On Friday evening my flight took me from Hamburg to London, not with Ryanair from LÃ¼beck, but with Easyjet directly to Luton, while Hanna left Berlin a bit earlier by Air Berlin to Stansted. Hamburg is a strange kind of airport, the departure lounge is some 600-800 m long and I had to walk the whole distance. Anyhow, at the end of the hall there is a moving walkway of about 20 m length, probably for people to rest just short of their breakdown or to pass the smokers’ cabin faster. This glass cabinet of about 2.5 by 2.5 m is really offering room for about six smokers, with eight people inside it would become difficult not to produce burn holes into each others clothing. It is interesting to watch people’s luggage, the foto is showing a particularly interestinhg piece, obviously made for people, who want to be sure to spot their luggage on the baggage belt.
Luton is a small and clearly laid out airport with fast passport control and baggage delivery and after a short ride on the shuttle bus you reach the station, from which a train took me to Farringdon in just over half an hour.
Farringdon is right in the middle of London City, the place where our hosts live, but it seems to be a hot spot for London night life: lots of slightly drunken people, a large contingent of police at the station. Somehow it has to be like this as lots of English people love the “Binge Drinking” and more or less go beyond their bonds.
Going on from Farringdon I past a shop called Kurz & Lang – the Bratwurst Company, which is specialised in fried sausagaes of all kinds served with bread and Sauerkraut, Just like an average London person would expect a cultivated German “Bratwurst” meal.
My walk led me further on to pass a wonderful Victorian market, interestingly one of the largest and most modern meat markets of Europe, the Smithfield Meat Market. In previous times hundreds of cattle were kept in huge underground quarters for sale and for slaughtering, now the cavements are used for cars and for dancing.
From this market it is not far to Little Britain, the road in which we are to live over the weekend. Across the the road from the flat there is a small park offering a kind of morbid place of interest: at some stage commemorative plaques have been installed remembering people who lost their lives trying to save other people.
Since our arrival everything is revolving around eating, talking and shopping. I am a pround owner of a new suit now.