England

It's been a looong time — over 6 months, in fact. During that time, we've both been reasonably lazy in keeping track of each other, and we've both made a few (failed) attempts to meet up. But now, finally, we've managed to successfully organise a reunion. Tonight, I met up with my mate Jack, whom I met back in Cusco, and with whom I went on that famous adventure, those many moons ago! Jack's one of the greatest people I've met on this trip, and it was good to see that he hasn't changed at all: it was totally sweet to see him again.

These two lads are flat-sharing here in London's Mile End area, and they're being kind and hospitable enough to host my mate Jack, during his week or so in the city. Max is a London local, and Joel's originally an Irish boy. Max met Jack a few years ago, when he was backpacking round the world, and when he crashed at Jack's place in Adelaide. Now he's returning the favour. Great blokes.

Meininger London, an English branch of a German chain of hostels, is a funny one. Nice location, in South Kensington; and nice rooms, facilities, and all that. But it's a bit weird, as hostels go. Doesn't seem to be much of a backpacker place: I guess the fact that they have a conference centre, and proper hotel rooms as well, contributes to this being the case. Plus, not much of a hangout area anywhere, which is a bit disappointing. Anyway, it's good if you want to stay somewhere nice for a short time, and if you're not too concerned about meeting fellow travellers or not.

I needed to get the bus back from Bath to London this morning — but I hadn't booked a ticket; and I had no idea what the departure times were (I tried checking yesterday, but the terminal was closed). As it turned out, I was really, really lucky: I checked out of St. Christopher's, rocked up at the bus terminal at 9:40am, and just managed to jump on the 9:45am express bus to London! Phew — would have been quite a wait if I'd missed it. See, turns out that you don't have to plan and book-ahead everything here in Europe: sometimes you can get away with doing it the Latin way — i.e. turn up, and go somewhere, just like that.

Following the afternoon's Stonehenge tour, my final evening in Bath was quite easy-going. Just wandered up to the chill-out room at St. Christopher's, and made good use of their extensive video library by watching a few movies. I saw one called "Sleepers", a disturbing but very well-produced film about boys in juvenile prison in the 60s. Also saw one of my old favourites, "American Pie 2", with a few crazy American kids, who wandered upstairs as well (their pick). Plus, I couldn't resist a bit more curry for dinner. Nothing like a good Sunday night in front of the telly.

One of the most famous historical attractions, here in England, happens to be right down here in the south-east. That is of course Stonehenge, the millenia-old mysterious standing-stones, that lie in the middle of the bleak high plains near Salisbury. Since it was a drizzly Sunday over in Bath (not that it drizzles exclusively on Sundays, naturally) — and since they do tours from Bath to Stonehenge daily, for quite a reasonable price — I decided to hop on a tour bus, and to see this important monument. What can I say: they're very old, and they're very mystifying; but really, they're just rocks.

This afternoon, Christina and I were just about to make our way back from Bristol to Bath, when we bumped into a super-friendly, super-random local. Next thing we know, we're at the bar of the "White Lion" pub in downtown Bristol, guzzling some fine dark local ale, and getting to know the crazy but colourful characters of this city. It wasn't planned; but once done, it sure as hell wasn't regretted.

I haven't bought any novels for a long time: so far on my trip, I've been subsisting on whatever paperbacks I can scrounge up at hostel book exchanges. This is all well and good, but the quality at those exchanges is generally somewhat lacking. I walked past a second-hand fair in Bristol this afternoon, and I couldn't resist buying a few quality novels. Grabbed myself "The Big Mango", by Norman Kelley; and "Blast from the Past", by Ben Elton. Seeing as I won't be in England again for a while, I managed to justify this little luxury to myself.

I hopped over to Bristol this afternoon with Christina; and while we were walking near the river, we saw a bunch of birds. Christina insisted they were swans. I said they were too ugly and weird to be swans, they must be geese. A local, when asked, assured us that they were indeed swans — "Bristol swans". I lost £5. What do you think? Geese or swans? If they really are swans, then they're the least graceful type of bloody swan I've ever seen — they must be outcast by the rest of their swan brethren the world over.

For lack of much else to do, this morning Christina and I went on a walking tour of Bath, which is held for free every morning by the Bath historical society. We survived about half of the 2-hour tour; after that, it was so cold and so boring that we couldn't take any more. We saw the Roman baths (the outside, at least), some of Bath's old houses, and other important architectural landmarks. We also heard a bit about Bath's history as a holiday spot for London's high society, and as a favourite town for high-roller gambling and other aristocratic pastimes. No idea what the tour contained after that, because we bailed out on it.