Around The World In Eighty Days (1989) by Michael Palin

Author:Michael Palin [Palin, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Michael Palin
ISBN: 9780753823248
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 1989-05-26T23:00:00+00:00

Day 42 5 November

At 5.30 Ron wakes me with a coffee. Counting six days pre-filming in London this is our 48th day together and our last. Nigel, Julian and Ron will hand over to another Passepartout today and by Monday will be back in England, having taken 14 hours to retrace the steps which have taken us 42 days. To have come this far and shared so much and still be brought morning coffee in bed is more than I could have hoped for. I lie and consider the days ahead. Confronted with the prospect of two weeks’ intensive travelling through China and Japan with a rested director and a fresh and eager new Passepartout, the temptation to fly away to some beach or simply sleep for a week is momentarily strong. But having come this far, I mustn’t weaken, especially as, for the first time since leaving London, I have gained some time on Phileas Fogg. His ship, the Rangoon, arrived in Hong Kong battered by storms, and 24 hours late, on Fogg’s 36th day out of London. The gap between us is now reduced to six days. Fogg, however, left Hong Kong for Shanghai by sea, and I shall be taking a more tortuous railway route across China, which may be more adventurous, but offers little immediate chance of catching up time.

Physically I’ve held up well so far, with only the gripes on the dhow coming anywhere near immobilising me. A tan from five weeks’ unbroken sunshine covers up some of the creases and helps to make me look better than I feel. Despite the lack of hard physical exertion since running in Dubai, I’ve managed to take some exercise every day, though much of this counteracted over the last few days by far too much to drink. Travelling light has paid off. There are only two casualties. Of my six trusty shirts one was aborted in Bombay, when the hotel laundry washed it in acid rather than soap, and another is terminally covered in oil from the rush through Singapore docks.

We disembark at 8 a.m. Verne observed as Fogg landed in Hong Kong that there is ‘a track of English towns all around the world’. It’s now reduced to one, and after 1997, none.

My bag breaks. The strap, unable to take the strain any longer, rips away as I set foot on British soil for the first time in six weeks. Unfortunately the camera has a fault as well and I am required to walk down the gangway twice more, pretending that the bag isn’t broken. By this time I’m anxious to be away from the container port - so empty of people and full of the smell of diesel engines and the clang of metal resounding. Above my head huge gantry cranes are off-loading a 40-foot container every 80 seconds. I find that the Peninsula Hotel, where I am to stay for two nights, has sent a green Rolls-Royce, complete with chauffeur and champagne, to the dockside to collect me.

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