Graffiti: Icing on the Cake?

It is basic dogma that graffiti must be covered up immediately, and the faster you take care of it, the better.  Let them know who's boss!  Property managers will tell you that once you let those taggers get a hold on things, you've lost it.  And the police tell us tags indicate gang activity.  For the most part, they're right.  But at some point, and in the right context, a city's graffiti is lifted to a true art form, and becomes the icing on the cake for your visit. 

On a stroll through Hoxton and other East London neighborhoods yesterday, I came across a ton of great pieces.  These are not simple tags, although there were plenty of those around, too.

These are clearly well thought-out, extremely well-executed, stunning works. Particularly around the better works, were repeated tags - it's as though those taggers wanted to be seen nearby the work of the greatest graffiti artists.  A sort of endorsement.  But it's rare to see someone tag right over the best pieces; that's an insult.

  

My favorite pieces were near the new Overland train line (there's another story there, about how commuter rail can be effectively implemented right through neighborhoods, and dang, it was quiet!).  Here,  the authorities gave up an old wall, made it open for the artists to have at it. It's hard to say what's 'best:'  interesting images, or works with content?  What's more compelling?

I encountered two artists who were working on new pieces.  I asked if they were being paid for it, and they said no, they do it for the love of it.   Here's one of them, Dave.  He's been working in this medium since he was 13 years old, a little terror, for sure.  He's since gone on to art school, and has been making a go of it, career-wise.  When a wall is designated 'open' to use, they can go about their business in the daylight.

As I continued my walk, I found wall after wall of gorgeous, amazing work.  I couldn't believe the vibrancy, the creativitity, and humor!

I stopped in for lunch at a club called Cargo end enjoyed a jerk chicken burger, some shade and Wimbledon on the tv.  In a conversation with the server, I learned they have two Banksie works; these two works increased the property value by over 100,000 pounds. Banksie is perhaps the world's most famous - and still anonymous - street artist.  So this 'blight' has real value. 

Seeing this work in context drives home the point that the world's best cities don't try to stifle creativity, and are the realm of the unexpected.  With graffiti, I suppose the choice is to try to stop it or create a culture that facilitates the best of it.  In a place like London's gritty East End, the latter approach makes perfect sense.  Which ones do you favor, the interesting images, or the ones with interesting content?

 

The Hardest Habit to Break

Our daily lives are so hectic, so programmed, that it can be a challenge to let go of the need to hurry.  When we travel, it's easy to keep going, filling the calendar, needing to rush about.  Standing in lines is the worst for me.  I suppose it depends whether you're on 'vacation' or 'traveling'.  But if you're in a town like London, it's doubly hard, as you feel you need to optimize your time, not miss important landmarks or activities.  Gotta squeeze it all in!

The essential objective of travel, however, is to open your mind, not stress you out.  So I would suspect that travel experts advise you to 'schedule' some empty spots in your day.  I heartily endorse that concept, and find that late afternoon is the perfect time for me to sit down with a cup of tea or perhaps a beer and relax - to just let the mind wander. 

My other favorite trick is to head out in a direction with cab fare in my pocket.  I try to limit my map checks to one or two, and stay focused on where I am.  To stop now and then and marvel, "Hey, I'm in London - wow!"  And if I get hopelessly lost, I know I can hail a cab.

Yesterday I had an hour to kill before the final event of the conference, a riverboat lunch tour.  I chose to kill it in Westminster Abbey.  Talk about Wow!  I was blown away and moved to tears, recalling when I stayed up to watch Princess Diana's funeral take place there.  And contemplating that 31 monarchs have been crowned - and most of them are buried - there.  But the space is incredible - un-planned minutes well worth the 15 quid.

After the riverboat tour, I took my wandering self through the Covent Garden area. I only needed to check my map once and happened upon the original Neal's Yard cheese shop.  I first learned of this shop through a Jamie Oliver tv show about ten years ago, and of course, their cheese is now widely available in the states.  Neal's Yard opened on July 4th, 1979.

But I met a lovely man, who goes by the handle "Curd Nerd," and shared a conversation on raw milk products and how they're handled in the UK. [His real name is Colum Hodgson.]  I had to tell myself to slow down, just engage in the conversation - that little microwave dinner back at the flat can wait.  He sold me some cheese he personally made three days ago.  In the process of our transaction, we got to talking, and I learned a lot about how this country handles the situation of a very valuable food product. 

Raw milk - from cows, goats and buffaloes - is available at any farmers market, pretty much in the whole country.  You don't have to go to the farm, in fact, it's not allowed that you get it at the farm.  Back home, now that Whole Foods has pulled it, you pretty much have to go to the source to get it.  Finding a true food pioneer was an unanticipated and welcome way to pass half an hour, and I'm pleased to have made a new friend.  Here's to you, Curd Nerd - best of luck in your enterprise to educate consumers. 

post-script:  I just love the internet - turns out there's a Randolph Hodgson who took over the dairy in the 80s and I'm betting it's this young man's father.  Which makes Curd Nerd eminently qualified to evangelize about cheese.   

On Encountering a New Food Shed

My absolute favorite thing to seek out in a new city is their food market. The distinctive sights and smells make each market unique. It's fascinating to see how the products available in the market define the area's foodshed. I've found that each market has a sort of signature, a distinctive way the produce is displayed. And you can begin to get a sense of the people by the quirky way they interact.

Markets connect people like nothing else, and no city has a market history quite like Istanbul. In this place where the east literally meets the west, trade has defined Istanbul, whether it was called Byzantion, Constantinople or Istanbul.

After getting worn out by the Grand Bazaar and the Egyptian Spice Market (pushy salespeople, too-high prices), we took a ferry to Kadikoy (cad-i-coo-ie) in search of what the guide books say is Istanbul's best market. After a little wandering, we found ourselves in a district of pedestrian-only streets marching up a hill overlooking the Bosphorus. A true neighborhood market, this one seemed ideal to me with its cobblestoned streets lined with food shops, restaurants and watering holes, apothecaries and other practical shops. We were definitely the standouts, being the only tourists in the area , but I could envision being quite happy to source my food here, and everything else I might need to live a happy life if I was an Istanbulla.

The stalls and stores were full of products representing the bounty of the region. I couldn't help drawing comparisons to California, my birthplace and what I've always considered an ideal food region. Istanbul borders the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara, but they enjoy what we would call a Mediterranean diet. Stores offered a vast array of cheeses, olives, regional oils, fresh fruits and lots and lots of vegetables, many of which won't be ripe back home until about August. There were fish like none I'd seen. And the stuffed mussels they hawk all over Istanbul. Spices and exotic ingredients in jars and tins. It made we wonder about the size of the foodshed, and where it all comes from. So we went to a restaurant called Ciya (chee-ya), which specializes in Anatolian regional cuisine.

But in the market we just looked, and I took a lot of pictures. I regret I didn't have a lira to toss the old Greek man with his basked of eggs for his photo; trust me, he was totally National Geographic. I always feel a bit unwelcome taking photos in a market. The vendors would rather I buy. Oh, I'll buy something to gnosh on, but if I'm traveling, I can't stock up. I wish I could, because after seeing the beauty of their offerings, I wanted to cook up a fabulous meal. But I can't resist snapping away! I choose to believe they will opt to take it as a compliment that I found their display photo-worthy and thus appreciate my recording it. And I hope you can feel a little of the special quality of Istanbul and its food in these images.

The Evening Stroll

In Spain, it's the paseo; in Italy, it's the passeggiata; in France, the passage. All throughout Eurpoean cities, people step out in the evening for a stroll. With living spaces on the smaller side, it only makes sense one would go outside and take in some air. But what's most charming is the sense of a communal experience, of connecting with one's neighbors. And with residents mixing with the tourists in a place like Prague, it makes for excellent people-watching. This picture is of the three of us on the Charles Bridge over the Vltava River in Prague.