Rize of the Fenix

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After a nap, we introduced ourselves to Emily.

Let me back up.

After landing at Heathrow yesterday, a lady in Customs & Immigration gave us a stern look. "How long are you going to be in the UK?" was her first question.

"Three weeks," I replied.

"Where are you going after that?"

"Paris."

"And when do you return home?"

I paused. "November, maybe?"

She furrowed her brow in a manner indicating that the concept of "travel" may have never crossed her mind in all the years she'd had this job working in an airport. "What are you going to do for work?" she asked, as though she wanted to desperately follow it up with "...you dummy?"

"We're not," chimed E. "We saved our money."

"Wait... you can do that?" was something she almost said but didn't. In fact, without another word, she stamped our passports and we went on our way.

After obtaining a few pounds sterling and somehow reserving enough consciousness to acquire the magical "Oyster Card" that gets you where you need to go in London, we landed in the master bedroom of a small flat in the neighborhood of Finsbury Park (birthplace of Kate Beckinsale!). Ordinarily, I would have tried to procure accommodation using couchsurfing.org, which is like Facebook for freeloaders. But all the generous folks in London must have been on holiday, so instead I leaned on airbnb.com -- which is exactly like couch surfing but with the added luxury of letting you pay for it.

This brings us back to Emily. She's an American currently living in the non-master bedroom of this flat, and who was nice enough to open the door for us when we arrived, and to whom we barely spoke a word before collapsing into what was perhaps a bed. After waking up, Emily and I exchanged a few pleasantries until she retreated to her room, pretty much forever.

So why the emphasis on Emily? I don't know. Moving on.

Today, I left Finsbury Park (birthplace of Minnie Driver!) for lunch in King's Cross, only a few Tube stops away on the Victoria line. King's Cross is a major transportation hub in London, with a rich, storied history and a certain degree of fame for being the location of Harry Potter's "platform 9 3/4." But honestly, fuck all that. I like King's Cross for its selection of street food, motherfucker.

Thanks in part to a food stand consortium/website known as "eat.st," street food in London is taking off in a big way. And I imagine the people of England couldn't be more excited after several millennia of eating nothing but boiled herring and potatoes. Each day, the booths at King's Cross rotate -- that is to say, you'll see a different array of cuisines depending on the date. You won't show up to a row of spinning food stands, though that would only entice me more. Anyway, today I patronized a stand called Kimchi Cult, who served me a pulled pork sandwich covered in Korean spicy cabbage.

(If your mouth isn't crying right now, you have no feelings.)

Next on the agenda was the Tate Modern, London's famous museum of contemporary art. It was decided that we walk for an hour to get there instead of utilizing the ol' Oyster Card, which isn't usually a big deal but for the deluge of rain that had just begun. Why did we do this? Why, indeed. Maybe it was because we'd spent the entirety of yesterday seated on various transit vehicles. Or perhaps because we were carrying a small umbrella that we thought might protect us. But really, I think we were simply afraid the locals, who are likely used to this kind of shit, would deem us wussies if we didn't.

We arrived at the Tate mostly wet, and in a turn of tragic irony, we left the Tate mostly bored. There, I said it. The Tate Modern is kinda boring. Back to Finsbury Park (birthplace of that chick from 28 Days Later!).

Our final stop of the day, to which we took the train, was an unusual one: Brixton Academy. Also known as O2 Academy, Brixton, it opened its doors in South London as a movie theatre in 1929, but at some point in the mid-80s it was converted into a concert venue. Tonight's programme: Tenacious D.

In my first 24 hours in London, I met an American, ate Korean food, gave up on an art museum, and then watched two fat guys sing about dicks. Truly I have reached new cultural heights.

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Photos

Pulled pork 'n kimchi
Even tastes good in the rain.

Not the Tate Modern
My preferred brand of contemporary art

The cultural apex
All they're asking is so precious little.