Going Places

I spent the entire Easter weekend in London, where I attended the wedding of a good old friend and his lovely lady. All in all it was a time well spent; the wedding was a success (nobody said ’no’, the sun was shining, happy days – although too many people were wearing really sloppy outfits, and the cake got wolfed down by a bunch of flown-in Americans before I even got to taste it; it was supposedly good), and the happy couple are now spending their honeymoon in Paris, in the very same apartment Bertolucci shot Last Tango in Paris (believe it or nuts!). The temperature in London was so pleasant that the cherry trees were blooming, shorts-wearing sports types played football in Hyde Park, and kids ate ice cream. I had both a couple of refreshing ales a day and a few tasty meals – including a nice midnight snack in Chinatown and my first ever visit to a legendary bagel joint on Brick Lane. And thanks to my crazy-person planning, which included bizarre print-outs of maps and journey planners in absurdum, the logistics went very well.

Needless to say, I was on a strict budget, and since my flight left Stansted at 7 in the morning on Tuesday after the weekend, I figured what the hell, and never booked a hotel room for that final night. Why spend €100 for a few lousy hours of restless sleep when you can stay out, clubbing and bar-hopping all night instead, and go straight to the airport in the wee hours? Quite. Of course, this meant I had to minimize my luggage – no small feat indeed. My small rucksack, in which I reluctantly stuffed my now worn suit and my extra pair of fancy shoes, along with everything else, was literally bursting at the seams. This also led to a strict no-shopping policy, since I basically couldn’t fit a thing in the bag – which is absolute murder when you’re in a place like London. No Blackmarket Records, no movie stores, no clothing stores, forget about books and posters and even magazines – but I did manage to squeeze in the smallest of goods: six coasters from wood designers extraordinaire Unto This Last, a thin book by Banksy, and two pairs of Paul Smith socks.

Tate Modern was having a big Joseph Beuys exhibit I really looked forward to, but demanded a hefty £8.50 for it, so I stuck with the regular (free) galleries instead, which suited me just fine. Similarly greedy, the National Gallery lured me into their lairs with promises of free admission, only to slap me in the face at the gates and inform me that the intriguing Caravaggio exhibit not only (1) would cost a lot of money but (2) was sold out for the day. ’Come back tomorrow’, the swine of a guard told me. ’Never’, I growled, used their men’s room, and left. I spent the afternoon in St. James Park instead. The evening ended on a good note, as I made my way into Bar Rumba, my favourite spot in SoHo for laid back clubbing. Mondays are That’s How It Is!, a legendary night out (now in its 11th year, I believe), originated by the Worldwide Don himself, Gilles Peterson. They recently changed resident DJs, so Gilles is not around as much as before, but it’s still all about the music. Without a doubt the friendliest club environment I’ve been in: hand-shakes, pats on backs and smiles all around. Pretty cheap to get in too, but the bar will rob you blind if you’re not careful. I stuck around for a couple of hours, before catching the night coach to Stansted, and arrived at home in Malmö before lunchtime. Pretty sweet, but although everything worked out as planned, I almost felt jetlagged there for a while.

My two feet are firmly on the ground, but I still haven’t landed yet, emotionally. The days continue to go up and down, as feelings of happiness, sorrow, joy, and grief come at me from all sides. As I’m writing this, it’s Saturday, and I’ve spent the last few days at my parents’ house. My grandma’s funeral was this Thursday, and I guess the less said about it, the better. Not for it’s execution: everything went well, it was a very nice little ceremony, but I’m just glad it’s over. Hopefully, we can all move on now, and almost as if to illustrate that life really goes on, my sister gave birth to a healthy, cuddly little baby girl last week, and she certainly helps us to focus on the more positive aspects of life. She is to be named Stella Rosa Majken, and I am one proud uncle.

I also happened to watch two movies during my stay in England. More about them, and a few others I’ve seen lately, in a day or two.