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AROUND THE WORLD IN 22 DAYS...
Or thereabouts - Philleas Fogg might have miscalculated his eighty day trip around the globe due to crossing the international dateline, but his error is my salvation - after almost circumnavigating the globe in two directions, I'm, finally home again. After some 33,000 miles, three classes of cabin, two airlines, eight flights, three pages filled in my passport and several time zones that ranged from GMT +5.5hrs to GMT-6, followed shortly thereafter by CST +15 hrs, and a total 22 days away, I'm back amongst all that's familiar - home, and those I love. I left home on 22nd November for a three day press trip to India, courtesy of British Airways. We landed in Bangalore at 05:30 local (around midnight here) having got exactly zero hours sleep, despite the eleven of us in the press party travelling Club World, and immediately hit the ground running with an 07:30 breakfast meeting, followed by our struggling to sit through three sucessive presentations by different companies in the IT field. By 18:00 local, with none of us having slept for 36 hours or more, we were all verging on hysteria (but a Martini or two in the hotel bar soon dealt with that!). What with dinner that night, we didn't see bed until around midnight local and what with the time difference, sleep was patchy at best before we were roused at 06:00 the following morning for more of the same. I flew back from there and had just a day and a half in London before an Oh-God-What-Time-Is-It-? O'Clock departure for the U.S. Two hours in immigration at Houston, followed by a five hour drive into the night on the busiest day of the year for traffic (the Sunday immediately following Thanksgiving, coupled with 6 accidents on the Interstate freeway) saw me hit the sack after another 36 hours without sleep and I had only two days in which to try and adjust before two flights west, which took 19 hours or so and carried me across the International Date Line, depositing me in Tokyo some 15 hours ahead of U.S time at 15:35 local. What followed was five days of my immitating Bill Murray in Lost in Translation as sleep became elusive thanks to the time difference meaning going to bed when it was time to get up, and getting up when it was time to go to sleep. Just as I got to grips with that, it was back to America for six days before finally catcing a plane back to London; Game Over!
I landed at Gatwick Airport at 07:00 this morning, having managed to watch several epsiodes of Desperate Housewives on the flight, and start and finish two books (so, no sleep there, then) and after struggling with a 30Kg suitcase and 15kg rucksack through rush-hour London, I arrived home at 10:30am - tired, but glad to be back. I've had the most incredible time and have taken a couple of thousand images which I've yet to work through. I've eaten Indian food in India, Sushi and Tempura in Japan, and typical American fare in the U.S. I've fallen hopelessly in love with Tokyo, discovered a side of India that was utterly alien to me, undertaken a presentation on journalism to students at a U.S high school and found my suitcase destroyed courtesy of the TSA in Houston (although I was spared having to explain the finer points of Ball Closure Rings to them before they'd allow me to leave this time around)! My mind's buzzing at the moment, so please forgive me if this entry lacks focus - joined up thinking seems a reach to far at the moment. I'm back to a mountain of work, several hundred emails to wade through (most of which is no doubt junk), a pile of bargain retail purchases to sort, several features that need to be written and delivered before Wednesday, a busy social diary that takes me right up to Christmas Eve, and a host of conflicting memories that see three utterly disparate cultures collide to become one. Once I've sorted them out and worked my way through the pictures to make some sense of it all, I'll blog a more detailed account of where I went, what I did, and what I experienced. I've read seven great books, met some wonderful people and seen and experienced things that will forever change the way I view the world. Until then, I just wanted to say hello and show my face around here - have I missed anything? It's good to be back! |
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12.12.05 13:43 |
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LOST IN TRANSLATION, PART II: LONDON TO INDIA AND BACK
I've always loved travel, ever since that Christmas in 1976, when as a nine year old, I learned that we'd be flying to ffice:smarttags" /> There's a part of each of us that is forever young; a link to the child that we once were who still lives inside of us, dictating the emotional response to any given scenario, but it's the adult face that we show to the world. For me though, whenever a trip to a new country, a foreign land is in the offing, the sense of anticipation, the inescapable feeling that I'm off on an adventure returns as if the years have been brushed away and I'm no longer a 38 year old man, but the nine year old child I once was. After all the places I've been, the flights I've undertaken, you'd think the feelings would have evaporated by now - it's not like I don't know what to expect. Yet I could no more change the response that travelling elicits in me than change the colour of my eyes; it's a part of my personality fixed in childhood, just like those responses to fear, love, anger or frustration. I mention all this for no other reason than to try and put into context, how I felt when I found out that the immediate landscape of my life was to change in the manner that it did. Just seven weeks ago, I was sat looking at nothing more than a two-week holiday in the There's another aspect to all this that makes it seem a little unreal for me, and it's the fact that I don't work for anybody. Because of my previous life in the City, business travel is something that I think happens to other people - those who work for companies, travel somewhere overseas on their behalf, and with a clear objective at the other end. They have value because they have certain skills that are required elsewhere and it's cost-effective and necessary to get them there. Press trips on the other hand, are more free-form. There are potentially thousands of journalists or photographers to choose from - we all have similar skills, after all - and no clearly defined objective at the end other than for us to produce copy that is published somewhere. Businesses, PRs, or people we barely know pick up the tab, the end publication gets its copy and we - the journos, PRs and snappers - get to be ourselves. It's like going on holiday, only it's business class, five stars and fine dining all the way, and it's not unusual to come back from a trip to the other side of the world being out of pocket only for the souvenirs and gifts you bring back. If you've ever wondered why I do this - there's your answer.
The Leila Kempinski, Bangalore: the sheer scale and opulence of the hotel is difficult to conceive, and the lush gardens that surround it seem to extend forever. It's the perfect introduction to India. So, We were seated in the Club World cabin on the flight out, and due to the time difference between
The Constant Gardener: A woman takes a break from tending the gardens of a government building, Southwest of Bangalore. If there's one thing you can say about BA's press trips, it's this: They really go to town when they take you away. The Leela Palace was breathtaking, a 5-star deluxe business hotel, standing majestically amidst 9 acres of lush green gardens and a sparkling lagoon in the garden city of Bangalore. The hotel's website describes it thus: "The architecture evokes the rich heritage of the Vijaynagar empire, its gold leaf domes, arches and ornate ceilings reflecting the grandeur of palaces of a bygone era. Its attributes of comfort, technology and design, alongwith the regal ambience, combine to provide outstanding service". It wasn't my taste, but there's no denying the opulence, the art deco styling of the reception area, or the several first rate restaurants and bars. All that, though was for later - first, to our rooms where we had two hours in which to unpack, freshen up and dress for the day ahead. I unpacked in double-quick time and fell into bed at 06:00 local, setting my alarm for 90 minutes later. I didn't sleep so much as doze and was semi-conscious when the alarmed roused me. I drifted into the shower, dressed and wandered down to breakfast on autopilot, where we had a meeting with representatives from the department of trade and investment at the British High Commission. From there, it was straight into a presentation by them up in one of the hotel's boardrooms and from there to another fleet of taxis to take us through the melee of Bangalore's rush-hour traffic (it's mayhem!) to the offices of TCS, the consulting arm of Tata, one of Asia's largest conglomerates.
Street Life: Shops ply their wares along the muddy 'pavements' of the main street that bisects central Bangalore, as pedestrians and cows share space to wander aimlessly. The drive across Bangalore was a revelation for me, and my first glimpse of life outside the rarified atmosphere of our hotel. The traffic on the streets has to be seen to be believed and one is left to wonder how so many vehicles can fit together one one piece of tarmac. India has a population of around 1 billion people, and it's as if 90% of them were inhabiting the space around our hotel. Cows wander freely amongst the pedestrians, which wander amdist the simply astonishing number of tuk-tuks, taxis, bicycles, cars, mopeds, trucks and busses that delineate the roads. Everybody drives with their horn perpetually sounding, a cacophony of noise that emanates from every direction, smothering your senses like a blanket. Tarmac gives way to dirt tracks and back again, butressed by dusty sidewalks which turn into rivers of mud when the rains come - as they did for our arrival and subsequent stay in the country. The cloud is so thick, barely any light seems to come through, the rain lashing down upon people dressed in everything from business suits to rags - there are no barriers between haves and have-nots here, and nature makes no distinction. TCS' headquarters are situated in a science park no more than two or three miles from our hotel, yet the drive takes the best part of 90 minutes to cover, a terrifying journey in which the rule amongst anybody piloting a vehicle is 'every man for himself'' By now, the group had broken up into various sub-groups, as hapens on most press trips. I'd allied myself with Myles and Sarah, both from one of the business-to-business titles, although there was a pretty good bond forged between all of us in the party, born out of the fact that we were all on the verge of falling asleep. It's a strange feeling, this degree of tiredness. You feel as though you're viewing the world through six degrees of separation and a veil over your eyes. Every cell in your body feels like it's complaining, a strange 'buzz' emanating from each and every one. Your movements are leaden, as if moving underwater, and you become intimately acquainted with microsleep as you struggle to stay awake. It's a sight to be seen - eleven journalists, dressed to kill, chins falling inexorably to chests with eyelids shut for a few seconds before sudden wakefulness. Let's be honest - Powerpoint presentations are not the most communicative medium at the best of times, but for this group of eleven or so journalists, fresh from an eleven hour flight and existing on barely no sleep in the previous 36 hours, it was verging on an alternative description for the U.S' interpretation of extraordinary rendition. I've no idea how we sat though the following three hours of presentations and video conferences, but we ate a delicious lunch which recharged us - albeit temporarily. We were given gifts before leaving and as we departed, it felt as if we were on the edge of some kind of collective hysteria.
Sacred Cows: Two cows rest amongst roadside during the morning commuter madness that is Bangalore. English signs selling everything from furniture to food to saris, litter all available space in a bright cacophany of colours You can't underestimate the impact of Computer Services on the Indian Economy, and the cost advantage for both UK and U.S companies can't be overstated. If you ring a UK bank, insurance company or retail group these days, the chances are your call will be routed to somebody at a call centre in Bangalore - the expertise, quality of service, and cost mean it's a no-brainer for most U.K businesses over a certain size. The Indian Software and Computer Services (SCS) sector is one of the fastest growing sectors of the Indian economy, growing at over 30% per annum. In the past year, the revenues of the industry crossed US$ 22 billion of which US$ 17. 2 billion came from exports. The industry employed just over 1 million people directly and over 2.5 million indirectly. The sector contributes about 3.4% to the Indian GDP and fifth to India's export earnings. The Indian SCS industry is a priority for the UK, with the aim of our becoming a as a leading source of software tools and solutions, e-business solutions, applications, R & D and cutting edge technology. The UK is also the leading investment destination in Europe for Indian software. India's software companies lead the overseas investment charge, mostly by the way of Mergers and Acquisitions. The Indian IT industry is well on its way to becoming India's first truly global sector.
The Chief: Phiroz Vandrevala, Executive Vice President of Tata Consultancy Services, one of India's largest companies. From TCS, the taxis arrived to take us on the short journey to the offices of Logica CMG, another computer services company. Here, they really made us feel welcome, laying out red carpet for our arrival and greeting us with a bevy of beautiful girls in saris, who placed flower garlands upon our shoulders, dusting our foreheads with red powder in the traditional manner. A photographer was on hand to record the event, after which we were ushered inside for another series of presentations, followed by a tour of the call centre. It was here, some three hours later, that Myles, Sarah and myself saw an opportunity for escape! I joined the two of them on a smoke break (even though I'm a non-smoker) and as we stood outside, reason departed us altogether. We collapsed in uncontrollable laughter at the merest provocation, and after receiving gifts from the girls, we made good our escape, commandeering a taxi to return us to the hotel. Myles and I had planned on grabbing a couple of hours sleep before the planned 19:00 meet in reception for dinner, but Sarah had other ideas and suggested 'a quick drink in the bar'. Yeah, right! I was past caring, and the prospect of a Martini in the sumptuous Library Bar did hold a certain appeal, so we eschewed sleep in favour of getting to know one another a little better over pre-dinner drinks. Somehow time ran away with us, leaving just 20 minutes for me to get the elevator to my room on the 7th floor, shower, dress and return to reception where a fleet of taxis were once again waiting for us. We were driven a mere three miles through the night to a restaurant and bar, a journey that took another ninety minutes. Here, we met up with Soujanya, a girl we'd met earlier at TCS, and a couple of fellas from the company. We were plied with drinks and taken to a private room where the "seventh most famous contemporary dance group in India" (Yeah, I know!) put on a show for us. Afterwards, we feasted on several different curries, drank too many Martinis, and drank the bar dry of Tequila. Sooo not a good idea!
Garland: Two BA staff from London having received a warm welcome on arrival at Logica CMG's Headquarters in Bangalore. By the time I tumbled into bed at 01:00 that morning, I'd lost all track of time and I was beyond tired. I don't remember falling asleep, but the alarm at 07:00 seemed to come far too quickly, and as far as my body was concerned, it was the middle of the morning, so I felt barely awake even after a shower. This day was a little more straightforward for us, with a single meeting in the morning at the Society for Innovation and Science Faculty at the venerable Indian Institute of Science. The taxi ride here was interesting as Jay from BA and myself travelled together, and watched a motorcycle traffic cop, riding in front of our car, get taken out by an inattentive driver! He was uninjured, but the spectacle proved too funny! We fell asleep after that, waking on our arrival at the IIS. The most notable event here was the faculty's chief executive, an eminent professor of physics, being defeated by the door to the new science block. He pushed; he tried the numeric keypad next to it. He banged on the door to attract the attention of those working inside, and he tried using his mobile to call lecturers upstairs, that they might come and let us in - all to no avail. All this as eleven tired and hysterical journalists looked quizzically on. He pushed the door with all his might and then James, in a moment that couldn't have been scripted better, stepped forwards, and pulled gently on the door - which swung back in his hand, as we all collapsed into barely suppressed laughter. Sarah, Myles and I looked at one another and that was it; we lost it completely (fortunately, we were at the back and the prof was through the door and away by this time!) A Physics lecturer at India's foremost faculty for Scientific Innovation, defeated by the workings of a conventional door; the irony is just too sweet.
Commuters: Vying for space on a slippery surface outside the entrance to the Indain Insitute of Science. Fortunately for the professor, the doors to the main building all open inwards! We had the afternoon at leisure, so after lunch back at the hotel, we scattered to the four winds, walking a local mall before several of us enjoyed a massage at the hotel's spa (Indian prices meant it was too good an opportunity to miss). Suitably rested and relaxed, we showered and met down in the bar where we were joined by Angelie, Priyanka and Ahmed, three locally-employed BA agents. We got chatting to them over drinks, and they joined us for a gala dinner that evening in the hotel's main restaurant where we ate yet more highly spiced Indian food (it was out of this world!). Afterwards, we retired to the bar, where Myles, Priyanka and I enjoyed a spirited discussion on our respective cultural differences (as ever, we concluded that we have far more in common than differentiates us). It was interesting talking with Indians who had never been to England, but yet have such an interest and understanding of the country. All speak English, the country's official language, and although many of the younger girls wear saris on certain formal occasions, western fashions like miniskirts, jeans and tee-shirts dominate. I found it particulalry interesting as Indian immigrants have had such a major influence on British culture over the past thrity years or so. What is particularly noticeable is how so many of the problems of the Indian communities that make headlines here, like honour killings and arranged marriages, are far less problematic back in India where society has moved on considerably from that which many of the first-generation immigrants here remember. Consequently, many of those in the UK exist in a social no-man's land - the cultural rules and dictats that they came from are no more, and many have failed to embrace the contemporary western culture, which appears to them to be one of promiscuity, underage sex, drinking, and moral tourism.
India's Seventh Most Famous Contemporary Dance Group: No, I don't understand, either. We could have spent all night in the bar; it's amazing the way in which alcohol and good company seem to be the perfect antidote to jet lag and perennial tiredness, informing one's equilibrium with grace, good humour and energy. The crotchety, ratty persona that we might adopt with those we know best when under extreme pressure or tiredness flees in the face of people we barely know, to be replaced instead with a propensity to laugh - harder, more frequently and for longer than normal, injecting just the right note of informality to events, and acting as the glue which binds us together. There's a sense of achievement, too - none of us, at the time, felt we'd be able to make it through the day, let alone face the prospect of an organised dinner til late on the first evening. Yet in the event, back at the hotel after chucking out time, we were forced to curtail our activities and retire by the hotel bar's policy of shutting - even for residents - at 23:00.
It was just as well, too - we had an alarm call at 05:00 on the Friday morning, ready for a run through the dark to the airport for an 07:00 departure. If I can offer you a piece of advice, it's this - however efficient and luxurious the flight that gets you to Bangalore, you're at the mercy of the airport and its locally employed security and immigration staff when you leave, and it's here that the system falls down quite spectacularly. I've flown to and from some pretty distressed places over the years - Baghdad and Basra spring immediately to mind - but none compares to the chaos, delays and madness that is Bangalore International. I lost count of the number of times we were searched between departures and boarding the aircraft itself; three times for me, more for some, yet the airport building is little more than an aged warehouse, and it looks to be the easiest thing in the world for the determined, or the stupid to circumvent procedures. It was a relief to get airborne.
Locals: Ahmed, Priyanka and Angelie pose for a picture at the end of our final evening in Bangalore. Perhaps unsurprisingly, we slept most of the way back to London. As if to illustrate the brevity of our stay, we had the same crew for the return flight as we did on the outbound - they'd spent the alloted time downroute and were working the flight back to Heathrow, but they'd had rather more sleep than us, and spent their time in Bangalore kicking back and taking in the sights. Two things made the flight back memorable - the fact that we flew back with a routing over Docklands and along the A4, gifting those of us on the right hand side of the 777 a perfect view of some of London's most high profile buildings. The second was when Susanne, who had once again engaged James and I in conversation, proffered her phone number upon James via a steward as we made our final approach into Heathrow. My memories of India - aside from being heightened due to the short time I spent there - are a mixed bag of old and modern,; a land where clean and opulent nestle juxtaposed with dirty and poor; where jacaranda, incense, sweet perfume and lush green dominate the senses, and noise assails the ears. A land redolent of a long ago England, steeped in British values and formality, yet elongated, morphed into something new and strikingly different. It's a fusion of East and West, of beautiful girls with perfect English and dark skin wearing saris and miniskirts; of men in suits and men in rags. Nothing in my life prepared me for India, but whatever I saw there has me hooked; there's a land to explore, a country as diverse as it is populous - as diverse as its size, and 1 billion people can make it. Kerala, Amritsar, Mumbai and Chenai all await, each with their own take on what it is to be Indian. And one day, I shall return, better prepared, to drink up all that India has to offer. We touched down a touch after 12:25, and I made my way home to prepare for the next leg of my journey - to the U.S and Japan... |
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18.12.05 21:01 |
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LOST IN TRANSLATION, PART III: A GAI-JIN ALONE IN TOKYO
America may have been my next destination, just a day and a half after my return from India, but it was the last thing on my mind. I'd have just two days there before I'd have to depart for Tokyo and my head was full of Japan; not so much interstate highways, McDonalds and dollars; more sushi, Kanji, vending machines and neon lights. I had little idea what to expect of Japan, other than what I'd seen and heard, namely the parallels with the vision of life created in the seminal film Blade Runner, and the snatched conversational gambits in which countless people said, "It's like nowhere you've ever been before". I had watchd the film 'Lost in Translation' a couple of weeks previous, though (and loved it) so I wasn't completely ignorant! That though was a couple of days ahead and I had another ten hour flight ahead of me first, which necessitated me rising at 05:30 on a Sunday morning to catch the first Underground train of the day (at 07:12 - can you believe there are no westbound Picadilly line trains before that hour on a Sunday??). The plan was to catch the 07:45 Gatwick Express from Victoria, only I discovered on rushing to the platform with minutes to spare that due to engineering works, the service was running at 30 minute intervals instead of 15 minutes, so I had until 08:00 to sit and mull this gem over. To cap it all, instead of the normal 30 minute journey to Gatwick Airport, various other engineering works meant that we didn't arrive into our destination until 08:40, and check in for my flight closed at 09:00! I made it by the skin of my teeth. The flight itself was uneventful, although that's less than can be said for what followed. Our arrival into Houston at 14:25 local (Sunday) coincided with arrival of four other international flights and the queue in the new immigration hall stretched seemingly for miles. It crawled forward at a snail's pace, due to the fact that just nine immigration officers were on duty to process roughly 1,500 non-U.S citizens and we were still queuing some two hours after landing on U.S soil. I bet the immigrants at Ellis Island fared better. Worse was in store once we'd finally cleared immigration and collected the hire car. Traffic on the Beltway out of Houston was nothing to complain about, but the minute we hit the Insterstate 10, it all went wrong and it occurred to me that perhaps the first Sunday after Thanksgiving might not be the best time to be driving across states. Several wrecks between Houston and the Lousiana state line added to the congestion, as did the countless people displaced by Hurricanes Rita and Katrina. Night came, my lack of sleep and several time zones over the previous few days began to catch up with me, and as 21:00 local came, I could barely keep my eyes open. On a good day, the drive between Houston and my parents' house in Lousiana takes three or so hours; this time, it took over five. Still, we got there and if I'm honest, I don't recall much of note happening in the days preceding my departure for Japan. Fact is, i was up at 04:50 local on the Wednesday morning, for the drive to the local regional airport and a Continental Express commuter jet back to Houston (it took 28 minutes, a nice antidote to the five hour drive). A three hour layover, and at 10:45 I was on board a Continental Airlines flight bound for Narita International Airport, Tokyo.
Fujicolour: Mount Fuji, the highest peak in Japan, provides the backdrop to my hotel in Yokohama Bay (the sail-shaped building at far right), the Intercontinental The Grand. The building at left of the picture is the Landmark Tower, Japan's tallest building. My love affair with Japan began the minute I emerged from the aircraft after the 14 hour flight (the vagaires of the International Date Line meaning that despite leaving on Wednesday morning, the local time was in fact early evening on Thursday); the charming young girl from Japanese Customs and Excise who insisted on searching my luggage on arrival. She was as polite and sweet as could be, and caused me no more than a few minutes delay, even repacking everything as she had found it! I was met on the other side by a chauffeur, who greeted me with a bow and perfect spoken English. A short time later we were on our way to my hotel, the Intercontinental The Grand, at Minato-Mirai, Yokohama, some 65 miles away. Minato Mirai literally means "the harbour of the future". It is a futuristic, new city area in Yokohama (Japan's second largest city with some 3 million residents)consisting of office and residential space, hotels, shopping centres, restaurants, convention centers and public parks. Pacifico Yokohama is one of the world's largest convention centres, located a few hundred meters from the Landmark Tower. It includes the sail-shaped Yokohama Grand Intercontinental Hotel, which was to be my home for five days, together with the nearby Ferris Wheel (of the Yokohama Cosmo World amusement park), together two of Yokohama's most typical sights. I'm wasted when I check in, beyond tired. It's gone 18:00hrs, dark and the countless time zones are playing with my mind. This isn't your usual press trip - there are no other journalists covering the story, and there are no PRs in-country; I'm literally on my own, 180 degrees from London, quite literally on the other side of the world (KT Tunstall's song of the same name pops into my head). I'm in an utterly alien culture, I don't know anybody and to make matters worse, my phone doesn't work. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, I know nothing about the event that's going on over at the convention centre and that I'm here to cover and it occurs to me that home, and those I love are a long, long way away, both in time and distance (The video of Wyclef Jean's 'Gone 'til November' is on my iPod and has a particular resonance for me at this moment in time).
Minato-Mirai: Station sign on theMinato-Mirai line of the Tokyo Subway. It's clean, super efficient and wide-gauge; carriages are clean with heated seats and LCD screens embedded in the walls play adverts. It's air-conditioned, quick and cheap - everything the London Underground isn't (but then it's not running on Victorian infrastructure) Suddenly, everything falls into place. I tell the guy at the check-in desk my name and he hands me a key card to my room on the 13th floor; no credit card details required, no registration, nothing - it's all taken care of. He hands me a fax from my PR contact in the UK - 10 pages, but the important stuff is on the front page. All my expenses will be taken care of - charge meals and anything hotel related to my room account, everything else will be picked up and reimbursed. It gives me contact details for Kyomi, a Japanese girl now living in the U.S, but who is in-country representing Wizards of the Coast, the company behind Magic: The Gathering, the Pro Championship Tournament that I'm here to cover. As if by magic, she's suddenly beside me, and introduces hereself. She confirms what I already know, says she'll meet me in recpetion at 10:00 the following morning, and leaves me. I get in the elevator and go to my room, which has commanding views over Yokohama bay. It's typically well appointed for a 5 star hotel, but is bland and faceless as only top level corporate hotel chains the world over can be. I turn on the TV, but every channel is in Japanese, heightening my sense of isolation. There's free wi-fi in my room though, so I hook up my laptop and fire up MSN and Skype, my saviours whenever I'm far from home. A few friends are online and I chat with them whilst catching up on emails. It's now that I feel most alone. It's nightime, whilst back home, everybody is just starting the day I'm finishing. Every fibre in my body is telling me to stay put; we all have a safety bubble that we build around us, a comfort zone which we like to stay within. Mine wants to order room service, retreat from all that's unfamiliar and stay within my room. But hey, nobody ever learned about foreign culture sitting in their room. I decide to shower and visit one of the hotel's many top-class restaurants on the top floor. It's as I disrobe that I notice the toilet is a little...how shall I say this? More, er...'complex' than normal.
Japanese toilets are a little more advanced than those typically found in UK or US bathrooms and combine the functions of both bidet and flush toilet in one. The controls should be self-explanatory, but in essence, negate the use of toilet paper through jets of warm water which are accurately aimed either 'fore' or 'aft', followed by a blast of drying warm air. While the toilet looks like a Western-style toilet at first glance, there are a number of additional features, such as blow dryer, seat heating, massage options, water jet adjustments, automatic lid opening, flushing after use, wireless control panels, heating and air conditioning for the room, et cetera, included either as part of the toilet or in the seat. These features can be accessed by a control panel (above) that is either attached to one side of the seat or on a wall nearby, often transmitting the commands wirelessly to the toilet seat. I wandered up to the 30th floor of the hotel which had two award winning restaurants, one Asian with the accent on Thai food, the other Chinese. I opted for Thai and sat at a table for one sipping on a glass of Asahi beer whilst drinking in the stunning views over Yokohama and wondering how I'd ended up here.
Landmark: The view from my table at the Asian restaurant 'J' on the 30th floor of the Intercontinental Hotel. The ferris wheel (the second highest in Japan) is visible at left, whilst to the right is the distinctive Landmark Tower, Japan's tallest building. I was so far beyond tired by the time I retired to bed, I was wired but still, I thought sleep would come easily. I was wrong. It was like living out the opening scenes to Lost in Translation; although bed time in Japan, mid-morning in the UK, and somewhere early in the morning in the U.S. My body didn't want to know. No sooner would I drop off in the intense dark of my room, but within an hour, I'd be awake again. I was in bed at 22:00, but sleep didn't come til gone 23:00; I then woke up at 1, 2, 4 and 6 when I gave up and decided to get up to face the day. I tried not to think about the 15 hour time difference with area of the U.S I'd just left, nor with the nine hours difference with London that meant the friends I'd spoken to on MSN before I went to bed were now getting ready for bed themselves. I wandered down for a late breakfast ready to work and Kyomi was waiting for me in reception as promised at 10:00, so together we wandered over to the convention centre where the events were taking place. Ah yes, Magic, the Gathering. What is it? In essence, it's a collectible card game which was introduced by the company Wizards of the Coast in 1993. Magic inspired an entirely new game genre, and has an estimated six million players in over seventy countries worldwide, as well as a successful Internet version. The game is a strategy contest not unlike chess, but like most standard card games includes an element of chance due to the random distribution of cards during shuffling. Each game represents a battle between very powerful wizards called "planeswalkers" who use magical spells, items, and fantastic creatures. Though the original concept of the game drew heavily from the motifs of traditional fantasy role-playing games such as Dungeons & Dragons, Magic as a game bears little resemblance to role-playing games.
Girls do it, too: Two local girls enagage in a duel, playing Magic: The Gathering in a side event at the Pro Tour. The game has an official tournament system, in which the game is played for cash and scholarship prizes, and the game has a number of professional players. The cards themselves also have value, much like other trading cards, but in this case based on both scarcity and game play potential. In 1996, Wizards of the Coast established the "Pro Tour", a circuit of tournaments where players can compete for top prizes in excess of US$30,000 for a single weekend-long tournament, with a total purse of over US$200,000. The popular series of tournaments adds an element of prestige and weight to the game by virtue of the large payouts and media coverage from within the community. The system is similar to the ones used in golf, tennis and other professional sports and Wizards publicises good players who win frequently in order to create a "star" system, to which other players can aspire. I was there to cover the Pro Tour Final, which was taking place in the convention centre, attended by players from all over the world. I spent the morning wandering the convention halls, talking to players and artists alike. The value of the cards in trading is based upon their rarity, and the quality of the artwork that defines its power. Certain artists within the community have achieved almost mythical status and two of the most popular - Terese Nielsen and Mark Tedin were on hand throughout the five day tournament to sign cards, artwork, or anything else put in front if them. The queues for this were enormous, encompassing boys and girls, men and women from every end of the social and demographic spectrum.
Sign Here Please: American artist Mark Tedin signs trading cards for a female fan. This particular lady had queued for some 30 minutes, but by the time she reached the front of the line it had grown such that those at the back had a wait of at least double that ahead of them. I'd seen most of what I needed to by lunchtime, and after grabbing a sandwich back at the hotel, I wandered off to explore the local area. A 5 minute walk from the hotel was Queen's Plaza, a huge multi storey shopping mall offering every type of retail outlet and restaurant. Immediately adjacent to this one was another, on top of which was built the Landmark Tower, at 972ft, Japan's tallest building since its construction in 1993. The building's observatory deck, the Sky Garden is on the 69th floor and is accessible via the world's fastest elevator (750 metres per minute) - it feels like it, too! The views, which extend across the whole of Yokohama and Tokyo if the air is good, are simply stunning.
Landmark View: The view from the Sky Garden on the Landmark Tower's 69th floor looking towards Yokohama bay. My hotel (centre) and the ferris wheel are dwarfed from this height. I took a slow walk back to the hotel after the lift whisked me back down to earth, taking in the people doing their Christmas shopping at the mall beneath the tower. It's huge, reaching several floors, with a spacious central atrium and as everywhere in Japan so far, I'm amazed at the number of people. The demographic here seems to weight towards a population under 40 and people are so much small as lithe, slim; none of the women I see appear to be much larger than a size 10 (UK), with size 8 being the average. They're without exception well dressed, but regardless of age, or social group, the de facto uniform seems to be any colour so long as it's black, allied to a short mini with Fuck-Me Boots. And no ordinary FMBs, either; these tend to be smart, calf or patent leather, with pointed toes and seriously spiky heels of a couple of inches or more. It was like I'd died and gone to heaven! Coats seem far more prevalent than back home - chic, stylish affairs, and it's as if everyone was dressed up. Contrast this with a similar evening back in London where dress is much more of a mixed bag, and feature everything from 'going out' wear to tracky bottoms and trainers. The Japanese seem to have an innate sense of style and a great deal of effort seemed to have gone into the choice of outfit. Back at the hotel, I had a Martini at the bar before wandering back to my room and ordering room service from the Chinese restaurant on the 30th floor and settling back with an ice-cold Asahi to watch an episode of Lost on my laptop. I did a little better, sleep wise, going to bed at 23:00 and waking only three times - at 2, 4 and 7.
Fast Track: Converging lines at the subway station as we wait for a train to Shinjuku. I wandered over to the convention centre after breakfast on Saturday morning, but there wasn't a lot going on and Kyomi suggested I take the morning to myself to get to grips with learning to play Magic online. Afterwards, she promised to take me into the Shinjuku district of Tokyo when she got off work that evening, and as the internet connection in the hall seemed to be intermittent at best, I went back to my room where I became engrossed in playing the game online. I played several games, won them all, and then ordered room service, talking to friends back home on MSN to kill time. I wandered back to the convention centre at 15:00 and after interviewing one of the tournament's orgainsers, left with Kiyomi and Yumiko, another Japanese girl from Wizards to catch a subway into Tokyo. The train journey was something else. The carriages are modern and spacious, as the track is wide-guage, but it needs to be - the congestion during peak hours is unreal. On the station platform where we changed onto the JR line - at Shibuya, the sheer number of people running hither and thither is mind-blowing. Surgical face masks are worn by many, not to protect them from the airborne germs of others, but to protect other people from theirs. The bustle is remarkable, one barely has room to stand with arms pressed to one's sides and if you stand still, you're in danger of being carried away by the tide of people moving in a determined manner every which way. You feel like your senses are being assailed as hieroglyphics and kanji symbols dominate. Roman numerals and alphabet litter adverts next to far bigger and more dominant Japanese symbols, more out of a sense of style than to assist any gai-jin (literally 'outsiders' or foreigners).
Blade Runner: The night time view outside the TV Station opposite the East exit to Shinjuku Station. Neon lights reflect from every surface as people push forward from every direction. That said, there's something exhilarating about it, and I think it was at this point, I truly fell in love with the place. There's a vibe, a real buzz about it, and being shown the sights, led by the hand by two local girls, added another element. I felt utterly at ease, my mind awhirl with new sights, sounds and smells - especially sounds. The Japanese are an aural race, seemingly obsessed with sounds to accompany the most mundane of functions. The local station at Minato-Mirai has the sound of seagulls piped through speakers and everywhere you go, your ears are assailed by a stream of spoken Japanese, songs, jingles and nature sounds. We surfaced from the subway and the eastern exit of Shinjuku station, directly opposite the TV stuidos, which are seemingly the place for 90% of the denizens of Tokyo to meet their friends. Some 2 million people pas through this station every day, so they must be doing something right, but it has to be seen to be believed. Cars, taxis, buses and motorcycles occupy every inch of tarmac, whilst people do the same on the pavements and there's barely room to stand. We walk a little and come to another major crossing; every time the lights change against the traffic, a tidal wave of people surge from one side of the road to the other, a never ending boulevard of bodies in motion, headed I know not where.
Another crossing in Shinjuku: the lights and the people evidence a city that never sleeps They come in a relentless, never ending stream, disappearing again as soon as the lights change. And when they change again, there are the pedestrians, waiting in ever greater numbers to cross. I could watch for hours. As I noticed yesterday, girls seem to dominate, in a ration of roughly 70:30 - where are all the men? Those I see around Tokyo appear just as stylish as the girls, but it's those blessed with two x-chromosomes that I notice, for obvious reasons - in those skirts and boots, it's all one can do to turn one's head away! Short skirts and , FMBs are the order of the day. The girls are all the same - lithe, lissom, beautiful and young. I scibble down words, sentences as they come to me; Bright lights, big city, blade runner, neon overload. Face masks, humble, deferential, expressive. Girls all under 30, stylish, sexy & gorgeous, fantasy made real, perfect legs all, dark hair, shoulder length, no fringe de rigeur. Stylish coats, blacks & greys popular in all dress. Schoolgirl chic, sailorsuits, Group of four girls in mini-skirted Father Christmas outfits. City beautiful, bright, modern. Great vibe, cool, young, stylish. Older women in Geisha dress...
Puss in Boots: De rigeuer, the sartorial elegance of women everywhere in Tokyo. However short the skirt is, it isn't short enough, and whatever the heel on the boots, it can't be too high or too sharp. We walk to the Park Hyatt Hotel, the one in which 90% of the scenes in Lost in Translation were shot. Not for that reason; well, not entirely, although the fact it was chosen by the location manager for that particular film was in part for its stylish bars and rooms, and their unrivalled views across Shinjuku and the whole of night time Tokyo. All cities take on a different persona at night, but Tokyo's is something else, in another league entirely. We bid Yumiko farewell - she's off to see family in Tokyo, so Kiyomi offers to take me to an out of the way genuine sushi bar. It's quiet when we enter, with just six or so tables occupied. The bar is empty though, and we take our seats there in front of the chefs who prepare dishes to order before you, and by hand. It takes 10 years or more to become a properly qualified sushi chef, and watching as they prepare sushi nigiri for us - of tuna, shrimp, hake, white fish, is captivating, like poetry in motion. The chef, who speaks no English, urges me via Kiyomi, to try Sea Urchin or Uni, a pale yellow, soft and evil looking glob of roe. I'm not generally shy of trying things; I never say never and will try anything once, although I don't think I'll lose any sleep if I never try this again. It's consistency is much like one imagines liquified brains to be - gooey, squidgy and of a not particularly pleasant taste, regardless of how much soy you happen to put on them. They're rather like Marmite apparently, and those who love them passionately are roughly equal to those who hate the taste and texture on equal terms. I order another Asahi and after paying, Kiyomi and I take the express elevator to the Peak Lounge, on the Park Hyatt's 41st floor.
Puss in Boots II: The Sequel: The reason all gai-jin in Tokyo suffer from trapped nerves in their necks - it's difficult trying to look innocent when you're really looking at every woman that passes you! The view of Tokyo from the 52nd-floor New York Grill is spectacular and it's where Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson's characters meet in Lost in Translation. On a clear day, you can see the whole massive, chaotic conurbation spread out before you from Mt. Fuji to Tokyo Bay. And if you look hard you may spot some foreign celebrities among the guests around you. Prices, however, are as vertigo-inducing as the elevation, and those with more sense (or those with someone who knows the area) prefer the 41st-floor Peak Lounge, where the view is just as good and afternoon tea or late night cocktails are available at more down-to-earth prices. So, that's what we do. The Peak Bar offers classic cocktails in a quiet, magical setting. Soft lighting by more than 50 washi paper lanterns enhances the technicolour backdrop of Tokyo's skyline which is laid out before you like a blanket. You realise just how big Tokyo is from here, but it's like an oasis of calm in a turgid, raging sea. Shinjuku is about streams of screaming neon, high pitched shrieking sounds; people, people everywhere - silent and robotic. There's no room, there's no escape - earthquakes yet skyscrapers. And from this one, it's deadly quiet, without even the gentle hum of the air conditioning audible. People talk in hushed whispers, and you feel as if you're floating on a silent island.
Lost in Translation: The view from the Peak Lounge on the 41st floor of the Park Hyatt Hotel, Shinjuku. It's utterly mesmeric; one of my favourite places in the world, and if there's anywhere nicer to enjoy a Martini, I've yet to find it. I order a Bombay Martini with a twist, Kiyomi a herbal tea and we sit watching the world go by and putting it to rights. The lights of skyscrapers twinkle in the distance, red warning lights to fend off low flying aircraft dominate. Beneath the black is a riot of colour, whites, yellows, a whole miasma of hues drawn from a neon colourbox. It's mesmeric, breathtaking. It's the perfect evening, the view unique & breathtaking and I didn't want it to end. It's one of those evenings you know you'll remember forever, a memory created, like all the best ones, from nothing. You create the mood yourself, the setting just adds to it. Eventually though, we have to head back to make the last train and we pay up and take the elevator back down to the entrance where the doorman signals for a taxi, which whisks us through late night Tokyo to Shibuya Station and the last train home to MinatoMirai.
Lost for Words: Stone slabs denoting what appears to be German text under Japanese Hieroglyhpics tower over the escalators to the station at Minato-Mirai. We're back at the hotel by a quarter to midnight, my latest night yet, but I'm still buzzing when I get back, my mind's too active to even think about sleep; this is the best cure yet for jet lag! I sit at my computer and work whilst my mind grapples with inponderables - everything here is the same but different - there's no anchor, a disctinct lack of the familiar. I work til 02:10, sleep, awake once, up 07:20. I laze around on Sunday morning, and after a late breakfast, decide to take the day off and head back into Tokyo - alone! Having been once with Kiyomi, I think I can cope with the indecipherable subway system, buy myself a series of tickets, change lines and get around. And hell, if I can't, so what? It's an adventure. I grab my camera and rucksack and head back down to Minato-Mirai station where I buy a series of tickets for Shibuya, from where we'd caught the train home late last night.
Waiting for a Train: The sign shows enough English that I can work out where I'm going. Headed into Shibuya on Sunday morning. Shibuya is another shopping and entertainment district situated in the west of Tokyo. It's newer than its rival Shinjuku and has a cleaner, safer reputation but it's just as manic, just as bustling. I sit back on the subway and watch the people around me, lost in their own worlds as my iPod loses me in mine. It's fascinating to see the way that residential Tokyo suburbs cede to the gradually bigger towers and skyscrapers of the city. Quiet suburbia, blossom trees, condos and apartments, car lifts and narrow, hilly streets. Eventually though, we reach Shibuya and the crowds here are incredible when you reach the streets; the crossing outside the station is one of the most famous in Japan. As you exit, you reach the statue of Hachiko, the legendary dog. It's a terrible tale - his master had long passed away, but year after year, night after night, Hachiko faithfully waited by the station for a master who would never come. Finally, when he himself died on March 8th 1935, many a heart was touched. He was given a huge send off and his body now rests in the National Science Museum.the bronzed statue of Hachiko is probably one of the most famous meeting places in Tokyo. The popularity of the place for meeting people can sometimes make it difficult to meet up with your friends.
A Sea of Umbrellas: People come from who knows where, to fill every ounce of space at Shibuya Crossing. I walk aimlessly when I exit the station, stopping periodically to take pictures or soak up the atmosphere. The sky is leaden, pregnant with rain, but it's dry; the dark, overcast day is the perfect foil to the neon lights and huge, plasma screens embedded into buildings around me, showing adverts to anybody who cares to crane their neck skywards. I walk some hills, and come to a park. There seem to be people heading towards it, so I follow suit and find myself and the Meiji Jingu Shrine. I pass under the torii gate and find myself surrounded by a world of tranquility. The deep, lush forest of Meiji Jingu makes you forget that you are in the midst of a metropolis. The dense, broad-leafed evergreen forest, which many believe to be one of the few natural forests remaining in Tokyo, is actually man-made woodland created by 110,000 volunteers who planted more than 100,000 donated trees in 1920.
Torii: the entrance gate to the Meiji-Jingu shrine. This shows me another side of Japan entirely, a world away from the madness that is Tokyo central, a more classical and historic side. It's a Shinto shrine to two deities, the Emperor Meiji and his consort Emperor Shoken. Emperor Meiji passed away in 1912, and his consort in 1914. Emperor Meiji was the first emperor of modern Japan. He was born in 1852 and ascended to the throne in 1868 at the peak of the Meiji Restauration when the power was switched from the feudal Tokugawa government to the emperor. During the Meiji Period, Japan modernized and westernized herself to join the world's major powers.
Lantern: Showing the way along the path to the Meiji-Jingu Shrine. The heavens open as I walk through the man-made forest, taking in the incredible beauty of the place and how it makes the surrounding skyscrapers and noise of the city fall away into insignificance. I make my way outside, back into the bustle of the City, and as my stomach tells me it's lunchtime, I give in and hail a taxi, telling the driver in my limited Japanese that I wish to go back to the Park Hyatt Hotel. This is familiar territory here, and once again, the perfect foil to the bustle and madness of street level Tokyo. The elevator once again whisks me up to the 41st floor and I'm shown to a table alongside the atrium by a delightful waitress. I kick back and relax, once again drinking in the stunning view and it occurs to me how lucky I am that I'm being paid to do this. I'm feeling uncommonly chilled, so I order something appropriate and utterly out of character for me - a pot of herbal tea (a spearmint, calendula, lemon thyme and lemongrass infusion) and a bacon ciabbata with chunky chips.
Herbal Infusion: Afternoon tea in the Peak Lounge at the Hyatt Park Hotel There are double height ceilings with full height windows on all 4 sides around me, and the central atrium, and my fellow diners, the waiting staff...all are absolutely, positively charming. By the time I've finished lunch I feel relaxed enough to fall asleep walking. That's not an option though, so I walk out into the rain to wander back to Shinjuku Station East where the JR subway line is. It's raining again, so I board a Yamanate Line train after buying what I hope is correct ticket for the 3 stop hop back to Shibuya. I'm not arrested when I get there, so I guess it must be. I plot up, take photos of a sea of umbrellas as the sky darkens to biblical proportions and the heavens open. I'm soaked, but hey, what do I care? I'm pleased with what I've got picture-wise and I've had a great time.
Street Life: Shinjuku by day, outside the station. I successfully board the correct train to Minatomirai, and sit back with my iPod video in hand, watching an episode of CSI:NY to pass the time (and stop my gaze from wandering to an incredibly fit girl opposite me in...yup, a short skirt and boots!). I've been contacted by a reader of my blog - an English guy who's now resident in Tokyo and had suggested meeting up. We'd pencilled it in for this evening, subject to confirmation, so I have to get back just in case he's free. When I arrive back though, there's an email and a message from him apologising but as expected, he's delayed at work. No matter; I've enough to occupy me.
Puss in Boots III: The Reckoning: Right, I think that's enough pictures of girls in boots. Note how everybody in this picture not wearing a miniskirt and boots is a bloke. I rest my case - point proven! I dump my kit in my room and shower, chaning into a clean shirt and suit to wander back to the convention centre for the final of the Magic Pro Tour which is taking place as I enter. Kiyomi greets me and escorts me past the crowds and into the staff area, where the event is being filmed live for webcast, and by local TV stations. It's a nail biting climax between Katsuhiro Mori of host nation Japan and Frank Karsten of the Netherlands. Katsuhiro Mori capped off an amazing week for his country by defeating Karsten in a nerve-wracking, convoluted final for his first Pro Tour victory, which he took 3-1 for the $35,000 purse.
Tense: The final game in the final match of the Magic The Gathering Pro Tour, Japan 2005 By the time I wander back, it's late but I can't possibly consider room service on my final evening in Japan. I do fancy eating at Karyu, the hotel's award winning restaurant of the year which is situated on 31st floor with views over the bay. It's one of the best quality restaurants from an aesthetic perspective that I've been privileged to enjoy. I take my time, enjoying the ambience and thinking back over my time in the city as I order and devour some jumbo prawns in black bean sauce, crispy fried beef in chilli sauce, Singapore noodles and a glass of Sapporo to start. I order a baulous Cotes du Rhone which I enjoy with the langruous dinner before coffee and repairing back to my room for the evening. The bill, when I check it on the TV menu back in my room is for a whopping ¥11,500 (about £58.00!). It's as nothing compared to the extras on my room bill, though - ¥37,900 exc. Room charge (around £190.00 which I guess isn't too bad for five days in Japan). I'm dog tired, and climb into bed at 10:00 with my PC still whirring away on the desk thinking "I'll just rest my eyes for a moment"...and awake at 04:00 to the sound of email hitting my inbox. I try, but I can't get back to sleep, so get up at 04:40 and watch the sun come up in a breathtaking display of colour washing over Yokohama's skyscrapers from my bedroom window. I draw a leisurely bath and pack before meeting Kiyomi at the Ocean Terrace restaurant in the hotel for a full on breakfast.
Yokohama: My home for four nights and five days on the opposite side of the world. We bid farewell and I catch the subway two to the Takashimaya department store at Yokohama for some last minute retail. It's shut when I arrive at 09:30 so I pass the time until it opens at 10:00 sitting in bright sunlight watching commuters stream from Yokohama station in a relentless, never ending wave. The shop itself is a disappointment but it passes the time; When I get the train back to the hotel, it's time to say farewell and bow out of the city I've fallen in love with, catching the hotel Limo bus to Narita. I'm tired almost as soon as I board the aircraft and fall asleep shortly after take off, managing 6 or 7 hours sleep on and off. Our ground speed of 745mph means a flight time back to Houston of just 10:50, three hours less than on the outbound flight. Two hours out, we encounter the worst turbulence I've ever known in all my years of flying. The cabin crew are serving drinks when it hits us (aren't they always?!) and we drop like a stone, losing several hundred feet each time. They're caught mid-aisle and are forced to hold on to overhead bins. It's also the Captain's last flight before retirement. It's the weirdest thing, crossing the date line the other way, as I relive the day that's just ended. We land in Houston on Monday at 14:20, some 3 hours before we left Tokyo.
Brothers in Arms: My Little Brother and his rather larger 2005 Century Freightliner. Back in Lousiana, I'm met by my mother and by the time we reach the house, my little brother has arrived. I haven't seen him since my last visit in April, since when he's learned to drive a truck and landed himself a job as a long-distance truck driver, carrying freight all over the U.S in a 40foot Century Freightliner. We sit up for a fair bit of the evening catching up, as he has to be away early the following morning. The highlight of my time in the U.S has to be the invitation I received to visit the local high school and present a lecture on Journalism, with an emphasis on the importance of reading and writing. I've never done anything like this before so it's something of a learning curve for me, though it proves to be an immensely rewarding experience. When I arrive, I set up a slide show on an overhead projector, showing images I've taken on various assignments over the past couple of years. I made copious notes whilst I was away, but they prove redundant as I take 5 groups of 2 classes at a time, presenting for five 40 minute sessions, talking freeform. It's dynamic and incredibly rewarding as the kids, aged between 13 and 16 ask questions about all aspects of my career to daye. The students and teachers seem visibly interested, with thoughtful questions thrown at me time and again. Word apparently spead, because I was only booked to do two sessions, but kids who'd already been were talking such that other teachers, classes wanted to see. There's a noticeable difference in approach with the kids compared to those back home - here, they're incredibly respectful, prefacing my first name with 'Mr' when they address me. Small groups come up to me after to ask questions, and kids approach me in the corridor during downtime saying things like "You're so cool", "You're awesome, thank you". I come away buzzing and later recieve several emails and thank you notes from both students and teachers at the faculty. It's something I'd love to do again if I ever get the opportunity.
Keep on Truckin': Bidding farewell - the last picture I took of my little brother, and the last time I'll see him until my next trip to the southern U.S I spent the remainder of my time in the U.S making the most of the prices for retail goods, which are still significantly cheaper than in the U.K. I found a lovely leather case for my iPod Video to protect it, and got a late birthday present from my mum of a bottle of Jack Daniels Silver Select. I read countless books - some eight in total ranging from autobiographies, to novels. And eventually, I caught up on all the sleep I'd lost so that by the time I flew back to the UK, I had no jet lag whatsoever. Bonus! It's been an utterly bizarre experience undertaking two such disparate assignments to two places on opposite sides of the globe - and in such a short space of time. If I've learned anything, it's that time is utterly elastic, and your perception of it changes dramatically when you pack so much in. Looking back, it seems like India was another lifetime ago - several months previous, when the reallity is that it was less than a month previous. The differences in climate all contribute, and all things considered, I'm lucky to have escaped all my travels with no impact on my health - despite the impact on my immune system, I've escaped without even the merest hint of a sniffle. This has been a marathon entry, but as I have explained before, these notes often serve as a diary of sorts, the only reference I have to where I went, what I did and who I did it with. If anybody has bothered to read this in its entirety - thank you. I hope it has proved mildy diverting and informative. From here on in, it's back to normal for me! |
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19.12.05 18:40 |
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BAND OF BROTHERS
This time last year, I blogged about meeting up with Ian, a friend from my old life; the one where I worked in the City, making nothing of note except money. We all worshipped money then; we were young, successful, a little more naïve than we liked to believe, and we worked in an industry that was built on the stuff. We had it good and we knew it. The team I was a part of in those days was something special. As I wrote last year, regardless of what we did professionally, there was an esprit de corps amongst us that transcended work and reached out into the very core of who we were. I've never experienced anything that even comes remotely close since; a handful of guys who shared all, worked, socialised, and travelled together. For several years, we shared weddings, successes, the odd failure. We consoled one another through break ups, drank to one another's health, and lived a rarified existence of fast cars, women and material goods. All cliches are born of the truth and in those days, we were the epitome of City Bankers (yes, and the pejorative word that rhymes with it). It was okay then; we weren't old enough to know any better. When the team broke up - as it had to eventually - things changed. Although we'd been solid for so many years, the dynamic has to shift over time within any group and so it did in ours - we married, had kids, and some of us began to drift away. I left not just the company, but got out of the industry altogether to pursuse a career in journalism. And gradually, the others shifted too, although the skills we learned in those days have stayed with us all. Of the five guys I was closest to, three have become wealthy beyond imagination and the other two aren't doing too badly, either. One retired at the age of forty, one is involved in property development, but by and large, the others, although they've left the City, are still loosely connected to the industry and hence have stayed in touch.
Brothers in Arms: I love these guys; Ian (left) and Steve (right), my two best friends from the years I spent working in the City. A self-portrait taken outside the White Swan, the pub which played such a huge role in our lives from 1990 onwards. Although there were five of us in the team, I was particularly close to two of them - Ian, who you know about, and Steve. We were a group within a group and partly through default, partly through design, we all lived close to one another; Steve and I particularly so as we had apartments in neighbouring blocks. The three of us would drive into work together, come home together and more often than not - particularly during the summer - we'd stop off for a drink or two on the way home. Our partners knew one another, and short of the bond created by blood, we were all but brothers. I've met up with Ian several times over the past twelve months, and each time it was like we'd never been apart. We picked up where we left off and it was like the years that had gone before had simply fallen away. We were strong again. Steve, I lost touch with, but Ian and he kept in touch and the last time we got together for one of our nights out, Steve came along. He had another engagement that evening, but wanted to show his face, and as previously with Ian, so Steve and I picked up where we'd left off several years previously. We're blokes, not girls; there's no awkwardness between us because we forgot one another's birthdays, or didn't phone when we said we would; or even that we drifted apart. We don't do stuff like that even when we're sharing our lives because what we have is a different kind of deep; it's 'gay' to buy one another birthday cards and presents, or get emotional about not phoning (and besides, we're not wired that way) but not to hug one another or sign off with 'xx' when we text each other. We know where our feminine sides are, but we don't live there - we can dip in and out at will, though ;-) We met up last Thursday night, the three of us. Back in one of the City pubs we used to slope off to when we worked not so far away. And it was good. We're all a little bit different now - sixteen or more years does that to you. We're each a little more world weary than we were, and our faces are etched with the fine lines that show we've lived, but all things considered, we haven't really changed all that much at all. Ian's hair isn't quite so big as it was (which has to be a good thing) and if I'm honest, both of them look so much better than they did when they were younger; their faces show spirit, like they've grown into them. Boys to men.
Self Suport: Our best impressions of 'sober' shortly before midnight on Thursday. However rough we look, it's nothing to how I felt the day after! We agreed on Thursday that we'd finish the night with a curry back at the same restaurant that Ian and I went to last December, and where we've been a couple of times since. It's on the far side of the City, opposite what used to be our office, and one of us had the bright idea of working our way there via several pubs; a pub crawl by any other name. So that's what happened. A couple where we started out, one at a pub along London Wall, another at a bar in Houndsditch, then another. It seemed like a good idea at the time, as it seemed like every office was having a Christmas party that night and everywhere was rammed with people dressed up to the nines and having a good time; a good atmosphere in each place, but it was the backdrop for us, not the main event; we provided our own entertainment. We had a couple for luck in The Swan, having retraced out steps along the same path Ian and I followed last year. By now, we could barely stand - a pint in each bar or pub, and here we were six or seven bars later wearing suits that somehow looked a little less smart than they had at the start of the evening. And horror of horrors, the curry house had closed down! We stumbled all around the city looking for an Indian restaurant, but you think we could find one? Then Ian suggesed we get a cab to Brick Lane - you're not exactly short of choice there, are you? - so that's what we did. I don't remember much after that, but the picture above was taken there by one of the waiters, so I know I must have been there. And I do recall the curry was one of the best I've ever had (but then, aren't they always, those ones you eat at the end of an alcohol-fuelled evening?). It was gone midnight when we left, and I don't recall much about the journey home. I do recall the day after though; I was a little bit, er, 'sensitive' to say the least. A hangover by any other name, then. But happy? Not much! We laughed until tears rolled down our faces. Felt warm in one another's company, bonded through shared experiences and many years. We didn't live in the past - we didn't have to, but it provided us with plenty of laughs on Thursday evening all the same. When I met with Ian last Christmas, it felt like two halves made one; what I hadn't considered at the time was that we were but two thirds of a whole; with Steve, the circle is once again complete. And this time, it's goint to stay that way. What a way to start the New Year! |
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21.12.05 14:31 |
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A PHOTO-JOURNAL: TWELVE MONTHS of THIS LIFE IN PICTURES - 2005
This then, is my year. As in both 2003 and 2004, I've blogged a pictorial retrospective featuring my highlights of the past 52 weeks and how they've impacted my life, changed me and moulded my future. Twelve months' worth of pictures which shine the brightest light on the events that have shaped my personality throughout 2005, the people and things that have touched my life. It's an interesting exercise for me, this. Looking back through my diaries and articles, searching through countless images in my portfolio in an effort to filter twelve months worth of life into a single entry. Viewed through the contorting lens of hindsight, this year looks nothing like it did as I lived it. It's the nature of freelancing, but looking back, I see periods of several weeks' worth of inactivity segueing into months where I was so busy, there weren't enough hours in the day. It's not like that, of course; life never is. What looks like inactivity in retrospect was in reality more like a collection of days spent researching, surfing the web at my desk. And compared with some of the things I feel I've achieved in the last twelve months, that's never going to stand out. Each year I've spent freelancing has had an event that has come to define it for me; perhaps unsurprisingly, last year it was the time I spent in Baghdad, whereas this year, it's been travel – a little ironic, seeing as how it started, unusually for me, with no trips booked, in hand, planned or even likely. Also, it’s had rather a military and political hue to it, coloured by close contact with the army, navy and Air Force, their ships, submarines, soldiers, transporters and fighter jets, officers and other ranks. That too is unusual, but that’s the way it’s panned out. In the guise of work, I've once again achieved some of my dreams, struck through a few more items on my life's wishlist. Twelve months ago, I had a diary devoid of assignments and I had no idea of the things, the events that would shape the year for me. Yet just 52 weeks on, I’ve made things happen that I didn't dream possible. I've been busier than ever before, landed some new commissions, made new contacts. I crossed for the first time both the equator and the international date line. I've flown a Harrier Jump Jet at low level. Met and interviewed Prince Andrew, Paul Boateng and Jack Straw. I've been to sea on an aircraft carrier and spent several days travelling under the ocean in a nuclear attack submarine. And after thinking last December that I'd be lucky to travel anywhere outside of the UK in 2005, I've ratched up over 100,000 miles in the air and spent a total of almost 3 months living overseas whilst visiting amongst other places the USA on four seperate occasions, Ascension Island, the Falkland Islands, Belize, Bermuda, Gibraltar, France, Spain, South Africa, India and Japan.Oh, and I flew to Edinburgh, too! I feel a great sense of privilege that my work allows me access to some of the people and places it's taken me to. And no little sense of pride that I've created something from nothing with this career. Seven or so years ago when I first started out in journalism, I was an unknown. It was a struggle. And whilst it's still not plain sailing, these days commissions come more often at the request of editors, rather than from me calling them. PRs know who I am, know what I can do, and invite me on trips or send me things. And other people pay for me to travel. Even now, I still have to pinch myself sometimes and tell myself it's really happening to me. I love what I do and feel blessed at some of the events that come my way. And if all I have to do in return is to write about them, take pictures that others might learn, or live vicariously through my adventures - that seems like a small price to pay. There are 77 pictures here: 77 images, which define the events that I remember most. Some are important, some not so, lying on the periphery of the event that gave rise to their existence. All tell a story and fit with the short narrative that accompanies them. There are rather more than in my previous pictorial rectrospectives, but then I've been busier this year, and my portfolio has grown commensurately larger, too. Each image is an average 55kb in size which on its own is nothing, although collectively, the 77 images here may take a minute or two to load even via a broadband connection. If you can take the time to look, read and comment, please do so - it will be appreciated. If you've stumbled here by accident, my apologies for having slowed your browsing. As previously, I've made no mention of the major events of the past twelve months that have coloured the news, made an impact on society in general or the world at large except for where they impact or collide with my own experience. This is not a blog about world events, war or the changes which contemporary existence visits on the way we live our lives. This is a blog about Someone Else's Life and the events and people that have shaped it.
DECEMBER 2004
Party Girls - The Definition of December: Last December seemed like one long round of parties, drinks and networking events. Might not sound like it, but it's vital work for the average freelancer - it's the one time of year you can guarantee to meet the numerous PRs, editors and other media types who you deal with throughout the year, each one of whom is vital to your success. Add in the numerous evenings out with friends to celebrate Christmas and it becomes a long month indeed! Kicked things off with a Christmas lunch with one of my editors; lunch with a girlfriend the following day and on the first Saturday of December, possibly the biggest 20six Blinks to date when over 20 bloggers met at the Old Thameside Inn, SE1. Following Tuesday I had lunch with Torsten, an old colleague and then on the 15th, met my editor at the agency for lunch in London, followed by a night out with Ian, a mate from old who was part of my team when I worked in the City. That set the scene for the rest of the month which saw me out every night in the week leading up to Christmas Day.
JANUARY 2005 Hit the ground running this year with a raft of full-length features to write for an immovable deadline at the end of the first week of January, a hangover from a couple of assignments I'd undertaken for the magazine in early Autumn. It's my own fault; I write best when under pressure, so no matter when I do the research, the writing is left until my editor tells me it's required. Once that was done, I relaxed a little, meeting a girlfriend for lunch at her work on three consecutive Fridays according to my diary! Busied myself when not enjoying lunch by coming up with ideas for future stories and planning for assignments later in the year.
Banda Aid: An RAF C-17 Globemaster at Banda Aceh Airport, Indonesia. My life turns on a sixpence; a phone call on the afternoon of Friday 14th put me on warning to travel to Banda Aceh to cover the U.K's response to the Tsunami that devastated so much of Asia on Boxing Day 2004. The trip would have taken me to Penang, via Brindisi, Abu-Dhabi, Colombo and Banda Aceh. As it was, I was stood down just 6 hours before departure when the RAF received additional orders that required further personnel on the mission. Service personnel take precedence over journalists, so I was bumped off the flight and one of my colleagues took my place on the next one available, as I was otherwise engaged.
FEBRUARY 2005
VC-10 - The RAF's Petrol Station: The 2nd February saw me at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire for what would prove to be the first of several visits in 2005. RAF Brize Norton is the Royal Air Force's centre for Air Transportation (AT) and Air Refuelling (AR), being home to the entire RAF strategic AT and AR fleet. Countless aircraft depart daily from its 10,000ft runway on worldwide operations and any world hotspot or crisis will probably see the arrival of an aircraft from RAF Brize Norton. I was on an assignment to accompany 101 Squadron on an air-to-air refuelling sortie in one of the RAF's VC-10 tankers.
Ready to Drink: A Tornado F3 takes on fuel from the VC-10. Air to air refuelling for military aircraft stems from the often limited range of fighter jets and strategic bombers. The Tornado F3, Britain’s primary air defence fighter jet is limited to sorties of one to one and a half hours without refuelling, and its range falls further depending on the nature of the sortie. Its internal fuel capacity of just 5,600 kilograms is one of its greatest limitations. In a normal cruise of 420 knots at low level, the aircraft burns fuel at a rate of 42kg per minute but with the F3’s afterburners engaged on full combat reheat the fighter jet gulps fuel at an astonishing 900kg per minute.
Thirsty: Two F3s form up on the port wing ready to take on fuel. The RAF's VC10 fleet comprises the only examples of this ageing airliner flying anywhere in the world today, and with Concorde's demise, it is the fastest airliner still flying. The aircraft carry up to 70,000kg of fuel and are capable of refuelling 2 aircraft at a time from the wing pods. Although the aircraft themselves are of another age, their flight decks are equipped with a modern flight management system and the necessary avionics for full worldwide operations. My wife left me on the 8th for a ten day holiday to South Africa with a friend; I spent the rest of the month preparing for a couple of forthcoming overseas assignments, interspersed with some freelanice I.T consulting for local businesses.
MARCH 2005
Ascension: On the ground in the South Atlantic. The 1st March saw me back at Brize Norton with Melanie, a colleague from the magazine. There, we boarded an Air Luxor charter flight bound for the Falkland Islands via Ascension Island, a tiny (just 35 square miles) sub-tropical island situated almost in the dead centre of the South Atlantic. The flight time for the 4,200 mile journey between Brize Norton and Ascension is 8 hours 35 minutes and the 23:00 departure time ex-UK means you leave the aircraft after touch down in Ascension at around 08:00 giving ample time for a night’s sleep in between. After flying across the Equator and a further thousand or so miles of ocean, there it is, alone, rising from the South Atlantic. Ascension is a product of the mid-Atlantic ridge and completely volcanic in origin - it’s little more than a mountain peak rising out of the sea, the island’s 35 square miles of volcanic rock echoing a Martian landscape. The radar domes which litter the skyline, plethora of antennas and other ephemera of military and broadcasting dominate. Ascension has no indigenous population, the inhabitants of the island comprising the employees and families of the organisations working there. The population is about 1,200 now, mostly Saint Helenians but with about 200 United Kingdom and 150 US citizens. The island is also used as a US Air Force base, RAF refuelling point, BBC World Service transmitter station, and European Space Agency tracking station. Cable and Wireless also have an operation there.
Fighter Escort: Arriving at Mount Pleasant Airport, Falkland Islands at 14:00 on a windy, if sunny and warm afternoon was a little different from the norm, two RAF Tornado F3 fighters intercepting us roughly 200 miles out and escorting us in. It's nothing more than a sign of the times, the MoD having written into the contract for airlines flying its personnel into theatre that their airliners may be used for practice intercepts by our fighter pilots. Think about it - where else are they, and their controllers on the ground going to rehearse the finer points of vectoring a £30m fighter jet alongside a fully loaded commercial airliner? Over London? Can you imagine the panic that might provoke amongst civillain passenegers en-route to Heathrow? Mel and I were due to spend a week on the islands, writing about every aspect of the U.K military's work in the South Atlantic, from conservation to live-fire exercises, and everything in between.
Big Sky: Falkalnds Landscape on the drive to Goose Green and San Carlos. The first you notice in the Falklands is the light, or more specifically, the clarity and brightness of it. It is, quite simply, unreal, unlike anything I've ever seen anywhere. Consider the population of the Falkland Islands, and its popultation - covering a geographical area roughly approximate to Wales, the population is just 2,400, with almost 2,000 of those living in the capital, Stanley (which is also the world's southernmost city). In addition, the islands' location - close to Antarctica and some way distant from any major centres of population - contributes. The net result is a graphic illustration of just how polluted the rest of our planet is. Quite simply, the clarity of light down there is breathtaking. With the atmosphere devoid of dust and pollutants, and occupied by so few people, what you have is pure, perfect vision (the FI also sit directly under the hole in the ozone layer meaning you burn five times quicker than anywhere else). Sparkling night skies, unspoilt by light pollution from major connurbations, the naturally bright nights of the southern hemisphere enhanced and improved beyond measure. The Milky Way is painfully bright, a billion stars shouting out their names to even the most uninterested astronomer. The Southern Cross, Orion's Belt, The Plough - they're all there on a cloudless night, incandescent and alive, ready to entrance and awe the unwary.
Monument: One place I wanted to visit was the spot where Colonel H Jones, VC was killed during the battle for Goose Green. With the sun having dropped below the horizon and a gorgeous array of colours in the dusk sky, I stopped to consider the act which Jones had performed to lead his men to victory, sacrificing himself in the process. Foolhardy or brave, his action had a profound effect on the Argentine forces who held the superior ground and were pinning down 2 Para with machine gun fire. His lone attack galvanised the men under his command and saw the surrender of 1,200 Argentine soldiers who vastly outnumbered the British in the attack.
Reflecting on the Glorious Dead: The entrance to the Argentine Cemetery built by the British near to Goose Green. It's a beautiful place, tranquil and serene, a fitting resting place for soldiers who were killed prosecuting a war they had no desire to fight.
Man at C&A: Mike, one of the Hercules C-130 pilots based in the Falkland Islands whilst I was there, does his best 'Man at C&A' pose to illustrate the clarity of light. Over beer and pizzas in the Officers' Mess one evening, I learned that Mike had been out in Iraq at the same time I was in 2004 and we ascertained that he'd flown me into Baghdad on at least one occasion, even if we didn't know it at the time.
Low Pass Over Falkland Sound: I joined Mike and the crew of MPA's Hercules C-130 on several sorties, including a Martime Reconnaisance Patrol. All fishing within 200 nautical miles of the Falklands is subject to licensing by the Falkland Islands Government, but checks are made on some two-million square miles of ocean comprising the South Atlantic Overseas Territories to keep a check on illegal fishing vessels and maintain a military presence as far south as the South Sandwich Islands and Southern Thule. The fishery now generates over £20 million per annum in licence fees, roughly half of government revenue and the total cost to the Falkland Islands Government (FIG)of managing and protecting the fishery is approximately £5 million p.a. The Islands have received no economic aid from Britain since 1992 and are now self-sufficient in all areas except defence (a large element of the Falklands defence budget covers salaries which would be payable regardless).
Southern Point: a rock outcrop on Sea Lion Island colonised by Cormorants. On a weekend off, Mel and I blagged a ride on a military helicopter to Sea Lion Island with the resident MoD Conservation Protection Officer. The Falkland Islands are famed for their birdlife and sea mammals, and nowhere is this more apparent than on Sea Lion. In every direction there were penguins, geese, ducks, gulls and moorland birds by the hundreds of thousands, with the beaches full of sealions and huge elephant seals.
One of a Pair: A Striated Carcara, one of the world's rarest birds of prey and a species indigenous to the Falkland Islands. The birds, like most wildlife there, are relatively tame, having no reason to fear the tiny population on the islands.
The Tip of the Iceberg: Ice floes in the South Atlantic near to the South Sandwich Islands, as viewed from the flight deck of the Hercules C-130 which makes regular resupply drops to the islands. I felt enormously privileged to have been paid to visit the Falkland Islands. The South Atlantic is one of the last great unpoilt areas on earth and is gaining popularity as a tourist destination where tours cost upwards of £5000 per person. We saw whales and dophins, flew in a variety of military aircraft, and saw unique geological phenomena (like rivers of rock) unike those found anywhere else in the world. At MPA, the military has in one place all of the assets which in the UK are spread the length and breadth of the country. I spent a week there, but I could have spent a month and still not covered everything. There's a wonderful sense of esprit de corps amongst the personnel stationed there, and we were embraced by our hosts in the Mess and made to feel extraordinarily welcome.
Star Spangled Banner: I arrived back in London on the 9th and a week later, flew off to the U.S on first of what turned out to be four seperate trips there in 2005. My parents have a house in Cajun country, Louisiana and I have a brother who lives in Oklahoma. The trip was an opportunity for us to meet up for the first time in 2 years.
Man's Best Friend: Lee, one of my parents' friends, and his dog look out over the water on land owned by Lee and his wife Tina. I attended several 'Crawfish Cookouts' and got a comprehensive education into all things Cajun.
Street Life: Street signs in the Canal Street district of New Orleans on a blisteringly hot day. This was my second visit to New Orleans and it was just as I remembered; a normal, bustling, vibrant city. Sadly, just five months later, the devastated city lay under water, after Hurricane Katrina visited the worst natural disaster in the U.S' history upon it.
Brownstone: Tenement buildings painted in different hues, bordering the French Quater in New Orleans.
Behind the Badge: Unable to go anywhere without my journalists' curiosity rising to the surface, I arranged to spend some time on patrol with the local police department to get an insight into law enforcement, U.S style.
APRIL 2005 I spent the first week of April kicking back and enjoying some quality time with my parents and brother, reunited as a family of four on hoiday for the first time since we were kids. We drank beer, read, ate too much, went on road trips and generally had fun. I almost didn't make it home though, after my Prince Albert set off an alarm at airport security and an over-officious TSA officer refused to let me board the aircraft. I eventually got home on the 9th, returning to more outstanding commissions that needed writing up and a couple of lunch meetings with editors.
Cat Napped: Katya, one of our two Russian Blues, shows just what I miss most whenever I'm away from home - normality, and all that it encompasses. I love this image for the indignant look on her face and the absurdity of it all; my wife was sat on the sofa beside me reading the day's paper one evening in the week after I returned, when Katya crept underneath it and settled down with just her head peering over. She made herself comfortable and sat like that for about half and hour. Daughter A had an inset day on the 21st, a gorgeous sunny day, so I cleared the decks of work and took her to The Imperial War Museum, perhaps my most favourite of all of London's museums and galleries. We spent 8 hours there, visited all the exhibitions, inluding the one on Genocide, and came home tired but immensely moved. Finished the month with some more IT consulting.
MAY 2005 A speculative phone call to a news agency editor at the tail end of April saw me in Soho on the 4th for a meeting over lunch. A pleasant lady, we got on well and shook hands at the end having agreed a deal to work with one another. A nice start to the month! An evening spent in a Soho pub with a motley collection of 20six bloggers on the evening of Friday 13th and some more I.T work for a local firm before a marathon couple of assignments mid-month.
Top Gun: a member of the ground crew shields his face from the jet efflux of a departing Harrier aboard the Royal Navy's flagship aircraft carrier, somewhere in the North Sea.On the 24th, I sat back in the luxury of a first class carriage on a GNER express to an RAF base in Yorkshire, from where I was transferred by helicopter to spend three days on assingment aboard HMS Illustrious.
Harrier GR7: An RAF Harrier GR7 parked at the end of Illustrious' newly-refurbished flight deck. I was welcomed aboard the ship's wardroom and given an in-depth look at operations aboard our Royal Navy's newly-refitted flagship. A visit to Flyco on the Bridge saw a look of pure delight etched across my face as I greeted with the words, "Hope you don't mind, I've arranged for you to undertake a sortie in a Harrier from Yeovilton with the Navy's Chief pilot later this year!".
The Finished Article: What happens when the assignment's over, I've consulted my notes, edited my images and submitted them to my editor. The opening pages of my eight page feature as published late this year. A helicopter from the ship flew me back to Newcastle International Airport where I was met my a naval rating who drove me at high speed to the station just in time for me to catch the last express of the evening to Kings Cross and home. I had to be back in time; the following evening saw me back at RAF Brize Norton for a three day assignment taking in three countries.
Dawn Flight: Boeing’s C-17A Globemaster III strategic heavy-lift transporter is one of the most modern and capable aircraft in the RAF’s inventory. Four have been leased from the U.S, with an end-of-lease purchase option, to provide Britain with a strategic airlift capability until the introduction of the Airbus A400M in 2011. The aircraft is a declared part of the U.K’s Joint Rapid Reaction Force and the RAF is currently the only European force which can offer outsize airlift assets from within its own inventory. The aircraft are flown out of RAF Brize Norton by 99 Squadron. An 02:00 alarm call saw me roused from my slumber after just two hours sleep and driven to 99 Squadron's crew room . There, I met with 'Spoons' and Ben, the pilots for our forthcoming sortie which I was joining as supernumerary crew.
View from the Bridge: From my seat between the two pilots on the capacious flight deck, I had a perfect vantage point for proceedings, and plumbed in to the aircraft's comms, could couumicate with the crew and air traffic control.
Flight Planning: On the ground in San Antonio, Texas ready for our next sortie to the Central American country of Belize, nestled between Guatemala and Mexico on the Caribbean coast. We'd landed in the U.S at 14:00 local the previous day and had the afternoon and evening at leisure in the city. A late night saw some sore heads the following morning, ready for our next sortie which, after some delays, took us to the Caribbean.
Close Encounters: The cold, air conditioned cargo bay of the C-17 meets the humid air on the ground in Belize later that afternoon. Whilst the crew loaded the aircraft, a car was waiting for Spoons, Ben and myself immediately we left the flight deck, and whisked us off on the short journey to our luxury accommodation.
Men at Work: No, really. This was work! Ben and myself sip cocktails in the pool at the Radisson SAS hotel, Belize just 90 minutes after shutting down the jet's engines. Several cocktails and a couple of hours later, all sense had been discarded and we were laughing like drains as we visited ever more devious practical jokes on one another. The evening was just as much fun! Not so the 06:00 alarm the following morning ready for our nest sortie to Bermuda. It's not all fun and games for the crew though. The aircraft’s capacity – and its range – means that for the bulk of the time, 99 Squadron’s taskings are for flights into Iraq and Afghanistan. When I joined them, however, they were midway through an upgrade program that meant flying the aircraft to the Boeing Facility at Kelly Field, in San Antonio, Texas. One of the Squadron’s aircraft had completed its upgrade and was awaiting collection from there; the one we were flying was to be left in situ for its upgrade over the next 55 days.
On Finals for Berumda: Ben lines us up for a smooth landing in a crosswind on the sun-kissed island of Bermuda, a few hours after taking off from Belize.
Globemaster: The C-17 on the ground in Bermuda. The guy in the flouresecent jacket at the rear of the aircraft (by the engine) gives some idea of its sheer size, making it the second largest transport aircraft in existence. Our departure from Bermuda was delayed as the aircraft displayed the first of many gremlins, having emerged from its 55day refit. The worst of these occurred mid-way across the Atlantic when I watched a full-scale emergency unfold on the flight deck as a spurious warning told us we had lost all fuel! Our subsequent later-than-planned return to the U.K saw us back at Brize Norton at 04:00 on Monday 30th. Spoons kindly offered me the guest room at his house in the Oxfordshire countryside so I grabbed a few hours sleep before heading home. Spent the evening with friends Nick and Eva and the girls at a National Trust 'hide' in Tewin, Herftodshire watching badgers feed.
JUNE 2005
Hot Weather: The sun reflects through the glass monument at the National Police Memorial. Record-breaking weather wasn't wasted (bright and sunny all weekend in London and the South East with a high on Sunday 19th of 92deg. F) with P and I taking a train into the city on Saturday 18th. Designed by architect Norman Foster, the National Police Memorial is the brainchild of film director Michael Winner and was unveiled by the Queen in April. The marble and glass column contains a book with the names of 1,600 officers killed since 1900. The memorial represents the realisation of a dream for Michael Winner who has campaigned tirelessly for a permament reminder of the ultimate sacrifice made by our police ever since the death of WPc Yvonne Fletcher. The project was started by Winner, who donated over £500,000 of his own money to the £2.3m project.
Animals in War: The momument in Park Lane honours all of the animals that have served and suffered in Britain's name through various conflicts and they are all there, depicted in bas relief upon the wall. From the horses, requisitioned from private owners in their millions to die upon continental battlefields, to the mules silenced for the Burmese jungle by having their vocal cords severed. The donkeys that collapsed under the weight of amumintion and the dogs that ripped their paws raw digging for survivors in the Blitz or had half their faces blown off searching for mines - but carried on to find more. They are all remembered - the camels and canaries, the elephants and oxen; the messenger pigeons that flew home bullet riddled and on one wing; and even the glow worms, by whose gentle light the soldiers read their maps in the First World War. Socrates said that bold actions done without knowledge aren't courageous. That if you don't know the nature of the horrors that face you, you're just foolhardy rather than brave in taking them on. He was wrong; that cool logic can't, doesn't apply to animals. For unlike the British soldiers to whose efforts they were so vital, animals were forced into battle. As the inscription says, they had no choice. They could also bolt at gunfire without fear of court-martial. Few did though. So regardless of whether their actions were foolhardly, or brave, there is no question that they were admirable. I'd been meaning to visit the memorial since it was unveiled late in 2004; we finally did so after visiting the Police Memorial. A lazy month otherwise, characterised for me by the usual silly season antics. Wimbledon, hot weather. Strawberries, the new series of Dr Who, Big Brother and not much work going on. Perfect.
JULY 2005
Shooting Royalty: HRH Prince Andrew, the Duke of York gets into the driving seat of his Jaguar, RAF Northolt, 5th July. I'd joined 32 (the Royal) Squadron and was accommodated in the Officers' Mess from 4th-8th as I joined them on several sorties. On the morning of the 4th, we flew Prince Andrew to Humberside, returning to London to collect the PM's entourage who we then ferried to Dundee for the G8 summit. Back to Dundee to collect the Prince w |
