just wonging.

London is becoming dreamy with the sunny weather. I almost have the desire to do nothing but sleep.  Day 6. OK I was cheating a bit; the last leg of the journey I took a train, although in retrospect I just picked the  wrong road to hitchhike on. That morning I embarked upon the quest of crossing Austria in a few hours. It was at the hitching hot spot near Hütteldorf where I met  Vlad the Romanian . First time hitching two together, I was pondering rate of success while Vlad went on pounding the unwillingness of Austrian drivers to stop. "They have to be exact, you see. If you put on a sign to go to a certain place, they won't stop even if they will pass by that place if they're going somewhere else." He was going to Innsbruck, and then down to Bologna, taking a longer route because "the scenery is nicer." Hitching with class. His almost sole motivation for hitching was because a train ticket was too expensive. Anyhow one and half hours later, afte...

For a certain reason, I find myself sitting on a lonesome chair in the London suburbs , if we could call that neighborhood that . Geographically it certainly is. Identity wise it more certainly is. Apart from the unknown reason for which I am there, people watching is certainly a part of activity, but that can only last so long, for within a day or two you figure out how so very "ethnic" this place is, as Mr. Sun Zhongyuan would use as description. It then comes down to reading material to save the day. Metro , handed out freely and normally not even worth a glimpse, suddenly becomes enticing with its forever entertaining guilty pleasures section and that seemingly everlasting British glory in the Olympics, when in reality Brits can only contend to become the best of the rest , far from even seeing second place. But even Metro  has its expiration time, for there are only so many countable words or pages you can read. So you then down Love in the Time of Chole...