Fish, chips, cup ‘o tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins… London!

And yet, it isn’t raining. Not as I speak. Not inside, anyway.

Instead, the roofs are all covered with a soft layer of fresh snow. The sky adopted a gloomy, reddish grey texture, the texture of winter nights.

I have been in London for merely three weeks, and I’m still struggling to figure out how to turn this new adventure into a new and interesting/entertaining iteration of this blog. I’m only beginning to find my marks here as I pass daily by all the local hyper-places: Waterloo, London Bridge, Piccadilly Circus, Brick Lane.

Market arcades in Covent Garden
Market arcades in Covent Garden, by theefer

Deeper thoughts and stories will come in due time, but for the moment, I will simply quote Georges Baumgartner, the famous Swiss correspondent in Tokyo, whom I’m going to have to translate to maintain the linguistic coherence of this post, since I arbitrarily started writing it in English (later posts might come out in other languages, though I will try to spare you of Swedish tribulations). In closing of a very interesting week of reports “Un dromadaire sur l’épaule” did about Japan, he said:

Putney Bridge and its reflection on the Thames
Putney Bridge and its reflection on the Thames, by theefer

[…] in Switzerland, there are people who are very well adapted to live in Switzerland, like in Porrentruy, where I’m from. For instance I knew someone who lived in Porrentruy and who told me that going to Delémont, passing the Col des Rangiers, was already like passing a frontier and it seemed very far to him.

And there are other people who might not fit in their own country and who need to find a place in the world where they can put up with themselves.

I don’t repudiate where I’m from. I’m in transit. We’re in transit. We’re all in transit.

Light and boats on the Thames
Light and boats on the Thames, by theefer