london part deux: stuff i'm thinking the second time around

1. everyone's sporting a david beckham mohawk.

young punks, old farts who should know better and everyone in between.

2. the pound can suck my dick. 1£ (pound) is approximately $1.50, but i've been spending pounds like dollars. today a bought a small coke at burger king--and it was the small kiddie happy meal size in the states--and it cost me .99 pounds. fuckin' ripoff.

3. i feel pathetic spending so much time in an easy internet cafe. but it's cool. it's cheap. it's passing time. it's relaxing, shelter from the hectic, expensive world outside. and now traveling solo for the first time, i get to write down some of the thousands of thoughts that have been running thru my head, stuff i havent been able to tell anyone in my limited human contact. i average only about 20 words an hour. "thank you," "where's...?" "can i have a...?"

4. there arent many asians here. a lot of south asians aka indians, but not many east asians. i'd say about 75% of the east asians ive seen have been tourists. as a result, im treated like a japanese tourist wherever i go. good and bad. good: i get to be invisible, get to mind my own business, fall back into people-watching mode and do as i please. bad: people treat me like i cant speak english. im invisible, but in another way. people say things around me as if i cant understand. kinda like how i would make some off color remarks in english in the presence of old korean ajumas (women) who would faint if they knew wat i was saying. kinda like that, but not really.

true story - lunch today was a £3.90 buffet lunch. took the econo-route and got to see the world cup. not bad.
i was over getting some pasta, when an english couple came in, undoubtedly attracted by the sign that snookered me in. the female came over and looked at the pasta i was scooping onto my plate and told her man, "oh, it looks horrible." the waiter came over and asked if they wanted a seat but the man said "don't bother we're just leaving" as he was halfway out the door.
how fuckin' rude. granted, the pasta wasnt that good, but im sure it would have tasted a little bit better if that bitch didnt say that shit. i knew the food wasnt going to be no 4 star gourmet fuckin' meal, i mean for £3.90 you get wat you pay for. i just wanted to save a little dough and watch the world cup game.

5. this is not only true in london, but every youth hostel i've been to. when im sharing a room with other travellers, the fuckin' room stinks. i dont know if these other fuckers dont take showers or wat, but yesterday when i came into the room late at night, the windows were closed and it was stuffy and stinky in there. smells like fucking feet. 'traveller's feet' ill call it.

6. there are some hot asian mamacitas here. i think they're hotter cuz they have a british accent. a saw a couple on the street yesterday near the 'high st. kensington' underground station where im staying. it was bright and sunny yesterday, it was saturday and a lot of people were walking around. there are a lot of clothing stores on this street: gap, british department stores, benetton, sisley, fcuk, and other high fashion boutiques, so the place attracts a fashionable crowd i noticed yesterday. i see a lot of asian hotties in the subway stations too.

today in urban outfitters there was this rather plain looking asian girl manning an area. she looked southeast asian, light-skinned. wasnt hot or nothing. i asked her about this lomo camera i already decided to buy for my trip to the grenwich meridian line later today. i just wanted to hear her talk. her accent wasnt that thick, but still, I LIKED. ooooh baby, hit me one more time.
i kept asking her other questions and generally was initiating conversation. i guess you could say i was kinda hitting on her. i was laying on my american accent thick, slurring my words and all. she didnt seem impressed. i didnt take it as a rejection in any way, she just seemed a tad shy. oh well, either way i got what i wanted.
that's another thing here in the uk. i think the asian stereotype of the unmanly asian guy is deeply engrained in everyone's head, even among asian girls. i see a lot of white dudes with asian girls. but considering all the fobby asian guy tourists, i can kinda see why. either way, i feel invisible and i feel like im not getting any respect like rodney dangerfield, and that's a pet peeve. shit, i feel like a whiny little bitch and this chip on my shoulder feels big right now. a cynical part of me thinks that asian men don't get any respect unless they look like they have money. while this makes me mad, rather than whine about it for the rest of my life, i think ill just make a lot of money and let the power get to my head.

7. cctv. it stands for close circuit television, or surveillence cameras as we might call them. they're EVERYWHERE. even here, at the easy internet cafe im at. they're in every single store, every indoor mall, even outside. you'll find them all over the subway stations too. some places dont even have signs mentioning them, but you'll see them lurking about. other places, like the subway stations, have signs everywhere warning you that assaulting station employees is a serious crime and that cctv cameras are watching you. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING.

8. one thing that pisses me off about london is that in 99% of the bathrooms, public and private, the faucets are separated into 2, hot and cold. on top of that they're the push kind so you can only wash one hand at a time. and the hot one is SCALDING hot; no joke, i suffered 3rd degree burns the other day. so its pretty fucking useless. hot's too hot, cold's too cold, and you can only wash one hand at a time. this may be no big deal to most people but it bothers an obsessive compulsive hand washer like me.

in other news, i've been chatting with sue j. lee on aol im lately in between reading about the world cup and other news. she aint doing shit this summer, no summer school, no job, nada. she just chillin', like a mother fuckin' villain. anyways, it's been nice talking to you, sue. a little bit of home for a homesick traveller. god bless the internet.

jamaican me crazy

so last night i went to camden town. it's pretty shady when you're alone. i feel like a target. maybe that's cuz as soon as i walk out of the station all these jamaican dudes utter stuff they have for sale under their breath.

one guy says 'koinichiwah', only the 99th time i've been mistaken for a japanese tourist in europe. i make eye contact, really subtle, but enough so he knows that im interested in something. weed.

we walk together, having a conversation under our breaths and without even looking at each other. he's a older than the rest of the guys hanging around there.

we stop a couple yards from the station entrance. he pulls out some shit wrapped up in saran wrap. its wrapped thick so you cant see the contents. immediately i walk away, weary of being ripped off. he desperately follows and takes out some of the stuff, asking me to smell it. i know it'd probably smell decent but just from a quick 1 second glance i know that it's the same bullshit me, davefonic and andy got last time in picadilly circus. he keeps following me, keeps saying 'koinichiwah' and subsequently attracts a lot of attention. some of those other dudes come hit me up, cuz now they know im looking for something. i briskly cross the street and walk away.

i walk around camden town, and it's a bit shady there. funny thing is there are these trendy little cafes, bars and asian noodle houses around. i look inside and there's some nice, yuppie looking blokes inside. outside there are gutter punks, jamaican dudes and other random characters.

i eat at the chinese/vietnamese noodle place i ate last time. 'super bowl noodle' something, i forget. pho wasnt as good as i remembered.

i walk around, and stumble into a little liquor store. indian dudes, all with english accents. i buy a mini-bottle of absynthe. davefonic would be proud.

i walk around, stumble in a odeon movie theater. biggie and tupac is playing. the 1115pm showing is too late however, cuz the underground subway stops running 1220am.

outside the theater i have a cig. i see 2 british blokes chilling against a railing, when a young jamaican dude walks up to them. i see thru their facade. they're native londoners, so i figure if they're buying their shit from this guy the shit should be good. as he's walking by me i make eye contact, the knowing kind.
'ganja?'
i nod. we continue our little dance.
i ask him if it's good. i just came from amsterdam, i say, and the shit i bought last time sucked.
he says it's good jamaican shit. straight from jamaica. £20. i negotiate down to £15. he says he'll be right back.
while he's gone i have a cig, or a fag as they call it here. he comes back and puts a small benson & hedges box on the rail next to me and then walks 10 yards down and waits at the bus stop. i inspect the goods and see it's the same shit the old jamaican dude had and the same shit me and davefonic and andy got last time at picadilly circus. it has seeds, sticks, stems but i think it's still sticky icky. o well, if those londoners got it i figure that's all they have here. i walk over to him at the bus stop and complain about the seed content. he shrugs, and looks a bit defensive. i try one last time to talk him down the price. he cahnt, he says cuz it's all weighed out and shit. i slip him the dough and i start walking back to the train station.
he's going the same way so we start talking. i've won his respect, i can sense that from his tone. i've shown that im quite knowledgeable of the whole game, that i know how to tango.
'you've gaht to mix it een wit da tobacco. i know you americans like to smoke only the marihuana.'
'yeah, thats one thing about europe, all you guys like smokin those spliffs.'
something like that. i like him, good guy. we say goodbye. mutual respect.

i get back to the street my youth hostel's on. it's actually in holland park. i sample the jamaican shit, and it's decent. not that strong tho, i can see why they mix it with tobacco. i imagine this is the type of shit the hippies must have smoked in the 70's. any of my friends back home would call it schwag, stress. it gets me kinda stoned.

i cross the street and buy tickets to the 1115pm showing of monster's ball. £8.50 for a movie ticket sucks. so does assigned seating. the movie, however does not. halle berry naked, also does not.
trying to take 'sean combs' seriously as an actor, ha.... youll just have to see it for yourself.

solid movie. my stamp of approval.

an open letter to those who question the damon within

spell it backwards.

sincerely,
damon

*************************

wow, i am SO ready to go home right now. i think the mysterious rash on my legs comes from sleeping in a different bed almost every night. i have mad mosquito bites too.

also, i think i've eaten enough bread in a lifetime. fukkin europeans and their bread.

oh, and in reference to an earlier post (how do i put a link to an earlier post?), i AM stranded here in london. my flight is monday, july 1st. i get back at 640pm, i think. this really sucks cuz 1), london is fukkin expensive. 2), im stuck here ABM all by myself. 3), i have a second interview with carat on july 2nd, 11am in their brand spankin' new office in irvine. and besides the alcoholism gene, i inherited some pretty mean jet lag from my dad. shit, ill stop my whining now.

well, i have 2 days in london. i think tonight ill go to camden town and eat some pho at that chinese restaurant me and davefonic and andy went to last time i was in london. while im there, ill see if there are any parties going on, and perhaps try to score some hash from one of the numerous rasta men there. if all those plans fall thru, i might just go back to that one bar we went to and drink some more absynthe.

shit, it sucks being alone.

end of the line

i flew into london last night.
im nervous. in a couple hours i have to go to a local sta travel branch and try to get a flight home to l.a. today. it's stupid cuz i cant book it over the phone, i have to go into an office.
shit. i hope im not stranded here.

http://encarta.msn.com/column/loveatfirstsightmain.asp

A love letter to Korea

Posted: Monday June 24, 2002 11:52 AM


SEOUL -- Well, that settles it. From here on out, you can call me an honorary Korean-American. This is my 32nd straight day in this country, and it's still providing no end of amazements. Not just on the soccer field, either -- though South Korea's miraculous run to Tuesday's semifinal against Germany is an irresistible story -- but in everyday life.

Today, for example, I was waiting in the rain at a crosswalk here. Suddenly a middle-aged Korean man walked over, smiled and held his umbrella above my head. Last week a colleague told me a story about how she had collapsed into a subway seat one night after a game. Exhausted, she closed her eyes, only to feel a sensation on her right shoulder. The elderly Korean woman sitting next to her was giving her a massage. After that, she softly sang a lullaby in her ear.

Understand, back in December I was disappointed when I learned the U.S. team would be based in this country instead of in Japan. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the food. Maybe Seoul somehow seemed less intriguing than Tokyo. Maybe I was just a little ignorant.

The fact is, I couldn't have been more wrong -- or more lucky. I always tell my Argentine friends that I wish I had been there in 1978 when the streets filled with joy after the home side won the World Cup. Before this year's tournament, I felt a loss knowing that I wouldn't experience the festive atmosphere that reigned in France when Les Bleus hoisted the Cup four years ago.

Wrong again. While taking the night off from work last Tuesday, I caught the South Korea-Italy match with an SI editor (and fellow soccer nut) at The 3 Alleys pub in Itaewon, Seoul's Yank-friendly entertainment district. The place was full. Half of the denizens were Koreans, and half were Anglos rooting for Korea. When Ahn Jung-Hwan's overtime header sent the Italians packing, this city erupted. Streets filled. Fireworks lit up the night. At Gecko's tavern afterward, Koreans and non-Koreans alike danced on chairs to the music of Bryan Adams and Bon Jovi. It was even more memorable than the night on the Champs-Elysées when I waded through two million victorious Gauls -- and this was after a second-round win.

(I'm still bitter that I was on deadline for the magazine this past weekend and missed the festivities after South Korea eliminated Spain in the quarters. Must have been off the hook again.)

I'm leaving the peninsula in two days, and you know what? If South Korea makes the World Cup final, I'll be watching the game at a stadium in Japan, wishing all the while that I were back in Seoul with the most fervent, good-hearted fans you'll ever see. Who knows? It may be Argentina '78 all over again.

What do I love about Korea? I love ...

... the way sweat starts beading on my scalp the second I swallow a bite of kimchi (which tastes way better than you'd think).

... the style of the South Korean team. Not only are they relentless, but they're also skilled and tough, and they know how to come back. (Ask the U.S. and Italy.) Have they gotten some breaks from the referees? Maybe, but guess what that's called? Home-field advantage, folks. The Koreans deserve to be in the semis, and all the whining Europeans should sit down and shut up.

(Does anyone think Duke doesn't deserve to win so much just because the Blue Devils get a lot of calls? No. I rest my case.)

... the soccer commentators for Korea's SBS network, who turn a game, any game, into high theater. In Korean, ne (sounds like nay) means yes. This still confuses the heck out of me, but it leads to a hilarious description of the action that goes like this:

Commentator 1: Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.
Commentator 2: NAY!
Commentator 1: Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.
Commentator 2: NAY!
Commentator 1: Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.
Commentator 2: NAY!

And so on. The SBS guys groan whenever a player, whatever his nationality, screws up, and scream over each other when the South Koreans score a goal. They even started to cry on the air after their quarterfinal victory. It's blatant homerism, of course, and yet here it's somehow endearing.

... how the masses of Koreans watching games in public squares pick up their own litter afterwards.

... the Korean fans' BE THE REDS T-shirts and KOREA TEAM FIGHTING scarves. (And while we're at it, the USA TEAM FIGHTING T-shirts I saw on Yank fans.)

... Ahn's speed-skating celebration following his goal against the U.S. (Wait: Sorry, that was bush league, pal. A question to ponder: What if Clint Mathis had done the same after his goal?)

... how the Korean organizers stocked the media center with fluorescent "happy lights" and free sports massages. (Let's just say this didn't happen in France.)

... Park Ji-Sung. The guy whose jaw-dropping goal against Portugal opened the door for the U.S. to reach the second round should have his own little spot at the U.S. Soccer Hall of Fame. Most Korean fans have Ahn Jung-Hwan on the backs of their jerseys. (He's their pinup version of David Beckham.) Me, I'm going to get a Park Ji-Sung shirt.

... the scene outside my hotel. Since the South Korean team moved in the other day, masses of fans and media have been gathering outside around the clock. As I carried my bag full of dirty laundry outside today, I got an ovation. Why? Who knows? Just realize, my new Korean friends, that I return that ovation to you.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Grant Wahl covers soccer for the magazine and will contribute frequently to CNNSI.com throughout the World Cup tournament.

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/inside_game/grant_wahl/news/2002/06/24/wahl_insider/

interesting world cup blog where people like to bash korea

im working on an email to the guy who pens it. i think im going to title it "You're a fucking sore loser and here's why:"
ill touch upon the human aspect of officiating, in response to a lot of the criticism the referees have been receiving during this world cup. ill also address the incessant whining about the 'disallowed' goals (cuz a lot of these 'goals' were made after a whistle and/or flag was waved, and you can clearly see the goalie putting down his dukes... see how stupid these whiners are?). there are some other really good points that i havent thought of yet. i think i'll end my little diatribe with a nifty little metaphor i heard on the korean news about how the soccer ball is round and so you dont know which path it'll take, being vulnerable to obstacles and the spinning of the ball and how that uncertainty makes soccer/futbol and all sports exciting. i actually only heard the round ball part and didnt understand the rest of what he was saying, but i think it had something to do with what i came up with.

in other news, it feels DAMN good to eat kimchi again. i think this last month of kimchi-free living has been a first in my life. i fucking BLEED 'gotchu-jjang' (korean hot sauce).

oh yeah, my dad got 2 tickets to the semifinals with germany. he told me after he picked me up from the airport, and we were going to go whether or not korea won. so it's a DAMN GOOD THING that korea won, cuz germany-spain will not be the DREAM-COME-TRUE game that korea-germany will be.

ahhh, life is GOOD.

well, jeannette finally convinced me. on june 21st, i took a cab from san sebastian, spain to the nearest airport in biarritz, france and took the first flight out to paris where i had a connecting flight to seoul, korea. so yes dear readers, i am back in the motherland.

with all the different time zones i've been crossing, it's difficult to describe when i've been where, but let's just say i arrived in seoul at 10:20 am, 5 hours before kickoff for the spain match and that's ALL that matters.

at 1pm, my cousin took me to somewhere downtown and i finally witnessed the magic firsthand. i'll openly admit tears came to my eyes when i saw the streets filled with fellow korean countrymen hugging and dancing around. the feeling in my chest was indescribable. i felt a kinship with the people dancing around me and a deep connection to the land i was standing on especially after 3 weeks of backpacking around the european continent as a total foreigner. my cousin and her friend were crying and hugging and jumping around and it felt good to join in their embrace. firecrackers were going off everywhere and confetti and paper were flying everywhere. i looked up to the nearby office building and some guy who was probably stuck working in the office that day was throwing out stacks of paper all over the crowded streets below. in the apartment building next to it a couple of residents were standing on their balconies and soaking up the ecstacy exuding from below. there was even a topless man doing a north carolinaaah with his t-shirt (waving it like a helicopter).

i was most impressed with what happened next. within minutes trash bags appeared out of nowhere, and everyone started to clean up the trash, newspapers and confetti around them. people would alternate between celebrating and cleaning up. minutes before you couldnt even see the street from the confetti and newspaper and now you had a massive cleanup effort. i used to be embarassed at how messy koreans could be, but this was a sight to see. imagine times sqaure, minutes after midnight, and amid the celebrations people stooping down to clean up the trash and confetti around them.

my cousin, her friend and i walked a couple blocks with the masses. impromptu congo lines, singing, dancing was everywhere. a sea of red, the smell of firecrackers and general hysteria. as i rounded the corner next to an old historical building, a small group started singing the korean national anthem. the tears returned. never had the song been more approriate. they were looking up at one of the screens and i realized that the music was coming from some speakers somewhere, accompanied with images of the fans waving 'tae-guk-ki' korean flag.

more later.

"Today was a good day" -Ice Cube

South Korea fan sets himself on fire

Has it gone too far yet? shit, if korea beats italy, im gonna take the FIRST flight out to korea.

in other news, i slept on the street outside the barcelona train station last night. i was with other american and british backpackers who also couldnt find a place to stay due to some huge 3 day rave in barcelona. shit, if i´d known earlier about this party i probably would have at least have gone. instead i managed to get about an hour of sleep at most. an american girl got her bag jacked in the morning. also some guy tried to pickpocket davefonic about 20 minutes after we arrived in barcelona but he caught him.

in other news, my sun burns are making me itchier than a mutherfucker.

today i had 2 beers and a sandwich for breakfast in nice, france as i watched korea beat portugal (ranked fifth in the world) to win their group and advance to the second round for the first time in its 6 world cup tries.

in other news, im sun burnt.

read about korea's dramatic victory here, and read about the effect of the victory in korea here.

mind the gap