there is a semblence of a map. Comparing and mentally superimposing 3 different maps, we then plot a new route towards Regent Street. And we finally find one. And finally get a seat after hours on end walking in search of it.
IT feels like we're some pilgrims on this great pilgrimage searching for something and then finally getting it. Only thing is that "something" is probably sitting down rather than anything in particular. So we finally get our hands on a decent readable map on which the main attractions of london or clearly annotated. But this place looks dodgy - in the sense that someone might come and talk to us and then we have to answer.
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On an interesting side note, British humour is amazingly awkward. Its the kind of humour that is more self-amusing rather than funny. So in the event of someone making a randomly placed comment, I do not know how to react. I guess soon enough I will learn. But then probably by that time I'd have to get acclimatised to French humour, should that exist.
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So we quickly run out of the tourist center and make our way towards Trafalgar Square. This is only because our newly discovered map of London has claimed that Trafalgar Square is nearby. But then we see that there's a National Gallery that might be closing in a couple of hours so its better to see that first. So we do. An awesome thing about London - these galleries are free. Probably an effect of the exorbitant taxes Londoners tend to pay. As well as the VAT that we pay as long as we consume goods in London.
There are beautiful paintings. But I've no interest in paintings. Perhaps best bet is being interested in the history of these paintings. But there are better things in life. Like mountains, and valleys, and beaches, and bridges, and buildings, etc.
After that we do see Trafalgar Square.
The plan now is to get to Picadilly Circus before Tube-ing home. I doubt "Tube-ing" is a real word, but I shall coin it. Unfortunately, a slight complications arises. I have misplaced my water bottle. Retracing our footsteps we find ourselves at the Tourist Center and its closing. I ask the man if he's seen my waTer boTTle. He doesnt understand me until I repeat my words a few times and he finally exclaims "OHHHH!!! WOAATER BOTTTLE!". Quick flashback to what I said earlier on how they do not speak English in England.
And my initial suspicion of the dodginess of the place is soon confirmed because he told me he thought it was a bottle of pee when he gives me back the bottle. And seeing the blank looks on our faces he adds synonyms for the word "pee" thinking perhaps we use a different word for "pee" in our strange native land where people say waTer boTTle rather than WOAATER BOTTTLE. In truth the blank look is a typical Singapore response to what he said. "Okaaaaay... Lameeee.... Now let me go in peace...".
Finally we do find ourselves in Picadilly Circus but I have no idea whats so significant of it. Only heard so much about it. But it did look kinda cool with its many many bustling people and flashy billboards. But it wasnt a circus in either sense of the word.
Well, thats untrue. It was more of the kind of circus with animals running about dancing to music than the kind of circus where a road makes a roundabout. Only small tiny case is that the animals in this "circus" were human beings. And the circus trainer putting them through hoops is a metaphor for our busy lives.
But non-metaphorically speaking its not a circus in anyway. But then, maybe I wasnt looking at it properly. Overall I know that I'm bushed after a day of walking so I flatly refuse to go on a run with Gobi. Excuse being simply that I've probably walked a greater distance than he will run. Possibly. For dinner, we go to Nando's which I'm not sure if they have in Singapore. But the food is good, albeit moderately pricey. According to Gobi 10GBP is about the standard moderate price we get in London. OH well.
Scene 3 - 22nd June
The plan for today is simple - a day trip to Oxford. Simple question would be why we, way past the age of being prospective students whilst perhaps lacking a certain calibre, or interest, in fact of ever gracing the cultured lawns of Oxford University, would be enthused over a visit to it. Yes, it is one of the finest institutions of higher learning in the world; but so is IIT and yet I, for one have not the slightest ounce of interest in visiting that school.
We take the Oxford Tube, about 13 GBP per pax from Victoria station direct to Oxford Town. Do take note that the Oxford Tube, is pretty amazing. Well, mainly because the bus has WiFi. And power sockets for laptops.
You see, they have free advertisement here on UVLight. Simply because they were good.
Oxford Town is a small town west of London made popular by its namesake university. New thing I've discovered today. There are many colleges in this one University. So we take steps to visit most of them.
The colleges of Oxford, in my opinion, are summed up in one word - Hogwarts. Unsurprisingly, I learn very soon that much like the beauty of my soon-to-be-homeland New Zealand is tapped upon by Hollywood for the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, the beauty of the colleges are tapped on for Harry Potter.
Come to think of it, it makes perfect sense that Joanne Rowling's imagined medieval school would have roots in a British medieval college; seeing as she is British.
Then we go to the church, which has a tall steeple; probably a prelude to St Pietro's in Vatican City; which we can climb up for panoramic views of Oxford. However, unlike its more fabled counterpart in the Vatican, this steeple, which allows visitors to climb to the top, only has on NARROW staircase heading up and down. This does turn out to be a problem when we try to climb up and a couple of sightseers from the top decide to come down.
However, the sights from the top relatively compensate for the inconvenience. Also because the people that we have to squeeze against were lookers. And that leads us (or rather Gobi) to the conclusion that Oxford-ians are much prettier than Londoners. And much prettier than average anyway. I agree; but still, I think the prettiest sights are in Singapore. But I shut up because I know I'm strange.I also have to point out that I acknowlege that this picture looks very fake. But I assure you that it truly is a picture that hasn't been touched. I mean, if I truly wanted to touch up a picture, Taylor Swift would probably be standing next to me.
I still haven't mentioned what I find most attractive about Oxford. And here I shall be exposing myself for a true Indian; but I do so proudly. Things in Oxford, compared to central London, are much cheaper. Well ,admittedly that is obvious. I mean, the food, at this pub called Goats Something was good and the Pub-Guy was quite friendly and cheerful. And although we had lunch there and came back merely to support Argentina in a country where the Argentine football team is cursed for the mere fact that their coach is a scammer and a jackass; we were not thrown out of the pub.
And here's the ultimate. Shocker of a life. Footballs. 2GBP. Double-You. Tee. Haytch. wth.
So I buy one, disregarding the fact that carrying it home would be marginally difficult. I did tell Weelong I'd buy him a ball. So yeah. In fact, we kick it around on English soil so that Weelong will have an English football that has been kicked around on English soil. And don't forget what I said earlier about how football (soccer) had in fact originated in England.
By the time we make it home to Central London; the sun has set on the longest day of summer. Finally.
1 comment:
haha bri'ish accents! amusing.
sounds like you're having the time of your life!
:D
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