Small islands

I have now taken 7 Subway rides, 3 Buses, 2 Planes, 1 Taxi, 1 Train, and 1 Boat, all to find myself writing from the library of King's College Cambridge, which, by sheer virture of age, must be one of the most sedentary places on Earth.Its a very nice kind of stillness and quiet, an antidote to vibrant - and exhausting  - crowds of London. Not that Cambridge doesn't have its share of tourists. Still, its easier to think kindly toward one's fellow travellers on sunny morning on the river, when everyone is crashing their punts in equal measure. Dylan did a lovely job of taking us up river, while I draped myself langourously in the bow and imagined I was a Victorian in a long white dress and parasol, dangling my hand in the water and thinking about the Lady of Shallot. Then it was my turn to punt, and such romantic notions were quickly dispelled by a heavy pole, an unwelcome wind, the discovery that my canoe skills were a hazier memory than I had supposed. I didn't fall in, which is all that can be said for my short lived attempt to actually do some work in propelling the boat. Perhaps a straw boater would have helped...

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The last time I was in London, I walked along the embankment, and early morning Soho, and I saw a city of marble and bridges, pidgeons and wet sidewalks. Yesterday there was no time for historic monuments and parks, but I did see a wider variety of London than I knew existed. Riding the tube - which I did excessively - I saw an Italian family trying to teach their children to pronounce the H in Hounslow, business men reading the paper, and a young couple sharing an ipod and singing along in different keys. My host Theresa told me that, statistically, there is one millionaire on every tube train -  and that 1 in 5 of those people will be undocumented. It was thanks to Theresa that I went out to North Islington, and walked down blocks with pubs, kebab shops, a caribbean takeaway, an espresso bar,  an Iranian grocery, and a Malaysian restaurant cheek against jowel. Even more than New York, London wears seems to wear its globalization on its skin.

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In my ongoing quest to see every country in the world before I die, I have tried to lay down some ground rules, number one being: It doesn't count if you don't leave the airport. Racing through the Munich and Frankfurt airports to make connections does not mean I can put a check next to Germany. But what about Iceland?  In "The Girl in the Cafe", Bill Nighy's character says that everyone knows one fact about Iceland, and only one. So here's the question: can I have been someplace if I learned something I'd only have known by being there? Is it enough that I've walked outside and felt the air (cold and salty). Or must I follow up on Icelandair's annoyingly persistant infomercials and see a glacier?

Tomorrow I'll be heading to Latvia and leaving islands behind...