Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Kew Gardens

Today, I went home. So to speak, perhaps to my spiritual home, Kew Gardens. It was a bit of a dreary day, and it even rained a bit - the first time since I arrived that the weather has not played along. So I spent more time in the glasshouses than out of doors. I'll leave my photos to tell the story.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Hyde Park, and feelings about a princess

Sunday dawned beautifully and I decided that Hyde Park was a better option than Kew Gardens in the good weather. And it was great to be there on a Sunday when so many Londeners were about. My pictures tell the story better than I can, but I am so far behind in sorting them, you will just have to wait.

I jumped off the tube at Picadilly Circus (and wondered what all the fuss was about), and walked down to Buckingham Palace. While I was here, and again later in Kensington Gardens, the penny dropped that this trip was in part for me a pilgrimage. I have never been much of a royalist, with the total exception of Princess Diana. She will always be my royalty, and I suppose I needed to come to Buckingham Palace to see where all the flowers were laid upon her death, and walk around Kensington Gardens. I'm sure I have more to do to remember her properly but today was a very good start.

I had wanted to take the palace tour, and wonder around the gardens, but I didn't have a ticket and the queue looked like I would be standing in it for an hour. Too long. I headed for Hyde Park, and spent the next 4 hours wondering all over, around the Serpentine, the fountains, the gardens, Royal Albert Hall, and back to Speaker's corner, which seemed to have become an Islamic debating point. In all, there were tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of people in the parks. It's the lung of London. Perhaps not enough from an environmental point of view, but surely from a people point of view, its somewhere they can go to 'breathe'.

Watford

On Saturday I took it easy in the morning, and in the afternoon, Gareth took me to watch Watford play. Sure, they are no longer in the top division, and the crowd was a mere 16-odd thousand, but I did enjoy the game and total parochialism from those in the crowd around me. Football is so much a part of British life and is fundamentally linked to the success and failure of the nation in many ways.

Update: The touch judge (or Assistant Referee) was Sian Massey. She was definitely someone you would notice. I did not know at the time how famous she was to become after being inadvertently caught up in the British Sky TV commentator scandal.

London is intoxicating

Julie-Anne had sent me, with her Oyster card, down the tube with instructions to jump off at Charring Cross. I duly did so, and simply followed the signs that said "Way out". Well, I wasn't prepared for popping out right at the foot of Nelson's Column in Trafalgar Square. I gave up holding back the tears. So many school lessons, so many family and friend's photographs, and all of a sudden I was there, and it was just as I had imagined. Although I knew the pigeons were long gone, they seemed to be missing. Here I was, in London.

Let me back track a little. On Thursday I left Worcester, somewhat less precisely organized than my trip to date. I had gone to visit the Cathedral in the morning, and walking back to Claire's flat I wasn't concentrating and walked right past it. After about 10 minutes I began to realize I had gone too far and backtracked till I found it. This meant I missed my train which impacted on my carefully planned route. Nevertheless I eventually arrived at Kensal Green Station and Gareth kindly picked me up. After I good night's rest and some advice from Claire and Julie-Anne I planned my day in London.

Once I found my bearings in Trafalgar Square and remembering that South Africa House was nearby I decided to hop on one of those hop-on-hop-off tour buses. It proved to be a good decision. I could hop on and off any of their city tour buses as often as I liked for the rest of the day as well as take a short cruise on the Thames.

Now I knew I did not have time to actually go into too many of the places I wanted to see, and as tickets are up to $18 to visit some of these places it wasn't worth it if you only had half an hour to spare. So I "did" the city, stopping at Houses of Parliament, St Paul's, the Tate Modern, walked over Tower Bridge, London Tower, St Katherine's docks, the new Globe theatre, London Eye, Westminster Abbey, and Marble Arch. I also cruised the river from Tower Bridge up to Westminster. I then finally left the bus at Marylebone, and walked back down Baker St, along Oxford street stopping and shopping and Marks and Spencers, Selfridges, and a few lessor name shoppes. I finally had a drink in a city pub before climbing back in the tram at Oxford Circus and zooting back to Kensal Green.

I think Tower Bridge was the best thing for me. It epitomizes London for me. I also like St Paul's, Big Ben, and the river. It looked dirtier than the Manawatu.

I felt like I was somewhere between a Monopoly board game and the lyrics of so many famous songs.

I was impressed with London, the masses of people, all with money to spend. Everywhere I went there were tourists, far more than locals. I have never heard so many foreign languages spoken, most of them from the middle east and eastern Europe.

People say that London is expensive, but that sits OK if you live there you earn a lot. And recently in New Zealand the media has been comparing prices and saying that goods in New Zealand are as expensive as places like London, but our incomes are lower. Well I peered in many real estate and employment agency windows, and quickly came to the conclusion that the average kiwi is earning more and paying less than the average Londoner. Salaries for low end professionals are quite low, and housing prices are exorbitant, even more than Auckland. iPad developers are being paid up to #400 per day however. I like it when I make a good call.

I feel I have experienced so much and being able to describe so little. But If I don't blog short and sweet, you will never get to read anything while you wait for my perfect articulation.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Worcester Cathedral

I have always loved church buildings. But I have never been in one quite as dramatic as Worcester Cathedral. There has been a cathedral on that site for 14 centuries, and parts of the existing building are about 10 centuries old.

The first thing that strikes you when you suddenly arrive at it on the edge of the village is its sheer size. It's hard to photograph it all from the outside even with a wide angle lens, because of the surrounding trees. I walked around admiring the weathered stonework and the sheer size and grandeur of it. This however, did not prepare me for what I was to see and feel inside.

On entry you are accosted by a staff member, who tells you entry is fee, but that they would really like a donation (the sign says $5 is needed), and that if you want to take photographs you should pay another $3. I knew it would be difficult to take pictures inside. I wasn't going to be so crass as to use a flash, and with all the light coming into the windows would create bright spots in the pictures but not really light up the inside enough. I don't yet know enough about my camera controls to compensate for this. Nevertheless I did want to take some pictures, to help me remember the grandeur, beauty and essence of the place.

It's full of dead bodies, and some alive ones as well. A couple of kings, knights, and bishops are buried around the edges, and of course down in the crypt. There are lots of little alcoves and chapels off the main areas. It's at once sombre and awe-inspiring. Where is God in all of this? It's hard to tell, and I certainly felt very conflicted wondering what God thinks of our magnificent stone monuments.

I suspect I will see bigger, more spectacular cathedrals than this one, but it certainly left an impression on me. I was about to say it is the jewel in Worcester's crown, but perhaps it is just Worcester's jewel.

The Cotswolds and Blenheim Palace

After a short discussion about what we should do yesterday (Claire had taken the day off work), I said I wanted to see the Cotswolds, and Claire persuaded me that Blenheim Palace was the best palace to visit in the country. I can't say I even remember hearing about its existence, but was happy to take her word for it.

We whizzed throughout the Cotswolds and I took most of my photos through the car window. Claire knew how far we had to go, and had opted to take me along the routes she regularly cycled as they were quiet and scenic, but not the shortest. We happened upon an old estate house which is now a hotel. It's name escapes me, but rumour has it that Hitler had identified it as his residence once he had invaded England. We did a drive by photo shoot, and it was indeed fit for a Fuhrer. Thank goodness for Sir Winston, and everyone else of course. The irony of course is that Blenheim Palace was the birthplace of Winston Churchill. His uncle was the Duke of Marlborough, and WInston grew up in the most amazing surrounds, both in terms of beauty and history. He had an acute awareness of the previous 1000 years of history in the area where he was born and this must have certainly given him a sense of purpose and destiny so evident in his leadership. I cannot think of a more compelling example of why the study and understanding of history is so important.

The grounds are truly amazing. I have never seen such a big lawn, nor such a big garden pond! It would have been better to be there in spring or autumn. The leaves were just starting to turn, and I felt like staying around for a few more weeks. There were some lovely roses in the rose garden and I captured a picture of the most perfect Peace rose I have ever seen.

Inside the palace was spectacular. The palace is built out of yellow sandstone, which has not stood up well to the weather. However it has not degraded inside. The wall murals are up to 300 years old and still in pretty good shape. The rooms are filled with hugh portraits, one I estimated to be 5 by 7 metres - that's quite a lot of painting to have to do!

We went on the 40 minute upstairs tour which chronicles the lives and stories of 11 Dukes (or Duchesses) of Marlborough. It started fairly dramatically with a scene that depicted the first Duke, John, getting caught red handed by the King with the King's mistress. Nevertheless, he survived to win a crucial battle and earn the gratitude which lead to the building of the palace.

Worcester

I arrived in Worcester on Tuesday afternoon after deciding to spend an extra day in Edinburgh. I "trained" down though Birmingham, and then missed the first connecting train out as I was sitting idly by at the station at which I had arrived. I did not know I had to change stations until I noticed my departure train was not coming up on the electronic departure boards, so I had to up my 30kg of goods and hot-foot it down to Moor St station.

Claire met me at Worcester Forsgate Station, and after some muddle we found each other. We both thought I had got off at the wrong station (Shrub Hill), but I hadn't. It was a day for station confusion.

First things first, we went for a run along the canal. She had to stop and walk with me several times - I became somewhat weak and light-headed. Quite clearly I was dehydrated and hypoglycemic after not enough rest, food and drink. When we got back to her flat I made short work of the ginger ale and orange juice in her fridge. Claire then cooked me a huge steak, and we polished off a bottle of red wine reminiscing until about 1.30 am.

I did not sleep much that night, being a regular insomniac which made the next day a bit harder. But I did like our drive through the Cotswolds and the visit to Blenheim Palace. After a beer at a 1000 year old pub she insisted that she cook me dinner again so I could save my pounds for London.

The conversation this time centered around life in South Africa. She told me about "pockets of excellence" juxtaposed upon a difficult, expensive and dangerous life. She told me of a number of mutual friends and acquaintances that had been murdered, raped and seriously attacked. Some those, well those that were still alive, chose not to leave, and seem to accept that that is how life is. Claire herself was threatened at gunpoint on one occasion as well. This takes me back to answering the question I am so often asked "did you regret leaving?". As always, the answer is "I do not regret leaving, I only regret that I had to leave".

It was lovely to see Claire again after some 18 years. And I think when I did see back then we did not have time to talk and catch up. Our lives went separate ways about 20 years ago when I left good ol' Maritzburg. I hope I see her again before another 20 years are up. Thank you my friend for your wonderful hospitality.

So after a morning visiting Worcester Cathedral, and wondering around the village, I have climbed back on the train, and write this headed for Paddington Station. I've discovered you don't see much from the train, but I am pleased to be heading through Reading and Bath. I didn't use my last day pass for this trip preferring to pay cash, in order to keep it available for one of my four days in the London area. The big question I am wondering about now is "will I see a bear at the station?"

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Duathlon World Champs Race Report

My race was tough. Everything had gone according to plan over the last week, although I was a bit tired from traveling, and I knew what to expect. I had been over the course, and was well aware of the hills we had to go up five times on the bike and three times on the run.

My race was at 2pm and I met up with Murray just outside our residence at 12 noon so we could ride down together. We needed to be there in plenty of time in case we had to sort out any issues, but not so early was to exhaust ourselves sitting around. We were to race with the 50-54 year olds as well.

Check in went smoothly, and we hung around warming up and making sure we were getting enough fluids and also an understanding of how transition worked - it changed every few races to accommodate the "moving" bike racks.

At 2pm we took off - well everyone else did! The pace was hectic, and it was more than enough for me. The reality of my last nine weeks came home to me. Let me recap.

* I had been in fabulous shape, worried that I was doing to much and that "something was going to go wrong" about nine weeks out. At this point I picked up a mild cold, but wasn't worried and took a few days off and kept it easy for another week.
* Then in the third club duathlon of the season an orange safety road cone jumped out and attacked me (OK, so I wasn't looking where I was going, being more concerned on a safe merge with the traffic ahead at an intersection). I fell hard, but nothing was broken, and apart from the bruising I had a pulled abductor which kept me out for a week.
* Stupidly, I then raced in the abductor which put me out for another week.
* Thereafter a bunch of small things started to accumulate - none of them serious but all keeping me out of training for 2-5 days each - a strained lower back, a pulled hamstring, a sore knee, and an aching shoulder, the last two keeping me awake at night. These things were most likely a direct result of the accident.
* Add to this shin splints and an inflamed achilles because I was doing intervals in the track in an effort to make up lost ground - possibly counter-productive.

So I finished the run about two places from the back of the field and already one lap down to the top few guys. It got worse on the bike as most of the field lapped me, and I only made up a few places. I'm just not used to this pace after so many years of ironman training and 'racing'.

The second run hurt, but I could not walk, and my speed was reduced to over 5 minute kilometers by the end of it. I finished second to last in my age group, and some 10 minutes slower than I had hoped on that course. Nevertheless I was pleased with my effort under the circumstances and I feel I went well. However I shan't be back until I can manage 4 minute kilometers on the run without going into the 'red-zone'.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Race morning

Well it's dawned fine and glorious. I had a good nights sleep, for me anyway :). The racing would have already started for some of the team, and while I have become quite friendly with some of them I won't be going down to watch. Racing starts at about 8am and goes through to the last start at 3.30pm. I start at 2pm.

We have to present a minimum of one hour before our start time, so just after 12 noon, I am meeting Murray at the door and we will roll on down to the start, and maybe catch some of the action of the previous race. The batches seem to be a couple of hundred strong, so there shouldn't be too much drama with queues and waiting. We will have to wait to last finisher of the 3.30pm race is in before we can clear our bikes and head back.

So until then, I will be eating a leisurely breakfast, putting my feet up and maybe catching up on some earlier blog posts still waiting to be written.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Parade of nations

This was a lot of fun.

The athlete's village

I arrived on Wednesday afternoon, on the train after Sandra had dropped me off at Falkirk. My bike was already assembled so I had to squash into the door area. Arriving at Edinburgh was an experience. My map showed me I had 1.3 miles to walk - not a problem. However the station is about 200 feet below street level. That's a lot of stairs to climb with a bike and two bags! Then once up there I had to negotiate the busy sidewalks, which I can tell you are not very wide.

Anyway, thanks again to the wonders of GPS (and a spare battery) I found my accommodation just in time for a quick shower and the regular 5.30pm team meeting. By 9pm I was out so sleepy I turned in for the night.

Yesterday we had registration, which went without a hitch or a delay. There is an issue with the NZ team uniforms - the letters on the back are the wrong size. Normally this will prevent one from racing (it has happened before where a whole team has been disqualified). I understand though that we have been given special dispensation.

In the afternoon I rode over the course. It wasn't quite as daunting as it looked on the map, or from the athlete's village. This mini-mountain looms above us, with the road way up high. And we have to ascend it five times on the bike for a total of 750 yards of vertical climbing in 25.7 miles. I had to ride the main descent the wrong way - its a single lane, and the normal flow of traffic is up. On race day its down, and I suppose is the riskiest part of the course. There is an open training session at 5pm tonight, but by then its rest time for me, and besides there will be thousands of cyclists out there and there are bound to be a few prangs.

Then last night we had the carbo dinner. Its not so much of a formal dinner as a walk through buffet. There are a couple of thousand athletes so obviously they have to accommodate everyone somehow.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

35 miles of Scottish country lanes

Sandra piled my bike and me into her car, and she took me a short way to meet Drew, my cycle tour guide for the day. Drew is an interesting character, he refers to Scotland as a country, and has all the local towns and cities ranked in a priority order. He has travelled the world and is as tough as nails.

I saw he was much more warmly dressed than I, and this worried me somewhat. However it was a glorious day and we headed out for a couple of hours. We had a great ride along tiny country lanes, and undulating byways. I shall not complain about the state of New Zealand's roads anymore.

After a little while Drew said he needed a "wee stop". Being in Scotland I thought that meant he needed a little rest. I was wrong, what he had was a wee stop. I hung behind him for the first half hour or so as we were turning every few hundred yards. Then he said to me, we had 10 miles of road before a T-junction, I could have my head, and so away I went. I had to wait for him a few times, but afterwards he said he was pleased to have someone else do the work for a change.

After a very pleasant two and a half hours Drew left me at a corner with directions about how to get back to Sandra's place. Thank goodness for the wonders of GPS.

It was wonderful having someone take me out - if I had gone on my own I wouldn't have found those delightful routes, and would have spent half my time looking at my map wondering where in Scotland I was.

As for my fitness, well generally it leaves a lot to be desired, but I was very pleased with the state of my legs. My heart and lungs were not so happy, as I was huffing and puffing the whole way, but it was good to power up the hills into the wind with a few gears to spare.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Loch Lomond

The plan for the day was to visit Loch Lomond, less than an hours drive from Paisley. Sandra, Cassie (the exuberant Alsatian) and I arrived at the Southern end (I think) of the Loch. Its quite commercial here, with restaurants, fun fairs and a visitor centre. It was Bank holiday in England so many of them had presumably come over the border.

The loch separates the highlands from the lowlands and thus the Gaels from the Scots, and it is situated on a huge fault line. God does have a sense of humour. After a while of walking around this area and enticing Cassie into the water for a few fetch swims we headed for less populated areas.

On the way we stopped for a lovely lunch and then back into the car where we found some peaceful shores, and plenty of photo opportunities. Of course all the while we were catching up on nearly 30 missed years.