Street next to where I work in Aldgate. |
After a bit more than a week in London, I've gotten used to navigating relative to the Thames river. With my brain's aversion to learning geography (and math...s), I've been actively trying to remember street names, reciting them in the morning to myself as I walk towards Tower Bridge in the fog, egg, ham, and kale sandwich in hand. Everything is historic, everything dates back hundreds (if not a thousand) of years, and there's no reason why that crumbly wall over there doesn't date back to Roman times.
I don't think I'll get sick of this view on my wak to work. |
My first meal here was Lebanese lamb kebab with mint tea in a cute glass, at a bustling restaurant on a street corner by the shopping district, women in midnight hijab wandering down the street with handbags and clutching children. I don't think I've been in a more diverse city, and I suppose that's why you leave the Home Bubbleworld, to realize even more starkly how San Francisco just comes in shades of Asian and white. Here, Asian doesn't even include me in most minds since it's usually images of Bangladeshis, Indians, etc.
Regent's Park - so much greenery! |
Just an elementary school, so don't put this in your church fatigue box. |
Paddington Bear, just chillaxing. |
And work here is indeed lovely, vague, and inspiring in alternating hours, and there's a delivery of fresh fruit every morning, people angling to snag a banana before the box devolves into just a few sad kiwis that I end up executing by mouth in the afternoon. I'm told to be like Briar rabbit, though I'm actively reviewing which patch of thorns to end up in, no tar baby in sight. Juggling balls, revealing corporate complicity: not such bad mandates.
I'm also on a quest to have lunch in a different little garden every day.
Where I ate lunch today. Either a church that was bombed in World War 2 or it was a Diablo 3 set. You decide. |
I got excited thinking that each restaurant specializes in pudding, until I realize that it refers to all desserts.
NOODLES! I made them way too spicy, but had to stay the course. |
Cronuts everywhere, so SF, watch out. |
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My living room table where the magic happens |
I'm meeting people, recreating a social network here. There was a United Nations of churrascaria through my flatmate: Turks, Greek, Georgians, Brazilian, and me. "Me duele la cara de ser tan guapo" somehow stuck in my head the next morning, along with the trough of charred meats that kept coming and coming on metal swords until we all had meat sweats.
Weird dreams about imprinting secrets onto tablets like skyscrapers that create transpirable text when they get dunked into tubs of molten gold. That 7D zombie ride from months ago was involved, when we crashed our Jeep, shot some innocent white folks (anyone notice that there aren't really minorities in shooting games?). Jet lag hasn't really hassled me, though I think my meal times are still off.
I'm spending my weekends just walking and walking, my first Saturday here bussing over to Greenwich, fascinated by the Royal Observatory's collection of decorative clocks, tourists swarming across the Prime Meridian, waiting on polite old British folks to not be in my picture of spiraling Tulip Stairs at the Queen's old crib. I was delighted to find Cantonese speakers at Tai Won Mein, and they basically rewarded my ordering in Chinese with as many condiments as I wanted. Holy shit that was a lot of chili oil. Sunday was strolling by the Camden docks, winding through horse tunnel markets, thinking that Cyber Dog should just go ahead and pass out Ecstasy before you enter the store, listening to sad-eyed Irish boys strum breakup songs.
Alright, my chicken adobo is done. Dinner time!