Yesterday's "Cultural" Day Through London

OK, I ain't finna have as many "different" pictures in this post as I did in the post before. But that don't mean I still didn't do quite a bit...

After spending 2 hours of Saturday morning on Saturday's blog, I got showered and headed to this area of London called "Brixton" for a haircut. According to Kadija, who's from Northampton, England, and a lady I conversed with Friday night (both of whom are black), Brixton is one of the spots in London, if not the only spot, where a black man can find a decent barber. Kadija's claim that Brixton is somewhat like Landover, is somewhat of an accurate description. The only thing is Landover is definitely more spread-out while Brixton is pretty much a street. But the retail shops that line the street are pretty much what you would find in your average Landover strip mall. On second thought, its like what H Street would look like if it had less boarded up shops (i.e. what it will probably look like in 3-5 years). Anyways, I didn't get my haircut in "Brixton" proper, but on...


This is a street that branches off of Brixton and people who live/work along this street will tell you that its not Brixton. Anyways, the shop had 3 barbers in there and of the two I spoke with, neither was English; one was Jamaican and the other, who ended up cutting my hair, was African. Immediately after speaking like 4 words, they knew I was American and immediately "opened up" to me...if you will. The Jamaican guy was the most verbose of the two. While getting my haircut, we ended up chatting about a bunch of "American" stuff (like hip-hop, how the dollar is weak against the pound, Barack, etc.), but what stuck out the most was how this guy kept emphasizing how everything in America was, "so much bigger! You see that road out there out front how its two lanes? In America, that's ONE lane!" The funny thing is, he's never been to America...just has 7 brothers and one sister he sees during the holidays in Jamaica that tell him all about it.

Surprisingly, the African dude didn't push my wig (i.e. hairline) back--LIKE THEY DO IN TALLA-BAMMA-HASSEE--and gave a decent cut. Go figure. During the cut, the dude asked me how much a cut was in America. I felt he was setting me up so I told him $10...which is true at some shops (it's just I always get my 'stache and goatee shaped up, which costs extra, and tip well). There it was 8 lbs. ($16) and I passed the 2 lb. tip onto the dude. So in essence I paid the same for a comparable cut from back home (since I typically spend $20)...it's good deal! :tu

By then it was close to 3pm, so I hopped back on the tube to head back to Chris's apt so we could catch the infamous Portobello Street Market before it closed at 5.


Some artistically/culinarily-inclined/hippie folk would go absolutely NUTS out here. Sorry for the DC analogies, but basically imagine Georgetown (seriously, the length, look and feel of M Street (without the expensive cars)) as an open-air market with a section for antiques, a section for clothes (thrift included), a section for spices/fresh foods (vegetables or otherwise), and a section(s) for...I couldn't even tell you because in the hour that we were there, we didn't get that far. Also, the thing is Portobello Street doesn't close during the market. So all of the regular storefronts along the street, which by the way are awesome in and of themselves, are still open AND cars/vans still attempt to drive along the pedestrian-crowded street (replete with honked horns and agitated drivers/market-goers). Chris and I had the best bratwurst and homemade chicken-burger, respectively, from this truck out there. It has single-handedly caused me to make plans to come back to London for another weekend before I leave Europe.

At market close (5 pm), Chris and I headed back to the flat to prepare for the Armageddon that was about to be bestowed upon London --> "the 2007 Rugby World Cup Finals - England vs. South Africa." We went to this area called Leicester Square (pronounced "Lester Square"...what a waste of vowels). The area is normally known for its clubs (a girl in Footlocker told me so) that have covers that are astronomically expensive (Chris and Ming told me so). Jumping ahead a bit, after the game we strolled through the actual "square" where the clubs were and both assertions were confirmed. What they didn't say was how some English ladies there find our American accents to be the "sexiest thing in the world." I told them, "Likewise." They told me to keep talking...anyways, back to the actual game.


We went to this packed pub called "LongAcre" to watch the game. I didn't (and still don't exactly) know how the game of rugby works (you want a detailed explanation, here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rugby_union), but from my understanding of the game, from the tapes and what people told me, basically, you can't throw the ball forward. While you have the ball, you can run with it. When someone is tackled, the game doesn't stop, it keeps going, and members from both teams either try to strip the ball from the dude that has it or try to stop dudes from taking the ball away from their teammate after he's tackled so he can pass it (backwards) to one of them. At any time you can try to kick the ball into the uprights, after dropping it on the ground or something, for three points. Or, if you can touch the ball in the end zone (hence the term "touchdown"), you get five points. And, supposedly, a chance for an extra three points by kicking the ball into the uprights. When the ball goes out, the ball gets thrown back in (by the ref I think) but anyone can get it. They usually throw it super high (I mean so high that members from both teams propel their respective players into the air like an assisted jump). And then there's the "tension" as I call it-->basically the infamous shot that you always see of "rugby" where members of both teams have their arms and shoulders interlocked in a huge bunch. That basically happens after a penalty or something when the ref puts the ball back in play. The thing is, its not like they're fighting for the ball...no, one team has possession. Its just that the team with possession has the ball safely on the ground to the rear so that the other team can't reach it. All they're trying to do is move forward. When they feel they can't go forward anymore (cause the other team's interlocked shoulders are preventing forward progress), they pick up the ball and throw it backwards to another teammate who then tries to run it forward. Got that? I didn't think so.

Anyways, the game was uneventful as hell...and was told so by Englanders who follow the game. Actually, their verbiage was along the lines of "it was a very tactful/strategic game." In other words, every two minutes one of the teams kicked the ball out of bounds to establish field position. I'd say about the only thing interesting about the game was that every 5 minutes or so, all the England fans in the pub, which was about 85 percent of the pub, would break out into a rousing rendition of...

"Swing Low,
Sweet Chariott
Coming forth to carry me hoooooooooome;
Swiiiiiiiiiiiiiing Low,
Sweet Charrrrrrrrrioooooootttttttt
Coming forth to carry me hooooooooooome."

Well this automatically made Chris and I unofficial England fans seeing that England's anthem was an old Negro spiritual. Chris looked it up and supposedly back in the '80's, there was an important game where England was down towards the closing minutes of the game and there was a black guy that played for England that scored several times to give England the last-minute win. Someone sang it or something and it's been their rally song ever since. The funny thing is, even after England lost, dudes were still yelling it on the streets. lol.

Before going to Leicester Square for all of 15 minutes (we weren't paying a 15-lb. cover (i.e. $30) to get into a club) before heading home, we went to Mr. Wu's buffett in Chinatown to eat...(it was wack, by the way)


Nothing more to really say. Oh yeah...how could I forget. You know I had to make my infamous veggie lasagna from fresh carrots, squash, bell peppers, onions, basil, corriander, broccoli, cauliflower, Italian spices, 2 types of cheeses that I can't even remember nor pronounce, and (of course) portabella mushrooms; all purchased from the Portobello Street Market. Everything else was purchased from Chris's neighborhood supermarket called "Tesco." So I call this version, Frankfurt Freddie's Infamous "Porto-Tesco" Lasagna...


Cheers.