broken legs and heating coals

Before getting on the airplane last week, I picked up a copy of the international tribune and was shocked to see the rapid motion pictures of the compound fracture and full dislocation of Eduardo da Silva’s foot last Saturday. Eduardo, the brave, highly talented Arsenal forward, was rushed into surgery and experts revealed later that if not for the immediate attention he got, his foot could have been amputated. All this while playing soccer at the highest level here in the UK (and thus the world). So you can imagine my strong desires to not miss this weekend match. Not because I wanted to see more gore but to see how my team will respond to adversity.

Back home in NYC, for an extra $44 a month, I got fox soccer channel “bundled” with other useless stations and this enabled me to watch most premier league games (English top flight division) every weekend. My close friends in the NYC knew how much I cherished a weekend of football and my dwell magazine. And oh, how I was looking forward to watching the game this Saturday only to discover that here in the UK they severely limit the games they show on TV so as to keep the “atmosphere” of going to the real games. I say BS!

Since I wasn’t going to catch the game at a pub, I figure I might as well play the game itself. Fortunately, through my mate (good friend in brit-speak) whom I met in NYC, Ryan, I was able to find a team rather quickly and enjoyed a day out with the lads; running, hurting and generally just bringing the pain to our opponents. My favorite part was not so much the game but at the pub we went to after. I caught a picture of this dog asleep on the bar floor. Its that dog that you see playing poker in every picture used to depict the traditional bar scene – the dogs around the table, smoke hanging loose in the background, single light bulb oscillating and casting a glow on the grim dog faces… you get the jist. Anyway, it took something that simple yet vivid to ram home the fact that I WAS in London now not America.

A few beers later, I hightail to spend some time with my mate and his wife at their winter BBQ out in Brixton (south of the Thames). Brixton to London proper is like Brooklyn to Manhattan. I got to discuss (with a PhD candidate) the ramifications of the often undocumented gypsy holocaust that was overshadowed by the Jewish holocaust because of the sheer numbers but supposedly proportion-wise was worse since the gypsies were almost wiped out as a people. It was a good diversion from the previous 10 mins were a bunch of us had spent half an hour trying to light coals to grill our exotic meats only to realize that we were using home heating coals not grill coals.

So little things are cementing my shift in consciousness of my environments - The night before, I had gone to a Chinatown restaurant with some buddies from b-school who now live in London and after trying the 100 yr egg (an egg buried underground for a year but called 100 yr egg...huh?), I was ready to get some fresh air. As we walked out, this polish (I think) bike cab driver decided to impress us with a Willie. For those of you who grew up on BMX’s and Raleigh’s, you know it took a while to get a willie going, but this cat leaned left and then right in a split second and was able to keep the bike cart on 2 wheels for the length of block. Totally impressive. I ran after him trying to get a picture cos I know the drivers by Columbus circle in NY will (a) not try this (b) and it if they did, will dump the passenger in the horse poop all around the lower central park lane.

Anyway, the general jist is that I am settling in quite nicely, staying busy with work, discovering different delicacies around my area and making friends through work, church, sports, and pubs and generally on the street.

In my next update, I will let you in on why I have stopped telling people where I live.