MAY 19, 2022 – The train out of Berlin sped through East Germany to Hoek van Holland. From there I caught a ferry to Harwich, England. After so many months and countries of the world, it seemed strange to be surrounded by English once again. Having started my Grand Odyssey in New Zealand, linguistically I’d come full circle. I still had an ocean to cross, however, before I could say I’d circumnavigated the globe.
In rain and darkness I took a train to London, where I was greeted by my good friend John Chapple, whom I’d met in India, and his wonderful wife, Stella. They drove me to their spacious, handsome home outside the city and treated me like visiting royalty. In the ensuing days, we had many grand talks over fine wine and food, and they took me on personally guided tours of London.
Early one Saturday morning, I accompanied John and Stella on their mission to help feed the homeless in the heart of the city. I was awed by my friends’ patient outreach on a cold, bleak, dark morning; for their gift of non-judgmental, empathetic rapport with people who, for various reasons, had fallen on tough times. As I helped serve hot coffee, handed out sandwiches, and interacted with people outside my normal range of encounters, warmth chased away the chill in the air. I was grateful that John and Stella had invited me to share a glimpse of their special, weekly engagement with a marginalized side of humanity.
In London I visited another friend I’d met months before—in Australia. We had lunch at a pub near his office. He was in full “office uniform”—suit and tie—and he spoke wistfully about his own travels a world away. He’d landed a “respectable” corporate job, but I sensed that he had misgivings about its price. After I bade him farewell, I worried that an “office uniform” and corresponding job were my destiny too. How in the world would I adjust—after having been “out in the world” for so long?
I also traveled to Salisbury to visit two young women I’d met in Switzerland the previous summer. They lived close to each other, and they and their families treated me with kindness and generosity. Together we visited the Salisbury Cathedral, the Roman baths in Bath, and the monoliths of Stonehenge.
The day at Stonehenge was gray and blustery, which gave the site an eerie aspect. As we walked the grounds, I thought about the mysteries that the ancients had created and time had obscured. What would our distant heirs think, I wondered, of the mysteries that we create? And which of our monuments will survive the inexorable scourge of time?
As I headed back to London, I thought of Stonehenge as metaphor for my travels—walking around the circle of stones was analogous to traveling around the world: in each case, the experience raised far more questions than answers, because every “answer,” as it were, produced a whole new set of questions. Such is the journey of life.
Before leaving London, I attended a performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony by the London Symphony conducted by Sir Colin Davis. Schiller’s Ode to Joy sung to Beethoven’s crowning musical achievement served as the capstone of my Grand Odyssey.
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
