Monday 12 January 2009

Copenhagen Graffiti

This will only be really understood by my friend Abid who once visited me in Copenhagen and found the city's graffiti as witty as I did. This is in his honor of his recent 'Berlin Graffiti' post as I recalled our days in Copenhagen reading tags such as "187 = Murder" and the like. You may not get the extent of absurdity, but surely you'll see its irony.

On the contrary..

Ok I know I'm on this positivity and London glorification streak but today I experienced a bit of a drawback. For one, the rest of the week's weather forecast is cloudy and rainy but thank goodness I'm off to Barcelona on Friday. London gets off easy with this one.

But get this - and it's not a surprise to Brits if you ask one - they slack at work and oftentimes the processes and proofs of identity required to get stuff done is absolutely moronic and a complete waste of time. Before I get into this, I want to site David Williams' character named Carol Beer, a British woman working in a US hospital. The gist of her character is that she 'can't be bothered' to do, well, anything. She always tells patients that the "computer says no" to anything they query. If anyone wants to know what it's like running errands in London and getting anything done, just watch a skit of Carol Beer and you will get the gist. Basically, you will leave unsatisfied and frustrated.

Today I went to Natwest to upgrade my bank accout from STEP (a student account) to anything else. I was ensured a few months ago that this would be possible as soon as I got my first pay stub. Well I went in and I went prepared, knowing whoever helped me might ask for something that the other attendant didn't, like a phone and/or utility bill, council tax, national insurance number, 10 proofs of identity, gym membership, Blockbuster card, computer serial number, and airline and supermarket rewards cards. I brought everything you could think of except Natwest statements. And what did this person tell me I was missing? An original Natwest statement - no copies.

Why on earth would they need a copy of something that came out of their own system? But fine, I'm quite tolerant at the moment and I wasn't surprised as this happens ALL THE TIME in Britain. It takes 10 days to get anything done here that would take a few hours in the States. Just to get a sense of having something and anything done in regards to my bank account, I asked questions such as what kind of account could I switch to, would there be an annual fee, can I add additional users to the account, etc. You know what he said? "I can give you that information when you come in next time."

I said, "Well I live right down the road; I could grab the rest that is needed." He replied, "We're closing in 20 minutes so you could come in tomorrow and I'd be glad to help." What he meant was, "I'm lazy and I hate working and I don't want you to come back when I have 10 minutes til I'm off."

The woman who helped me before told me that all I need is a pay stub to show proof of employment and that I am no longer a student. This is why I waited until now to change it and not in October when I inquired in the first place. She never said anything about needing an original Natwest account statement.

There are ALWAYS inconsistencies in what people tell you here. Either the systems are flawed or the people are lazy and/or stupid.

One more thing before I get myself wound up...I popped into the post office to mail a package to the Philippines. There are pens available to the public but they are on a narrow table in which the line forms alongside. Because the line was to a certain length, I could not access the pens so I asked the lady behind the counter - very nicely - if I could borrow one of her pens (she had a bunch of them in front of her). She said no, "They are over there for you to use."

IT IS VERY HARD TO STAY POSITIVE IN A PLACE THAT BREEDS DISAPPOINTMENT AT EVERY CORNER.

Wednesday 7 January 2009

I Love London Again

After two hectic weeks in foreign countries - Christmas in Denmark and New Years in Morocco - I remember why I love London. And for everything I've complained about aimlessly as a result of Jeppe's anti-American antics or Bill Maher's bitching or Michael Moore's righteousness and all the related American denunciation, worthy or not, for once London is the closest thing to home. As a result of the abovementioned, I realise I've gradually built a defense mechanism for what I call home which engineered a heating pot of contempt toward European arrogance. Being away from America's sister country, however, I've realised I've been wrong and all it's been probably results from being with someone who is Danish, from one of the 'most happy' and prosperous societies in the world. Of course this issue is up for debate and I'll be the first to argue it if anyone is interested.

But that is besides the point. I apologise for being overly critical about my experiences here in previous posts. I've been a victim of stereotyping and am guilty for the exact thing I hate hearing about "Americans". Between Jeppe and I, in fact, we joke that I'm starting to sound like Bill O'Reilly. I guess it's funny but maybe not if you know my temper.

The point, being that my title for this post is "I Love London Again", is that it is great to be home! You can how Denmark turned out. Morocco, well, we ended up leaving 5 days early. So bad we tossed our return tickets and bought new one-way fares instead. Expensive ones. Alas we are home and upon reflection I've realised a few things.

For one, Morocco is the 'most accessible' Arab country in the world according to travel experts. Indeed it was interesting hearing Allah Akbar 6 times a day, meeting Moroccan Muslims, and learning about a country fused with French culture, well language really. What we learned, on the contrary, is that it wasn't the 'most accessible' country by any means. Our naivety foremost was a hindrance as was the language barrier. I've experienced French arrogance before, but after our recent Paris visit for Alyssa's birthday, my opinions were slightly retracted. The French's love affair with their language - even in Marrakech - revived my French loathing.

Two, the recent Israeli/Gaza business resulted in a Morocco warning email in my inbox. Americans in the area, mainly Casablanca, were instructed to keep a low profile. A few travelers we met camping out in the Zagora desert (after camel riding, one of the cooler things we did) said a group of 300 children swarmed their train on the way from Tangier to Marrakech. As the kids were screaming 'Gringos!' climbing the carriage and breaking into the windows, the tour guide translated that they were saying, "Kill Obama, Kill Obama". Obviously this was immediately after his statement on Israel. Luckily they survived the aggression after the tour guide whipped out chains and started hitting the kids away, defending their clients. Why he had chains on him is beyond me.

Similarly, we were circled around the souks in Marrakech for about 30 minutes. It came to a point where I almost cried with my mind questioning whether I've watched one too many movies or whether I should be realistic. We were led into some really dodgy alley ways where we seemed to be far from the central square. Honestly, I was thinking that someone put a price tag on 'gringo' heads and the person with whom we seeked direction (and couldn't really communicate with) saw dollar sign opportunity. After bothering him several times as this fellow continuously walked 100 feet ahead of us, we arrived near the square. Jeppe tipped him 20 durhams (Moroccan currency). The young man saw he had two other 20s wadded up with it and demanded them as well.

This is not the only instance where we were ripped off. Basically it happened all the time. We had a tour guide one day who was honest. He had told us we were paying way too much for everything. At the same time, we couldn't make a fuss in a foreign country. Usually you respect their customs, but in Morocco we were just getting haggled. Worst off, Jeppe's American Express got hacked by £8,000!

A group of young men also asked us to buy alcohol for them wherein Jeppe agreed yet I felt hesitant. Little did we know when we arrived to the alcohol section of the store, there was hefty security with a gate and people congregating in front trying to get in. I asked someone inside if what we were doing was safe, and I'll never forget the way he said no. Let's just say I was scared to see the disappointment and reaction of the guy outside.

One night we asked a cab driver to take us to a Japanese restaurant providing a written address since communication was impossible. He said no and took us to another one. Once he dropped us off, Jeppe gave him the bill and waited for change. Of course this did not happen, and the guy drove off in his taxi. Finding out the restaurant was booked - it being New Years Eve - we went out hailing cabs asking them one by one if they could take us to the initally planned Japanese restaurant. Three or four times they each said no. After a while we freaked out being stranded in the middle of no where, and of course it was impossible to retrace our path to the hotel as there are no street signs anywhere. Well in the end we got our sushi and found out the cab drivers may have denied us because it is located behind a nightclub infamous to their foreign gay clientele.

On a night stroll, a man screamed out the car window to us after Jeppe had squeezed me next to him. Granted we respect their culture and the fact their women serve more oppressed roles, I also felt it was evening and quiet and it wasn't exactly the most boisterous PDA.

Thirdly, it was more expensive than we thought. Hotel was averaging £100/night and they were filthy. Coming from Vegas I know my expectations are a bit unrealistic, but really, these places were not worth £100.

At one stall, a vendor asked for 3,000 durhams for 3 articles of Moroccan clothing. This is over $300!! I've been to poor countries - the Philippines and Mexico, swapmeets across the States, etc; these people were unreasonable.

Which brings me to my fourth point - absent modernisation. Though once a French colony, Marrakech is wholeheartedly an Islamic nation and quite conventional in many ways (though it was fun to see the enthusiasm of our tour guide when he eagerly said cell phone integration in their city in the last 7-8 years is major progress). Reminiscent of Mexico, many of the buildings are half-done or have been left alone to rot. Young children work in labor. It seems there is no regulation anywhere - with safety, traffic, health.. Outside of the Medina, the oldest part of the city, is where many tourists tend to reside and in these areas it is hard to find things we have on our doorstep.

During our desert tour to the Zagora desert, we passed many towns. Many towns which were so poor. There is an evident potential for a tourism industry but no doubt will it take at least 20 years before any growth should appear. We found out during our Zagora tour that we paid almost double as everyone else and we didn't get the English guide as promised, we left 45 minutes late, and the driver wasn't willing to stop upon request which was also promised. Eight hours to Zagora and eight hours back with no vanguard wasn't exactly enlightening. We passed through Ourzazate to Ait Benhaddou were many films such as Gladiator, Babel, Black Hawk Down, Mummy, and The Hills Have Eyes II were shot, but we were unable to ask any questions to our guide or anyone in these towns really. Speaking English would indefinitely help expand their market.

Internet was rare and even if there was an internet transaction such as hotel or car reservations, no confirmation emails were sent so we would spend time and money getting from place to place just to make sure we had a roof the next day. We initially rented a car to tour Morocco ourselves, but changed our minds after seeing that GPS rental is non-existent and virtually no street signs exist in the country. That, plus everyone in Marrakech highly recommended we make alternate plans because of safety.

What I thought was going to provide a wider array of fish and fruit and price than Great Britain ended up being a narrow selection of tangine, mint tea, stale bread, and canned foods.

Perhaps I watch too much CNN and Fox. Nevertheless I didn't feel comfortable, safe, and the trip ended up being more work than vacation. We had false expectations thinking it would be a warm holiday to a relatively near exotic and cheap location. Sure it was warm but the latter two definitely not. Finally, it was nearly impossible to get around if you don't speak a lick of French. They don't even want to try understanding your non-verbal cues. I thought a trip to Morocco would be an adventure but it was really a ginormous migraine headache.

Arriving London gave me foresight into entering heaven. I appreciate everything now and I won't complain for at least a few weeks. :) Sainsburys is like a dream come true as is being able to talk to people, a simple pleasure often taken for granted. Several officers addressed me in the airport regarding a landing card and for each it took me several seconds to snap back into my native tongue. And they smiled. Perhaps things like this have happened before but I've been so wrapped up in my I Love America World that I've failed to acknowledge it.

We've been back since Monday, a few days now, and the real vacation has been enjoyed. I'm lovin London and for the first time in a few years, I feel quite optimistic and excited about my birthday. It's my last bit of hope to celebrate the final part of the holidays with fun and normalcy as Christmas in Denmark and New Years in Morocco have been foreign experiences, both literally and figuratively.

Morocco pictures will be shared soon and similar to my Demark pictures, they're the better, more sugar coated parts of the trip. :)