London Calling

London was an absolute blast. Stephie was a wonderful hostess and I had a great time dropping in on her London life and getting to know her Australian roommates. My initial arrival was a little rough as I had to haul my weight in luggage up stairs, down stairs, and through the rainy London streets all by my lonesome. A lucky break came when I found an abandoned shopping cart in the street to throw all of my bags in.


One of the wheels was a little off, so it was a challenge keeping the bugger straight. I was gross and unkempt from travel with frizzed out hair from the rain, showing my true colors as a scraggly vagabond bag lady.






During the day, I did my tourist duty by visiting all the iconic London spots (Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, the Thames, etc.) and feasting my eyes on all the fantastic art the city had to offer. It visited the National Gallery and the Tate Modern to see some of the works which had fascinated me in my Art History classes.

It was truly moving to see such significant and beautiful masterpieces come to life before my eyes. I was especially excited when Jason took us to Christie’s (his place of employment, the lucky bloke) to see the exhibition of the upcoming “Post-War & Contemporary Art” auction. This was a real treat, as it was unexpected and all the works were completely new to me. I was familiar with most of the artists, but the auction house had a fresher feel than a museum. How thrilling to know that I was amidst the actual art market and perhaps even surrounded by potential buyers and collectors!

Most of the works had price estimates posted, and since I was with insiders (Stephie also works for Christie’s), I found out the predicted values of the the show’s featured (and thus most expensive) pieces. I love art, but it is a little sickening to think about the millions upon millions (upon millions, ad nauseum) of dollars that are thrown around for something that will hang on a wall.

It’s hard not see those prices without remembering the little indigenous kids of south Quito whose parents could barely afford a four dollar textbook. The world economy is clearly a lot more complicated than that simple juxtaposition, but it’s still an important paradigm to consider.


The exorbitance of the art market is, in fact, a common theme of post-modernism itself. An interesting piece I saw at Christie’s was a simple photograph of the price tags of two works sold at another auction. This image derived its value by highlighting the specific nature of art as commodity. Since the work was on display at an important sale by a major auction house (and for a pretty penny, I may add), it naturally implicates itself. This then questions the entire art market and perhaps the very meaning of Art.

Does value have to be sanctioned by a prestigious institution? What is the difference between something that is merely beautiful and something that is officially labeled ‘art’? What does the buyer of this piece have on the brain? Does he/she realize the irony in spending thousands on something that mocks (or applauds, who knows?) such astronomical prices? How should the general public read this work? It does bring us back to the question of how to rationalize the billions of dollars that are spent on nothing more than improving the aesthetic experience of the rich. But where would we be without art? Thinking globally, what does all of this say about our financial framework of extreme haves and have-nots? Food for thought, I say. (Jason, this digression is dedicated to you. Thanks again for Christie’s!)



The following day, Stephie and I visited Southall, a section of London that is sometimes referred to as Little India. I had read about the area in Brian Keith Axel’s The Nation’s Tortured Body when I was the Asian Religions teacher’s assistant at Tech. The book explores the historical and political contexts in which a Sikh identity of surrender and displacement was constructed. Axel makes interesting commentary on the role identity (racial, ethnic, etc.) plays in the concept of nationhood.


Southall is a prime example of an “ethnic” community, and I thought it would be fascinating to see it firsthand. Many of the men and women sported traditional Indian garb and spoke little English. We had some delicious curry and I bought a scarf, a pair of earrings, and some rockin’ Punjabi hip-hop. It really whet my appetite for Jordan and the chance to experience another language and culture. I even learned the Punjabi word for “thank you” (Shukreeya), which is very similar to Arabic (Shukrun).



Despite being excited for the Middle East, I was very sad to say good-bye to Stephie and my new Australian friends. We had a ripping time (thanks for the new slang, blokes) boogying down to live music at two great clubs. FM was full of Filipinos and featured an awesome band covering Rhianna’s “Umbrella” and that self-righteous ‘when you practice what you preach’ Black Eyed Peas song. We got crazy at the Walkabout, drinking and bathing in “snakebite”, some sort of Aussie potion that tasted like a mixture of beer and jungle juice. I was delighted to see the fun life Stephie had built for herself. It made me proud of her and extremely excited for my own impending journey. Thanks again, mate!


I spent most of the flight to Jordan in a state of shock, unable to comprehend that my long-held dream was finally happening. Nonetheless, as the lights of Amman became visible from the plane, my excitement grew and I was reminded of all the other significant plane landings in my life: San Salvador, Barcelona, Fresno (before going on to Yosemite), Mexico City, and both times coming into Quito. I define myself by these experiences. Finding myself on the brink of another one, I was filled with an electric energy incomparable to anything else. The second the wheels hit the tarmac, every cell of my body smiled, “YES!” and I knew all my anticipation and preparation for this trip were well worth it.