Jolly Olde England

Okay, I've been a bit behind in publishing this blog. Here is picking up April 6th, having just left Italy. Landing at Cloe’s place. Got a late night pick-up from the airport from Cloe’s sister and her boyfriend. They were on the Bali adventure with us last year when I took the fall that broke my wrist, and we’d bonded in the time we’d spent together there; they felt like family. The two of them are up and coming rock stars – no joke - in a band called The Hype Theory, scrapping their way through the saturated London music scene. They introduced me to the late night “Tescos” experience. After a month in Italy – where everything is bread and cheese, I reveled in the familiar comfort foods tidily lined in fluorescence, and the sheer number of choices. Italy, for all its food fame, has an incredibly limited selection of foods in its markets, even in Rome. (Granted, I did not make it to the French-owned Carrefour, which undoubtedly would have held a larger selection of consumables.) I picked up some Mulligitawny soup, oh Jesus yum, and we popped around the corner to the family home.
The Jackson family home is what I imagine a run of the mill Harry Potter-esque magic family’s home to be. It’s three stories, surrounded by a small garden with a hutch for the bunny and guinea pigs, and a hen that sleeps in the flowerpot attached to the windowsill. Each room in the house is small, but not tiny, and the stairs that wind up to the third floor are tilting just so one has to lean all the way forward or back to negotiate them. And Cloe’s mother, Karen (kah-ren) has a magical quality about her. A good witch if I ever saw one. Her dad might be a muggle in comparison, but still a fairly jolly, if slightly repressed, chap. Oh my gosh, and their cars! Cloe and her mom both have the perfect cars for them, and I am envious! Cloe's little green car is so sweet!

Spent the first week mostly working, getting to know what it’s like to live in suburban England, walking in the nearby fields and parkland. Cloe and I were both battling colds, so it was pretty low-key, but it was so lovely to be in the sphere of the radiant Cloe again. She is a touchstone for me. A child-like dreamer with endless wells of loving compassion and wisdom. It was unusually sunny and warm so we spent those first few days sitting in the sun in the garden, tanning and typing away. Strange to have gotten a tan in England after a cold few weeks in Italy. The first weekend I spent in London. Vilius had just happened to be flying to London around the same time, so we met up for a CouchSurfing gathering at a Balkan beat DJ night at a pub in the South part of town. At some CS gatherings it’s easy to tell who’d CS and who’s not. You start to get a feel for our special brand of diversity. This, however, was not one of those gatherings. London’s geeky diversity makes it difficult to spot a group of CSers among the locals, so we had to go looking. There was a group of 4 friends dressed in full furries outfits, a duck, a tiger, a chicken and a rabbit. Regardless of their CS status, I had to know what inspired them to go out looking like the cast of Winnie the Pooh the Musical. Come to find out that they had absolutely no reason, other than their quirky sense of humor and fun loving approach to life. Of course I suggested that they join CS. Even funnier than the outfits was the ensuing political discussion about the chances of Obama’s reelection. We did end up finding the dispersed couchsurfers and getting everyone dancing like crazy to the Balkan beats.

The next day was spent walking London – down the waterway that skirts Regent’s Park and the London Zoo. The weather, still warm and sunny (?!!) and we made the most of it, eating lunch on the lock at Camden. Found this funny little clubby alterna-store, bumping house music. Three levels of neon clothes, funky gifts, sex toy shop, and gag gifts. No photos allowed, which I think is the funniest part. The uber-goth staff (like Death Guild Burners on steroids) are militant about it.
As I returned back to the Paddington flat where I was staying (with a lovely Yemeni-born Londoner named Faiza), I walked through Regent’s Park. The local Muslim families were gathered there playing and barbequing. I stopped to take some photos of, and marvel at, the Central London Mosque. Like many mosques, new moon crescents adorn its minarets. It was sunset and their outlines against the blue-pink sky were just breathtaking. As I stood there soaking in the moment, this funny older gentleman approached me, asking if I had ever been to the mosque. When he heard my accent in my reply to the negative, he asked where I was from. “San Francisco,” I said. He exploded with joy, “San Francisco! My favorite girlfriend was from San Francisco! Come, you must take a walk in the park with me.” It was one of those moments too perfect to pass up. Turns out he’s a 78-year-old barrister (British lawyer) originally from Pakistan. On the walk through the park we came across many people he knew, one of whom gave me a necklace from his bag at the barrister’s insistence. Walking back toward the mosque, he invites me to tour it. Having never been inside a mosque, I accepted. At the gate I was given a scarf to wear on my head, though the barrister objected. I was happy to wear it. I much prefer to follow the customs, no matter where I am. Inside, the mosque was huge. I could not go into the large room where the men pray, but I did get to look in. It was much like other churches, lots of space, and facilities for gatherings. We went downstairs to a little café, where several families were eating dinner. He introduced me, and made jokes about how he was going to marry me and take me with him to Pakistan. Had some delicious curry and was on my way with his card and a promise to be in touch.

Earlier that week I had gotten a message from a friend I’d met in Thailand last year – the lovely and amazing Megan Flamer – saying that her sister, Tasha, lived in London and just happened to have an extra ticket to that Monday’s Jose Gonzalez show. So I stayed another night, and saw one of the best shows of my life! He was backed by the Goteborg String Theory Orchestra (http://www.tgst.org/) – easily the hottest ensemble of musical geniuses in Finland – conducted by the inimitable Nackt, a musical force of nature. I can hardly begin to describe the divinity that was this collaboration. Just go to the website. Trust me.

Cloe came back to London with me a few days later for an ecstatic dance night and the weekend. I have to admit, as hippy-spirit-woo-woo-yoga as I can be, I have had an aversion to ecstatic dance for as long as I’ve known about it. Maybe I was dance snobby, but my distaste was only reinforced by my experiences at ecstatic dances. The few times I’ve actually gotten myself to an ecstatic dance event, I ended up feeling like the whole thing was contrived. Part of it is (an no offense to those of you who like it) that there are the contact improv people who seem to have no sense of what consent to contact looks like, who roll their sweaty bodies all over anyone who is not quick enough to dance away, at least that’s what happened in the ecstatic dance I went to last in Berkeley. Maybe it’s that I did not really know anyone at the dances I went to before. Maybe, just maybe, I just needed to be in a better less judgmental place before I could enjoy the kind of freedom that comes with ecstatic dance when one is truly absorbed in it. Regardless, this one was different. I went with Cloe and her (and my new) friend, Saharima – one of the most fantastic and amazingly tattooed women I’ve ever met. I am certain that part of the difference was the quality of the people I went with, but another was the quality of the people there. The DJ was guiding the dance through something called the 5 Rhythms. He started off with a long period of chill music while people warmed up, meditated, greeted each other in silence. Then he suggested that we focus on grounding, connecting through the Earth, feeling the element of earth. Then moving through connecting with others, with a small group, effortlessly moving from one connection to another, exploring what can be exchanged in the dance. Then dancing to the highest self. I had never felt so free in dance, so unselfconscious. And at the end, as he encouraged us to tune back into our heart space, I felt a release in me, some energy that had been stuck began to move, and I burst into tears. Cloe was nearby and perfectly present for me in that moment. I moved out some old, old stuck sadness.

A mutual friend of ours from Bali, Claire, happened to be in London for a few last days before her move to Brazil, and we were lucky enough to stay with her for a couple over the weekend. She was wrapping up the renovation of her condo, and when we arrived she was about at the end of her rope. It was clear that she needed some help. It had been years since I last did some home improvement, and it felt good to flex those muscles again. We sanded, sealed, cleaned. Claire was beyond grateful, and I remembered what that gratitude felt like, when a friend or two show up in those last few days of work on a house, when you just don’t think you can paint one more wall. We had great girl time, even did a little shopping at a street market. Then Claire was off, and we gathered the lovely and amazing Lisa Larn and her son, Jai, and headed for Brighton. Having watched the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice far too many times, I could not but help hearing in my head the annoying voice of Lydia “I want to go to Brighton!” and giggling to myself. We had a lovely day laying around on the beach and running around with Jai in the Brighton gardens.

Sunday was the picnic for the people of Nowhere, where all kinds of fun burner-type freaks gathered to plot and plan our summer festival in Spain. It was like the friendlier version of the Black Rock DPW all in one place. Cloe was a sport and went with me. We met near the Thames, in Jubilee Gardens, right under the giant ferris wheel, within view of Big Ben. Like every day in San Francisco, I had that sense of “how did my life get so good?”
One of my fellow Nowhere go-ers, Sam, had an extra ticket to the White Mischief party that evening a nautical steam-punk themed event replete with Gogol Bordello type bands, hula hooping burlesque acts and all kinds of crazy fun stuff.  We had a freaking blast! Turns out Sam is also a swing dancer, so we cut up the dance floor into the wee hours. Night buses home are not tons of fun, but much more so after a few drinks and a fabulous night.

The perfect wrap up to my time in the UK was the Moonlight yoga dance journey sleepover that Cloe put on at her yoga studio. Another awesome dance experience, a group breathwork session, led by yours truly, and a lovely vegetarian meal. Made some friends for life, and had the sweetest time all snuggled up on the floor with Rosy, Arron, Cloe, Lisa and the rest of the gang. In my rush to leave for Turkey, I lost my black wool coat in Heathrow Airport (where nothing is EVER recovered) but I was so full of love and so excited to finally reach the Middle East, I could not be bothered to care.