Maxim Fridental

I am very picky about art. An artwork must engage me emotionally. I can’t stand these modern kinds of art only targeted to your intellect, but producing no feelings. And a great artwork must fully own me; if it is sad, I must cry, if it is funny, I must laugh so much I can’t breath, if it is thrilling I must have cold sweat and trembling hands.

Combining these high expectations with my perfectionistic wish to consume only the great art, it is no wonder that I would rarely enjoy (and go see) artworks currently popular in the press. I might find something great once in a year, often even more rarely.

When I say art, I mean books, movies, music, pictures, live performances, and any special kinds of modern art. And computer games. Games are mostly sport and hobby, but some of them are also art.

Great art can be ”immersed” into, kind of daydreaming about the virtual world created by the artwork, and this helps to endure life. Computer games are by design perfect means for such escapism. In fact, reportages about WoW show how some specifically designed games can pose a real threat to ordered and healthy lifestyle. Besides, being a software developer myself, I can better than many others see how games are just meaningless crunchers of tons of bits and bytes.

So, hopefully, you’re impressed enough to hear me calling Mirror’s Edge the great art I was playing in in the last couple of months. At the time being I have finished the full game four times (on easy level, or hard level, without killing anyone, and with killing everyone), and also qualified in all speed runs, and earned tri-star rating on each time trial.

Yes, this took a lot of time – time I’d rather invested in a more reasonable things. But may be it has saved me from cracking up? And anyways, this wasn’t something I could control. And it still isn’t. I’m already waiting for the second game, which, unfortunately, seems to be delayed for unspecified time. And I’m extremely envious of the game creators; it was a once-in-a-lifetime-experience for them, and I also hope to become such professionally successful in my carreer.

If you don’t plan to play this game, this video will give you some impression about it. If you do plan to play, look at the following.

As far as I can remember, I’ve first heard about vegetarians on a Russian Literature class, where we have been told Leo Tolstoy was a vegetarian. Tolstoy being totally uncool among the pupils, the vegetarian idea seemed to be also uncool to us.

But it is interesting that this movement is quite old, and is still (or nevertheless) trendy, at least in some circles in the West. In other parts of the world it is even tradition or religion.

So, I was thinking about the vegetarian idea lately.

“In essence, we don’t want to cause harm and suffering to other living beings.”
“Yes. But why should I care about cows and chickens, while so many people starve to death, get raped or murdered, die from AIDS and cancer?”
“Well, actually you should also care about all those other cases. But, from where you are, it is hard to directly influence totalitarian regimes and failed states, or fight diseases. Not eating meat is so much easier.”
“Yes. But not eating meat does not necesserally translates into less suffering of animals. A typical restaurant would probably buy meat beforehand and throw it away if is not getting sold to the customers before its expiration date. Because customer flow fluctuates hugely from day to day, throwing away unused meat should be daily routine, so would the cook ever observe the effect of vegetarians and reduce the amount of meat ordered?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he would, after reaching some threshold.”
“But yet again, suppose restaurants would order less meat. Will it translate into less animal suffering? Or will the animals still be grown and then burned to obtain cheap electricity? They already grow crops in Europe specifically for electricity production.”
“Perhaps yes, perhaps no, but at least you personally won’t be responsible for that.”
“But what about other effects caused to the world? Humanity is a huge, complicated and not well understood dynamic system. Changing one aspect of this system, let alone the aspect that remained unchanged for hundreds of thousands of years, how can you be sure the effect will only be positive?”
“Hold on. Vegetarian movement exists also since ages, and expecting everybody would at once convert till next Friday is unrealistic. Currently, it is more a “personal decision of not participation”, and a faint try to improve world, one veggie at a time”.
“Well, speaking about personal decisions, I do feel empathy with cows and other mammals, much less of that with the birds, and feel almost nothing to fish, insects or other animals, not to mention plants. Don’t you think being a vegetarian means placing some quite arbitrary borders based solely on the fact I’m also a mammal?”
“You can be a vegan.”
“Hah, being vegan is so much harder than just not eating meat! Besides, vegans are still placing an arbitrary border based on the fact they are animals.”
“Don’t be so black and white. Solving the issue for mammals only is still better than not solving it at all.”
“Yes. But what about effects to my own health? The vegetarian-only diat is controversial, and if I ever crave for meat again and get the binge eating syndrome…”
“How about reducing the average amount of meat dishes you eat, but only in cases where it is comfortably possible, and during just one week?”
“Well, that will hardly make me feel liberated from the burden of being responsible for animal suffering, but at least it will give me some insight of a typical vegetarian life.”

And this is what I did during my week in London.

So far, the insights were not very groundbreaking:
* Generally, I could easily take a vegetarian dish at least once a day. Finding a vegetarian-friendly outfit (i.e. serving meat and vegetarian dishes) was not a problem at all; most of them in London are. I’ve also saw a couple of vegetarian-only restaurants without any special efforts from my side, but searching for them at specific times when I was fancy to eat would be too complicated. Looking for vegan-only restaurants would be totally complicated, even in London. It might be feasible, only if you live there, have found all the possibilities and plan your commute correspondingly.
* I once ordered something called “mozarella tomato sandwich” only to find unexpected ham inside. On some other occasion, I’ve ordered a “vegetable dish”; I have no idea what part of it was not vegetarian, if any. That means, if you want to be a consequent vegetarian, you have to communicate with the waiter much more than usual. This may or may not be an extra effort depending on your personality.
* In the Korean restaurant there was no vegetarian BBQ possibility, so I’ve ordered chicken, because my interest of trying the “well-known Korean BBQ” was greater than the empathy with chickens. Similarly, I’ve ordered a Fish Kofta (just because its funny name) and on another day the “English breakfast” because I was fancy to try it. At least I’ve ordered the vegetarian option, which means without meat, but with eggs.
* Eating so much lentils and beans was a challenge for my stomach.
* Madras or Vindaloo potatoes were a bit too simple for my desire to enjoy eating, and hummus I never especially liked, but vegetarian samosas with puff pastry as well as some Bangladesh dish name of which I forgot and some allegedly Sichuan food were delicious.

London is full of compromises. The Tube is a stuffy, hot, loud place with lengthy distances when changing lines; and trains are shaking and screeching. But, the trains come every other minute, and that trumps all the disadvantages. Streets are so loud it is impossible to hear another person speaking, because of the endless buses and the crowd. But, you never have to wait more than five minutes for a bus, and may be it is your new friend who is walking in the crowd. Windows of many houses in the centre are not properly isolated and there is a draught, but, perhaps, they have less mould therefore. Many shops have guards staying at the entrance (which is a Bad Thing), but the shops themselves are splendid and full of excellent goods, and that trumps the so-called “security” again.

London is full of fashionable people. In the age group up to 30, I guess, at least 90% are clothed fashionably and/or stylishly. As for the middle age and older people, there are at least 60% who do so. In fact, you can spot a tourist in London by observing their unsuitable, cheap-looking or wrong sitting clothes (comparing to Londoner). Gents dress code in London is either business or smart casual, or something made from these styles by adding a little bit of controlled chaos. Generally, Londoner are even more obsessed with the uniform than Germans (as suits are, in fact, a uniform).

London is full of people, of various cultures, languages and background. It means a lot of positive and welcoming diversity, and plenty of wonderful and delicious world cuisines available around the corner. But also, unfortunately, it means some number of homeless people or families camping just in the centre of the square around Marble Arch. Truly interesting is therefore the feeling of safety I had. Never mind I have been to London a week after the riots, never mind there are signs “Beware of pickpockets” sometimes; I’ve never seen any destroyed property, any aggressive-looking people in dangerous amounts, nor any thieves. Well, I was visiting mostly the West End, the City and Greenwich, but I lived in Queensway and visited Soho, and Chinatown, and Brick Lane. Perhaps, I’ve just avoided ghettos by a lucky chance? As for pickpockets, having lived in Russia for 20+ years, I have had some experience with them, once stopping the hand of one of them trying to grab my month’s salary from my bag, and a couple of times observing them with their hands in some other people bags on a street market. Thus I believe I can sense their presence at times; in the huge London I haven’t seen anything more suspicious than in my sleepy tiny home town.

London is full of world wonders. You can see things that are not available in your home town, like some 3500 years old chinese pottery and bronze devices, and egyptian and assirian statues, and real bones of dinosaurs, and works of Da Vinci and one of the oldest remaining pages of the Bible. But also, the London architecture is a wonder by itself. We’ve landed at the Victoria station, and decided to walk to the Buckingham Palace. Just out of the door, we had to say “Wow” pointing at some building, and then passing that building, immediately another “Wow, look at these”, and then after couple of metres, yet again “Over there, how cool is that?”, and then we’re overloaded and stopped pointing, but not stopped wowing.

Speaking of metres, another rather unexpected impression I had is that the U.S.A. seemingly remains the only country where imperial measures are prevalent. I haven’t seen any sign or poster or other public information in London not using the standard measures. It is always metres, grams, litres, etc. The calorie intake label on foods is per 100gr. A lot of clocks use the 24h format.

They still have the left-side traffic though, and it takes its time to get used to. Even for a pedestrian, who just needs to decide which side of the street he must be on to get the bus in the desired direction. I wanted, but avoided renting a bike, partially due to this reason; I didn’t want to test my right-side reflexes in the London traffic. Speaking of which, it is terrible. There are in fact a lot of cyclists on the London streets; much more than I expected when looking at the traffic and the virtually absent bike lanes (comparing with Amsterdam, there are none). But, looking at the cyclists’ position on the bike, their uniform, their sporty racing bikes, and their faces, I don’t think they have enjoyed the ride. It was rather a fight, a rapid spurt from A to B, full of adrenaline and, perhaps, sometimes war stories they can later share with their buddies. I think, cycling in London should be a rather healthy activity, because of healing effects adrenaline causes to the body and because of the daily training to act quick but rationally under the effect of adrenaline. But, on the other hand, I’ve never seen a grandma on the bike, like plenty of them in the German streets. So, perhaps, the average lifetime expectation of a London cyclist is not to be envy of.

What you can envy Londoner of is definitely the food. I don’t care if there is such thing as English cuisine and what are its limits. I only care what you can get in a shop round the corner. And that’s much more diverse, intriguing, and delicious than in any other city I’ve yet been to. Ethiopian, Korean, and Bangladeshi cuisine I’ve tried for the first time in London. And as if it was not enough, they have Whole Foods Market stores in the city (five of them in fact. Why?! Why London has five stores, and the whole Germany none at all? That’s unfair); the greatest one having a dedicated cheese room and user comments on yelp along the lines “I want to live there”. In contrary to the tourist guides, I wouldn’t say eating in London is or has to be much more expensive. Those who eat on the Autobahnraststätte or in the Airports would pay more for worse food.

All in all, London is a perfect tourist destination, if you want to switch off from whatever feelings or problems pressing you; vibrant street life and clustered wonders would distract and entertain you. I would rather be careful when considering a permanent move or a long stay there though. You should never confuse tourism with emigration, as one of the Russian jokes goes. My extremely limited exposure to London leads to some unpleasant questions that have to be addressed. One of those is the health system. Would I feel myself comfortable living in a country where they sometimes call doctors “your health services provider”, and market their dental services in a same fashion one would advertize all-things-for-one-pound franchises?.. But yet again, answering such questions require much more exposure of the real everyday life in UK than I had.

In the school, I learned English as foreign language.

To my shame, I forgot the name of my teacher; I only remember we were calling her “The Crow”, because she had a very round face, round big eyes, and when she had to blink, she always closed both eyes, waited quite a long time, and then opened them. She looked very british to me, for whatever reason (in fact, the first Brit I’ve ever shook hands I’ve met in person this Spring).

I doubt my teacher has met Brits either. She has graduated from a local university in my home town. And in the Soviet times, foreign visitors to my home town were if not outright not allowed, then at least “not welcomed”. So I think her exposure to British English was mostly watching some rare movies managed to pass through the censorship, or hearing some SW radio, and reading newspapers. Nevertheless, I believe her pronunciation was better than mine today, not to mention her Grammar.

Our English classes were conducted in a tiny classroom on the top floor. One of the lessons I can remember very well. It was -30 centigrade (-22 Fahrenheit) outside. Schools closed only at -35 and below in my home town, so we had classes. My mother has put on me a heavy-duty fur coat with at least an inch of hard-pressed fur,  and felt boots, and fur cap. I’ve lost quite a lot of my flexibility grades; it felt as if I was in a spacesuit. Outside, I couldn’t see anything in the first couple of minutes, because the bright sun was reflected by the white new snow.

The windows in our class room were completely frozen, so the blinding light from outside was transformed into hundreds of light spots, creating some kind of festive mood. The English teacher entered the classroom, and we all have stood up.

“Good morning, pupil!” she said in English, squinting.
“Good morning, teacher” we replied, also in English.
“Sit down!”

This part was always the same during all six years of English in the school, as well as the part followed it:

“Who is on duty today?” asked the teacher. I stood up again and said:
“I’m on duty today”.

Every day a new pupil was “on duty”, and yes, short answers like “I am” were considered wrong for some reason.

“Who is absent today?” asked me the teacher. The long sentence rule obviously applied to her either. I’ve looked around, detected absentees, and reported:

“X is absent today.”
“Is he ill?”

Normally, we had no idea why anybody else has not appeared, but during this procedure, we were not supposed to give any other answer than affirmative one. Well, we didn’t have corresponding vocabulary anyways. So, I already wanted to say “Yes he is,” but remembered I’d already seen X in the school on that day, so that would be an outright lie. Besides, the funny happy light spots everywhere on the walls, and the contrast of the biting cold outside and the overheated small classroom have motivated me to rebel against this procedure, for the first time. So I have said:

“No, it isn’t.”
“No, he isn’t,” automatically corrected me the teacher and then paused, realizing what had just happened.
“What happened to him?” asked she in Russian.
“I dunno, I’d already seen him in the school today,” answered I also in Russian. She paused a little more, and then asked again, in English, looking into my eyes:
“So. IS. HE. ILL. ?.”
“Yes, he is” I replied.
“Sit down!”

And our usual lesson started.

But this small rebellion was a first step into our further special relationship. From that time on, she cared a bit more about me than about other pupil: she gave me more complex/advanced tasks and corrected me more thoroughly.

Also, this was the first time I’ve realized and truly believed there ARE other people, the foreigners, who don’t speak Russian, but speak English. And that English is not just some set of magic spells or gibberish that we’re forced to repeat on every lesson, but is really a language, allowing to communicate your own ideas in a similar way Russian does.

In our lessons, we had texts about John and Mary, pupil, who were normally doing something in London or visiting Moscow. I had no idea about both of these cities. But, while I thought I have realistic possibilities to visit Moscow some day, I could never imagine I’ll ever be in London. All the time in the school, and many years after the school, London was a very abstract term for me, similar to people who died before my birth or ancient things that are already destroyed.

So here I come, London, for real. Let’s get in touch.