barroviajero

Practically perfect

Londres y yo nos llevamos muy bien, Londres estos dos dias ha sido como un suenyo. (Pityfully this computer is set for Thai, Korean and Japanese, not for spanish, so bear me in english or in miswritten spanish, if you may).

Hoy vi que entraba luz por las ventanas y decidi salir con short y polera. Una apuesta arriesgada, y ciertamente insolita. Me fui caminando por el Jubilee walk hasta Waterloo Station, y al cruzar Lambeth Bridge me di cuenta que el unico que iba al sur del rio era yo, y que todos me miraban mi polera floreada, claro, todos los que me miraban estaban vestidos para ir a la oficina. Barro, o el espiritu de las vacaciones. Ese era yo.
Y caminar caminar, pase junto a un hospital donde habia una escalera, como no habia ningun signo de prohibido entrar, entr, entr, entr...Maldicion, para mi que esto es para puro joderse a los franceses, pero me joden tambien a mi que no puedo escribir los verbos correctamente si no hay acentos. Oh, Blimey!#'l#';#;

So, as I was saying, I climbed the stairs and got to the hospital's rooftop. You could see from there that some grey clouds were coming. Must hurry then, I thought to myself. I could have said it to myself, but since I was alone it would have been bordering ridiculous.

I went to the Tate Britain, waiting alongside what appeared to be a guy with bad hairdo and turned out to be a lady, probably of sapphic persuasions. The Tate is free, and so are their audiophones. I went to see the Turners, and then I saw the Bacons, and the Lucien Freuds, Blake was a bit of a let down, very poorly represented. But then there they were, the prerraphaelites!!

Yup, Ophelia floating in the water. The Lady of Shallot, abandoning all hope, Dante Rossetti's Beata Breatix. So very dramatic, so out of nowhere. This pictures that I used to see in books, now were here, were real. Would that mean that I was real too? That remains to be seen.

Then I took the Tate to Tate boat, and spend my first 4 pounds of the day. Nice to be held by the river, such gentle river, a proper god river, the Thames. It was a fast ride and in less than 15 minutes we were already landing at the pier next to Tate Modern.

Now, it was when I got to Tate Modern that I started to feel a bit concious of me being alone in this journey. I mean, Maca, my friend who writes about contemporary art! Maca!. I had to buy (at Tate Modern you have to pay for them), I had to buy the audiophones just so as to have someone to compare impressions with.
And the Big Art Parade started with Picasso, Beuys, Duchamp, Boccioni, Warhol, Rothko, Cezanne, Monet, so many impressions. I fear for a second, fear of losing the sense of amazement. But it just got better and better.

I even saw a real celebrity, not a lookalike. Just next to me, reading a panel, was this guy, the lead singer of Suede, Brett something...I just nodded at him, didn't say anything, I hate it when people harass celebrities. I was there because of the art. Let's discuss some art.

I loved this tree, by some italian sculptor. He took a big piece of wood, let's say 20 meters of it, one piece, straight from the factory from the forest. He then began carving it, taking its layers off, being extra careful with the places were branches were supposed to be or grow. It ended looking like the tree it was before it was sawed. Like an "inner tree". Like something essential, like, man, I'm so running out of words for describing things here, can I say, awe-inspiring?

So then I looked at the window and it was raining. Raining in London, what a surprise!, and me with shorts. Could anybody take me for a foreigner? From, let's say, Siberia? Puerto Williams?

But then, wonders never cease, really. I went out and the sun came out with me, and I crossed Millenium bridge towards Saint Paul and I had to stop, just to take a picture of this divine Mr. Blue Sky. So gentle to this chilean fellow.

You know, so far, I've met absolutely no chileans whatsoever, not a single flag, not one empanada. And that's ok. It makes me feel rather unique and special.

I went to St Mary Le Bow, according to the legend, true londoners (or "cockneys") are those who are born within the range of the sound of its bells. Well, the bells tolled as I was coming. So I went in, and made the sign of the cross with holy water and all. I consider myself baptised to the London Faith.
And as a sign of my new belief, I took a postcard of the church's vitreaux, and put the 20 pence the board kindly requested. I felt good about my self. All cocky.

I feel like I can read this city, I know stuff already, just by observing. I know that if you want a coffee here you don't go to Starbucks, you go to Cafe Nero. And if you want juice you buy it at Pret-a-manger. It's expensive, but it's trendy, and I bet it's good although I haven't tried it.

Today I'm meeting Jeff at the Theatre before Mary Poppins, and he's taking me to dinner, so I decided not to have lunch and save the appetite. No more feeling embarrased because of leaving exquisite noodles at the dish, uneaten. I chewed a chocolate bar ("Sahnenuss", from Chile), and that was all. And I walked back to the hostel.

So I took a shower, put my trousers on and went out again. Went to SoHo, went to the Prowler store, picked a free mag. And waited for my friend to come in.

Gee, there I was feeling like this total cliche, the stood-up guy, who had a date that never showed up. I could feel those pityful looks from the rest of the ever so weary population.
I don't know what's gotten into me, but gay guys intimidate me. Elsewhere in this city I feel connected, I feel like I'm just another one, like I could belong easily. Today a brit asked me how to get to Tottenham Station, and I took out my map and showed him. And he complimented my cool Apec briefcase.
But here in Soho I feel intimidated, I feel like this malnourished graceless badly-dressed latin kid who's not even worth a look. I feel judged. Es el unico lugar de Londres donde me siento poquita cosa. And I keep coming back here.

Until there he is, he looks completely surreal. But everything here looks like out of a dream. Yes, he's Jeff. He's not like anybody else. He's smiling and walking towards me.

He gives me a friendly hug. I so needed that, a friendly physical welcoming. And someone to talk with, share a beer, a beer that's half its price because Kelly Osborne is playing. Not for real, it's just her video, but it works the same. G.A.Y. Bar rules.
He took me to a japanese place called Wagamama. He asked me a lot of questions about chilean politics. It made me feel like a chilean again, it wasn't very pleasant.

The bill must have been high, but I tried not to think of it. I tried not to think of how lonely I am, and how attached Jeff seems to his new boyfriend. I tried and succeded. Coz I had this ticket to go see Mary Poppins at the Prince Edward theatre. And there was all these people coming in, and I was with them. Bye Jeff, see you soon, I'll keep writing on my blog to keep you (and everyone) updated.

Next to me a girl with oriental features seated. We got to talk. Girls don't intimidate me you see. She told me her name was Queenie, you mean Kween Yi? No, Queenie, I'm canadian. Well, korean-canadian.
That's why I can't believe this is real, I mean, howcome nobody has real names in this place?

And You? Queenie asks me . Where are you from?
- I'm from Chile, just at the other end of our shared continent. I'm doing this whole eurotrip thing.
- I didn't know that people from latinamerica traveled, I mean, touristically.
- ....

But besides that remark, Queenie was a very nice girl, she even shared her Cadbury chocolate bar with me.
And the show? Whoah!, can I say that word again? Awe-inspiring?
Or should I say that other word, the one that means whatever you want it to mean.
Supercalifragilistic......No, that's too trite.

I loved the show, I loved the songs, the effects, it was awesome and I cheered and I made my palms ache as my feet do, and the cast did an encore and then another. And even though Queenie told me she paid half as I did for the tickets (and she bought it just that same day). I felt it was money (if not fully wisely) well spent.

So, as you see, practically perfect. Jeff asked me, have you slept with anyone yet?

And I don't see that coming anytime soon, really. London is weird. It may turn me straight, straight to catholicism, straight to bankrupcy. The thing is, mate. This city is like... just yesterday I was chatting with an internet friend who hates London. And I felt insulted. The thing is, this city owns you, and do things to you. And yes, maybe I'm feeling blue and lonely even though at the same time I know I'm having the time of my life. But I don't know, so many sad things have been written in this city...

Still, I won't let you say anything bad about it, cause London is just like me, London is full of treasures, London is ever changing.
And yet deep down is very emotional. Just like me.

posted by Barro @ 10:33 p. m.