English Road Trip

"Come out, we're here". Slinging my backpack over my shoulder I trudge down the stairs. Each step jolts my already tender head. I was supposed to be at Caledonian Road at 9:20 am. 10:15 am and I'm still at home. My bloodshot eyes take some time to adjust to the brightly lit street. The sun is a lone fixture in the normally gray sky; I squint. The street is void of people and removed from any semblance of human life. Shielding the sun from my eyes I peer down the middle of the road. 15 metres down the road stands a silver Ford Focus. The body language is cryptic. Relaxed postures, inquizative eyes but emotionless, straight faces. I force a sheepish smile "Thanks for swinging by". My last-minute chaffuer had arrived.


If this were video the director would be switching between the hysteric scene of mixed-martial arts event and a pleasant drive through England countryside. Over-exuberant fight commentators "Fighting out of the blue corner!". The constant sound of the GPS "In 7.5 kilometers turn right". Scantily clad ring girls. Scattered livestock over lush pastures. Knock outs followed by ebullition of approval. Stonehenge appearing on the horizon. The juxtaposition would be unbelievable. This road trip had been 2 weeks in the making, two days ago I forfeited VIP box-seats to UFC 95.

I curled up in backseat and almost immediately let my heavy eyelids whisk me into a broken doze. My senses were piqued at various moments between consciousness and sleep. The sound of my snoring, darkness, passing Heathrow Airport, darkness, the sound of Dirty Dancing's Time of my Life, darkness, M4 highway, darkness, finally by "Wow, it's literally next to the highway!". The drive from central London to Stonehenge took no more than 2 hours. For £6.50 you are granted entry to the park whilst being herded (like sheep) around the rocks. To enrich the experience you are invited to listen to one of the most daft audio guides in the world. In true Stonehenge speculation, I suspect the orator himself killed himself shortly after the recording.


Again, I don't remember too much about the drive except that we arrived in Bath at around 4 pm. Parking the car in the main parking lot we unpacked and headed straight for the YMCA. We stood at the rear of the building wondering how to get in. Where was the blasted entrance? It's fun to stay at the YMCA. Our evening was a mix of wandering the streets, sight seeing and looking for food. We settled in for dinner at the local pub and then headed back to the YMCA for some casual drinks and snacks all to a throwback soundtrack.


Unfortunately for us the toilet/showers in our wing were down for maintenance. It's fun to stay at the YMCA. At around 2 am we were introduced to the paper thin walls of our accommodation. The revelers had arrived home and they let us know rousing us from our sleep. It's fun to stay at the YMCA. We had a 10 am checkout and pulled ourselves out of bed. The common room was packed with most of the cutlery and condiments used. It's fun to stay at the YMCA. Really, who wrote that song?

Sunday was designated to Bath and all things Bathy. Had a tour around the Roman baths (£11).


Lunch at the Pump Room.


Followed by a 2 hour session at the Thermal Baths which just so happen to be a glorified Aquatics centre (£22 + £3 for a towel). Mind you, the rooftop view of Bath was awesome. Arrived back in London feeling tired but surprisingly clean and relaxed. Time to do my laundry.

Prague

When you suffer the consequences of doing something ridiculous it makes you stop and ask yourself "Why do we do stupid things?". The frequency of this question over the last couple of days has prompted me to wonder if it's lack of common sense or in fact just a way to add value to out otherwise mundane routines. The first instance of this question came about Thursday night. I was at the gym "experimenting" with a new back exercise. During the last set I fell into an awkward position and felt the entire right hand side of my back lock up. Oh uh, I thought, stupidly enough I continued my work out fighting through the pain. Only after I got home did I realise I had sprained my trap muscle and my back was disfigured and hideously disproportional.

The extent of this injury became apparent the following morning after a 15 minute endeavor to get out of bed. Range of movement in my neck, back and shoulders were severely limited, It felt like I had broken my body with the only way to avoid the sharp thronging pain was to live life in slow motion.

There is in fact a correlation between European travel and the seasons. Winter makes for unpleasant holidaying with the most influencing reasons being the cold, the limited hours of daylight and the possibility of delayed flights. So as the European winter draws to an end the weekend of the 7th-8th February was to be spent in Prague. In total, 8 of us would travel to the capital of The Czech Republic.


We arrived at Ruzyne International Airport shortly after 10 am local time. After a 20 minute bus ride from the airport to Dejvicka station we found ourselves on the metro being shuttled to Staronestska, the centre of town. First thing on our agenda was to find our apartment where we could freshen up and then explore the city. To say that we were enthused about being in Prague would have been a lie. We had taken a couple of wrong turns and our feet were heavy from the lack of sleep and the agonising pain of hunger. Passing a KFC we resisted the urge to succumb to the Colonel's secret recipe. We eventually found a local bar and had the waitress call the owner of apartment to come fetch us.

The apartment was enormous and one of the best accommodations I've stayed in Europe and at around €20 per person/per night was a bargain. Going by recommendations we ended up eating at U Sadlu a medieval themed restaurant specialising in Czech cuisine. The amount of food that we consumed was obscene. We sat in the dimly lit music saloon each staring out into space, we had all eaten too much. Despite being completely satiated we ordered desert and drifted into consumption comatose. Why do we do stupid things?


The next two hours was spent walking the streets of Prague.

Charles Bridge:


Astronomical Clock:


Old Town:


We had covered most of the key tourists attractions on this side of the river and with our Saturday night already planned we headed back to the apartment for some much needed rest.

The evening kicked off with a dinner reservation at Gordan Ramsey's Maze. Admittedly we were still full from lunch but found the food and service top notch.


The next Czech experience involved us being seated around the apartment coffee table as we each took turns burning sugar cubes into Absinthe. Feeling quite warm we headed back out into the cold to Karlovy Lazne. Left club just before 3 am and spent a substantial portion of the evening trying to retrace our steps to the KFC. We were preparing to go to sleep and with one last ditch effort tried to finish off the remaining Absinthe. Why do we do stupid things?


Sunday morning was a complete write off. In the afternoon we headed across St Charles Bridge and explored Prague Castle. It was a nice walk but the groups' energy level had been sapped. Unanimously we decided to once again return to the apartment for an afternoon nap. We checked out at 6 pm and made for the local KFC. We bought a bucket of chicken and another bucket of wicked wings and proceeded to gorge ourselves silly. Why do we do stupid things?


Prague rates as one of my laziest European trips. I can safely say that we spent more time in the apartment than on the streets of Prague. So here I am, typing up a recount of my last few days. I'm extremely tired, my back still hurts, I've put on the extra calories, I'm down £200 and admittedly, this doesn't phase me one bit.

"Worst snow in 18 years"

What appeared to be another typically overcast Sunday afternoon in London. Me sitting on my bed, TV in the background as I stare out the window, daydreaming, reflecting, sleeping with my eyes open. Steam billows from the adjacent restaurant as the sun sets over drab London. Snapping back into consciousness I notice a certain irregular consistency moving through the air. Initially it looks like dust and pollution being thrown about. Closer inspection reveals it to be flakes of snow drifting down from the sky. For the best part of 10 minutes I attempt to take photos of the falling snow from my bedroom window. This exercise in futility leaves me wanting and after many failed attempts I toss my camera aside and draw the curtains close.


Oddly enough it wasn't the sound of my alarm clock that broke my slumber but a strange luminance seeping from behind the curtain. Pulling the curtains apart revealed a picture of white. It was as if a kid had gotten his hands on his first snow globe and given it the shaking of a lifetime. Snow was bouncing off the glass and the dreary scene I was staring at yesterday afternoon had been transformed into a snowman utopia.


Wow, I thought as I stepped out of my apartment. Pavements, cars, roofs, streetlights and trees all covered in snow. The streets were deserted and there was little evidence of human passage on the footpaths. As my foot hit the ground I slipped and almost face planted. Epiphany number 1, leather shoes on ice makes for impractical walking. I trudged to the Tube Station and was shocked to find the platform ridiculously overcrowded. The sign indicated that the next train would be 20 minutes (Usually, trains run every 2 minutes). Epiphany number 2, snow cripples the public transport system.


Eventually getting to work over an hour late I was welcomed by an small cheer from an otherwise empty office. I survived the trek into work! Turns out 1 in 5 people weren't present at work, either working from home or just physically unable to make the commute. Tube lines were either part suspended or experiencing severe delays. The bus network had been suspended. Most shops and services closed before their regular closing hours.


Despite the chaos and blatant inconvenience I heard not a single complaint about the snow. There were complaints about the transport, about work, about closed shops but not one ill word was said about the snow. It was as if the city had become mesmerised. Within a flurry of powder and snowballs and snowmen it was a time to stop and reflect. Epiphany number 3, snow sucks.