Eurogamer Weekend
I was up on Friday morning and rode out to Gare du Nord to catch an early Eurostar train to London. The trip from Paris to London is about two hours total which, for someone that grew up with the vast distances of Ontario, is mind-boggling. It’s a comfortable, easy ride and really the more civilized way to go. Sure, it’s more expensive than flying and takes twice as long in transit, but the overall experience is quicker since both train stations are located centrally, so you don’t need to go through the extra hassle of going out to the boonies to get to an airport, and you don’t have to deal with all that airport bullshit. The entire check-in process, including passport control and security, took less than five minutes.
My first order of business in London was to make my way to the Pixel-Lab’s Playful event. It was two tube stops from the station, but I decided to stretch my legs and walk it, without a map, and with the faintest of directions. It had been almost exactly a year since I’ve last been in London, when I spent three months there, but it easily could have been two weeks. Everything was instantly recognizable and navigable and despite the unfamiliar destination I managed to find my way without getting lost. Screw Google Maps, Human Brain™ is the real impressive application.
I arrived at Playful during the first break and stayed for all subsequent presentations. It was hit or miss. Some people were clearly not too comfortable in front of a crowd, others were just reading out their script, and others were engaging and entertaining. Russell Davies‘, James Bridle’s, and Rex Box’s, somewhat clunky but amusing overhead projector and transparencies powered, presentations were the standouts.
Russel Davies presentsDuring the lunch break, after a bit of Twitter-tag, I met up with Alex aka. rotational in what would be a precursor to many internet people first meetings. As they say on that side of the Channel, he was a good chap. We talked about the conference, writing for games, the magazine gaming business, and the internet like all true nerds would.
After the conference I headed towards my London City hotel, again by foot. The streets of London are far more stressful than the streets here in Paris. It was the evening rush-hour, already dark, and the hustle and bustle of the place felt very North American to me. I could feel my blood pressure rising just by being surrounded by it. Maybe I’m projecting, as I’m living a very casual, laissez-faire life over here.
I eventually found my hotel, just around the corner from the Eurogamer expo, and to my pleasant surprise I found that I had been upgraded to a deluxe suite. It was wonderful. A room more than five times larger than my current apartment. A large screen TV, two desks, a sofa, a speaker above the toilet so you could listen to the TV while you took a shit, and a cavernous shower larger than the entirety of my current washroom. I knew I wouldn’t want to leave.
So I didn’t and I skipped the Eurogamer Expo for that day while I relaxed and, later in the evening, headed out to The Crosse Keys pub nearby for the Indie Arcade Show & Yell arcade where I would meet up with more internet people, mostly consisting of those weird and crazy people of the Idle Thumbs forums including one of the organizers of the event, David aka. Nachimir. It could have been a disaster of an event — the plasma screen in the venue, specifically chosen because it had a plasma screen, didn’t work, putting a kibosh on any potential showing — but David’s tireless efforts to salvage it with a crowd of drunken indie devs and a megaphone turned it into a fun, if a bit disorganized, yelling match.
Joe Danger shown at the Indie Show & Yell, held up as some sort of monument to indiedom.After a wonderful sleep and breakfast in the hotel I met up with Aubrey and we headed for the Eurogamer Expo and, not surprisingly, straight for the Indie Arcade. This tiny room with a bunch of PCs had more creativity and heart than the rest of the expo. There I played Joe Danger, easily one of the best games of the show, and chatted with the nice Hello Games people. Terry Cavanagh and Alex May, other swell chaps with whom I’d play 4 player Super Mario Bros co-op later in the day, were there to show VVVVVV and Euphloria, respectively. There was Time Fcuk and Squid Yes! Not So Octopus! and Super Yum Yum and Shooting Starcade. Leaving this little room and entering the vast spaces where the “mainstream” games were held was shocking in its contrast.
Indie ArcadeThe problem with shows like this, where a lot of different games are placed within view of each other, is that they reveal just how same-y most of them actually are. No where was this more evident than in the 18+ basement where God of War 3 sat next to Dante’s Inferno. As I watched Aubrey fight some enemies by aimlessly swinging around a weapon in a dark area as some giant stone colossus menaced in the background, I looked behind me to see, in a completely different game, someone fight a bunch of enemies by swinging around a weapon in a dark area as some giant stone colossus was pissed off in the background. Then I played Bayonetta and I fought a bunch… stone colossus. It was all very depressing.
There was a Street Fighter IV machine — actually, a Playstation 3 inside a Taito arcade cabinet (?) — that was drawing crowds and, in the basement, a the Wii fighter Capcom vs Tatsunoko. Some dude was hogging the game, taking on all comers. I grabbed the second player Wii arcade stick (didn’t know there were any) and picked my characters and then that dude proceeded to unleash multiple ten billion point of damage, literally, combos on me before I could even figure out how to do anything. I managed to get about two punches in the match and quickly left in disgust. This one moron did more to dissuade me from ever looking at this game than anything in the actual game itself. Way to go!
Street Fighter IV: moment of defeat.Heavy Rain was in the basement, which was too good for it. It should have been under the basement, dismantled, buried in concrete to be forgotten for a thousand years.
The game of the show, as far as I’m concerned, was the one that didn’t involve shooting, stabbing, or racing: New Super Mario Bros. Wii. If you were to judge all games at the expo by the amount of laughter and camaraderie from its players, as opposed to the typical, solitary dead stares most had, Super Mario Bros was the clear winner (Left 4 Dead 2 was second.) The simultaneous four-player co-op was a fun, competitive and cooperative, tour de joy. Much like the indie stuff, it stood out amongst the crowd as a sole beacon of colour. I just wish they didn’t use two Toads for players three and four.
3D videogames: making you look like even more of a nerd.Afterwards, there was another pub session. The joys (and hats) of Hook Champ were often cited.
Sunday afternoon was lazy and rainy, spent mostly on a sofa with Street Fighter IV, Geometry Wars 2, and Channel4’s Peep Show. I wanted to reacquaint myself with the Lady of Shalott while I was in London, but I was tired and this was the most suitable end to the weekend before the evening train ride home.
Unfortunately, the entire trip made me miss my game consoles even more. Once a gamer…
- Excuse the journaly nature of this entry.
- Heavy Rain really was complete shit. I’ll probably elaborate on this later.
- I stayed at the Apex London, which I recommend for obvious reasons. But I’d probably still recommend it if I wasn’t upgraded to a larger suite since the staff there was friendly and helpful.
My Year in Photos: The Second Half
Also known as: “The more photogenic half.” (Part One here.)
Big pictures follow:
Kingdom of Rain
or More Complaints About the Weather
After my complaint, Friday seemed promising. It was mostly cloudy, but that just means that it was also partly sunny. This isn’t much but it’s better than nothing. I’ll take what I can. I ventured down into central London in the morning and as I entered the Tube I noticed a sign: “due to a fire, all Eurostar service is cancelled.” What. The. Fuck? My anxiety shot up; I have a Eurostar train to catch on Monday morning.
My first instinct was to find an internet cafe to see if I can get a sense for what’s going on. There’s no shortage of them in Willesden, but finding one in central London was a task and a half. After wandering side-streets for a while I walked up to the third floor of a place next to a restaurant in Chinatown. I think I was the only white guy they’ve had in that shop all week. I logged on and went straight for the Eurostar site (and Twitter second) and read the announcements. Friday cancelled. Saturday possibly cancelled too. Should be good after that.
Of course, “good” is relative. I imagine the backlog of stranded passengers will push the system to its limit after it goes back into service. I expect delays. Thank fuck I booked this well in advance because I might be truly screwed otherwise. Still, this was more stress than I cared for. I headed out of the city towards the quiet, wooded confines of Hampstead Heath.
This was nice. Beautiful houses on little, narrow streets. 2 Willow Road. A nice, quiet pond with all sorts of birds. I sat down on a bench listening to bird calls and breathing in the air. The sun even came out. I walked through the woods and up a hill to a point where I had a good view of the city of London. Took out my camera and took some pictures and that’s about when it started to rain. First a little spittle then, as if the weather was spiting me, downpour. A serious fucking downpour, with hail, that overwhelmed my umbrella. Sure, my head remained dry but my pants were soaked, my shoes were soaked right through to my socks, my bag was soaked and its contents, a book[1], a London atlas, a camera, were wet. Thankfully, my camera is weather-proof.
I took shelter under a bus stop with some other unfortunate sods. I was on the way to Kenwood House to see some art, but I was soaked and in need of a change and no longer in the mood so I caught the next bus to Finchley Road and took the train home from there. And when I arrived home, the sun came out. Fuck you too, England. I leave Monday. Hopefully.
- It’s OK, it’s only a Rick Moody book.
Civilization Revolutions DS
Getting Civilization
Without an Underground weekly pass, and despite the perpetually miserable weather, I headed out for a walk. I didn’t take my camera bag or excessive baggage, just my iPod, jacket (I’m still not over how much I’ve needed a jacket in the summer) and an umbrella (essential gear over here.) I headed down to Shoot-Up Hill — no junkies present — and straight down Kilburn High Road until it became Maida Vale. This route went from Brent to Camden to Westminster and was completely boring. There was a game shop there but the guy behind the counter never heard of Civilization Revolutions for the DS so I ignored it completely. Other than that, nothing. Constant shawarma joints, bars, 99p stores and other high-brow shops with names like “Classy Chicks.” I imagine the clientelle is anything but.
A little while later I found myself on Abbey Road. I wasn’t expecting anyone there at the zebra crossing on account of the cold and the rain, but, sure enough, there were a couple of people crossing the street, one with his shoes off, while someone was taking pictures. A group of young, white 20-somethings. Further down the street was Lord’s, “The Home of Cricket,” and there was a small gaggle of tourists there too, taking pictures in front of the gate. Three older Indian gentlemen. Here we have two minor tourist spots, right near each other, with two completely distinct cultural resonances. Only in London.
I headed into Regent’s Park and crossed the breadth of it, fighting the momentary burst in rain and wind, towards Camden Town. There were a couple of game shops on the High Street here, I remembered, and I figured I should turn this aimless walk into a quest: find Civilization Revolutions. There’s more motivation to keep going in that, which was essential since my feet were killing me. Anyway, those two shops, Game and Gamestation (game stores need more original names,) had nothing. I continued.
Tottenham Court Road (lager lager lager lager.) There was a camera shop here so I stopped to take a look since they stocked Pentax gear. It has been a long, long time since I’ve experienced this level of condescension from retail service. They let me take a look at some lenses, take photos outside and they generally knew their stuff, but christ was the fat guy behind the counter a total ass. “Do you have a card?”
“No. We’re the shop at the end of the street.”
Uh, thanks. Meanwhile, another employee was telling another customer: “first off, you have to realize where you are. We aren’t on the internet. Don’t have a website. We don’t sell mobile phones. We sell photo equipment and only photo equipment. Got that?”
There was this superior sense of “what are you doing here?” coming from the staff. There was a pervasive level of discomfort that made me want to bail out of the place yet, I stayed, genuinely curious about all the lenses they were showing me. Expensive lenses, ones I shouldn’t be buying at this income-free time, tempted me; the Tamron Macro, specifically, was calling out to me. I resisted. I felt like giving in at this time would be admitting defeat to these smug sellers. I might get it later though. On my time, not theirs.
The assistant, who was introduced from behind the counter as a “professional photographer” as if that’s supposed to fill me with reverence, was a nice guy though. We talked a bit. Polish guy from Krakow. Was about to be sent to Iraq as a photographer for the army before he learned that the guy he was replacing had both his knees shot off by a sniper. He left Poland instead. Seems like the better decision to me.
I continued southbound and turned onto Oxford Street where I played a game of “people slalom.” It is a very frustrating game when you are trying to move at twice the pace of everyone else around you. I managed to work my way through the crowds, only rudely bumping a handful of people, to HMV. I browsed through the “World Cinema” section taking notes on what to pick up later, mostly DVDs not available in region one. Then I headed to the games section, grabbed Civilization Revolutions, got in line, bought it, and then got the hell out of there and into Bond Street Station. I took the train home. My walk, my quest, was over.
Playing Civilization
The DS was turned on for the first time in London. I took out the cart of “Advance Wars: Days of Ruin” and inserted “Civilization Revolutions” and proceeded to play an entire game, on the easiest difficulty, in one sitting. Granted, the portable version is more condensed and speedier but it remains a testament to how true to its roots this tiny version of Civilization is. It engrossed me completely.
A little later I started a second game on a higher difficulty: one of the scenarios where everyone starts with all tech researched and there are a lot of barbarians. I started as the Greeks and was ready to play a peaceful game, focused on culture and money. The constant stream of barbarians was annoying and it went counter to this, but their wooden clubs were no match for my modern infantries. One such group of soldiers became the envy of the continent when they won over 25 battles, gaining all sorts of perks and benefits. I was peaceful but no one would dare take on my highly skilled soldiers.
Or so I thought. Right before I was to put the DS down and go to bed, the Japanese, without provocation, declared war on me. Then the Romans. Then the Egyptians. Well, fuck. All my cultural development was put on hold and my cities all, except for my one island state, focused on building tanks and infantry. I set up a defensive barrier around my borders with Japan (most of my nation was safely protected by the sea and the battleships I had stationed there) and hoped this whole war thing would blow over.
The Japanese, and Roman, incursions didn’t stop and while my cities remained safe I was losing troops. I had to end this once and for all. A couple of infantry armies were amassed, with some tank and bomber support, and they all headed for Kyoto. One by one they attacked and, to my dismay, one by one they fell. The Japanese had strong defenses and a general in support. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Destroying Civilizations
I took a different approach. I rebuilt my armies and instead of sending them to attack Kyoto, I positioned them all along its borders: a blockade. My thinking was that I’d kill their production capabilities, slowing them down, while I continued amassing a larger and larger force outside of its walls. I’d take the city by sheer force of numbers. To further speed this up, Athens built the Military Industrial Complex which let me build military units in half the time. Some of my cities were now generating a tank a turn.
Yet, when I tried to capture the city I could never succeed. Drastic measures were required. My island city, free of the hostilities, started to build the Manhattan Project. I had a vast reserve of gold so I hurried the production. I had no time to waste and was ready for the nuclear age. But when I tried to build ICBMs I discovered that I could not. I don’t know why. Maybe there’s no uranium around? I was disappointed. All that for nothing? Oh. Wait. I was awarded one ICBM. It was all or nothing. With an unexpected, little 3D animation the missile flew into orbit and landed in Kyoto. The explosion animation was anti-climactic but the result was drastic: Kyoto was leveled. My armies captured its smoldering ruins during the next turn.
Kyoto then became my staging point for my armies’ invasions of Rome and Egypt. By now my forces were unstoppable. Dozens of tank armies, all hardened veterans with all sorts of stat bonuses, rolling city to city, supported by vast fleets of battleships. Rome fell. Cleopatra was defeated. The world was mostly mine, save for the northern regions where the French dwelled. They too had declared war on me, much later than the others, but did nothing but sink one of my cruisers. Having now seen the full force of my armies, Napoleon was asking for peace. I wasn’t overly antagonistic towards the French: I gave him ten turns.
It was enough time for me to move all my armies in the south towards the Greek-French border. Turn by turn they amassed. I had spent all this time and resource constructing this giant war machine and it was now beyond my control. Centuries of fighting had left my cultural institutions desolate. There were only soldiers now. Soldiers that needed something to do. The ten turns ended, I rejected Napoleon’s offers for peace, and stormed into Paris. The world was mine.
2am.
“The fuck?” Where did the evening go? I went to sleep content that everything that made Civilization so great, including the ability to time travel hours into the future, was present in this tiny, portable DS version. It’s the best thirty pounds (!) that I have spent here.
Idleness: Killed
On Friday I had a reason to head out: I made my deposit on a Paris apartment and I could now concretely book my fare to Paris. I took the train down to Finchley Road where I transfered onto the Metropolitan towards St. Pancras. I entered the Eurostar ticket booth and realized upon reaching the counter that I was in the business section. I felt out of place — nothing screams business like a black t-shirt with Batman with the cast of “Law & Order” on it — but realized it’d look even dumber walking straight back out, so I headed to the counter. Rather than shooing me away to another section the lady behind the counter was quite nice and accommodating and took my lowly “coach” order. My first impressions of EuroStar are positive. I leave London on the 15th.
Afterwards I headed out to Euston Road and wandered southbound along various side streets towards Sir John Sloane’s Museum. I knew it was down there somewhere and that I’d find it without any hassle. A few minutes in I sat down in a square and pulled out the London atlas I bought a few weeks ago. I was near the British Museum and Sloane’s Museum was a little south east of it. I headed down and took a shortcut through the museum. Free admission is a wonderful thing. I took some more pictures of the Great Courtyard because a dozen or so was not enough to account for its awesomeness.
Sir John Sloane’s Museum was odd. An architect and collector’s old home, consisting of three converted Georgian houses. It has a courtyard with a massive column in it, numerous skylights and yellow windows and mirrors, some nice paintings, and a vast collection of classical artifacts and casts with an Egyptian sarcophagus sitting right smack in the middle of it all. It’s bizarre. A lot can be said about the modern cookie-cutter Ikea aesthetic but I’d prefer that to stumbling over things that people were buried in thousands of years ago when I wake up in the middle of night and go for a glass of water.
I wandered along some more side streets through the legal heart of London, past all sorts of law students and pre-drunk lawyers. It was unpleasant. Then came Fleet Street and I took that to St. Paul’s and then down to the Millennium foot bridge and I returned to the TATE Modern. I was there on my very first full day in London and wanted a new perspective from which to see some of my favourite artists again: Max Ernst’s “The Entire City” landscapes (one of which has been my PSP wallpaper for well over a year), Malevich’s “Dynamic Suprematism,” Joan Miro, Klee, Kandinsky, de Chirico. etc.
As I was heading out I noticed posters for the two temporary exhibits, Cy Twombly and “Street and Studio” photography, and realized they were closing in one day (to clear out for Bacon and Rothko exhibits later in September.) “Fuck it,” I said as I went to the cashier. I’ll part with my money. I have nothing else to do. It was ten pounds per exhibit or fourteen for both. I paid for both and would later regret paying four pounds for Cy Twombly’s stupid doodles. The photography exhibit was fantastic though with lots of great stuff. It’s perhaps a testament to my growing interest in the artform.
I followed the Thames to the Southbank and came upon what I believe was, based on the number of bicycle bound police officers, the starting point for August’s Critical Mass. For the second time here I randomly strolled into that mess. I went to the BFI to check what was playing and noticed Terrence Malick’s “Badlands” was screening in thirty minutes. I crossed off another favourite, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly,” off my to-see-on-the-big-screen list at this same venue two weeks ago, and had to do the same for “Badlands.” I bought an expensive ticket.
Before I knew it, a simple trek to the station to buy some train tickets turned into a ten hour adventure around the city. And I think about this kind of day and how I started the year. Up to April 2008 I was without a passport, never having left the continent in my adult years and never having solo-travelled for longer than a week. Four months later, I’m booking train fare to Paris while hopping around galleries and museums in London, waiting on my second, European, passport to be processed. It really was that sudden. I’m not sure what to think of it all quite yet but I do dread the November return. The winter is going to be frigid.
de Chirico – The Melancholy of Departure
