Morocco: Goodbye, Sahara! I'll Be Back!

It was so warm beneath the mountain of furry blankets in my desert tent—I didn’t want to get up on 10 March. Nonetheless, I had a modicum of hope that I’d be able to catch the sunrise. Little did I know when I finally cast aside my blankets that the sun had been up for quite a while. Ah, well.

Around the same time, one of our hosts poked his head into our tent and informed us that breakfast was ready (another good excuse for getting up). So, after taking a few minutes to brush away the rum-, smoke-, and sleep-induced fuzz from our teeth, and then taking a few more moments to absorb the stunning starkness of our campsite and surroundings by daylight, we made our way once more to the dining tent.

Campsite

Two of the four beds in my tent. Mine is the one on the right, next to my bookbag. (The blankets are all piled on top of J. in another bed, in an effort to wake him up.)

 Breakfast was rather simple compared to the meal we had the night before, but delicious nonetheless. It consisted of bread, some kind of thick but creamy sweet-butter, apricot jam, and coffee.

Now, gurl, lemme tell you ’bout the jam and the coffee: Best. Damn. Coffee. And. Jam. Ever. 

Well, okay, in all honesty the coffee wasn’t the best ever—merely the best I’ve had since leaving the States. But the jam…my goodness, was it amazing! 

I’m not typically a fan of jellied things. (Stop right there—get your minds out of the damned gutter!) For as long as I can recall, I’ve eaten peanut butter and butter sandwiches because the texture of grape jelly grosses me out. Orange marmalade, in very small doses, is occasionally permissibly on hot, fresh morning biscuits, but that’s about it. 

During my desert excursion, however, I discovered that bread was merely a vessel for the consumption of apricot jam! First I went back for seconds…then thirds…and then, oh yes, I went back for forthsies. And don’t think that I didn’t take the last piece of bread during that final trip, because I damn well did.

At any rate, after breakfast it was time to get ready to head out, sadly. We returned to our tents and started to pack-up. I also asked JM to help me re-tie my tagelmust (which is a skill I still have not mastered even with the help of YouTube videos), resulting in the picture below.

Tagelmust: Before Photo

Now, I point out how my tagelmust looks here because, as you will soon see, it looked nothing like this only a short while later…

Which brings us to the next part of the story: Camel Ride (Part II). 

Sadly, by the time I made it to the area where our camels were housed for the return-trip, Coco had already been claimed by someone else in the group…meaning I had to settle for a different mount this time. But I didn’t name this camel. Why, you ask? Well, there are two reasons. 

First and foremost, for some inexplicable reason I had the song ‘A Horse With No Name’ stuck in my head. Now, I don’t think I’ve heard that song all the way through but once in my life, so what prompted its presence in my head that day is beyond me! Nonetheless, it was there, and so it seemed fitting at the time not to name my ride (despite the fact that he was camel and not a horse). 

The second reason I didn’t name my camel is because he was a bad camel. But since I didn’t hate him enough to send him to the glue factory (or whatever the equivalent is for camels) I did the next best thing: I stripped him of his identity by denying him a name. 

Now, I know that sounds harsh—way harsh—but you need to understand: he would not allow the saddle to be secured properly, meaning that every time I tried to reposition myself and give ‘the boys’ some comfort, the entire saddle would shift and I risked falling off. At one point, the guides actually made me dismount him completely so they could re-tie the saddle, but he must have been puffing up his belly or something, because it was even worse after that. 

Bruised cajones = bad camel.

 

Fortunately, the trip to where we met the bus was shorter than the trip to the campsite—only about 20 or 30 minutes. But it was a rough trip! I was jostled about so much that my poor tagelmust became hopelessly undone, and I couldn’t take my hand off the saddle’s yolk long enough to even attempt fixing it properly. This is why, in the ensuing pictures you see from this part of the trip, it looks like a ’fro-meets-thundercloud-meets-alien-thing is hanging over my head.

Of course, despite the bumping and jostling, after seeing one of my friends light-up while riding I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to indulge in a Camel while on a camel.

See what I mean about the tagelmust being a wreck!

This was its own hilarity-filled experience—have you ever tried to light a cigarette while rocking every which way on a relatively wild animal? (So help me, I just know that one of my gay friends is going to have a smart-ass answer to that question!) I’m surprised I still have eyebrows left. But I did it…

Watch out for the eyebrows!

 When I finally saw the bus it was a bittersweet moment. On one hand I was beyond thrilled to get off of my nameless camel. But, on the other hand, I was saddened that my time in the Sahara was already at an end.

There was still one final hurdle between us and departure, however: a group of children. 

[Image Courtesy of NJ and SP]

I look like some horrible taskmaster, don’t I? Or at the very least like a tourist who’s totally oblivious to the circumstances of his own life compared to those around him. At least that’s how I’m terribly afraid people will read it. 

And yet, in some regards, I secretly want people to have that knee-jerk reaction because maybe it will force them to interrogate their own social positions, which is why I’m posting it here like this. (Though, admittedly, a better way of inducing such reflection might be simply to encourage others to read Peggy McIntosh’s incredibly insightful and eye-opening White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.) 

With that said, let me now give you the back story:

Yes, children—all trying to sell us homemade camels made out of palm fronds. 

What you’re actually seeing in the picture above is the look of someone (me) who’s incredibly uncomfortable and conflicted. I wanted to help them all, but knew that I couldn’t, so I gave a few of them some money (without taking the things they were selling so that they could hopefully sell them to someone else) and started toward the bus. 

Unfortunately, a gaggle of these kids was blocking my way, trying to sell their wares to my friends who had boarded already. I stood there behind them, both trying to make my way on and also smiling nervously because…well, I smile when I’m uncomfortable, and I was discomfited by the recognitions running through my head of all of the privileges I have in life compared to these children (e.g., the fact that I was able to spontaneously drop a not-inconsiderable sum on an excursion to an area that at least some of those kids will probably never leave). 

And, it was in that moment that my friend took the above photo.

Moving away from the heavy (albeit incredibly important) stuff, once aboard the bus we began the long trek home. There isn’t too much to say about the trip back—the only times we stopped really were at a couple of vistas, and twice for food (the first time at a place I never caught the name of and the second time in Ouarzazate). 

Yup, that's a real-life oasis behind me.

Tagelmust fixed (more or less).

We finally made it back to Marrakech at around 6 PM, at which point we moved en masse toward Djamaa el-Fna before saying our sad goodbyes. I would love to think that one day we will cross paths again.

Afterwards, I made my way back to Waka Waka, where I rejoined the Djellaba Crew on the rooftop. Once again, they immediately pulled me, and made me feel like I hadn’t missed a second.

You know, that’s one of the really incredible things about my time in Morocco—I feel like there were these long stretches of time that just came to an absolute standstill around me, so that you could just soak it all in. It was kind of like that whole ‘perfect moment’ scene from Star Trek: Insurrection. (And yes, I’m aware that from a critical Orientalist perspective that statement kind of plays into the whole ‘exotic-erotic’ myth, but the bit about time seeming to stand still for me is indescribable any other way!)

At any rate, three or four hours (and a few glasses of wine and smokes) later, we made our way back to Djamaa el-Fna for dinner at one of the stalls that’s set-up each night.

It really was a beautiful, fun-filled evening—perfect for my last night in Morocco!

Morocco: Desert Nights

Continued from my last Moroccan entry:

Once I was mounted atop Coco the Camel, and my new friends were situated on theirs (which included the likes of Harold, Kumar, and Madame), our guides began leading us from Zagora to our Saharan campsite. In total, the trip took about an hour to an hour-and-a-half (if I recall correctly). It may have just felt like that’s how long it took…

Allow me to digress for a moment here: much like the act or riding an elephant—which I've done twice in my lifetime—riding a camel is not fun. Oh, it’s a novelty (from our Westernized perspective) to be sure, and it’s an experience that I’m thrilled to have tucked under my belt...but in practice, it’s quite painful. 

And while I have no first-hand knowledge for making the following comparison, I would suggest that it’s probably at least a bit more painful for men than women, as there is the additional problem of pinching in addition to bruising. Especially for those of us—like me—who may have been wearing jeans that were slightly too tight. 

Ouchy-Pinchy-Hurty!

That's me sitting behind SP (the woman in the blue coat).
[Image Courtesy of: OS]

Regardless, most of us eventually figured out the least-problematic ways of riding our camels according to our varied…physical needs. This process, of course, involved a lot of laughing at one another (which undoubtedly created an even deeper level of intimacy amongst the group), and zero input from our guides (who probably derive amusement from watching tourists undergo this learning process on their own). 

So anyway, we continued plodding deeper into the Sahara (though sadly we never made it deep enough into the desert to completely lose sight of ‘civilization’). 

Gradually, the sun was setting quite spectacularly to our left.

Sunset in the Sahara

And yet, there was no sign of the moon. Just stars. Millions of stars—most stationary but some falling. More stars than I’ve ever seen before. 

The camera wasn’t able to capture it, unfortunately, so I can’t share it with you, but the memory of all of those stars will remain forever etched into my memory. This was also the first time where I was able to clearly understand the whole constellations thing. In the past, it’s always seemed like a dodgy concept to me, probably because I didn’t have access to so much of the celestial tapestry—but that night, 9 March, I was clearly able to make out Orion, the Dippers (which were on their sides, compared to what I’m used to), and even Scorpius. I suddenly understood how people living in ancient times could effectively navigate just by following the stars.

And the stars weren’t all that was in the heavens above. It was so clear that we were actually able to make out the man-made satellites hurtling around the Earth at breathtaking speeds. And planets, too: three of them! One of the planets, to the northeast (I think) possessed a distinctive reddish-brown glow, and we were all pretty convinced that this one was Mars. The other two planets, to the southwest (I think), were positioned fairly closely to one another from our perspective, and we decided that they were probably Venus and Jupiter. 

It was all quite breathtaking…and humbling!

By the time we reached the campsite, it was truly dark out. The moon wasn’t visible yet, and there was no sign of man-made lights for as far as the eye could see. It was into this environment that our guides helped us dismount from our camels…and then disappeared!

That’s right: they disappeared! Here we were, a group of tourists, suddenly abandoned in the pitch-blackness of the Sahara Desert at night. In between nervous titters about what we should do, we turned our attention to taking photos as a means of busying ourselves until we our guides returned.

For whatever reason I am not posed with Coco here, however, that is Coco behind me looking directly at the camera.

The guides did not return, but eventually another voice in the distance began calling to us. Slowly we made our way over, where we were greeted by one of the Berber men in charge of the campsite.

I don’t know what I really expected from the campsite. In many ways, what I got jived perfectly with what I expected—but in some other ways, I was a bit disappointed (and simultaneously relieved) by the ways in which it was geared towards tourists like myself. In regards to the former, the campsite consisted primarily of about 10 tents—each with (sand-filled?) sleeping-mats for four people and illuminated by oil-lamps—situated around a large, communal firepit and equally large communal tent for eating. In regards to the latter, there was a large white tent that served as the bathroom…complete with working toilets, sinks, etc.

We were instructed to put our stuff away in our sex-segregated tents (I bunked with JM, RG, and J), and then to make our way to the dining tent. Once there, in keeping with local customs we were served some delicious touareg tea. The tea was followed by a delicious lentil soup (that I believe is called Harira), which was itself followed by a tajin containing chicken and a host of other ingredients. And, of course, the food was accompanied here (as with all other meals) by a lovely basket of kesra for sopping up any of the delicious juices that were been left behind!

Touareg Toast! [Left to Right: KB, DB, MD, OS, me, JM / Image courtesy of OS]

Post-soup tajin. [Left to Right: host, me, JM / Image courtesy of DB]

After stuffing ourselves, all guests were invited out to the firepit—now ablaze—where our hosts regaled us with ‘traditional Berber songs and music’ (as billed by the company sponsoring this trip). Some of us were even invited to join-in on the festivities, and encouraged to play drums and/or tambourines.

I also 'played' the black and silver drum and tambourine seen here. [Left to Right: DB, me, OS, JM / Photo courtesy of OS]

The night grew deeper, and the moon finally made its dazzling appearance around what felt like 9:00 or 10:00 PM, blotting out most of the stars with its own brilliance (much to my dismay). Gradually, various people began wandering off to their tents for bed, but a small group of us stayed around the campfire, encouraged to do so by our hosts who were quick to remind us of the rarity of such an opportunity. 

While the air grew chiller and the fire dwindled, we started telling riddles, which was itself quite comical because of the various language barriers. Typically, a riddle would be told in its first language, then translated for someone else in a second language, and then re-translated for someone else in a third language (with linguistic clarifications by another party). Then, the process would have to work in reverse once someone thought they had an answer! Fortunately, JM was fluent enough in Spanish and French that he was able to act as the group’s primary translator here—although, I do still think that one or two riddles got lost in translation somewhere along the line.

And then there were three…at about 3:00 AM (or so it felt). After a long while of telling riddles, only JM, myself, and one other gent remained around the campfire, everyone else having gone to bed. The three of us stretched out on the cold desert sands (slightly warmed by a bottle of rum, etc.), and just stared at the sky above, doing our best to take-in the once-in-a-lifetimeness of it all.

Sadly (right around the time we decided that the moon kind of looked like Sid from Ice Age if you squint just right), the cold became too much, and so it was time to turn in…on a pillow seemingly filled with sand, and under six or seven heavy, thick, furry blankets.

Nonetheless, what an amazing journey into the Sahara and first night once there!

Sick. (Again.)

I’m sick.

Again.

Second time during this trip.

Except, this time, it’s my annual bout of asthmatic bronchitis. 

I’d thought I was doing better yesterday, but this morning I woke up and it felt like my lungs were encased in barbed wire. Oh yeah, and my face is swollen and puffy from all of the congestion.

It’s not a pretty picture. See…

This is my sick face. Is it pretty?

So, yeah.

K&M are home from their trip, and I should have migrated back to my flat, but they were kind enough to take pity on me and have allowed me to continue monopolizing their guest room. They’re such good people, and I’m so grateful to have friends like them!

I’m also grateful that I’m not back in Chicago right now, because there’s enough drama between Nic and I when one of us is sick—but when we’re both sick at the same time (like now): 

It. Is. Not. Pretty.

Fer serious.

See for yourself:

The video seen above has been falsely attributed to filming for the third Transformers movie in Chicago but, in reality, Nic and I had a minor cold at the same time—it was like a battle between Optimus Bitch and MegaDick over whose symptoms were worse.

But I digress…

The point is this: it’s Easter Break, and I want to feel better!

Morocco: Sahara Desert

I’m (finally) back with another entry about my trip to Morocco. I’m only a little over twenty days late with it, of course, but that’s not too bad, right?

Ah. I see. Well then, let’s get started, shall we? 

Following the debauchery from the night before, I had to be up in the early hours of March 9. Why? Well, because I was scheduled to be picked up by a guide for a two-day/one-night trip to the famous Sahara Desert! I don’t know how I managed to get up, but I did.

The guide finally arrived, accompanied by two of my fellow travelers on this leg of the journey (NJ and SP). Together we made our way toward Djamaa el-Fna where, after a bit of jockeying, we were finally allowed to board the van that would take us the rest of the way. Soon thereafter we were joined by the remaining eight members of our group for the next two days, and off we went…

Now, given that the Sahara is the largest (hot) desert in the world, and that its size is comparable to both China and the United States, one might think that it shouldn’t take long to reach its sandy border. 

One would be wrong. 

It actually takes over 5 hours to get there from Marrakech—and most of that 5 hours consists of severely winding and twisting turns as you make your way around and over the Atlas Mountains. Nonetheless, the mountains are beautiful and the views are quite spectacular—at times, even exhilarating and heart-stopping!

Day Trippin'

Mountaintops

Photostop!

Fortunately, our route allowed us to stop a few times along the way, thereby breaking up the monotony of the drive and affording us the opportunity to explore more of Morocco than just the touristy hubs.

Our first significant stop was about 2½ hours southeast of Marrakech, at a kasbah called Aït Benhaddou.

Ait Benhaddou

View From the Top

We were handed over to a very nice local guide, who led us through the steep streets (and steps) of this amazing city. Among other things, this guide informed us that, due to annual flooding, most local residents have moved to a neighboring town—however, there is still one Berber family actively living within Aït Benhaddou’s walls. 

For the most part, it has become an attraction for tourists, with shops now nestled within many of the buildings (which are rebuilt annually due to the weather), and with locals showing off such skills as creating images out of tea-stains and fire on scraps of paper. But, as our guide reminded us numerous times, traditional tourists aren’t the only ones interested in Aït Benhaddou! Hollywood has frequently made use of the kasbah as a backdrop for some of its most famous films, including: Lawrence of Arabia, Jesus of Nazareth, The Jewel of the Nile, The Mummy, and Gladiator (among many others)! (In fact, the gateway that's visible on the right-hand side of the photo with me standing in front of Aït Benhaddou was constructed specifically for Lawrence of Arabia.)

Now, I’m going to digress for a moment here, as this seems like a good place to discuss our group dynamic during the trip. 

Before setting off, I had been worried—especially in light of how amazingly I hit it off with the Djellaba Crew at Waka Waka—that this trip would be a strange and awkward experience. I mean, let’s be honest: spending over 5 hours in a van with a group of total strangers, and then sharing a tent with some of them overnight…the potential for drasaster (drama+disaster) there is huge! 

Fortunately, I had nothing to fear. 

Everyone was very friendly! Only myself and one another (RG) were travelling by our lonesome—the rest were all part of groups: NJ and SP were two Australians studying together in London; J and JJ were a traveling brother-sister team; and then there was a group of five Americans (JM, KB, OS, MD, and DB) who were studying together in Spain. But, despite people having ready-made friends on the trip with them, there was never a sense of cliquishness or stand-offishness.

Personally, I had the pleasure of sitting next to and talking with JM for most of the bus ride. I mention JM specifically because he really went out of his way during the whole trip to make me feel included, and I truly feel as if the friendship formed between us there was one of the biggest highlights of this leg of the trip for me.

At any rate, there had been some pleasant conversations here-and-there while on the trip to Aït Benhaddou, but I think it was with the spontaneous decision to take group photos (using all of our cameras) that tipped me off that the whole group had formed a really special bond. 

Front Row (L to R): DB, KB, SP, NJ, Me / Back Row (L to R): MD, JM, RG, OS

 I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am that I was part of such an amazing group!

From Aït Benhaddou we proceeded to Ouarzazate, Morocco. Ouarzazate, also known as the ‘door to the desert,’ is another locale known for its connections to the film industry: many of the same movies listed earlier have also featured this capital city, and it is also home to Atlas Studios (where an episode from The Amazing Race’s 10th season was filmed). Sadly, our driver didn’t give us much in the way of details about the area (though I've since learned that the structure seen below is called Taourirt), so I can’t really say too much more about it.

Kasbah Taourirt

After our quick stop at Ouarzazate, we made our way to Zagora, Morocco, the town where we finally traded-in our bus for some camels. (As an interesting aside, the town’s original name was ‘Twin Peaks’ in the Berber tongue, a reference to a nearby mountain named Zagora.) 

We were informed that we each needed to buy a tagelmust for protection from the desert sands, and also that this would be our last chance to buy bottled water for our time at the campsite.

Shortly thereafter, stocked-up and wearing our tigelmas, we were ready to mount-up and head into the desert…

Front Row (L to R): NJ and SP / Back Row (L to R): Me, JM, KB, RG, DB

Giddy-Up!

But that’s a story for next time…

Sickness = Unproductiveness

Just a quick update on this, the last day of March 2012. 

Hard to believe, but I’ve only got 65 days left of my study abroad experience. It seems like just yesterday that I was marveling and lamenting over how long it would be until I was home again—and now, it seems like it’s just right around the corner.

At any rate, Easter Break has finally started—hurrah! Two full weeks of relaxation = bliss! 

Alas, I’ve started the break on somewhat of a bad note, as I’ve been laid-up in bed and feeling sick. Fortunately, the stuff I got from the pharmacy earlier today seems to be helping somewhat, so hopefully I’ll be back on my feet soon.

In the meantime, I’ve spent most of today watching stuff on the interwebs: 

I’ve finished the first seven episodes of ‘Modern Family,’ which both EN and Nic have been after me to watch for a bit. I honestly haven’t laughed as hard and consistently at a show since ‘Arrested Development!’ There are so many great lines, and I have to admit that the Cam and Mitchell characters are Nic and I (respectively)—seriously, it’s a bit frightening at times how similar we are.

[NB: Okay, I confess that the above example is a bad one—for the most part, I am far more like Mitchell than Cam. However, ABC has blocked me from seeing most of the clips over here, so I'll work with what I have.]

Taking a break from ‘Modern Family,’ I turned to a gay French flick called ‘Just a Question of Love,’ starring the hot-as-balls and openly gay Cyrille Thouvenin. The story was only so-so, but nonetheless nice in terms of being mindless fluff that I could follow in spite of my medication-induced mental fog…and, it had a happy, sappy ending. And I’m always a sucker for happy, sappy gay love stories…which explains why I then spent the next little bit watching the story of Josh and Nate from ‘Waterloo Road,’ followed by a series of short films along the same line.

So, yeah, not really a productive day.

But, I have lots of things planned for Easter Break, so hopefully there will be some more interesting updates coming down the pike. Since the weather’s supposed to be fairly crappy over the next few days, I’m hoping to do a lot of the indoorsy things that have been on my to-do list for ages, such as: visiting the Victoria & Albert Museum, cruising through the Tate Modern, visiting Charles Dickens’ House, touring BBC, and maybe even getting a drink or two at the Ice Bar. Oh! And I've discovered where they filmed many of the exterior shots from 'Beautiful Thing,' and so I simply must go there and snag some photos!

 

In the meantime, it’s time for my next dose of medicine and so I’ll close. In parting, I leave you with the song that’s been stuck in my head all bloody day…

Beautiful Day!

Today (27 March) was a lovely day! 

In fact, it may well be one of the most gorgeous I’ve experienced during my time in London!

Having successfully submitted all of my midterm assignments (a.k.a. ‘CW1s’) as of yesterday, I made up my mind to take full advantage of today and tomorrow—especially since both days were/are supposed to be sunny, clear, and between 21-23˚C (69-73˚F).

With that in mind, EN and I made plans for today to visit the Camden Town Markets, which I’ve wanted to do for a while now. Running alongside the Regent’s Canal, this area consists of a number of open-air markets—Camden Lock Market, Historic Stables Market, Camden Lock Village, Buck Street Market, Electric Ballroom, and Inverness Street Market—all made up of adjoining stalls selling everything from clothing to food to chochtkies. Supposedly, much of London’s ‘alternative subculture’ can trace its roots to this area.

We found this shirt in the Historic Stables Market. I told Nic it should be his next tattoo.

EN and I spent most of our time between the Camden Lock and Historic Stables Markets. In many ways, it reminded me of the souq in Marrakech—just without the bartering (though there was a bit of that going on too). 

I definitely want to go back, and soon! 

Oh, and have I mentioned the amazing piña colada that EN got—actually served in a pineapple? It was epic. (But, as for me, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have a bit of mulled wine, which I haven’t had an opportunity to enjoy since the days of my former coworker Jim’s amazing Christmas parties—the only thing it was missing was the fresh cranberries!)

It may have only been 3:00 PM here...but it was 5:00 PM in South Africa. That counts, right?

After leaving Camden Town, we started walking aimlessly toward the southwest(ish), for a little less than a 1.5 miles. We didn’t have any plans—we just weren’t ready to call an (early) end to such a gorgeous day. Eventually, we found ourselves wandering through the lovely Regent’s Park. It was absolutely spectacular, and reminded me quite a bit of Brookside Botanical Gardens back home (in Maryland). I wish Mom could see it in person, because she loves going to Brookside for family photos—alas, since she is not here in person, I had to try and grab photos on her behalf:

Oh yeah, and EN and I decided to climb some trees, because...well, they were there and we could.

I also tried to get photos of some hot, shirtless sunbathers making use of the park, because, well they were also there and I could. Except I couldn’t, because I was afraid I was being too obvious!

Noticing how close we were to Soho (only about 1.6 miles), we made our way over for some delicious coffee at LJ’s Coffee House. It was during today’s visit that I realized just how similar LJ’s is to the first gayborhood coffee shop I fell in love with: Washington, DC’s own Soho Tea & Coffee. The vibe is very similar, from the music (e.g., Madonna) to the artwork by local artists that’s displayed (and for sale) on the wall. I spent many happy, happy hours at Soho’s as I was coming into my own, and I think that’s why LJ’s has resonated with me in the way that it has.

Regarding today’s visit the current batch of artwork for sale was superhero-themed: Superman, (pre-mysogenistic) Wonder Woman, Hulk, and a stylized Thundercats logo.Also, the barista was not nearly as pleasant as Friday’s. Nonetheless, EN and I had a great time, chatting about everything from racism at Columbia to CCC President Warwick Carter’s recent, inexcusable display of unprofessionalism, arrogance, and heartlessness toward a homeless Columbia student! 

All-in-all, it was an amazing day!

Tomorrow’s plans, which I hope will be equally wonderful, include going with JvE (and hopefully RAS) to Portobello Road Market in Notting Hill, followed by a trip to Kensington Palace and Gardens!

Casual Over-Drinks Topics...

There’s not too much to talk about at the moment, but I figured I should do a quick entry just to highlight a couple of things that I’ve done over the last week.

Tuesday night (20 March) I traveled to Leytonstone—birthplace of Sirs Alfred Hitchcock and Derek Jacobi—in order to meet-up with two UEL students, JA and GC, for drinks. The peers in question are both thesis-level Cultural Studies students who occasionally pop into my horrid ‘Culture, Power and Resistance in the Twenty-First Century’ class. One of them (JA) also happens to be the UEL student that came to Columbia last year. We met up at the Red Lion (which I think might be affiliated with the pub I went to with K&M on my second night here), and spent a lovely couple of hours catching up over beer and cider. We chatted about everything from white privilege and racism in Europe, to the failings of abstinence-only education in the U.S., to the attempted privitization of England’s healthcare system. You know, casual over-drinks topics…for Cultural Studies students at least.

Tuesday night wasn’t my only stab at being social this week. Last night (23 March) I happened to catch a Facebook update from another friend, AH, that he was stuck at Victoria Station, waiting for a train to take him back home (which is about an hour away). Now, I’ve ‘known’ AH online for around 13 years—we’ve been part of the same He-Man/She-Ra community since the mid- to late-1990s—but we’ve never actually met before. (Namely because of the ocean which separates us.) So, upon spotting this update, a hurried flurry of messages were exchanged, and plans were made to finally meet up in person while he waited for his rescheduled train. A short while later, and we were finally greeting one another face-to-face.

Me and AH at Victoria Station

Since AH had a couple of hours before his train was scheduled to depart, we nipped over to the Duke of York, a pub not far from the station. This was actually my first experience meeting another He-Fan/She-Raver in person—everyone’s so spread out in the States that it’s hard to do so—and I loved every second of it. It was so surreal: two grown, 30(ish) year-old men—in a dark, noisy bar surrounded by stumbling heterosexuals trying to dance to ‘Hot in Here’ (and the men suggestively removing their suitcoats)—talking about everything from the father/daughter relationship between Hordak and She-Ra, to what kinds of material the Four Horsemen will use to design Scorpia’s tail, to the role of the Filmation series in producing a generation of really swell, inclusivity-minded people. You know, casual over-drinks topics…for He-Fans/She-Ravers at least.

Beyond those two bits of excitement, there’s really not too much else to tell. This week’s kind of flown by (and, honestly, I wish it would slow down)! I’m housesitting for K&M at the moment, and keeping their delightful dog Bowmar company. I’m loving every second of the peace and quiet here. I hadn't realize how stressed out I’d become living in the other house until I came here, but I suddenly find myself very relaxed.

Of course, part of the stress I’m feeling might have more to do with midterms than the constant thumpa-thumpa at my flat. Basically, our entire grade comes down to two grades: our final (60%) and our midterm (40%). Oh, and they do not award 100% over here, the rationale being that if your work warrants 100% then you should already be a teacher. Realistically, the highest score most students earn is about 75%. So, basically, my midterms have to be spot-on if I want to try to maintain my 4.0!

Fortunately, midterm madness is almost over. One of them (‘Realism, Fantasy & Utopia’) was due last week, and the other two are due this week—followed by two glorious weeks of Easter Break (yes, it's called Easter Break here), during which time I hope to visit Scotland!!!! 

And then we go straight into working on our finals, because there's only like 5 weeks left of the actual semester following Easter Break.

Two final things I want to mention, but which don’t really fit anywhere else:

First, yesterday was a gorgeous day! Mind you, this is still London, so of course there was a curtain of smog blanketing the skyline—I have yet to see a day that is both sunny and clear—but I’ll take what I can get! It was simply too nice restrict myself to the indoors all day, so after class I ran to K&M’s house, spent some time with Bowmar, grabbed the laptop, and headed to a coffee shop in Soho. The place was called LJ’s CoffeeHouse, and my choice to go there was pretty random: I simply wanted somewhere that was open-air and had free wifi, and this is where Google directed me. After visiting their website, however, I also became smitten with LJ’s through the following ‘prayer’ posted on their site (and which I can totes relate to):

Caffeine is my shepherd; I shall not doze.
It maketh me to wake in green pastures:
It leadeth me beyond the sleeping masses.
It restoreth my buzz:
It leadeth me in the path of conciousness for its name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of addiction,
I will fear no equal.
For thou art with me, thy sweetness and thy crema they comfort me.
Thou preparest a carafe before me in the presence of my barista:
Thou anointest my day with pep; my mug runneth over.
Surely richness and taste shall follow me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the house of LJ's forever.

The service was only decent (though very friendly), but the coffee and the atmosphere as a whole were excellent. The gay Sohoians seemed to come alive, renewed by the sun’s warmth. People were so happy and pleasant, and it all jived perfectly with the mood I was in. (It was not, however, conducive to working—I spent 90% of my time there just chatting with Nic over the interwebs.)

Secondly—and containing spoilers (consider yourself warned)—I was saddened to learn on Thursday night that ‘Eastenders’ had killed off one of my favorite characters, George-Michael-obsessive Heather Trott (Cheryl Fergison). Alongside the Dot, Kim, and Shirley characters, Heather was one of my favorites. And the way in which she died—and the status of her relationships with best-friend Shirley and her murderer at the time—is just too sad. And sadly, it seems as if the U.K. soaps don’t bring back characters from the dead in the way the U.S. soaps do. Ah, well—I’ll miss you, Heather, but at least I can find some of your shenanigans on YouTube still: 

  

Until next time…