Anglo-Ameri-Afro-Carribbean

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Today, after breakfast, I went with Leah, Chad, and Tristan to Covent Garden Market. It was exactly as I remembered it, and it reminded me that I should probably go somewhere else next time. Not that I dislike Covent Garden. On the contrary, it’s really quaint and very entertaining. But I was looking for something more like a flee market or street fair, so I think I should go to Camden or Portobello Road next time. Right when we arrived, we stopped to watch a street performer juggle, ride a unicycle, and tease small children. It was all very entertaining. Then we walked around the covered market and admired the crafts and such. I wish I had had more time to look around, but my fellow market-goers seemed more interested in just having a look and moving on. It’s not like I would have bought anything, but I do like to browse.
I love the market culture here in London. It’s something I don’t really see in the U.S. We have a garage sale and flee market tradition, but I think they’re generally stereotyped as being frequented by old women in flowered stretch pants who haggle over the price of a two dollar toaster. But everyone goes to the markets here, and they cater to everyone. I think there are supposedly 19 different markets in London that run throughout the week, and some are strictly produce, others a mix of crafts, antiques, second-hand items; even a flower market (I think this is the one Hall writes about in Salaam Brick Lane. I’d love to see it for that alone.). I definitely plan on going sometime in the near future. It’s an amazing way to see some pretty cool stuff, and also to see an interesting mix of people. Not just grannies in stretch pants.
After leaving Convent Gardens, Tristan decided to go back to the hotel, so Chad, Leah, and I made for Notting Hill to attend the Notting Hill Carnival, a massive two-day festival celebrating West Indian culture. We went on the “slow day,” and it was still packed. There were whistles and horns blowing everywhere, trucks with enormous speakers blasting reggae through the streets, and kids and teens in elaborate costumes dancing through the streets. Everyone was in such high spirits—it was a really positive atmosphere. And it smelled amazing because of all the curry, jerk chicken, red beans and rice that were cooking on every street. We kept walking for a while, trying to find the cheapest stall that we could. Many restaurants, shops, and even residences had put tables across their doorways and were selling drinks, food, and whatever else they could persuade people to buy. Finally we came upon this one stall that was selling vegetable curry, which worked well for Leah and I. But the curry wasn’t ready when we got there, and, though we waited for several minutes, it didn’t look like it was ever going to be finished. So, Chad ate his chicken curry, Leah got a plate of red beans and rice, and I kept waiting until, finally, Leah offered me her plate and I just forwent the curry. I wasn’t that hungry anyway. I just like curry.
It was getting pretty crowded around 1p.m., so we decided to head back to the hotel, but the Notting Hill Gate Tube station was blocked off for people wanting to leave Notting Hill, so we had to walk to the next stop. I normally wouldn’t have minded, but we were so tired and our feet were so sore that we grumbled the entire way back.
I spent the rest of the day sitting around, and then, at six, headed out to the garden for a barbeque that the folks at the Arran House were kind enough to put on for us. Not terribly vegetarian-friendly, but I made due. Reconfirmed my dislike of wine. Sat and chatted with Chad and Sarah, with the occasional input from Tristan.
So, my thought for the day is, I’m told, the same subject that we will be undertaking when we get to Norwich, which is: What is “British?” Or, in Norwich, I think we’re looking at more “English” versus “British.” But what I wonder is, after having witnessed this massive display of West Indian pride (attended by all walks of life, though), do the immigrants and ethnic communities in this country consider themselves British? I would assume so. In America, I think we have the tendency to over-categorize things and people. Someone is an African-American or an Irish-American, etc., which, in my opinion, further factions a population already given to segregation. If you are born in this country, you are American. If both your parents were born in this country, you are American. The only true instance of an “Irish-American” would be if one parent was a citizen of Ireland and the other American.
Maybe I just haven’t been listening enough, but I really don’t hear anything similar being done in England. Obviously every place has its problems, and maybe I’m just looking through rose-colored glasses, but I there seems to be a great since of “British-ness” amongst everyone who lives here. In several of the books I read for this class, I remember the author mentioning that racism is definitely present in London culture, but that it’s nowhere near as strong as in American with the Ku Klux Klan or France’s Front National. And I’m sure it is here, but so far I’ve seen little evidence of it. Maybe I’ve just been lucky, but I’d like to think that, maybe, things actually are better over here.