What a day in London

My heart is pounding
like a drum
I can't believe my eyes
In London people seem to
come in every
shape and size
So many paths I wonder
how they find their way
So many signs I wonder
what they really say

London is everything
I've heard and more
London is nothing like
I've seen before
Music and feathered hats
and roofs that shine
with flags flyin higher
than a pine

How do they build
their huts so tall
Can this be all one tribe?
The things they sell
the things I smell
I never could describe
These cakes taste just like
berries picked this very day
The sound a river makes still
takes my breath away

London's as busy as a hive of bees
Grandmother Willow would just
love these trees
Crowded and loud but so
exciting too, with colors
I never even knew

All day in London I had that song running through my head. Even though Pocahontas visited London a few hundred years before me, the words from the movie rang true!

The day started in a hotel in Cartwright Gardens - three beds in one room and we needed the sleep after the long day in Paris. After a pretty fantastic breakfast it was a quick march to Euston Station to catch the train to the Embankment Station. A quick look above-ground (this isn't where we are supposed to be!) and we were back down underground, this time to Westminster Station.

Westminster was just beautiful - the houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and then... Westminster Abbey. The crowds were fairly horrendous though - thousands upon thousands of tourists, all with backpacks and cameras... hang on, ok, I was one of them. But while most of the crowds were staring up at Westminster Abbey (yes, it is pretty fantastic), I was intrigued with St Margaret's church, just next door. St Margarets was originally founded in the 12th century (I was just starting to get used to this - buildings that were hundreds and hundreds of years old) and it is just a beautiful church. I discovered a few days later that Elizabeth Woodville, King Edward the IV's queen (mother of the two murdered Princes in the Tower), had taken sanctuary not once, but twice at the end of St Margaret's churchyard.


From Westminster we decided to visit the Elephant and Castle. This is a pub based at just above the Elephant and Castle tube station. Now, somewhere I read (or was told) that the name the Elephant and Castle came about as one of the Kings had kept two mistresses - one tall and thin, and the other... not. Thus the elephant and castle.

It was lovely sitting in the bar, drinking cider and watching endless red buses traverse the roundabout. Certainly a nice break from all those tourists we kept tripping over!

After a quick meal, it was off to Victoria Station to catch a double decker tour of London. We were going well for time, when in the midst of changing from one line to another at the Embankment (dang that station!), the Circle and Jubilee lines were closed! Above ground to find a taxi... tons of taxis but no drivers! Back to the station... yes - they were open again. Quickly on to the train, above ground to Victoria Station, to discover that the Victoria Coach Station was not right there!

I raced ahead, reaching the Coach Station about three minutes after our tour was supposed to have left. Dithering about to pay or not to pay (I'd nearly got lost on the way; I had no idea if Paul and Barb were lost as well), I started our booking. Paul and Barb arrived in the nick of time, we ensconced ourselves on the top level of the open-air double-decker bus, and prepared to tour!

For those who know London, we started with Buckingham Palace,
made our way back to Westminster, up Whitehall, along the Strand, along Fleet Street to St Pauls. We stopped there for a look (what an amazing building - with pineapples on the top!) and around to the Tower of London.
Then we hopped on a river cruise, and made our way back up the Thames to the Embankment Pier (yes, the Embankment again!). A side hop back through Piccadilly Circus and we ended up crossing the Wesminster Bridge, moving smoothly on to our London Eye excursion.

Back to Paddington Station for the train back to Reading, and a ride in a taxi to finish the day. Phew! Two massive days in a row (Paris then London), and we were off to Krakow in the morning!

Paris: from the air

Montparnasse 56, the highest building in Paris, provides a fantastic view of the entire city. A short hop from Notre Dame on the Metro, we emerged into daylight with a mission to spot the tallest building. It wasn't hard to find (look up). Finding the entrance however, is a little different. If you wanted to dine there (overpriced and not the best quality, apparently), then it is straight in the front door. If you want to just look at the view: go around the corner, up some steps, through an unmarked door, buy your tickets, have your bags searched, then walk through the door, down a hallway to... the main entrance.

The top floor of this building is a huge viewing area, with 360 degree views and maps all around.
If you are really adventurous, you can find the (again unmarked) door to the rooftop. While I am not a natural height-lover, the roof top was so high up that it was like looking out of a plane window.

And what a view - Paris spread out below. Looking down into Montparnasse Cemetery, across to the Eiffel Tower, the river Seine, all the beautiful architecture of Paris spread out in front of you.

We started the day looking out over a city that we didn't know. It was fitting then, to end the day, after walking through much of Paris as well as travelling under its ground, to look out over a city that had taken my heart.

Vive la France!

Paris on Tuesday

J'adore Paris! C'est tres, tres beau!


What a mission, getting from Reading to Paris. This was Day 2 of the big OE, Day 2 in a whole new country on the other side of the world. It started at not long after 3am when Barb took Pete, Boz and the kids to Luton airport, for their flight to Poland. Barb was due home around 6am, and we needed to leave the house no later than 7am to catch the Eurostar to Paris.

Suffice it to say, it was a close run thing, with a walk to Oxford Street, catching the bus to Reading train station (sharing our excitement about going to Paris TODAY! with the other commuters at the bus stop). Then buying tickets to London (LONDON!), and finding a train to catch. Watching the board noting when the next train was due wasn't much fun for a while, as we saw the 7.25am due at 7.27, then 7.29, then 7.45,... Luckily the 7.39 rescued us. As it was peak time, we found ourselves standing all the way in on the train to Paddington Station. This didn't stop us sharing our excitement with fellow passengers - a common theme to all our travel!

From Paddington Station overground to the underground, buying tube tickets, then to Baker Street, a change to St Pancras, then a walk to find the Eurostar. I can't emphasise enough the feeling of panic inherent in this journey - each stage was from the unknown to the unknown, the deadline was tight and we knew there was no space for mistakes! Huge relief all round when we found the waiting area for the Eurostar, and we did it with ten minutes to spare (or not much more)!

St Pancras station was amazing - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Pancras_railway_station - worth the stress just to see the station itself. Well, actually no. We were off to Paris! City of light! City of love! Gay Paree!

Just after lunch we arrived. The trip on the Eurostar was great - but nothing to write home about. Really. We just travelled through the English countryside, disappeared into a tunnel for a short while, then appeared in the French countryside. The first thing to hit me was that France looked different. In England, I felt like I was in a country not that far removed from New Zealand. France? Totally different. I'm not sure why.

So, alighting at the Gare du Nord, our first task was to figure out how to get tickets for the Metro (the Paris Underground). I offered to stand in line, feeling kind of confident. Even helped out some fellow travellers (not very well) with directions on how to get to the Eiffel Tower (my map was in English - made it much easier!). Arriving at the ticket terminal, I found my French desert me completely. Waving three fingers in the air and smiling a lot (feeling like a complete idiot), I obtained three day tickets for the Metro.

(I have to say that the reason I knew we needed tickets for the Metro was that I had developed a to-the-minute spreadsheet of how we would use our 8 and 1/2 hours in Paris. I sent this spreadsheet through to Barb and Paul with some trepidation, as my earlier effort to plan out the entire trip (using the wonders of Google and Excel) was met with a single comment... 'you are sucking the life out of our vacation'. The only comment I received for my Paris effort was that we were on the 9.32am Eurostar, not the 9am - with half an hour less in Paris, I removed all planned toilet and food stops. That made the spreadsheet work).

First stop was the Basilica du Sacre Coeur. This involved finding the train from the Gare du Nord to Chateau Rouge. Exiting at Montmartre, we climbed our way past millions of hair salons (truly - this entire street was dedicated to hair braiding in all its shapes and forms!), through a rather rough area, to the steps to the Basilica.

You don't get a fantastic view of Paris without making an effort. I didn't count the steps, but there were heaps and heaps, and it took us a while to labour to the top. Worth it though, worth every step. One interesting event took place as we arrived at the top. Several men were running through the crowd to the steps, carrying their wares slung in large squares of canvas. Apparently there had been word of the Police on their way, and they were exiting the area so they didn't get caught selling tat to the tourists.

Anyway, onwards and upwards... to the inside of the Basilica. A soaring roof, amazing effigies, gold statues, painted ceilings. The inside was cavernous, and filled with... wow. Breathtaking. No photos unfortunately, but the pictures in my head will stay with me forever. (That's if the vodka didn't rob me of them).

So, out the other side to the view over Paris. At that stage I didn't know what all the buildings were, but was intrigued by what looked like... gold used as decoration on some buildings. It certainly whetted the appetite to see more, but we had a schedule to keep.

Heading down the other side of the hill to Anvers Station, we passed a fantastical merry-go-round. I had to take a photo for Liliane, but will share it here...


After shopping our way down the hill (tons of souvenir shops - including one that sold Barb an All Blacks shirt for 10 euro), we found Anvers Station... it wasn't long then to reappear above ground at the Arc de Triumphe. I had been warned about French tourist spots - by that time I had seen two or three beggars, and noted the hordes of tourists at the Basilica du Sacre Coeur (why is it that the French language just sounds so pretty?) - so it wasn't a surprise to find hordes of tourists at the Arc de Triumphe. A quick dive underneath proved that the queue we could see was to climb the edifice, and an even quicker decision was made... no time... no queue. I do have to mention the traffic at this point. A massive roundabout, hundreds of mad drivers all on the wrong side of the road (well, to me, anyway), I have no idea how anyone could negotiate that roundabout and keep their panels intact.

Away then, down the Champs Elysees towards Le Louvre.
The aim (well, my aim) was to walk all the way to Notre Dame, but after a quick 'lunch' at a cafe (on Champs Elysees - say it aloud) we made it all the way to the Place de la Concorde in the Jardin des Tuileries. Stunning architecture all the way down the Champs Elysees, no shopping was undertaken (partly due to a fear that if the credit card emerged, it would be awfully hard to put away).

By the time we got to the Place de la Concorde I was over the noise. Paris, beautiful city, but the traffic!

Our final stop monumental stop in Paris was at Notre Dame. By this time, the feet were weary, the throats were dry and it was time to sit. So we did. Outside Notre Dame. For a good while.

Our day wasn't yet done, but it was time for a break.

Kent, Sussex and Scientology

Still on Day 1 of my big trip, Rufus and Jane kindly offered me a chance to come and see where they worked. As Rufus put it, we probably wonder what on earth they do over on the other side of the world, and given I had finally come to see them, I should see what they did.

St Hill is the head office for the Church of Scientology in the UK, and based just out of East Grinstead in Sussex. Driving up a road so narrow that the hedges bore the imprints of car side-mirrors, we arrived in a massive parking lot. A quick walk down the drive, and I saw an impressive building. Built in the form of a Norman Castle, this is a training facility for Scientology students. http://sainthill.org.uk/

Further down the road was the St Hill Manor, a country house built in 1792 and bought by L Ron Hubbard (the founder of Scientology) in 1959.

There were heaps of people there, all quietly studing - the place had the feel of a university about it. During the tour, I was introduced to 'our oldest resident'. Tell Greta where you are from, she was urged... 'Eketahuna' was the response. 'Cool', I replied. 'I'm from Maungatapere'. She didn't expect that!

A great hall dominated one side of the Castle, and the other side had small rooms for counselling, or auditing.

Scientology is based on a belief system that I don't understand, and didn't delve in to, but there are some ideas that are worth thinking about.

I mean, the Western world is based on Christianity, and all our legislative and judicial systems are premised on ideas such as the sanctity of life, heaven and hell, death as the final end. And really, Christianity is just another belief system.

When you think about crime and punishment, in New Zealand we tend not to execute even the worst criminals. This is roughly based on the idea that we have only one chance of life, and this life is paramount.

What if the Buddhists, L. Ron Hubbard or Michael Newton have it right? What if we are actually souls that do transcend the body, and survive in several incarnations? What does that mean for our justice systems? Does it mean that rather than keeping alive (in jail) the worst criminals, we should execute them? In this way we free their soul from a clearly substandard lifetime, and let them prepare for their new life? Isn't keeping their body locked up in a harsh environment just poisoning them and us?

How do we know that what we believe, hell, what our legislative and justice systems are based on, is actually right?

I don't have any answers, and when asked (in Poland later that week) what religion I was, my response was 'everything and nothing'. Since Mum died, I've thought a lot about death and life, and everything in between. I can't believe that Mum has disappeared entirely, but then again, I don't believe she went knocking on the Pearly Gates. I do believe that where-ever she is, she is driving them barmy!

Kent and Sussex was fun. Seeing the history just littered around the place, driving through villages with roads so narrow that you had to watch you didn't scrape the car on a house as you went through, that blew my mind. Going into the Church of Scientology at the end of the day? Another step outside my world, outside my comfort zone, and into a place that challenged all my preconceived notions that I didn't know I had.

All in all, a pretty good day.

Kent and Sussex

My first day of the trip was a long-awaited meeting with my aunt and uncle. I had last seen Aunty Jane and Rufus at their wedding, sometime around 1981.

I was a little apprehensive about meeting up with someone I had last seen when I was 7, but keen to catch up - at the very least, my mother would have killed me if I went all the way to England and didn't go and see Aunty Jane!

We arranged to meet at Gatwick airport - there is a train from Reading to Gatwick. It was pretty exciting venturing onto the train on my own - here I was, in a whole different country, heading out to a place I'd never been.

Ninety minutes later, (after eavesdropping on conversations - like in NZ, everyone on the train was on the phone... but they all had English accents! - apart from the guy who was talking in French) I arrived at Gatwick. It was easy enough to find the entrance to the airport, just follow the signs. And after 36 hours spent either on planes or in airports, I was pretty confident. However, there was no sign of Jane.


So I hung about, scrutinising every 50+ woman without luggage, hoping that I would recognise her. After about 15 minutes I was getting a bit worried, but then, way down past all the gates, I saw her: instant recognition. I shouldn't have worried at all. Some say there is a little resemblance between Jane and I...

Our first stop was a tiny cafe in a tiny village. No idea what the name of it was, but it appeared like hundreds of other villages around the area. After a cuppa, it was off to see a friend of theirs - another Kiwi, who lived just 2 minutes walk away, in a 600 year old house.

This was my first experience of a building older than 160 years (I'm thinking of the Stone Store in Kerikeri). Low ceilings, huge blackened beams, massive fireplaces and doors where you had to duck to enter. The house was furnished to make the most of its era, and it was beautiful.

After this it was a quick side-trip down a lane to Brambletye House. Rufus explained to me that this had been burnt down in the Civil War - a party of men had travelled from London, set the house on fire, and I imagine, merrily danced in the light of the flames. Truly haunting, most impressive to me was that this was completely unmarked, down a side road - you would only see it if you were visiting someone who lived there. Where were the signposts, the tour guide, the celebration of such a vivid piece of history? That's right, I was in England. Home of the historical monument. http://www.garenewing.co.uk/home/collections/brambletye.html

Next stop was West Hoathly. This village was full of ancient (to me) houses and buildings. It was just breathtaking walking up the narrow road, right next to houses that had stood for hundreds and hundreds of years. Wow

Our last historical venture was to Hever Castle, erstwhile home of Anne Boleyn, later bought by William Waldorf Astor and restored. My first thought on seeing the castle was that it just wasn't really big. But getting inside, and doing the tour changed my impressions. Magnificently restored, the audio guide provides you with a comprehensive history of the castle and its inhabitants. Most stunning was the tiny chapel up on the third floor off the main Astor suite. A small room with one wall almost all taken up with stained glass - the atmosphere was definitely spiritual. http://www.hevercastle.co.uk/

After an hour or two (and we could have spent all day), it was time to leave. While we tried to get a meal at the pub opposite (called Henry the 8th - very apt), but there was no success. It wasn't open for meals.

Beating jet lag

Jet lag. My biggest fear. I mean, I will be travelling for 24 hours to the other side of the world, have 12 days to see England, France and Poland, then back to work as soon as I get back. I'd heard of jet lag, seen the pills, heard the stories, so I was determined to beat it.

I chose Singapore Air for my flights - they are supposed to be the best airline in the world. I also chose a 12 hour stopover in each direction, then booked into the Transit Hotel at the airport - no going on a whirlwind tour of Singapore for me! I wanted to arrive fresh, and come home fresh.

Detailed planning ensued. I'd arrive in Singapore at 7.00pm, but it would feel like 11pm. I'd sleep for the evening, then get on the plane again at 9am. I'd arrive in London at 3pm on Sunday, but it would feel like 10.30pm. If I could guts it out until a reasonable time, I should get in a good night's sleep.

I toyed with the idea of going vegetarian for the flight. Anything to keep my body feeling OK, and able to deal with the time changes. A random utterance during my conversation with the agent at the House of Travel meant I went gluten free.

I tentatively made plans to meet my aunt at Gatwick airport around 10 or 11am on Monday.

So, how did it go? The food on the plane was nothing short of awesome - I was fed first, and there was no fatty stuff to digest. Just flavoursome meats, veges and sauces.

On board that first flight, I found myself down the back, chatting with a group of people. One, Heidi, lives just down the road from me! We had taken the same plane from Wellington.

I arrived in Singapore as planned, a little short on sleep from all my stressing in the days before I left. The hotel was great - very little time needed to confirm my reservation, and I was in bed before I knew it. I woke around 5am and headed to the gym for a cycle. That put me in good stead for the next part of the journey.

The flight from Singapore to London was fairly uneventful, a similar crowd down the back, flying over Afghanistan was interesting albeit a little nerve-wracking. Although all I saw was sand. Coming in to London was an eye-opener. I watched in amazement as I saw London unfold under me. There was the Thames, winding up through the amazing city that spread for miles around. I felt deep inside that I was coming home. Home to the place my ancestors left just 160 years before.

Straight through customs, my bag was first off the plane. Into the arrivals area to be met by Barb and Jacob (her two-year-old nephew). And off home to Reading. Past a castle (A CASTLE!) - Windsor Castle that can be seen from the motorway.

I was on the other side of the world, but I felt like I'd come home.

Poland? Why not!

I'm 36, and until two weeks ago, had never ventured beyond our fair shores. Well, that's not quite correct. I have been to Australia. At least four times.

This trip though, was to be a big one. 24 hours flying time, that's just about exactly halfway around the world (think about it, if I'd gone any further, it would have taken less time).

So, why? Why this trip? Why England, France and Poland? Why not Cuba?

Not a silly question, I mean, Cuba was on the list. And was closer.

It all started when I thought, buggar it, it is time I met Barb somewhere. Barb is a friend from way back. 18 years back in fact. We've done Sydney, we've done Perth. She lives in Canada - a more recent thing (he was looking for a nice girl in Hamilton, she responded. He meant Hamilton, Ontario, Canada; she was in Hamilton New Zealand. She's now living in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada).

Barb and Paul were planning a trip to Cuba to celebrate her 50th birthday. In April. (April sun in Cuba). I suggested we meet halfway, somewhere. Her brother asked if she would be godmother, to her new niece, born in England. England or Cuba. I left it with her to decide.

England it was. 12 days in England. What to see? What to do? Until one night. When a message was left on my answerphone. Poland. We are going to Poland. The christening is in Poland. Do you want to go to Poland?

Poland??? What's in Poland? Sure, why not.

Then France. I arrived at work one morning to find an email... 'We've been thinking'... do you fancy a day trip to Paris? Let me think about that...

So, England, Poland and France. All within 12 days. Possible? Of course!