How We Got Here

I flew to England on an early morning plane. That's how RyanAir gets you-- you'll pay 40 Euro more for the flights at a decent hour. To ensure that I'd arrive at the airport with ample time for things to go wrong (as one would expect they are bound to), I took a 4am taxi to the Madrid Bajaras Airport. The night and early hours of the morning had been fun, a goodbye party thrown by my friend Rachel in Madrid and her tourism friends. Still, the night yeilded only 30 minutes of a quick nap and a rushed packing job to catch the taxi in time. My eyes drooped as we sped down the Spanish motorway, and I tried to mentally brace myself for the cold I was to meet in London. English tourists I'd met in Madrid had warned me it had snowed in their nation's capitol earlier that week.

I slept through the majority of the flight, and only opened my eyes with a jolt of turbulance that signified we were coming in through the low cloud cover for a landing. I felt wretched. I'd had no food at the Madrid airport, preferring to curl up on a bench and catch a few winks before the flight took off. I looked out the window as the plane approached the earth. What was this? Trees? Cottages? Low-lying stone walls? Where were the skyscrapers of London? Where was the majestic Thames? I had been told by an English friend that London Stanstead Airport, unlike the majority of RyanAir airports, was actually in London and would be a short trip by Underground to Victoria Station where I was to catch a Megabus to Oxford in exactly 1 hour and 45 minutes. But no such luck here. Once off the plane I learned London was an hour away by train-- a 28 Pound train. I had bought some Pounds off my friends before leaving and had exactly 30. With no other choice, I hopped on the train and watched the English countryside fly by until we dove underground and all signs of life were out of sight. The train was express to Liverpool Street Station, and from there I had just 30 minutes to get across one of the largest metropolitan areas in Europe. Easy, I figured. London had that lovely advanced transportation system speeding along beneath it, the veins carrying the lifeblood of the city. Wrong-o. This was a Sunday.

When they say "Mind the Gap", it is common to assume they are referring to the gap between the train and the platform. But it is also necessary, when relying on the London Tubes, to mind a different sort of gap-- the gap in service. Many train lines do not fuction at all on weekends, and many others have limited or no service due to construction (mostly to get things up to par for the 2012 Olympics to be held here). Such was the case with service to Victoria Station, where my bus was to leave from shortly. As it turned out, there was absolutely no service to Victoria on that particular day. With just two Pounds on me, it was clear I was going to have to dive into plan B. After queueing for nearly 10 minutes at an ATM I was finally able to take out a sufficient amount of Sterling. I hailed one of the famous London taxis and announced "Victoria Station please, as quickly as possible." The driver looked concerend. "It's Remembrance Day, Madam," he said in a thick Cockney accent. I looked puzzled. "Most of the roads is closed, Madam, but I'll try to go via Embankment, tha' should do well." Just exactly how much of an inconvenience this Rememberance Day would prove soon dawned on us both. Or at least on me. My driver, I'm sure, was well aware of which roads would be unaccessible, and was just taking me for a very expensive piss. Military marching brigades lined the streets, constables with red poppies pinned to their lapels directed traffic away from every single bridge across the river. "I'm afraid this one's closed too, Madam, wha' a shame..." the driver said at every turn. My heart sank as I watched the clock tick ever closer to 9:30 and the meter tick ever higher. "The Queens in town, you know, Madam," the driver rambled on, driving past the same closed bridge for the third time. "Highly inconvenient if you ask me!" he muttered, laying on the horn as a police vehicle cut him off. I had to agree.

A 27 Pound taxi ride later, I was wandering around Victoria Station trying to find the bus stop. I knew I'd missed the bus, but was hoping the next one would honor my ticket. After being given false directions by at least five less than helpful passersby (apparently Rememberance Day has nothing to do with being able to remember the geography of one's city). At long last, a bus pulled up, the 10 Pound Oxford-London bus. An advertisement of free wireless onboard lured me to give up my Megabus plans and simply buy a ticket for this bus. Several long hours later, after a faulty sink in the bus's toilet had soaked my left side, I was in Oxford. I was tired, hungry, and broke again. I felt like a true warrior, having survived the long and hard trip from Mardid to Oxford, by air and by land (though thankfully not by sea).

It was my cousin Clare who I had come to visit in Oxford. She is working on her PhD., but in addition to school work and other jobs, she coaches soccer to a group of refugee and assylum seeking teenage boys, mostly from the Middle East and Africa. They have all come to Oxford seeking better futures, as many of them were orphaned in their home countries and are escaping from war or persecution. Through soccer, she teaches them skills they'll need to communicate and develop into adults and professionals. Though some of them have been living in Oxford for several years, with host families who take them in and offer support, deportation is always lurking on the horizon. British law states that as the boys approach adulthood they can be deported, though they have no support system in the countries they fled from and sometimes a very limited chance of survival upon returning home.

Clare, always the cheerful optimist, was telling her young players, who remain hopeful and friendly despite the horrors in their lives, that her cousin was visiting her. "She's come from Spain," Clare told them excitedly. "I also came from Spain," one of the players answered. Clare, somewhat surprised, asked him about the country and what cities he'd visited. "I don't know," he answered. "I was tied to the bottom of a truck the whole time." When Clare told me this story, my own trials and tribulations to get from Madrid to Oxford seemed like a stroll through Buckingham Palace Grounds. This boy, not so much younger than myself, had faced a life threatening journey from Afghanistan, where his parents had been murdered. He had not had the luxury of flying RyanAir, the cheap as shit airline we all complain about for its poor service, but had been transported illegally beneath a truck with four other boys, only two of whom survived the journey.

There are many roads to get from one place to another. If we remember anything on Rememberance Day, let us not forget that.

Yes We Can Change The World

Today is the greatest day I've ever known, can't wait for tomorrow.

I'm sitting here in a cold spanish apartment surrounded by the smells of onions cooking in butter. I'm listening to Nas's "Black President", staring out the window at the blue sky between the clouds as the daylight draws to an end. I pray we're ready to have a black president. I pray we can change the world. I wish that TuPac and Martin Luther King could have lived to see this moment. It's wonderful to think that everyone who is alive today has lived to witness such a wonderful thing occur.

"All my life, there's trouble in America. All my life, there's panic in America. All my life, so stressed in America." -Razorlight, America

I found five euro on the ground this morning, I sensed it was a good sign. Liverpool scored a penalty kick in the last few minutes of their game against Atletico, tying the score. Another good sign in my twisted mind where the fate of the world can be left in the hands of a piece of monetary currency or an English soccer team.

Spent my lunch break today chatting with Brits, Australians, Germans, and Americans about the election. "It's enough to make me go to church" said an Aussie. We're all praying. Trying not to admit to our immense inner fears that what we dream cannot come true.

"In America... but when the president is never black, female, or gay, and until that day, you got nothing to say to me to make me believe." -Morrissey, America is Not the World

"It's bound to crumble, isn't it," an Australian said to me today. I nodded silently. If we can't get our act together, yes. Every empire has fallen.

Stopped at an Irish pub to ask if they'd play coverage of the election. O'Connell Street, it's called. The Spanish barman said he'd play it if we wanted to see it. Overjoyed, we left the pub and stood outside making plans for the evening. The barman ran back out and asked "Wait, are you for McCain or Obama?" "OBAMA!" we cheered. "Ok, then we'll play it!" he said.

"Don't wanna be an American idiot!!!" -Green Day, American Idiot

Met four lads from Northern Ireland in the pub who were watching the Liverpool-Atletico game. They stayed on to watch a bit of the election coverage, then left to go to a different pub, then returned to join in our joy over the election. Three were Catholic, one was Protestant. Three supported Obama, the other couldn't give a shite. The other three told me not to listen to him, but he cornered me in a different pub and asked me why the election was so important.

"I'll be perfectly honest with you, it's not that I have anything aginst you, its just that the way your counry is run is counterproductive..." he began...
"Wait, let me finish that," I said, "I know, its wastefull, its unsustainable, its hypocritical, its violent... you're completely correct." He nodded, and said, "I'm glad you understand." I nodded and said "Thank you for being honest." "Obama won't change a thing," he warned. "It's not Obama I beleive in," I said, "It's the people who support Obama. They have the power to change the world, they are the ones who should have the power to change the world. Its been too long that they haven't had power in our country, and that is wrong. That's what I believe, I hope you understand that."

"I do," he said. And we left it at that.

But really, it is the American people who win today. It is the children of immigrants, the great grandchildren of slaves, the decendents of Native Americans, who have fought for their freedoms in this country for far too long and been given nothing in return but a housing voucher or a bottle of whiskey. That is a terrible thing to do to a people, and Obama, ojala, will fix that. First, I declare that we need to chagne the electoral system. Election day should be a holiday, or a Sunday, as it is in every other democratic nation in the world. And we should have the right to vote, not for a party, not for some mysterious person who "promises" to vote for a party's candidate, but for the person we believe should be granted the power to make descisions for us. Because that is what a democracy is. And we are not NOT a democracy until a system like that is in place.

This is what I tried to explain to my Northern Irish, British, Australian, and Scottish friends I met today. Its been grand, being with the rest of the Englsih speaking world. We forget about them, don't we. Well we musn't in the future. We really musn't. They are our brothers and sisters in language. They can support us in ways we never knew possible. We just must learn to listen.

On the way home from the Irish pub, as Obama had just taken Ohio and was ahead in Indiana (to my complete and utter surprise!) and I could hear on the taxi radio the name "Obama!" over and over again and something about the king of Spain supporting him, I began to cry. I cannot believe this is really happening. Its so unbelievably glorious, can it really be true?? Has our country finally become the country I always believed it was? Can I finally be proud to call myself an American? Because that is all I ask. That I can take pride in my homeland and not be ashamed to say that I am from the United States of America, to not have to prove that I am competent everytime I meet someone from a different place. To be happy in my own shoes, in my own home, in my own place. That is all I ask. Obama will grant us that wish.

All over the world, people are beautiful and they want to unite together. We shall overcome, someday.