Passing Through

03/08/2013

I didn't expect to be in London again but my escape from the bubble and uninformed decision on getting to America via Bermuda saw me stopping there for a week before heading west. Expected or not, I think it is inevitable that I keep returning, London just has that draw and having spent seven years there, a part of me will always want to return.

Walking along the canal

The week was consumed in good company with both old and new friends. It started in relaxing fashion in the burbs outside the M25 where I spent time wandering along the waterways stopping off at quintessential English pubs for pints and nibbles. Courtney, the friend I was staying with even managed to get me down to a driving range, something I had not done for at least 10 years. She was surprised that I could hit a golf ball and I was surprised that I actually enjoyed it, then the beer did help. Having abused Courtney's hospitality for long enough and in the possession of clean clothes I moved into my old flat in Richmond where I felt like I had never left and I must admit it does kind of feel like I should still be there, I guess 4 years there and I have a bit of an attachment to it.

Think I need some work on my swing?

Richmond Bridge

On Tuesday I was fortunate enough to catch a gig by Martyr Electric, a band I have been following for a number of years from when it was just Jamie Martyr and her keyboard. This was the first time I had seen her with the band and I must say it adds a new dynamic, though it is still her haunting voice and taunting lyrics which hypnotised her audience as they enjoyed an evening under her spell.

The guy who lead me into the crypt

Throughout London was at her summery best and I found myself wandering the streets with little cause between lunch dates and sun-downers with my Greek barefoot ways creeping in and somehow becoming a photography project which I now seem to be continuing around the world. The wandering lead me down into a crypt in saint martins fields where I discovered an art project determined to make art affordable to the public by having the public participate. The Lake Sisters sketched me my very own piece to take around the world with me, they wanted to add a pin to a map as to where it would travel too, I told them that would be impossible so they settled for a Bermuda pin then I stole a picture to add to my own project.

Barefoot London photo project. 

Can't beat a summer pint

The highlight of my stay was an evening on the Tamesis Dock, one of my favourite spots in London which introduced to me in love and has created and captured countless memories of all varieties. The evening faded too quickly along with the heat of the sun so we went to find heat of a different kind at Hot Stuff, which used to be a London gem. A tiny one room Indian restaurant with more tables outside than inside and no menu to speak of, hidden in the back streets of Vauxhall. Unfortunately it seems as if its popularity will be its demise as it has now grown into a fully fledged restaurant with plush seating in a new space more than double the size of the original all that remains from the old is the bring your own booze policy. The night was completed by a core contingent at an old pub with some fine Scotch. I must thank all those who made it a fabulous evening.

View from The Tamesis Dock

Andy Lewis

 The week culminated in typical London fashion with a gig by Andy Lewis, who I had met out in Vassiliki, at the Hippodrome Casino in Leicester Square. Andy was on at 8pm and gave us a soulful set of his own work and interpretations of more familiar songs. After Andy left the stage Craig and I decided to stay seated and enjoy our whiskey, to our surprise we were presented with the Boom Bang Circus Extravaganza, which illuminated the reason for us not paying for our front row table when the compère started systematically taking the mick out of each unsuspecting audience member. To avoid the embarrassment of a bearded man in a blue dress rubbing a feather boa around our necks we made haste and started our own tour of the hidden bars around Covent Garden only to find ourselves back at the casino at some ungodly hour which more than likely contributed to the first of my Bermuda experiences.

Leaving London this time felt more final than the last times, the goodbyes were longer and the destinations more distant. I am uncertain as to when I will be back and with the friends that remain there all getting on with their lives, some moving afar as well, I wonder what and who will be there if I decide to return?

The morning after the night before

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Escaping the Bubble

27/07/2013

I woke up this morning still shrouded in the haze of last night's Club Vass BBQ and rolled over to enjoy the discovery that I still had ten minutes before my alarm was to go off. Half an hour later the need for a pee saved me from pressing snooze again and just as well as it would have resulted in a morning frenzy which I was not in the state to achieve.

As most travellers, I am sure will attest to, when living out of a backpack you become somewhat of a master of packing and while I am well on my way to achieving this state, I am not quite there yet as this morning would prove. An hour after getting up I was sticky with an alcoholic sweat and had only just finished packing my backpack, I still had my camera bag to sort and had to assess the items I was leaving behind. The idea of breakfast was forgotten. One last glance around the room and a made for the ferry terminal, picking up my pace as I passed the proprietor of the house I was staying in out of fear he would go up to the room and come running after me with all the possessions and food I had left in the room.

I made it to the ferry terminal with plenty of time to spare, annoyed that I hadn't timed it better and had some breakfast. When the ferry arrived I looked at the number of cars wanting to board pondered how they were all going to fit. Some time later I woke up in Kefalonia with people shuffling past me to get off the ferry none the wiser as to how they managed to fit all the cars on board. The plan was to get the bus to the airport, though everyone I had spoken to who had taken it failed to mention that there is only one bus a day and it leaves at 8:30am, it was now 13:00. I sat down with a frappé to contemplate my next steps. The frappé man seemed to take a shining to me, maybe it was the remnants of the guy-liner from the night before, so once I had decided that the only option was to walk and hitch my way to the airport I got him to fill my water bottle and set off up the hill.

The Italians stopped to let me take in the view.

About 1.5km up the hill I was drenched and had almost finished all my water, not to mention the kink in my back from lugging my bags uphill. It was time to try my hand at hitching, not something I have done much of in my time and after the first 20 or so cars I decided that karma would not be on my side as I certainly have not picked up enough hikers in my life. Finally an Italian family stopped and although they could barely fit my luggage and me into their tiny rental they were happy to cart me on to the next main town and even bought me an ice-cream along the way. After bidding them farewell I started to regret my decision to get out at a cross roads instead of at the next town. Plenty of cars passing through but all in the opposite direction to the airport. Finally an empty taxi pulled up, I explained to him that I was trying to get to the airport but had no money to pay for a taxi. He said not to worry he will take me on to the town he was heading to for a pick-up. He dropped me on top of a pass and said it was about 30min walk to the next to town or 2hrs to the airport, I thanked him and stuck out my thumb again. It was 3pm and my flight was at 8pm so I figured the worst case would be walking the town and catching a taxi from there. The worst case didn't happen, again another taxi came past and after the same conversation as before I found myself enjoying the air-conditioning of his Mercedes and heading in the direction of the airport.

Thumb out. 

I tried to give him the 5 euros in my pocket when he dropped me at the terminal but he refused and with a smile wished me luck on the rest of my travels. Now sitting waiting for my flight, I can't help but let my mind wander back to the words of an earlier post, "Just ask."

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The Vassiliki Bubble

27/07/2013

Anyone who has been following my blog for awhile will notice that it has been some time since I made any updates, leaving a couple of months to catch up on. The reason for this gap is that I have found myself in a bubble for the past 7 weeks, though after managing to make an escape I am now using the flight to London to add some colour to those months.

The Fish House

First though let me explain the bubble. When I decided to pack up and start travelling, it wasn't quite without a plan. There was a rough outline which formed around two particular experiences, the first of those was to train as a windsurfing instructor with the faint idea that I might decide it becomes my next career path. That is how I ended up in Vassiliki, Greece on a Flying Fish Course. Taking a rather round about route, I arrived in Vass at the beginning of June to settle in to the fish house. The intention was to stay for 5 weeks, a week of play and the 4 week course; I relished the opportunity to unpack for the first time since April. In my first days there was something I could not put my finger on, I still can't, but I have come to call it the Vassiliki bubble. It is a unique place where everyone who finds themselves under its breeze comes to love and it is not hard to see why, it is all about lifestyle. The thing is that while you are in Vass nothing of the outside world seems to get in, there never seems to be time to contact people at home, news is something that happens in places that exist in the real world and the conversations only ever seem to revolve around what size sail or board you are using or who hooked up with who the night before.

Idyllic beaches, 

Manic mountain biking and

Epic windsurfing, it is not hard to see why people don't want to leave. 

I attribute this bubble to the fact that every week in Vass is the same, people's routines may vary slightly, generally based on how well they can handle the limited hours of sleep, but mine looked something like:

• Sunday - change over day with a slow empty Club Vass, generally a light wind morning session followed by a high wind afternoon session and an attempt at an early night which normally resulted in processing photos till too late an hour. (Most people would be out on the swill on Sunday more than likely at Zeus bar.)
• Monday - Light wind morning session then high wind afternoon.
• Tuesday - Morning cycle followed by either a SUP or light wind session then high wind afternoon. Live music at Wildwind in evening and Zeus bar until the wee hours.
• Wednesday - hangover permitting (almost never) morning cycle followed by light wind session then high wind afternoon.
• Thursday - Morning cycle followed by either a SUP or light wind session then high wind afternoon. (Most others head off to cocktails at Wildwind, which inevitably ends up at Zeus bar, I never made it once).
• Friday - Morning cycle followed by either a SUP or light wind session then high wind afternoon. Evening id time for Club Vass BBQ which goes on to the early hours of the morning.
• Saturday - Day off for most which means recovery, I rarely made it out of bed before lunch, after which I'd stroll down to the beach for a photo session and then energy permitting have a high wind session myself. (A hardy few can always be found at Zeus Bar in the evening)

The infamous Zeus Bar

The only time this routine was broken was for the assessment week where I played it safe and didn't involve myself in evening shenanigans and the morning sessions were replaced with presentations both given and received. Before I knew it 5 weeks were up and I had qualified as a start windsurfing instructor but I had not given any thought as what to do next and as such decided to stay for another two weeks and fell back to the routine.

Light wind mornings. 

Now a month and a half on my body is feeling the toll of too many forward loop attempts and my mind is struggling to recollect the months gone by. It seems like an age has passed since I was finishing off my Africa travels by visiting family and friends in South Africa. The round about route to Greece starting with a 30hr train journey and ending with a 170 euro taxi ride contrasting my most recent travel experience of hitch-hiker friendly taxis. It is increasingly difficult to focus on the past when the second experience is looming closer and is to be coupled with a tenuous route to America, so as I weed out the memories I'll leave you pondering what the next experience might be and throw out a question. Does anyone know of a couch in Bermuda that I might sleep on next week?

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