Day #1: Dancing and Confused

Heathrow Airport London, England. "How long will you be in London? What is the nature of your visit? Do you have your itinerary? Did you purchase any tickets to other countries you will be going to? How much money do you have with you? DO you have a credit card or debit card? How much money is in your checking? Where are you staying? What soccer match were you going to see? What is your profession? Who employs you at home? What kind of work do you have to go back to? ETC ETC ETC...

For 30 minutes I was questioned at the boarder in the Heathrow Airport as to the nature of my visit trying to deduce whether or not I was going to just stay in England or return home. After the agent not knowing who the Fulham Football Club was and being extremely wary of my absolute lack of planning he eventually let me in because I showed him sufficient funds in my bank account and returned back to the British Airways gate to have them print out a copy of my return ticket home. The entire time I was being questioned I really wanted to say, " Listen, I surf. I am from California. There is no way in hell I would stay here for more than a week to visit friends, see a few sights and watch a soccer match." But I didn't and he took a full page report on me before letting me in with some temporary visa that has stipulations because he wasn't happy with my travel plans. Not sure that Dale the border guy was really ever happy though.

After I got settled in at my buddy James' place we went on a 30 minute stroll to Camden. The English compare it to our Haight/Ashbury seeing as bands like Blur came from there and they have similar stores and punk rock transient youth wondering around I suppose.

In Camden I saw my first European couple in love. You know the ones I am talking about. They were the ones thrusting their tongues down each others throats above the quaint canal. You know the canal I am talking about. The one next to the Starbuck's that is next to the KFC that all the punk rock kids hang out behind. Yea that one. We then proceed to connect with one of James' buddies Richard Applewrith. The three of us fell into a long conversation until dark about politics, poverty and passions. Good stuff for sure.

That night in Camden James and I went to this sweet art gallery/club called Proud. The place is in horse stables. There are two big rooms with dance floors and bars and then in each horse stall there was something different. A bar, a Foosball table or a stripper poll... fun for the whole family. It was pretty loud in there and I had my first SUPER TOURIST moment when a Norweigen was trying to tell me that she was staying in Brussels and I replied "Cool, where is your friend Russel?"

The night @ Proud ended with me dancing and confused when the DJ in this Camden horse stable started playing a set of West Coast Hip Hop and then some rad Scottish dude named Joe compared the west coast of Scottland to California. 14hours after landing I was listening Snoop and Dre, getting asked for my facebook contact, and laughing with the rad Scottish dude name Joe as he yelled, "FREEEEDOOOM!!!"