Winging It

I have to confess at the start: I haven’t ridden my bike in about a week. But there’s no need to panic. It’s the result of compact city centers dense with culture that have allowed me to wander by foot through their fascinating streets. In fact, walking proved to be the best way to see Liverpool and is shaping up the same way in Edinburgh.

Since departing Oli’s house outside of Reading two weeks ago, I have thrown most of my England-based plans to the wind, moving on a whim with as little as a few hours’ notice. Consequently, I’ve had to cut Ireland out of my plans altogether; I know I’ll need a lot of time to fully appreciate the country and all it has to offer, so I’m just waiting for my opportunity to do it right. The bright side of “missing out” (for lack of a better phrase) on one place is that I discovered an entirely new destination whose immense value I had not anticipated.

In case my effusive review of Bluecoat didn’t imply it, I fell in love with Liverpool. The bounty of music, food and friendly denizens kept me engaged for my entire stay. There is a certain energy about the city that drew me to it. It’s gritty yet welcoming, bustling but calm. The city center is incredibly walkable, allowing me to leave my bike at the hostel the whole time. Despite being relatively compact, it seemed like it would be very difficult to run out of discoveries and interests.

Philharmonic Pub. Inside, the bathrooms are a tourist attraction. I refrained from photographing men peeing. Great meal before seeing the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic

Church bombed out during WWII

One day it was open to tours. There was eerie cello music playing from inside to attract visitors. Mighty creepy.

Docks after rain 

Bluecoat

As a result, I never took breakfast at my hostel, choosing instead to explore the thriving culinary scene. I befriended an ultra sociable staff at a cafe with soul-satisfying treats, and they pointed me in all the right directions. From there I explored two massive cathedrals where I listened to choral practices and ascended to the top of a 330 foot tower (terrifying and exhilarating). The museums were brilliant and, as I mentioned before, the arts scene is profound. I wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that Liverpool was the “European Capital of Culture” in 2008.

Catholic Cathedral

Anglican Cathedral: ~330ft tower

I hate heights, but the view is worth it

Upon arriving, I had no idea where my next destination would be. Ireland was still in the cards, even. From there, I probably could have cycled to Newcastle, where I need to arrive next week. But a quick chat with my Canadian friend from London convinced me to hop a train to Edinburgh. I decided, especially with my conclusion on Ireland, that it would be a great idea to get a taste of Scotland. Thus, on Monday morning I secured the last affordable train ride north for that evening.

While I waited I hung out in the Central Library's nifty 19th century reading room

Arriving in Edinburgh by train at night is a real treat. As I emerged from the station, my first view of the city was its trademark castle, dominating the skyline with a beautiful purple under lighting. Subsequent strolls (the ideal experience here) further revealed the city’s beauty, both in daylight and dark.

View from Arthur's Seat

In the spirit of adventure, I learned about Scotch Whisky (fun fact: there is no E in Scotch Whisky, but there is in the Irish and American versions) and even found a type that I could enjoy. Especially exciting to me, I tried and enjoyed haggis. The lead up to its ingestion was unnecessarily nerve wracking, for I could only think about the fact that it’s sheep innards. As soon as I tasted and stomached the first bite, though, I was glad I tried it. On that note, I don’t feel like I need to have it again.

Got to see the world's largest collection of Scotch Whisky

While I know sticking to a plan would have undoubtedly been a fabulous experience, I have truly felt in my element pursuing a path spontaneously and impulsively. There is a certain thrill to stumbling upon great sights without expecting them, even if they’re tourism mainstays. To me, it’s far more rewarding and primes me to bask in the glory of the journey, encountering the world as I go.

This is why I hesitated to use the phrase “missing out” earlier in the post. One can only view it as such if they only consider their destination, checking the boxes as they go. Taking the trip one step at a time, however, means that I’m never missing out, since I’m taking in wherever I happen to be as much as possible.

It’s certainly not for everyone, but traveling this way has proven to be even more fulfilling than I had anticipated.

Art for All

Since leaving Indonesia, I’ve thought a lot about the concept of community arts centers. What interested me there was how they exist to preserve and promote traditional art forms, such as gamelan and ludruk (in Surabaya, at least). In particular, though, is the fact that these institutions are highly accessible to most of the population. This contrasts with the more prominent arts groups in the States (ballets, orchestras, etc.), which seem to have a relatively high threshold for participation, either regarding socioeconomics or capacity.

I’m not knocking these institutions; I think they’re equally wonderful and valuable, but somewhat inaccessible.

Consequently, I’ve pondered how one can make art, and intellectual collaboration in general, more open to the community at large. I was thrilled, then, to discover the Bluecoat center here in Liverpool. As it describes itself, it is the city’s creative hub, opening itself up to the populace in mostly free, (or sometimes low cost) programming and exhibition.

The Bluecoat provides an opportunity for aspiring artists to find a foothold in the city, for hobbyists to develop their skills and for people to generally come together. Arts and engagement are essential to a community’s health. Building off of the ideals of the Speakers’ Corner, creating a space that brings minds together fosters progress and wellbeing. Essential to this success is openness to everybody who is interested, as well as stoking such involvement.

My fascination with Bluecoat comes from this “come one, come all” mentality. They’ve posted versions of the philosophy throughout the spaces, beginning right at the entrance.

Create, Grow, Connect, Relax, Join In, Explore, Inspire, Shop, Play, Eat, Discover, View, Think, Be

It even extends to their operation throughout the city. What they do not directly run, they cooperate with seemingly every other organization in Liverpool. I couldn’t help but pick up dozens of flyers for events that I would never be able to keep up with. Bluecoat connects residents and visitors with performances, exhibitions, workshops and meetings ranging from musical to visual and even philosophical (my favorite, which I unfortunately missed, was the Philosophy in Pubs group).

Encouraging people to gather in so many forms with such openness, like in the Speakers’ Corner, is a pillar of a thriving community. Wandering around for a day, as well as attending a “How to Tell a Story” workshop (I don’t think I got better), was wonderfully insightful. It showed me that it is possible to build up inclusive and connected institutions such as this. More importantly, it showed the power such spaces can have on fostering a prolific and communal scene, preserving classics and advancing them simultaneously. The key, though, is that it benefits everybody, therefore supporting a culture and ensuring its longevity.

Check it out!

It's also in the city center's oldest building

After writing this, I came across a photo space named the Open Eye Gallery. I chatted with the deputy director, who also works at Bluecoat. She expressed great pride in Liverpool’s art scene and how its openness has led to something exciting around almost every corner.

And to the Open Eye.

100 Hours of Solitude

As many of you might imagine, I am an avid reader of travel stories. Especially once I had focused on making my trip by bike, I picked out an increasing number of articles related to such journeys. A recurring theme within them is how much time cyclists have in their heads, a potentially treacherous domain.

Before I left the States, I was fully aware that I’d be alone a lot. I was even excited at the idea; solitude refreshes me from time to time. During my ride from London to wherever Oli found me near his village, I got plenty of thinking in, but then spent three days with him and his family, giving me a direct outlet for my thoughts, as well as distracting me from them.

Mostly with other ideas, like: maybe I should apply to Oxford...

...because apparently anything is possible here

Once I set off on Friday, though, I was on my own. I departed, excited to see the countless abbeys, castles and landscapes that rural England has on offer. My halfway point was Reading, which I reached with relative ease. Then I somehow circled the city for about three hours. It remains a mystery how this has happened to me so frequently, since I consider myself a pretty decent navigator. I’m beginning to suspect a cartographic conspiracy.

At this point, all that flooded my mind was how immensely frustrating it is to find my way around this country, no matter the locale. Realizing how this would set me back in my plans, I must admit I cheated and hopped a train to Bath. I found a hostel for one night, but found social interaction difficult as an incredibly creepy man from California ruined all forms of conversation with other guests.

Following that night, I was forced into finding a bed and breakfast, as all affordable hostel beds in the city were booked for Saturday night. I stayed in Bath for two more nights, deeply enjoying the sites, weather and food. It also gave me a good opportunity to collect myself and do much needed laundry.

Every seventh day, I'm ensuring my accommodation has a hair dryer, just in case

On Monday, I missed out on St Patrick’s day but experienced exactly what I’d been anticipating: a picture perfect ride through the English countryside.

My luck with weather so far has been phenomenal, only seeing rain during my two hour ride yesterday. However, winter is about to return, so today I fled to Liverpool from the countryside and the solitude it invites.

With hours, or even days, of almost unbroken self-reflection, emotions seem to undulate even more frequently and sharply than the hills that I recently conquered. I have chatted with plenty of lovely people, and even ended up sitting next to a floor mate from freshman year of university on the train. However, I have spent the vast majority of my time alone with myself.

As a result, I lost confidence almost entirely in myself in Reading and experienced great triumph from my hilly and rainy Cotswold rides. I’ve questioned my purpose for this trip and reaffirmed it dozens of times. I even doubted the entire concept of travel for a few perilous moments, though fixed that with a hefty pub lunch. 

It’s been a strange adventure to reach such extremes through such brief periods. Admittedly, hunger and fatigue heavily temper the negative ones which dissipate quickly with meals and naps. However, it has still taken me off guard just how little I understood about solitude before experiencing it. I’ve always had a home base to work from and, more importantly, other people with whom I could directly experience and share an event. 

This new style of travel has taken some major adjustments, most significantly of which is understanding the difference between solitude and loneliness. While I do think I would prefer to travel with a partner, I am becoming more comfortable with myself and my own thoughts. Many people avoid this territory, as it can be pretty scary. However, as this teaches me to actually be with myself, I’m learning how valuable our untapped minds can be. I don’t know exactly where my path will lead me, physically or mentally, but I think this past week has opened up some new tools to really take advantage of whatever may come.

Here are some shots of Bath that I couldn't work into the post but want to share anyway:

Speak Up

As cynical as I may have become of politics, they still fascinate me and I thoroughly enjoy studying them. Of course, one of my main hopes in London had been to watch a session of Parliament and compare it to what I’ve experienced at US Congressional hearings. Sadly, I did not have the opportunity to watch. However, one of my London buddies did lead me to an equally interesting alternative.

At the northwest corner of Hyde Park is the “Speakers’ Corner”. It’s not obscure, and many people probably already know about it. However, I still feel it’s necessary to highlight it because of what it represents: a place to open up face-to-face discussion about anything.

In some ways, it’s like a computer-less blogosphere. A lot of people shouted extreme views and hecklers retorted with equal polarity. However, through the noise there were also true conversations that anybody could participate in, or even start, if they so desired.

A concept like this excited me exactly because it starts conversation. More importantly, it does so in person. It strips away the anonymity, giving a face to ideas. If somebody has something to say, it requires direct engagement with humanity, a quality that I feel is disappearing at an alarming rate.

I’d like to clarify that this isn’t to chide the Internet, which is very useful for expressing ourselves. Instead it comes from the sense that many people rely on electronics for everything. I’ll avoid going on too long about it, as I could dedicate an entire separate blog to it, but we need some more face time to make our Internet-ing more fulfilling.

Many of my most meaningful experiences have come from direct conversation with people of different views, mindsets and beliefs. Indeed, the confluence of such factors in a space that encourages their expression is what encourages progress and development. Without such interactions - disagreements, opposition, even some bickering - we would fall into disrepair due to paralyzing yes-mannerisms.

Of course, forums such as this allow trolls to take the conversation. However, even extremist views are valuable, because they are still human, and can create productive side-discussions in response. It just requires respect and acknowledging the worth of other humans’ ideas, no matter how offensive they may be.

This spot had a large impact on me because it’s a physical manifestation of a range of ideas surrounding conversation. From the political, regarding freedom of speech, to the social, exploring how we interact, the Speakers’ Corner is a fascinating and thought-provoking display of our humanity.

History Lesson.

He's an evangelist. Get the metaphor?

Civilized groups look like this

Get Lost

One week into my trip, I can definitively claim that choosing to do this by bicycle was nothing but  a brilliant idea. My bike, in conjunction with London’s maze-like streets, has assisted me greatly in getting lost: the ideal way to really explore the city.

This theme emerged as soon as I passed through customs at Heathrow airport. Five minutes after building my bike outside Heathrow, my chain broke off. I then spent a half hour attempting to fix it, to no avail; it had hardly taken any time to become stranded. After limping my bike back to the airport, the Underground operators turned me away. My only option was to take a very, very expensive cab. By this point, as hunger and fatigue set in, I had already begun questioning my decision to take such a trip.

My hope restored itself quickly, though, when the desk staff at my hostel pointed me towards a shop and the mechanic promptly fixed the problem after asking, “What the hell did you do to this?” With Rocinante revived, I quickly shrugged off my earlier concerns about my journey. Getting back on the bike after such a long winter reminded me how few sensations are more exhilarating than the freedom of movement it provides.

I got so excited when I started, as a matter of fact, that I hadn’t been paying attention to the streets and ended up far from my hostel. This has become a recurring theme for my entire trip. If there’s one thing I’ve learned thus far, it’s how to get lost.

To avoid listing everything I did, I’ll just mention that I eventually teamed up with a Venezuelan accountant and a Canadian street musician. We would set destinations and barely reach them, straying “off course” to explore whatever came up. Many times we only had a vague sense of our location.

We were pretty certain other times, though

Off track wanderings led us to the Chin Chin Laboratory I just wrote about, and to a delicious hidden diner for an English Breakfast. The weather took everybody by surprise by being absolutely beautiful, and we hardly spent any time inside. I took advantage of this rare opportunity to explore London’s outdoor offerings, roaming street to park, from the hectic to the peaceful.

Speakers' Corner: Chaotic expressions of every opinion

Getting lost reached a particular height yesterday during my first inter-city trip. Without a map I set out from London to a friend’s house just outside of Reading. Google Maps had me following branches of the Grand Union Canal most of the way.

Now we know why they tell you the directions are still in Beta

Not surprisingly, based on that, I ended up falling far from the directions I’d scribbled in my notebook, ultimately ending up 20 miles off course. I followed this by riding in circles around a town that locals even find confusing. Three hours after my anticipated arrival, I had no idea where I was, and had to call for a rescue. Thankfully my friend and his family found me quickly, saving themselves from continued hunger as they waited.

Despite the initial impression that these episodes may be more traumatic and frightening than exciting, they highlight the purpose of this pursuit. Getting lost is an adventure; it leads to discovery not only of curiosities and cultures, but of oneself. I have relished the challenges of trying to find my way and accepting when it’s time to turn in.

Traveling without a map, literally or metaphorically, makes for the most enlightening of experiences. It can be scary at times, but in hindsight it always works out for the best, and is hardly as bad as it seems. In the end, I’ve already made new friends, discovered great London scenes, wandered the English countryside, and get to finish this off as I sip tea to the bleating of sheep.

Rural peace works wonders

Semi-Hidden Treasures

One thing that I am setting out to do in this trip is to share interesting people and places that I encounter along the way. Eventually I hope to create a special page just for these profiles, but how that will ultimately shape up is to be determined. That said,  I do already have a first candidate for my project.

Naturally, what most piques my interest is anything involving food. On my first full day in London I was fortunate enough to encounter The Chin Chin Laboratories in Camden Lock Market. They are “Europe’s first ever liquid nitrogen ice-cream parlour.”

Their trick is simple: mix a cream base with liquid nitrogen, thus creating ice cream. What’s unique about it is that the nitrogen is so cold that it super freezes the base, leaving no time for ice crystals to form. It also evaporates, leaving just a very dense version of the original cream.

I happened upon the shop while exploring the markets in the Camden Town area. They’re loud and active, filled with odd trinkets, vintage clothes and food from around the world. Through the colorful displays of Ethiopian, Thai and Jamaican foods, a strategic chalkboard placed on the cobblestones caught my eye. Although the abundance of other cuisines all tempted me, a new way to try ice cream will always win me over. Plus, they had coffee, an extra draw on a jet-lagged caffeine addict.

After an agonizing three minutes of indecision I ultimately ordered an interesting version of a mocha, which was two shots of espresso mixed into hot chocolate. The drink was almost too rich to finish, but the flavors were too exciting to quit. I even felt compelled to order vanilla ice cream to counter the weight of the mocha. The Laboratory’s base and technique, however, make even a term associated with blandness immensely flavorful.

What’s more, the “Laboratorists,” as their Facebook page refers to them, are delightful people that are more than happy to explain the ice cream process or just to chat, if it’s not too busy. Even if you aren’t hungry, check out the nitrogen clouds as they create their masterpieces.

Really, every part of it is awesome

If you're in London, be sure to check them out. Maybe even make a trip to the city specifically for this pleasure.

Check them out here.

Quixotica

Tonight I set out on a long anticipated journey. For months I have been playing this out in my head and reading travel stories. The farther I’ve delved into the subject, the greater I’ve reinforced my already unshakeable prejudices that doing something a bit ridiculous is a fantastic idea.

Friends and family have supported my undertaking. However, frequently in the same breath there is some utterance of it being kind of crazy. I agree. It is crazy… Awesome.

I’ve had all of this in mind on top of years of (very rational) warnings that I’m a starry-eyed idealist who needs to become more grounded. There’s a strong element of truth to that. But I’m going to embrace it while I can for the next few months.

This brings me to a well-timed project of mine: undertaking the Spanish version of Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes: a very long, old novel about a starry-eyed, idealist. The title character and I have both read fantastical tales of adventure and both of us have allowed them to get into our heads. We venture into our fantasy without much preparation and little knowledge of what we’re doing. Like Don Quixote, I’ve found a certain romance and allure in the ideals of uncharted adventure (note: other people have done it, but it’s uncharted for me).

Apart from the fact that Don Quixote is delusional and I’m (probably) not, I feel this would present a wonderful literary device in a story.

Most importantly: we both have our Rocinante (no Sancho Panza equivalent yet). 

This inspired me to create a sort of logo for the adventure:

I adapted it from Pablo Picasso’s homage to the story’s 350th birthday:

So, really, I could be the next Picasso

Just the act of packing the box has proven to be an experience. Without Mom’s help I may have missed my flight for still figuring out how everything would fit. I’ve finagled with weight and positioning; the final product doesn’t not leave me confident in my bike’s safety on the plane. As Mom and I tested the box, one of the handles ripped, which we solved by wrapping more duct tape around and adding a series of compression straps.

Glamorous it is not, but we managed to fit this:

Into this:

Indicative of a great adventure to come! Here’s to starry-eyed idealism and seeing the world.