I have no legs, I have no legs

Before coming here, I had just assumed the locals would be closed off to the idea of these stupid Americans invading their country, but that was just the beginning of my err--there is no such thing as a true "local" in this place--we're all transplants in one way or another. While New York City is the beacon of capitalism and American prosperity, London is the center of the universe. The streets are rich in every kind of culture you can imagine, but to them it's just a way of life. To walk down the street and be left guessing at what tongues hide in the mouths of strangers is truly dumbfounding. It reverses any insight I thought I had to how the world works.

We, as hypocritical Americans, have closed ourselves off to new and different cultures. We stole bits and pieces of what we liked, shunned what we didn't, and denied what we dont understand. Here, in London, the whole world is all around, and all you have to do is open your mouth and talk to someone and they'll be happy to share their story. I've found that to be the propriety of conversation in these parts: What's it like where you come form? It's what brings us together, and we leave the differences and unpleasantries behind.

I couldn't imagine a better place to learn about the world. This place is truly a gem. Just last night we ventured down to Brixton to checkout a free Reggae show at a bar called "Hootenanny." Stepping off the train down south we were bombarded by rastas selling trying to sell their wares to strangers. One man was entirely too forthcoming to be legitimate, but unfortunately my roommate invested in some very nice oregano. Too bad that's much better on pasta than inhaled into the lungs.

Continuing down, ignoring the winks, clicks, and hand gestures, we made our way to Hootenanny. Right on the corner of the main drag sits the venue, complete with a large outdoor sitting area where we found our classmates. Hootenanny itself is reminiscent of what would be an "Irish pub" in the states--red wooden features, embossed golden sign, stone dance floor, and Guinness on tap. In the corner, where we found our stay for much of the night, was a outdoor grill set up with £1 tacos and quesadillas. The grillmaster, Grant Winters, found that the local culture was lacking good mexican food, and decided to make this a weekly event. The popularity of it was astounding, he truly found his niche. Mexican food is something that Americans take for granted; here, you're much more likely to find more Asian oriented delicacies. The habanero he uses "burns the hell out of you, but you'll wake up with a stiffy like you've never had. It's like fucking viagra!" He was a great gent to meet, and I plan on returning at least once more before this trip is over.

Continuing on until 3 in the morning we watched, laughed, talked, and danced the night away. The performing acts were all very lively--their stage presences were something that I rarely see in America. It is as though their liberal breed allows them to cast hostilities and apprehensions aside and really set a fun tone for the evening. The group, Royal Gala, were fantastic! A jazzy brass band complemented a guitarist plucking ska riffs with a high-kicking woman belting her heart out. They play a sort of jazz-fusion mixed with a big band take on salsa music. Her voice was stellar, the band was having fun, the crowd was eating it up, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

The rest of the night we drank and danced to dub reggae music until it was way after the time to leave. At this point the tube was long past shut down, and instead we had to rely on the bus system, which is highly efficient, don't get me wrong, but way to confusing for a group of drunk kids lead by our drunk professor to figure our. Eventually we hopped off at Hyde Park, and began walking. A few kids and I decided it was a grand idea to skip out of the group, hop a fence, and cut directly through Hyde. The air was cool, the sun was rising, fellow possible hooligans were out, and our legs were hurting. We trudged on and on, and hours later were finally made our destination. My inkling to commandeer a boat and cut across the Serpentine pond was unfortunately shot down (am I the only one who enjoys half-brained, spur of the moment, fun ideas?).

At around 5:30 in the morning, we had made it. My bed never felt so comfortable.

And now, 8 hours later, it's time to do it all again. Cheers.