Brian's Puddle-Jumping Adventures, Part Two: England
March 15 - 18: Manchester at Uncle Leo’s
This was the most relaxing and delightful part of the trip thus far. Uncle Leo picked me up at the airport and we went back to his house. I hadn’t been there for six years, so I had to reacquaint myself with the area and Leo’s kids. When I saw them last, Perrie and Jacob were 10 and Jasmine was 8. Now, Perrie and Jacob are 16 year olds going to trade school and spending all their time and money with their girlfriends, and Jasmine is…well, a 14 year old girl. That’s really all there is to say about that there.
Manchester City was one of the most prosperous cities in the British Empire until World War Two. It was one of the central producers of coal in Britain. After that, the city took a major downward swing, thanks in part to Margaret Thatcher, who apparently decided to just fuck over the entirety of the working class. So, for many years, Manchester was a hell, until in the 1990s when an IRA bomb went off in the city center. After that, the government began to pump money into the city and it’s been on a path to recovery.
If anything, the stay at Leo’s was relaxing. We saw the John Ryland Library, which is this huge motherfucker of a building in central Manchester that was once a school but is now part of the University of Manchester.
Frankly, there weren’t any real adventures in Manchester. The biggest thing was that we went to dinner at a restaurant called the Fairfield Arms and I got some delicious colcannon (for those of you who don’t know, that’s a mash-up of potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and ham). On Tuesday morning, we went to the bus station and I left for London, which is a tale for another time.
March 18 - 20: London at the Astor Kensington Hostel
Before I begin, let it be known: London is truly an Imperial city. Just walking down the street, it radiates an aura of total control and justified superiority. If you were to personify London it would be a Lord bedecked in the finest jewels of India and silks of Egypt. New York is a businessman, Dublin a well-to-do Irishman, Manchester a soot-covered coal miner. London, though, is exactly what you would expect from what was the seat of the most powerful Empire since Rome.
Keeping that in mind, though, I was not particularly impressed by London. It’s a huge city; its population is approaching 8 million and it sprawls for miles and miles in all directions from Westminster. But I had already seen things like that. After being in New York City, London seems much like more of the same theme. The city center, where it’s not dominated by the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, is almost indistinguishable from New York, except that everyone speaks with a British accent and drives on the left. There were parts of it that were interesting, to be sure, but in my opinion London did not live up to my expectations.
The hostel where I stayed was very nice though. It’s situated in Kensington, one of the more upper class areas of London, and it’s quite literally a hole in the wall kind of establishment. The front door is advertised by a simple block letter red-on-steel sign ASTOR KENSINGTON and it’s nestled between an Italian restaurant and a news stand. When you get inside, though, it’s actually a lovely little establishment. It’s connected to the neighboring buildings and its interior actually spreads over the restaurant and newsstand. The staff were a very nice group of Australians and New Zealanders who referred to themselves as “a bunch of Aussies and Kiwis that don’t wanna grow up.” Frankly, I can’t blame them.
The rooms were far nicer than I was expecting; fully carpeted and with actual beds instead of the army surplus-style bunks at other hostels. The beds were very comfortable and you didn’t even have to pick up your sheets and make your own bed. All in all, the accommodations were fantastic. The common room had a small library’s worth of donated and forgotten paperbacks (I read Day of the Jackal and got about two thirds of the way through while I was there) and the kitchen had a flat screen TV. All in all, very posh for the bohemian hobos that it housed.
My adventures in London are not my best. I got uproariously drunk with a group of Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans, and Estonians and ended up making out with one of the Estonian women. On the downside, I left my camera at the hostel which is total crap. I’m hoping I might get that back, but I’ve already accepted that it probably won’t happen.
Leaving London was the biggest hassle in the world. I had to take the Underground from South Kensington to Liverpool St., then I had to get the Stansted Express to the airport. On the plus side, I bought a liter and a half of rum for about $30 at the duty-free shop in the airport. It was sweet. The flight and subsequent bus ride to Limerick were uneventful. God help me, though, I actually missed Limerick. This place is…familiar. It’s like a second home. Besides the fact that I live here, I feel actually attached. The people, the city, it all feels right. Don’t worry, I’m not sticking around here all summer or anything, but I’m definitely coming back one day.
This was the most relaxing and delightful part of the trip thus far. Uncle Leo picked me up at the airport and we went back to his house. I hadn’t been there for six years, so I had to reacquaint myself with the area and Leo’s kids. When I saw them last, Perrie and Jacob were 10 and Jasmine was 8. Now, Perrie and Jacob are 16 year olds going to trade school and spending all their time and money with their girlfriends, and Jasmine is…well, a 14 year old girl. That’s really all there is to say about that there.
Manchester City was one of the most prosperous cities in the British Empire until World War Two. It was one of the central producers of coal in Britain. After that, the city took a major downward swing, thanks in part to Margaret Thatcher, who apparently decided to just fuck over the entirety of the working class. So, for many years, Manchester was a hell, until in the 1990s when an IRA bomb went off in the city center. After that, the government began to pump money into the city and it’s been on a path to recovery.
If anything, the stay at Leo’s was relaxing. We saw the John Ryland Library, which is this huge motherfucker of a building in central Manchester that was once a school but is now part of the University of Manchester.
Frankly, there weren’t any real adventures in Manchester. The biggest thing was that we went to dinner at a restaurant called the Fairfield Arms and I got some delicious colcannon (for those of you who don’t know, that’s a mash-up of potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and ham). On Tuesday morning, we went to the bus station and I left for London, which is a tale for another time.
March 18 - 20: London at the Astor Kensington Hostel
Before I begin, let it be known: London is truly an Imperial city. Just walking down the street, it radiates an aura of total control and justified superiority. If you were to personify London it would be a Lord bedecked in the finest jewels of India and silks of Egypt. New York is a businessman, Dublin a well-to-do Irishman, Manchester a soot-covered coal miner. London, though, is exactly what you would expect from what was the seat of the most powerful Empire since Rome.
Keeping that in mind, though, I was not particularly impressed by London. It’s a huge city; its population is approaching 8 million and it sprawls for miles and miles in all directions from Westminster. But I had already seen things like that. After being in New York City, London seems much like more of the same theme. The city center, where it’s not dominated by the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, is almost indistinguishable from New York, except that everyone speaks with a British accent and drives on the left. There were parts of it that were interesting, to be sure, but in my opinion London did not live up to my expectations.
The hostel where I stayed was very nice though. It’s situated in Kensington, one of the more upper class areas of London, and it’s quite literally a hole in the wall kind of establishment. The front door is advertised by a simple block letter red-on-steel sign ASTOR KENSINGTON and it’s nestled between an Italian restaurant and a news stand. When you get inside, though, it’s actually a lovely little establishment. It’s connected to the neighboring buildings and its interior actually spreads over the restaurant and newsstand. The staff were a very nice group of Australians and New Zealanders who referred to themselves as “a bunch of Aussies and Kiwis that don’t wanna grow up.” Frankly, I can’t blame them.
The rooms were far nicer than I was expecting; fully carpeted and with actual beds instead of the army surplus-style bunks at other hostels. The beds were very comfortable and you didn’t even have to pick up your sheets and make your own bed. All in all, the accommodations were fantastic. The common room had a small library’s worth of donated and forgotten paperbacks (I read Day of the Jackal and got about two thirds of the way through while I was there) and the kitchen had a flat screen TV. All in all, very posh for the bohemian hobos that it housed.
My adventures in London are not my best. I got uproariously drunk with a group of Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans, and Estonians and ended up making out with one of the Estonian women. On the downside, I left my camera at the hostel which is total crap. I’m hoping I might get that back, but I’ve already accepted that it probably won’t happen.
Leaving London was the biggest hassle in the world. I had to take the Underground from South Kensington to Liverpool St., then I had to get the Stansted Express to the airport. On the plus side, I bought a liter and a half of rum for about $30 at the duty-free shop in the airport. It was sweet. The flight and subsequent bus ride to Limerick were uneventful. God help me, though, I actually missed Limerick. This place is…familiar. It’s like a second home. Besides the fact that I live here, I feel actually attached. The people, the city, it all feels right. Don’t worry, I’m not sticking around here all summer or anything, but I’m definitely coming back one day.