Episode 13: Back In The Field Again

Forget the loafers and sneakers

I need my stepping out shoes

I'm going back in the field again

There's no sense in hiding it, baby

There's a certain excitement

Back in the field again

— Stony Browder, Jr.

& August Darnell, 1983

Yeah, I'm back in Sofia again. But this time a little bit braver and a little more stronger. Before, the expectations of living abroad were such a big mystery to me. Now I know what to expect out here in the field.

In the 3 months of being away, I've notice some changes. First and foremost, there's a new McDonald's a few blocks from me and 2 nearby shopping Malls. One even has a Gap. That's a first time for Bulgaria. I guess some one's trying to instill some conservative dress values on Bulgaria's scantily clad females. Oh, and I hear there are also Oreo cookies here now. Only I haven't stumbled upon any, yet. This news gives me high hopes for a soon arrival of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

The cab drivers still seem shady, but fortunately since I've been back I haven't been ripped off. I think the grocery store clerk lady missed me. She wasn't as mean to me anymore and she flashed a slight smile when I approached the register and commented on some of the food I was buying in Bulgarian. Of course, I couldn't understand a word she was saying, but that was alright by me because for the first time, I felt like one of the regulars. I just smiled back and nodded, "dobre," which means good or okay. Even the video store dude who hardly spoke to me before, greeted me with a big smile and helped me translate video titles. And Sarah had already told me that the folks at my favorite fruit and vegetable stand had been asking of my whereabouts, so I promptly paid them a visit. But on a whole, most things here are still the same. Good and bad. Most notably, my celebrity status. That hasn't changed. I've gotten used to it, though. I even run more frequently and with confidence. I just smile at the onlookers, sometimes giving them a polite 'dobar den' — which means good day or I am meeting you for the first time. Speaking of language, I think I am starting to pick up the language a little faster. My friend Nevena has been my best teacher. She refuses to speak English to me, forcing me to learn the language through sound. She insists that this is how children pick up languages really fast. In this case, it should work perfectly for me, right? Don't answer that.

A few friends of mine from the States ask whether I was going to write about my experiences living back home again in the States, and my answer is no. Simply because the name of this blog is Blog-O-Daria — My Life In Bulgaria not My Life in The United States of America. Besides, it would end up being one paragraph or sentence. But I will mention this about my time back in the States — it was awfully wonderful. Seeing my Mom, family and friends and visiting some places I missed can't be beat. But two of my biggest highlights were seeing my brother Sylvester, who is recovering from a stroke, doing alright. And being reunited with my Bad Boy. He simply takes my breath away.

Oh, and I can't forget going on long runs again with my brothers and my trip to New York with my main man Rick Pepple to see The Clientele live at the Bowery Ballroom are up there pretty high, too. I also had a wonderful and interesting time living with my good friend Martha and her mother Jenny, who kindly let me invade the nunnery with my manly ways. I'd never done the roommate thing before, let alone rooming with ladies, so the experience was quite enlightening. One for the record books for sure.

It was also somewhat difficult to leave the States, again. I mean, I missed Sarah and my new European lifestyle, but I think a three month stay was far too long, because I'd gotten readjusted to the American way of living, again. For me, Bulgaria is like living on another planet. No joke. But I've been back now for about a month and I'm feeling really good about being here. Sarah and I are happy to be reunited. And like my Bad Boy, she has a way of taking my breath away, too. On my first day back, we took a nice long walk through the city. It was therapeutic.

Speaking of taking your breath away, Sarah's in the process of looking for a car. A good used one would be ideal for her situation. Sarah's host parents have been really kind in aiding her with the car buying venture in Sofia. But lately I feel like I have been a total pain in the butt interfering due to my typical conservative American car buying style. Nothing seems to be good enough. Mainly, I'm worried about Sarah breaking down somewhere in the boonies. So it has been a pretty difficult and sometimes stressful ordeal trying to find the right one. So, please wish her luck.

A couple of weeks ago Sarah's good friend Erica came to visit. The two of them met in Bulgaria about 10 years ago in the Peace Corps. And it was Erica's first time being back in Bulgaria again, since. On Erica's first day of arrival, the three of us went for a long walk around the city. The same remedy Sarah used on my first day back, only I'd been gone just three months, Erica had been gone for over 9 years, so it was quite entertaining to observe her re-familiarize herself with Bulgaria's ever changing culture.

The next day, the girls took a 4 day trip to Shumen, a tiny city outside of Varna, where the two of them first met. Unfortunately, when they returned, horror had arisen. The Volcanoes of Iceland erupted leaving Erica stranded in Sofia for a few days. But luckily, Erica found a flight from Sofia to Madrid, and bus ride back up to London in time to meet up with her hubby for their honeymoon in Scotland. But for me, my flying worries had just begun.

You see, because of my unrequited love for songwriter and musician August Darnell, the leader of Kid Creole & The Coconuts and former bassist for Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band, a couple of weeks before the eruptions, I purchased a ticket to see a rare Kid Creole & The Coconuts appearance at the Barbican in London. The timing of the show was perfect, because Sarah would also be in London on business. But as the week approached, the timing of the show didn't seem so perfect after all. The news of more flight cancellations, Icelandic eruptions and looming ash over all of Europe heightened, which made our flight possibilities seem bleak. I was just sure my flight would be canceled and I'd miss the one and only opportunity to see The Kid live. But as the day of the concert approached, the ash had cleared and I found myself back in London again ready to attend a dream concert. Whew!

I flew out a couple of days before Sarah to attend The Kid's show. And to save money, Sarah found a reasonably priced YMCA for me to stay in for a couple of days. Staying at The Y also made for a bit of nostalgia considering the association was originally founded in London. This Y was also located next door to The Barbican, making it extremely convenient and easy for me to make it to the show on time. The last thing I wanted was to finally arrive in London and miss the show due to a Tube or traffic back up. So this relieved any stress I might have been having.

My Stay at the Y was an interesting one, because it was also a dormitory or campus housing for a nearby college. The room was clean, but a bit run-down. The guests, which were mostly students, were pretty damn awesome, though. So that made up for any sleep I might have lost. I met a few friends and even hung out a bit. The place was run by the sweetest Jamaican woman with the loveliest patois you could imagine. The students called her Mama. And when she and I met, she insisted I call her Mama, too. I told myself, "there's no way I'm calling that lady Mama. I got a Mama!"

Later in the day, I was exhausted and decided to take nap. I put my headphones on so that I could fall asleep to the sounds of Kid Creole & The Coconuts and have sweet dreams about the coming concert. I awoke to Mama standing over me with the sweetest smile. It scared the hell out of me. My first thoughts were, "Please lady, I'm way too young for you!" Then she explained what had happened with that sweet patois of hers, "Mr. Owen, I tried a knocking but you had them headphones on. You must have accidentally left your door open." She went on to explain, "You see, the carpet sometimes catches the door, so you just have to shut it good behind you." Right then and there I realized why the students called her Mama. She was genuinely looking out for the place. So I just breathed a sigh of relief and said, "thank you, Mama. Thank you very much."

My next door neighbor was a really cool white dude from South London named Alex. I mentioned his skin color for a reason. You see, upon meeting him, I thought he was originally from Brooklyn. His vibe just gave me that assumption. So I politely asked, "you from Brooklyn?" He just grinned and responded in that easy going European way, "Nah, I'm from South London! I just grew up in an all Black neighborhood." This must have certainly been true, because his room was decorated with lots of pictures and posters of prominent African American leaders and hip hop stars. He even had a huge poster of President Obama. I told him that I liked his posters of Tupac Shakur and The President the most. He smiled at my approval.

Alex was about 15 years younger than I, so I thought I'd impress him with my first hand knowledge of Shakur's music by telling him that The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory album was one of my all time favorites. This must have worked because he invited me to dinner. Unfortunately I had to decline the offer asking for a rain check due to my attending the Kid Creole & The Coconuts concert that night. I could see that confusion began to loom about his face. He just had that, who in the hell are Kid Creole & The Coconuts look in his eyes. Right then a strange dude approached us and said, "you going to see The Kid tonight? That's pretty awesome!" And although I was in Europe, where the group's name is almost as household as The Clash, it still impressed me that this young stranger passing by knew The Kid's music. I soon found out that he wasn't a stranger passing by at all, but a good friend of Alex named Peter from the West Midlands. He was pretty cool, too. He and I hung out the most actually, because Alex was busy most of the time during my stay. You see, Alex was like the Big Man On Campus. He had an out going and friendly personality. He seemed to know everyone and everyone seemed to know him. But the main reason why I think he was the B.M.O.C. was because of his possession of the coolest room at the Y. And I'm not just referring to his cool posters and pictures covering the wall space, it was also equipped with Internet, video games, music, DVDs, and red wine! So yeah, every time I walked by his room, there was a constant flow of beautiful girls and dudes lapping in the luxury.

So later that evening, instead of doing dinner with Alex and Peter, I was attending a long awaited concert by one of New York's finest bands, Kid Creole & The Coconuts. It's too bad that they don't tour very often in States, because they really put on a terrific show. For some odd reason or another, the States never embraced this group. I do have my theories, but that would make for a separate blog post. The Kid even touched on this topic during the show saying that, "since the late 70s, Europe, especially England, always welcomed us with open arms." He then politely thanked the European audience not knowing that one little lone American was out there in the crowd who appreciated his music very much and came a long way to pay his respects to one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all time.

The only disappointing factor of the show was that The Kid's sidekick and hype man, Coati Mundi, was surprisingly missing in action. The Kid also didn't play any tunes from his Dr. Buzzard's years. That was really disappointing because I consider their 1976 RCA self titled debut one of my top 20 greatest albums I've ever heard in my life. But The Kid's energetic performance and kick-ass backing band made up for the missing pieces. It was also nice to see that The Kid had matured over the years, not taking himself too seriously. He even poked fun of his egocentric years and the hit single "I'm a Wonderful Thing, Baby."

The end of the show would prove to be the highlight for me. And while I am on the subject, I should take back the mention of unrequited love, because somehow magically I got the opportunity to show The Kid some of that love to his face. You see, it all happened when The Kid and The Coconuts did a miniature congo line through the front row of the auditorium. I had a second row seat, so as they approached my section, for the first time in my entire life, I totally ignored three of the hottest half dressed blondes in show business and slid right out in front of The Kid, shook his hand and shyly told him, "Your my biggest musical hero!" He just winked at me in that Cab Calloway-like cool persona of his and said, "sure thing, kid." I was flabbergasted. I mean, I couldn't believe the kid of all kids, called me kid. You know, life just doesn't get any cooler than that. I mean after traveling all the way to London through heavy volcanic ash, it sure made the trip worth while. As I was leaving the auditorium on a natural high, the ticket girls congratulated me and told me that they were really happy for me when they saw me shaking The Kid's hand. They must have remembered me telling them how far I'd traveled to see The Kid and was disappointed that the Barbican didn't allow picture taking or sales of memorabilia or t-shirts.

The next day, I had big plans. You see, when Sarah leaves me all alone helpless and defenseless in a great big city like London, all the usual important educational and historical places we tend to visit gets thrown right out of the window. This left me in big, big trouble. Such as, going shopping on Oxford Street where London's very own super mega-sized HMV store patiently awaited my arrival. Yep, I was like a kid in a candy shop. This HMV reminded me of my late great friend Tower Records. So you know I was in heaven. I shopped for nearly 8 hours without a break, scooping up all the great British television shows that are not available in the States, such as Steptoe & Son, the original version of the States' Sanford & Son, and Man About The House, the original version of the States' Three's Company, and its many spins offs. But out of all the DVDs I found, it was Brian Clemens' Thriller that I was most excited about, a television series reminiscent of The Twilight Zone, in terms of genius, that I adored in my early teens. And for once, it was actually based on a television series that the Brits, believe it or not, stole from States. And as big a MJ fanatic as I am, I'll have to admit that it's really a shame that when one hears the word thriller, the MJ album instantly comes to mind. Because when I hear it, I think of both. Simple because this series is in the same league in terms of a true master work of art.

After my big shopping break down, I'd made plans to meet up with some good friends of mine for dinner and present one them with a birthday gift. This was actually another good reason why my second trip to London was well timed. You see, most of you already know this, but for 4 years now I have been displaying my color pencil paintings on Deviant Art. It's an art community Web site that allow artists to share with other artists or fans and receive feedback. Well, one extraordinary artist by the name of Irene that I've been knowing and getting inspiration from for over 4 years recently ask me if I'd do a portrait of her for her husband G for his birthday. He is also a stunning artist in his own right, and a good friend of mine. I quickly obliged telling her that I'd always wanted to do a portrait of her since I'd met her but was too shy to ask.

I recently completed the work to her liking. And since they live in London, when I told her I was coming to London for the show, she suggested that we all finally meet up and surprise The G with the original art in person. This was a very exciting moment for us all. I was even a bit nervous. Internet relationships can be a whole different world from real life relationships. The chemistry can be awkward. We were also afraid that we wouldn't recognize each other in person. With all this in mind, we needed a meeting place that would make us all feel comfortable and relaxed. None of us are drinkers, so Irene suggested a pizza place would do the trick. I thought it was great idea, too. I mean, who doesn't like pizza? So at her suggestion, she chose an English staple called Pizza Express. She insisted that it would be some of the best pizza I'd ever tasted. Well, coming from Maryland, home of Ledo Pizza, where The Oprah Winfrey Show voted Ledo the best pizza in the States, I was a bit worried that Pizza Express wouldn't live up to the hype. But it did. It was real good.

Oh yeah, enough about pizza. Our first meeting went rather smoothly and The G adored his birthday gift. I was a bit nervous about presenting it to him, being that he's an artist himself and could do a much better job than I. Nevertheless, I could genuinely tell that he loved it. He must have stared at it for a good 5 minutes. I was quite relieved. After we ate we must have spent over 4 hours just chatting away. The waiter had to literally kick us out of the place! Oh, and we all looked just like we looked on our on-line photo IDs and at the end of the night I told both G and Irene that they are just as cool in person as they are on-line. They smiled and reciprocated my response.

Before I was off to bed, I checked my email and saw that Sarah wrote me from home letting me know of her arrival and meeting place. She also reminded me of our plans to finally visit Stonehenge this second time around. I was really excited about Stonehenge. I've always wanted to visit them mysterious rocks since I was a little kid after seeing them on TV. But little did Sarah know, when she said Stonehenge, I also had other plans in mind. You see, Stonehenge is located in Wiltshire, north of Salisbury, which is not very far from Southampton, the birth and resting place of one of my all time favorite comedians, Benny Hill. So when we met up I told her about my additional plans. She said, that it was cool, but that I would have to do all the research work on how to get there on my own. Fair enough.

We stayed in Salisbury. A cozy little town with a huge anglican cathedral. It was the first place we visited upon arrival. It was quite large and beautiful in person, too. When we got to our hotel, I jumped on the computer trying my hardest find the location of Benny's grave. I wasn't doing a very good job, though. She must have noticed this and felt sorry for me, so she sat next to me and assisted. We finally found the location together. Our plan was to take the Stonehenge Tour and then catch a train to Southampton directly after. We knew it would be a very exhaustive day, so we got a good nights sleep and the next day we were off on our journey.

The Stonehenge Tour was pretty awesome. And I'll say it again, like all of the great landmarks that I've seen, it lived up to the hype. Definitely something to see when in England. We took tons of pictures. We even made a couple of friends. Two English ladies named Alice and Ellen. They were the best of friends. They'd known each other for over 40 years and had a love for travel like us. They'd been doing it a lot longer, so both of us took notes. They were also doing the Alex Haley thing by searching for their Roots throughout England.

After the Stonehenge tour, the trip to find Benny's grave would be a difficult one. I mean, it really wasn't easy. You see, his grave was supposedly robbed at some point after he died, so to keep from having that happen again, the ground keepers made sure it didn't stand out. Besides, he was buried with his mom and dad, so we had no idea of knowing where it was date-wise. But I was still determined to find it. I owed it to Benny for all of the joy and laughter he'd given me for over 30 years of my life. As I searched and searched, I started to reminisce of the time when I was 9 and I used to sneak out of bed around 12 midnight, and turn on the tube to watch Benny's show. That just made me more and determined to find it. Sarah, must have known how much it meant to me, so she stuck by my side and did her best to find it, too.

After an hour of searching with help from strangers and even our cab driver, the search for Benny seemed bleak. I really wanted to give up at this point. But I just couldn't. Something inside of me kept saying, no, keep looking. You'll find it. That voice seemed crazy as hell at the time, because Benny's grave was no where in sight!

As we were heading back in the direction of the entrance, with the idea of giving up on our minds, we stumbled upon a very friendly couple who must have noticed how out of sorts I looked. I politely asked for help. I could tell they were surprised and stunned that an American boy had come so far to find the grave of Benny Hill, so they did their best to try to remember where it was located. And thankfully, they remembered and I finally got the chance to pay my respects to England's King of Comedy. But there was one particular thing on the tombstone that made Sarah and I go, hmmm. . . Benny's mother's death date was Sarah's birth date. And believe me, I'm not the superstitious type, but that gave us both the biggest chills, and a possible identity of that little voice inside of me who told me to keep looking.

The next day, we returned to London and Sarah had meetings and work related stuff to attend to, so I was back on my own in London again for another day. Which now looking back in hindsight was probably a good thing. You see this would give Sarah a well deserved break from my morbid pilgrimages. And while I am on the subject, let me say that she's been extremely supportive and understanding my strange grave hunting habits. I guess for me, whether it be a musician, actor, singer, writer, poet, painter or comedian — in life, these people dedicate their lives to us by bringing us some good old fashioned entertainment. And whether you'd want to admit it or not, without them, life would be a very boring place to live. So the least I can do is pay my respects to them when they're gone.

On that note, I am most certain the first death related site in London I visited would make all of my fellow rock and roll guitar aficionados blush like Shirley Temple with a sundae, the infamous Samarkand Hotel or, what it is known as today, 22 Lansdowne Cresant, Notting Hill where Jimi Hendrix died. This was the address where his then German girlfriend Monika Dannemann lived and last place he was seen alive. There's tons of mystery surrounding the night of his death, but I won't go into that, again it would take another blog post. Nevertheless, I thought the place was quite interesting. It was located in a very well to do neighborhood. Very quiet and peaceful. If you didn't know it was the house that Jimi died in, I swear you'd walk right by it. I was surprised that there were no fans around. No plaques. No flowers placed there. No nothing. One would suppose that the owners of the house would like to keep it that way. So I didn't stick around very long.

Anyway, after visiting the house where Jimi died, I found myself back in another cemetery again. London's answer to Paris' Pere Lachaise, the beautiful Highgate Cemetery. And I'll be the first to admit that it wasn't nearly as large or lovely as Pere Lachaise, but it was pretty cool and had its own signature look. I must have spent over 2 hours in that place just walking around, observing the different headstones, taking pictures and filming stuff. And other than a very mysterious young boy drawing in a far corner of the cemetery and two giggly high school girls visiting Karl Marx's insanely large tomb, the place was as empty as a Soviet grocery store. This creeped me out a bit, but I was far too busy taking it all in to even care about being scared. I had such a wonderful visit. When I told my friends about my Highgate experience, they just looked at me like they were going to commit me to an insane asylum. Well, my only explanation for my love of cemeteries is, think of a cemetery like Autumn. Autumn is one of the best examples of death being a beautiful thing. So are cemeteries. I love visiting them. They are always quiet and peaceful places. But I'll be the first to admit, when closing time approached, I made sure my behind was on the other side of the cemetery gates. You'll never catch me in one at night. Uh, I mean hopefully not anytime soon.

My last night in London was a pretty awesome one. I reunited with my boys Yo and Layke from Re-Kill. It was good to see those guys again. Both are born and bred London Boys, so they took me out on Portobello Road where we ate some yummy Thai food and caught up. We chatted about the good times on the Re-Kill set and our anticipation of the films upcoming release. Later on we met up with two of Layke's friends, Anthony and Mya. Mya was in her teens, but pretty mature and cool for her age. Anthony was a pretty cool dude, too. He had a really awesome looking military jeep that we rode around town in, getting more looks than I get in Sofia.

As the night went on, Yo had to get back home to host friends. The rest of us eventually ended up at their friend Yugo's place. Yugo, was from Rome and had a super sweet comic book collection that I enjoyed reading the entire time I was there. Another friend of Layke's showed up later in the night named Emma. Layke had been wanting Emma and I to meet for some time now because Emma was like my twin sister separated at birth. She was also an actor and loved the very best horror movies. She performed awesome card tricks that I am still puzzled at to this day. Layke, Emma and I eventually ended up at Emma's place where the three of us partied until 4 in the morning. This venture of the trip was like the cherry on top of the pie because my first time in London, Sarah and I did nothing but a Beatle Pilgrimage and the usual touristy stuff. And although I loved doing those things, the second time around was much sweeter and relaxed because we had no real agenda. A lot of things we did this time, we stumbled upon or came up with at the very last minute. It gave me a new appreciation for London. I think I'm in love with London.

But before I end the first Blog-O-Daria of the new season, I always have to say that my photographs tell a far better story than I can. So if you'd like to view pictures from my second trip to England click here. After that, if you just can't get enough and still want more pictures from England, and I do mean MORE, 800 to be exact. Click here for pictures from my very first trip to England with a little Turkey mixed in.

Okay just one more thing before I close. I also found myself back in the company of a director and producer again auditioning for another part for in an upcoming movie ironically called Super Eruption. It's about a volcano explosion in Yellowstone National Park. And thankfully, I landed a part in the film. But after doing two films now and learning a little bit about the field, I've found that what is promised to you can also be taken away in the snap of a finger. So I'll keep you posted on how that's going. But for now, wish me luck, folks.

Be seeing you.

O

Coming Autumn 2010