A London trip and the search for Joseph Conrad

On Saturday Susie and I had a leisurely morning in the apartment, tackling some household chores and just relaxing. By midafternoon we fhad inished packing our bags for London and around 3 p.m. left the apartment, walking to the no. 5 Metro at Oberkampf. Four stops later we got off at the Gare du Nord and found our way to the Eurostar check-in area.

Unlike the other trains going between France and the rest of the EU, the Eurostar trains require passengers to go through security, which means having your bags screened and then through passport control. Passengers also check-in automatically using the same style of machines the airlines do, which makes me wonder why the airlines can't allow us to check-in automatically there as well I know so they can look at our passports. Anyway, this process effectively eliminates the need for conductors on the train to check and stamp tickets. (photo above: Richard and Pauline at Whitstable, near the Thames estuary.)

And speaking of tickets: I purchased our tickets online through the US website, at a significant discount compared to the French train website, SNCF, or "snick-eff." (Not to be confused with the Paris mass transit system, RATP, or "rat-trap." Yes, yes of course we can all see the other phonetic as well.) Equally cool was I was able to retrieve the tickets from one of Eurostar's automated machines, thus eliminating the necessity of queueing.

We boarded on time and left the station on time, a little after 5 p.m. After we cleared the Paris suburbs the train got up to speed, somewhere around Mach 7, or at least it seemed that way. In fact the top speed (on the continent only) is a little under 190 mph. Anyway, the train headed north through the fertile French countryside and at Lille turned westward toward Calais. With little fanfare we disappeared under the English Channel and eventually resurfaced somewhere around Dover stopping only at Ashford before heading on into greater London.

The train pulled into Waterloo station right on time and Pauline and Richard were right there to meet us. (Beginning 14 November the Eurostars will arrive at the newly remodeled St. Pancras station.)

The four of us piled into their car and we headed off, wending our way through the northwest London streets, to their flat in West Hampstead. After settling in and having an aperitif the four of us walked a few blocks to a nearby restaurant, the "Little Bay" (Belize road). It was packed, mostly with young folks, and it was loud but the food was great, service outstanding and a very good value -- an important point, particularly for Americans today.

After a delicious meal and great conversation, catching up on all the news in the two years since we've been together, we strolled leisurely back to their flat.

Sunday opened up a bit overcast but soon turned into a gorgeous morning in "Olde London towne." The four of us had a leisurely breakfast -- and I had a fantastic cereal that consisted of small shredded wheat squares filled with blueberry jam! Fantastic! Richard made coffee and toast for everyone and we all chatted over the latest Guardian headlines. But soon the talk got round to the focus of the day: the search for the grave of Joseph Conrad in Canterbury cemetery, Canterbury, Kent county. (How odd, too, that Conrad is buried in Kent County, England, when my cemetery ramblings really did not begin until I moved to Kent County, Michigan.)

One the way Richard and Pauline took us on a tour of some of the highlights of London. We drove through Blackheath and stopped at the Royal Observatory at Greenwich. Here we not only got a spectacular view of greater London but also got to see the very center of time, so to speak: the meridian at Greenwich, in effect the lynchpin for everyone's time everywhere on the planet. Eerie to say the least.
Oh and also the spot where the statue of General Wolfe keeps an eye on London, the gift of the Canadian people.

Back to the car we headed off on A-2 toward southwest England: the cliffs of Dover, Canterbury tales and the final resting place of Joseph Conrad.

But first lunch!

Afetr driving on the A-2 to M-25 truncated by the A-1675q and then bisected by the square root of the M-56788145, we at last arrived in the lovely town of Canterbury.

Afetr circling much of the town in search of Fordwich and its attending Arms, where we were to have lunch, we found our way to food and drink. In fact, since Pauline and Richard seem to have had every map of the United Kingdom memorized, we weren't long in finding the tiny community of Fordwich, next to Sturrey, which itself is outside of Canterbury. After parking the car we walked into a delightful pub and restaurant where we were waited on by one of the friendliest and most naturally pleasant "barmaids" to be found in southern England I'm sure. (photos below: the Fordwich Arms on the left and England'ss smallest and oldest town hall on the right; the small stream that flows by the Fordwich Arms.)


We had a delicious meal: Richard and I both had roast beef and Yorkshire pudding washed down with Shepherd Neame ale, Susan had a delightful ravioli and Pauline had fish. We loved it. Afetr paying the bill -- necessary even herein polite England -- we strolled a bit by the tiny stream passing through Fordwich and chatted seriously about nothing at all. It was just good to be there, sharing a meal and a lovely day in England with friends.

Back in the car we soon found our way to Canterbury cemetery and after strolling for a few minutes among the pignant last words of so many people long gone, we came across a rather nice stone marker for one the finest writers to ever take up a pen and put ink to paper. (photo below: that's Joseph in the background.)

As some of you know quite a few years back I was obsessed with Conrad's work, and indeed consumed virtually everything he ever wrote and of course numerous sketches of his life as well. The obssession is gone, only to be replaced by a deep and profound feeling of thanks to a man whose writings and descriptions of the human condition has had such an overwhelming effect on me.

And here I was standing by his grave, with my wife and good friends. Thank you Richard and Pauline!

After paying our respects we strolled a bit more through the cemetery and then back to the car.

So the deicsion now had to be made: do we head into Canterbury center or do we go to the seashore instead? We concluded that since the city center looked quite busy as we passed around the city we opted for the sea instead.

So off we went in search of water, which we found not terribly far away in the lovely harbor town of Whitstable.

After parking the car the four of us strolled along the lovely boardwalk packed with like-minded folks, some of whom had obviously come to hear the Bob Dylan tribute performed by Fred Dylan at the Old Nepture pub, right on the beach. (Yes, Fred Dylan.)

Others of course had come to take in the sun and sample the various tasty treats being sold along the boardwalk. Richard even tested the water and found it quite warm. As the sun continued its descent in the west we too continued our journey back west.

From the carpark near the beach we set off to the A-2 and God-knows what other numbered roads we passed along before we eventually found our way back to West Hampstead. Pauline prepared delicious a meal at home, and we were joined for dinner by a friend of theirs, a Portuguese woman who has lived and worked in England for some forty years. The conversation and evening passed pleasantly on, and as we closed the chapter for the day I couldn't help but think how lucky I was -- indeed how lucky we are.

Wish you had been there,

Steve