Some time abroad...

If you didn't notice, I've spent the last couple of weeks overseas - the first time I'd been abroad in two years, in fact, so a much needed break.

My destination was a little village near Lyon in France - My Grandad owns a place there, a rustic old farmhouse type place; about as far as you can get from any dreamy image of a glossy comes-with-its-own-swimming-pool type establishment you might see in the window of travel agents. That said though, I've been going there ever since I was young, and it holds its own special memories.

And anyway, sometimes all you need is lots of sunshine and some time to just sit back and chill with a good book or two. And that's exactly what I intended on doing - you see, I've been given a rather hefty reading list of American Literature from the last 50 years to get through. Based on my past two years of University, it's rather preferable to get as much of it done in the holidays.

My reading for the holiday was:

Thomas Pynchon - The Crying Of Lot 49
Jonathan Safran Foer - Everything Is Illuminated
Don DeLillo - White Noise

I've always found that whatever book you happen to be reading at the time takes on aspects of your surroundings and the general feelings of your life at the moment, and so too did these three - becoming infused with a surreal sense of holiday-ness; a world beyond the day-to-day norm.

I'm usually pleasantly surprised by the novels my University sets for me, but DeLillo's book was a particular revelation - a snappy jolt of immensely funny black humour as well as an inspired look at modern pop culture. I loved it.

Back to the holiday - After jetting out to France in all the comforts and ease that budget airlines provide these days, I was plunged into a place so far removed from technology it could easily be twenty years ago. I had deliberately left my phone and laptop at home, an attempt - for two weeks at least - to live a life cut free from the information overload of Twitter etc.

It was something of an enlightening and refreshing experience, leaving me to enjoy the holiday for all it had to provide. Although I did find myself yearning for some link back to the UK, some portal to the vast expanse of the World Wide Web, for the most part I was glad I left these things at home - they'd still be there on my return after all.

That said, when the first news of the riots began filtering through, the craving for information, some little titbit or morsel of what was happening grew all the stronger. It seemed ironic almost that in the first time I'd been abroad in two years, all hell seemed to have broke loose back In England.

Two weeks of relaxation and sun - Idyllic in many respects. Lots of long walks in the country - not everyone's cup of tea - but they served to fulfill my sense of nostalgia for all the places I had visited near my Grandad's house as a youngster. And besides, it's free exercise.

Swimming in the local lake, visiting touristy hotspots (more like quaint little chalet towns), eating lots of rather delicious food. Oh, and the wine. Going to France, it's only right to sample as much of the national delicacy as possible, no?

One technological aspect I couldn't leave behind though was my trusty iPod - just as with the books, I had a whole heap of CDs I wanted to get through - these were particular favourites:

Same Old Story - A Great Disgrace
The Satellite Year - Mission: Polarlights
Kyoto Drive - So Much Alive / Chapters

There was also my 'Singles Playlists' - basically a collection of Greatest Hits singles collections from my favourite artists: The Saturdays, Girls Aloud, Pink Floyd and David Bowie all got a good airing.

Flying back to London on Thursday night (gotta pick those flight times just right for the cheapest tickets), we went through Croydon, and looking left and right, all around were signs of the riots. Every shop had their shutters down. Not just the usual smattering, but every single one.

It was an odd scene to return too. An England in many ways profoundly the same as the one I had left - but one flung head-first into a painstaking analysis of just why this horrible onslaught of criminal activity had been let loose. Papers devoting twenty-plus pages to picking over the riots, TV channels filling their schedules with debates... It was as if 'The Riots' were a new national obsessesion.

A far cry from those blissfully relaxed days chilling in the French summer sun.