Before our final destination of San Diego we made a stop off at Lake Havasu. A popular vacation spot for college kids during spring break, Lake Havasu was formed in the 1930s as a result of the construction of a nearby dam. Lake Havasu City, is home to the original London Bridge..
This unusual attraction came about in 1968 when the owner of the land surrounding the lake, Robert. P. McCulloch wanted to increase tourism to the area. He thought he’d spotted the perfect investment opportunity when he saw that London Bridge was being replaced and so the original bridge was up for sale to the highest bidder. He sent his best men over to London to measure the bridge. Turns out it was the perfect size to cross the river going through the city. With money no object McCulloch put in a bid of $2.5 million (‘buy it now’ wasn’t an option) in the last few seconds and the bridge was his. Once the Paypal payment had gone through the bridge was dismantled and shipped over piece by piece to Arizona by ‘Next Day Special Delivery Before 1pm’ for assembly.
It was all going well up until the point when McCulloch’s men followed the instructions that came with the bridge and put it back together. Turns out McCulloch had done something i’m sure we’ve all done before and bought the wrong bridge. Not the first, and i’m sure he won’t be the last.
McCulloch hadn’t done his research. The bridge that he imagined he was buying was in fact Tower Bridge in London, i.e. the one with the two big towers that raises in the middle to let ships pass through. London Bridge is somewhat less architecturally impressive. It doesn’t have any towers for one thing and looks like a fairly run of the mill river crossing. Nothing special let me tell you. Nevertheless there were no refunds and so they were stuck with this bridge. There are a bunch of signs advertising the bridge throughout the city and then, when you turn the corner there it is, a fairly average piece of distinctly English engineering amongst the palms and desert of Arizona. It’s an amusing sight.
Our campsite was right on the edge of the lake, in the middle of which was an island. Deciding to take advantage of the warm weather and lakeside campground, the Danes and I decided to take to the water before it got dark.
With the island right there the goal inevitably became to swim towards it. Unfortunately I had overestimated my swimming ability somewhat. Whilst Jacob and Gowtham powered ahead towards the island in the sun, I felt myself going nowhere fast amongst the current and I was beginning to tire. I decided to be sensible and swim back to shore. I didn’t want to drown after all. Sadly this is exactly what I nearly ended up doing.
Still heading nowhere in the strong current I for some reason decided it was a good idea to let go of the inflatable ring I had been trying to bring with me to the island. I anticipated that it would float out into the middle of the lake with the current, and that was definitely not where I wanted to go. It was a sacrifice of a perfectly good ring but at that point in time I was quite desperate to get back to the shore.
Instead, as if to spite me, the ring hurriedly sped away from, through the current and onto the beach where it mocked me in that oh so typical inflatable ring manner. I however was nowhere nearer and was beginning to run out of the energy needed to keep my head above water. Here’s a life lesson to you all: Never let go of the inflatable.
It suddenly dawned on me that unless I started to make some correct decisions, my death by drowning was becoming an increasingly likely possibility.
For those of you not stupid enough as to get yourselves into such precarious situations, you begin to get hit by waves of panic and adrenaline and your heart begins to beat much harder than it ever has before. All of a sudden I started to think of my family and friends back homeland how selfish and inconvenient it would be for me to drown in Lake Havasu. Not only for them, but also for my fellow travellers. It’s difficult to enjoy a game of beer pong when one of your travel companions is being ‘bagged and tagged’ having been fished from the bottom of the lake. I also realised that drowning was going to be an absolutely horrific way to go, not nice at all, and I still had a lot of travelling left to do.
I wasn’t quite ready to shout for help just yet and was unsure whether anyone would come if I did. I recalled a sign on the beach that mentioned there were no lifeguards and swimming was done at your own risk. I knew that if I shouted for help I had effectively given up hope and would be in a bad place. That was not a point that I wanted to cross. I still wanted to feel like I had some sort of control over the situation. It made sense for me to try and keep swimming, although I estimated that if things didn’t start improving within the next 30 seconds it was time for the ‘swimmer in trouble, arms waving in the air shouting help’ routine.
Swimming on my front wasn’t working too well. I found it increasingly hard to get my head out of the water to take a breath. I thought back to Sunday mornings in the pool at Five Acres with my Dad and Sister and achieving my swimming badges. (I think I got up to 400m). I accomplished them by swimming on my back. Those days were a good fifteen years ago at least, but I figured it worth a go with the other option being to struggle around until my lungs were full of Arizonan lake water. I flipped over onto my back and the panic subsided somewhat. With my face in the air it was easier to breath and I began to calm down and think with a little more clarity.
I kicked my legs and stared up at the cloudless Arizona sky, not being able to see where I was going. I was either heading back towards land or being carried further out by the current. I carried on kicking, blind to my surroundings. The only sounds were the water splashing over my front and the intense sounds of my lungs working overtime to keep me alive and buoyant. Meanwhile back at the camp I bet they were having a whale of a time, completely oblivious to my distress. Rum was probably taking photos of things and Vincent was probably making margaritas for everyone.
I was halfway through composing a eulogy for myself when my head crashed into something hard. I felt sand and grit against my back and stopped kicking. I had successfully ‘done a whale’ and beached myself on the shore. Providing I didn’t do the entire whale thing and just lie there for days until I dehydrated I would definitely survive. Now i’m tempted to recommend that you reading this go out and put yourself in a near drowning situation just so that you too can experience how utterly wonderous it is to return to dry land and know you’re going to live. Highlight of the trip I reckon.
I waved to the Danes from across the lake who had made it to the island and had stood and watched my entire ordeal. I added swimming next to dancing on my list of things to learn do well on my return.
Fairly exhausted after the whole lake drama, and pretty famished after only eating yogurt for the previous few days I was pretty peckish for something that wasn’t fruit flavoured. Noreen, Rum and Vincent were cooking some sort of Mexican dish that night and I must say that it looked delicious as it sat there, frying in the pans. There I was, front of the que, plate in hand, waiting in anticipation.
The trouble is that Rum is from South Korea and as such will always advice that a food could do with a little more spice if he’s asked.
“What do you think Rum?” asked Noreen.
“Ah, more spice I think.” I watched in slow motion horror as Noreen took heed of his advice and emptied another packet of chili powder onto the stir fry. I’m not opposed to spicy food so much, and can’t wait for a decent curry on my return, but tonsilitis is a bit of a fussy eater. My throat burning a few mouthfuls later I surrendered the food and reached for the nearest ‘Fruits of the Forest’ flavoured yogurt for the third consecutive night.
The food eaten and my yogurt pot empty, the Danes and Mex cracked open the drinking games again. I watched (unable to drink still) as we were introduced to games such as ‘Danish Triangles’, ‘Electricity’ and a Danish dice game of bluff. As the night went on the shrieks of delight and horror grew louder and more frequent. Anina, one of the Swiss twins, was on the receiving end of some horrific luck in Electricity, whilst the dice game culminated in Rum having to take a dip in the lake. Sensibly he left the camera on dry land on this occasion. I took the time to note down all of the rules and will subsequently be unleashing them all on those who like to think of me as ‘friend’ when I return.
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