England Plus Paris: Part 15

The news was full of a 5.2 earthquake that had hit San Francisco. It would be a while before I learned that this "San Francisco" quake had actually hit Gilroy.

Into the Gutter

I looked for interesting British comic books in a few places. This was a haphazard process. I expected it to work this way:

But it didn't really work that way. The first few steps of the plan went the way I expected. But when it came to British comics, each shop had "Judge Dredd" and a scattering of other comics--always a different scattering.

I point out Forbidden Planet, because they had a section of their store devoted to British Comics, thus sparing me the trouble of needle-seeking through their (huge) haystack of American comics. (This "British section" was about two shelflets of comics, mostly Judge Dredd incarnations. This was probably less than 1% of their inventory.)

Gosh Comics carried "Dark," my favorite of the comics that I found. It was about people living on a planet with no day/night cycle. It was interesting, but only the first couple of issues had come out, so I'd probably never find out how the story progressed.

Elsewhere (Forbidden Planet?), I picked up "Space Junk," a fun collection. It was from 1999.

I don't mean to imply that all American comics are great. Most of them are really bad. But there are more than two good ones. I don't know what's wrong with these Brits.

Despair in Tower of London

I found Japanese Ska by at Tower Japan by looking for bands whose name started with "S-ka". That trick didn't work in England. London Tower couldn't even decide whether Ska was "rock" or "alternative"--of artists I already knew about, a few were in either category.

So I picked up a Masters of Reality CD that had come out recently, an old Einsturzende Neubauten that I'd never seen before, and some albums that I would regret later.

He Thinks You're Talkin' About Dylan Thomas

At dinner, I eavesdropped on the next table. The worst guy's wife wasn't there; she was in Australia, trying to deal modern art. The worst guy said that a typical Australian artist had "a chip on his shoulder" because they were "very uncultured."

Later on, the same guy said that he was "no good with computers." This made me wonder how much culture was going on undetected beneath his nose. I wouldn't know how to keep up with modern culture if I didn't have internet access. I wondered if this guy was belittling Australian cultural awareness in order to exaggerate his own awareness. The chip on an Australian's shoulder was nothing; this guy had a giant sequoia on his own.

At first, listening to this guy made me angry. Then I thought back to Paris, and the frustration of being unable to eavesdrop at all. A feeling of bliss came over me.

Not My Cup of Tea

I checked my email at an internet café. In amongst the news from friends and the junkmail was something funny: mail from a UK recruiter. By this time, I was pretty homesick, and the idea of staying in the area any longer than necessary was ridiculous. I thought of the nice lady who'd checked my passport when I came into the country. She had been right to trust me.

I wrote back to the recruiter, thanking him for his interest. If I thought that I'd have a chance to follow up, I might have asked him for advice on places to visit.

Kew Gardens: Photo Bonanza

By area, most of Kew Gardens was boring. But the greenhouses were great. So I concentrated on those.

Tell Me Again Why They Call it the "Docklands", Please?

The University of East London

I'd been on a train that went through the docklands, and had seen a few boats. I thought that maybe if I went further East, I'd make it out of the land of luxury apartments and into a place full of cranes and warehouses.

That was foolish of me; about as foolish as someone who goes looking for Dickensian London today. There are few docks in the docklands now. It's offices; it's luxury apartments; it's nothing.

There are no functioning permanent cranes in this photo. There are some crane-looking things which poke out of the Millenium Dome. There are some decorative cranes to remind the locals that this area was useful, once. And there are temporary cranes which are putting up new luxury apartments.

I don't want you to think that the afternoon was a total waste. Out at the limit of my camera's zoom, I spotted a covered conveyor belt.

Marking the Spot

On my way into Heathrow airport, I had a work flashback: the Heathrow Express train logo reminded me of the XBox logo.

Heathrow International's waiting area is an awful place. Because they security-checked people on the way into the gate-waiting area instead of on the way onto the plane, passengers weren't allowed into the waiting area until an hour before the flight. And I, not trusting my luck on an untried train line, was more than an hour early.

I waited a while on one of the few chairs in the hallway outside the gate. There wasn't a departures-screen in view, and there was a chance that the flight would change. So I did spend a while waiting in the central waiting area. And that was the awful place.

It was a mall. It was a cramped mall, full of shops. There were banks of benches sandwiched into this mess. I sat. A few feet in front of my face, people shopped for scarves. There was no window between them and me. I could smell some of them.

Next time I catch a departing international flight from Heathrow, I'll try to cut the time closer. I'm not sure why the terminal designers wanted to torture me. Did they think they'd make me regret leaving England?

I knew that I wanted to come back someday. But on this day, going back to San Francisco was exactly what I wanted.

Sweet

I'd stayed awake while the USA agricultural control people checked my shoes to make sure that no English dirt tainted American soil. I'd navigated CalTrain and Muni back to my apartment.

When I opened my door, I was greeted by a sort of "chirp". My room's smoke alarm was letting me know that its backup battery had run down. I wondered how many days it had been chirping away, running on building power. I wonder what my neighbors thought about that.

I spent a while trying to get the alarm off of the ceiling. I was too tired. I thought about the fact that I'd be calling in for jury duty on Monday. I felt even more tired. I thought, My neighbors have probably been listening to this chirping for a few days. One more night won't kill them. I fished earplugs out of my luggage and crept into bed.

I woke up. The phone rang. I started to take out an earplug, to crawl out of bed. Crawling out of bed wasn't so easy. My answering machine picked up. I gave up. It was Rob Pfile. He'd picked up movie tickets so that we could see the new Star Wars movie the next day.

As I weakly tried to untangle myself from my sheets and the smoke alarm chirped in the corner, I thought, It's good to be back in civilization again.

Departures: England Plus Paris: Part 15

Far From Home