Adventure Redeux

So, we leave work a bit early. What the hell, considering Stock Take is going on (physical inventory for us Yanks) there is very little I can get accomplished while in the office. That seems to be more important than the the project that I'm here for. I'll stop ranting about work now...

So, we take off about 4:45pm to make a train into London's Fenchurch Station. From there we wander down to the Tower Gateway Station and pick up the Docklands Light Rail. Jump off that at the Westferry Station to head to our destination. However, due to a misread of the overhead monitors, I take us to a different track. Down stairs, across a street, up several flights of stairs just to realize that we've left the one track that we needed. Dammit! Apparently, this Moe guy is not much of a tour guide :).

At any rate, we get on the next train to Lewisham. That's not our destination, mind you, but the destination of the train. We were told by some people in the office that if we went all the way to Lewisham we'd probably be shot for our troubles. Seems that place is pretty...interesting. John says, tongue in cheek, that he needed to make sure to wear running shoes, just in case. But, several stops down the way is a stop for Greenwich. As in Greenwich Mean Time (GMT). Zulu Time. The center of time as we know it. Hell, I was excited about going there. Of course, it wasn't until we were on our way that I realized that I would be there when it was DARK. No *real* point in bringing the camera, huh? Maybe I'll come back here over the weekend...who knows.

We were meeting John's niece, Katie and her husband, Garrath again. John had brought something for her that we neglected to bring on our previous meeting. Katie, John's niece, is a school teacher of first graders (Grade Two in England, IIRC). She's planning a lesson about the beach. Seeing as most of her kids have never actually seen the beach, she asked John to bring some sand and a few sea shells over for her from California. Note: Here's where John breaks the customs laws. It's against custom regulations to bring over soil of any kind. John brings over several pounds of sand. Not a small vial of sand sample, no. He brings "the goods". I understand his wife and two kids are to be given credit for the collection of "the goods". Well done team!

We finally arrive at Greenwich Station. Katie says that as soon as we get off there are a couple pubs right there. We can meet there. What she didn't realize is that I was on board this train and whenever you add me to the mix, things get...err...interesting. You see, our train dropped us off at a different platform that she was thinking. So, when we walked down the stairs we were given two directions; left or right. Neither seemed to point us towards a pub. We chose right. As we walked down the street, John asked a lady if she knew where the nearest pub was. Just up on the left was the reply. We walked into a wine bar. Katie and Garrath were not there. Just an aside; A wine bar is not a pub. Out we go from that place. Well, that was on a T-Junction of the street. So, we could once again choose right or left. We chose right again (remember the right-hand rule when lost in a maze?). Off we wandered. We found a bar (The North Pole Bar); No Katie. No Garrath.

So, of course, we wander off down the road. We are now walking through some darkened streets and John mentions something about getting mugged. I told him that's why we wore running shoes, right? John calls Katie who says she's waiting at the main window of the station. He relays this to me after he hangs up. I ask the question he was already thinking...there was a main window at that station? We continue forward as we have already crossed under the tracks and are coming up to where we would have ended up if we had taken the left off of the platform. Sure enough, we can see the Station proper coming up. We wander under the tracks again (we, of course, were now on the wrong side) and find Katie waiting right outside an actual indoor terminal. She guides us through the terminal and out the front door to meet up with Garrath...at the pub right outside the station (which, by the way, we left without buying a pint...there's gotta be a special place in hell reserved for me on that offense alone). To our right is the large building that both John and I recognized was next door to the Wine Bar. Let me recap quickly here; If we'd have taken a left coming off the platform we would have been here sooner. If we had take an left at the T-Junction outside of the wine bar? Yup, right to the the location we were standing just then. So much for the right-hand rule...Until otherwise directed, we will be using the left-hand rule. The right has betrayed us.

So, we rejoin the process of catching up that was ended last week. We wander along towards the Cutty Sark which is kind of beached/parked in Greenwich. Well, until it mostly burned down several months ago. You don't know the Cutty Sark? That's fine, at the time of this writing, I know the name, but, have no idea of the history attached to it. I want to say it was a famous privateer ship, but, I can't say for sure. Sad, I know. You're probably all very disappointed in me. But, trust me, I have done a bit of research and the following portion was added into this just before posting :)...

The Cutty Sark. I was wrong. It was a merchant vessel in the tea trade and the wool trade after that. Famous for her speed, she posted the fastest speed for her size of ship. Other than that, she was used as a training vessel and later a tourist attraction. Like the Star of India, I guess, but not as interesting. You see, sometimes history doesn't turn out to be all that awe inspiring. So, in light of that, here's her made up history according to me:

The Cutty Sark. She was a 16 gun privateer that sailed the seas under the Captain Charles "HellDog" McBrannon. Wildly cruel to his crew but paid a large share of the bounties. For years she stalked the waters hunting enemies of the crown. Fast and sleek, she struck larger, more powerful ships with surprise and deadly accuracy of her guns. In 1895 she was found floating dead in the water. She was boarded to find nobody else aboard. According to the ship's logs, Capt McBrannon had grown ill and died two months earlier and the first mate David Sweeney had taken over to get her back to port. A strange malady struck the crew when they were two days out of London. That was the last entry in the logs. To this day nobody knows what happened to the officers and crew...

Oh, she does have a whiskey named after her. That part's true.

We then took a (short) trip to the river Thames to take a look at it. I'd seen it many times before. I've walked along it's banks. I've (not) enjoyed the cool breezes that come off of it in February. Now it was dark. I have to tell you though, earlier in the day (or the previous night...or early morning...sometime while I was sleeping) some huge winds and rain and other meteorological events took place to cause high tide and heavy flooding. I was told that there was basically a wall of water 3.5 meters (about 11 feet) tall whooshing down the coast. Yes, wooshing! They had closed the barriers to the Thames to prevent that wall of water from getting in and causing any damage. This resulted in the Thames being much lower than it should be.

We walk down the Thames Walk to see the Naval Academy of yesteryear. It's all gated off but lit up fairly well. Very nice. I tell Garrath that I'll most likely have to come back here over the weekend during the day so I can experience it fully (and take some photos).

We end up at a pub called The Spanish Galley Tavern. Katie asked around using the knowledge that I was "a beer snob" and this place was recommended to her. I just think it's awesome that she went out of her way to find a compatible place. I am happy going to any ole pub and grabbing a pint or two. But, the Spanish Galley had several I'd not tried. Happy Day! I started off with a pint of the Bishop's Finger. With a name like that, how could I not order it :). John went with a pint of Master Brew. Apparently, the bartender called it a Local Hero. I ordered the Bangers and Mash and another pint; This time it was Spitfire. John came back with a Dutch beer Orengeboom.

We sat around and chit-chatted about various things. John regaled us with stories of when he and Katie were younger. I found out that Garrath is just completing his PhD in History (Ba-Damn!). And now, I can't recall if I added any stories to the fray. Knowing me, I probably did. Eventually, we had to break up the party. John had delivered the beach sand and shells and we had a great evening. The four of us walk back to the station at Greenwich so we can reverse our trek back "home". Goodbyes are said and the train pulls away.

Well, it's still early for us. John and I decide to stop by and have a pint at the Hung, Drawn and Quartered in London near the Tower. When we get off our first train John tells me that he'll follow me as I "can probably locate the pub by smell". Next thing you know, we're walking through the doors. I order the ESB. I'd wanted a pint of that for about a week now and have finally gotten it. John jumps straight to the old stand by; Stella. If I wasn't so dead set on trying all the various beers, I'd probably be ordering Guinness more often. We talk and watch the end of a football match.

We decide that we aren't really tired and have plenty of time. So, we order another round. I tell the bartender (a cute lady with a minor French accent) that it looks like I have to have a pint of the tap called Scrumpy Jack. We go into the tale of me trying every different drink that I can and she starts going through the list. "Have you tried ..." everything she brings up is "Yup", "Several Times", "Yes", etc. I had not tried the Discovery Blonde ale that John had when we were here the first time, but, I wasn't in the mood for that one. I wanted the one called Scrumpy Jack. And with a name like that, can you blame me? Turns out it's a cider. Slight bite at the beginning, but, a nice smooth, non-dry cider taste after that. John grabs another Stella.

We consume our beverages while talking to each other, watching a boxing match and watching a table of three people near us. This table of three had 8 or 9 Leffes bottles on the table when we walked in. Mind you, that's before the waitress could clear it off. One of the guys was...for lack of a better term...BLOTTO. He was gone. Wasted. Drunk of his ass. Inebriated. Intoxicated. Three sheets to the wind. He had a hard time standing up straight. We watched with humor him try to put on his jacket. He was having a hell of a time trying to get his arm in the sleeve. Poor bastage. It's guaranteed he's going to be shouting at his feet eventually. The Technicolor yawn, as we call it. There's just no way, in my experience, that you can get as drunk as that guy was and not have to. I feel bad for the guy. But, he was drunk enough to buy the evening's drinks for his two less inebriated friends. They were kind enough to help him sign the credit card voucher and put the receipt into his pocket.

Shortly after that we are told the pub is closing down and we have to finish our pints and leave. It's only 11, I say...The once friendly bartender basically ignores us from then on. We've paid for all the beer we're going to have. So, there's no point in trying to charm us out of tips anymore, I guess. We jump onto the train back to Laindon Station and head home for the night.