A pound sterling by any other name

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When is a pound sterling not a pound sterling? When you're in London, England, and the currency in your hand was printed by the Bank of Scotland -- apparently.

The clerk looked at the purple bill so queerly and asked, "What is that?"

 

I'd gone down from Edinburgh for an appointment and, with some time to kill, popped into a second-hand shop. Wasn't terribly tempted to buy anything - like I needed to buy anything! - but I found a thin book by Camus and a canvas money belt. When I went to pay for them I apologized for not having anything smaller than a twenty pound note. The clerk looked at the purple bill so queerly and asked, "What is that? Sorry, we only accept pounds." This is pound money, I said. So he went to double-check with his manager. She'd never seen such money either. Talk about thick! "Sorry sir....," the clerk said upon return. Whatever. Long live the Queen! I huffed and left the hicks to themselves.

Like New Yorkers some Londoners remain ignorant of things outside of their big metropolice.

(For the sake of knowledge, Scotland is part of the United Kingdom - said kingdom an extention of the House of Windsor (e.g., Prince Phillip is the Duke of Edinburgh) - and has as its currency the British pound; but being a seperate nation with her own federal bank Scotland prints her own notes which are, of course, of equal with those printed by the Bank of England).  

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Tate Modern Museum (London)

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Visited the Tate Modern along the Thames River. The building was once a factory of sorts and very immense within just as one would expect of a “working building” where ventilation and production were core. And, owing to that vast spaciousness, it’s impressive to walk through; not at all like a jam packed museum feel with wall-to-wall glass casings and paintings and roped-off artifacts. But that’s about as impressive as it got for me; that and the souvenir shop which, surprisingly, actually has many reasonably priced and discounted goodies. I went back twice just for the gift shop!

modern art pieces are what I would classify as crap for rich dummies

What didn’t lure me back were the modern art pieces. Most of it is what I would classify as crap for rich dummies. What do you offer to the man who has everything money can buy? A cock-and-bull story that no one in his right mind would buy! Hence exclusivity. Barring the canonized masters – Dali, Picasso, Lichtenstein, and even Pollock – I am greatly turned off by modern art, which, to me, smacks of a smart alecky affront where the story/explanation behind the piece counts for more than the art piece, per se. It’s not just a rock I found on my neighbor’s ranch but the rock which caught my attention when I decided to become a father and, thus, its potential energy is, in reality, active because it inspired me to enact my kinetic energy of reproduction; motion propelled by immobility!

(Gag!) Give that man a shovel.

There is actually a mirror taking up space in a gallery. Unlike the mirrors in the bathrooms this, otherwise, ordinary looking glass is glued to a canvas. And what goes onto canvases? Why, art of course – and boxers. This mirror was even naked of a frame. I’ve seen more creative works in a craft shop but because those things are actual and not symbolic they fail to impress rich dummies and qualify as art.

and, like Her Majesty, it is still around!

 plenty of space for plenty of sunflower seeds

 A nylon staircase which hangs from the ceiling. Pretty awesome!

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St Patrick's Day in Edinburgh

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Green is still big but bigger still are costumes. Don't know if it's a Scottish tradition but in Edinburgh, at least, St Patrick's Day looks a lot like Halloween -- minus Jack-o-Lanterns and scary get-ups. There were far more people dressed in funny or themed costumes than there were purposely wearing green clothing. The gag shops were busy yesterday! One louse burst in off the street and yelled to the annoyance of the entire store, "OI, YE SELL WIGS HERE-AH?"


And, god, can they put away the alcohol here! (But that by no means means these loud drunks can hold it down).

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St Christopher's Inn (Edinburgh)

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I took the train up from London (£60.50) on a Wednesday. The hostel has the best location in Edinburgh: right outside the train station…so it is super easy to find. I didn’t know it was there, though, and, in fact, trudged right pass it. Owing to my difficulties with the London branches I did not even St. Christopher’s Inn this time. But what the hell did I have to lose? So I walked in.

I was able to snag three nights in an 8-bed dorm! As it turned out the Six Nation Rugby Tourney was happening that weekend (Scotland v. France) so, like all other places in town, the hostel was already sold out for Saturday and Sunday.

The electronic card keys were a pain in the ass. You had to keep s-l-o-w-l-y swiping it, hoping it would catch eventually

Had an enjoyable stay. The bed was comfortable and no real roommate horror stories.  Plus inside the room was a bathroom and (hot!)shower. On the 1^st Floor is a chill-out room which is cool and comfortable – but a little too chill with the ultra dim lighting. Without light one cannot read, study or type; and since the only other social space of all St. Christopher’s is its Belushi’s sport bar that ain’t exactly helpful to concentration either. The electronic card keys were a pain in the ass. You had to keep s-l-o-w-l-y swiping it, hoping it would catch eventually. A real pain in the ass, that.

On Friday night the bar hosted Oscars Night trivia contest in honor of the upcoming Sunday’s Academy Awards Show. I gave my team the winning edge in the charades tie-breaker (Answer: The Matrix) but the other team were sore losers because they couldn’t act out/guess Pirates of the Caribbean so there was a dance off as another tie-breaker. Their team chose a girl. Our team had no girls. We could’ve had Usher and would’ve still lost. We were robbed!

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A mink for a hat

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Low on cash – and patience for toting around my ever heavy suitcase (no matter how much I discard along the way the load never seems to lessen) – I decided to sell some of my stylish clothes to retro clothing boutiques. Hated to part with my stuff but…oh well. Getting something for something is some consolation, at least.

…in exchange for my silk bow tie and mink  collar

Didn’t have the success I imagined. What the kind lady was willing to offer essentially amounted to two day’s lunch money. No thank you, ma’am. Then I started browsing around and zeroed in on the selection of men’s hats – a little window shopping never hurt! – and she noticed. “If you like a hat,” she said, “maybe we can make an exchange.” Oh? Well! I am in need of a dress hat and I am here to get rid of some things, I reasoned internally hoping I was maintaining a poker face.

As it happened the only two hats in the shop I liked were my size with one being a tad bit more my style and sitting just a bit more comfortably on my head.  So…I got a new top (German handmade) in exchange for my silk bow tie (Saks Fifth Ave), whose size I regarded a bit too dandyish and never got used to, and mink collar which, believe it or not, I found one night on the street in London.

my new cool ass hat 

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I found ten pounds (Edinburgh)

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I'm hurting for cash so I considered it mighty good fortune to find a ten pound note directly on the floor in front of me. Sort of ironic it happened in a Pound Store (the UK equivalent of our Dollar stores). This money I pocketed and was glad for it. I'm honest but I'm not a fool who finds virtue in poverty. Hello!

(read about the wallet I found weeks prior)

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Scenes from Rome

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Here are the only photographs remaining from my trip to Rome, Italy after my laptop was stolen last year in Mexico. Funny thing is it’s one of the only times I used a camera during my travels…snapped loads of shots and, yet, just as before, I’ve no pictures to show of the trip. Ha.

  la Via del Condotti , the well known rich shopping street. Think Rodeo Drive a la italia.

The famous stairs were tourists and hustlers, alike, chill. The architecture truly is impressive (but the subway system sucks culo!)

And a self-portrait…cool as ever. And no longer own a single shred of the clothing shown. Gots to travel light, baby!

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I returned a lost wallet (London)

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"See something, say something" is catchy -- but rubbish (in as far as folks follow it). 

I sat in the only other available seat in the subway, the other one being taken up by this lady's shoulder bag, which I thought that was rude of her until I realized that, unlike any other woman, she did not pull the bag closer so...the bag wasn't her's?? Nor did the gentleman sitting across the aisle appear to possess any ownership of it. In fact, as I looked around the crowded car zero eyes appeared to be watching this Puma bag (which I initially thought was too sporty for the lady anyway but what do I know?). One stop later nearly the entire car empties and there still sat the bag; on the next stop, which was mine, I took it.


I imagined nothing dangerous about it - hell, if it was going to detonate, then it was going to blow us up whether I picked it up or not - because I refuse to swallow the paranoia gov't propaganda perpetuates to partial away all public and private corners of comfort, convenience, and common sense. But I was displeased and put off by the 'self-preservation' of everyone in that subway car: not one of those "civilized" bastards sought out a platform official and I'll bet a hundred pound sterling no one tried to call back the passenger who forgot it; but, hey, they were "decent" enough not to steal it, right? Just ignored it and let it be.

 What comes around, goes around

I hoped there were bricks of cash or diamonds inside but there were none. It was just some guy's stuff: cellphone, newly bought neckties, loads of hair dyes (I imagine he worked in a salon), several pieces of identification, digital camera, and a wallet with sufficient cash and credit cards. Was I tempted? Certainly. Do I know the Principal of 'finders keepers, losers weepers'? Certainly. But, then, I also KNEW this belonged to so-and-so...there was his face and name and address and, by extension, his story: he was a German tourist and he'd lost his belongings! Plainly, this wasn't mine to keep. And since it wasn't bricks of cash or diamonds what then, after all, was there to keep?


I've walked off many a-times and left behind stuff like shoes, gloves, hats, cell phones and, yes, money. Only in one country were any of those things returned to me: Germany. So I felt all the more compelled to turn this man's lost bag. What comes around, goes around. 

I refuse to swallow the paranoia gov't propaganda perpetuates to partial away all public and private corners of comfort, convenience, and common sense

The station manager looked at me strangely as if stunned by confusion or something. I didn't like the way he was looking at me so I repeated my stated business because either a) he didn't comprehend me and b) I had to pee -- really, really badly. At length he said, still unsure, You're a braaave man to pick up things like this! What his tone said, however, was that I was crazy but, being a transport official, he couldn't very well discourage good Samaritanism/civil obedience/honesty.

I had to stick around and witness his itemizing the inventory (he counted out the monies a little too slowly for my bursting bladder). While there the lost cell phone buzzed! Turns out the tourist was on his way back to Germany. He beat it back to the tube station and correctly identified the contents of the bag. Grateful, the man offered me the British money (£15) and was more than willing to reward me all of the euros (€95) in the wallet but I was cool with accepting an additional €20; I was just so happy that he was happy and grateful, and that his trip wasn't effed up by this blunder. 

There are good people in the world -- and I like to prove that I'm one of them. 

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Obnoxiously loud Spanish speakers

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Why are Italian and Spanish-speaking peoples so obnoxiously loud?! In the hostels they are always the ridiculously loud guests; with them there's no such thing as talking -- every communication amounts to shouting.

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