Dear Sidmouth,

Sidmouth. England's Florida, if Florida was a state that I loved. Really Sidmouth only has a few things in common with Florida. Sidmouth is at the south of its country, has a fantastic coast, and boasts a large number of retired folks. Two of those folks are June and David. For three days and two nights June and David took me in and treated me like one of their own. And so this post is dedicated to them and their lovely part of the world. But before I talk about my stay I first need to talk about a friend back home.

Hello Emily.
Let's hope you read this, or it'd be a bit embarassing wouldn't it? Do you rememer Dr. Katz's class? That is the first class we had together right? I don't think we ever talked in it. And I'm sure that when you saw me you didn't think "One day that guy will go to Sidmouth and see my Grandma." But, that did happen. Isn't life odd. You see, June is Emily's Grandma. Emily and I became friends while attending an entry level physics class. If you go by what Facebook says (doesn't everyone?) we became friends in September 2013. Over the course of that year we'd build a strong friendship primarily made of pizza boxes, the strongest building material known to man. A special bond is formed during the ritual sharing of a Capone's Bonnie & Clyde. Of course things like giving a lift to work and helping with a move help a lot too. But mostly pizza. Once I made it to England Emily gave my contact info to her Gran. And the rest is now recent history. So thank you too Emily for being the tomato sauce on the pizza. You might be a bit out of the picture, but you form a vital link between the cheese and the crust. And I appreciate that greatly. More so after having eaten Hungary's sauceless pizza.

And so this past Sunday I found myself on platform 3 at the Taunton station waiting on the train to Exeter. David and I had been in touch and he'd be at the other end waiting on my arrival with a "Z E B !" sign. In less than an hour I'd be hopping in his car and cruising along to Sidmouth where I'd meet June. I'll never think of June as just another month. Certainly I'll now always be reminded of the south coast of England. And what a coast it is! After watching a Formula 1 race with David we'd set out on a walk. The word "walk" doesn't seem to do it justice. There should be a special term for when you go on a walk and see so much. On our journey we'd meander down hedge lined lanes, up and over a hill, and by pretty old houses. As the sun was setting we'd find ourselves standing above Jacob's Ladder at the shore. The sun had dipped behind a hill and its light had painted the sky with warm colors. There weren't many clouds but the ones present reminded me of the kind my Mom claims to mean it will snow. Down below us you could hear, and see, waves gently rolling on to the beach. The air felt clean and crisp. Along the coast you see the dramatic cliffs rising out of the sea. It's a bit obvious why people would want to retire here. Any day of the week you can walk into a painting. Or one of a number of paintings. We'd continue on through a well organized and beautiful garden area to a view of Sidmouth. Here you could see the town's waterfront with its shops, restaurant, and walkway. Soon we'd be down there. Stopping in at the Mocha for some tea and cake before heading away from the water, down beautiful streets, and back to June and David's. We'd return to a lovely roast dinner, June is quite the cook.

Monday brought more blue sky and crisp air. On the day's schedule was a walk from Branscombe to Beer along the Jurassic Coast. Fortunately free of dinosaurs. After breakfast we'd pile into the car and head for Branscombe, a town built up a valley. It was a pretty place and one day I'd like to return and look around. We'd head down along the valley until meeting the sea. Once again I was on the footpaths that I like so much. The walk over to Beer was filled with sun, views, and the sound of waves. We'd take our time and stop often to look at the scenery. Beer itself is a great destination. Lots of cool buildings and a nice atmosphere. Just make sure you get there before two if it's late in the year. Most of it is shut down or with limited hours during the off season. And if you're like David, a fish n' chip purist, you may be dissapointed by being offered huss instead of cod. But at least it's caught locally. You can walk down to the shore and see the boats. We'd eventually head back the way we came, this time on the high road. Along the way we came across many "kissing gates". The story being that a man would charge his lady with a kiss to be let through. Unfortunately I was a bit of a third wheel in this as I had no lady to tax and I couldn't wait around all day for one to arrive. Most we saw were already with their own member of the IRS anyway. Another highlight of this walk was recreating a photo or two from Emily's youth. It was fun to hear a few stories about her, nothing embarassing I promise Emily. As we continued and the sun set temperatures would drop quickly but soon enough we were back in Sidmouth enjoying a steak and kidney pie. For dessert I was even treated with a cream tea. Scones with clotted cream and jam, of course tea too. An issue in some households is whether you put your cream or your jam on first. I'm not sure what it says about me but for the record, I put the cream on first.

Tuesday would unfortunately be my last day in the company of June and David. We'd head into Exeter where they'd show me some of the history. A peak at the guildhall, a bit of the castle, and mostly the cathedral. The Exeter Cathedral really is quite a thing to see. After exploring it for a while we'd head to an old restaurant allegedly where Francis Drake used to go. I wonder what he'd think if he showed up there today. Too soon after leaving the restaurant I was at the train station saying my farewells. But it isn't a permanent goodbye. One day we may see each other again in North Carolina. There's also a walk close to the length of the Westweg that follows the coast, I think I'd like to do that. Either way Southwest England is somewhere I'd like to return to. I can't thank June and David enough for the hospitality that they've shown me, which included flying the NC flag. I wish them the best!

Sincerely,
Zeb

P.S.
Phew, sorry about this late update. Since Sidmouth I've returned to and left Wivey. I went back for a final dinner with Craig and Lis (and a pint in the bear along with a pickled egg). Two more folks, along with other Wivey locals, I'd like to see again. The next morning I caught a coach to London where I met up with my Mom! We've been exploring the city together along with her friend Sandi. It's really a treat. I'm sure I'll have something to say about all of that. We head to Amsterdam for a few days on the 30th and then Dec. 3rd I'm off to Scotland! I'll try to keep things more up to date.

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving back in the US! As always I'm thanful for friends and family, the kindness of strangers, my health, and so much more!

Dear Public Footpaths,

What a great idea you are. Many adventures I've been on have happened because of my access to public footpaths. I owe a lot to whoever came up with the scheme to create them and to the local landowners that let me stroll around on their land. A day hasn't gone by that I've not been on one of these paths.

This post includes a few shocking secrets about my life abroad so hold on tight. The first is that I'm now somewhat of a dedicated runner. I know I've mentioned my new hobby a bit before but now it's really a problem. Since I've been here in Wivey I've started my day off with a run of at least fourty-five minutes, at most sixty. Running has crept into my daily routine. I have an alarm set for 6:30, plenty of time to wake up and argue with myself over why running is stupid and I should sleep instead. Eventually I'll find myself dressed in my blue running attire and slipping on my (usually) soggy shoes. As I lace them up brown water trickles out of the shoestrings. My shoes are a bright red with a good covering of grass and mud. I think of myself as Superman. Before setting off I select some music, usually the Gorillaz, Will's playlist, or some soothing electronic music. Some may be horrified to know I'm a Zune guy. Always a trendsetter I bypassed the IPods and went with Microsoft's version. Folks are generally surprised by this exclaiming "They still make those?!" "I've never known anyone with one!" Aside from it starting with the best letter of the alphabet I like the Zune because: 1. It doesn't use ITunes 2. More storage space, less money. So, music situated, off I go down the track from the caravan. At the end I have a decision to make, am I going left or right? If I go left I'm headed up the hill, right takes me down towards the river. Either way I'll see the massive pheasant cage. This is where the birds are fed and raised from a young age. Seeing it always reminds me of Jurassic Park and the fencing used for the dinosaurs. This of course makes me think of the pheasants as little velociraptors strutting around. Thankfully they're not as clever or ferocious. Often on my runs a herd of these birds skitters along in front of me, some emitting a funny noise and flapping to freedom. At times I feel a bit like a T-Rex chasing after prey. Rawr. At the top of the hill, if I've gone left, I'll come to a gate with a field on the other side. Every now and then I'll just jog in circles around this field only accompanied by the odd pheasant, deer, or flock of gulls. The view from here across the valley is fantastic. Just watch out for the bottom left corner, it's sloppy down there.

If I'm feeling adventurous I'll jog straight through the field and make a left just past the next gate. Don't go straight or you'll end up with the sheep. Oops. Left keeps you on the public footpath headed down into Wivey. Don't forget to shut the gate. There's a sign letting you know that forgetting to do so causes more work for the farmer, and that he has enough work as it is. Following this path is tricky as it's very muddy and filled with puddles, but it's still nice. You run between hedges with herds of sheep on the other side. Eventually coming out of the fields into Wivey by the gas station. I've been told if you come down to the gas station around closing time you'll see the owner moonwalking to Michael Jackson as he cleans. He's an elderly man, and has owned the starion for many years. I'd like to see his performance one day. Once in town there are plenty of sidewalks and places to run, but I feel like I'm on display. Most often I'll make a right after leaving the caravan and go to the river. I love running along next to it, hopping over potholes and puddles in the track. Eventually I'll come to a paved road which is the start of a long hill, getting steeper and steeper towards the too. It's close to three quarters of a mile. On the other side I descend to the intersection, turn around and head back. Rarely do I see a car or other people out and about on this route. What might be most folks least favorite part, the hill, is my favorite. I feel vaguely as if I'm back in Boone, pedalling my way up a climb. Up and up and up until finally reaching the top. I love that feeling, reaching the top.

One day while heading up this hill I found my mind on the most peculiar subject, running in a race. I imagined myself catching a fellow runner on the final hill, reaching the top to cheers. Little did I know I'd find myself running in a local 5k a few days after. This past Friday, after a run, I walked down to Wivey. Walking on the footpath was nice, but I seemed to have more trouble with the puddles. How did I always avoid them while running? In town I stopped by the convenience store to grab a candy bar and sports drink. This is where I ran into Frank, a man from an earlier post and the sawmill. Frank invited me to go to Taunton with him on Saturday to take part in a 5k. I now know that it's very British, or Somerset, to understate everything. After a full English breakfast nearly did me in, I had recovered enough to run the next day. So Frank picked me up and off we went. Along the way we talked about how we both discovered how important staying in shape is. Endurance sports will always play a vital role in my life. Of course I'm a fan of the physical benefits. I sleep better, breathe easier, and eat a few extra digestives without worry of caloric content. But also the mental benefits. Exercise really is a form of therapy. It turned my life around. But, on to the 5k. Upon arrival I discovered that this is no casual group run in the park. Every Saturday close to 300 people meet in Taunton to take part in a ParkRun. These are free events, started in London, that offer a bit of competition and fun. They have barcodes printed off from the ParkRun website that they have scanned at the end of the race. Results are posted online. So there I was, running in the first running event I've ever taken part in. Along with Frank there was also Godfrey and Sam, Godfrey's kid that is really fast. With no idea how to pace myself for a 5k I just took off, passing by folks and trying to settle in. I'd find my place and try to survive while running thru puddles and mud. I didn't start my watch and had no concept of time. Upon finishing the first lap I discovered there was a second lap. Oops. And so I went on. Eventually I finished up 36th out of 240 some folks with a time of 22:41. Sam would finish 6th, under 20 minutes. It was all really something special. I'm not ready to admit that I'll make it a habit to run in events like this... but who knows.

Coincidentally that afternoon would be Craig and I's planned Skrumpy plus fish and chip night. Which is my second secret. I have been eating meat since travelling. After nearly five years of a vegetarian diet I returned to eating critters. Why? Well, for one sometimes it was hard to tell on a menu what did or didn't have meat. I've also been staying with folks, like Craig and Lis, and didn't want to impose my diet on them. And, well, I didn't want to miss out on things. Like this fish and chip night. And so, almost to celebrate, off we went with kids in tow to the fish and chip shop. Lis was out for the weekend at a spa with friends. When we returned we'd settle down in front of the television with paper packets of fried delight, vinegar, ketchup, and skrumpy. Skrumpy is a bit like alcoholic apple juice (skrumping is the act of stealing apples off trees). It's not like cider as it doesn't have the bubbles. Ours came from Sheppy's, an orchard Craig's grandpa worked at. Somerset is cider country so I couldn't miss out. As we sat there drinking, eating, and watching Watership Down I felt properly British.

Today I woke up feeling a bit like a fried fish. Skipping breakfast wasn't an issue as I was still stuffed from the previous night. I had ordered a large portion of chips and nearly finished it. Chips by the way are french fries. And crisps are chips. After knocking out some dishes and getting a fire lit I'd take a nap and then head off down to the river on a run. Attempting to sweat out some vinegar and skrumpy. I'd move a bit slower than usual but that's to be expected. Tomorrow I'll be up early to run again before splitting wood and heading to the sawmill. I might even be looking forward to it. And definitely needing it. Now I feel a bit like a cake as today Craig and Lis had friends over for tea and cake. I sat at the table eating different cakes while a parade of children swept around the room. Every person present was either about to have a kid or already had one, or two. Well, except for me. Thankfully.

Sincerely,
Zeb

Dear Wivey,

Welcome to Wiveliscombe, a small town in the Somerset area here in the English countryside. Here are a few details. It is pronounced Wiv-eh-liscomb, I think anyway. It's definitely not Wives-li-combe, and the bus driver will be very confused when you tell him that's your destination. He may think you're on the wrong bus. The local folk will often just call it "Wivey", Wiv-ee. Population is similar to that of Mocksville, my hometown. But there's no I-40 here and no cancerous growth that is the strip leading to the exit. The biggest shops I've seen here are Spar and Asda, and about twenty of each could fit inside Mocksville's Walmart. On Saturdays you'll find a lovely farmer's market downtown. There's also Thorne's, a butcher shop which has been voted one of the best 100 shops in at least all of England. There are two pubs, The White Hart and The Bear. All very exciting but amazingly enough I didn't end up here because of the shopping. I came here to stay with Craig and Lis who I found via Workaway.

Who exactly are Craig and Lis? Well, they just happen to be two of the best folks I've met in my adventure so far. After a coach ride from London to Taunton I hopped on a regional bus to Wivey. It's on that bus I first realized my pronunciation was all wrong. As we pulled into the town "square" the polite driver let me know we were there. This wasn't a London bus and there was no way of knowing which stop was which unless you knew the area. I had asked the driver to point it out to me. Here I spilled off the bus into the square. Just as I began to wonder what Craig looked like I heard someone say "Zeb?", and there he was. A tall man wearing a hat who looked like he worked for a living. He took me to a pickup truck and I tossed (heaved) my pack into the bed before hopping in. Soon after we'd arrive at he and Lis's home and a great dinner prepared by her. This is also where I met the other members of the family. There's Albie and Eli, their two young boys, plus Neebo the hyper puppy. But first I'd like to talk about their home. It's the friendliest home I've been in after a long while. You walk into a small porch area where you'll find the compost toilet and the washing machines, one for dishes one for clothes. The next door you go thru is my favorite type of door. And it's along with that thought I was reminded of how odd I am. Who has a favorite type of door? I do, and it's the kind of door that you can unbolt the top half from the bottom to swing it open. What a lovely idea. There's a door like this at my Grandparent's house in Mocksville, where the idea first came to me that I have a favorite door. Anyway, once you actually make it by this door into the house you'll find yourself in the kitchen. Here there's everything you'd find in your normal kitchen, plus a huge woodstove. Again I'm reminded of Mocksville where we had a woodstove in our kitchen at home. From the kitchen you can see the living room over the bar. There you'll find the dining room table, computer, couch, TV, woodstove, and Lis's medicine cabinet. The medicine cabinet attracts your attention with its large glass doors where you see a variety of bottles with odd names. I'll get to it later. The rest of the house is private living space for the family so I haven't seen much of that. Except one day I was lucky enough to get a tour lead by Eli to he and Albie's rooms. I'll just say if I were a child, I'd want to be in one of those rooms. Unfortunately for me I only get the coolest caravan I've ever stayed in.

After dinner, wonderful conversation and tea, I'd go up to "my" caravan. It's up on the hill behind the house where there's room for my own and their privacy. I first noticed about the caravan that it's green, which is my favorite color. There's also a covered porch with a table and some chairs as well as storage for veggies and cold foods. Outside you'll also find a solar panel, bush bath (that I'm itching to use), and the compost toilet. Inside there's a sitting area, small kitchen with a gas stove, bed, and my favorite feature which is the woodstove. Life is grand.

So what exactly am I doing in exchange for all of this? I'm working with Craig and Lis on projects where they might need help. And the best part of it all? Working with them doesn't really feel like work. Craig is into forestry and land management so when I'm with him we're outside. Lis is into herbal medicines and making sure things are working smoothly around here. My day with her was half outside half inside and all fun. In the morning I'll walk down to their house at 8:30, we usually start off with tea. So far my favorite day with Craig was one where we went out to the sawmill. There we'd work with Frank and Paul, two of Craig's friends. Frank, like Craig, is a tall man. He's got a good sense of humor and is fun to talk with. Paul is physically aged beyond his years from a rough life working in the woods (and motorbike crashes, according to Lis). It turns out he's only 60 but when I first heard him talk about his Mom I thought surely she's at least 110, she's only 88. He also looks a bit like a bear, or badger. And he enjoys talking. At least once Craig had to put Paul and I back on track. The sawmill is simple enough, a large machine on rollers with a blade to be pushed thru a log. Paul drives the tractor and drags logs up to the mill where they're rolled on to the platform. Despite the rain it was a lot of fun to watch Craig at work. When not being lazy I was debarking logs with a flat bladed shovel. This was a satisfying job. Peaceful, until Paul came over with his chainsaw which had a debarker attached. Soon I was showered with bark and half deaf from the roar until I ran for my earmuffs. Luckily he stopped often to chat. I've decided a shovel is the only way to go, it's silent and makes for a prettier looking log. Soon though I had debarked enough logs to move onto my favorite task, splitting logs. Craig had taught me the method and I was eager for practice. I'd be splitting beech which he tells me is one of the harder woods to split. But, if I do say so myself, I've gotten pretty good at it. Soon challenging myself with bigger and bigger logs to break down. It just feels so right. Now I understand a bit why my Dad always wanted to split logs on his own instead of having us do it. Other than my brother and I probably being fairly terrible at it at the time. My day with Lis was a little less physical. After doing some drainage ditch clearing we moved on to gather pine buds from some trees. She'll use these to make an oil as well as some tastey tea. We spent the afternoon inside pressing elderberries and a leaf which I've forgotten. She also gave me a tour of the medicine cabinet telling me about different ones and sampling some. My favorite was the rosa elixir. This is how I repay them for some food and housing, but there are things I owe them a great deal for.

Here in Wivey I really feel like part of the family. They've introduced me to so many friends and even taken me along on family outings. The first was on my 2nd night here, November 5th. Guy Fawkes day and bonfire night. Most know this day thanks to the movie V for Vendetta, I did too, but I'll always remember it for this night. We piled into the car and headed for town. Here we stopped by the pub before heading to a huge field where a massive bonfire was burning. It's here I first met Frank as he joked about the civilized nation of England celebrating the burning of a Carholic. As the bonfire raged fireworks were shot into the sky for really quite a nice display. It's no 4th of July, but it wasn't bad. When the weekend rolled around I'd be introduced to some more British culture. On Saturday after a trip to Exmoor where I played hide and seek with Albie (and saw Exmoor ponies!) while Eli splashed in every puddle he came to we'd head to Lis's dad's. Here I met a bit of the family, more lovely people. But really we were there for the North Petherton Carnival. Craig had told me that it's really just tractors covered in lightbulbs driving down the street, and in the most basic sense that is what it is. But it really is tractors pulling huge themed floats with thousands of lightbulbs and choreographed shows with music. It put every parade I've ever seen to shame. Every now and then there's an individual in an elaborate costume, or a float with people that don't move, but it's the ones I described before that steal the show. Huge pirate ships with cannons, dancing buccaneers, and moving parts. Atlantis sea dragons swimming down the street ridden by warriors. Vikings with glowing eyes bringing snow. It was mad. If you ever have a chance to see it, see it. But the best part? It may be Eli insisting that he hold my hand as we walked back to the car. I had been worried he didn't like me much, he always seemed a bit shy.

Other than all of that excitement just eating dinner at the end of a work day is great fun. Craig and Lis are both a joy to talk to and have a lot of knowledge to share. They're interesting folks with an exciting past. And they've helped me acclimate to British culture answering tough questions like: What's a pastie? A scotch egg? When is a pound a quid? What do you define as a biscuit? And more. They also both have great taste in music which I'm trying to learn from.

Lots of people wouldn't even think to visit Wiveliscombe. And I don't blame them. London is much more exciting. Things are slower here. But this little town and its folks will forever be in my mind and in my heart. I even kind of like the pheasants that plague this land like locusts, raised to be shot by "hunters". Maybe that will change after a bit more time here, Craig and Lis sure don't like them. And they do make an otherwise peaceful jog an event as they dive out of bushes and squawk, flying to safety. We'll see.

Sincerely,
Zeb

P.S.
I think one day I'd like to write a dictionary on British culture. We're so similar but so different in the funniest ways. Honestly, who calls a cookie a biscuit? A biscuit is obviously a biscuit. I'm always writing goofy new things in my journal and may aim to share at the end of my stay in England.

Dear Blue Skies Hostel,

Hmmm... You're very interesting. For five nights you have been my temporary home and base to explore a bit of London from.

When I first landed I'd head to London Backpackers which is a much better location. It seemed like a nice enough place but it was booked all the other nights after the 29th. I'm also not sure how I felt about every door and wall being plastered in signs about getting drunk. Was I in the dorm room of an alcoholic Freshman? The girls playing a drinking game in the common room had me believing so. After finishing one round while passing a beer between each other they could no longer remember what a Cheetah was. So, all I did while there was some laundry and conduct a desperate search for another place. This is how I came across Blue Skies. On Hostelworld.com it has a few unsavory reviews (you can go check them out) and a passing grade of 72%. It was also by far the cheapest option available. Throwing caution to the wind I booked five nights and fell asleep without another thought. Other than wondering how I'd get there.

I'd wake up and eat an approximate ammount of cereal equal to the weight of an adult house cat. When in a hostel that offers free breakfast there's no other way to assert dominance over your fellow hostellers. It's also included in the price, and I like to get my money's worth. But, most importantly, when heading into the wilderness of a city one should start well fed. Many have surely been slightly upset by hunger pains when trapped on a bus in five o'clock traffic jams. I know this because I've stared out the window at a Tesco wondering if it's worth it to hop off and eat. Eventually I'd make it away from the cereal and out into the street to head towards a nearby train station. Once there I began to feel like a caveman. Train? How? Me need ticket? London has taken up use of the "Oyster Card". A prepaid travel card that you can top up and then swipe on a bus to pay. I missed my first bus because I attempted to buy a ticket from the busman. Amateur. But what about trains? I wasn't sure. So I stood at the ticket machine grunting and poking flashing buttons. Eventually I walked away with a ticket to Tulse Hill. As I went to board the train I'd walk through an oyster card swipe zone. Oh well.

A short train ride later I'd hop off and begin looking for my temporary home. Stepping out of the station I immediately saw it. Or, the pub that it's on top of, Railway Tavern. It looked friendly enough. After checking in I got a grand tour of the place. The first thing you will notice is the odd smell you're confronted with when you enter the stairwell. I'm still not quite sure where that is coming from. Maybe it's better I don't know. The second thing you'll notice is how slippery some of the stairs are. Again, maybe ignorance is bliss. Good thing I had my boots on. The dorms are all upstairs above the pub along with the common room and bathrooms. The common room is actually a bit charming with a nice kitchen, small TV, and some seating. There's also storage in cupboards and fridges for food. Two cupboards are "hostel food" for everyone. Jams, bread, cereals, and other goodies. Here we were free to graze like cattle. I definitely took advantage of that. The dorm room is nothing special and nothing terrible, just your average place. It's really the bathrooms and showers that are... not so nice. I've used a lot of public and shared facilities since traveling and this might have been my least favorite. Looking back, maybe it wasn't THAT bad. I did however limit my use. The floors always appeared a bit off, and I got the feeling cleaning didn't happen often or with much enthusiasm. The shower consists of some terrible contraption which you first turn on outside before pushing a button inside. Water pressure was near non-existent and I don't feel my feet ever got properly cleaned. They were probably dirtier. I took better showers in Peru, and they came with the risk of electrocution.

So, how about the location? That's nice isn't it? Personally, I thought it was. Tulse Hill Station is right outside but I preferred the easy (cheaper) bus access. 68 was a direct shot into town and you could transfer to 172 which went to a number of cool locations. I also like the busses because you're in the city. Yes, sometimes this mean starving in traffic. But if you're lucky and get a front seat up top you've got a great view of everything. Busses also have more character. Like when a driver isn't having a good day and uses the horn liberally. Or maybe you get the driver that has fallen behind a bit and is trying to make up time. Suddenly it's a theme park ride as curbs are rolled over, and turns are taken maybe a bit too fast. Somewhere on the ride you hear heads hit windows, bags spill into aisles, and children cry. Hold on tight. Aside from that there's cheap food and a nice park nearby that made my daily runs a lot nicer. All in all it's not that bad. Some will frown upon the area because it's "unsafe". It's close to Brixton which was the site of lots of rioting around the time of the civil rights movement. A predominantly black community that became home to many Jamaican immigrants. Up in Camden I told a woman where I was staying and she gasped and exclaimed "Oh no!" I'm guessing she's never been down here. I've never been concerned about my safety. But then again I haven't seen it all.

The most interesting part about this hostel may be its residents. Here at Blue Skies (sounds like a retirement home) you'll find a core group of long-term residents. These are folks that have been staying for months, even up to a year. Countries represented include: Iraq, Ireland, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Australia. You may see in the reviews that this has drawn complaints from some. Particularly about a rather outspoken Australian woman. Luckily I have managed to coexist with these folks rather well. A few of the nights I've hung out with them and we're on good terms. The Australian was out of town most of my stay so no real worries there. They are all folks who wanted a cheap place to stay while they work. And they found it here. Most are in the service industry and seem to live paycheck to paycheck. Primary worries and concerns are about the ability to make good money. Housing is secondary but of course many want to find somewhere better as they agree that it's not so nice here. A few have attempted to leave but ultimately ended up back here after some time away. Luckily they all seem to get along well with each other. At least on the surface anyway. I wish them the best and I'm glad I'll be moving on.

As I mentioned earlier this hostel made a good base to run operations into the city from. London has the added bonus of many of its museums being free. My favorite so far is the British Museum. I thought the vikings were good at pillageing, but the British are the best. Somehow they've gotten away with the removal of whole monuments (parts of the Parthenon, Egyptian sculptures, etc.), as well as incredibly valuable artifacts and art work from other countries. I of course have benefited from this and was able to walk through centuries of history from all over the world all in a day. It really is a wonderful place. Here in London I've also strolled across the London Bridge, the London Tower Bridge, and the Millenium Bridge. Mosied by the Globe theatre, St. Paul's Cathedral, London Tower, The Monument, and more. The 2nd best museum I spent time in was the London Museum. Showing the evolution of the city from pre-Roman times through now. A great place. And lastly here in London I've come to grips with my terrible addiction. My name is Zebulon, and I'm a bookaholic. This of course can be blamed on my Mom and the fridge magnet that declares "A room without books is like a body without a soul", or something. I go out of my way to visit interesting bookshops, often I can't control myself and end up purchasing one. Or two. At this point I might as well be carrying a bookshelf on my back. In London I decided on Stanfords, a bookshop dedicated to travel. It's divided by countries and sells maps, guides, and travel story books from all around. In the Japan section I found an interesting book about an authors description of why he runs. This is of particular interest to me because I've sold my soul and taken up running. I used to joke this was an activity for peasants because everyone knows you should ride a bike. But as I have no bike... Which, is another interest of mine. Visiting bike shops. Like London's Specialized Concept store. I just don't purchase anything there. Anyway (before I sprial into bikepression) my bookaholism does have benefits! Like a squirrel gathering nuts, I gather books for my winter in Scotland. And sooner, my Workaway stint in Wiveliscombe. A quiet village near Exmoor national park where I'll be working on a farm. So stay tuned for stories from rural England!

Hope all is well.
Sincerely,
Zeb

P.S.
I believe this may be the first time I've mentioned it publicly. This winter from December until at least the end of January I'll be living up near Cairngorms National Park, Scotland. I'll be at a small hostel/eco cabin site greeting guests, cleaning, and splitting firewood. It's a very sustainably minded place with an emphasis on healing environments. I'm really excited to spend time there and learn all that I can! I feel that it'll be an incredible opportunity. Of course I also will have plenty of free time to try out all kinds of fun outdoor activities (XC Skiing, MTB'ing!) and explore the local area. If you're interested ask me more and check out LazyDuck.co.uk

P.S.S I know there may be some concern over "But Zeb, what about Big Ben? And Buckingham Palace?!" Have no fear friends, I'm returning to London late Nov. when my Mom visits to see more.