Arranged to meet with one friend and his retinue (sweetheart, sister, sister's fiancé) around 11 at Borough Market to hang about, catch up, drink good cappucino, take photos. Arranged to meet with another friend -- one half of a couple who would be
I'd planned to hop the tube down to the Strand and duck into a newspaper shop I knew stocked El País. Would have been simple if huge expanses of certain tube lines hadn't been closed for weekend work. Included was one of the lines I needed, leading to a messy change of plans, trawling for a bus that would work. Found one. Enjoyed the ride. Got the paper. Figured out an alternate tube ride to get to my destination. Got there. Hooked up with S., his sister and her sweetie. S. and I began to catch up, speaking mostly English, a little Spanish. Any time he turned to speak to the others, they all spoke Flemish. Surpringly, I got the gist of the exchanges whenever they dealt with simple, practical things. Soon as they turned to more personal subjects, they lost me.
Waded through a small vat of excellent cappucino, sitting in a rustic café/bakery around the corner from the Neal's Yard cheese shop. Tried Marmite, kind of liked it.
Got out camera and took far too many pictures. Bought cheese to inflict on those who would be hosting me for the next two nights. S.'s live-in sweetie showed up (he's Belgian, she's Mexican, they live in England -- go figure), we began blabbing in Spanish. More coffee, wading through crowds getting more intense by the minute, past stalls selling huge arrays of fine looking food. At the two-hour mark, said good-bye, hopped the tube back to the hotel to pack and meet with friend #2.
Him: Belgian, her: Mexican, etc.
Back at my room, taking my coat off, beginning to pull myself mentally. Had to pack everything up, grab a taxi, meet with my friend at the Baker Street tube stop. A knock on the door stopped me. I answered to find the slimmer of the two eastern European women working at the hotel, light bulb in hand. I let her in, she replaces the bulb, we talk, both enjoying the encounter. She asks how much longer I'll be staying, I mention that I'm about to bolt, tell her why. An expression of disappointment seems to flicker across her features. We talk more, say so long, she disappears, leaving me to pack and take off.
Which I do, finding myself soon thereafter standing at the tube station entryway. Soaking up lovely afternoon sunlight, watching the parade of passing people, of all colors and modes of dress.
C. saunters slowly up, reaches into his pocket as if looking for a spare coin or two to give to my indigent self. We shake, head to his car (wading through a small river of kids apparently out on a field trip, me trying not to flatten any with my body bag). A minute later, we're cruising through London streets, the city buzzing with Saturday afternoon life.
The streets of the city center lead to streets further out, through areas I don't know, C. supplying details of his personal history in those areas as we zip through. Bits about his past, about his sister and her husband, about his wife's past. Interesting, especially the parts about working in the casino biz, something he did for years, something his wife, J., continues to do.
C. steers the car into a parking lot, a space presents itself. We're out and walking through residential streets, around a large green, to the river where we walk, enjoying the light of the lowering afternoon sun. Plenty of people about, walking like us or seated at tables, on benches, on escarpments, the air alive with many conversations, with the sounds of kids and dogs and folks out enjoying themselves.
A stop at a pub to order a pint (for C.) and a half pint (for me). Waiting and waiting at the bar, noting how others managed to weasel their orders in ahead of ours, shrugging mentally because I was enjoying the woman behind the countery, a classic example of a certain of lovely English woman -- features not what might be called fine and what some might disapprovingly call a bit too zoftig -- but very attractive, with a likeable way about her. Then to a table outside, where overcast had thinned out the sunlight, the air picking up a chilly edge, the sun close to the horizon and slowly, steadily drifting lower. We mostly talked about Second Life, something C. had only read about, I supplied a few choice anecdotes from in-world. (From a conversation overheard in one of SL's darker corners -- and I am not making this up: "when i feed you, i give some of my blood for you to drink. but if i feed ON you, i drink some of your blood only for myself, just to stay fit." And from later in that same conversation, the same person talking: "give something back? i didn't ask you to give me your blood, i simply took it." Oops!)
[this entry in progress]
España, te echo de menos.
rws 12:49 PM [+]
Comments:
Es lo que tiene la globalización, las mezclas son inevitables y preciosas... aunque no son fácil ( por experiencia )
Veo que sigues por Londres... tómate una bagel a mi salud, soy adicta ;)
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Veo que sigues por Londres... tómate una bagel a mi salud, soy adicta ;)
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