Because is never easy

A few days ago I finished my seek for the apartment. In an incredible stroke of luck I found a very nice flat in East London (I'm going to be a dickhead!) by a fair price.The inhabitants of the house will be me, the owner of the apt - a nice English medical student, and an English student who I've never seen but I heard he took his mother to see the room. Cute, isn't it?

But, because everything for me in this city comes with a high price, I can only change on April 1st, which would be no problem if it wasn't for the detail that the owner of the room that I occupy had returned this week form Brazil. Hence, this story made me homeless for 9 nights. Yeah. The solution was begging for my friend's help and asking for shelter. First I spent three nights here in the flat sleeping on the floor. The first night was terrible, but the next two I was used to, or, at least, drunk enough to mind about details.

Today I'll go to my friend's home, she has a spare room and will be there until Monday when I'll move to another friend's couch. All this would be beautiful and almost practical if it wasn't the detail of the PG. Sure, because shit never comes alone, I have spring break in UAL and have to deliver seven works on April 1st (the day that I was suppose to move, get it?) and in the mean time I'm still in training for a new job in a shop (yeah baby, life is hard).

So, it is being a wonderfull time: I'm moving from house to house, I need time to sit and concentrate on my studies andI still need to be beautiful and wonderful to work .

At least is Spring in London. hey ho, let's go!

Seeking for a flat

If you're seeking for a flat here in London, be prepared, is not going to be easy.

Just as the Rio de Janeiro, London is a city with more people than their land allow and everyone wants to stay close to downtown, of course. This complicated mathematics results in a impossible rent, which clearly not worth its price. The cute little houses that we identify as London costs a lot and because of that most of those houses are divided into smalls flats floor, so you have the most surreal plants I've ever seen.

In attempting to earn some extra bucks, many landlords convert the living room into a room, so you will be sharing a flat with people you don't know and will never see, unless you bump into them in the queue at the bathroom or kitchen.

This configuration is the worst cuz they usually leave the flats in the hands of agencies, brokers who put people who do not know each other to share a space that no one cares, because it doesn't belong to anyone. So I go to the agency and the guy shows me a room in an flat where are five people living there of different nationalities and those residents do not have the slightest idea who will be the new flatmate. So, fuck that the toilet is all fucked up and kitchen either, nobody care, nobody charges anything from anybody, and apparently no one gives a damn about living in hell.

And man, believe me, when Irvine Welsh wrote the scene "the worst toilet in Scotland" he certainly thought about some of those bathrooms I've seen.FUCK!

Sure there is always the option to live in normal houses, whose residents will select the new tenant, but these homes are expensive and when they announce, boom, they're already gone. Not to mention it's normal to ask two months rent in advance. A kind of bail, right? Except that each of these filthy little room goes in the base of 540 pounds, in a wider region of East London, depending on the flat, you can pay up to 700 per week!

All to say that 's being hard, to say least. Every time I see a place like this I get more discouraged and wanting to leave this city. But I'm Brazilian and I never give up and, hopefully, next week I will have some good news. Wish me luck

So you don't have an iphone... How come?

I hear this type of comment from time to time here in London. At first I thought it was kind of stupid and arrogant but then, my dear, I realized that they were right.

The main reason to buy an iPhone when you live in London is simple: find out yourself in the city. For some reason that escapes me to understand, most of the streets here do not have any identification. It's strange because if you throw the street names on Google maps they exist, but has nothing written down that this street is in fact the John Princes St (or if they are there, they are very well hidden, almost if it was asecret that only residents and postmen share).

Ok, let's say you found the street name - lucky bastard - I assure you that the number isn't goingo to be that easy. The people here do not enjoy put numbers in buildings and although there are some numbered, they never follow a logical order. Growing brand, or even numbers and odd numbers on the right side of the left.

Thus far there are two problems: names and numbers. But wait, it gets worse! The people here are guided by postcode. You know your zip code in color there in Brazil? Well, here they do it. I mean, they put it on google maps and find themselves. I do not have an iphone, so I have to see it before leave home and write it down on my fancy moleskine (`the first turn left on the street such that it will be named etc etc).

It goes like this: deny hour mark in the bar and it sends you via sms or email the postcode (eg SW11 5JE). Then the easy part is that the first letter you already know if it's south west, north and so on. But is not just about the first letters, right? There will, in the game maps, write down the coordinates and go out on mission knowing that I will be lost at least 20 minutes (that's me, not everyone is so ignorant as well). Hence when tired of getting lost, I discuss some kind stranger on the street and ask if he can not take a look at his iphone and tell me where to go. Cuz if you come up to someone and ask "where is the street know that?" even if they live there is capable of it he has never heard of. It's bizarre, I know.

All that to say that 's my birthday coming up and if someone wants to present me with something useful, you know, right? GPS also acceptable.

The everyday saga

Since I arrived in London things is being pretty hard for me. It's almost if God was testing me "So you wanna live in UK? let's see if you can handle this...". Take the Night Bus, for example. Night buses are something easy, you may think, but if I tell you that in Brazil you can go back home in a taxi for five pounds... Weel, think again.

When I just got here I used to find very odd that everybody was out of work at 5pm and went immediately to the pub for drinkings. Even stranger was a pub closing at 11pm and everybody thought that was ok to return home before midnight (even if they were super drunks), but it all makes sense when you discover that the tube closes at midnight. Then you might say "and so what the tube closes early? Can't you just take a bus or taxi?

There, beloved reader, the plot thickens. Very often, the night extends - could be in someone's home, clubs or pubs that have licenses to stay open until late. Taxi is definitely not a possibility, unless you are rich, which is not my case or those who surround me (unfortunately, I have to say). Each jog beast comes out at around 15 pounds and considering it is almost my entire budget in the bar, no way.

Well, then we have the bus, right? Well, after midnight (apparently the magic hour around here) regular buses become Night Buses and you never, I repeat, NEVER, will be lucky enough to be on a Bus Night away from home. I mean, just one.

Every time you put your foot on the street for a later pint, you go imbued with the warrior spirit, ready to face a trip by one hour (at least) at home. Yeah. And look, we're not talking here of neighborhoods far apart, no. That's just London, my love, get used to.

It is usually like this: "Fuck, it's 2am, I need to go home! Damn, is not so late, but if you leave now maybe get home before 4 am, cool!" Then you leave the warm pub / bar / house and walks to find the bus stop that their bus passes. So yeah, found it, but discovers that he'll just roll in twenty minutes. Then you enjoy the time to read the little map of where you need to get down to catch the next bus which will lead you home. Then, 20 minutes after your bus passes, and you make a half-hour trip down, down, picks another bus stop and wait for another 20 min bus pass. You pick, is another half hour in there, come down and walk about 10 minutes from his house. That stuff can vary from 40 min to 2 hours commuting (already happened to me).

After that you wake up on Saturday / Sunday vowing that you will never leave, that you will return home soon and that, indeed, the night wasn't that cool. But then the week goes by, you cannot handle more routine and go out for a pint and history repeats itself again ... Welcome to London, cheer