O ello there, four pints of lager please luv…
Abbey Road… this crossing gets a hammering by tourists.
We never really thought we would be so excited by those white cliffs of Dover; the mother country. The Queen’s language. (Although the Frogs don’t think we speak it). England! France however had one more go at us. (We think mixing Foie Gras with Coke must’ve angered the food gods). Although back in our Anglo-Saxon community, our prized organisational ability was foiled by the French ferry company landing us at Dover over an hour late. This minor tardiness then snowballed as it meant we missed a connecting bus and train, arriving in London just in time to run to the last tube. Slow and tedious railways in a country where 90% of the workforce don’t work for the railways. We were missing the French SNCF already!
A comforting sight after 5 weeks on the road struggling with our induction to become honorary Frogs… The white cliffs of Dover.
Staying in separate places around London, we met up with the frogs for a pub lunch and a real English ale the next day. They arrived, heads down, a bit sheepish, suspicious of exactly what this English fare might bring. Climbing into the dark, wood trimmed, velvet curtained, beer soaked carpeted lounge of a downtown pub, we ordered a flat, room temperature pint and an ale pie. Meanwhile the frogs checked out the condiments with apprehension- French AND English mustard?? What did this mean? HP sauce? YUK! Does this actually improve the taste!? After a blind taste test the frogs actually picked the English mustard as their preferred option over the ‘French’ stuff. (We think the HP sauce we slipped into the test had their tastebuds a little disorientated). “The English stuff tastes more like the real French mustard” Yea right, and the Queen supports West Ham. We dived into our pile of gravy, meat, pastry, mushy peas and mashed potatoes, happy to be eating English food again, but knowing we were definitely blowing our Weight Watches points for the day.
The next afternoon the Frogs joined us for a popular summer pastime for London’s young professionals… softball in Regents Park. The boys took to it like a foie gras goose takes to grain and were soon swinging with as much vigour as used to actually force-feed the poor birds. These boys could be turned to embrace mother England yet!
On Saturday we headed for the infamous Camden Market for a bit of culture. The vast mix of punk and rock attire donned on a London’s young population is an experience for even the most worldly of eyes. So after some good ethnic food, something we Kiwis had missed enormously in France, we headed into the depths of the shops to see what Camden had to offer. After a little while we all converged on the pounding music leaking from the black light drenched dungeons of Cyber Dog, the techno junkies’ personal tailor. We’re telling you, glow sticks are for amateurs! These guys will stock you up for your next full moon party with things from mechanical bodily attachments to fluro clothing complete with stitched in digital screens! Not even Benji’s sweet tooth was uncatered for. He emerged with an astronaut ice-cream biscuit. A dehydrated treat that was more sweet chalk than anything like our favoured creamy desert… but when you’re in space (or when you’re just really really high) you can’t be too picky!
Punk fashion still alive and kicking at Camden Market.
After that little experience there is only one thing to do on a Saturday evening in any Queen loving, law abiding London borough… to the Pub Batman! (…ooohhh I think that unworldly ice-cream may have gone to our heads)
The act of drinking beer on the pavement outside an English pub must be older than time itself and was another notch in the Frog’s belt in their enduring pilgrimage towards experiencing life as a real toff. After numerous jars of cloudy local brew at The Cock it was rest time and we all wandered home wondering how much of a good idea this English pastime would feel like in the morning. A good ‘ole creamy, spicy, English Tikka Masala on the way home completed the ‘real’ English pub culture lesson.
With one more appointment before we left ye ‘ol England we all meet at the Iranian Embassy to collect our visas. Seeing our pictures next to our names written in Arabic on a visa for the Islamic Republic of Iran is something I don’t think any of us ever thought we’d see, especially Mark, the little Jewish boy. But along side any anxiety is an even stronger curiosity and interest in this uncommonly travelled part of the world.
So after a week of rest and copious amounts of English gastronomy we were ready to hit the road again and head into the real wilderness of our trip. With Eastern Europe ahead of us, it would be the first real time both the Frogs and we Kiwis will be outside of our home comforts and diving head first into the cultures of the rest of the world.
So with our passports primed we headed for Gatwick where our trip really starts. It hasn’t been easy so far, but from now on it just gets harder country wise. Thank god it gets cheaper from here. Beers at 9.50 euro in Paris, and Australia’s most popular export beer Fosters (we know why its exported) at 3.50 pounds, make you want to keep drinking just to forget how much you paid. Today we see how the eastern block is doing since the commies, through Turkey and into the ‘Axis of Evil’, Iran. Sorry Frogs- no ‘Apero’ there.
Whoo hooo you made it!!!! LOL.