Al día siguiente volé a Londres. Iv, mi anfitrión iba a pasar el día como el fotógrafo oficial para una boda gay (de las pseudo inaugurales) como parte de su trabajo, así que nos despedimos temprano. Pero antes intercambiamos obsequios interesantes: él medio una copia de su libro predilecto: "Into the Wild" por Jon Krakauer, y yo le regalé un grillito de palma que le compré a un viejito que los hace en Coyoacán, junto con un cartón de leche de almendras (que me encanta) en agradecimiento a su infinita hospitalidad y porque es vegetariano, puesto que conseguirle leche normal hubiera sido medio mal atinado (ja, de mal gusto o "mala leche") ¿no les parece?
Switching to English now (need to practice for my essays).
Airport. Check-in. Granola. Sleep on the floor. Plane. Take off. Chat with lovely Kuwaiti girl. Plain(e) food. Heathrow. Bags. Door. Out.
My uncle was in town (was I in luck or what?) so he waited for me at the airport (his plane had arrived an hour earlier) and then we took a fancy black cab to his fancy London hotel (the Waldorf, homies, if you please). We showered and then headed to do some touristy prancing about with a full stomach and hearty spirit.
THE TATE MODERN, guys. I ran into a dear friend who was living in Edinburgh, but we failed to recognize each other properly (I wrote to him afterwards, apologizing for my evident ineptitude). Anyways, we saw all we ever needed to see: Melanie Smith was there (in work); she represented the Mexican pavilion during the last Biennale di Venezia. They were showing a video-art piece called "Xilitla" which she happened to explain to us in person during one of my seminars when she paid my school a visit back home in Mexico. There were also some amazing paintings by no other than Gerhard Richter, Lucio Fontana, and Hedda Sterne (who's a fantastic yet unfairly unrecognized painter; the only woman to be considered part of "The Irascibles" expressionist group, you know, where guys like Pollock, De Kooning, and Rothko carried out their most notorious work).
This is one of her paintings. I love the way she composes these things!
I can talk for AGES about stuff like this, but I won't. I'll only say that I'd never heard about Saloua Raouda Chocair, nor Ibrahim El-Salahi and that they're great. You should check them out!
My uncle had some really interesting thoughts to share with me, as I was explaining some of the stuff we learned in art school (it's strange, I don't usually enjoy discussing art with people who are not necessarily familiar with the depth of the language, it makes me feel like a pretentious little snob). Not many are willing to actually listen, but he was. And so we had a geeky blast!
It was one of the best days I've ever had... we went to the National Gallery, listened to the artsy gossip about Thomas Gainsborough, and at night cashed in our tickets to see "Spamalot" (a show based on one of my all time favorite movies "Monty Python and the Holy Grail"). So we dutifully enjoyed cracking up at the "Knights Who Say Ni", while slurping ale between giggles and laughs.
After that we dressed up real' nice and consequently crashed this incredible underground gay club (which used to be a train station or something) in downtown London. We were hoping to find the best electronic music club in town, for we fancied some serious-out-of-control limb swaying to wrap up the evening. Funny how when you're least in the mood, you get all the attention in the world. Damn you, Murphy! But it felt good to realize that we've still got it hehehe. Attract we did, people from all sorts and sounds, be they mineral, animal or vegetable. You name it! It was a fairly good sport: dodging drunken horny nut cases while dancing to various beats-n'-tunes (the mood changed depending on the room you were in). Afterwards we had some fushn'chups, and then went back to ze hotel for some well deserved rest.
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