it is possible i have become afflicted with the nefarious ‘travel bug’, whose symptoms include an irresistible itch to quite one’s day job and roam the earth, often accompanied by a general malaise and/or discontent with one’s present circumstance.

a month has passed since we returned from london, and i continue to think often of that marvelous city. yes, it is madly busy, the air quality is atrocious, there is little in the way of natural beauty, and its citizens are generally miserable and oscillate between indifferent and hostile. but it is also a tremendous place filled with art and beauty and the crackling energy of human existence.

admittedly, i did not immediately embrace london the same way i did paris, but that may be nothing more than the result of my first impressions of the great city being clouded by the fog of jetlag and general exhaustion from the life i had temporarily left behind.

we spent around three weeks in london, and during that time the ancient city became a charming friend. in three weeks one can scarcely become familiar with the vast and labyrinthine metropolis that is london, which is part of what i admire the city for. its secrets are multitudinous and its impressive history permeates everything, infusing the present with substance and endless intrigue.

it is not difficult to understand why peter ackroyd is so enamoured with the place, as evinced by london, his devotional biography and 800-odd page love letter. before leaving vancouver i made my way through a large chunk of the book, and attempted to polish it off unsuccessfully during the flight over. london is so epic in scope and character that it is difficult to describe it effectively. reading it does, however, give one a greater sense of the city and its people, and why it is so compelling.

[09/24/04]