A change of seasons

A great song. I guess this is what you call an epic song. From the time Mike Portnoy didn't overgrow Dream Theater, he was just all over it in a good way.  It's right at the end of this post, as usual, so could you please scroll down and push play. It's worth the effort, don't be afraid, it's a beautiful piece, one that can be enjoyed by everyone regardless of your musical taste. Of course, first you’ll have to…

            It's a long song, almost 23 minutes; it will accompany me for a good part of this night stroll. On the tube it would last long enough to take me under central London. Close my eyes and I can picture myself on the seashore just like little Mike with his dad. Or I can recall the countless times I've listened to it on my headphones in my cosy, dark room. I'm not on the tube though. This night ship is slower, but it's got a view, a nice view for that matter, a view that only got better as the dawns became brighter as the days got longer. London is a beautiful town. Sometimes it's a bitch living here but this bastard is stunning even then.

I always thought that the people living and working in London are all interested in these landmarks and everything this city has to offer besides a job that pays well. Sadly it seems that they are not, they don't care and they aren't even aware of them. They know their chicken shop, their beauty salon, all the local buses and the cheapest way to use them. Let's take one of my wife's colleagues. When she was telling one of her colleagues about our day at the Tower she said: what tower? Which of the tall buildings is that? She's in her 4th year as a Londoner. In her defence I might add that she was interested in one place: Elephant and Castle. So when she had an opportunity she took a map and went on a great adventure: from North London to Elephant and Castle and back. There and back again. To her horror, the elephant was a pink statue with a bastion on its back, it wasn’t alive and the castle was nowhere to be seen. Understandably, after such a disillusion she would never embark on a trip in this deceiving city.

Or we can take one of my colleagues, an Indian guy from a town with a name that I keep forgetting. He is one of the few Asian people I know who actually listens to you and doesn't ask a question because he wants to answer it: where were you? – I was at – you start, but they interrupt you; – yeah that's nice I was away as well, at my sister's with my brother cause my cousin's mother went to my uncle and she sent my aunt back with my father so my other sister with her husband’s brother..

He is not like that at all; he is a really good guy who gives me day by day a much wanted insight in the Indian way of life. Besides this insight, he does drop the occasional odd questions as well.  The other day he asked me: have you been conquered by the British as well? He says this like it would be the most natural thing in the world. Come to think of it, on many parts of the world it is, as the British did conquered whatever they could, as proved by a visit to the British Museum. Maybe this current wave of immigrants from those conquered places is just a natural counterattack. For every action there is an equal and opposite action. A famous Brit formulated this law.  They are doing it peacefully though – the Gandhi way; – and "slowly, slowly" –  the (south) Asian way. However, this logical question still surprises me. – No, I answer with a smile, the Germans and the French stood between us, but we've sure would gave them a run for their money. The next question of his seems as logical as the first: who conquered you then? Seemingly, being conquered is a must.  – The Ottoman Turkish Empire did, and then the Austrians. They conquered us by force and eventually we drove them away Meantime all of the neighbours of Hungary crept over the borders and eventually managed to conquer and to asses most of Hungary. That's why I am not a Hungarian citizen now. He isn't surprised; he just nods approvingly and walks away. It's not a big thing. Being conquered that is. On another occasion he asks me about Taj Mahal: did you hear about this building? – Yes I have, it's a tomb of a brod. – But did you know that all the builders had their hands cut off after they finished? I did hear about this legend, so I say: yeah, they did that so they can't be able to build something that beautiful never again. Then I add jokingly: it's a good idea! But he doesn't see the humour in it: no man, it's bad man, it's no good. And he walks away while he shakes his had. Being conquered is all right, you can continue living, - working, eating, breeding. Who owns a country anyway? The leaders or the inhabitants? Without hands on the other hand you can't do any of this.  Well, you can breed but you can't jerk off.

This isn't what I wanted to share with you about this guy. Another question of his was: do you know London Bridge? I say yes although I don't actually know it, as we were never introduced. And do you know – he follows up, – the building that is near to it, the Tower? Of course I know the Tower although it surprises me that he didn't say instead of London Bridge Tower Bridge. Its name is a dead give away. Anyway, when I answer that I know it, he asks: do you know what's inside? Another damn good question and I'll take my time with the answer as I try to synthesize it in a couple of short sentences. He sees that I am struggling so he narrows his field of interest: did they kill anyone in there? Oh yes, they killed many people there, they have a memorial on the place they used to chop the heads off. 

Again, he is shaking his head - I heard about that too, I saw the entrance with all the blood, the torture, the horror. Then it struck me: he didn't mess up the bridges after all, as he is talking about the London Dungeon which is near the London Bridge and right next to the station with the same name. Sadly he does not know the difference between it and the Tower.  And why should he? He's got all his needs fulfilled and that's what counts. The pursuit of happiness. Besides, what would happen if all the masses of London queued up at the Tower? Or any other famous - or not - landmark?

Besides, many people go to these places – not just in London – like you go to a funeral. You don't care about the deceased; you don't feel for the mourning family, you are there just for the record. All the kiss ass colleagues went to the funeral of the bosses father, so you couldn't stay away either. These people go to these landmarks for a similar reason as well, they don't know anything about it and they don't want to know anything. They just want their picture taken with most of the buildings that appear on their cheap tourist map but they walk past other beauties like this one.

 Some say it’s the most wonderful station in the world. Surely you would disagree seeing these pictures that were taken through a night ship's window, I’m not sure what would you say if you were to see it live…

Take the picture, go home and brag with it. And for the rest of their life whenever someone mentions London they can break the conversation: Oh my! I was there! What a wonderful city, such lovely people, nice and warm, just like the weather. We stayed in a really cosy hotel, with air-conditioning, they had the prettiest towels and the sheets were really clean. Well, in the afternoon that is, but till morning came...you know, we were young back than. At this point comes the friendly pad on the shoulder, which in some cultures can be considered physical harassment. Anyway – they resume while still smiling about their previous statement, the food was really great but they were serving the breakfast way to early and the supper to late. The public transport was great as well; they had these friendly little buses, two buses on top of each other. And the cab drivers were really honest, they never took you on the longest route around, they'll go straightforward to your location. We tipped them generously; you know how I always was a good tipper. Interestingly enough, these people always say the same thing about cabbies all across the globe, except their home country. Maybe they are lucky, every time they go abroad or maybe they just don't know that they are being taken on the longest possible route. Or maybe cab drivers only fuck with the locals, there is no point taking someone on the longer route if he doesn't know that. It's a question of principals in the end. But let's get back to our little story teller. Let's conclude this as they would: my oh my, what a wonderful city it is. It had some nice landmarks too, but I'm too old to remember all the details.

            I guess the best option for these people is to stay in the Hilton hotel. This way they can spend a night in London and in the same time, if they are lucky, they can spend a night in Paris as well. And when they use the toilet they can admire some of the landmarks of London if they are not to absorbed by their own… erm… thing.

I’m not sure why is this picture here, but I guess if guys in uniform are your thing you can give it a shoot.

Maybe other places have similar settings for their toilets but I’m pretty sure that the super offer “staying in London while being in Paris” is only valid in the Hilton.

After listening to the song a couple of times - or maybe more, I wasn't counting - and writing a bunch of bullshit I've made it to my destination. The seasons didn't change, even the seasoning is the same as it was when I set off, the taste of India lingers on. Nothing has changed; just the blog got one more post. Maybe I should have written more about the song but I guess that it speaks for itself; you’ve got a link for the lyrics as well, so D.I.Y.

A change of seasons from Diabolus Dei on Vimeo.