Well, let’s see what happens. I’m still so over the moon about our -humble-cozy london winter wedding followed by lavish summer fête in KL- agenda. Still so.. topsy-turvy tummy.
London.
Have you ever noticed how it smells? Its unlike any city I’ve been to (not to say I’m a well-travelled man, but I’ve been to enough places to know what I’m talking about). London lives under a blanket of smog, and the air is a mixture of eveything living in it. I noticed it the first time I came here. It was April 2000, and I travelled from Antwerp to London for an interview which would eventually lead to a job. I remember walking out of the Eurostar terminal at Waterloo station and the first thing that hit me was the smell: the smell of warm rubber, stale air from the underground network rising up through vents from the bowels of the city, exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke - all mixed into one. I’m probably forgetting some other fine elements, but I’m sure you get the idea. London smells. London was alien to me. Everything moved at least twice as fast than where I come from, and everything looks grey, miserable and dirty. And another thing I noticed: Its not just the smell - its the dirt. Not even dirt. Grime. London has risen out of a tar pit, and the black, dried up remnants cling to the buildings.
So I wandered around. I zig-zagged through little streets, big streets, cobbled alleyways, busy streets and squares becoming overwhelmed by two conflicting feelings at once - the excitement of being in London and possibly live/work here; and the observation that its a very cold and grey place to be.
London was almost the complete antithesis of Antwerp, and, after finally moving here in the summer that year I missed my Heimat. I missed late lazy nights with my friends, quiet streets, the food… I felt eerily detached from life. I came to London to work, not to live. And so, for a couple of years I’d see London as a means to an end. When I wrote down my location, I’d write “97% London/UK, 3% Antwerp/BE” - always indicating my roots; in some way - I think - to create a barrier between me and the place. Here, I’d work. If I wanted to relax, I’d go back to Antwerp - to live. Every time I would go back to work, I did so with a forlorn smile. BACK TO WORK, GOODBYE LIFE. But I wanted to stay… just a bit longer.
And then something very strange happened. When I arrived back in London I felt at ease with myself. I returned home. I returned to work. My work had defined me.
I’ve lived here a little over 6 years now. It all started as a “2 year business plan”: Get in / learn / establish yourself / get out. But somewhere along the line 2 years became 3, 3 became 4 and so on… and I fell in love with the city: the hectic life, the diversity, the people, the food, the shops, the noise, the sirens, the shouting, the cafes, the restaurants, and those old blackened buildings.
In November, I will be together with my sweeti for 2 years. I want to give her everything.
I do my best not to work too much.
I live here now.
And every time I come back I take a deep breath and suck in all the smell. Aah London.
Herr Doktor
London/UK
So we are in Antwerp. I have to say this quaint town is far from the marauding madness that is London- certainly a retreat for bored, overworked artisans on the verge of a nervous breakdown. i am not one of them. really, i am doing fine. i just haven’t got any good concepts for upcoming photoshoots. still, the best part of this retreat is going through it all again and yet still feeling like it’s the first time- this included:
· seeing the same white cat from many months ago roosting in the window display- this time there were three of them even! Cat 1 and 2 looking very snug in a found shoebox and Cat 3 in the corner looking at me looking at her very excitedly.
· walking through the same cobbled streets and going ‘Kobble-kobble!’ in a very hard accent and heels going ‘Tip-tip-tip-tip’- tottering along rows and rows of medievel buildings.
· once again going for waffles with syrup and ice cream in the same shop from many months ago- a trip to antwerp is no good without belgian waffles. and pralines. and mussels boiled with onions and celery like we had for dinner. and then there is teatime- a palatable serving of cheese and salami and a glass of wine in a hidden courtyard cafe tucked away from the hubbub
And then there were first-time activities-
· a look-see around Rubens’ house. Rubenshuis. The modest mansion of the superstar baroque artist. Mother would love his garden.
· then there was the wedding party- copious amounts of alcohol and a whole she-bang of live medley music- a startling rendition of Blur’s Boys and Girls which overlapped into Eurhythmics’ Sweet Dreams and other 80’s cheese through to 90’s hip hop and even Rage Against The Machine! Very amusing indeed. More high school prom night than formal uppity wedding party- the former being most favourable- except for the plastic coconut trees and tropical beach decorations.
and then, my first dance with Herr Doktor.
