London

A light rail system took me and my extremely heavy, awkward back pack through the East London docklands. A juxtaposition of ancient ware houses, to newly renovated lofts; traditional rows of tiny terraced London homes with neatly aligned terra cotta chimney pots on cobbled stoned streets, to housing projects of gross apartment buildings, grotty and scary looking, cement and graffiti clad, washing strewn from door to door and barbed wire enclosed playgrounds. The Thames river flowed to the left of the train tracks, warehouses ominously gracing its banks and barges afloat it's murky waters, carrying goodness knows what - but a living memory to a by-gone era when London was the industrial capital of the world. And finally, this description would not be complete without mentioning the pubs, dependably situated on street corners, adorned with hanging baskets flowing with flowers and wrought iron signs distinguishing each one with a fantastic name such as "The Artful Dodger" and "The Fox and Hound".

Switching from light rail to the London underground at Bank (home of the
bank of England?) station, things became more familiar and I made my connections with experienced ease, up and down the escalators and tunnels enjoying the talented buskers. I headed through central London and northeast, out to my childhood stomping grounds and felt very emotional as I passed through my local station and eventually alighted at Ruislip station, a place where I knew I could do my errands - and I had big list of things to do.

Walking down Ruislip high street with pack on my back was very strange. This was still my home away from home until last year when everything changed - when my dad died and my family home was sold. I had nowhere to go and I was a "traveller" here now. And I was about to experience what that felt like.

Ironic to think that I left here 22 years ago with the very same back pack to find adventure on another continent and now here I am returning home for an adventure.

Firstly, in order to feel a little more connected with the world, I had to charge my UK mobile phone. I went into a phone shop, bought extra minutes and left it there charging. I went into another phone shop to buy my data plan so I could use my Ipad remotely but I needed a bank account with a UK address - damn- but I did leave my back pack with them as I was beginning to buckle under the weight and surprising warmth of the unusually sunny day. Not to mention that I was feeling a little odd walking in a London suburb with this massive pack adorned with walking stick and tent and various other articles (spell checker just automatically filled in this word as "artichokes" so if there are some odd words in my blogs it is probably because i haven't proof read it sufficiently and the computer wrongly thought it could read my mind). Then I went into a shop called mail boxes to try and set up my complicated arrangement for mailing my RA meds that need to be kept cold. Didn't quite achieve this either but did manage to leave my meds in their fridge (as my ice gel pack had long since defrosted), give the wonderfully helpful guys there my blog and received a promise that they wound send my package out on Monday. Next I went into the grocery store called. "ice land" and deposited my gel pack amongst the frozen peas and pizzas.

Once I had succeeded in depositing my belongings along Ruislip high street, I went to the bank and had a panic attack - or nearly. It was hot in there with a long queue, all waiting for help from three very slow tellers. I was, by this time extremely tired, having been up hours and the 100 year old man hunched over next in line, with cane in hand was doing a better job of standing than me. It seemed that everyone In front of me just wanted to withdraw money, so why was it taking so bloody long? It's the UK banking system, so tightly controlled that you have to go to extreme measures to prove you are who you are. I heard one poor customer say, "but I have been in here every week for years withdrawing money and never had a problem before". The reply "I am sorry sir, but your must have had your hair cut and I don't recognize you anymore."

Finally it was my turn and I told my teller that I had some questions about my account. He said I had to make an appointment for questions and that wouldn't happen until Tuesday. That's when I had the near panic attack. I would be penniless until tuesday? The teller at the next window must have seen my look of horror and heard my moaning and fidgeting as I stood in line because she took pity on me. This lovely said she would answer my questions and personally help me. Therefore I got all my questions answered and my money sorted - yeh!! There is a god. But I hate British banks.

Wow, brill. Just passing right next to the Tamar bridge, built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. The border between Devon and Cornwall occurs in the middle of this bridge. I am on the train heading towards Lands End. But back to London because I am not finished yet....

So once my cell phone was somewhat charged, I could call my sister Jill. It was so wonderful to hear such a familiar voice and I instantly felt better. It had only been about 30 hours since I had left Salt Lake City but I it was plenty of time to question what in the hell I was doing. Sitting outside Costa coffee on Ruislip high street was one of those times and my ensuing exhaustion was making me feel very emotional. What was I to do next? Who should I call? Where was I staying tonight? Despite my fatigued brain I was beginning to realise that all of these questions were pointless. I was not in control of my destiny and like it or not, that was partly the intention of this trip. I was living in the moment, something I couldn't generally achieve in my "normal" life.

Without intention, I gathered my stuff together and starting walking towards my old "local", the "Case is Altered" pub. I had a few weeks ago emailed a a handful of friends to meet me there, the evening of my arrival. Being so disorganized before departure, I had not confirmed this with any of them and doubted that anyone would be there.





I sat in the corner of the busy pub and reminisced about past evenings spent in the pub when I was much younger. Last year we had come here after Dad's funeral and everyone had piled in, to drink to the memory of my Dad. To my surprise Karen suddenly appeared before me and any loneliness was instantly gone. Karen had driven up 2 hours from Portsmouth without even knowing that I would be there, an old school friend that I hadn't seen for over 15 years and I can't begin to tell you how happy I was to see her. The evening took off, with more friends arriving and it couldn't have been a more perfect start to my trip.







Everyone that showed at the pub agreed that my LEJOG idea was utterly ridiculous, especially when they tried to pick up my back pack, but they all said they would support me and I felt loved and did feel as though as I had come home. Thank you, thank you everyone for coming. You all mean so much to me :)

I didn't have to set up my tent on the cricket field opposite but instead spent the night in a real bed at the home of Karen's parents, Beryl and John Evans.

Best not to plan. All's well that ends well. Brilliant evening.

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