Urban Diary

As soon as I come out of London Bridge tube station the late morning winter’s breeze hits me. There is a freshness in the air, a chill that hints at colder temperatures ahead and yet the sun’s presence suggests (misleadingly) warmth.

I turn left on to Borough High Street, spot the cross through the bare tree branches and know that I’ve arrived. Borough Market beckons me.

This is a part of London of which I’ve heard much but to which I’ve never been. Following two years of disruption caused by Network Rail’s decision to carry out some construction work in the area, the market has just re-opened its doors recently.

I thread my way in amongst the stalls. At one of the entrances I’m greeted by the smell and sight of a beautifully cooked Spanish paella. It is a real piece of art. I ask the man behind the counter if he is Spanish himself. No, Polish, he answers. I smile at him and regret not knowing the Polish expression for “thank you for keeping the Hispanic tradition alive”.

Once inside the market the traders vie for everyone’s attention. At the Free From Bakehouse I ask Caroline Aherne, the owner, if she has any dairy-, egg- and nut-free cake I could buy for my daughter. She has but sadly it’s the same banana cake my little one is so good at cooking herself. My luck changes for the better at the Chocolicious stall. Hayleigh Bazelya is an expert in her field and she has the right product for me: half a dozen bonbons made of pure chocolate with neither milk, nor egg, nor nuts in them elegantly wrapped.  At two quid per bag, it feels like a snip. Now it’s the turn for my wife, my son and me.

At the Ion Pattiserie I find exactly what I’m looking for: a thick, brick-like, almond cake, with a soft cream centre. The owner, Georgeta Decuseara (or her husband, for it is a bloke who serves me) is also talkative, solicitous and courteous. I buy three slices which set me back just over a fiver. It’s time to have lunch I tell myself.

I stop at La Porteña where I simultaneously hear the traders speaking in Spanish to each other and spot a mate gourd sitting on a table. They’re both Argentinian. Their empanadas (pasties) are just a couple of quid and look the business. Yet, after having some small talk with them, I turn around and let my nose dictate the way. It leads me to the German Deli Ltd. I buy a gigantic sausage with plenty of Sauerkraut, mustard and ketchup.

I have spent just over an hour at Borough Market and yet I have covered just one third of the area. I make a mental note to return soon. I would like to visit the De Calabria stall where they sell soppressata, one of Italy’s more popular salamis. D’Issa is another option with its wild array of products from Croatia. Similarly, I would like to experiment with some of the spices sold by SpiceMountain.

But for now, I head out of the market on what has become a bright, February winter’s afternoon.

© 2013

Photos by the blog author

Next Post: “Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music”, to be published on Sunday 3^rd March at 10am (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

Today for the fifth time this week (that is, if the weather’s nice) I will make my legs and body hurt. I will make my nose so runny that snot will be coming out of it in buckets (I do beg your pardon; you might be having your breakfast whilst reading this post on your snazzy and shiny new smartphone or iPad). Finally, I will have caused blisters to appear in between my toes; a consequence of chafing.

You might be thinking that I have become a modern disciple of the Marquis de Sade in relation to my body. You would be wrong, though

Reader, I’m a runner.

For about twenty years now I have been an active jogger. Track or pavement, you name it, I have pounded on it. I still remember my regular runs at Havana University Stadium in the mid-90s when I was still a student at uni. But then my professional life began and I had to adapt my running hours to my new work schedule.

Relocated to the UK in ’97, I didn’t run for the first year or so. I was still getting used to my surroundings. Then, one day, on a warm, summer Sunday morning, I told my wife I would go out for a short run. Despite my fitness, I could feel my muscles aching. I could only manage a couple of laps around our local park. In spite of the physical discomfort, however, I realised that I was still in love with jogging. I vowed to go back to it in earnest and have kept my promise since.

A recent article posed the questions: Why? Why do we run? Mine was one of the 688 replies the feature got: why shouldn’t I?  I agreed with the author of the column, Adharanand Finn that “Running brings us joy. Watch small children when they are excited, at play, and mostly they can't stop running. Back and forth, up and down, in little, pointless circles.” Moreover, running is liberating. Yes, there’s the ache (not pain, if you feel pain, stop doing it and check with your GP), the wear and tear to which you submit your knees over time and the aforementioned bodily fluid coming out of your nose. But there’s also a sense of letting go and leaving your troubles behind.

In my case there’s another reason to go out for a jog on a cold, winter’s day with the temperature hovering just over the 0° mark. It’s hard to explain, though, because my motivation is not based on one single element, but rather, on a symbiosis of different factors: I run outdoors on my own whilst listening to music.

The outdoors aspect gives me a scenery, albeit of an urban ilk, that changes constantly. Even when I’m constantly jogging along the same roads and taking the same route. My loneliness is the catalyst for inspiration (whether it results in a post on my blog or an article for publication in a newspaper or magazine). The music is one of the more important elements. A lot of the melodies I’ve come to enjoy and appreciate in recent years have been listened to whilst I’ve been pounding the streets and pavements of my barrio.

Over the years my running routine has changed. Back in Cuba I used to run in the mornings. That changed drastically when I started to work as a teacher and began my semi-professional dancing career with the Havana University Folkloric Ensemble. I could only jog whenever the opportunity arose. Settled in the UK and my love for running rekindled, I used to set out in the mornings again. For the last decade, however, I have opted for sunsets instead of sunrises as companions to my regular run. Nevertheless, a few years ago, on a warm summer Sunday morning, I went out for a jog. It was still very early and the sun was not out yet. As I went up a steep hill, Bach’s Prelude in C major (performed by cellist Yo-Yo Ma) kicked in on my mp3 player. As if on cue, the sun began to rise behind me. It was pure magic. Had I been looking for a branch of philosophy that could explain why I was running up that hill, that wordless moment would have summed up it for me perfectly: the beautiful innateness of jogging.

© 2013

Next Post: “Urban Diary”, to be published on Wednesday 27^th February at 11:59pm (GMT)