Day 1 - London

Heartily, our one-man expedition set forth from base Victoria Station into the wilderness commonly known as "London". The air, at 50 degrees Fahrenheit, did not help relieve the density of the concrete jungle. The tribespeople of the area were, obviously, much more accustomed to this stifling balminess than one from more civilized climes could possibly acclimate oneself.

As I set out from base Victoria Station, I followed an initially very helpful sign indicating the direction toward Westminster Abbey (generally believed to be a center of worship), where I wandered the outside a bit before heading toward Big Ben (generally considered by most to be some manner of timekeeping device for tracking the sun and a center of worship) and Parliament (a meeting place of the numerous chieftains of the realm and a center of worship). Again, I wandered the outside of the building, stunned at the grandeur and nobility of this building. That these indigenous peoples could create something so remarkable without ever having invented the crane and derrick is beyond comprehension.

Incidentally, it is true that the peoples of this land had not invented either the backhoe or front-end loader when any of these buildings were erected. There has been much speculation as to how these buildings were erected and some of these centered around simple machines, horses and even men assembling these structures. While it seems to be an intriguing idea, its execution has proven nearly impossible. Every attempt to have a horse pull a four-story prefabricated stone wall into place has proven impossible, even with the use of a crowbar. The structures are even more impressive for that very reason. The building of this vast structure is made even more impressive considering that the building process, using such primitive methods, took, according to reasonable, educated estimates, 140,000 years.

From there I began wandering the streets further, hitting what I thought was Trafalgar Square, but probably wasn’t. This brings me to another of the more remarkable features of this culture. The primitives of this area have built a large and almost unseen work of abstraction the likes of which the modern artist has never dreamed to even begin to attempt. Imagine a network of small, postlike objects, widely scattered throughout their village. Tall and thin and most sparing of space, yet demanding the attention of all who pass. These magnificent sculptures can be found throughout the city in an almost random fashion. Each post holds aloft directional arrows and each arrow symbolizing the confusion of the spiritual journey of the wanderer. Each arrow carefully labeled with various tourist sites; however each arrow, upon closer inspection, proves to be nothing short of artistic brilliance. Each arrow pointing toward sides of buildings, locked gates, dead end alleys and policemen milling about. In fact, one can follow one sign showing the direction to a train station, only to realize the arrow is simply indicating the location to another sign for that train station, except that sign is pointing in the opposite direction. Truly remarkable that such savage, uncultured minds could create something of such relevance and beauty.

Back to the matter at hand, I crossed some park or another on toward Buckingham Palace.

This magnificent structure, even without the use of art deco, truly served to amaze. The dignified and stern guardsmen, in their proper ritual dress are armed with only the traditional weapons of their culture, known as "submachine guns". While no doubt deadly if used properly, it does not take much imagination to think of how useless they would be against nuclear weapons being thrown at the Palace.

From there, I headed back toward The Tube in order to meet up with our guide for the rest of our journey. The occasional artwork made the journey more confusing, as I could not tell the difference between the abstract conceptualizations and the actual signs, but suffice to say I did finally make it to Leiscester Square to meet with our guide, Adrienne, whom we had met and befriended back in Columbus, Ohio. Incidentally the name "Adrienne", in her native tongue, roughly into American as, "Hey baby, what are you doing later?"

Adrienne, while we were at dinner, was kind enough to introduce and guide me through the local customs of the region’s savages. For instance, in the U.S., the word "Szechwan" means a particularly spicy Chinese dish of some kind. In England, the word "Szechwan" translates to "food that is blander than a baked potato". Needless to say, I made this discovery at the first forkful of a meal I had been hoping to taste. On a side note, never order Szechwan from a British restaurant when it is the only Asian dish on the menu. Actually, that’s probably a good idea anyplace.

After Rob rendezvoused with our party (he and Troy had been travelling through Scotland in the days before I arrived), our guide was able to explain to us the cultural mores of the "English pub".

An English pub, from what I could tell, is generally designed for an easygoing, yet somewhat formal feel. The interior space is surprisingly well lit, presumably to help pierce the thick cloud of smoke hovering throughout the room and illuminate the generally classic feel about the décor. The music is at a level to be heard but still allow conversation. These things add up to a place with a friendly atmosphere in which the patrons can comfortably slam down the ceremonial 8 pints of beer before hitting the clubs. This ritual is designed to purge the soul of the demons of sobriety and self-control that can lead to not dancing.

About the same time we met up with Troy, his cousin Amy, who is studying in Glasgow, Scotland, and a girl named Denise, who is Australian but was working in Edinborough, Adrienne was forced to leave our company as she needed to return to her hut in the wilderness. However, the rest of us promptly went out to find a club that: a.) We could afford and b.) Would allow people in jeans to enter so that we could a.) Get pissed.

The rest of the evening was spent following our understood tasks. Troy’s job was to hit on a chick (Denise). Rob was to assist me in drinking beer. Some girl (Amy) was to almost completely ignore us altogether. I should add that we were all very successful at our assigned tasks. Furthermore, I did my usual impression of a "spider on fire" on a dance floor while loud techno and house music threatened to cave in our skulls.

We left the club upon its closing, got thoroughly lost, accidentally saw Piccadilly Circus and continued to wander the streets of a foreign country until we asked a very friendly and helpful lesbian couple how the hell to get back to our hotel. Upon learning that we missed the turn about a mile or two back, we arrived at base camp, allowing me to sleep in some hotel room that was miles away from mine, thus making me want to remove my contact lenses with a large caliber handgun the next morning.