G'day, y'all! Yes, the Dorky Diplomat is...Down Under! I've been assigned to the Philippine Consulate General in (*ms. universe contestant voice*) Sydneeey, Australiaaaaa! So much to see, so much to do, so much of that Simpsons episode to verify.
yep
But also, so much work! I fly overnight from Manila and arrive 7:00 in the morning local time, then immediately get whisked from the airport to my desk. Fortunately, there's no problem finding a place to freshen up or dump my stuff, as my new office sits right below the hotel where I'm billeted...
Travelodge-upon-Consulate!
At the end of the workday, I decide to stay woke and jolt my body clock to Sydney time by exploring the neighborhood around the Consulate. Starting from my hotel room, I get my first view of the city...
...then head off to a nearby park.
night noodle markets and awesome statues...I like this park already
At the far end of the park, I spot a Jaeger-sized structure that calls out to me like a beacon...
...and as I approach, I notice the building base bears a familiar name -- wait, isn't Westfield a large mall chain?
Just had a really bad 24-hour stretch, tech-wise. Somewhere, our robot overlords are chortling.
It started in the evening. I whipped out my dongle, plugged it in, and immediately found it wasn't as fast it should be; in fact, it was excruciatingly slow. (damn right I'm secure enough to use "whip out", "dongle" and "fast" in the same sentence.) The dongle was brand new and had worked perfectly just the day before, and I wasn't surfing any dodgy websites (yet...er...ever), so I thought it was just a temporary glitch or something. But as the night wore on, I still waited ages for pages to load - if there was as any connection at all. Re-boot, re-connect, re-load, over and over, over and over, and I still couldn't get anything. Finally, as I was about to give up and turn in, a pop-up appeared from my anti-virus software (or, as I prefer to think of it, a message from the future!) It warned me that a "severe threat" had tried to attack my computer, but that it had been blocked, and no further action had to be taken. As if on cue, surfing speed returned to normal, but by then, "Britain's Got Talent" replays were on, so I was obliged to drop everything.
"All hail Skynet"
The following morning, I attended a conference in a building whose main session hall apparently blocked cellphones and wi-fi (they interfered with the interpreters' audio equipment; at least, that's what the MAN would have you believe). I still gave the internet a go on my mobile, only to end up screwing the phone's settings. In a desperate attempt to fix things, I actually locked myself out of my own phone. It took me until the early evening to get the damn thing unlocked through the service provider.
You're welcome.
Then that very same night, as I was heading home and transferring trains, my mobile rang furiously. A strange number. In the movies, this would be where the voice on the line goes "don't say anything, don't ask any questions, just do as I say" (whereupon, the leading man goes "please don't hurt me"); instead here, it was my bank with a message just as ominous: some suspicious activity had been detected by their fraud department on my new card (whereupon I said, PLEEEEAAAASSSEEEE don't hurt me!!!).
I feel your pain.
All kidding aside, the bank really did find unauthorized purchases - some small, some not so - charged to my account. Their swift action, however, prevented any real harm. (on the other hand, that could have been my only chance to sneak by the LLDD-Hyphen-L certain pay-per-view purchases and video rentals that also "questionably" appeared on my bill.)
"I swear, sweetie, it was the hackers!"
Needless to state, I was a bit rattled by the experience. I told the story and sought comfort from my friends and collegues (read: I wanted to be the center of attention), but to my surprise, I was greeted with --- meh. There was sincere concern, to be sure, but there was no alarm. Apparently, this sort of thing happens enough times here that people don't express shock; they ask how soon did it happen.
And that, my friends, tells me one thing: the robots are winning.
So go on another f***ing rant against the cinematogranator, Christian Bale. You have my full support.
In the meantime, if you ever see a video post of me blinking rapidly, that's my secret signal to y'all that the robots have taken over this blog and are holding me against my will.
At the south bank of the River Thames is, um, South Bank, a visitor-friendly area anchored by the Eye and dotted with touristy attractions such as movie/music museums, river views and street performers. Now, I'm no expert, but I'd give the advantage to South Bank over LasRamblas because the South Bank performers have elaborate routines that require them to actually, you know, move. I'd also give the whole of South Bank the edge over the Times Square Naked Cowboy because the former have, you know, talent.
(Go, Lolo, go!)
Give in to the Mall, London. You know you want to.
Snobs may look down on Manila's strong mall and franchise scene, but even London is crawling with giant food and clothes chains -- "identikits", I think they're called here. In fact, total newcomers to London (like moi) would do well not to immediately brag about "this nice authentic little place they discovered", as it could very possibly be as ubiquitous as say, Tapa King. (on that note, I'd like to say: You broke my heart Zizzi, Wagamama, Nando's and All Bar One, you broke my heart.) The main difference with Manila is that the "identikits" are mostly stretched out along a town high street rather than centralized in a climate-controlled complex. But now, with the rise of Westfield (above), a new mall in west London about 2/3 the size of MOA and styled like Greenbelt, all bets are off. Resistance is futile, London.
They laughed when I majored in "New Wave". Oh, they laughed.
There's a hip and edgy music scene in London, of course; it's just hiding from me. Until I find it, I'm well served by my encyclopedic knowledge of all music 80's. I totally get that the blind performer in the Tube station is whistling "Captain of Her Heart", that the Virgin Trains commercials are using "Look of Love", and that -- and this is where it takes an expert - the BBC cop show is playing "Chant No. 1" in the background. Even the few radio stations I've heard seem to share the same playlist as "Friday Magic Madness" back home.
So, yes, I'm happy.
Probably where Veronica Pedroza trained
As I'm temporarily manning another officer's desk, the phone rings. The phone's digital display indicates its an external call. I answer.
"Hello."
"Yes, hello, this is the Pronunciation Desk at the BBC. I was wondering if you could help me with the proper way of saying a Philippine word for a piece we're doing?"
"K."
"How do you pronounce T-S-A-A-N-G G-U-B-A-T?"
"Nestea."
I kid. Of course I gave the correct anwer. I even walked the BBC person through pronouncing the "TS" and "NG" sounds. There's really no point to this story, other than I'm surprised there's such a thing as a Pronunciation Desk, and that I'm kicking myself for not asking them "so, what do you really think of Madonna?"
Meet the Britnoys
We got tickets to a musical revue staged by some West End Fil-British performers. The place was a bit far (I'd say the equivalent of Susanna Heights), but the show was totally worth it, not the least because of the "Britnoys" -- singers who were part Filipino or married to Filipinas. I only regret that I wasn't able to capture on video their headbanging, nakakahaba ng buhok rendition of "Laki sa Layaw".
Meanwhile, for all those non-jeproks in the financial district, black and gray remain the new black.
I attend an economic conference in the heart of London's business center, and get immediately washed over by a sea of dark suits. The conference itself was very good, highlighted by one well renowned speaker rather unexpectedly making -- before a roomful of senior bankers, economists and academics -- a pitch about the real money-making power of online games like Warcraft. Needless to state, you could hear crickets as the speaker tried to explain what MMORPG was. I looked around the whole auditorium and saw maybe just two faces that shared my "Hah! Y'all don't know what the hell the speaker's talking about, do you!" smug expression.
So that's why the LLDD-Hyphen-L dragged me to see "Atonement"
We were very fortunate to receive as a gift two tickets to one of the last West End performances of "Three Days of Rain." I didn't know anything about the play other than Julia Roberts appeared in it on Broadway, so at the story's early stages, I cringed at what I thought would be just another three hours of self-absorbed New Yorkers feeling sorry for themselves and talking about lofts. As the play further unfolded, however, I found the dialogue sharper, funnier and much more provocative.
I leave, in turn, the scholarly review of the acting to the LLDD-Hyphen-L:
"Ohmigodohmigodohmigod! James McAvoy in a wet sando! OMFG!!!!!"
Well said. We give "Three Days of Rain" Four Wet Sandos out of Five.
"Death-by-Carnival-Ride" sounds cooler than "Death-by-Wrong-Side-of-the-Road-Crossing", but only just
On the way home one night, the LLDD-Hyphen-L and I were surprised to see that a small carnival had sprouted on the little "Cheese Whiz" neighborhood park. It was a nice, family set-up, just like what you'd see in the movies -- by Stephen King. For at the far end, right next to (cue organ music) the church, menacingly stood: The Booster.
As I pay at the booth, I notice the operator constantly looking up at the ride, fidgeting with some buttons, and repeatedly muttering "Aw, f**k". As I step on the platform, the couple that just finished the ride says "Good luck with that." As I get strapped in the chair, the strange dude next to me yelps "What are we doing?!?" I pay them all no heed. The power of dork compels me to get on the beast.
At the end of everything, I can say with complete confidence: frak Six Flags roller-coasters!; frak Enchanted Kingdom Space Shuttle!; this was the fraking scariest ride I have ever been on. And not even in an awesome way; more of in an I-honestly-feel-I'm-going-to-die-when-will-this-ride-end-my-arms-and-legs-are-giving-in kind of way. (as you can hear, strange dude and I are not so much screaming as nababaliw laughing)
Strange dude and I literally stagger off the ride. My arms and legs are quivering, I'm hoarse, and there's snot on my face. The LLDD-Hyphen-L is concerned I may have been cold up there whooshing through the wind. (sweetie, when you're certain of dropping or being flung to your death every two seconds for more than five seemingly-endless minutes, you couldn't care less about not having a panyo on your back).
I leave the park not proud of having been on the Booster, just thankful for having survived it. The LLDD-Hyphen-L and I retreat to the flat, draw the curtains, and heave a sigh of relief when we find the carnival gone by the time we wake up the following day.
If this were a Stephen King movie, The Booster would be made into an "identikit" and placed in the Westfield food court to torment me forever.
Still haven't gotten into a work / home rhythm. Expect posts to be short, incoherent, and oh-so-lacking insight.
In other words, this blog as it's always been, only set in London.
Anyway, let's try to catch up . . .
Diversity, thy name is London.
Just based on the number of different faces I see and accents I hear on the Tube, and how far from the city center I still see/hear them, places like New York got nothing on London in terms of diversity. This was even recently celebrated at a Migrants' Mass at Westminster Cathedral (where I think we had diversity to thank for such a jiggy choir-leader =)
A little observation on the local food, or as they call it here, Thai.
There's a surprisingly large number of high-end Thai restaurants here, seemingly the anchor of every town's High Street (pubs aside). And for whatever reason, during the LLDD-Hyphen-L and I's first several days in London, all of our new acquaintances took us out to dinner to every place except those that served British fare. It wasn't until well into our second week that the LLDD-Hyphen-L and I finally got to tear into some real fish-and-chips.
Even here, the LLDD-Hyphen-L's the one who gets all the cool gigs.
I shoo the LLDD-Hyphen-L to go off to the museums near Trafalgar Square while I'm at work, so of course she comes back as an extra in the latest T-Mobile commercial featuring Pink (the follow up to the uber-cool "Dance" commercial). To make matters worse, I could hear the roars from my office window, and now can't get "Na na na na" out of my head.
Mark my words, right hand-drive will be the death of me.
I'm still thrown off by the whole drive-on-the-other-side-of-the road thing. Sure, the pedestrian lanes help by telling you which way you should look when you cross, but they also make my 30-plus years of Philippine-street instinct want to look the other way even more (like when someone says "Don't think about Juday", so of course now you can't help but think of nothing but Juday). I'll get used to it soon enough, but until then I keep on embarassing the LLDD-Hyphen-L by yelling things like "Hey, there's a dog driving that car!" before realizing "Oh right, that's the passenger seat."
(BTW, for all the cars, the roads here are generally quiet because drivers hardly honk their horns. When they do honk, it's usually long, preceded by a braking/screeching sound, and succeeded by some verbal variant of "wanker")
Bow before your limescale overlords
Very soon after you arrive in London, you will be taught to fear the limescale. It's apparently a build-up of minerals in the water that, if left unchecked, will break down washing machines, dishwashers, faucets, toilets etc. It's such a concern that a whole industry of cleaners, chemicals and filters is devoted to raising the limescale bogeyman and countering its effects. At the same time, they say water from the tap is safe to drink. I'm sure it is, but I'm just wondering, if limescale can bring major appliances to a literal grinding halt, what effect does it have on my skin, my teeth, my stomach or - gasp - my hair?
(actually, I can tell you right now from personal experience: shampoos from the Philippines don't lather in London; and I've been told that the shower water supposedly causes falling hair, which is just as well, because some places here charge £30 for a haircut)
Loo Fung Supermarket will cure your homesickness real good.
Longganisa, Chippy and Datu Puti, oh my! Longganisa, Chippy and Datu Puti, oh my!
Cocktail party where you don't know anyone there -- This is what we trained for, people!
I attend my first social/networking event at a trendy-looking bar called "Hush". (so named, I assume, because it's hidden from the main street as well as anything in La Pigna.) I only recognize a few other people from work, and even then we've always been taught not to "clump". Fortunately, bringing up Manny Pacquiao seems to be as good an icebreaker here as anywhere else.
Speaking of that other Manny . . .
There was some coverage of the Pacquiao-Hatton fight, but it was still buried beneath all the Champions League stories. I was hoping a nearby pub would show the fight, but none seemed to carry it. We did get an invitation to a viewing party, but were advised against attending because it was too far, it'd be too early in the morning, and too many beers would have been served by then (we later heard that fights broke out at the place). Fortunately, Manny took care of bidness in quick, suitable-for-youtube fashion, and that was that. The British media and public, in turn, seemed generally forgiving of Hatton. In fact, the presence of his fiance and a boatload of other bikinied admirers around him right after the fight suggests maybe we should all be as lucky as Ricky and be on the receiving end of a Pacquiao left.
Nah.
The scourge of every big city, I suppose
I still feel safe in London, but not since Geneva have I heard so many locals bring up personal accounts of crime. And the nicknames given to some of the criminals - "Hammer Gang", "Hugger Muggers" - would easily translate back home.
Britain, you should be feeling an uptick in your economy soon; the LLDD-Hyphen-L says "You're welcome"
Yes, London can be expensive, so the LLDD-Hyphen-L beseeches y'all to remember these names: Tesco, Primark, Asda and, above all, Argo's and its telephone directory-sized catalogue. Makes for great values. And nighttime reading.
I can say "D'oh!" with an accent now.
They tax a lot of things here that we don't back home (like TVs!), so when the LLDD-Hyphen-L and I first went to a supermarket and saw that we had to use £1 just to unchain a shopping cart, I decided enough was enough and staged a mini self-protest. Against the LLDD-Hyphen-L's better judgment, we passed on using the carts and picked up a couple of free shopping baskets instead. The veins on our biceps burst like Wolverine's as we loaded a week's worth of groceries into the baskets and lugged them all around -- it was the principle of not having to pay for use of a shoopping cart, dammit! Then, as we were about to finish, we run into a collegue at the embassy, who sees us and asks "Why aren't you using a cart? You get the £1 back when you return it."
I avoid eye contact with the LLDD-Hyphen-L for the rest of the evening.
Honestly, I thought there'd be less to lamppost maintenance than this
Maybe it's because I've seen the MMDArtists in action, but I didn't think those iconic London lampposts were each touched-up this meticulously. Or that the painters would have groupies.
And finally, I know it's their language, grammar and syntax and everything, but some things can still get lost in translation, so to speak.
Then again, I'm the one who thinks those "Walang Tawiran Nakamamatay" signs need comas after "Tawiran", or else people would think "No Crossing Can Kill" and then get run over, so what do I know?
