How do I, oh how do I live

People keep asking me how I’m settling in, and honestly, it’s tough to know. Even on my six-week anniversary of being here in London, I still feel a little like I’m on vacation, or at least in some sort of temporary state that will ultimately result in me going back to where I came from.

Part of the reason why I think this might be the case is the constant hectic weekends—the travelling, the one-off events, the unpacking and getting organized, and the seeming inability to just hang out. So when this past weekend approached, the first one with few plans and no travelling, I had really high expectations. I think I was hoping that somehow, all of a sudden, a sense of permanence would descend upon me like a giant security blanket, and I would finally feel tethered, sound and normal.

So, you ask, am I magically settled in now after my weekend?

Well, let’s review:

Friday

Continuing my flatmate Jason’s quest to teach me about my new neighbourhood one pub at a time, Alex, Jason, Megan and I headed out to Exmouth Market, a very cool street located north of my building. Our first stop was Café Kick, which is, believe it or not, a Brazilian slash Portuguese foosball bar serving Mexican food and Cuban drinks. I imagine it would be where Pelé would hang out if he were in London (back when Pelé was relevant, whenever that was). It was a fun, sort of off-the-beaten-track kind of place that served freshly made mojitos and caipirinhas (mmmmm….tastes like rocket fuel mixed with brown sugar).

From there, we headed to a very cool place (and Jason’s favorite bar in London) called Medcalf, named after the butcher who used to keep his shop there. (I figure Medcalf is a pretty good name for a guy who chops up cows for a living…Sometimes I like to think of things that I should have done career-wise that would have fit my last name …like being a shepherd—“Flockleshaw”. Or a tax accountant—“HR Blockleshaw.” Or a clockmaker—“Ticktockleshaw.” Or a professional skateboarder—“Tony Hawkleshaw.” Really, I missed my calling with the whole writer thing.)

It was a very fun night completed with a requisite trip to a gourmet pizza-type place in the area. Good times were had by all.

Saturday

Saturday morning bought with it sunny skies (the Force is strong in this one) and a brand new set of dining room chairs, courtesy of my wonderful flatmate and Charles and Ray Eames. Seeing as how until today, my choices for sitting in my flat were (a) chaise lounge, (b) inflatable chair, or (c) bed, this is pretty exciting stuff. I still feel a little like a broke college student—albeit one with a penchant for the modern classics of furniture design—but at least now I can eat my Ramen and grilled cheese sandwiches while seated at a table.

Because it was my first weekend in town, Alex and I conducted part one of my much-discussed but long-delayed walking tour of London on Saturday (to be again put on hold while I’m out of town for the next two weekends…At this rate, I expect to have a rudimentary understanding of where I am in relation to everything else by 2010).

Our first tour stop was Hampstead, a village with more millionaires within its boundaries than anywhere else in Britain. Think Liam Gallagher, Gwyneth Paltrow and Emma Thompson. We didn’t see any of them, but I swear we saw Keith Richards handing out fliers outside of The Gap.

In addition to all of the usual suspects—great shopping, amazing restaurants and delightful little streets full of oldy-worldy buildings and well-coiffed people—the neighborhood also lays claim to Hampstead Heath, which rivals any urban park I’ve ever been to largely because of its largely uncultivated, wild feel. (I asked Alex if the yellow straw-like meadow had a name and he said, “grass.” Hmmm….I was just glad he didn’t say “lab.”)

In fact, it feels so raw and untouched that when you’re standing in the middle of it, you feel like you’re in the midst of a British period film. I half expected to trip over Kate Winslet and Colin Firth engaged in some sort of corset-ripping tryst. No such luck, though. I guess I’ll have to settle for a Gap-promoting Keith Richards. If only the flier has been advertising for the new “Rolling Stone-Washed Chino.” (Aha! Take that, Dads of the world. I just beat you to a joke.)

After walking for a couple of glorious hours, we arrived for late lunch at the flat of one of Alex’s friends. He lives in Berthold Lubetkin’s HighPoint 1, what I later learned is considered one of London’s best, most innovative examples of early Modernist architecture (“later learned” being the operative phrase…even after six years surrounded by architects, I’m still not entirely sure what qualifies a “masterpiece”). It was definitely a cool building with stunning 360-degree views of London and some interesting original design features that even an architectural neophyte like me could appreciate.


Once we enjoyed a delicious summer feast, Alex and I left hastily to make our way to the next stop on our bustling social agenda—a Clerkenwell karaoke bar. A friend of mine from Baltimore had put me in touch with a photographer friend of his who is living in London as a student. It was her birthday, and though we hadn’t met, she had generously invited me to join her and her friends for her party.

Alex and I were exhausted from our busy day, so we decided just to stop by for one drink and say hello. After we’d introduced ourselves to my friend’s friend (who seems really lovely, by the way…gotta love second-degree connections), we joined the end of a long table full of people who all seemed to know each other quite well.

Alex looked miserable, so as a joke, I decided to sign him up for a song. I was practically daring him to stop me, but he just sort of looked at me dejectedly—we both knew we’d be out of there long before they got that far through the list of already requested songs….

Which is why we were so surprised when ten minutes later, the first song of the evening was called. Yep, of the huge group of people who’d gathered for this girl’s party, all of whom had been entering songs since we got there, the first person called was the person farthest removed from the social unit.

Imagining my own paralyzing fear over being in that situation, I started to panic that I’d inadvertently scarred Alex for life. But without even flinching, my ballsy boyfriend got up from his chair, gave me a meaningful look that I like to think meant “I will sing this song for you” but was probably more like “I hate you with the intensity of 10,000 suns,” and made his way over the microphone.

He then proceeded to sing, with remarkable gusto, this song:


Yep, in front of a room full of stone-cold sober randoms, Alex kicked off the party of a total stranger with Leann Rimes' “How Do I Live.”

God bless him. I couldn’t have been prouder if I were the country diva herself. Once he returned to the table, he said something to the effect of, “I believe our work here is done” and without even finishing our drinks, we were off like a band of crazy dive-bombing, shock-and-awe karaoke crashers. The only thing that would have made it better is if he’d said, as we were leaving, “You got Leann Rimes’d, b*tch.”

Sunday

We’d decided to have a barbecue at Alex’s house, so the day began with a trip to my new favorite grocery store, Waitrose. Unlike a lot of the other urban-format supermarkets, it always seems to have everything I’m looking for, even eggs, which I have learned are not stored in the refrigerator with the milk in Britain, but rather are kept on the shelf, next to the cereal. Does that seem safe to you? No, me neither, but I’m no dairy expert. (note: I continue my quest for canned green chilies. Americans: Feel free to bring me some next time you’re in London.)

In Richard and Katerina’s perfect-for-entertaining house, the event itself proved extremely successful, and though we had far too much food, everything was delicious.

We all completely stuffed ourselves, which made what we did afterwards all the more challenging.

Alex recently acquired a Wii Fit. If you haven’t heard of this amazing contraption, you must. Stat. Basically, it’s a video game that provides you with a board you step on. The board does everything from weigh you to determining your balance during yoga, to providing a step for aerobics class. Everything is monitored by the system—your fitness goals, improvements in your strength and agility, etc—and it doles out some pretty tiring workouts. The one that probably provided the most entertainment was hula hooping. There’s really nothing funnier than watching someone hula hoop manically without a hoop…except maybe seeing your boyfriend belt out Leann Rimes in front in front a crowd of strangers.


And that pretty much sums up the weekend. Do I feel more settled after it? Probably not….but I imagine it will take more than a weekend to make me feel that way anyway. But if this mix of new experiences, spontaneous hilarity and fun times with fun people is edging towards the norm, I’m happily on my way.