antifreeze

it looks like I will be back in London during the Xmas break. Granted it'll just be for a short weekend, but this is still an occasion of momentous proportions. I'm so excited that I've already blown most of my tax refund on a winter coat, of which I'll have absolutely no use whatsoever in balmy Houston (high temperature today: 82°); I can't wait to have beer spilled on it at 2am in a semi-seedy Shoreditch pub. I think this is what they mean by Home Sweet Home.

this post is not about Michael Jackson

Hyde Park
June 30, 2009

yet another chapter in the formidable story of Bon Iver. Another monumental gig to cap off two fantastic years since the release of "For Emma", with a gig full of tenderness, power, and soul. On a day so unexpectedly warm and sunny (think the organizers had planned on that? The concerts being held under a tent, so I'd wager that no, they did not, and I can't say I did either), that the deep sorrow heard in so many of those tunes did not put a damper on the mood, but rather heightened it to a dizzying degree. The band was there, the crowd was there, I was there, nothing else mattered. Near the end band leader Justin Vernon revealed this would probably be their last gig this year in London, and if that's the last performance we get to see for a while, that's perfectly fine. Fantastic even, if it means the guys get back to the studio for their sophomore effort.

ps: MJ, just kidding. You truly were the greatest

not so pointed observation

you know how in warmer climates (aka any country south of the Channel) the first day you know summer is close is when girls' hemlines get mysteriously shorter? Well here in the UK that day is the first time someone tells you "my God it is boiling today" when in fact it's at most 13°C. And the way you know you've integrated in that country is when you start having those thoughts yourself. If that weren't enough, I actually spent half the weekend in shorts and flip-flops, when the weather probably dipped above 17°C for all of three minutes. Now if only I could elevate my British accent skills to a level above that of Don Cheadle's...

best commute ever

stay easy

after a tough but satisfying post-work run around Hyde Park, I turned my attention to the thumping sounds emanating from across the field. I'd noticed a week ago that they'd set up the usual fence for the annual 02 music fest, but wasn't sure when the actual gigs were. Walking around to chill out my muscles (I hate stretching like a fat kid hates broccoli), I realized the current concert was by none other than rap megastar Jay-Z, and that the open-air park setting pretty much meant I could enjoy the show as though I was part of the audience. Due to the usual boring reasons (read: work-related), I haven't been able to go to any shows since May, and having the opportunity to listen to one of my all-time favorite rappers was a definite and unexpected treat.
I plopped down on the grass for 10-15 minutes and was delighted to hear some of my favorite tracks, including 99 Problemz, a freestyle over the "Back to Black" instrumental, and a fantabulous rap over Lil' Wayne's "A Milli", renamed "A Billi" for the occasion (that Jiggaman, always with the one-ups).
The setting sun, fresh grass, post-run adrenaline and a pleasing soundtrack. Yeah, I think I kinda like it here.

lift your head

what, me worry?

Used to be, I figured my student-era trips through the Parc Monceau on my way to class were as good as commuting got, for now and ever. But I have to admit, a blissfully calm walk back from the office through Hyde Park, listening to Miles Davis work his magic on Concerto De Aranjez, might just take the proverbial cake. Goodbye stress, I hardly knew ye.

"only in London" is the new "only in America"

today at work, while crossing paths with a coworker:

me (sorta-French guy, American accent): "hi mate"
him (British-educated Sri-Lankan): "what's up dude"

what's next

side-note: Let's hope that BR gets it right where many of its US clothing store chains brethren haven't when opening outposts in the UK. Witness £90 shirts at Brooks Brothers, or £70 jeans at Abercrombie & Fitch: thanks but no thanks.

W1's best kept secrets

when it comes to central London, Mayfair isn't the most enthralling of areas. Overrun with tourists and assorted daytrippers traipsing up and down Oxford Street (and its slightly more upscale brethren, Regent Street), working here sometimes reminds me of the summer I worked at Eurodisney. Come to think of it I probably get asked "do you know where the toilets are" by tourists about as many times as back then. Yet spend enough time in the area and you begin to discover its quirks and idiosincrasies, just like the most colloquial of neighborhoods. Shoreditch this ain't, but at least they make the place seem more personal and, dare I say it, a bit pleasant.

the lower-ground floor at Selfridges:

At first I would look down at this floor when going up the escalator to the men's section and see people having lunch, or a display of cristal carafes and china sets, and think nothing of it. But venturing down one day on the recommendation of a coworker, I realized that this is in fact a tremendous emporium-like floor, where one could find not only the afore-mentioned carafes, but a fairly decent hardware and kitchen section, bags, a library, electronics, and most importantly, an HMV! No more wandering down to the overcrowded Bond Street store when I need to pick something up during a lunchbreak. Selfridges might be all about luxury goods and elitist consumption, but if all you need to buy is a couple of nails and an adapter plug, you can get that too.

Lancashire Court:

a stone's throw away from New Bond St, Lancashire Court is the ideal place to get a couple of after-work (or shopping) drinks and relax from the hustle and bustle of the area. Although service is typical of fancy establishments, aka not very good and sometimes downright snotty, the overall mood is laid-back, and the crowd mixed yet quite British compared to Eurocentric Soho. At the front of this small courtyard there's Hush, a bar/restaurant with a terrace that is well worth a try in the warmer months (some people call that summer, I'm still waiting on the evidence that such a season exists here). Then there is a narrow alleyway that separates 2-3 bars which quickly becomes cramped up during the happy hour rush. But the mojitos and Long Islands are pretty tasty, not that expensive and that, in my opinion, is reason enough for me to patronize the place.

the secret tennis court at :
what, you didn't think I was going to give away all my secrets, did you? Well-hidden to the unfamiliar eye, this haven for tennis aficionados is open to private members, yet is so unknown that nearly no one plays there. In fact, when a coworker and I got our membership we found out the were the 12th members, which might explain why last week we were able to book at court for 1pm at 12:59pm, even though it was sunny and fairly warm out. Located less than 100m from our office, this is the perfect antidote to boring gym sessions.

Grosvenor Square:

When you're just looking to sit down in the grass and enjoy a leisurely talk, it's better to keep it simple. Grosvernor Sq is definitely smaller than Hyde Park, way smaller even, but it feels quieter, with a very posh vibe befitting its West End location, which makes it perfect to just lay down, close your eyes, and forget where you are.

line of duty

even more surprising than horses clopping along on Oxford Street, this morning I came across this most random of sights:

Through exactly which circumstances could this seemingly-authentic NYC police car (with Empire State license plates no less) have ended up parked on tony Porchester Terrace? Maybe a newly-retired (and wealthy) member of NY's finest who decided to move to London couldn't bare losing his favorite vehicle. Or perhaps it belongs to a particularly enthusiastic collector of Die Hard 3 memorabilia. The car was still there in the evening, so it would seem like its (necessarily awesome) owner lives in the area. Heck, he probably went to work in his ambulance that day and this car is just his weekend impress-the-girls ride.

faster, faster

with my work schedule still in full madness-mode (one week to go!), I did manage to find myself a new flatshare last week. My lease was due to end on the 24th (today), and though I barely had time to look at places, I felt it was time for me to find accomodations a little bigger and possibly closer to my workplace. Thanks to the magic that is gumtree, I found such a place pretty easily: went to see it on Wednesday afternoon, said I liked it, and when I called back Thursday morning, the room was mine. The rest was straightforward as well: 2-3 tube return trips to move my stuff, a transfer of the deposit+1 month's rent via internet banking and presto, I'd changed flats.
One of the greatest things about the new place so far is that I can walk to work. Or at least will be able to when there isn't a mini-typhoon lashing out at London like this morning. Walked just 3 minutes to the bus stop and my feet were still wet 6 hours later. And that's after changing socks, and letting my shoes dry with newspaper stuffed in them (grandma-tip style).

One thing for sure is that, compared to Paris, looking for a place to live here is very very easy. No need to give landlords a file with ridiculous amounts of information, not to mention guarantees from your parents. Here you pay a deposit (generally 4 weeks' rent), the first month of rent and you're good. Now this situation is linked to the fact you can get expelled pretty fast if you fail to pay rent, compared to France where multiple laws protect renters, which leads many landlords to stay away from anyone who doesn't have the ideal profile. And with so many people (including more and more foreigners) wanting to live in Paris, it isn't hard for them to cherry-pick. Not to say London is heaven when it comes to renting an apartment, far from it, but at least when it comes to moving in/out, it doesn't feel like you're going through an adoption process.

lead me to your door

as one of the most diverse cities in the world, it is hard not to feel at home very quickly in London. But feeling like a Londoner can take more time, if only because when moving here (or anywhere else) you still carry over the instincts and behaviorism you've picked up in previous homes.

For me the first time feeling like one happened not too long ago while, quite fittingly, riding the bus. A couple of French 20-somethings here for the weekend were talking with their friend who apparently lived here or something, and they got to discussing the weather, remarking how horrid it was. The bus passed the James Smith store and the guy make an innocuous joke about how that store would never go out of business considering said crappy weather. And even though it is probably exactly the sort of remark I would make, my first thought when I heard this was how so not better Paris (which is where they were from) weather was and that their miffed criticism was a bit annoying. So in effect I got sort of defensive, which is a common reaction when you feel a sense of belonging somewhere. It's not very rational, after all talking about the weather for 5 minutes is something you'd do with perfect strangers here, so for friends to do so seems totally normal. But in that context this small moment kind of served as a personal realization that I do consider London to be more than just where I live - it's also my home now.

tourist at home: the British Museum

with nary a thing planned today after a busy Saturday, I managed to kick myself off my bed after realizing that spending an entire day listening to Neil Young and half-heartedly reading a book might not be the most ambitious of schedules, even for a lazy Sunday-aficionado such as myself. Thus did I find myself heading to the British Museum under a typically undecisive sky, with a firm commitment to finally seeing the fabled mummies. Not that this project could be considered a sign of self-motivation, considering I live a short 15 minute (if that) walk away and that I've already been countless times. But at least it would get me to stop listening to laments about heartbreak and southern men, and in that sense the decision to go seemed like a small moral victory over my shiftlessness.
One thing that is nice about visiting a museum several times is being able to able a personal relationship with it, establishing your own preferences, shortcuts and itineraries. I was lucky enough to frequent the Met in NYC enough to kind of feel a measure of ownership over it, and I see it as a good thing. Trying out new places is great and the definition of curiosity, a quality I always try to strive for, but for situations like today, familiarity is more than acceptable.

Once inside I quickly made my way to the Egypt wing, which for some reason I cannot recall ever having been, despite having visited the British 4 or 5 times. Unfortunately most of the rooms were thronged like all superstar museum can be on a summer day, rendering difficult any prolonged observation. Pestering about tourists is a bit easy considering we all are one at some point in our lives, so I'll simply state that if people understood how pointless it is to pose in front of a glass-encased mummy to have your picture taken with the flash on, I think the world might be a slightly better place. I did find some respite in the other Middle-East rooms, where I spent some time learning about ancient Mesopotamia and Phoenicians.
Most of the exhibits in this wing are well done, but the explanations given are a bit dry. It seems to me that the notecards in the fantastic Asia room, which I never fail to call on during my visits to the museum, contain a more personal description of the artefacts and thus give one a sense of how people lived in these times. Or perhaps it's that I feel personally more engaged by that region than the Middle-East, that's a definite possibility. Either way I was glad to finally have stepped into the realm of mummies and scrolls, and have no doubt in my mind that future visits will include these rooms in my customized walk through the museum.

a few more pictures:

sidetracked

with already agreed-upon plans to visit a museum with a friend on Sunday, all that was left to do was decide which one we'd go to. Having done most of the classics in the past few months, I decided yesterday to text her a meetup time and let her decide which establishment we would call on. Her pick was the Science Museum, which was great news as I hadn't been to one of those in a while, probably not since I've stopped playing with Lego (just to be clear: a long time ago). And I had great memories of the one in Hong-Kong, where the space section in particular was always one of my favorites.

Sunny skies, 21° weather. Winter in Sydney? Nope, July in London

nice use of the question mark. This is why I could never be a graphic designer. Stuff like this is probably kiddie stuff to them, brilliance to me

a revolutionnary new exhibit on families' eating habits, or museum cafeteria, I forget

first up, space. Since being a kid I've always loved stuff about space and the exploration of it, and this section contained a few interesting exhibits

like this replica of an Appolo lunar module

or this huge one of a satellite-launching rocket

speaking of satellites, this animation showed how many orbit the earth, including quite a few "dead" ones. Each little speck represents a satellite, and that's the earth in the middle (no really, it is, I swear)

one cool thing about science museums is they've always got random things lying around. Cars, planes, shampoo bottles...

"YAY!" Um, I mean, "sure, let's go to the 'Plastics and other polymers exhibit' "

then there was the Launchpad, a room filled with fun contraptions designed to teach kids about basic scientific phenomena. We thought that one can never know enough about science and decided to try out most of them

MY HAND, IT CONTROLS THE ELECTRICITY, MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

honestly, apart from the space room (and the Launchpad) most of the museum was pretty underwhelming, with exhibits that looked like they hadn't been updated since John Major was in power, so we chose to head to a slightly-less brainy place, the temple of consumerism: Harrod's

because the walk from the Science Museum to Harrod's is such a long one, we stopped on the way for a well-deserved snack break, where I was lucky enough to watch a few games of the insanely good Wimbledon final between Federer and Nadal. Seriously, some of those shots were out of this world

and what says Wimbledon more than strawberries and cream?

finally at Harrod's, in the food hall

there is no such thing as too much mustard, and you can quote me on that

feeling slightly out of place in the handbag section

yes, that is indeed a £400 fanny pack, or, as I like to call it, the answer to the age-old question "will the wonders never cease?" I hovered in the area for a few minutes to see if anyone would buy it, but amazingly no one did

H&M after Harrod's, guess at which store I spent money?

making our way back through Hyde Park, checking out the lake

the duck-equivalent of a golddigger. This little guy would only come over to you if you held some food out in your hand. I swear, ducks are so cynical about human nature

the remnants of yesterday's Tour de France first stage. Still doesn't make anymore sense why they held it in London, but I guess Hyde Park can always use some more heavily-marketed events, it's really too peaceful as it is

the usual crowds and weird rants in Speaker's Corner

I guess a full day of sunshine would be too much to ask. Oh well, at least it didn't rain