Departure

It's my last day here in Europe. Normally departure from such an exciting and immersive experience would be met with some bittersweetness--reluctance to leave behind countries that I've spent the last 3 months in but also anticipation towards returning home--but I'm ready to get back to the States, start school, and get back to the normal routine again. These past three months have been too much like a holiday --one that I deeply appreciate-- even during my internship and such prolonged rest is strangely unfamiliar. But amazing times were had here, awesome people befriended, and great food consumed.

So in true Leang form...things I will miss (in short bullet form to ease the read for you and the write for me)

Tescos: Supermarket chain that has saved my life countless times with its price reductions and general badassness. Stop and Shop and Shaws has nothing on Tescos, the 3rd largest supermarket chain in the world.

3 hour lunch breaks: People know how to relax here with lunches that consume a huge chunk of the work day.

Cheap alcohol: My facebook status earlier was that I love 1 euro bottles of sangria. Indeed it has been incredibly easy and affordable for me to say... drink gin and tonics at the British Museum or double fist while walking down Berlin streets.

Mental Math: Quick how fast can you divide 230 into a number? Exchange rates make you break a mental sweat!

Hostels: Although definitely not limited to Europe, I will miss the hostel culture of being crammed 50 into a room (Prague) and being forced to interact with others to break the awkwardness (as the hostel has already intruded into 'personal space').

Decent public transportation: Rising costs of petro make subways, buses, trams, and trains a godsend. Too bad the States have oil interests constantly in mind to quash the development of such a system (an effective one I mean) outside of NYC, Boston, and some other metropolises.

Accents: Enough said.

Talking about how much the States suck: True I can (and do) discuss this at length back in the good US of A, but it's so much more different (and hilarious) to hear an outsider's perspective, especially if that outside was raising in a culture so prideful and devoted to knocking the US down a couple of notches.

Kebabs (or kebaps): I've never seen a swirling cone of meat (really the only way to describe it) before coming here to Europe, and now I'm in love with cheap Middle Eastern/Turkish cuisine. Now where can I find a doner back in CT?

Bonding with other travellers: There's something unifying about the shared commonality of carrying all your possessions on your back. It's so easy to strike up a conversation with your fellow vagabond by simply asking where they're from, going, and for how long. Sure this may make relationships fairly superficial, getting to learn very little about the person him or herself, but it's a great ice breaker and introduction minus all of the "why the hell are you talking to me you complete stranger" awkwardness that would interfere on typical circumstances.

Okie enough ruminating on the things I'll be leaving behind--time for my last meal (a mean ole English breakfast: 2 eggs, 2 rashers of bacon, sausage, beans, toast, and a fried tomato) Heathrow, then home!

See you soon loves

Cardiac Arrest Inducing Goodness

Here's a list of deep fried foods, each one more delectable and artery clogging that the former. My favorites are deep fried Coca-Cola (who would ever think of such a thing, as if high blood pressure isn't enough throw in some Diabetes II too!) and jam sandwiches.

I wonder if there's anything you can't deep fry...

Leang is back in London after a crazy 24 hours traveling. I just really want to get home...

but strangely when I arrived in St. Pancreas I thought, "Finally back home." Interesting how the concept of home can be so salient, comforting, and necessary. Just stepping foot back on familiar ground brought up my spirits after a night huddled in the corner of the Brussels train station (details for those who ask... haha).

I can't wait to get back to the States. Europe has been fun, but I'm ready to go back

Lots of love

Edit: Oh yeah I'm bringing back so much crap my diesel sized suitcase ripped...umm....

A train of trains

Hey sorry for the huge gap in updates... the further east I went in Europe the harder it was to get consistent internet access--especially one that allowed me the time to update you guys. But now I'm actually back in Western Europe--Germany--and am willing to regale you with tales of my harrowing journey through the Balkans...in person. The last week has been so hectic that simply writing about it wouldn't do the entire region justice (and I'll probably forget a lot of the important events). So instead I shall talk about trains.

Since 10AM yesterday morning I have been on 4 trains (2 domestic Hungarian, 1 international, and 1 domestic Germanic). In fact in the last 30 hours I have spent 20.5 hours on a train going from Budapest to Lake Balaton and back (2 hours each); an overnight from Budapest to Munich (about 11 hours) and from Munich to Germany (5.5 hours). In short, I am tired of trains.

But it was interesting to see the differences in quality between public transportation.

Hungarian trains were much more rundown compared to the other national trains. Doors were ajar if not completely open (a small safety hazard when traveling at 150 km/h) and the cabin we chose was littered with empty beer cans and wine bottles. It was actually quite disgusting as Budapest was the first stop yet no one had bothered to even clean up the mess. But when trains are the most affordable and efficient method for travel with a constant influx of riders hourly, maintenance can be quite difficult, especially when funds are limited.

The international train from Buda to Munich was backbreaking. 11 hours cramped in a seat with the airconditioning blasting on one side, the heat of other travelers on other and not a comfortable place to rest your head on either makes Leang a cranky and groggy person. Since I'm backpacking in August I packed only the bare essentials--lots of t-shirts and very thin layers. I did not anticipate a froststorm in the form of an overzealous cooling system to literally freeze my limbs--which had already gone numb from the contortions of angles I tried to get a comfortable sleeping position. The train was also an hour late, making us rush to our next train departing 10 mins later.

Germanic trains save any semblance of favor I have towards rail transportation. Sleek, new, and endowed with the infamous German work ethic and efficiency, our ride on the ICE was pleasant even after 16 hours of travel prior. The bathrooms weren't soiled and a major health issue like other trains but were constantly stocked with the essentials (paper towels), actually had a working toilet, and designed with wood paneling and mirrored walls. It's sad to get excited about the WC, but Germans have created a way to turn even the basics into amenities. The dining cars offered gourmet cuisine created by world renowned chefs (a new chef and menu per month for a year) making fine dining accessible to everyone at affordable prices (well not to me since meals were 12 euros ish and I'm pretty poor right now).

Ugh time running out... I gotta go. But I will be taking an overnight sleeper from Berlin to Brussels and the Eurostar to London so I'm not quite done yet with trains. Hopefully they won't be a disappointment.


Lots of love... Leang

Vienna 06/08

"Vienna will wait for you...but its trains won't..."

So far Vienna has been my favorite place city and although I've only traveled to 3 so far, the Austrian capital has far surpassed my expectations. Ljubljana, Zagreb, Berlin, and Brussels will have to work hard to follow.
The Viennese culture here is so lively and lived in--centuries old baroque and classical monuments juxtapose contemporary architecture as a blend of the old and new that in no way feels forced or contrived. The problem I had with Prague was the monuments felt they were for the tourists while here they are incorporated into everyday life. While wandering the first night here, we stumbled upon the museum quartier, packed with people drinking, relaxing, hanging out wiht others. No doubt some of them were tourists who like us came upon this oasis but the atmosphere was natural as if the Austrians did this every Tuesday night at midnight. It's no surprise that museums aren't reduced to shrines of the past, frequented only on school trips and because of sheer boredom. As a former intellectual capital of the world, home to thought giants like Sigmund Freud and Amadeus Mozart, Vienna has in possession one of the greatest collections of art and a museum for basically every niche. The Leopold has the largest collection of native Egon Schiele drawings and paintings on display while at Mumoc contemporary artists like Asper Jorn highlight their current summer 08 exhibition 'Bad painting good art'--an amazing title and showcase btdubs.
But what really made me fall in love with Vienna (other than the gelato) was the jazz festival held in front of a cathedral. Picture this: 500 people watching a100 ft tall television screen showing the best jazz guitarist you've ever heard playing with a philharmonic symphony with gothic arches, gargoyles, and a 20 story tower in the background--no as an integrated part of the festival supporting the television screen itself. Where else but in Vienna?
Currently I'm sitting in front of the Belvadere, slightly frustrated at missing the second train in a row now (we're 0-2) but my anger is slowly subsiding. Klimt's 'The Kiss' right in front of me doesn't hurt. I only wish 2 things: 1) future internet connections will be more consistent so I can keep you up to date better and 2) you could expereince everything I have lately with me.

Auf Wiedersehen

Prague 04/08

We'll Always have Prague. I cannot begin to capture the beauty and the character that is Prague. The biblical statues on the Charles River, the flesh toned marble in St. Nicholas Cathedral, the sight of Prague Castle at night can leave anyone inspired. That's what draws all the tourists here-that old country feel from looming baroque buildings mixed with a fairly young population-a blend of the past and the present with hope towards the future.
Yet that's the only part of Prague most tourists have seen, the renovated cathedrals mixed with the clean pubs, restaurants, and shops. Strolling through Central Prague you see plenty of souvenir shops hotels, and 'authentic Czech food; but after 5 minutes you realized they're missing one thing--houses. The Prague you are shown isn't the one Czechs live in.
Earlier today Joyce and I ventured into Ziscov, past the novo mestro and the mala strana, beyond the stores and hordes and discovered merely 10 mins by foot a neighborhood worn down by the ages, untouched by speculators, grafittied, apparently abandoned by the rest of the city to fend for themselves.
It was so beautiful.
Prague has evoked so many emotions within me, stirring an unstable concoction and igniting a fire within the depths of my body. Superficially I've explored, seen gorgeous things, seen ugly/beautiful things, drank absinthe, danced in the largest club in Central Europe (or so they advertise) and worn down the soles of my shoes, but nothing compares to the banks of the Vltava River. The perfect moment--an instance where everything makes sense and nothing in the world can compare. For a moment, you feel so alive that everything in the universe: all your heartaches, your happiness, your envies and your monotonies can be summed up in something tangible. For a moment, you feel like you can die and that'll be alright...because in that split second you feel like you're truly satisfied.
Biscuits, chips, and Damien Rice on a dock off the Vltava River at midnight. Rice playing faintly in our ears as the sound of the water flowing and the ducks quacking act as the ambient background. I stare at a classically Renaissance building gilded gold with stone bricks and green rooftops. The statues of a driver and his horses makes it look a little like an oversized carriage. It may be the most beautiful building I've ever seen, glowing brightly against the twilight sky.
It's a great way to leave Prague, a city I have some conflicts in loving. I know some of it is contrived, made up under veneers of pleasantness and simplicity.

But it's so goddamn gorgeous

All the things that I have done

A post I wrote while waiting at the airport for hours until our delayed plane came.

I've never been so sad to leave a place before. it is with an ambivalent heart that I depart from London--in eager anticipation for the adventure in store but reluctant to leave behind the life I created in London. 2 months, 9 weeks, 63 days is a short time to spend in a place but it was plenty for me to grow roots--to call it home.

Things I'll miss
Fish and Chips- no one does fried cod/haddock and french fries like the Brits. Fresh fish steamed inside a crunchy cornmeal shell, small slightly sweet alabaster chunks flaking off with bits of nutty brown. Chips--tender pieces of potatoes with crisped edges and a hint of saltiness. Pieces are large, not like the ubiquitous shoestrings Americans prefer, because the flesh inside supplies the sensuality of a chip. the potato creams in your mouth with earthy purity. the interplay between the soft and crunch unifies this famous British dish. drenched in malt vinegar and the flavors gain a new dimension: sweet, salty, sour, hearty. Fish and chips is one thing we Yanks haven't perfected yet.

RTC- Even though i disliked my project- immensely- working at Richmond Towers Communication was an amazing experience. I learned quite a bit about the PR world (it's all about appearances which is why it's ruled by leggy blondes) and of the challenges of a research paper (should've planned better, oh well) I'll miss the 3 hour lunch breaks and the friday night cocktails. hell the free Sacla and Hpnotiq didn't hurt either--continuous supplies of scotch kept me popular in the house. But it's the people who made departing so difficult: Rounders, making fun of Jackie, facts of the days. Kyla and Jon made the time in the dungeon bearable and I hope we'll keep in touch.
Also Simon is still awkward but adorable.

The British Bulldogs- they were th easiest to part with since we'll be clustered together in a month, but those Yanks sure do know how to have a good time. Together we've power houred, flipcupped, Pimms happy houred, beer ponged, gone to Galway, Fabriced, sushi rolled, bitched, and had an amazing time. I've made fantastic friends this summer and can't wait to se them again in the fall.

Pubs- drinking is such an integral part of European culture. it amplifies not distracts from the lfie here. You can tell from the packe pubs after work everyday that drinking is a social--not antisocial-- activity. Similarly I'll miss the quality alcohol, cider and ale available here. Best guiness I've had was in Ireland and Stella is king. You know you're in Europe when supermarkets have their own generic booze. Sainsbury Scotch anyone?

Right now I'm in Prague--it's almost 3:30 and Joyce and I are exhausted (I obviously not as much since I'm busy blogging). Our hostel is right on the banks of the Vltava River on its own island. It's absolutely breathtaking. Okie I'm tired now, going to sleep. I'll tag later.

Na shledanou

Eurotrip

I apologise, my updating has been incredibly spotty and as of late, poor quality. I've been incredibly swamped at work, even pulling an all-nighter last night/this morning to get everything done. But 95% of it is! Yay I celebrate in delusional ecstasy. It's my last day here in London and I'm quite sad. I'm going to miss this place and the people of course. I will be back at the end leg of my eurotrip, details to follow.

I suppose I can retroactively update you on the last few weeks (long story short lots of drinking, Batman IMAX 5:30 AM Tower of London, lots of other touristy things). There! Just like you were here with me eh slamming cider and flipping cups, lots of cups.

But I'd rather talk about my travel plans, partly boasting but also just in case something happens you will know where I am (you know I get sold into an Eastern European prostitute ring, that type of stuff). I've been meaning to talk about this, but plans weren't finalised until last night around 1. There have been some amendments which is exactly the reason why I've held off until now. Along with my travel companion Joyce Tagal, we shall backpack across 7 countries living in hostels and night trains, doing Europe in ascetic style.

Departure Saturday August 2nd (God is it the 1st already?)
Arrival- Prague, Czech Republic. The hostel we booked is this giant converted gym--70 beds, 1 room hectic awesomeness. We're here until the 5th when we go south...

Departure August 5th
Arrival Vienna, Austria. Yeah don't know much about what's in Vienna--one of the most expensive cities we're travelling through.

Departure August 7th
Arrival Ljubljana, Slovenia. Pronounced Lube-li-ana, its the capital of Slovenia. With a mixture of gothic and baroque architecture, its the perfect mix of eastern and western european influences.
Some time in between this - Piran, Slovenia. A port city, it opens up to the Mediterranean and should be a great day trip. Excited because restaurants serve horse, and you know me I love my hooves

Departure August 9th
Arrival Zagreb, Croatia. It's supposed to be an amazing city and a new stop in our itinerary.

Depature August 12th
Arrival Budapest, Hungary. Fellow British Bulldog Gabor's stomping grounds, we'll be here just hitting up the local places.

Departure August 14th
Arrival Berlin, Germany. "You have to go to Berlin" a random guy I met told me. I'm holding him to his word, although there's really no way I can get back at him if a miserable time is had by all.

Departure August 16th
Arrival Brussels, Belgium. I'm kind of sad--I'll miss out on a beer festival the 16th outside of Belgium. But here for 1 day, all alone because this is where Joyce and I separate.

Departure August 17th
Arrival London, United Kingdom. This place again? So Joyce and I were supposed to originally leave the 21st, but because of some extenuating circumstances shes leaving the 17th. I'm stuck with a ticket that leaves Thursday night 1800

Departure August 21st
Arrival New York City, USA. Should arrive 2100 JFK I believe flight VS 0025, Virgin Airlines. Someone please pick me up! Haha.

A map to help visualise (we're all such visual creatures after all--so much of our sensory cognitive resources go towards sight).



Wow its 9 already... need to get ready for work haha. I'll keep you updated.

Peace Easy Squeesies

Edit: wikitravel is absolutely amazing. I recommend it to anyone looking for places to go!

You know a place is touristy when...

Asians equipped with cameras & fanny packs outnumber everyone else

Weekend Updates--I've got Soul but I'm not a Soldier

It's almost midnight here and I'm pretty tired but at the behest of Eileen, I shall update you on my adventures since we last encountered.

Last week was pretty much the best week ever. I'm am fully confident in such a declarative statement because in 7 days all the necessary elements were covered: romance, comedy, good friends, travels, Guinness, and ice cream... lots of ice cream.

Monday night Dawn and I went to a nightclub here in London since Jon, my flatmate's boyfriend, would be coming soon (earlier today actually) and it was one of my last opportunities to just let loose. The night started with a fistfight right behind us at the queue for the club where the guy literally right behind us tried to knock out a bouncer. Bad idea, since it was him who got a couple of teeth knocked in, spilling blood all over the concrete. Talk about painting the town red there buddy. Dawn and I were the last ones to get in for free admissions, arriving at the door just a little past midnight. I'm a superstitious man and these were the signs of a potentially great night. What happened in the club, I shall not disclose however, to maintain the mystique surrounding the rest of the night. Yes I know blogs are suppose to promote transparancy and take away the mystery, digital codes cracking the personal barriers but mere words could not capture the night so I won't even bother.

Tuesday Emma, Jewels, and I went to see Avenue Q. Music, puppet sex, Gary Coleman...what more could you ask for?

Thursday morning I departed for Galway, Ireland at 5AM. It may have been a fluke but my travel was so comfortable and expedited that I really had no complaints. I got my ticket 30 seconds after approaching the Ryanair counter (no exaggeration), security took 3 minutes, and I was on the airplane in a jiffy. There was no point in making the process slow and unpleasant for everyone, which made me wonder why Americans had to be the assholes who take 30 minutes at a ticket counter, 40 minutes at security, only to reenact the last scene in Meet the Parents to wait for everyone to board before you do.

Galway was absolutely stunning. It's a very young town with several universities nearby...but in Ireland. Friday night we started dinner with wi after a breathtaking tour of the countryside (must see people: cliffs of Moher. 600 ft above sealevel where the cliffs descend vertically, as if the Earth raised the island of Ireland itself, pushing it above dominion from the sea and setting it upon a hill), and went to a local club with authentic live Irish music. The first thing to do in a bar when in Ireland? Order a Guinness. For some inexplicable reason the Guinness there tastes fuller with greater tones of coffee and chocolate. It was obscenely expensive (4.80 euros a pint) but worth every penny. They played Galway Girl, which in my drunken excitement made me dance upon booths and other unstable but utterly enjoyable platforms.

We left the club to find a younger crowd. So we ended up at the "Cougar club" now appropriately dubbed, attracted by the middle aged group gathered outside. There was another live band playing who covered more American figures like Hendrix, the Killers, and Green Day. Somehow we made it to the front and got the crowd energized by dancing in a drunken haze. A woman in blue, who must have been at least 40, with a haircut that simply screamed middleschool teacher let loose and started, for lack of a better expression, shaking her thang. This man, who must have been at least 60 kept high fiving us while whispering something in my ear that to this day I do not know. A girl about our age apologized profusely while her boyfriend dragged her out of the bar. All she wanted to do was keep dancing--her boyfriend wanted to sleep.

We crept back to our hostel late at night, proud for having conquered and converted a group literally twice our age. Saturday was much more chill, roaming around the city, the coastline, and splurging on tubs of ice cream, swiss rolls, and chocolate donuts after an Irish feast simply because we craved dessert. Our sugar high caused us to act as if the sweets were laced with THC and we were the stereotypical obnoxious Americans, speaking every word 10 decibles too loud and completely inconsiderate of our surroundings, but we simply didn't care.

Leaving Ireland was one of the most difficult things I've done this summer (which says a lot about the work I'm doing). Now I'm back in London, hesitant to go to sleep because that means I will have to go to work that much sooner. I don't like the idea where at the blink of an eye 8 hours have passed and you're forced to be somewhere when moments ago you have plenty of time to savor... wow just rambling now. Thoughts to be expanded later since my eyes are straining and they need the rest.

Wimbledon

Monday morning. Mood: Incredibly tired. And hungry. I've only had one cup of tea, no breakfast, and I'm a little less than eager to get started on work--so I'll blog.

Weekend was amazing--memorable actually. On Friday I went to Wimbledon with some coworkers. Ok instead of boring you guys with the minute and insignificant details like the 3 hr queue or the long wait for Simon, my boss, it'll get to the goods. Wimbledon is an incredibly quaint village with a somewhat developed main street filled with mostly food vendors. It reminded me of Park City Utah, a town that gets a huge burst in tourism once a year for the Sundance film festival, a town that might not be so grateful for the tournament but can't do anything about it because while it may bring swarms of annoying tourists, it brings £££. I was the 6477th person in the queue, and hardly at the end getting there at 8:30 in the morning. Every day probably over 20,000 tennis fans and congest the streets, pack the stores, and muddy the village ambience.

We watched some small matches after paying the hefty £20 price for admission--you know some doubles matches with unknowns. They were the easiest to get in since all the good ones were packed and/or ridiculously expensive to get in (center court was £57 on top of the £20). But Federer was playing that day and we had to see the champ in action. We snuck into the top of center court and watched most of his domination against some guy.

I afterwards was 6 inches away from the greatest tennis player of all time--he's fairly tall. I was frozen in teenage boy fanaticism.

We watched some other matches but they paled in comparison to Federer and thus not really worth mentioning. It wasn't until around 7 that we were exhausted from all the tennis matches and made our way back home, worn out but fulfilled on the tubes.

Wow I'm so tired right now, I'll try updating a little bit more enthusiastically later when I have energy.

Cheers

What's in a name but everything in its world?

It's surprising to realize how influential a name can be. While Shakespeare may have said, "What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" underlining the arbitrary nature of names, our nature is to give meanings and definitions to labels. Why else would we name things but to describe, categorize, and ultimately stereotype? It means something because society gives it meaning, and while we may personally choose to discard and disregard it, the meaning still exists within others and thus has power.

Yale. Ivy League. This name carries so much weight and authority because of its history, its alumni, hell its bank account. It's (in)famous in America with its hallowed halls and prestige. As a member, an association to Yale, I bear some of its heavy weight. I get pigeonholed as an intellectual, a future leader, an elitist. I chose those associations from outsiders the moment I sent in my checked card senior year in high school. But I didn't know how far it would go.

I came here to London partly to leave the Yale name. I know, pretty stupid since I got the internship through a Yale program and would be living with Yalies . But I thought at the very least my London world would be somewhat detached from my Yale one. My boss took me around the office to introduce me to my coworkers. "This is Leang , our YALE intern," flouting me around as if I were the newest, hottest, most expensive toy on the market. I was their iPhone--limited supplies with a 2 year waiting list and a hefty price tag; but I can do it all: research, debate, slice and dice in one simple motion! It irked me that they were boasting my degree, something that I have hesitations to do myself. Whenever someone asks me where I go to school, I say Yale with reservations. Why hide an $180,000 education? That's all someone truly sees, a name, countless other names that come with it in a nice package deal--apple polisher, uppercrust, entitled-- and my coworkers, before even hearing my hello, heard Yale.

Well these were professionals. I guess as an instantaneous boost of credibility doesn't hurt right? At the very least they knew I was somewhat capable. But when Joe (my flatmate) and I told this girl at a pub (she had a tiara on and we had to go talk to her, best idea ever) the name of our university, she was in complete shock and awe. Granted she was gone, blitzed, blasted but she could not stop saying in her British slur, "God you guys must be geniuses!" "Yale, wow!" Flattering yes, but it took quite some time for her to get over it before we could actually converse about something intelligible (like clubbing).

How can an undergraduate class of 5,300 be so homogeneous as to be lumped so easily into a small set of adjectives and nouns? William Deresiewicz, an English professor at Yale, calls us all Ivy retarded, incapable of speaking to any layman due to our bubbled maturation in shells of marble and awards (http://www.theamericanscholar.org/su08/elite-deresiewicz.html).
While the majority's experience with the lower classes may be limited to interactions with the housekeeper, not all of us went to charter schools and drove BMWs as our starter cars. For some, the housekeeper may be a family member or friend. For some, financial aid is not simply an ease but a necessity.

I never saw intelligence as a bragging tool. While I worked hard to develop it, it is never truly mine to take credit. Upbringing, parents, genetics, and resources coupled with my "hard work" acquired the Yale name. Plus there are plenty of incredibly smart people outside of the Ivy League so what gives me or anyone the right to boast such entitlement? What makes us so different?

I heard some of the guys here are using Yale as a pickup line, an ego boosting, pants stuffing attempt to impress and bed girls. It works apparently. I believe if you've got it, flaunt it. No need for false modesty. To paraphrase Kenji Yoshino, Yale Law professor at my class's keynote speech, "Achilles was never modest. He was like, 'I'm Achilles. And I'm the shit.'"

But know what you're bragging. The name doesn't make you any more special--what you do with it does. Just because you're a member of an elite institution doesn't mean you yourself are elite or the world will bestow upon you anything you wish by summoning the name. It's just a name--make something out of it.

I work hard for the ££

When they say London is the most expensive city in the world, they're not kidding. In a good week I spend less than $250--that's with penny pinching, lots of ramen (my discovery of a Vietnamese supermarket was a Godsend, as if angels descended from heaven to build a dingy alter for cheap msg-laden food. Hallelujah), and carefully inputing my every expense into an excel spreadsheet, even that 19p swiss roll from Sainsbury. Last week, however, was ridiculously expensive--ridiculous because I didn't really do that much.

Well, I went shopping on Picadilly and Oxford Circus. It's like the Fifth Avenue of London, well times two since that darn old exchange rate (actually good news, well not so much for Englanders but for us Americans its fantastic, the British ecomony's tanked more than the American one so the pound's depreciated more than the dollar, sweet exchange of $1.91!). The streets and stores are packed on the weekends, filled with tourists getting their shop on. As one of them, I couldn't disappoint. After being introduced to Topshop, apparently existing only in London, I had to buy something. Now you're probably thinking, Leang, why in the bloody hell would you spend money on clothes that 1) you most likely don't need 2) don't have the luggage space to carry back since you've packed two huge suitcases filled with all the clothes you already have (and bought right before coming to London) and 3) can't afford? Well one of the essentials for a gentleman is a proper suit: for cocktails, meetings, formal occasions. And you can't do better than an European suit, or at least an European cut suit. Their slim fit turns the suit for formalware to casualware with the right outfit. I saw it simply as an investment for day and night. Plus it wasn't too expensive. How much? I won't say, but the mass-produced tailoring of Topshop made it a steal.

So after dropping a few quid on the nonessential essentials Joyce (my Europe partner in crime) and I went shop to shop looking for a dress for her Brother and Sister's joint wedding (they're marrying other people, no incest here). Four hours later we found it. I had never seen so many dresses before, nor do I want to for the rest of my life. But she will look gorgeous for the wedding and I have a brand new suit!

I still haven't been to Harrod's, but it's on my to-do list. No not shop; I'm not insane and all of you know I'm not rich by any standards, well maybe Zimbaweian but with 100,000% hyperinflation (if it's that astronomical they need a new word, like supercaliflation) the term wealthy means a nonsubsistance income. I just want to oggle at the absurd prices people would be willing to spend on material items since while I do like to indulge once and a while, I would never spend someone's income per annum on a blouse.

Ok enough materialism. Time for me to work. Tallyhoo!

Edit: http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/africa/06/22/zimbabwe.main/?imw=Y&iref=mpstoryemail
Horrible, Zimbabwe's chance of getting out of an economic crisis caused by corrupt government officials crushed. I read an article a couple of days ago how the current government kidnapped and tortured thousands of Tsvangirai supporters. I guess Mugabe's intimidation tactics worked. Congrats, you've maintained your throne at the expense of millions.

"Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely"

Fabric critique

It's the premier club in London. It's feature in every guidebook as a must visit--it is the "scene" every weekend. Is it worth all the hype?
Cover charge: 16 pounds on Saturday, 12 on Friday, discounts of you're a student (unfortunately UK students only, they discriminate)
Music- Fridays drum and house while Saturdays (the big night) is nonstop electronica and techno.

So first of all, the price is absolutely ridiculous for a club. $32 after the 30 minute wait in queue?? It doesn't include drinks, glow sticks, or a happy ending (that you have to work for). But hey, it's Fabric right? It's nonstop until morning 6 or 8 AM and it is packed until they literally kick people out. There are three rooms, but you really only need to stay in room 1 unless you absolutely hate having barely any space to dance. With a speaker system only found in Europe, sick ass lights, and the best DJ in the country, it's a scene out of Matrix with crowds rhythmically swaying to the cadence in a savage yet carefree way as they're bathed in green lasers and fog. What more can you want? The other 2 rooms are smaller, 2 having an impressive light show as well but 3 more sedated and empty (by which I mean there's walking room).

The people there are incredibly nice--everyone is out for a good time. Beware ladies (and some gentlemen) they get a little bit "too nice" and have wandering hands. By wandering I mean completely off the beaten path heading to greener pastures. Biggest complaint from female friends was how aggressive guys are. To be expected as the club was somewhat a sausage fest--guys outnumbered girls not an uncomfortable amount, but noticable. Also when you're high on ecstasy you tend to like feeling things--and most people there are high either by their own supply or from one of the many easy to find vendors in the club. 5 pounds for a pill? Fuck that shit.

No amount of ecstasy can make some people look hot. And let me tell you, there were quite a few fellas and chicas there that needed those pills to get laid. Total attractiveness of the place was like a 6--few sprinklings of hotties with bodies but for the most part ouch--the models must be shacking up in the VIP lounge.

Music was amazing though. A little bit lacking in the words category and the DJ liked some beats a little too much cause he sure was playing them over and over but it's incredibly easy to dance to--really all you have to do is sway and lift up your hands.

My recommendations: Go to Fabric prepared to dance the night--that means load up on caffeine. Alcohol isn't advised because effects last only several hours and then you crash. Buy membership--it's only 6 pounds a month and you get to jump the queue, a cd every month, and 8 pound flat rate (if you're doing the math kiddies it pays for itself your very first visit). Wear comfortable shoes--when it's that dark and people are that intoxicated no one is going to notice or care about your Jimmy Choos. It's very well ventilated but its still a good idea to wear layers when you get sweaty from all that dancing and shrugging off random guys. Plan out your escape route before you go--leave early and tubes are still closed, which means either black cab or night buss (recommended only .90p). But if you leave late (or early depending how you see it) trains start running again at 5.

My rating- A-. Definitely something to check out. If you're not into "eurotrash" music go Friday night. It deserves the hype, which must be why everyone and their grandmother are trying to get in.

And yes, I did just come back from Fabric--and I left early (5AM).

Native tourists

I tend to shy away from the whole touristy thing. It's my belief that while fun and entertaining, landmarks, museums, and monuments don't truly define a place's culture. Culture is fluid, dynamic, constantly changing and evolving along the people that live it, shape it, invigorate it. Tourist attractions are more often than not a tribute to the past and while glorious centuries old gold leaf and the first "bill of rights" may be, I'm more interested in the current definition of a place. I don't mean ignore everything past and focus on the present--sometimes its necessary to reflect upon the changes and admire traditions and see where we came from. I'm just saying give me a fair or a fountain, and I'll choose the fair.

So I've been here in London for about 2 weeks and I still haven't seen the bridge, any palaces (well a 12th century castle last week) Fergie (both the Duchess and The Duchess), or any royalty (a shame really!). I did however, go to the Burroughs Market today, despite feeling completely dreary and ghastly. Joyce and Abigail were there and I couldn't help it. Hundreds of food vendors-charcutteries, juices, ales, cheeses-- lined the walls selling their ingredients while people filled in the paths made from their booths. It was so native-- local business people come here weekly for their Friday lunches, chefs come for produce, wives for dinner supplies. We walked through stalls of dried meats, from racks to roasts, with hanging sausages plump and freshly prepared or cured, smoked, and aged for that tart preserved flavor. Farmers had out buckets of olives of every color for tapas--black, green, purple, cured in olive oil and ready to eat right there. The smell of freshly made mozzarella wafted through the Italian section as I sampled oils and vinegars. I dipped a cut piece of bread into white balsamic vinegar and tasted the most delicious single thing in my life--a complex harmony of sweetness and tartness that played off of one another to leave my tongue in a scintillating euphoria. Oh my god it was so good.

We went around the entire place sampling--sweet crumbling fudge, sun dried tomatoes, smoked herring. It was a treat for both the eyes and the palate--one not found in your typical guidebook.

Goodday sunshine

Every morning the sun wakes me up, my room facing directly east, unable to shield me from the daily flaming ball of annoyance. I look at my clock--it's bloody 5:30! Why the hell is the sun up at 5:30--it should be asleep like the rest of us but like a pestering neighbor, it inconsiderately wakes the rest of us at the most inconvenient of times. But his appearance is a good thing--good weather (read: no rain) might be a possibility.

Yesterday Kevin, Tony, Brede and I went to Rochester, home of Charles Dickens part Medieval museum part shrine for their famous townsman but still a quaint village relatively untouched by tourists. We walked through a Cathedral originally built in the 600s that was burnt down and rebuilt, burnt down and rebuilt and a castle that was invaded in the 1200s and burnt down. Man this town should really take out some fire insurance! London is just bustling with so much activity that it gets difficult, almost impossible to leave (sound familiar Yalies?). I only have 2 months here and I want to see as and experience much of both London and England as much as possible.

I've been here for a week now and honestly I've been horrible with my updates. England is (surprise surprise) not that much different from the states. It's tiny things- British milk tastes less proteiny, tramp means homeless rather than hussy (finally Lady and the Tramp makes sense!) and everything is twice as expensive, literally. The lower drinking age makes things easy for me (out of the past week I've had at least a beer 6 out of 7 days and been drunk...4?). their take on alcohol is much more relaxed than in the states where pubs are centers of activity and alcohol is a conduit for bonding, not an escape from the world. Crown and Anchor, a pub across the street from my flat was bustling with activity all day Friday. Uni students were literally pouring out of the building and filling the streets in the afternoon and only a couple hours later an older crowd dressed in business suits, fresh from a weeks work, were putting the college students numbers to shame.

But the system is not without it's problems. Their laissez-faire attitude makes alcohol readily accessible to teenagers who don't always practice responsible judgment, especially when shitfaced smashed. You can't bring liquor on the tubes anymore since last Sunday--Saturday night was interesting...--and bars are carding everyone. Is their drinking culture healthier? We Americans have been drinking so much, true partly because we're celebrating our summer in England, but also because it's just so... easy. Wednesday we were all drunk from a meet and greet organized by our contact here, Thursday I brought back some bottles from my Job (they market a lot of liquors and were giving them away! I cleaned up) and we went out of a pub after a couple of drinks back in my flat, Friday I had some cocktails at my job with coworkers, a weekly tradition there, only to have a Pibbs happy hour and clubbing that followed. Saturday? Beers while watching the Port/Turkey game, Kings with the Yalies and...you get the point.

It's not just tourists who completely abuse and ignore the consequences. To mourn the new prohibition of cocktails in the tube every person under 30 had a blood alcohol content of at least .08. While walking back from the market with some friends, we ran into a crowd funneling beer right in front of the Euston Station entrance and two cop cars and an ambulance. What were the police doing? Well... not a whole lot...When even the supermarkets Sainsbury's and Tescos have house wines, scotches, etc alcohol is cheap, plentiful, and oh-so-easy to abuse.

Oh well it's 11:40 right now and I should grab brunch. I'll keep you guys updated!

Cheers!