Ridgeline subscribers —

Back from England! Nobody got COVID.¹ We walked from Cheltenham to Bath, about 75 miles (121 kilometers) all told. The weather was merciful — six days of sun and one of rain — and even that rainy day was a nice shakeup (helped us remember where we were and how grateful we were for the other days). Got a little sun kissed, which was not on the bingo card. Went with white shoes. Came home with brown shoes.

Way back in May 2022, I walked a seven-day loop with Kevin and crew around the northern half of the Cotswolds. Contained within our loop was about three days of the official, linear Cotswold Way (running from Chipping Campden, Gloucestershire to Bath — 102 miles). If you only have time for a few days of walking, definitely focus on the second half, the closer-to-Bath half of the Way. Far more topologically interesting, and the effect of walking into Bath itself is great: Ending in a beautiful place is one of the great joys of a big walk. (I’ve only walked the last hundred kilometers of the Portuguese Camino, but even that, ending in Santiago, was unexpectedly moving; and going back and doing the full French Camino is high on my to-walk list.)

As usual, we had a crew of ten. Discussion topics included:

• Have you ever experienced something that cannot be explained by rational means?
• How have you managed big shifts in career?
• What does your job (any job) look like in ten years?
• How do you waste time? (Or “play,” if that makes more sense.)
• What did you learn later in life that your parents didn’t teach you?
• What are some of your “heresies?”

The heresies one is always interesting. Basically: What do you believe that everyone else at the table might not believe? They can be wacky / a bit intense. The point is to curry discussion. Like: “Votes in an election should have a value proportional to the average time left in your life. (Older people’s votes count less because they have less life for the voting to impact.)” Or: “Parents should be held legally responsible for their children until the age of twenty-five (and should serve the same sentence if they do something illegal).”² Or: “I 100% believe UFOs exist and visit us frequently” Or: “Telepathy / remote viewing needs more funding for rigorous testing (than even the CIA did in the ’70s (PDF)).”

Hours and hours of great discussions. We walked and talked, and talked and ate and landed in Bath — a city just ninety minutes from London, beautiful and historic (how had no one ever told me to visit before?), with axe throwing in their bars (how does a bar convince an insurance company to underwrite axe throwing?).

London

And then I went to London. London, what can I say — I love the heck out of this city. Put a gun to my head, say ya gotta leave Japan, gotta drop Tokyo, and it’s straight to London. It’s beautiful and cool and weird, the pubs like alcohol-soaked kissas. Whenever I walk London I can’t help but laugh. New Yorkers deify the West Village, talk of its beauty, but central London is like a dozen West Villages, every turn, another stunning streetscape, another corner of heavy stone and history and greenery. Incredible parks. Wacky outer neighborhoods. As usual, I was stationed in Stoke Newington (the, uhhh, Williamsburg of London? certainly in ultra-othrodox theological disposition). Step outside: Hoiche hats, Shtreimel hats, Shtreimel hats covered in plastic, freshly-curled payots bobbing in the evening light on heads aged five to ninety-five. A stroll through the best graveyard. An easy Lime bike ride downtown. Crisp weather, low humidity. I had another meal of small dishes at Shwarma Bar in Exmouth Market that, after ten days of flavorless Cotswolds food (sorry!), nearly moved me to cover the counter in weeping blather. I had some mind-melting aubergine at Mountain (almost unidentifiable, flayed, sprinkling with micro-sized umami-laden croutons that exploded in your mouth). I had some hoppers/appa (a first for me) at Hoppers. A shot of espresso at the counter of Bar Temini. I took up the back seat of Yellow Warbler (a café I always visit, serving Dark Arts coffee; as does a sort of sister café in Hayama) and sipped a flat white while working on the Random House edition of TBOT and listening to the barista whistle and sing along to Paul Simon and customers openly and with great volume discuss their dating app woes (“This is the text you should send someone if you don’t want to see them again,” they declared before reciting the thing out for us all) and watching little old local ladies waddle in and make zany small talk (all while I ate a pretty serviceable vegan ramen). I hit up The Photographer’s Gallery and saw the Letizia Battaglia exhibition, was wowed by Sicilian Violence captured in black and white, and cooed over the books in the gallery’s basement bookstore. I popped into Frieze and marveled at the faces of the people looking at the art more than the art itself, but was shown around by a couple great British artists: Emmely Elgersma and Rosie Gibbons and Jon Baker. I stopped by Aperture to see if they could diagnose an issue with my M6 — they were some of the nicest camera shop folks I’ve ever met. I got four rolls of film developed by their printing shop down the road, and they rushed it for me almost next day. (Again, the nicest of nicest staff.) I saw Hadestown on a whim (Kevin and his wife: “Let’s see a musical!”) and while it was impressive, it turned out to be the final performance of the guy playing Hades. The crowd was filled with mega-fans. The screams. The clapping. Bananas (not actual bananas). At curtain call, Hades himself bowed a dozen times and the actor playing Hermes (basically the MC of the musical) gave one of the most moving public acknowledgements of talent and love I’ve seen — Hades nearly burst into flames. The crowd was a puddle. It made the whole performance. Finally, on my last day, I stopped by Hatchards and spent a good ninety minutes roaming. Their rare books section on the fourth floor is not to be missed. In the end I nabbed a first edition of the 1957 UK publication of Kawabata Yasunari’s seminal Snow Country, a strange little memento of the trip.

So — yeah, you could say I like London. ☺️

Cities as semi-bounded simulations of human possibility, running in parallel. This is what makes visiting the great ones so thrilling: in a sense you’re time traveling, jumping to alternative timelines. London is a good one. But goddamn, it’s an expensive simulation!

Thanks, England, for the adventure, and thanks — as always — to KK, for catalyzing so much of it. More Walk And Talks to come.

Now to focus on the Japanese edition of Kissa by Kissa. The launch party is on November 23, 2024, in Morioka. You can buy tickets here (comes with the book). Or the book alone, here.

More soon,
C

Noted