Observations of a tube user

It's been 3 months of using the London Underground on an almost daily basis. Here follows an account of my experiences of the Tube.

Mommy says I shouldn't talk to strangers

...and mom was right. Not a word is said on the trains, for fear of actually getting to know your fellow tube-child. Passengers are typically working-class citizens, going hurredly on with their days, inconvenienced by the mandotry tuna-tin slugfest. Like production line robots, people rail into the train, sit down, and tilt their heads down so they don't ever have to see anyone else on the train. Granted, some take up reading or playing Sudoku, but most are zombies, not even butting their heads to the latest pop-crap playing through their iPods. When the train stops at each station, (which is efficient for the most part) the inhabitants earnestly press on the open button, in the same way you press harder on a remote control button if it's not working correctly. Is it hope that drives this action? Is it a sense of achievement when the doors open up, after your commanding press?

So many differnt shoes!

The trains are living, breathing, stinky musuems for all kinds of footwear. From the flat canvas shoe to the thousand-pound custom-made business uniform end-pieces. They say you can tell a person by what shoes they're wearing, but I wouldn't know. It's rude (and dangerous) to talk to strangers. Still, shoes pick up a lot of dirt in the tubes, so it's good to wear something practical and easy to clean.

Transport for sheep

Shoes are useful for discerning the various species of train-folk. The most dominant of which is the North Boardroom Suited Sheep. Wooden hooves, black legs, large black torso and enough gel and cologne to even scare away an Italian. They come in their droves, always trying to be busy (like checking their mulfunctioning mobile phone appendages) and clothed like they were born of a template. Flashes of colour are seen, but those individusals are strays. The image that comes to mind: Mandrill, with black fleece and an appetite for vegetation.

Sound interference

You would think with your headphones in place and iPod blaring away that you could actually drown out the screams and moans of the tube. (The aforementioned noises come not from the internals, but rather from the wheels on tracks.) At times the static-like noise is overwhelming, deliverying trepidation and uncertaintity to its cling-ons. Not even the rageful sonnet in a Disturbed song can counter-balance the noise within. Add fire, blatant humidity and 3 cups of evil-whoopass and I'm sure it would pass as hell.

...and yet, there is still hope.

In the cracks of this plane of hell, are little beings at work. Tiny shrews emerge from the gaps between the huge advertising posters, scurrying about with food on the mind. Playing amongst the tracks and always knowing in good time before the train arrives. These little rodents are not the only workers within the tubes. I've heard rumours of Underground Staff actually coming down out of their booths to the rails below.

If you smile a genuine one and not one of those "I like your shoes, wanna have sex?" kinda smiles, people respond with a similar gritting-my-teeth-beneath-my-cool-exterior kinda smiles. I admint, I haven't tried winking at someone just yet for fear of being gnawed to death by the hordes of ravenous sheep. Wait, this is about hope isn't it?

And let us not forget the feeling you get when the cold winds are forced down the tunnels, creating a movie-like hair waving effect on all the willows by the banks of this river. It's truly surreal, and cold.

Get from A to B, but please, don't take pictures!

When someone else pays homage to the diced-carrots slash liquor gods, laugh to yourself. Understand that you too could be making a complete arse of yourself if sufficiently inebriated. (Not that you would care at that stage) Not that you should care anyway, but when with sheep, you must flock, or flock off. The tube is a great uncaring, money-sapping monster. Swallowing time and basic human decency in its endless pursuit for the end of the line.

Sometimes words just aren't enough...

Of all the crap photos I've taken, the following get the point across.

This TV was amazing. 40" or whatever of plasma goodness. The decor in this hotel was quite modern, it made for a welcome change from the clinical and sometimes boring.

Come 5PM, the sun would cower away. A view out the window, Marble Arch is just off to the right. Taken with my little camera and the wind-sill as a make-shift tripod.

A nice surprise. Typically Lanky would be looking after my luggage, but house-keeping decided to plonk him slap-bam in the middle of my bed. A touch of intuition and fun, don'tcha think?

Bobbys on the beat outside. Life put on hold.

Today has been surreal. I wasted 2 hours, found my alter-ego and gained 4 hours back. Now I just have to wait before life can continue.

I tried to check out of the hotel this morning, bright and crisp at 9AM. A record for the month so far. 2 and half hours later, with a broken credit card and my optimist's tail between my legs, I finally managed to leave the hotel.

Work went OK. Then work got a lot better when I started chatting to someone who not only interests me to the core, but seems so similar. We must have chatted about everything and then some. So involved, but thoroughly enjoyable. And I ain't tellin' who it is! :)

7:30PM and it's time to get my bags and check into my new hotel, the Hilton London Paddington nogal. So I mission downstairs the way I usually do, open the front door and wham, then it hits me. The smell of fresh pig. Well, no such thing. Foul Pig. There's a bobby outside my work door, and he won't let me out! Apparently the whole street has been cordened off because of a suspicious vehicle and we're not allowed to leave the building till the police give us the go ahead.

So, like curious children, my 3 late colleagues and I went upstairs and peeked out over the balcony. The whole of Picadilly lane is closed off. Police tape everywhere.

I feel droopy from my intense hunger and exhausting day, exhausting both physically and emotionally. Well, exhausted emotionally in a good sense. I'm still thinking of the heart-to-heart-over-IP.

I've got an idea for a writing topic, watch this space. And no, my muse is not a femme drenched in lust, but rather justamuse.

G'night and g'luck and stuff.

Flying over france

What an atmospheric view! Clouds dotted below, like a silken-see-through-polka-dot-veil, pin pricks of light below.

England on my left, France on my right. An eery glow from the half-new moon sets the mood for the slow thoroughfare below and our speedy travel above.

Over France right now. The patterns of light below seem the same as on the stinky island, up here even brits and frogs are alike. (Lest they be told). On the British side, the lights by the channel are condensed and crowded, as if they were all fans pressed against a great fence, the stronger ones at the front holding back the poorer and weaker ones.

How uncomfortable being so poor or so late. All you can see are the shoulders and heads of those in front but not actually seeing. Like religious fools too late for the initial offerings.

France is light-less now, even the lights have gone to sleep at this early hour. 9PM, was it always early? Or is mankind and womankind setting their collective clocks later and later fuelled by the excitement and challenges laid out before us on a daily basis.

Passing

Her hand bumps into mine and mine into hers. We're passer-byes but the present allowed more time than usual. Strange things happen when it's meant to be. Her rich, brown hair spins out like a top as she turns around to see what her touch has alerted to. At first her eyes are scornful, lit by a fire of vigilante justice, she's out with the mob and the mob is hungry for blood.

Shielding eyebrows recede as reluctantly as they protected those eyes. She's looking straight at me, first with that hellfire, then with a look reserved for those chapters describing first contact, first sight.

"I'm sorry" she flirts. I know she's not sorry, but then again, I don't even know her.

The mob takes over and soon she fades ino the mess of colours and sounds. Inside I kick the dog, smash my guitar and curse the day I was made so helpless in the face of such opportunity.

Home

There's something to be said about a month away from your normal and routine-driven life. Spending 2 weeks with the feet up or not having to worry about doing the daily grind was a cleansing experience.

I put on 5 kilo's, caught a tan and opened my eyes. Now I'm struggling to remember.

Here's what I do remember though...

Home away from the house

Taking the bike down to Cape Town, in the back of the nDwagon turned out to be a good idea. One particular mountain biking trip came up trumps. Starting at the bottom of the Durbanville hills in a place called Magic Forest, we ascended amongst the vineyards. It was a tough climb, grinding in first gear. The weather was perfect for mountain biking, overcast with a slight breeze. I had to stop numerous times to get my breathe back, it had been ages since my last trip on the bike. The horizon unfolded infront of us as we reached the high-point, marked by a Trig Beacon. Getting off the bike and looking around was a totally surreal experience. The clouds were just high enough to see the expansive Kranseberg to the north-east, which we could see all the way from Franschoek to Gordon's bay in the South. Layers of saucer shaped clouds intersected the mountains, making them look larger than normal, as if their peaks prodded out from the clouds. We could clearly see Gordon's bay opening up before being obscured by another of the Durbanville Hills. Looking further to the right, we saw the top of Table Mountain jut out from the rolling hills, smothered in the table-cloth. The dull but streaked grey clouds above meant the colours came out more saturated, something that looked even better through the sunglasses. It was at about that time that I kicked myself for not bringing the camera. It's not everyday that the smog is in hiding and the clouds pay homage to the vista before you.

The trip back up to Jo'burg was very similar to the trip down. Only this time I spent the next morning on the north eastern side of Kimberley at the much nicer Road Lodge. That morning I woke up semi-early, had breakfast then went out on the mountain bike again. The Road Lodge overlooks a huge pan, which during certain times of the year is invaded by flocks of Flamingos. Taking the bike alongside the railway tracks in the blazing 10AM heat wasn't so fun, but being able to edge up to the water and see the Flamingos up close was worth every ounce of lost water. Returing to the hotel I was being circled by a Fish Eagle, its distinctive call breaking the monotony of the cicadas and finches. Bliss, and on a bike too.

Jo'bag, revisited

Being back in Jo'burg feels like I'm back in the same old routine. I don't like it. Friends make up for it though, it's been great to see the old buddies again. I think I've been spoilt by a great holiday in Cape Town and living in fancy hotels overseas.

Work here is proving more taxing than normal, mostly because of dealing with connection issues and work ethic.

Looks like I'm off to the UK for another work-related month, starting this Saturday. If I'm lucky, and my cards play as they should, I should be spending a week in Norway with my cousin Ingunn. Regardless, I'm just not in the right frame of mind this time for the UK. It feels like an empty or worthless chore this time, the novelty worn out just like a cheap lucky-packet prize loses it's appeal.

I want to say more, but now is just not the time. I want to escape. Anonymous and friendly comments keep me going. Thank you.

The following happened almost a month ago...

A belly full o' lovin'

I wish I could marry my mom. She puts so much effort into those around her, an effort often times that slips by unnoticed. She's that someone throwing the ball back over the wall or handing a lost wallet into lost and found.

Its been a slog of a few days, primarily due to my joburger sunburn getting me down. Here I am in the most beautiful city in South Africa, it's summer and I have to cower indoors like a vampire. The sunburn has taken 4 painful days to dissipate and now I'm peeling like I'm cold blooded. Sif.

10 days ago I left Joburg in my lonely car for Cape Town. It was a 2 day journey for me. I stopped off in Kimberley after the first 4-5 hours of driving. I had my bike packed in the car, so as soon as I was rooted in Kimberley, I got the bike out and took a sojourn through this odd capital of the Northern Cape. A brief cycle to the "Big Hole" was not only good fun but stirred many schoolhood memories of our trip to Kimberley.

As I cycled back to the porta-hotel or Hotel Formula 1, the heavens opened. How odd to be in the dry Northern Cape and experience the fury of a Joburg thunderstorm. That night Tom Robbins and I sat at a busy table and ate a rather mushy and disappointing burger. He told me of the story of perfume, but I was too distracted by the funny accents and children running through the restaurant.

Having a car with a decent stockade of fueled-power was a welcome ally on the lengthy Karoo trip. I was up early and eager to continue my journey. Queens of the Stone Age, Live, and a few other loud bands played, I sang along to keep myself occupied. The numerous trucks and idiotic caravan drivers kept me alert though, so before I knew it I was in Laingsberg where I met Andre and Theuns who had just left Cape Town 2 hours earlier. Was good to catch up.

Driving through the Hex River Valley and De Doorns on the Silver nDwagon was an experience I'll battle to forget. It's breathtakingly beautiful coming from the arid Karoo, stepping through the portal and being shown the awe and birth of the Berg with its green vineyard laden valley below.

A short trip after that and I was parked in front of my mom's new house in Vredekloof. I parked my ass down and 2 beers later I was in total relax mode. *sigh* I felt like I was home.

Questions

If you dream your available wife is pregnant but you're constantly thinking of someone else, someone more attractive, what does that say if your so single? So single. So single it hurts.

Like a stupid fucking stun gun that can't arc, one electrode gunning for it's missing partner. Pushing those electrons out into the nothingness in the awkward hope they'll find home, find their salvation, ascend. Even electrons have to be useful. What happens to electrons that are lost? Do they hold a charge? Or do they get locked up with the bums and strays of this life? Does the partner electrode actively seek these electrons or do the electrons find her?

The dumb flower with it's petals sown shut. The pollen inside busting to fulfill it's sole purpose. Sown so shut the bees can't fucking smell the prizes within.

The moronic tap that drips at night, the valve shot from too much pressure over too much time. It's purpose eroded. Shouldn't all taps just flow? Why do they need to hold back the surge of goodness within?

Open the tap, naive girl. I have a handle, use it. I'm built for one purpose, to fulfill you. "Je suis a toi."