Euer, Oliver, myself and Simone at the restaurant yesterday

Not having gone to bed too late on Saturday (it must have been 3am or so), I got up and checked out of the B&B, then strolled down Gilmore Place. I bought the Scotsman On Sunday at what used to be my local corner shop, but unfortunately didn't recognise anyone at the till. Spotted the hairdresser still there, another corner shop now converted into a Costcutter, and noticed the famed ice cream shop on the Home Stret corner is gone and forgotten. Walking down past the Cameo cinema, past shops that have disappeared and been replaced, I couldn't help but think I was nostalgic to the point of being a local. "Och aye laddie, when Ah wis a younger man there wis a chippie here, nice an aw.." But the Film House was still there as I remembered it, and here I met Fiona for brunch. Though I had seen her on Friday night we were in a rush with the tickets, and hadn't a chance to speak to her really. It was great to see her again whilst finally stilling my rumbling belly and waking up with coffee. And yet it's strange, not having seen her in years, to see how she's a suave city lass now rather than the bouncy flatmate with Madonna on full blast, that she used to be.

Though I then hurried down Lothian Road and Princes Street to get a bus towards Tranent, I wasn't to meet my old friend Rob. As soon as I got on the bus and out of town, Simone texted me: "Are you ready? We want to leave." Fully expecting me, of course, to rush to the camp site instead, jump in a car and be off. As the bus to Tranent would pass Drum Mohr on the way, I had to quickly decide to see Rob and get a train home - or call it a day and let Rob know..

A few miles out of Edinburgh, the Picasso fogged up in a matter of seconds just when we were on a roundabout trying to get to the M8. The Volvo therefore followed three damp and steaming gadges in a Citroën bubble, frantically trying to mop the water from the windows. Oliver was smug for a bit, as the satnav wouldn't have been as foggy. Though the M8 got us away quickly after that, I had expected a turn South a bit sooner than Glasgow (aye, no maps) and we ended up being near Carlisle no quicker. Lunch at Teabay Services was overpriced but al right, and after that we got to Manchester in no time at all. Bart dropped me off in Kearsley from where I walked home - he dropped the car off at Manchester Airport, and we all ended up home safe. Missing Edinburgh like missing a few heartbeats.

Labels: travel

Having driven from Manchester to Edinburgh straight after work.. Then watching a comedy show from 10.30 pm till 'late', we had to wonder where on Friday night we could pitch a few tents. We decided to think about it in the Cowgate, at the Three Sisters in particular. By the time Oliver and I had visited a pizza place on the Grassmarket and returned, a decision still had not been met. Later, in the Opium club, we still hadn't a clue, and as pubs started to close around us we went back to the cars.

Ach well, we were parked quite nicely and quietly (surprisingly!) on Castle Terrace. We slept in what we drove there. Oliver seemed comfortable with the two girls in his Volvo. Bart and his girlfriend enjoyed the spacious front seats of the Picasso, and I figured I had space in the back. With the rear seat folded down, I crawled into the massive trunk and folded away. Though I had to appreciate the high ceiling and the darkness, by 7 am I ached all over and felt suffocated. I got out the car, tried to convince Bart we should go - but the rest had been more comfortable it seemed. Nae bother, I walked towards Princes Street and got a Ploughman's sandwich. When I walked back though, I met Bart and Oliver in their cars on Lothian Road. They had decided to go and find a camp site. Great, I jumped in for some fun, following Oliver's satnav and the camp icons on it's screen. First we did a few rounds of Charlotte Square, then I asked them if they wanted coastal, foresty or central locations. I did have a bit of trouble guiding us down Queen Street and further towards Musselburgh through ever smaller streets.. But soon enough we ended up on Drum Mohr, near Prestonpans and with view of the sea. After everyone had set up a tent, I had the choice of heading back, or sleeping in a car again. I grabbed a bus back to the city.

Scouring my old street, Gilmore Place, for a cheep but cheerful B&B, a stunning Polish girl quoted me £55 for a single bedroom for the night that she could make immediately. Very tempting, but even through I could smilingly convince her to knock a tenner off, I decided to try my luck at another B&B and was offered £35 by an old unfriendly looking man, for an immaculate room however that I could immediately sleep in. I slept till 4pm or so, then went to the city centre and tried to convince Simone not to get off the bus before Princes Street. But failed - they picked the restaurant (Al Fresco, Leith Walk) and I had to run towards it. Of course I cursed the sky blue (it stpped raining for a second), but in fairness the food was excellent. We followed it up by walking back to the Cowgate and Grassmarket, from pub to club. Through the rain of course, and lots of it. Simone caught Oliver and myself at Victoria Terrace, dancing with a witch. See the picture below..



Then our worst decision. Oliver, Euer, Simone and myself walked from the Grassmarket back to the Royal Mile for the Mercat Ghost Tour, while Bart and Katrina remained at the Grassmarket to outdrink a few Scots. We met 'Black Agnes', as we were supposed to call a seemingly blonde faux-gothic looking woman - who struck me as a holiday worker with residence in a nearby hostel, to be fair. She shouted a nice story about a beautiful prince who was literally gutted at the cross, before marching us down to the Blair Street Vaults. Now this I had been looking forward to. What apparently is the most haunted place in Scotland though, was ruined for us by a private party going on in an adjacent vault.. The mere idea this was possible was a letdown, but the beats also drowned out any possible eerie foorsteps and sighs. With that gone, what remained was a cave-like cellar, really. Hardly worth writing home about, but the internet can handle my rant, surely. Walking through Edinburgh though, on desperately rainy evenings - was cool. the ghost tour was concluded with a visit to Canongate cemetary, at the foot of the High Street - an old but hardly spooky cemetary. Having been told about a monster murdering a local boy though, who was thought to be buried here, Simone did shiver slightly when a dog howled nearby. I slept like a baby in my B&B that night, while the others got used to incessant rain and thunder under their canvas shelters.

Labels: travel

It takes a bit of organising, when you decide to visit Edinburgh and invite your colleagues to come with. Luckily, the more colleagues joined, the more they did about organising the trip. Where I thought we could all just hop on the train after work, we ended up going in a Volvo and a rented Citroën Picasso, with tents in the back. My Flemish fiend and colleague Bart drove the Picasso North on the M6 with his French girlfriend Katrina beside him and myself in the back, regularly at (ehhrm) a bit of speed. Oliver, who Bart and I had both worked with at Unilever years ago, followed closely behind in his Volvo - with our colleague Simone and her visiting Dutch friend Euer.

Our main aim was to see the "Amsterdam Underground Comedy Collective" at the Edinburgh Fringe, a show that promised us Dutch comedy superstars in small venue (Assembly @ The Tron, Hunter Square) - strutting their stuff in English for the first time. Mixed reviews, but the prospect of seeing Hans Teeuwen and Theo Maassen really gave us flutters. Imagine seeing Eddie Murphy and Billy Connolly at your local pint puller's, if you'd like to imagine our excitement..

We arrived in the nick of time, Oliver's satnav having routed us through Penicuik but we managed to park easily at Castle Terrace. The venue being at the Royal Mile, did however mean a walk around Castle Hill and up from the Grassmarket. Having wiped the sweat off our underground collective foreheads, my friend Fiona met us with the tickets. We entered the Tron, went down to the stage through a smell of urine and settled at the back - by the bar - while Micha Wertheim started presenting the evening's programme. I was pleasantly surprised to see the first comedian of the night: Hans Sibbel. I had already seen Dolf Jansen live a few years ago, who famously doubles up with Sibbel annually at New Years eve to take the piss out of the year's events. I got my first beer down while Hans Sibbel found it a tough crowd, and made way for more of Micha and the next comedian: Wouter Meijs. Never heard of him, but a 6'7 Dutchman is always pleased to see another lanky Dutchman on stage. Hans Sibbel had already touched on the subject of child pornography and the missing Madeleine, but Wouter delved into it further. It wasn't too funny, but became excruciatingly less so when a resoundingly Middle-English sounding twit started heckling. Sick jokes about sexual abuse apparently don't sit well when a missing girl is in the news. Understandable really, but then - why visit an 'edgy' comedy show if you have no edge nor a sense of humour?

By now we were all really pining for Hans Teeuwen to shut the heckler up, or for Theo Maassen to send her running with arms flailing. The next performer however was Kees van Amstel, who struck me as a Secondary School teacher type. Quite friendly and less of a child molester by the choice of his jokes (he probably steered clear of it on purpose), he pacified the crowd somewhat. Micha's presentation too, in between of the performers, kept pint glasses from flying towards them. And then, after an hour or so, that was the end of it. We glared and stared at the stage for a bit, wondering what had happened to the top billed comedians and why we had travelled over 200 miles for a rather disappointing night. But I shrugged it off easily: the trip had been good, the show had been alright and we had two days of Edinburgh yet to come. I felt overjoyed just to be in Auld Reekie again. The rest agreed.

Labels: travel

As the picture above proves, Lottie and I set to conquer Hermitage Castle earlier today. Unfortunately, the mediaeval stronghold near Newcastleton in the Scottish Borders stands rather strong still. Well, unfortunately.. It's quite beautiful and imposing actually! You can find a few more pictures of the castle below, as well as a Youtube clip.

Labels: travel

On Saturday September 16 I grabbed the train from Nijmegen to Den Bosch. A little boy sat across me saw my large duffel bag and told me he was going on a trip with his grandmother today. "Where are you going?" he asked. England. In Den Bosch I had to transfer trains to get to Breda and on to Rotterdam, then to Hook of Holland. In the last little train a NS salesteam were selling photo railcards on the spot. "Do you travel this route often?" Nah, I don't particularly enjoy going through Rotterdam to get to Britain. It was nice being at the boat terminal at Hook of Holland again though, reminiscing about my '99 trip to Scotland with Marjo. The Stena HSS got me to Harwich in no time (4pm to 6.30 or so) and I had a pretty good connection to London Liverpool Street.



I was tempted to use one of the internet booths here to check if Lottie had been on Yahoo Answers, but thought better of it. With WH Smiths and other shops closed by now I couldn't buy a London map, so I had to find my way to the hostel with a bit of luck. Though I had never been to the Thameside YHA hostel and never been confronted with Oyster cards on the London Underground - I managed to find my way with amazing ease. Having a big heavy duffel bag didn't stop me from walking through the tunnels and over platforms any slower - yet I had extra space in the trains! From Rotherhithe station to the hostel I must have annoyed a few people with the noise made from my bag's wheels on the cobbles. The bed at the hostel was a disappointment, with modern bunk beds shaped like paint sample fans: one low berth, one at 90 degrees above it, then another above the first. Too close for comfort to fellow sleepers, really. I ruffled my bed a bit, put my bag on top of it, then showered, changed and went back to reception to go call my mum and go online to chat to Lottie. Still unsure whether to stay in London till Monday or go to Manchester to meet her earlier.

After midnight, realising I had skipped dinner and had forgotten a torch to use in the dark dormitory, I decided to shop for it. Despite it being a late Saturday night, the neighbourhood around the hostel seemed nice enough to walk through safely. Not like it was in '99 when my sister and I stayed in Stockwell. In fact, walking alongside a canal surrounded by tall modern flats and private gardens, on a pleasantly warm night, London reminded me of Düsseldorf and Frankfurt. It looked wealthy, neat and clean - so much unlike what I had gotten used to in Edinburgh and Chester that I thought of it as continental. At the all night Tesco it was slightly less friendly among other late night shoppers, no problem though. I strolled back, setting my new alarm underway and playing with a cheap and weak torch. When I arrived back at the hostel, my bed was taken and my bag placed elsewhere - the bloody cheek. Still, the torch helped in disturbing the git who had taken my bed, though I found another berth.

This blog entry is really getting much too long, so I got up well, had breakfast at the hostel and travelled to Kings Cross in one sentence. At breakfast I had decided to leave London, as Manchester and Scotland appealed more. I could either meet Lottie a day early, or go on to Edinburgh and come back down again. Oh the freedom of Interrail!

Labels: travel

I got on a train to Amsterdam yesterday afternoon, transferred onto a bus to the coast and onto a DFDS Seaways ferry to Newcastle. Then this morning I got onto another bus which took me to St. Andrews Square in Edinburgh. It's great to be back! At 4 pm I had an appointment with Quantum, and met Laura, a spectacularly beautiful girl by the way. Did a typing test (managed 40 wpm), a technical test and got approved for the role at the Sykes call centre. That is, if I get through the interview there, tomorrow. Had dinner at the Pizza Hut.. I know, yes, it's cowardly not to taste the local spices, but I still have to pinch myself about being in Scotland. So a bit of familiarity is al right by me.

Labels: travel

The French.. Honestly. From 5.30 in the morning, another buggered up room mate's alarm clock went off, so he pressed the snooze button. Five minutes later it went off again, so he pressed snooze again. Five minutes later it went off again, and this kept on happening until I left the hostel with a temper as foul as the weather. The wet and slippery streets in the centre had me cycling sideways more than once, but I was lucky not to fall. I bought a road map and pitched myself against the wind, on my way to Verdun. Again I found myself cycling on an express way, so I took a turn at some point, which according to the map should have gotten me to a town called Rombas. Except on the map it looked less of a distance than it turned out to be. I was still going headlong against the wind, in drizzle and with lots of lorries whooshing past. Lorries carrying sand, losing some of it in the wind, can be quite annoying to contact wearing cyclists already struggling against wind and traffic. By the time I got to the ugly mining town, my eyes hurt so much I couldn't open either of them. I parked my bike for a bit, screamed angrily – the place was deserted anyway – and turned back. Fuck Paris and the French, to hell with reaching England, I'd go back to Trier. When I got to Thionville again, the last direct train to Trier had left. Thanks again, you cheese eating surrender monkeys. I had to grab a slow train to Perl, on the French-German border, and then hopefully connect from there. I wasn't in the mood. So bugger it, I rode to Perl by bike. When I got there, I decided to push on along the Moselle and get to Trier cycling. I took a few wrong turns over the hilly fields and at Nettel my rear tire sprang a leak. Only then did I get onto a train. Luckily I had made a telephone reservation for the hostel before setting off, because I got there well after dinner time. I ate something, and just to shrug it all off I went back into town and visited the cinema. Ideally, Coyote Ugly was on, one of the most idiotic (yet strangely satisfying) films I could ever imagine. "Can't fight the moonlight.."

Labels: travel

This morning I tried to get to the city of Luxembourg, but no luck. A fair wind slowed my progress frustratingly. I got as far as the village of Merten, just across the border into the duchy of Luxembourg. It wasn't all that far really, but I was beat. The last few kilometres I had been cycling on a pavement along an express way, which stopped abruptly in Merten. I couldn't see any other option but to get onto the expressway or to turn back. As the road had been shitty from the Luxembourg border already, I decided I didn't want to risk my life another for a few hours. So I turned back, pissed off. With the wind now giving me a shove back to Trier, I worked the pedals like a maniac. My average speed over the fifty or so kilometres was near 33 kilometres an hour, which on a pannier-laden bike going over narrow and bumpy cycling paths is exceptional. In Trier, I grabbed a train to Thionville, hoping that in France (home of the Tour de France) a cyclist would fare rather better than in Luxembourg. I got there near 4pm. The hostel near the station didn't open for a few more hours, so I bought a French SIM card for my phone and sat down at the Moselle to munch on a cake I had brought from Trier. When it did open, the hostel wasn’t a delight. I got a weird old bloke as a room mate who wouldn't stop speaking incomprehensible French. I pretended to be English, told him I found him 'rather annoying actually'. It seemed to work.

Labels: travel

Last time I was in Trier was 1995. And it was superb. Though our parents had decided to rent a cottage in the middle of nowhere and spent days bickering – rural Germany is hell – my sisters and I often went to nearby Trier and fell in love with this town. Elf and Mar found beautiful boys and great surroundings, and I felt at home. It's much like Nijmegen, with its Roman heritage and nice modern streets. Actually it's nicer than Nijmegen I think. If ever I'd want to be a German guy, I'd want to be from Trier. But oddly enough I'd rather not be a German dude. I went to the cinema this evening, to see Bruce Willis in "Disneys The Kid". Cute film, but Bruce speaking German (they dub everything here) took a bit of getting used to. It was a rainy Sunday otherwise, so I was quite happy to leave my bike parked in the hostel's shed. This Monday I still didn't feel ready to leave Trier behind – even though I do want to reach Paris – and spent another day walking through town, admiring it. I visited another film in the cinema: "Schatten der Wahrheit" (What Lies Beneath) with Michelle Pfeiffer and Harrison Ford. A very Autumny thriller, with lots of water, cold and death. I loved it.

Labels: travel

When I started this morning, I thought Trier might be 60 kilometres or so away. Three hours of cycling, nothing more than that. So I left rather later in the morning. Unfortunately I had miscalculated: not only did the Mosel meander a bit more than I had reckoned with, so did the roads just North of Trier. In the end I notched up 115 km, double my estimate almost. Still, Trier is a gorgeous town with lots of nice memories from holidays there in '94 and '95. I'm thrilled to be back, just a bit miffed I didn't get back sooner in the day!

Labels: travel

With the panniers again attached and going down the 18 percent incline, my brakes nearly caught fire, but I otherwise got out of Koblenz just dandy. It wasn't until I hit a small town called Dieblich, where an enormous viaduct crosses the Rhein valley, that I decided to have my breakfast. 'Schwarzbrot' (black bread), some with cheese and others with honey.. Fabulous! From Koblenz to Dieblich the landscape had looked quite like what you often see with Märklin miniature railways. Rolling green hills, cutesy houses, roads and bridges.. It got more realistic after that, as I followed the meandering course of the Mosel river and discovered a downside about meandering water. Near a place called Alf, the Mosel bends sharply to the East, to Zell, then back West to Pünderich. At Alf, I noticed a thick rain cloud overhead. I swerved out of its path following the course of the river, but then followed the river right back into the rain. It proved to be a hail storm (ouch) but I didn't get frustrated, I just found it funny. At Traben-Trarbach I had another steep climb toward the hostel, when I had had enough of that yesterday. Not sure what the meaning of the name "Traben Trarbach" is, actually, my German sucks. I'd say Grapes-Mourning Creek. Interesting wines they must make.

Labels: travel

I thought I might as well do it the easy way today. To cycle from Düsseldorf along the Rhein to the South would've bored me I think. I've noticed now what it's like cycling by the river, through industrial areas and through nice cities. Cologne and Bonn might be interesting, but I'd want to get further down South, so I wouldn't have time to enjoy it there anyway. Instead of cycling then, I went to the train station, got my bike aboard a train, went to Koblenz, offloaded my bike, checked into a hostel and relaxed a bit more. Or not quite, actually. When I got to Koblenz, the IYHF youth hostel guidebook didn't really shed much light on where to find the actual hostel. That is, it showed the route, but the distances were vague, so that I must've looked very puzzled during my cycling round trip of Koblenz. When at a certain moment I thought "al right let's just follow this road then, see where it leads" I did eventually find a few road signs leading to the hostel. And to my worst enemy: a long 18 percent incline up towards an old fort, in which the hostel is situated. I didn’t stand a chance, especially with the panniers weighing me down. It proved a long, tiring hike before check-in. When I had unpacked, I grabbed my bike again to go shopping in the town centre, and bought a Nokia 6100 phone with infra-red. All I need now is a Psion mini-computer to satisfy my tech-savvy needs (and write my novel) but I might buy that in Nijmegen. Back to the hostel, I this time declared I'd conquer that mountain and thankfully.. I did.

Labels: travel

Cycling from the train station to the hostel yesterday, I noticed Düsseldorf is actually anything but the industrial town I had expected. So this morning I decided I'd stay an extra night. I needed to do some shopping anyway; contact lens fluid and a lens container, essentials that I forgot to bring. I eventually scored these items at the Karstadt warehouse, but the morning had passed into the afternoon by then. My Koga Miyata Traveller looked attractive without its bags attached, so I took it for a ride through the city. And I rode like I would have in Nijmegen: furiously. Without the stuffed pannier bags, the bicycle felt as though it didn't weigh anything at all. I raced up the Rhein bridge so fast that I managed to get both wheels off the ground where the road leveled out again.. Or maybe that's just how it felt. The riverside in Düsseldorf is nice too, with pubs and benches to take in the view.. It features a cycling path too, the tiles of which are spread out in a wave pattern. At some point I had to stop and stand still for a bit, not to get so dizzy as to throw up. Düsseldorf is a pretty town though, really. The youth hostel is on the West bank of the Rhein, where cute white houses somehow made me feel as though I might be in Brighton again. When I called my mother from the hostel, she was surprised I was still no further than Düsseldorf though. She's right, it's time I show more ambition.

Labels: travel

The cycling odyssey plan has changed. I still want to reach Scotland, but I don't fancy simply grabbing the ferry at Rotterdam. Instead, I'll go a long way round via Germany, Luxembourg and France, to get to the UK via Calais-Dover. No strict plan to adhere to though, I'll just see how far I get.

Though I really wanted to reach Cologne today, I'm not miserable about making it only as far as Krefeld. I left home by bicycle bloody early, and the best thing about going East from Nijmegen is that getting a holiday feeling almost immediately. Germany is so close by, and despite that, it feels entirely different. I cycled through rather a hilly landscape through to Xanten and wasn't used to a fully packed bike, but though it was tiring going over inclines, it was smooth otherwise. With Xanten behind me, the ride turned into a a bit of a search. Nijmegen and Cologne are both on the river Rhein, so just following it upstream should do. Except you can't simply follow the river banks. From Xanten onwards more and more small but steep climbs appeared, the river went out of sight and I got to the dreadful town of Moers. There, suddenly, all 'cyclable' paths ended and I needed to get onto the hard shoulder of a motorway. I took the risk, lucky to find another cycling path after a few kilometres. Just a bit further down the route I got to the neat town centre of Krefeld and thought that I would need to cross the Rhein to get to Düsseldorf. When I did though, I found myself in the direction of Essen. To non-Germans that won’t mean much, probably, but when you're there it sucks. I turned back from where I came, which frustrated me enough to grab a train from that point onwards, to get to Düsseldorf anyway. When I got to the youth hostel, I was afraid my poor German skills would mean trouble at check-in. More unfortunate still, a nice French girl handled the reception duties, and she didn't speak a word in German, Dutch or even English. So I noticed once more my French is shite. Oh well, I clocked up 140 kilometres on my first day, not bad at all. I slept like a log.

Labels: travel

I want to go on a major cycling ride to and through Britain and Ireland soon. I've got nearly the entire month of October off work, to do it.. And here's a plan. But is it viable?

I'd cycle from Nijmegen to Hook of Holland, then from Harwich through London to the South Coast to re-visit Brighton. Continuing on to Exeter, then up to Bristol, passing Stonehenge on my way to Reading, then to Stratford and back down again to Gloucester, Cardiff and Pembroke. I'd then grab the ferry across to Ireland, where I'd do a big circular movement through Cork, Tralee, Limerick, Galway, Sligo, to Belfast and down again to Dublin or Dun Laoghaire for another ferry across to Holyhead. No finally towards my holy grail: Scotland. But not via a quickest route: first to Chester, Manchester, Leeds, York, Newcastle and then finally to Edinburgh. Then going West via Stirling and Fort William to the Isle of Skye and Stornoway (obviously not cycling across the Atlantic), back to the mainland at Ullapool and then passing Thurso and Wick before getting back to Inverness. Then to Glasgow via Aberdeen, Dundee and Perth, and on through Ayr to reminisce at Stranraer and Port Patrick. I haven't been there since the student exchanges in 1993. Lastly, I'd go back East through the Borders to Newcastle, from where I'd ferry back to Amsterdam and on to home. Ambitious? Aye. But it's mouthwatering prospect!

Labels: travel

Another dizzy day. Estee left for Boston this Wednesday, so we hugged and said goodbye at Three Bridges. I went on to London, walked around a bit, then went back to Brighton and gazed out the window at Three Bridges. But she had left Gatwick a while ago already. I realised I might never see her again (note to self: go to Boston!). When I got back to the hotel room, I cried a bit. Not to loudly though; the builders were right outside still.

The following day I left the UK as well. As I got to Harwich just minutes after my boat (Stena HSS) had left for Holland, I had hours to kill before another one would come. All that thinking time made me realise how buggered up I am. I wrote her a letter, declared that I already miss her loads, that I apologise for the way I behaved – being so undead – and that I love her. But I am not sure I do. The boat got me to Hook of Holland terribly late, so I had to spend the night in a Rotterdam hotel, before getting back to Nijmegen on Friday. I hate Rotterdam, especially when I want to be in Boston with Estee.

Labels: travel

Estee had left a telephone message at reception, when I got down for breakfast this morning. So all day I tried calling her back, but failed miserably. I walked across Brighton and Hove, had dinner at the Pizza Hut (staring at an empty seat across the table) and went to bed. What a waste this Tuesday was.

Labels: travel

Brighton isn't bad. I had my breakfast at a Starbucks this morning, which was actually quite comfortable and yummy. After that, I picked up Estee from the station and walked through town with her. We sat down at the beach for a while, and after that I took her to my hotel room. Just for her to see it, mind you. It didn't take long for her to view the small but comfy bed, the en-suite shower and the builders obscuring the view at the window. Builders with a posh accent by the way – quite bizarre. So we were left to conversation again, really. She told me she liked the shower and that she hadn't enjoyed the one at Crawley. So I proposed she used this one, while I went for a walk. Of course she declined. Then I introduced her to my favourite Dutch tea (Zonnatura), that I had brought. And as we sat silently on the bed, next to each other, sipping tea.. The tension, whatever it was exactly, could be cut with a knife. I thought about maybe giving her a kiss, but couldn't move. What she thought I will never know. When she went back to the station and back to Three Bridges, I really didn't want to lose her though. So I went all the way with her. To Three Bridges, that is. Then I went back. And to bed. I dreamt about her being there too, close enough to hold onto.

Labels: travel

Estee is actually staying with some rather distant relatives, in Crawley. It's been her excuse to go to Europe for an entirely different reason – namely me. Yay! As I don't like London too much – too expansive and expensive – I had booked a hotel in Brighton weeks ago already. Brighton is just an hour's train ride away, and Crawley, or Three Bridges actually, is a station on the route. So this evening, when I left for Brighton, I got out at Crawley to meet up with Estee for the evening, and hopefully go out with her. Unfortunately she didn't appear until two and a half hours later, which I think might actually say something about yesterday. She called ahead though saying she'd be late, so I went down to a local pub for some Southern Comfort. When she finally got to the station, it was so late I had to catch one of the last trains South again quite quickly. Anyway, it was great to simply see her. There's something about her. See I've always fancied really skinny girls, which she isn't. But she's got such a cute face, she's gorgeous regardless. And then, Estee manages to dress really well. She's beautiful. Still I don’t really know how to feel. Or if she even likes me.

And then on a completely different note, the manager of the Strawberry Fields hotel in Brighton looks like Heather Nova. And like her, not so bad looking either.

Labels: travel

London, Hyde Park, Peter Pan statue, 11 am. She's not there. Neither am I. I know where to find it, but I suppose I am a bit early. I just walk quickly towards the statue, look at it briefly.. I stand still for as long as my nerves will allow, then quickly disappear. Luckily there's a sandy path and some shrubs near, so I can hide. But really I can't hide, that's stupid. So I walk past the statue again, but now keep on walking, around the pond, come back a good ten minutes later.. And still she isn’t there. I think. I head for the shrubs again, catch my breath and walk back towards the statue, seemingly confident now. And there she is. I don't know how I know it's her, but she knows I am me as well. Our eyes meet, we smile somewhat uncomfortably, walk towards each other.. And I realise I am disappointed. She's pretty, but not as I had imagined. And unfortunately, imagination is all-conquering, in an internet relationship. Then I hate myself for being so judgemental, keep on walking and smiling and I greet her. She seems relaxed actually, when I probably look austere, like I always do when emotions are too tangled to deal with. Still, her hand is freezing. Later on, when we sit down in the shade beneath an acorn tree, I make a run for a drinks stall to get her something. Or actually, to get my head together. After that we sit and talk some more, until I walk her back to the subway station, then get back to the hotel myself. And at night I realise that, though she's not my type - I think - she is pretty, sexy and great to be with. I am no less confused, but very very alone all of a sudden.

Labels: travel