Late one evening, it was decided that we should head to a nightclub called Turnmills in Farringdon, near Kings Cross Station (of Harry Potter fame). The club was set to have over 20 DJ’s play throughout the night, including from members of Hot Chip and Macabees, and proper sets from The Metros and Fisherspooner. On top of that, there were gift bags at the door, and free Ice Cream and hair-cuts inside.

We arrived early and went to a local bar. There was a Spanish league game on, and struck up a convo with a fellow fan named Johan. He was a Kurd from Iraq who’d lived in London for over 5 years now. His perspective on the war was unlike anything I had heard. He explained that the kurds want independence. They’re spread throughout Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey. They form about a 1/5th of the Iraqi population, living near the northern border. He asked for my thoughts on the war. I began to go on the typical, “I’m embarrassed that we’re there in the first place and we need to get out asap…” spiel but I was abruptly cut off. “No,” he said, turning and looking me straight in the eyes, “Never question that choice to come there, because you don’t know what it was like there before the U.S. came.” He still has a lot of family there. He explained that if the U.S. were to leave now, the Kurds would be fighting both the Turks and Arabs because of it. He said there is a deep underlying hatred between Arabs and Curds, and that they could never exist peacefully in the same nation. He then bought me a screwdriver, and we further discussed foreign relations at large. I still believe it was a poor choice to invade Iraq, because if we going to take action on the basis of such injustice, there’d be too many countries to even no where to start. Still, it was a revelation to speak with someone of this mind set and history. I’m sure I would be just as glad to see action taken if I had seen exposed to the same things he had growing up, though I don’t think we’re offering any real long term solutions in the region.

At 23.30, we made our way over to Turnmills. The club had four levels with winding hallways and several bars and rooms on each. One DJ was passing out Indian feather head bands to all the dancers in his room. There were bizarre decorations with the theme varied by floor. Large pieces of art were hung from the ceiling, oddly shaped and spinning with the music. There light lining all the stairs, and vines wrapped around poles. It didn’t take long before I was separated from my friends.
I was dancing with some German girls for a while. I asked them for the name of some of their favorite German bands. They talked excitedly about Freunde Stiller and Wir Sind Helden. I told them I was never going to remember the names, so I came home with pen scribbles on my arms. Names like Die Aerzte, Beatsteaks and 2raumwohnung. German music is possibly the strangest nationality of music; a combination of the various techno genres. Everything from Goth to Jock Jams finds its way in to the fold.

The friends I came with left early due to a sick member of the group, but the party was on until 7, so decided to stay. I caught ended up reviewing one of the sets. You can read it here.

I later met a girl who bestowed upon me a free cowboy hat. This was stolen and returned to me at various points throughout the evening. I met two sisters from London who also found it amusing to steal my hat. We ended up talking, and they claimed to vacation every summer in Montana. I told them I’ve got relatives there, and friends who go to University there, and we’ve got tentative plans to meet up this summer. I left the club at around 4.30 and hoped on a bus headed West. I got off at Paddington Station in hopes of catching a bus headed North. I attempted to ask directions, but the endless line of belligerent partiers were of little help, and I decided to make a walk for it. Stumbling dejectedly in the bitter cold, I made it as far as what I thought was Bayswater; bad news as that would be in the wrong direction. I conceded that I was utterly lost, and would have to sleep outside under a bush. Fortunately, a slick silver sports car pulled in front of a nice house, I asked them for directions. It was a middle aged Spanish couple. They took out a map and showed me how to get to Edgware Road, and then on to Maida Vale and then Kilburn high road. I was in an entirely different area than I had thought. They insisted I take the wife’s jean jacket for the walk. I made it back to the main road, and ended up catching a bus for the last 10 blocks. It wasn’t until I got on the bus that I realized I was wearing a denim jacket with jeans and a cowboy hat. I was teased mercilessly by most of those on board.

A few days later I headed down to the Astoria in Tottenham area to see the Austin based group Explosions In The Sky. Here’s the link.

Tags: travel