Finsbury Park
London


Originally a woodland area, Finsbury park was born as the woods were gradually cut back during London's boom in the 19th century.

I arrived in Heathrow in the early afternoon, and my friend Jenny had already invited me to a birthday party in Finsbury Park. A quick tube ride brought me to entrance of the park. I wandered in, still a little dizzy from the whirlwind of airports and undergrounds.

The wide expanse of green in idyllic weather, laughing, kids on skateboards smoking by the tennis courts speaking unintelligibly, kites, kids, laughing. Like Valium.

My gait relaxed and I kicked on my pink shades. Not really knowing where this party was in such a large park, I wandered around for a little while and found myself naturally gravitating to the sound of a drum circle.

From Finsbury Park, 26 April 2008

Listen:

Typically, everyone in a drum circle wants to be a soloist and it sounds like garbage. I won't say this circle defied the trend completely, but their groove made me happy enough to sit in an empty seat behind a djembe and rock out with 'em. I love dropping ostinato in drum circles, perhaps because no one else does. I think it helps bring the whole thing together. In the pic above, you can see the empty seat, the djembe, and the rest. Listen to the audio, too -- that was taken right before I sat down.

These kids joined in, too.

After some more wandering, I met up with my two friends from Cornell, Jenny and Jackie. We headed over to their friend's birthday party for some delicious cake and beer and laughing and kazoos. Beautiful first afternoon in London.

Amelie, the birthday girl, is pictured here in the pink shades.

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Skiing in Soelden
Soelden, Austria



Soelden has some of the best skiing in the world. I wouldn't know. I spent most of the time flat on my ass.

Day 1: Four hours of lessons. It was very rudimentary and slow-paced, so I decided to dare the slopes myself. I could go fast. I could go straight. I could turn gently while going fast. But I couldn't slow down or stop. That was a bit of a problem.

Day 2: After getting four hours of sleep, Lasse wakes me up to hit the slopes. Surprisingly, my head doesn't hurt. Unsurprisingly, I couldn't walk straight, nor could I put my ski boots on without much difficulty. I stumble onto the slopes, get a quick bite to eat (not without the assistance of Jula), then soldier onto the lift. The result can be seen below:

Flat on my ass. The whole way down.

Sliding backwards with my skis in the air for about 5 minutes was probably the best part of the day. It got me down the slope without having to worry about standing up, looking where I'm going, or thinking much at all.

Day 3: We take it a little easier the night before, but my legs are completely dead by this point. I get a few good trips down the slopes, though, but not without hurting my shin on a particularly nasty fall -- which, by the way, is a good way to meet people. You get lots of "Hey, how ya doing. Are you alright??"

Relaxing lunch with Manuela and Joao.

After my injurious spill, I decided to call it quits. Back to the restaurant by the lifts, where I enjoyed a few beers and a lovely painkiller from a kind Googler.

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