The Little London

2005
LiterNet Publishing House, 2005

2
Text:
2005 Claudia Crlig. All rights reserved to the authors.

Editor: Corina Ungureanu
Proofreading: Lidia Vianu
Editor for the .pdf Acrobat Reader format and cover: Dan Mihu
Photo credits: Christopher Holt
except for the Vama Veche picture, taken by Laurentiu Brbuic
2005 LiterNet Publishing House for the .pdf Acrobat Reader version.
This book can be freely downloaded for personal use, in this layout version, from the LiterNet
website. The free distribution of this book by other websites, the alteration or the commer-
cialization of this version without the written agreement of LiterNet Publishing House are
prohibited and will be punished in agreement with the stipulations of the copyright laws.
ISBN: 973-7893-23-9
LiterNet Publishing House
http://editura.liternet.ro
office@liternet.ro
3
To my mother
Whom I owe the freedom of being myself
4
ARGUMENT:
I have seen mountains, lakes, oceans, families, lovers, fear, hope, despair, free-
domfreedom.
I have flown as far away from home as is possible to fly and still felt like I was
never more than a moment away.
I have found people with whom to share my life with, most notably myself,
whose company I found to be rewarding and amusing.
Andrew, an English traveller
5
Contents
1. From Vama Veche 7
2. First day 11
3. About museums 14
4. From the worship of objects to the shopping temple 20
5. The Londoners 25
6. Little London 32
7. Thanksgiving day - an American holiday in London 35
8. London at night 41
9. Artists in London 50
10. About books and bookstores 55
11. Brand Romania! 59
12. City of London 64
13. Mass-media in the UK 66
14. An evening at the theatre 70
15. My friends and their little London 76
6
1. From Vama Veche...
On Friday morning, you pack your things, and in the evening at about six or seven, after
a real escape from the office, and right when the traffic is heavier, you throw yourself in your own
car (30% personal ownership and 70% bank ownership, as you bought it in leasing). Or you take a
rapid train for which you don't have time to buy a ticket, but you think there is going to be a way
to handle it with the ticket collector. Or you jump in the second minibus in the improvised bus sta-
tion after you have realised that no matter how much you would like, you can't travel in the first one
up on the luggage and with your head rhythmically hitting the car ceiling for almost 4 hours.
Since the moment you got into any means of transportation, you have a huge feeling
of satisfaction. It lasts only a couple of minutes, when you tell yourself: I can't believe I've man-
aged to leave. You even try to share it with one or two friends and call them: How are you, pal?
Have you managed to leave? You haven't? Are you coming tomorrow morning? OK, see you there.
Then you run on the bad road, you swear at the CFR (Romanian Railway Company)
each time the ticket collector asks for more than you expect (they have raised the prices of the tick-
ets again?) or you accept the porno-romantic language of the manele (Balkan popular songs) in the
bus with stoicism that amazes yourself. Any attempt to change the music can be settled with the
well-known answer: If you don't like it, get off. And the hell with it, you would do it if there
weren't for the beautiful Baragan lying before you, which you can't cross on foot.
In three hours, without any adventure or negative thoughts, you reach Constana. After
such a boring trip, Constana seems a place where one can take a deep breath, but few people stop
more than necessary. After Constana, you reach the resorts and no matter how you take it, the way
through the resorts is dangerous. If you like speed, there are radars. If you don't, you get cursed by
7
the participants in the traffic. Anyway, on top of it there are the police officers who rule, and above
them there is nothing else but your power of persuasion.
If you go by train, you will be surprised to find out that you make a forty miles' trip in
one hour and a half. And this happens because in Constana the railway engine is replaced by a
Diesel one. That's why the 'meeting' with Mangalia is almost magical. After an exhausting trip of
almost four hours, the little town on the seashore, although built in the purest communist style,
charms you from the very beginning. The love you have for Mangalia is like the love of a parent
towards the first newborn baby.
The 'meeting' with Mangalia is short. And although you could stay longer, you tell to
yourself: what difference does it make when you only have twenty minutes until the end of the
journey. As you leave Mangalia, you have a revelation: a deserted and black field lies before you.
On your left, you feel the presence of the sea, more by its breeze and noise than by its colour. As
here, the Black Sea is really black.
2 Mai appears unexpectedly from nowhere. No sound, no light doesn't anticipate it.
2 Mai is a little village of about 100 houses of fishermen, which has been turned into
a sort of agricultural tourist village under the influence of the changing times. But here you don't
care if the village people tell you: you know, the toilet and the shower are in the courtyard. Damn,
it's summer time, you can also have a shower outside in the cask. and who minds if you sleep in
a room full of white and black private photographs that time has turned yellow? It doesn't matter,
you make love on the beach.
Starting from 2 Mai, the comfort disappears. Its place is taken by a desire to try some-
thing else, a nameless pursuit of freedom.
But you are too tired to pay attention to your own thoughts. Besides you have reached
the customs. Vama Veche (=The Old Customs).
8
The forty houses of fishermen, no matter how much you wanted to stay there, could-
n't host the dozens of young people who come here to bathe in the sun nude. That is why, since
the very beginning, camping has proved to be a simple solution. At present, the local businessmen
have smelled the entire business and started to build hideous constructions out of concrete and
thermopane, full of utilities. They belong to those who haven't understood that Vama Veche is
about something else. Anything else.
For me, in the summer of 2003, Vama Veche was the departure point of a personal jour-
ney. I want you to know that no matter how strange it seemed, personal journeys don't start on air-
ports or railway stations. Some of them begin out of amazement, others out of a need, or a desire,
many of them out of curiosity. My journey started out of a surprise in front of a decision. The deci-
sion to consider the trip to London as easy as the trip to Vama Veche. And when you know your des-
tination, even the most impossible journey seems to be simple and smooth before your closed eyes.
On August 15th in Vama Veche an orange moon welcomed me. Never stare at the
moon's face, somebody told me once.
....................................................................................................................................
In London, at night, you can see neither the moon nor the stars because of the artifi-
cial lights.
From the plane, on that November night, London seemed huge to me. And geometri-
cally drawn by bright traces. What doesn't s shine, does not exist. The buildings, the streets, the
highways, the cars, even the Thames can be seen from the plane only because they are flooded
with light. And it seems that the people in London don't care any more that they can't contemplate
the starry sky.
9
10
2. First day in London
My dearest,
On the first day, London didn't surprise me at all.
Everything is exactly as I heard from others it would be.
I tick:
- the London rain
- the women, wearing sandals in mid-November
- the mixture of nations (Indians, Japanese, Australians )
- men who are not so ugly, but interesting and well-dressed
- Buckingham Palace, the 'mother-in-law' ' residence
- the red double-deckers
- the black taxis
- the smell of food in the streets.
Ok, I convinced myself, now I can go back home.
But the return ticket is on December 7th. Tthat means I have another two weeks to
spend in this terrible London.
If you have the 'chance' that your first day in London is a rainy one (as a matter of fact
this is not at all strange for a November day), you are in trouble. Honestly, because those who told
you that London would be completely sublime if it weren't for the horrible weather didn't lie to you.
Personally, I have a different opinion. What would London be without rain and fog?
In my opinion: a city whose sales of umbrellas and mackintoshes would drop. That's
all.
11
After many days spent in the English metropolis I found out that this Bacovia (a grey
and pessimist style poet)-like weather is actually part of the London charm.
But on the first day, a typically rainy day in London, I tried desperately to enjoy my
promenade in Oxford Street or in Camden Town, only it was not possible.
The first stop was in Camden Town, the Sunday bazaar of the Punks and tattoo fans, of
the handicraft items of the entire world (jewellery with strange stones, colourful scarves, and hand-
bags that have been knitted in surprising combinations of colours). At 11 o'clock, when I reached the
market, the Punks were likely to have woken up following the Saturday night party, that's why the
market was rather a coloured bazaar with no buyers. Only 2 weird people dressed up in the style of
the sixties freshened up the atmosphere as they were quarrelling with a police officer. I hurried to take
a picture of them and, as if by magic, they forgot about the fight and smiled at my camera.
Only at night, when I reached that place again, did I come to know the real popula-
tion of the market: tattooed Punks, bright colours (and I'm not talking about red), beauty acces-
sories pierced in unique places, lost glances
In the morning I met only Chinese, Indian, Pakistani girls that encouraged me to eat
from their traditional food for only three pounds.
I left the market in a bus that drove me in an unknown direction.
At about 12 o'clock I bumped into a more peaceful place: a Baptist church for the
South-Africans. I asked the permission to enter. In a room that didn't resemble a church at all, or
at least the churches I know in Romania or from the movies, there was a kind of stage on which
three persons were sitting: a black guy wearing a suit, with a microphone in his hand, a white
woman standing next to him, and an older black man sitting on a chair. The man with the micro-
phone in his hand was explaining in French to the parishioners, a group of twenty black people,
the physiological differences between man and woman. Then the woman translated it into English:
the woman has a bigger liver, the kidneys, I don't know how, etc. Interesting lesson of anatomy on
12
13
a Sunday afternoon, in a Baptist church. And I thought that the only difference was that the woman
spoke at least two foreign languages while the man spoke only French!
The Buckingham Palace didn't prove to be very interesting. Natural on such a rainy
day. So I waved good-bye quickly, the Queen, her guard and the tourists who were buying her
image as a souvenir in the shop of the palace, her image even under the form of a doll!
Imagine now a huge queue of tourists at the People's House waiting to buy Nicolae
Ceausescu dolls. I don't think people would queue for the Iliescu (president of Romania) or Adri-
an Nastase (Romanian prime-minister) ones.
After all, it is not such a bad idea.
3. About museums
For pleasure or business in London, my obligation of educated Romanian made me
visit al least one British museum. What was a cultural and educational obligation at the beginning,
once I stepped in the first London museum (unless it is the Wax Museum), turned into real pleas-
ure. I was surprised to find out that I liked visiting museums, reading explanations or listening to
them in the headphones for one pound and taking pictures anywhere I liked.
The London museums are as vivid as I expected them to be. They are animated by
groups of tourists (less numerous in November), students that you can see drawing in front of an
exhibit or by organised groups of pupils doing their homework.
They are interactive because at the end of a gallery you can put into practice what you
have learnt in there, playing with several materials. An example: the Theatre Museum has a stage
14
where a guide teaches the tourists how to utter the speech of a character and even to play. When
I participated in the experiment, the main female character was played by an 80-year-old lady
while her saviour was hardly 15. I think I hadn't laughed with such joy for a long time.
They are new. This means that besides the core of the museum, each gallery shows the
visitors temporary exhibitions that it promotes even more than the name of the museum itself. The
exhibitions bring the local people to museums and make them an attractive place even for the peo-
ple in London.
They are free! At least the state-owned ones. The entrance to some exhibitions is some-
times even stiff. The entrance ticket for the Armani exhibition was nine pounds, for instance. But
the big, important museums are free of charge. This doesn't mean you can't spend money in here.
It's true that you don't have to pay for the entrance, but you can be generous, and the museum
shows you, according to complicated budget calculation, of course, the accepted limit above
which you may consider yourself as such: in some museums it's at least two pounds, in others with
higher expenses, at least three pounds.
Another place where you can spend your money is the museum restaurant. All of them
have a restaurant. Some look like a huge canteen, like the ground floor restaurant in the British
Museum, others look like a futurist caf facing the Thames, like Tate Art Gallery Modern. Here,
after a tiring museum tour, you have the opportunity and delight to ponder on your impressions
over a cup of coffee, usually more expensive than downtown. Needless to say, they are full and
really useful.
At the exit of the museum you cannot miss the shop inside it. A huge shop that most
of the times sells all kinds of expensive souvenirs, true copies at small scale of the exhibits in the
museum, books, and greeting cards. And as we were approaching Christmas, all the shops suggest-
ed that the best present to buy was a souvenir.
15
16
These are some common points of the London museums. I visited a lot of museums
while I was there, but I'm going to make a more detailed description of only three of them: the Bri-
tish Museum - the tourists' museum, the Victoria & Albert Museum - the school museum and Tate
Art Gallery - the museum in movement.
British Museum - the tourists' museum
The British Museum was founded by Sir Hans Sloane, a rich doctor in Chelsea, in
1753. It is interesting that the pride of Great Britain regarding museums was created through this
private initiative to exhibit a personal collection.
The British Museum is a sanctuary of many civilisation treasures, all of them belong-
ing to a certain moment in the past of the great British Empire. A small part of the Ancient Egypt
(the famous mummies), of India (some statuettes that are really interesting), of Ancient China (the
porcelains are superb), of Europe (jewellery and furniture of the last centuries) are proudly present-
ed in the British Museum. Walking down these galleries, I realised that, century after century, the
world was divided into two parts: the British Empire plus its colonies and the rest. And I thought
for a long time that there were only two forces: Soviet Russia and the knavish capitalist world.
Speaking about Soviet Russia, the library in the middle of the building is the place
where Marx planned the fall of capitalism, and where later on Hitler came to read. Now there are
in that library both rare, old books and computers that any visitor can use.
Despite this grandeur, I have to admit that the British Museum hasn't impressed me so
much. Nevertheless it is the first option of a hurried tourist in London who wants to swallow quickly
a lot of information. However, as a place, the British Museum conveys cold, typical British politeness.
It contrasts with the life and agitation of the Victoria & Albert Museum - the school
museum.
17
The Victoria &Albert Museum was founded in the 1850s and aims to present a histo-
ry of Art and interior Design starting with the Antiquity up to the present (1960).
For me, the Victoria & Albert Museum has been the revelation of all the British muse-
ums. It is alive, interactive, and diverse. It is difficult not to find something of interest in the V&A.
The two galleries that exhibit reproductions of famous art works, especially statues and
antiques are populated almost all the time by students of sculpture, painting or architecture who
work in the galleries by themselves, in a group or with their professors. Actually it is for these stu-
dents that these reproductions in gypsum were created over a century ago. And they take full
advantage of that.
Besides students, the museum is visited by groups of pupils aged between 6 and 14,
who come together with their teachers to do their homework here.
The V&A is an interactive museum. At the end of each gallery there is a room with appli-
cations where you can wear a costume of the 21st century, a woman' clothes in Victorian style, you
can draw your own monogram on the computer or you can build a tower out of crystal pieces.
For me the V&A was a livelier and more authentic place than the British Museum, due
to the people who visit it.
Tate Art Gallery - Modern
In London, to be up to date with modern art means to be kept posted with what hap-
pens in Tate Art Gallery - Modern. And there is always something happening there. Whether exhi-
bitions or changes of the entrance hall. When I was there, a superb artificial sun was placed in the
main hall. The project is called "the Weather Project" and it is the creation of Olafur Eliasson. I was
impressed not only by the light, but especially by the generous use of space: a huge hall left under
the invasion of this light and of artificially created fog. On the ceiling there were mirrors that gave
you the impression that you had stepped into another dimension. A feeling of lying under the sun
18
in a computer. And the museum visitors who participated in the artistic performance were lying
down on the floor in the artificial light of the globe.
The modern Tate tries to shock. Even just by the gallery dedicated to the masculine
nude - paintings, photographs, and artistic works. Or by the unusual materials with which contem-
porary art is being made. An example is Tonny Cragg who fills an entire wall with plastic coloured
remains (toothbrushes, sharpeners, pens, other objects) and names the work: Britain seen from the
North. Tonny Cragg made this work in 1981, a moment of economic crisis for Great Britain.
Bill Viola, an American artist, is another revelation. He uses the computer and its pro-
grams to express real powerful feelings. Both creations exhibited at the Tate impressed me. The
first, entitled Still alive offers the image of a fruit basket on the computer screen. In four minutes
these fruits begin to decay under your eyes and finally what is left is probably a basket with
residues that smell bad. The image is vivid, although it is computerised, and the feeling is intense.
I almost cried in the end.
The second work is called 6 attitudes and renders in slow motion, in twenty minutes,
the different gestures which an actor normally makes in 3 minutes. There are expressions of joy,
bewilderment, sadness, melancholy. The last one is sleep. At the end of the twenty minutes, the
last expression wakes up and thus the cycle starts all over again.
I visited many other museums: the Museum of Natural History (the dinosaurs' muse-
um) situated in a huge, but superb building, the private little museum of the fans, the maritime
Greenwich Museum, the Theatre Museum, and so on.
After all, they talk about the life of a city. A tourist city of, course, in summer time, but
much more human during the month of November. And the time that the people in London spend
to visit a museum or an exhibition says something, not exactly about their cultural level but some-
thing about civilisation and urban life.
19
4. From the worship of objects
to the shopping temple
Sloane Street is the rich people' street. Here the Russian Mafia people, Ukrainians and
rich Indians come to do the shopping, as well as those who believe that only shopping in London
can offer them real satisfaction. But what kind of shops are there in Sloane Street? Well, there are
neither stores of household appliances, nor hi-tech or jewellery stores. Nor furniture or sport equip-
ment. Sloane Street is the street of the fashion designers! All the great names of fashion are pres-
ent there. And although they are different in terms of style, all these shops have a lot of things in
common, and they seem to be decorated according to the same idea: superb men opening the
door for you in a courteous way, at the same time peering at you; handsome shop assistants, most-
ly men, dressed up in suits; elegant sofas or pretentious armchairs on which the pretentious clients
may watch fashion shows; huge mirrors where you can realise you need a change of clothes.
But what shocked me was the worship of the clothing object. The huge space that the
object, either a shoe or a pair of gloves occupies and upon which all the attention and light falls
as if upon a god. Not the person who wears the dress is important there, but the dress itself. And
in its service are the handsome bodyguards at the entrance, the polite shop assistants, and espe-
cially the slaves - the customers. I had this feeling in the first shop I entered, Giorgio Armani. I had
the sensation of entering a clothes temple. Money, times, feelings vanished before their greatness.
The greatness of the brand clothes.
In Valentino I tried on a jacket of black and white cotton. The shop assistant admitted
that the model didn't fit me. I saw the spring clothes and asked him if they belonged to the past or
future season's collection. An amazing explanation followed:
20
"These clothes are for the rich people who have the chance to go on a cruise to the
warm countries in this season. And probably you know how hard it is to find summer clothes in
this period."
I think I was staring at him.
"Are they from last season?", I asked, obviously interested in fashion and its trends.
"No", he answered intrigued. "These dresses are an anticipation of the future season."
"Do all fashion designers have such cruise collections?"
"Yes", he replied.
"And where do you present the new collection for the first time, in Italy?"
"No, in Paris."
I got out of Valentino. Then I visited Coco Channel, Gucci, Prada, Dolce&Cabana, Yves
Saint Laurent, and many followed on the beautifully lit boulevard of objects of worship up to the
terminus point: Harrods - the great shopping temple.
You visit Harrods like a temple. It is part of the attractive points of London. Only that
it is a lively museum where money is given and received.
It is a little bit kitschy, but imposing, of course you can find everything in Harrods,
except for cheap staff. That's why common people visit it like a museum, and rich like a place
where they can show off their wealth.
Harrods is alive due to the people that come there. The buyers are people above 40,
of all nations (I saw an Indian woman buying a Channel purse), strange couples (very young
women with old men), well-dressed and good-looking women over 35, eccentric men. The peo-
ple are the mirror of the objects: many, diverse, coloured, 'shouting' for attention.
There is an entire fauna that is worth studying. That's why Harrods is a museum with
exhibits in movement.
21
At Coco Channel I saw a superb cotton suit. Black and white, so beautiful, so classic,
so Channel. The hall exhibited several dresses and deux-piece suits, a sofa in the middle on which
a guy of about 50 was seating, with a funny hat under the form of a Turkish turban, with vivid and
smiling eyes. In a corner, an Indian woman dressed in a European style. Another woman, this time
a European one, was trying on a pair of sun glasses and she was with the man on the couch. She
was dressed in black, around 45.
I gloated over that suit. The man noticed and smiled at me. I went out of the shop. I
turned back shortly and asked the shop assistant, a blonde woman with incredibly blue eyes:
"Excuse me, how much is this costume?"
She went towards it, looked at the label and said:
"2000 pounds".
As if she had said 200 dollars.
The woman in black added:
"It's incredibly beautiful."
"May I put it on? I asked with a fantastic nerve. (The shop assistants in Harrods hardly
allow you to put anything on)
The shop assistant just told me:
"I don't think it's your size."
I can tell you, all the shop assistants in Harrods have the sixth sense with which they
feel the smell of money and surely they didn't smell any with me.
But I had started the fight. So I went on:
"I don't think it's very large, I could put on only the skirt to see the shape and how it
looks on me."
"Come on, Janet, let her put it on." The man who was talking was the man on the couch.
22
23
I turned and smiled at him gratefully.
The shop assistant gave up. She gave me the skirt and I entered the cabin, which was
as big as my studio. I held a 1000-pound Channel skirt in my hand. The carpet was soft, and the
mirror was huge.
"Come out so as we can take a look", the man shouted.
I came out. Indeed the skirt was larger, but the shape was perfect.
"It suits you very well", the woman in black made a comment.
The man just smiled and said:
"Yes, but without boots. You need a pair of shoes instead. Take the boots off and put on
the jacket as well. And then we will have a real fashion parade."
I didn't need the shop assistant's permission any more. I came back into the cabin,
with the jacket, I took off my boots that I had had for three years and which my mother had bought
me on sale, the two pairs of sockets because it was cold outside and the 3-pound jumper that I had
bought from the shop on the corner. I appeared in the Coco Channel hall in Harrods in front of
two strangers and a shop assistant in a 2000-pound costume and barefoot.
I think I had never felt sexier.
The following phrase stopped me from daydreaming:
"You should buy it", the woman in black exclaimed. "It is an investment. Or come
when they are on sale."
I had to go. But in an elegant style.
"I don't think I'm going to be in London in the sales period."
"Anyway, you don't want to buy it", the shop assistant made it clear, and she was very
confident. "You only played."
"Yes", I admitted, "I only played." The man smiled to me meaningfully.
24
"Where are you from?" the woman asked. "From Spain?
I checked quickly in my mind how many Spanish words I knew. Not enough.
"From Romania."
The woman looked at me, puzzled. It was obvious she had problems in identifying the
country, and suddenly she exclaimed:
"I know Romania, that country with orphan and handicapped children!"(Sic!)
5. The Londoners
The women are ugly; they wear sandals in November and drink like fish.
The men aren't handsome either, but they dress smart; and they don't even look at you
in the street, however good-looking you are.
The children are left to do whatever they like , and they are not muffled up even if it's
cold outside.
All these are stereotypes about English people that I heard before leaving the country.
They help us, the Romanian tourists, to feel better about ourselves in the end.
I won't go on with the generalisations and bold images about such different inhabitants
of such a cosmopolitan city.
Wandering through London, I realised that I had no idea what to answer the question
Who the hell are the genuine English people? Many persons whom I spoke to in the streets of Lon-
25
don came from other parts of the world; they were there on holiday or for short visits, worked tem-
porarily in the metropolis, etc.
That's why I won't make the mistake of judging the London people by appearances,
saying that the people I saw in a certain place identified themselves with the English automatical-
ly. And this is the first observation: the Londoners aren't the typical English. A Londoner may very
well be a born Indian raised here, an Australian working for two or three months in a pub for a
holiday in Europe, a Polish student. All of them are melted by the big city. Everybody comes with
his/her style, mentality and, why not, with his/her personality. The differences tailor the city, in the
same way the city imposes its own rules.
But I will try to outline some observations, some stories and, why not, some portraits.
My first concern, as a Romanian woman, was to observe the men. And believe me,
ladies and young ladies, I saw numerous good-looking men in London. And I would like to destroy
a myth, speaking from my experience: they may not be as macho as the Italians or Spaniards, but
some of them know how to answer charmingly a smile cast accidentally.
Despite all this, in the tube, in the streets, in the cafes, Londoners lack the famous Latin
exuberance. In the evening, the pubs are full of the people that on their way home have a beer with
their colleagues. They stand, dressed in suits, and chat, but not as passionately as the Romanians
when they discuss politics. Some of them prefer seeing a football game at the pub rather than at
home. Even alone. On Thursday, the day of the football game between Steaua and Liverpool, I met
an Englishman who, although he wasn't a Liverpool fan, had come to the neighbourhood pub to
see the match. At the end of te game, his wife called him home asking him to buy some sausages.
They like and even practise sports. For instance, the boy who took me to the Water Rats
Theatre on Monday when Eveline had a concert. Or the two joggers in the City, bank employees
who used to jog during the lunch break.
26
That is why many English people dream to live at least for a couple of years in Aus-
tralia. For the weather, sun and the possibility to practice sports in the open. And you should know
that these reasons are very serious for them.
As it is for a young Australian who finds it very serious to come to London to work for
a while so as to travel afterwards. (I met an Australian Law student who used to work during his
holiday in a pub in Chelsea. With the money saved during several weeks he planned a holiday in
Holland.)
A human exchange happens almost simultaneously, and one of the motivations is in
fact the journey itself. Young people travel very much. Some of them are not even Londoners. They
use London as a fuelling basis from where they set up on new journeys. For others the journey may
last until the age of 30. Then, aware of the situation, they decide whether and where they should
settle down.
In London young men have an interesting individualism. Most of the times they would
rather take this journey by themselves. It is true, they may gather in a group on the way, if they meet
individuals having the same targets as they do. But their journey doesn't depend at all on finding
a travel mate. It is an intimate travel, which they have to take alone.
That's why they start the responsible, long-term relationships later than Romanian men.
Around the age of 27 - 28. Because by this time, they are in movement, in a permanent quest.
The young women know this and seem more settled down. They try to spend their
time without men in a way as pleasant as possible, gathering in a group of three or four for a cof-
fee. (In the same pub where the Australian student used to work, three young women chatting over
a cup of coffee were at a table). Women also meet at night. They go together in pubs and discos,
dressed up elegantly (for them to be elegant means to wear high heels, but they forget they cannot
walk on them if they drink a glass or two.)
27
28
They don't waste time. In London women are not beautiful although I saw some inter-
esting feminine faces, but they know what they want. From men, I mean. At night, the London
clubs are a huge dance floor on which women, not men have the initiative. They are the ones who
choose, they aren't chosen. I was fascinated to be present in Caf de Paris on a Saturday evening
and witness the following episode:
He, a good-looking guy, well dressed, was sitting on a couch by himself. She, a rela-
tively elegant woman, came in, sat down on the couch next to him, started a conversation and they
went to dance. They came back after a while and probably the man noticed I was staring at them.
I think my look intimidated him and delayed the missy. He sat down on the couch. Who knows
for how long he stayed there just by himself
Once they meet, he coming back from a self-finding journey, she coming back from
the clubs, the London man and woman sometimes form a nice couple, and a numerous family.
They settle down in London for several years, but they consider leaving the capital as
soon as possible for less agitated and cheaper towns. The ones that can afford a house in London,
bought only on mortgage, can also afford having children. And not only one. London families have
at least 2 children.
Would you believe that the birth of a child can change the life of a couple? No way.
The women go on gathering in friendly cafs with their children, I mean in the cafs that have spe-
cial menus for them. Here they read newspapers or magazines or chat amiably with other women.
The men stop in the usual pub, but only for one beer, not more. They continue to travel, to visit
museums and even go to theatres or see shows. With the whole family.
Marketing has discovered the importance that children have in English people's life
and has created a new market: the market for kids. The restaurants have special menus for children,
the shops in the museums sell souvenirs that children more than anyone enjoy, the bookstores have
29
an entire floor with playground dedicated to books for children. Madonna wrote a book for kids
and launched it in London. Not to mention the toy and clothes stores. The Harry Potter hysteria,
although exploited in America, was born in Great Britain, a country like heaven for children mar-
keting..
The ones who are paid to take care of children do this even with greater devotion. In
the Victoria & Albert Museum I could see many children groups, even 3 years old, accompanied
by teachers, more than I would have seen in Mamaia on a summer day. One of the groups was
accompanied by several parents.
The care that the English people show for the kids is touching. When it is shown in
normal circumstances, and even in critical situations. And I'm going to give you as an example the
case of the 2 girls of 10 and 11 which was so much commented on by the press.
The children are taken care of by parents, and by commercial marketing as well. The
aged are taken care of by the system. And this is done very well. In Covent Garden I met two ladies
that had come on an organised trip to London. They were the age of my mother, around 60. Sin-
gle, pensioners, they had come in a group. They were from a small town in Robin Hood forests.
They had been to the Lion King, a musical, then to see the London Eye, and they were sitting down
in a caf waiting to return home. One of them had been married for about twenty years, then had
got divorced because she could no longer live with her husband. The children had grown up and
each had made their own way. She had been living alone for twenty years. Meanwhile she did
many things: she was a waitress in a canteen, a bus driver, a housekeeper. At the end of her work-
ing life she could afford to travel to Italy, to see her daughter. Not to mention her little escapades
to London.
The other lady I met used to travel to Italy as well, but not so often. And she did this
because she had the opportunity to meet new people at work. At the age of over 70, the grand-
30
31
daughter of an English tradesman that had had business even in Saint Petersburg used to work as
a volunteer every Friday in the Fan Museum. A pleasant conversation, a certain distinction, a spe-
cial coquetry when I asked her to pose for me next to an old armchair in the museum, even if it
wasn't allowed to take pictures; the old London lady was characterised by these features. A lady
who knew how to ask questions:
"And what does Romania export?"
Two American ladies that wished to visit the museum interrupted us. The old lady
abandoned me in a hurry. After all, the customers were waiting for her.
I will end the story about Londoners with an article published in Daily Telegraph while I
was there, which demolished the myth of the independence of the English children from their parents.
The quoted article asserts that a quarter of the parents expect to be helping their chil-
dren financially when their offspring are in their forties. Figures show how financial support many
children continue to receive into middle age from their mothers and fathers.
It seems that the parents remain parents wherever they may be. In the same sense the
Romanians give to the concept.
6. Little London
(Andrew's text message: Are you putting on another Coco Chanel suit?
My text message: I am dancing in Covent Garden on Mozart music. I know Covent
Garden is not a night club and Mozart is not for dancing, but this is me and London together).
32
London is like a puzzle. One is made up of the surface London, the real London with
the neighbourhoods, stores, buildings, houses, and people. The other is made up of underground
pieces, of the tube stations placed on almost the entire area of the city. After many years you can
say you know London when the two big superposed puzzles give you the real and complete Lon-
don image. It is like an enlightenment: the entire London (Peter, a Londoner)
London is made up of three other Londons: cultural London with museums, theatres,
bookstores; political London and financial London, business London (Adrian, a tourist)
Oxo Tower, Tate Modern and National, MOMA - Museum of Moving Image, Leicester
Square, Piccadilly Circus with the Virgin stores and HMV, British Museum, Camden Town - Sun-
day and Portobello - on Saturday (Georgia, a tourist)
I remember with nostalgia when, guiding the foreigners in Bucharest, I used to tell
them: This is my Bucharest. If you had had another guide, he/she would have probably shown you
the same things or maybe some others. You know a town in the first place from the point of view
of the one who shows it to you. And I never missed the chance to show the well-paid expats of the
multinational companies the Grozavesti boarding houses, for instance.
This happened to me in London as well. I met London through the eyes of those who
showed it to me. Gradually, their separate and different images began to outline one unitary image:
the London in my view, my small London. I'm sure that each visitor or Londoner has his/her own
city as my London friends have their own relation with the city. The biggest gain for me was, I think,
that I didn't visit London as a tourist city, although this is part of my puzzle. I visited a city in which
some of my friends live. For me London is first of all the town of my friends. But I will talk about
this town in another chapter.
Secondly, it is a town about which I had an enormous prejudice that was forced on me
by the lack of information of the communist era. I wanted to convince myself that London was no
longer the grey town of Charles Dickens, but the coloured one of David Lodge or the one of the
Bridget Jones Diary.
33
34
On the way, London appeared to be much more generous. Surprised by this diversity,
I started to keep a diary. I confess I hadn't left Bucharest with this intention. Moreover, because I
didn't have a copybook with me, I asked Eveline to give me one. I noted down what I saw with
my own eyes and what I was thinking with my own mind. In London by myself I found it much
easier to write with no one around me to share my impressions with.
My small London was born out of this diary. Its puzzle is made up of these separate
pieces that finally can compose a clear image. I said can because I aim at this. I don't know if I will
succeed. This image includes people, buildings, happenings, feelings, but also smells, tastes,
sounds, exclamations. It does not mean that what doesn't exist in this image isn't in London; in the
same way, what I saw and described in here may not be defining for the city.
Finally this puzzle is even more subjective as it is one in movement. Like a kaleido-
scope that may give, by rotating it, other visual forms.
Everything moves in the limits of this contour. In the same way the pieces of the puzzle of
the Big London are different people that have to match, to fit in the shape and contour of the big image.
I was also one of them for two weeks.
7. Thanksgiving Day -
an American holiday in London
Eveline's boyfriend is American. She is Canadian. That's why they celebrate Thanks-
giving Day.
35
The preparation of the party in which several friends of theirs took part started natural-
ly by buying the turkey. Eveline gave me some explanations in the kitchen:
"We eat meat only once a week because we can't afford more. And then I buy an
organic chicken of about two kilos that costs around 10 pounds. I'd rather buy organic meat than
artificially fed chicken that looks good, but from which water comes out when it is boiled and that
shrink in the pot when cooked. During the week we eat a lot of fruit and vegetables. They are
expensive too, but at least they are healthy."
She put the turkey in the oven. Then she took care of the pumpkins she cut in slices
and put them in the oven. Meanwhile, her boyfriend bought the wine. The pie was about to bake
during the dinner, and the homemade ice-cream was already in the refrigerator. I and her boyfriend
laid the table in the living-room for the seven guests. In half an hour Eveline was dressed up and
ready to welcome her guests.
The first comer was a friend. A Romanian one. Dana has been living in London for
seven years. She left the country as a journalist, and then married an English lawyer, Dana was Eve-
line's student in French and violin, and they became friends. She is 27 years old and has a typical-
ly occidental social ease. We had a conversation in Romanian. She says she doesn't miss Bucharest,
but this is because she visits it pretty often.
Dana is already part of the Little London. She finds it easy to fit in its forms. Now she
is a Law student, after she graduated a couple of master studies. She has a terribly bad impression,
like Eveline, about the Romanian lawyers who come to London on business. She says that they are
arrogant, rude pigs, and they pretend they know everything about everything. Dana was gentler.
Eveline was determined: the gipsies ruin Romania's image for the common people, while the
Romanian lawyers ruin it for the upper class.
36
The following guests were an American PR specialist and his brother. Brian is an inter-
esting case. He speaks Russian fluently, he was a journalist at The Economist together with Dana,
but he stepped into the other group. Now he works for a PR company that takes care of the image
of several Russian companies that do business in Great Britain and in the West.
"And how is it to work for the Mafia people?", I asked rudely.
"The Russian businessmen are not only Mafia people," he answered. "We do the PR
for five companies, and one of them produces medicines."
I didn't find out what the other 4 companies dealt with.
Later he confessed that this was exactly the image he had to fight against, at the level
of both common people and especially of the management of big companies in London.
Nicknamed the Spy among friends, Brian doesn't have either the attitude or the force
of a contemporary James Bond. A beautiful face, a fragile attitude and blue eyes that are afraid to
look at you when you talk to him, the American who works for the Russians seems to be troubled
rather by his divorce from the sly French woman who used him than by the image problems of the
companies he works for.
His brother, Fred, is more self-possessed and in control during a conversation. Is it
because he hasn't been married to a French girl so far?
He works with a NGO in New York that fights for the protection of I don't know what
board affected by the construction of a bridge. Can you believe that this is the way he earns his living?
He has come directly from Amsterdam or Brussels and in 3 days' time they are to go
together to Krakow.
The last guest, who came after one hour and a half (unacceptable thing for the Eng-
lish), was John, Dana's husband, a typical English lawyer. He brought along, to excuse himself, a
huge bouquet of red roses and the entire English authenticity.
37
John is a guy who likes talking, controlling the conversation, and approaching differ-
ent topics. He is good at everything, and his yearly income (a fortune for a Londoner) gives him
this right. The conversation which was rather dull when he came, suddenly got vivid.
But what are the topics of such a stylish group?
The first subject we approached was naturally the American politics and the critics
addressed to Bush. Dana commented for a long time on the picture of Bush serving turkey to the
American soldiers published in the English newspapers. Then she read from The Economist an arti-
cle that seemed even to me pure American propaganda. The subject didn't last much. It lost
ground the same way it did in the press when competing with the one about the process of the
guy who murdered two little girls. And there we had four men commenting on this case passion-
ately and after finishing with it, they were trying to mention other odious cases. I imagined myself
in a meeting of the editorial staff at Evenimentul Zilei in the early nineties.
But the most hilarious subject seemed to me Prince Charles' sexuality. A story pub-
lished by the press, muffled by the Royal Family in time, cast uncertainty on the Prince's manhood.
I had refrained with stoicism from talking during the political discussions, at the live 5 o'clock
News, but that story really pissed me off:
"Come on, I exclaimed, what difference does it make if Charles is homosexual or not?
After all, he fulfilled his duty: he gave not only one but two heirs to Great Britain."
Later, I was present at the dissolution of Romania's image helplessly. The first attempt
was a joke that Dana told us.
"A famous professor writes a letter in which he says that he chooses freedom, a better
world, etc.
The next day, the other professors gather in an assembly and comrade chief takes the floor:
'Comrades, I suggest that we should exclude comrade Ionescu from the Communist
Party. He wrote a letter in which he chose to go West, he chose freedom and democracy.'
38
39
The door opens suddenly and comrade Ionescu appears. Stupor.
'Comrade, you are excluded from the Communist party because you chose to run West.'
'But, comrades, when I wrote that I chose the better world, I referred to the Commu-
nist Party.' "
The artillery went on. John discussed two famous Romanian actors who had recited
from Shakespeare and Eminescu at a Romanian evening in London. Not with praising words:
Caramitru had been affected, and Seciu had had a horrible voice. He found Marcel Iures more
interesting with his Murder in the Cathedral, which he had also seen in Romanian. I told them
about Iures and his theatre, about his parts in the movies (the Americans seemed to remember him)
and about the part without words that Vali Seciu was performing at the Act Theatre.
I have to admit that John's irony born out of personal experiences and knowledge of
Romania was more painful than the common people's ignorance .
I had the last conversation with Brian. A pleasant discussion about Russian literature
and his personal experiences in Moscow:
"What I like with my Russian friends is that they think on short term. We, Americans,
think on long term, we make plans, and we establish objectives. This short-term thinking gives you,
as individual, a greater freedom, ease in movement as compared to the well studied planning of
the Americans. We think this way because society forces us to plan everything: family, study, career
planning, even leisure planning. We can't afford to be taken by surprise. While the Russians, par-
adoxically, have more freedom than we have. At least they allow themselves to be taken by sur-
prise. Even if the surprises are most of the times tiring."
40
8. London at night
At night, the London faces change, and its charm becomes the charm of a coquettish
woman who, the way she looks, can both handle dancing like crazy in a club and a romantic din-
ner in an elegant restaurant.
In the artificially lit darkness, the bridges, buildings, the Londoners' faces have anoth-
er dimension. The agitation in the streets, the red buses, and the bustle near the full pubs - I
enjoyed all this only at night. I was there and I saw the happy crowd walking in Leicester Square,
moving to and fro for a ticket to a theatre performance, the queues in front of the clubs in Piccadil-
ly Circus, the high-heeled women that walk proudly, the gang boys.
It will be easier for me to render the image of this metropolis telling you the short sto-
ries I enjoyed. They may illustrate better and in a more coloured way a picture in movement of a
metropolis that never sleeps.
For the nightlife I was very lucky to have Peter with me, my London friend who deals
with lights and sounds at several pubs in town and at different events. Peter is that kind of man that
has earned his living since childhood, a very technical and talented guy, but also very hard work-
ing, who, although he takes care of the others' entertainment, seemed, at first sight rather a peace-
ful guy than a man who likes parties. Due to him, I entered some pubs I could not have entered
by myself, I witnessed some events which I would never have dreamt of, and I met people and sit-
uations that wouldn't appear by day.
Despite all this, my first experience in a London pub wasn't exactly very pleasant. A
Monday evening I went out with Peter and his brother to a bar in Covent Garden. I could tell it
was posh. We sat at a table, we ordered (the guys recommended a special cocktail), I hung the
41
42
purse at the back of my chair and the digital camera on the table. Behind us there was a noisy
group of boys. I didn't know exactly when they left, but before we left, the waiter warned me :
"Young lady, your wallet is on the floor."
I raised and checked it: all the money was gone. Moreover, my debit card, which I had
placed among the business cards, was gone as well. In spite of the shock that I had been left with-
out my four-day budget on my first day in London, I was amazed at the elegant move.
I confess that I am almost an expert at being robbed (if one can be an expert at such a
thing). I hold the record for lost or stolen telephones (who counts them any more?), for cut purses
in the means of public transportation or for money stolen from my pockets in the crowded buses
in Bucharest.
In spite of all this, London thieves didn't push me, didn't threaten me. They simply took
advantage of my absent-mindedness, they took the wallet, they had time to steal the banknotes, to
find the debit card (well, they were unlucky because I had a Romanian debit card with some 200
000 ROL, not credit card in pounds), open the other pocket of the wallet and take the three pounds
(greedy!) and drop it in a place where I would never have seen it if it hadn't been for the waiter who
had warned me. I should be grateful to them. Why? They could take the whole purse, where I kept
all my life, as another robbed woman put it: the plane ticket, passport, ID card - and those were the
most important things. So I said to myself: well, I got robbed in London too, one shouldstop saying
this happens only in Bucharest, I know this is not true: you can be robbed everywhere. I have to tell
you that I respect London thieves for their customer care. And they proved to be professionals.
And as a robbery brings along another one, after only a few days I witnessed another
robbery in the street. This happened to confirm my opinion that the worst things may happen out-
side Bucharest as well. On my first Saturday evening, I was going to meet Peter. At the last moment,
he called me and told me that he had something to do at a wedding party at Savoy, but that he
43
could take me too and that it would last at most one hour. I asked my Canadian friend where the
Savoy was:
"What are you doing there?"
"Peter has a wedding there. We won't stay long, but I have to go there."
"The Savoy is one of the most elegant hotels in London. And one of the most expen-
sive, of course. You're lucky to go there."
Eveline was really impressed. So was my cousin, whom I asked to lend me an elegant
blouse. I was already nervous. I thought I wouldn't rise to that event, to the distinguished guests,
and I wouldn't fit the background. I had forgotten of course that Peter would go there to work and
was not one of the guests, that we weren't going to stay long and then we would go to a pub. It
didn't matter any more. I was going to the Savoy and every person whom I had told about it exper-
ineced the same hysteria. So I looked down on Peter when he answered my question What are you
going to wear?
"A pair of jeans and a T-shirt."
When I went out, I looked great. I know I'm not modest, but, believe, me you should-
n't be modest when you reach such an elegant place. I was dressed in black, wearing a short vel-
vet skirt and a low cut blouse, high heels and a discreet scarf around the neck. I felt good in my
shoes. I was only thinking about the stylish rich people I was going to meet there. Did Prince Wil-
liam come to a wedding at Savoy? Or Robbie Williams?
I was interrupted by a woman's scream. I was walking in a poorly lit street, when I saw
a black guy (I remember only that he was black), with a hat on his head, running. He disappeared
quickly among the houses. I turned the corner and at the third or the fourth house I saw a woman,
dressed elegantly, standing in front of the door. One could hear agitated voices and a big noise
coming from the house.
44
"Excuse me, haven't you seen anybody?"
"Yes, I have, it was a black guy, I said politically correct. He was running down the
opposite sidewalk. But what has happened?"
"One of our friends was robbed in front of the door. He took her purse."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I said. If I can help "
"Could you? Come in, please."
I was in a typically English house that was ready for a party. Inside there were other
three women (including the robbed one). All of them were about 40, dressed very elegantly, I
could say they were rather excited. When I came in and the woman introduced me as the only wit-
ness of the incident, the women exclaimed gratefully. The one who had been robbed, a thin
woman dressed in black, was calling the bank to cancel her cards, then home to inform her friend
or colleague that somebody had robbed her and he might have the keys for the house. In-between
she told me the incident:
"I arrived in front of the door, I was ringing the bell when I felt somebody grabbing my
purse. He didn't push me, no. I fell and I screamed. All my life was in that purse."
"And then I heard you. After a short while I saw the boy running."
"Would you give a statement to the police?"
"Sure, I know how it feels to be robbed. It has happened to me in London, too."
"But where are you from?" the woman asked me.
"From Romania. I am here to visit friends."
They invited me in the living room. The house was ready for a party, it was full of can-
dles, they had large plates with sandwiches and cookies, but I don't know why, I had the impres-
sion they weren't expecting anybody else. It was a party of four middle-aged women that paid all
the necessary attention to this. I didn't know if they were married, had children or family. The
45
house looked as if it could do with the care of a man. The little details such as the lack of a door
handle led me to this conclusion. But I might be wrong.
The police came in ten minutes. They were two men of about forty, dressed in plain
clothes. One of them made me write a declaration, asked me if I could identify the guy, I told them
I couldn't. He was also impressed I came from Romania and that I had accepted to lend a helping
hand. At the end of the examination he wished me a nice holiday. One of the women said to me:
"We thank you for being a Good Samaritan. Especially as I can see you were going
downtown and we stopped you."
"I'm glad I could help you. I know how it is. Yes, it's true that I'm going downtown.
I'm going to a wedding at the Savoy."
The four women and the two policemen were struck with amazement. They were vis-
ibly impressed. As if I had told them I was going to see the Queen. I knew I would create a stir,
but not that much.
"Have you come especially for the wedding? One of the women asked me.
"No", I showed off. "One of my friends in London has invited me."
They let me go. I must have produced a strong impression on them. A Romanian girl
(where might Romania be?) reaches a place that the common Londoners might never reach.
After all the reactions of the Londoners, I was expecting to see at the Savoy style and
glamour in every corner. It wasn't like this.
There I was in front of the main entrance. Ah, the Savoy that had made me looke dif-
ferent in front of all the Londoners, the Savoy that had aroused envy among my London friends,
the Savoy whose celebrity, fast and elegance I tried to match with glimmering powder in my hair
and on my dcolletage and with a black blouse I had borrowed!
Peter told me to ask about him at the reception, but I managed to pass by the boy with
the invitation list and to visit the restaurant a little bit. Therefore I arrived without any guide in the
46
hall where the wedding was taking place. A visual shock made me wonder if I hadn't arrived at the
wrong place: phosphorescent colours of bright green and pink were covering the chairs arranged
around the tables. The golden lamps contrasted with the lights on the stage behind the hall. Huge
calas were rising in the middle of the tables, but the guests could only see their stem, not the flower,
and the height of the stems bothered them obviously. On the stage there was a group of black peo-
ple, and the tables were full of Indians. Where were the dinner jackets? Where were the elegant
women? Where were the charming gentlemen? I thought I 'd got to the wrong hall. When I was
about to leave, I saw Peter waving to me from behind the sound installation. I made my way towards
him among the round tables that were completely occupied, rather crowded.
"Peter, where are the English people? This is an Indian wedding!"
Peter smiled.
"I had to expect this, indeed. Only the Indians throw such big and beautiful weddings.
There are 250 persons here. It's one of the biggest halls in London."
"And it seems to be packed", I said.
"Yes, you're right."
"And who pays for the party?"
"The parents. There are enough rich and very rich Indians in London. As compared to
the English, they need to show off. A wedding is a good opportunity. And the guests needn't give
money. All the expenses are covered. How could you decline such a thing?"
The band was playing a sort of American jazz/pop/caf concert. Peter confessed it was
a performance that the four were playing together. Each of them was very good and well known,
but this was the first time when they gathered for a show. It was as if Johny Raducanu, Cristi Min-
culescu and Nicu Alifantis had gathered to sing and play one night at a wedding (I hope I am not
giving you ideas)
47
Looking around, I noticed that the people were not so well dressed, either. Some Indi-
an women wore traditional dresses, some didn't. The bright and extravagant colours were every-
where: an old lady in her sixties was wearing bright green, another one in her fifties was dressed
in pink, and one younger lady was wearing violet. The men were dressed correctly, decently, with
no style. The bride was dark-skinned, with long, curly hair. I didn't notice the bridegroom. Sud-
denly I felt proud of the way I was dressed and how I looked. I think I told Peter about this. His
answer was we were going to stay only a couple of minutes and then we shall leave.
The backstage was far more interesting than the hall. I was waiting for him there as he
was moving from one room to another.
Meanwhile, the band had taken a break and had withdrawn there.
"Hi baby, how are you", one of the boys asked me.
"Fine, I'm waiting for somebody."
"Are you a guest at the wedding?"
"No, I came with the guy from the sound installation."
"Oh, yes, I know him. Do you like it here?"
"Yes, but we are going somewhere else."
"Where?"
"Caf de Paris."
"Wow! You're going to enjoy it. It's a cool place."
"Yes, I know."
The guy left me alone. I felt good that he hadn't asked me where I came from. Backstage,
the stars were behaving naturally. They made no conversation, not even for the sake of appearances,
they didn't try to socialise. They talked a little about the order of the songs and that was it. When I came
out with Peter, outside there was a group of African dancers that wore traditional dresses. He told me:
48
"Could you imagine a wedding like this is considered a true production? It's got a wed-
ding planner, producer, man in charge of the invitations, another man is dealing with the relation
with the artists, another with the menu, etc."
Unfortunately, it is more difficult to find somebody to take care of the style.
The first club I entered was an exclusive one. Peter, was working at the light and sound
station when they had concerts. Caf de Paris, because I am talking about it now, is the club where
Madonna, Robbie Williams and other stars used to come. I didn't have the luck to meet a star when
I danced there. But I saw many elegant people, smart women who picked up single men without
restraints, exorbitant prices, an atmosphere of a selected club and unisex toilets.
I was very surprised by the music, disco music for teenagers rather than club music.
The very high prices (the reservation of a table for 4 persons was 1000 pounds) don't
prevent people from queuing up in front of the club. 11 o'clock was the hour when the pubs closed
(if you can believe it) even in the week-end! So most of the times civilised queues form in front of
the clubs and discos. No matter how stiff the English might be and, even if they are having fun,
they don't forget to be polite.
In the next club where we went there was a birthday party which didn't have the cold
celebrity of the name and the prices for snobs. This club had live music sung by a Black woman,
a more pleasant atmosphere, more relaxed people and even better beverages. Something in the
style of Club A in Bucharest, but much cleaner.
In London clubs you meet all kinds of people. Most of them are young, but not neces-
sarily, well dressed as for a night out, not so elegantly as to draw your attention, women for whom
style means high-heel sandals even in November, men who allow themselves to be picked up, peo-
ple of all nationalities.
At dawn the night buses or taxis took them to their houses. London at 3 o'clock, is superb.
The city centre is full of people, some of them are drunk, some others are sleepy, and others feel like
49
going to a party. In the suburbs, from a house you can still hear the music with the volume up. At
about 5 o'clock in the morning, while some go to sleep, the others are about to wake up.
9. About artists and artists
in London
One of the most unexpected revelations was that of a musical London. Before coming
to the British metropolis I didn't have the picture of a city invaded by music and art as Strauss's
Vienna is. This revelation is due primarily to the fact that I stayed during the first week in the house
of a violinist, my Canadian friend, and the one who studies violin at one of the best academies of
music. So when she didn't play the violin, the house was invaded by the music played at a British
radio station that broadcasts only classical and jazz music.
But it was in the street that I was really amazed at music. Now, don't expect to hear
music in the streets of London as you may hear on Charles Bridge in Prague. But there are some
places where very good music is played. One of them is Covent Garden. There you may sit over
a cup of coffee, a tea or without drinking anything, and listen to a quartet or solo musician play-
ing classical music or famous arias.
Behind the beauty of the music I discovered a perfect system that all the musicians
comply with. I found this system much more interesting than the fact that in London one can lis-
ten to music everywhere from the tube stations and markets to concert halls.
50
51
The begging musicians
At the exit from the subway station Embankment, one of the most crowded stations of the
London subway, I saw somebody playing a saxophone. She hid her face under a huge, rather funny
hat. I was about to take a picture of her, but first I asked for permission, as I had had been taught.
From under the hat, the face of a a tired, woman in her mid-forties, thin, full of freck-
les, smiled to me. The surprise was complete. I began a conversation with her. She told me proud-
ly that she was a professional begging artist and showed me the permit hanging around her neck.
There is an office in London where those who think they have artistic skills and like to entertain
the others in public places must go, pass an exam and accept the place where they may show their
talents. Maybe, at the end of the year, they have to pay their taxes from the income obtained this
way. The saxophone woman had done all this, and she told me so with pride, except of course for
the payment of the taxes (you see, they also try to avoid them). The authorisation permit protected
her from possible incidents with the police, with other beggars or even with the passers-by. It
shows she is part of the system and that she is protected by it. And that she is all right.
I took a picture of her, and she posed as a model on a catwalk or as a famous musician
giving an interview for a magazine.
"You see," she explained to me in an English I hardly understood. "All the people pass-
ing by, especially the tourists, want to take pictures of me. And the flashes bother me. That's why
I pull this hat over my face. But at the same time, I have no picture of myself. Can you send me
one? Look, I shall give you my address."
We could do now an exercise of imagination. We could imagine artistic exams for all
the kids who assault your ears in the subway and buses. How many of them would obtain the per-
mit and the place to amuse the passers-by? As for the payment of taxes, we colud exempt them for
the moment, as long as English beggars do not pay them either.
52
Higher up there are the basket musicians. They have graduated from the academy of
music or are still studying, and they form a quartet and play in the squares. There is one more per-
son with them who goes to the crowd with a basket and urges the people to give money for the artists.
In Covent Garden this happens daily. But do you think they don't follow any rule, any
system? You're wrong. The little square in Covent Garden is an excellent place to show one's musi-
cal talent and earn some money. But things are much better organised than we could imagine.
First of all, there is a schedule, a program of the place, established probably by the
square administration. To be able to sing/play in Covent Garden one must have an agent to obtain
the place and the hours. The schedule is divided into half-hours with breaks of ten minutes. One
is lucky if the agent has made it possible for the musician to sing/play twice a day. The quartets
usually alternate with the opera solos.
Some musicians can sell CDs that include the repertoire they play in the square. And
they even succeed in selling them, although their price is just a little lower than a professional CD.
How much can the artists earn this way? Eveline told me that pretty much. Some days
even 100 pounds each, which is well enough for a Londoner.
One Sunday I took part in such a mini-concert of a quartet made up of a flute, a cello
and two violins. The four musicians (two English girls, one Englishman and one Japanese) know
how to make a show: they play, dance, advertise themselves or sell their merchandise, interact with
the audience. They are full of joy, cool, natural, and entertaining. That's what they do for a living
and they do it well. The Japanese violinist proved to be the best showman. He played the violin
exceptionally, he danced can-can, he invited the people to applaude them, to give them money or
to buy their CD.
The following day I had the surprise to see him again, this time in another group. We
talked a little after the representation. Almost all the music academy graduates do basket music
53
until they manage to find a serious contract, which is rather difficult. They take part in independ-
ent or group projects, but they have an extraordinary mobility. I could say that they take advantage
of every chance. They know they have to be the best in order to succeed. At the same time they
are not afraid of the audience. The audience is a challenge to them and that is part of the charm
they create.
An opera soloist followed the quartet. I noticed the same spontaneity, the same natu-
ralness. Her job was rather to entertain the audience than to sing high quality music. Like her pred-
ecessors, the soprano interacted with the people, played different roles and had fun herself. I think
it is very difficult for her to sing opera arias in the open and, after a while, her voice sounded rather
tired. But she ended her part with a smile on her face. She had an orange flower on the casette
recorder that accompanied her.
The way to being a professional
It is very strange how the ones who choose music as a profession, choose also not to
earn very well until they become famous. They'd better give concerts in special places without
being paid but hoping that somebody would come in that club, listen to them and discover them.
Eveline told me angrily that she had had enough of playing in free concerts for the last
2 years. Her group was a rock one using the electric violin. It was a strange combination, but
sounding pretty well in some songs.
On December 1, on a rainy day, they had such a concert. The club is called Water Rats
Theatre and constantly hosts such concerts of no-name bands. The entrance ticket is five pounds and
doesn't include any drinks. The concert was scheduled to begin at eight o'clock and I was very sur-
prised to see that it actually started at ten minutes past eight (the concert of a Romanian famous band
is not stylish if it is less than one hour late - I consider this an offence to the time the audience gives
a band; but what difference do the audience and their time make for the Romanian bands?)
54
The club equipped with a stage and a place without tables for the audience, got full of
people quite rapidly. There were young people that had paid for a ticket, had bought a beer and
wanted to listen to the music of a band they had never heard before.
They played three or four songs. The people applauded politely, then they took a break
after which another band followed. But the important thing was that they had an audience.
Eveline and her group think the music career differently. They break their neck for two,
three or four years and for free, they compose, give concerts in public, in the pubs, they wait for
someone to notice them, then wait to become famous. If they have an impresario, they can release
a single, if the single is noticed they can go further and release an album. The way to the single is
difficult. That was the case of Eveline and her group. On December 16th, they released their first
CD. From now on they are on the market. From now on it depends on the tastes of the audience
and on luck. Who knows, maybe I have met future starts.
10. About books and bookstores
I must confess that until I arrived in London I had lived with the naive impression that
the western people were uneducated, that if they didn't read Dostoevsky's books they had no idea
what great literature was about and that in general they didn't know what a book looked like.
The myth created by the communist doctrine about the Western lack of culture was
dissipated by the journey to a capital in which books and poetry are present from the subway to
the royal institutions. Moreover I have learnt about books and bookstores in the British capital more
than I would have learnt at any class/course.
55
56
For instance, I found out on the first day I travelled by tube that reading had much more
prosaic reasons than the well-known intellectual snobbism. Londoners travel a lot by tube. Time,
which is a highly valuable and worthy asset, can be wasted in vain contemplation of the landscape
(sometimes not even of the landscape). The commuters (the ones who spend at least half an hour
in the tube on the same route) felt the need to turn these minutes to the best account when one
can hardly do anything useful. So they started to read. Some of them read the daily newspapers,
others read magazines, but those who have used their arithmetic have found out that it is cheaper
to read books. It is funny how, at the rush hours, the readers hang on a reading a book greedily
until they manage to find a place where they can read comfortably.
Thus reading finds both inner and pragmatic motivation. It is a pleasant way of spend-
ing time, and it is also an activity arisen from this fear of not wasting time. It is a way to escape to
another world on the way to an extremely real one.
It's true that some listen to music.
What you can see in the tube you can see in bookstores as well. The bookstores are
real houses of the books. And I don't exaggerate at all. In London there are two or three big dis-
tributors of books. They are also the owners of the bookstores. They establish the rules on the
books market, they set the prices, they promote the books, and they shape the taste. The Water-
stones bookstore chain, the biggest distributor of books in Great Britain, has already a unique style.
The bookstores are buildings with several storeys, where the piles of books are organised either on
new releases, or on fields, where children's books have an entire storey with a playground
designed, in which you can spend hours reading, sitting down on the red carpet near the shelves.
Waterstones succeeded t in creating the beneficial combination between a commercial store and
a library. The healthy culture of money and art meet here.
In London there aren't small bookstores. All of them are huge, they provide the books
with the necessary space to highlight them and almost all of them give you the impression you
57
could find any book you want. And you do. From cooking to travel books, from fiction to biogra-
phies (including Prince William's three biographies), from art albums to miniature books.
Above all this, it is very interesting to see how the librarians promote contemporary
authors, new titles, recent publications. The book is regarded as a merchandise that needs adver-
tisement in order to be sold. Especially if there is an unknown author. A new name has to be pro-
moted more assiduously, it's true, but it can also provide best-selling surprises. London readers look
for novelty, new names and stories. When I was in London, Helen Fielding had just launched a
new book, different from Bridget Jones' Diary, and Michael Gerber had already launched the sec-
ond novel, a parody to Harry Potter, entitled Barry Trotter and the Unnecessary Sequel - the book
nobody has been waiting for. The librarians promote their books not only by means of advertising
banners. I noticed a lot more subtle, yet more intelligent procedures of selling the books. The
books are arranged by titles on a square table. If a librarian wants to promote Bridget Jones' Diary,
for instance, he/she would arrange it in a row, then on the same table, after three more titles, the
reader will find it again. This method is used in television advertising and it is called sandwich pile
(the same promo at the beginning and at the end of the series). If you see once a title that draws
your attention and then you see it again after 2 or 3 titles you are convinced you should have it.
The second time, you yield to temptation.
I tried to explain this method to a librarian in Bucharest. He explained me that this
makes the buyer think there are not enough titles.
But how do the books reach the readers? How do the authors become new brands?
Which is the way from an idea to the book in the bookstores?
I may have found out half of this way when one of my colleagues asked me to try to
place her novel in a London publishing house.
Well, I found out that in literature, as in music, the system is there. A system with rules,
regulations and stages that those involved know. No book author can enter this industry without
58
an agent. The agent has the obligation to sell the book to the publishing house, to persuade it that,
once published, the book will make a lot of money. The writer has no other duty than to write and
find an agent whom he/she has to persuade that his/her book is worthy. Then he/she signs the con-
tract with the agent. The rest is already a paid job. The agent may have two or three authors that
he/she will try to sell to the publishing houses. 10-15% of the money that the author earns out of
the copyrights goes to the agent.
The route of the book from the writer's table to the bookstores is part of the system. A
well-established system that doesn't allow the unprofessional ones, maybe genius-like, to enter it.
11. Brand Romania!
Travelling in London, interacting with the people in the streets, I was surprised to notice
how frequent the question: Where are you from? was. There are two reasons. The first one would
be that, being a cosmopolite town, its citizens expect the others to be from another part of the
world. The second is that, through this question, Londoners try to find a common point, a commu-
nication bridge with the others. If you answer 'Spain, France, Germany' or even 'Australia' the
bridge connects the points and communication flows.
Well, it was different, as far as I'm concerned. I had to do my best to connect the
bridge, adding further explanations to the name of the country I was from.
I confess that the first time I was asked where I was from, I answered proudly: from
Romania. The bewilderment and interrogative look on my interlocutor's face didn't discourage me.
59
60
I went on enumerating many personalities that had become well-known: Nadia Comaneci? Hagi?
Dracula? Ceausescu?
That moment I realized it was difficult to create the image of my country in a few min-
utes of conversation in the street.
If the common individual is a child, things become even more complicated. Let me tell you.
I was in Victoria &Albert Museum. In the Rafael's paintings hall there were some kids,
12-13 years old, who were doing their homework. I started a conversation with some boys. After
a pleasant conversation, I continued my visit. We met again in another gallery. This time some girls
of the group came to me and asked me:
"Do you like it?"
"Yes", I answered, "very much. Do you?"
"Yes."
In a couple of seconds I was surrounded by lots of curious eyes
"Where are you from?" the girls asked me.
"Where do you think I am from?" I answered playfully.
"France!" a boy said.
"Spain!" another boy continued.
"Germany!"
The boys finished all the countries they knew.
"Romania!" I said victoriously.
Silence. Before me their eyes showed no more curiosity, but confusion.
I started as I had learnt in my country:
"Have you heard about Nadia Comaneci, the gymnast?"
They shook their head.
61
"Hagi, the footballer?"
They shook their head.
"Dracula?" - I made a desperate attempt.
"No".
I was about to lose my audience. That communication bridge failed to connect the two ends.
I put it in a different way.
"Who has read Harry Potter?"
"I have read all the books", a girl of the group showed off.
"Well, then you know that Ron's brother, Charlie, goes to Romania to study the drag-
ons and vampires."
"Yes", the children murmured, obviously interested in the subject.
"Well, you should know that all the vampires come from Romaniaand I might be one
of them." They ran away quickly. I don't know what image they have about Romania now, but
undoubtedly it is a powerful one.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work that easily with the adults, whom you cannot scare with
a vampire's story.
The Londoners that don't associate the image of Romania with gipsies who steal or beg,
with orphaned, abandoned or handicapped children have a confused and almost absent image.
There is a concept in commercial marketing, recently applied in regional marketing,
namely the brand name. Germany is a brand, France is a brand, Romania is not. London, Paris,
New York are brands. Bucharest is mistaken for Budapest, to the prejudice of Budapest, of course.
Hungary and the Czech Republic are former communist countries that applied the
same concept and started to make promotion campaigns of their country brand. There are in the
London tubes banners that promise you a dream holiday in Prague or Budapest. In the bookstores
62
there are books about Hungary and the Czech Republic full of information and attractive touristic
offers. On the same bookshelves, Romania shares the same book with Moldova, and the first infor-
mation they provide about Bucharest is that the tourists had better use it as a transit place towards
far more interesting places.
Prague has a book entirely written by a British man. What I found about Bucharest was
a description of the city made in 1990 by a British writer. Jan Morris gathered all her travel impres-
sions in a book entitled A writer's world (Travels 1950-1990). Bucharest seemed to the educated
writer a labyrinth full of underground tunnels, holes in the roads and abandoned buildings that
gave the impression of a town after the bombardment (She is not even original in her description!)
The end of the description is entirely pessimistic and I will quote it in full:
It will be a long time, I fear, before the young people of Bucharest join the rest of us,
before the curtain goes down in this civic theatre of the absurd.
Was she right? No comment!
Brand Romania! Create a brand for Romania, associate it with a brand, a story. Promote
it! Tell beautiful, successful, funny stories! If you can't find them, make them up. The twelve year
olds in Great Britain need them. I need them too so as to find it easier next time to answer the ques-
tion Where are you from?
You could start with the following story. I heard it in London, from my cousin who her-
self had heard it from some Londoners.
The story says that at Wimbledon, Ilie Nastase, who was only called Nastase by the ref-
eree , turned to him and told him: To you, I am not Nastase, I am Mr. Nastase. The following day,
all the newspapers commented the attitude of this quasi-known tennis player.
This story repeats each time at Wimbledon. Maybe it should be included in this branding
campaign, of course together with the table that indicated the mark 10 for Nadia Comaneci and so on.
63
This story speaks about a Romanian sportsman coming from a communist country
where people were calling themselves comrade, who had the courage, self-esteem and attitude to
ask the referee, at Wimbledon, in the country of good manners, to address him respectfully.
I had to come to London to hear this story. And look how Londoners taught me some-
thing about Romania!
12. The City of London
The big London includes many other little Londons: the cultural London, the political
London, the London of the museums, of the colourful squares or of the buildings of the last cen-
turies. Among these little Londons there rises haughtily, always new, always under construction,
the City of London.
In other words, ladies and gentlemen, I will introduce you to financial London, London
of business transactions, millions of pounds, dollars or who knows what other currency, of the well-
dressed men, career women, sky scrapers, of the buildings too high for the domestic London, of the
buildings of steel and glass, cold as the colour of money. This is City of London: with narrow streets
in which many-storey treasures lie, expensive cars and black taxis run in a hurry, and where the lat-
est fashion motorcycles are parked. The City of London at lunch time (13.00 o'clock) shows a
diverse view. Ugly people, beautiful people, young people, old people, ambitious, bored people, at
the beginning of their career or in the top of it, smiling, pensive or frowning people - all of them
have something in common: at lunch time they still bear the burden of a non-concluded business.
64
The landscape the temporary inhabitants of the City offered (because during the week-
end the area is really dead) was that of schoolchildren in uniforms, less noisy, who went out for
the break and who, after having taken the well-deserved break, returned to their daily homework.
It is true that there are more men than women in the City. One of the explanations was
given to me by K. Men have better paid jobs and that's why they can afford to eat out. Meanwhile
women eat the sandwich they bring from home in their office. Those women that go out to eat are
more elegant, more stylish than the women I met in the street. Generally, they are over 35 and
have the same air as men, that they are doing important things.
And yet men are more relaxed. At least they appear so at first sight. They go out in the
street to the opposite pub wearing a suit or a sport equipment for a short jogging. They wear shirts
in strange colours (pink! velvet!) with ties that match the shirts, but that surprisingly suit them very
well. The cut of the trousers outline their back in an almost obscene way (this will never be pub-
lished), and the shoes are well-manufactured. However, what a pity!
You may flirt with the men in the tube, in Leicester Square, in the stores or in the pubs,
but you can never flirt with the men in the City. At least not during the working hours. They are
too focused on the financial problems and on their business.
The coldness of the people is in accordance with that of the buildings. The headquar-
ters of almost all the big companies, banks, insurance companies, etc. are piled up in this area.
Some of them are futurist, some others are dull and grey like the communist blocks of flats, others
are just old or new. The latest, called popularly Cucumber, Egg or Penis, is a huge circular build-
ing, whose construction has lasted for seven years and that will be finished in 2004. When you are
in the street and look at the building, the first thing you think of is a terrorist attack and its conse-
quences in the street. You are so close to a colossus that might crumble down anytime over you.
It is so weird: during the last centuries people used to build cathedrals, now they build business-
65
buildings. Maybe after hundreds of years people will visit them like a museum, unless they are
blown up, intentionally or not, so as to be replaced with other buildings.
In this heaping up of glass and concrete there is Leadenhall market, a fairytale street,
with stores and old out of fashion pubs. Discreetly lit even in the daylight, this street, slightly mod-
ified, served as location for the Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter movie. I believe that a little fanta-
sy and poetry is good for everybody especially for the London businessmen.
On Friday afternoon the area stands stone-still. The offices are closed, the shops are
closed, maybe the pubs remain open, but only until 11 o'clock. Over the weekend the City is dead.
Not even the tourists visit it. Or maybe it just takes a rest, waiting for the agitation that will start
again on Monday morning.
13. Mass-media in UK
I would have expected to find in London newspapers articles of general interest, such
as the latest discoveries of science and technology, political discussions, cultural debates. At least
that was the image I had had about BBC. Wrong.
I had the luck to arrive in London right on the day when Great Britain won the rugby
world championship. The euphoria of the victory (we are good at inventing sports, but less good
at winning them, a football fan told me - English people have their complex too!) made the Lon-
doners party for three days. The press named the players heroes, gods, etc, and carried them on the
wings of glory. The subject was on the first page several days: huge photos, interviews, impressions,
66
and especially an enormous patriotic pride. After all, Great Britain hadn't won the world title for
fifty years.
But after three days of party, the subjects of general interest were back again on the first
page of the newspapers. And do you think that the subject of general interest is Blair's policy
regarding the taxes for those who would like to attend university? This too, but during my week in
London the trial of the man who had murdered two little girls was on the first page of all the news-
papers. During the period of the trial, only Beckham's reception by the Queen and Posh's hat
could be seen on the first page.
Except this, everyone in London talked about that trial. The newspapers didn't even
publish photos. I saw the same picture in all the important newspapers. The same thing happened
with the columns. All the newspapers reproduced the trial word by word. What the prosecutor had
asked, what the accused had answered. The British journalists did nothing but transcribe the words
of the clerk of the court. For one moment, I had the impression that I was in the Chicago movie.
The first News on the BBC was also about the trial. Since the BBC journalists hadn't
been allowed to shoot in the courtroom, they reproduced on the computer the faces of the prose-
cutor, the lawyer and the accused, and on the right of the screen they reproduced the questions
and the answers word by word. All these tricks made the report truthful so that the TV viewers
should feel they watched the trial in the courtroom as if they had been part of a show. The subject
lasted about five or seven minutes, which is very much for TV news.
There followed Blair's decision to levy taxes on university studies (50% of the studies
to be paid by the state and 50% by the student, by means of a loan from the state, that the students
would begin to pay back when they got employed).
The third report was about the war in Iraq.
BBC is the television paid by the public fund. It has no paid advertisement as it is for-
bidden by law. The money it receives from taxes is enough to cover distant countries and also TV
67
series. It even produces films or mini-series. The other channels are allowed to broadcast Ameri-
can series (Friends, Dawson's). They bring the necessary audience to the sale of advertising. Adver-
tising not as abundant as on the Romanian channels.
As an observation, I would like to mention the limited importance that television has
in the life of my friends in London. I try not to generalize, but I would like to highlight the fact that
Eveline and Jon have no TV set in their house, and K. and David turn it on rarely. I think Peter does-
n't even know what a TV set is, and he is not interested in knowing it, although he used to work
for a TV channel. Mariana, my cousin, says that their programs are bullshit (and K. agrees with
this). Now, if we come to think of it, we wonder: whose programs aren't bullshit?
But who appears in the press? Besides the national heroes, like rugby players, David
Beckham or the Prime Minister?
An interesting figure of London society is Roman Abramovici, the Russian owner of the
richest football club.
Everyone in London was amazed when this Russian mafia man came to the city, in the
richest city of Europe, and put 150 million pounds on the table and bought the football club. Since
then Abramovici has appeared once a week in the press. The press loves him because he is always
a subject: Abramovici does this, Abramovici does that. The English businessmen, the respectable
English businessmen say he is at the end of his career, and he is nothing else than a press mari-
onette. Meanwhile, a Russian is the owner of the most powerful British symbol. What a world!
What a world! Or as Caragiale would have put it: Look, even England has a Gigi Becali of her own.
68
69
14. An evening at the theatre
The only hobby I have in this world is the theatre. I am fond of going to the theatre (late-
ly I prefer the performances in unconventional places), of discovering new faces on the stage, of
communicating with such a world. I have had this virus since my childhood, when I used to go with
my parents to the Summer Theatre of Mamaia, when the theatres of Bucharest came on a tour on
the coast. Back then, going to the theatre supposed a whole social ritual. First of all you could hard-
ly find tickets. In the evening when we went to the theatre, my mother spent hours ironing my
father's shirts or my dresses, and she was the last to get dressed, usually she did this in a hurry. That's
why she always went out with the feeling she had left the iron machine connected to the source, or
that she had forgotten to turn off the gas. She always turned back to check it, which drove all of us
crazy, me, my father, even my little brother, although he was too little to be impatient.
Then all this agitation was cancelled at the theatre. We bought the program (we had
tens of theatre programs at home), we sat on the plastic chairs of the Summer Theatre and waited
for the play to begin. When the projectors were on, I was fascinated more by the mosquitoes
around them than by the actors on the stage. Then little by little I was attracted to the world on the
stage and forgot about the pestering insects.
After the theatre we always had dinner at the restaurant, at one of the little houses in
the Holiday Village of Mamaia. My parents ordered two dishes of meat, let me and my brother eat,
then after we had finished, they started to eat. They drank a beer, we drank a Pepsi, and then came
back home. Since those times I have had this habit: going to the theatre. As open mouth contem-
plation exercise and social event.
70
The English consider the theatre a social event first of all. The show is sold as an
evening out, also consisting of the discussion about the play in the foyer, restaurant at the end. A
pretty expensive evening out if we think of the price of a ticket (about 25 pounds, and the very
famous musicals cost even 40 pounds), of the double price of the refreshments in the theatre bar
or of the expensive bill of a dinner after the show.
As for the delight for the artistic performance, this depends on the person. What I could
notice was the reduced intensity of the applause at the end of the play. I think Romanians mani-
fest their admiration towards the actors much more loudly.
The System
In London there are over fifty theatre locations. Twenty of them host musicals, other
twenty host classical plays, and the rest fringe theatre. Besides these relatively central locations,
there are the theatres for the children, the stand-up comedy pubs, neighbourhood theatres, etc.
In the flier I took from Leicester Square and that presented all the week's shows, under
the map indicating the locations was written "Theatre Land". The theatres are organised on boule-
vards between Piccadilly Circus, Charing Cross Road, Covent Garden and Trafalgar Square. In-
between these limits one can find almost anything: musical, comedy, thriller, black comedy, clas-
sical and modern plays.
Any search for a play in the labyrinth of offers must start in Leicester Square, the mar-
ket in which you can find last minute offers, but also interesting offers for a complete evening at
the theatre (ticket + dinner at the restaurant). Here you can also take a flier or ask for the vendor's
advice on the choice of a play or a show you would like to see. Many times, passing by Leicester
Square one hour or half an hour before the play started, I was impressed by the queues at the lit-
tle ticket shops. Little after seven o'clock the agitation calms down as if by magic, and the vendors
regain their bored faces while gathering the advertising banners placed in front of the shops.
71
The spectators are already on their way to the theatre.
I wondered what the business with the tickets in Leicester Square was about, where
they got the money from?
The explanation proved to be simple: it seems they have deals with the theatres that
provide them with discount tickets (only, more expensive tickets). They sell them without commis-
sion or a smaller commission. Then the spectator finds tickets for various shows in the same place
and has the feeling he/she may choose. However, the ticket vendors in Leicester Square don't sell
tickets for all the plays, they focus on the successful shows (especially musicals). For the last minute
offers the same strategy works: they sell the tickets that are more expensive. In Leicester Square you
don't get a cheaper deal (which I was looking for). That's why a nicer vendor told me that I had
better buy the ticket directly at the theatre. There I had a real surprise. The tickets were from 7,5
to 37,5 pounds. At first, I wanted a 7,5 pound ticket but the vendor told me that these ones were
for the second balcony and that they had the obstructed view. I explained to her that I would have
liked a cheaper ticket that could allow me to see the stage well enough. She gave me a 12,5-pound
ticket and I was surprised to see that she had ticked a place in the sector of the 25-pound tickets.
I think I was a little lucky, but also the vendor was kind to sell a good ticket with such a discount,
as long as anyway there was no more time for anybody to buy it at its real price.
About theatre in terms of marketing
Like books, pop, disco or classical music, museums, I dare to say the theatre is consid-
ered a business in London. The actors, directors, writers sell leisure time. And because there is a
quite strong competition, they need means of promoting their creation.
In two or three tube stations (Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus or Covent Garden), on
the walls along the moving staircases I could see only theatre posters, in particular musicals (com-
72
mercial theatre, mass theatre, if you like), but of course classical theatre or fringe theatre, too.
Besides the sophisticated methods of theatre ticket distribution (discounts to last minute offers,
online reservations or through ticket agencies, the sale of theatre performance together with the
dinner at the restaurant), methods that obviously don't exist in Romania, I was impressed by the
strategies to promote shows.
In Romania, the actor brings audience to the theatre. Dinica or Moraru (famous Roman-
ian actors) will always bring the audience in the hall (even if only a particular kind of audience)
irrespective of the play. The tours of the Bucharest theatres rely on this strategy. They tour in other
towns with plays that don't mean a great deal for Bucharest audiences and they have record sales
of tickets (the price being double or even three times higher) only because the show is starring
Radu Beligan (famous Romanian actor), for instance.
Don't get me wrong, I don't criticise at all the theatre system in Romania. This proves
that we have an aged theatre audience and that, compared to the communist time, very little has
been invested in new names during the post-revolution period.
It is obvious. In Romania, the actor sells the play. In London, as I could see, the things
are a little bit different. The theatre doesn't rely on stars any more, but it tries to promote and sell
performances. Maybe this happens especially in the case of musicals (that have an interesting story
and system, as a matter of fact), but it is also obvious that the British focus rather on an entire pro-
duction than on a single name.
The explanation for the application of this strategy in the case of the musicals is sim-
ple. The musicals are mass shows. The spectators may be both British and foreign tourists. The lat-
ter ones cannot be convinced only by the name of a local star whom maybe they haven't heard of,
but they are sensitive to other advantages: a great production, a funny story, a fairytale story, etc.
From "Mama Mia", one of the latest productions of Les Misrables that has been played since
73
1985, the London musicals become brands. An this is because when the spectator goes to buy a
ticket, he/she doesn't ask at the box office: Whom do recommend me to see tonight? but What do
you recommend me to see tonight? a comedy, a musical, a love story? On the posters of the musi-
cals the actors' names are not written at all, except for the very rare cases, when it's a show that is
built around one or two characters.
It is the pragmatic way of the theatre to comply with the requirements of globalization.
And to adapt by means of marketing to the spectator's needs.
Of course there is also the sad reverse of this strategy: almost the annulment of the
actor. I said almost because on stage he/she may or may not be worth the money.
A musical is played in the same location each evening. This doesn't mean that the
respective theatre doesn't have a varied repertory, but that it presents only one play. Things work
in the purest capitalist style. If the tickets are sold, the show lasts the whole season. If it is not pop-
ular, it is given up. It's very simple and efficient. For the system. Less for the actor. The irony does-
n't come when one plays in a bad show that must be cancelled, but when one has the "luck" to
play in a successful play. Because one may be Jean Valjean each evening from seven to ten pm for
fifteen years.
The classical or fringe theatre has undoubtedly another story. The life of the shows is
shorter (sometimes it lasts even several months, when it is played every evening), but the promo-
tion means are different. The classical theatre focuses on the playwright and on the play first of all,
and then on the actors. It doesn't enjoy such an aggressive and bright promotion, but of course it
addresses a more sophisticated audience, that knows how to choose a play depending on the
author or actors.
Last but not least, I would like to highlight the importance the press has in the promo-
tion of the shows. It is absolutely necessary that on the poster, flier or the short presentation of the
74
75
production some words (sometimes interjections or exclamations such as Fantastic! Exceptional!)
should be written, that they should bear the signature of a newspaper, magazine, etc.
I wonder when the comment of some critics or journalists will count more than the
actors' name in the sale of theatre tickets in Bucharest? When this counts, it will mean we have an
influential cultural press, that has the capacity to set trends and to shape the taste. Until then, I will
get bored before the long and twisted sentences of some theatre reviews in Romania Libera or Ade-
varul (important central newspapers).
15. My friends and their
little London
I have written these essays for my friends in Romania. I needed a little organisation in
the turmoil and chaos of my stories about London.
But my London friends helped me a lot to understand that real, living London, other
than the one known by the groups of tourists who come on holiday in one of the most expensive
cities in the world. They helped me discover a part of their little London, allowing me to stay in
their homes for one week, advising me where to go or joining me in my city tours, allowing me to
know their friends or the places where they used to go. Besides this, they also allowed me to under-
stand their own relationship with the city. That's why my friends belong to my little London.
76
Eveline and Jon
Eveline is a young 23-year-old Canadian who is studying violin at the School of Art in
London. She is already in her last study year. In order to be able to pay her courses, which are very
expensive, she gives French and violin lessons. Also, she is a member of a rock band that has given
free concerts for two years in the London clubs. Now and then she is invited to little festivals in
Italy, a country with which she has a strong connection.
Eveline lives together with her boyfriend, Jon, an American professor of musicians' psy-
chology, in a little and coquettish district in the southwest of London. Jon is almost 30 years old
and is studying the techniques of improving musicians' memory and of controlling the strong emo-
tions, such as stage fright.
Undoubtedly, Eveline and Jon form a musical couple. The TV set doesn't exist in their
house, instead you can listen to classical music and jazz at lunch and dinner time. The lack of free
time makes them create a schedule for at least a month ahead, which they observe rigorously. Any
delay may mean the loss of a precious evening together. This doesn't mean they don't have time
for social activities. On the contrary, Eveline offered a generous party for Thanksgiving Day for me.
But they don't have time to go out to the cinema or to the theatre. Everything has to be planned
ahead in detail. Not to mention the luxury of going out for a beer with their friends. Her relation-
ship with the city is quite tense. Eveline would have liked London to be smaller because she has
to walk too much and on long distances. Its immensity tires her out. But she feels all right in her
little universe made up of the house and the district, and she understands the importance of her
music studies here.
Her little London is made up of Turnham Green, a coquettish district in Chiswick,
School of Art, the pubs where she gives the concerts together with her band (Water Rats Theatre is
the one where I was), Notting Hill, the district where her best friend lives, and different other dis-
tricts in London where her fellow students live.
77
78
Turnham Green is a district that has a little park in the middle, a church and a bridge
over which the tube passes. From the park, looking at the sky you can see the planes flying towards
unknown directions. An image of a permanent movement, a feeling you live in a place in which
people come and people go. A strange feeling of freedom. Crossing the little park you reach the
tube station which is surrounded by pubs, small shops, of which one is an excellent Charity Shop
(a superb concept of caring for society).
Somehow hidden from the passers by's eyes and open only on certain days of the
week, a gallery of contemporary art allowed me to admire its paintings from outside.
A Chinese restaurant, an Italian caf, an English pub where you can watch the football
games, a dry cleaner's, a photo shop, many food stores form the whole picture of the Turnham
Green district. Except for a cinema, the district didn't lack anything. In the middle of a huge urban
conglomerate, Turnham Green is built like a fancy little village.
K., David and Thomas
K. and David live in a district that is relatively parallel with Eveline's. East Putney is a
district that lies alongside the Thames in the western part of the city, much more widespread and
crowded. There are fast foods, the cafs belonging to the famous chains, universal stores and super-
markets. Unlike Turnham Green, East Putney is arranged exactly as a district in a big city should be.
K.'s London is made up of this district, where she and David managed to buy a pretty
spacious house, and of the office of the company where she works in the City of London. She goes
shopping in the district, she takes Tom, her two-year-old boy, to the kindergarten in the district, she
spends with Tom all her free mornings in the cafs of the district. K. has almost a family relation-
ship with the city. Although she admits certain impediments, one of them being the fact the peo-
ple in the metropolis are too busy and don't look for friends any more (as compared to Bucharest,
79
where people are more available for relationships), K. has managed to create a secure and com-
fortable little London. Her relationship with the city is a mature one, of mutual knowledge, of adap-
tation and acceptance. And maybe due to this calm and peaceful relationship, in K and David's
house in London I felt as if I were on holiday in the countryside. What an achievement!
David' city lies at the outskirts of London because he works there, but this doesn't pre-
vent him from preferring the train over his own car. A reason would be, of course, the financial one
(high prices of the oil, of parking) and also time. David saves time travelling by train to his office.
And although he complains that it is always funnier to bring Tom from the kindergarten than take
him in the morning, David finds the necessary time to go with Tom to the neighbourhood kinder-
garten each morning.
I cannot help writing about something that really amazed me with K. and David. And
I repeat, I saw this only in my friends, I cannot say it is defining for all the London families. K. works
part-time, so she has time to take Tom from the kindergarten each afternoon. At five or six o'clock
at the latest, she is at home. Around seven o'clock David arrives, too. K. prepares Tom for his bath,
but she doesn't start until David gets home. They wash Tom together, they stay in bed with him for
a while, read to him until he falls asleep. Until then, anything can happen: the phone can ring,
they can have guests, it doesn't matter to them. What I mean is that I was impressed by how care-
fully they do things together, spend time with their child, at least two hours every evening. This
happens in a city where chasing time becomes an obsession. I could also talk about sharing
responsibilities in the couple and assuming them, but I will not say a word as long as this book is
called Little London and not How to persuade your husband to assume the role of a father. If I
wrote it, David would be certainly a raw model. And he is not even English, he is Australian!
80
81
Peter
For Peter, London is his partner. He knows it better than any of his friends, he is on
good terms with it, he accepts it, he adapts to it without losing his personality. He has found that
London that suits him best and where he feels all right.
Peter was my official guide in this huge London. Unintentionally, he showed me the
one with which he is on excellent terms. Nightlife London, the London of parties and clubs, and
also the London of Les Misrables or of Covent Garden. I am aware that without Peter I would have
known and discovered less of London. But, wandering through London with Peter, I discovered
him, too. Although he was not born in London, Peter has become a true Londoner since he was a
teenager. He has adapted to the crazy life style, to living in common. London has brought him
financial and professional satisfactions. He became a real professional shortly, and what we call a
free lancer. He succeeded in becoming independent in a city where one week with no income
may throw you in the streets. At 23, Peter is independent, powerful, self-possessed. He doesn't lack
personal relations and knows how to share his little free time with his friends. And despite all this,
in a burst of sincerity, Peter confessed to me that his happiness was elsewhere. I knew that his plans
were a travel to Thailand and then to reach New Zealand, but I didn't realize he took it so serious-
ly and gave so much importance to it. At 23, with so many professional and social achievements,
he confesses to me that his happiness is elsewhere. Moreover: his happiness is a matter of have to.
I have to be happy, he told me in one of the most expensive London clubs. I replied saying that
happiness was not about have to be. Later, considering it better, I agreed with him. If each of us
planned to be happy, I believe the world would suffer less. Finally the pursuit of happiness is an
individual right. Some of us use it, others forget they have it Now and then, we need people like
Peter to remind us.
82
When I am writing these lines, almost five months after I spent time with Peter, he is
in Thailand. I am sure that if he hasn't found happiness there, he hasn't stopped searching for it.
Because he knows he has to be happy.
For him, London was just the departure point in this journey in the pursuit of happi-
ness. For me, it was the beach in Vama Veche that was the fuse. Then I realised that if you closed
your eyes and imagined the place you would like to reach, all the other obstacles disappeared.
Lack of money for the plane ticket, the queues at the embassy, the interviews for the visa and the
impossibility to get time off in the middle of November.
Who knows, maybe in the future, after Peter has finished his journey, like Coelho' s
Alchemist, he will have discovered that the philosopher's stone is home. And that the real treasure
is the courage of this journey in the pursuit of happiness. But by then, for a short time, his little
London was part of my journey in the pursuit of happiness. A London as little as the village at the
border of the country and with as many secrets and stories as Vama Veche has. .
And I thank him for this.
On my last London night I was with Peter at a birthday party of one of his friends. I had
to leave early because I had an early flight. At 12:30 p.m., Piccadilly Circus was still very crowd-
ed. At the exit, I kissed Peter good bye. Then I took a walk to breathe in the London air at night.
The streets were still full of people.
At 1 am, when I arrived in Putney, there was a party at one of the neighbourhood houses.
At 1 am, London was still partying.
At 7:30 am, when I left for the airport, London was taking a rest.
83
It was going to be a sunny day.
On the beach, the first nudies have already showed up.
(Bucharest, December 2003 - May 2004)
84
85 85

The Little London

Загружено:

Сведения о документе

Исходное описание:

Авторское право

Доступные форматы

Поделиться этим документом

Поделиться или встроить документ

Параметры публикации

Этот документ был вам полезен?

Это неприемлемый материал?

Авторское право:

Доступные форматы

The Little London

Загружено:

Авторское право:

Доступные форматы

2005

LiterNet Publishing House, 2005

2005 Claudia Crlig. All rights reserved to the authors.

Вам также может понравиться