The best weeks are so saturated with new experiences that I build up a backlog and resort to combining everything into a single post. Well, almost. The past few days spent in Italy deserve their own, but first – Harold Pinter Theatre’s production of Good, starring David Tennant, and Lydian Collective’s performance at Ronnie Scott’s.
The latter was my first time at the legendary Ronnie Scott’s – an incredible experience in and of itself, but perhaps not for the reason it was meant to be enjoyed. The venue was lovely and the cocktails delightful, but the Lydian Collective sounded – to my untrained ears – as glorified background music. In other words, not strong enough for a concert where we aren’t permitted to talk.
Good, meanwhile, was enjoyable for the right reasons. Raising particularly pertinent questions for this day and age, the plot tracks one man’s slippery slope from respected professor to SS guard stationed at Auschwitz. Though it simplifies and condenses, it nevertheless accurately depicts the ease with which we can avoid inconveniencing ourselves on others’ behalf while deluding ourselves into believing we are good people.
David Tennant was sympathetic, but I can’t say he’s as good a stage actor as he is on screen. I saw him in Don Juan in Soho a couple of years ago, where he was completely outshone by his co-star. He was better in Good – or maybe the co-stars were worse? – and definitely much more memorable.
The piece asks questions about our accountability, returning to the same philosophical arguments that have persisted for centuries. And for the Russian-speaking community, we now know far too many of these so-called “good people” who not only condone, but support Putin’s war. They are as accountable as their figurehead. Good is running at Harold Pinter Theatre until 24 December.
Three weeks ago, my husband came down with a pretty bad flu. To keep him occupied and to make use of the Ryanair sale happening at the same time, I challenged him to find us a city break. The conditions? The flight had to leave Saturday morning, return Sunday night, and cost less than £100 for the two of us. By the title of this blog post, you can guess where we ended up.
After two years of being married to a Romanian – especially one not from Bucharest – I’ve heard enough about the country’s state of decay to not expect too much. Luckily, Bucharest surpassed both our expectations. There are definitely many historic buildings in need of restoration, but the city is clean, green, and welcoming.
When we arrived, we took the train straight into the city, arriving at Gara de Nord at just after midday. Hungry, we found our way to Baba, a recently opened Pakistani takeaway serving excellent vegetarian food. Though Cristian tried speaking to the man behind the counter in Romanian, the latter’s preference for English soon became apparent – he’d only been in the country six months!
That was another thing that surprised us – not only was Bucharest incredibly diverse, it was, in many ways, more authentically multicultural than even London. There were Thai, Japanese, and Russian food shops, all with fresher ingredients than you’d find in London. Perhaps this – along with the kaleidoscope of languages I heard around me – struck me so powerfully because I wasn’t expecting it, but I was thrilled to see it.
After our meal, we made our way all along the Calea Victoriei and Soseaua Kiseleff (named after the reformist former Russian governor of Wallachia and Moldavia who built up this section of Bucharest) to the Arcul de Triumf. Commemorating the Romanian War of Independence and the First World War, entrance to the top of arch is free, and takes visitors through almost an immersive experience on the way up – artefacts, historical figures, and even a representation of the trenches.
The arch is located right beside Parcul Regele Mihai I, a giant green space home to a lake, a palace, and an ethnographic museum. We decided to venture inside the latter, looking at the restored peasant farms, homes, and churches brought in from across the country. You could even look inside some of them to see how people used to live. And, of course, the old wooden churches were a sight to behold.
A walk through the museum and by the lakeside later, it was approaching five, and we were exhausted. So we decided to try something neither of us had tried before – electric scooters! Speeding through the bike lanes of the broad boulevards, I could definitely see the appeal. But as we entered the centre and it got more crowded – and even worse, we ended the trip and received the bill for the ride – my initial enthusiasm faded.
We walked through the city centre, looking at some of the landmarks, but our legs were aching, so we decided to stop by the hotel to check in and freshen up before dinner. Unfortunately, the hotel we had booked ended up being on the opposite end of town, so it was another half hour before we finally made it to the room and collapsed on the bed.
At this point, I decided to check how much a taxi would cost to get around, and it turned out to be cheaper than our scooter rides, so we headed to dinner like true bourgeoisie. We wanted to check out a place my colleague recommended, but it turned out to be fully booked. Luckily, nearby was a fantastic restaurant called Fiko, where we enjoyed delicious food and amazing (Italian) wine.
We weren’t ready to end our night just yet, so we headed to Old Town to check out another wine bar. Here, we decided to try local flavours, but ended up regretting not asking for recommendations from the sommelier – what we ended up buying was undrinkable. Still, it was a lovely night in a vibrant city centre, and, most importantly, we saw lots of cats.
The next day, we headed through the Parcul Izvor to look at the Palatul Parlamentului, but given my husband’s aversion to both the latter and its neighbour, the Catedrala Mantuirii Neamului, we didn’t stay long. Instead, we found a lovely little cafe, where we grabbed ourselves some coffee and a delicious breakfast. We were even seated at a table beside a famous Romanian actor (or so I was told).
The rest of the day was spent wandering around, exploring the Old Town, soaking up the sunshine, buying souvenirs, and dancing to street music. We grabbed another bite to eat at Beautyfood, where I tried celery ice cream for the first time in my life, and headed back to the airport. Perhaps because it was so unexpected, but this trip to Bucharest was exactly what I needed after a stressful few weeks – not a care in the world, just a new city in the warm October sunshine.
I had seen Only an Octave Apart advertised when I went to see The Tiger Lillies last month, but had almost forgotten about it until I received an email reminder from Wilton’s Music Hall at the same time as a friend asking when we’d next see each other.
And so it was decided – we were going to see Justin Vivian Bond and Anthony Roth Constanzo performing their eclectic opera-cum-cabaret the very next night. Meaning yesterday. Hence this review.
Despite having been there time and time again, it was only this visit that I discovered the fascinating history of Wilton’s Music Hall. Turns out, it’s actually the oldest music hall in the world, dating back to 1859 – though the building itself has roots way back to the 1690s.
The performers also have a varied history – Justin Vivian Bond has been performing cabaret since the late 80s, even earning a mention in one of my favourite Le Tigre songs. Anthony Roth Constanzo, meanwhile, is an award-winning countertenor, headlining operas and festivals the world over, including my beloved Glyndebourne.
Though the two artists are masters of their respective genres, it seemed like a strange combination, and it took a while for the performance to find its rhythm. There were a fair share of opera-is-boring jokes, which, thankfully, were discredited the second Constanzo sang his first notes.
In the beginning, however, it seemed that they couldn’t find a way to showcase their talents in tandem. While their independent pieces were brilliant, anything that involved both singers struggled to land – until we got closer to the end of the performance and they finally created several perfect pop mash ups.
We also got to know the performers on a more personal level, as they talked the audience through their own careers and how they came to collaborate. Lots of costume changes and identity jokes (can we get an a-them?) later, we almost felt like old friends. All in all, an incredibly pleasurable evening, spent in excellent company.
Only an Octave Apart is at Wilton’s Music Hall until 22 October.
First published on Hackernoon, but I thought I’d share on my own blog as well.
Today, I bought myself a striped red fox suit for my Metaverse avatar. Before we get to the why of this equation, let me just tell you that the experience was not easy. And this is despite the fact that I’m not a complete beginner to DeFi – I’ve got a MetaMask wallet, I’ve got an OpenSea account, I’ve got ETH and I know to avoid high gas fees at peak times.
To avoid listing off all my complaints about the process I endured, let’s focus on the ones that have a resonance beyond my individual frustrations. First, there’s a lot of complexity in even understanding where to begin. Luckily, I had a bit of help. Before setting myself up in the Metaverse – isotile, to be specific – I was recommended to buy a personal domain.
The problem? My MetaMask browser plugin wasn’t allowing me to switch networks and would only show my MATIC account. It wasn’t much easier on my mobile – though I managed to get onto the ETH network, I couldn’t connect to ENS to buy swordfoosh.eth (my alter ego, if you’re curious). And once I worked it out and set it as my Primary ENS Name, it wasn’t showing up in the Metaverse.
But I was. As a bald white dude with a purple t-shirt in an empty room. Talk about the diversity of representation, eh? Luckily, the striped red fox suit was an easy buy, though at 0.033 ETH I can’t say it was super cheap, either. And that’s not even accounting for all the fees I paid to transfer out of my custodial wallet and to complete the transaction via MetaMask over OpenSea.
If we think about the mission of the wider decentralized ecosystem, encompassing both DeFi and the Metaverse, it’s all about building a better alternative to existing societal and financial structures, but we’re still so far from even approaching this noble goal. As I’ve identified in the short interaction described above, there are barriers at every turn – from a technological perspective, from a diversity perspective, from a financial perspective – and it’s not even clear what it’s all for!
Recognizing opportunity builds inclusion
This last point is particularly interesting. What’s the point of going through all this hassle if the outcome doesn’t benefit you in any way? Since I work in the space, I can probably attribute it to (quite expensive) market research. But what about the people purported to be the key audience of the Metaverse’s ambitions? What about creating an even playing field across all demographics, all abilities, and all geographies?
The first thing to note is that, despite increased media coverage over the past few years, we’re still in the early stages of adoption. That tends to mean that while we speak of lofty goals of providing access to the disenfranchised, underrepresented, and unbanked, we’re really just focused on the earliest adopters. And the earliest adopters are already privileged in at least one way – they’ve recognized the opportunity and they have the means to capitalize on it.
Yet defining the opportunity comes with its own challenges, namely that opportunity looks different for different users. For me – as I imagine will be the case for many – it’s about finding something to be excited about. The whole sitting in an empty room playing the keyboard in a striped red fox suit? Not – pardon the pun – my jam. But now that I’ve discovered I can mint my own physical artworks as NFTs and hang them on the walls, my curiosity – and my entrepreneurial spirit – is piqued. Could someone want to buy an NFT of my painting, perhaps?
That’s the entire point. As long as you have an incentive to participate, you’ll seize the opportunity to do so. And, presumably, the more value you see in it, the more forgiving you’ll be of its current limitations and the more willing to dedicate time and effort to improve it – for everyone.
Do the building blocks matter?
Nobody cares about the complexity of the matter once they’ve identified the use cases that make sense to them. The underpinning technology fades into the background. Remember Skype? Who cared about how VoIP worked as long as it connected them to their families across the globe? The same thing needs to happen in the DeFi space.
A lot has been written about how user interfaces and user experiences within the wider DeFi ecosystem are deterring users. As a product manager in the crypto sector, I’ve encountered my fair share of non-user-friendly applications over the years. Not to call anyone out, but that includes fairly basic things like yield farming using non-custodial wallets to more complex activities such as liquidity mining using wrapped BTC.
What’s also true is that significant progress has been made. After all, it’s worth remembering that the technology is still fairly nascent, and as it matures – as new players and platforms arise – we’ll see new capabilities, new monetization engines, and most importantly, a bigger focus on the end user. Compared to even a year or two ago, DeFi protocols are considerably simpler to access – embedded in sleek wallets – for the non-discerning user.
Where, arguably, they should be. We’re no longer talking about first mover advantage, of course, but for mass adoption, understanding the intricacies of the technical infrastructure shouldn’t matter. It’s all about ease of use – for the majority of users, principles of privacy and self-sovereignty are just a perk.
Potential pitfalls
That being said, we can’t walk blindly into someone else’s definition of what the Metaverse is and how it is powered by DeFi when we have a unique opportunity to frame both concepts in a genuinely meaningful way. We’re already witnessing corporations staking their claim – luxury brands capitalizing on huge margins, the music industry releasing music as NFTs, and, of course, “big tech” and venture capitalists replicating traditional Web2 power structures.
The influence of the wealthy and powerful raises justifiable doubts as to its ability to cater to the interests of a diverse audience. Though the biggest incentive is the promise of increased interconnectivity, for the time being at least, access remains limited for the average user. While the ability to virtually spend time with family, play games with friends, go shopping, or engage with favorite artists might seem tempting, the Metaverse has the potential to be “dystopian”, with corporations like Meta (formerly Facebook) firmly in control.
Conclusion
The good news is that it’s not too late. Coming back to the central tenet of the entire experiment – if people are excited by the opportunities and if they buy into the possibilities, they’ll take ownership and they’ll build. It all comes down to the eternal question of whether this brave new world can offer the right incentives for participants to behave altruistically. If we can take this initial phase to embed those principles into the Metaverse and into DeFi, we can reap the benefits for years to come.
In other words, I’m not hanging up my striped red fox suit just yet.
In Russian, we call warm weather in mid-Autumn “grandmother’s summer”, and it’s always been one of my most favourite times of the year. London and the South East are currently enjoying what is likely to be the last of the warm weather, and this weekend has been incredibly saturated – and incredibly satisfying – as a result.
It started with a brisk Saturday morning, which warmed up substantially by the time we arrived in Victoria Park for our 10k race – so substantially, in fact, that I was perfectly comfortable in a sleeveless top and was looking around for anyone with scissors to turn my leggings into homemade shorts.
Though my knee was in a bit of pain from a practice 5k on the prior Thursday, I had a fantastic run, finishing just 23 seconds off my personal best with 00:48:44 and coming 10th of the 141 women who participated. Even more incredibly, my husband – competing in his first ever 10k and having not prepared at all – beat me by 32 seconds!
We celebrated with a well deserved coffee and an even more deserved rest, before preparing for our evening outing – a violin concert by my talented countryman Roberts Balanas. When I booked tickets for our entire household and the in-laws, I envisioned an evening of classical music at a seated venue, possibly sipping a glass of Pinot Noir.
I had been mistaken. The concert was held at OMEARA in London Bridge, a beautiful bar under the railway arches set up by one of the Mumford & Sons musicians back in 2016. Walking into the crowded concert hall was luck walking into a club – the lights, the smoke, the noise, and the heat from hundreds of bodies crammed into a small room.
We were of half a mind to leave, nestled at the very back with a poor view of the stage, but that was before Roberts appeared on stage. As soon as we heard the first notes, we were spellbound, and remained so throughout a repertoire of Bach, Abba, Gnarls Barkley, Coldplay, and more. The only one no one was sure about was Steve Reich’s Violin Phase, which became grating after a while, but perhaps we don’t understand minimalism.
The next morning was warm and sunny, so we put on our hiking gear and headed to the aptly-named Great Park near Windsor. We decided to do the (again aptly named) Long Walk to the Castle, cross over to Eton, have lunch, and head back the same way. After over 25km the previous day and 15km or so today, my legs definitely feel it, but it’s a small price to pay for a beautiful weekend.
It’s not often I’m blown away by a Royal Opera House performance, but Aida was truly spectacular. Modernised, the visual elements were just as stunning as the music – Egypt as a militaristic, brutalist behemoth and Ethiopia as guerilla rebels. The staging made the story come alive.
Following my childhood trauma pertaining to Aida, I never gave it much of a chance, but I’m glad the stars aligned for yesterday’s visit. My favourite opera companion – the friend I was supposed to see Madama Butterfly with back in July – selected Aida as her replacement birthday present.
We were both spellbound, gripped by the action on stage. Three hours flew by. The final scene was one that will stay with me – as Aida and Ramades retreat into the shadows of their warehouse tomb, filled to the brim with missiles, the ghostly chorus repeats “Rest in peace…peace…peace…” Aida is at Royal Opera House until 1 June 2023.
When you’re running on empty, sometimes all you need to fall in love with life again is a change of scenery. Even better when the scenery takes you back into an idealised past, when you were young and carefree and saw your whole future unfolding before you.
In classic style, I couldn’t go without drama, so I very nearly called the whole thing off, but I bit the bullet and caught my early morning flight to Riga – and I don’t regret for a second that I did. Not only did I spend my grandmother’s birthday with her, but I was able to appreciate Riga in its autumn glory and catch up with a few old friends.
On the first day, there were parliamentary elections. I had forgotten my passport at home when I set out for the city centre – a fact none of my friends let me live down, shaming me for not fulfilling my citizen’s duty. Luckily, despite their disappointment, they were still happy to take me out for a coffee, so we caught up over a soya latte I had masterfully ordered in Latvian.
I was prepared to repeat my success on the next day, wandering confidently into a hipster cafe and asking “Vai jums ir sojas piens?” and expecting a straightforward “jā” or “nē” in response. Unfortunately, the barista started quickly explaining something, which, when I shamefully switched to English, turned out to be the fact that they only have pea protein milk. So pea protein it was.
The third Latvian encounter was less than ideal. Back in my grandparents’ neighbourhood, I decided to buy shampoo. The cashier didn’t have change for my €20 note and wanted to give me €13.82 in coins. I began protesting and asking to pay by card. Which I did, but she wasn’t giving me the €20 back and I had to resort to asking “Kur ir mana nauda?” until she handed it over.
Luckily, all further attempts at practicing Latvian went off without a hitch. I made appropriate noises in response to what the taxi driver was telling me and ordered another soya latte with ease. I even made sure to wear a little Latvian flag pin to blend in. Pretty sure no one suspected a thing.
I have to admit, beyond spending time with my favourite person in the world – my grandmother – the best thing about this trip was catching up with friends. Walking around with a friend I used to work with, I felt wholly understood for the first time in a long while – though I’m pretty sure my subsequent excitement meant I dominated far too much of the conversation. Still, these are the experiences that replenish your energy and warm your soul.
It’s interesting, how the trajectories of our lives often reflect those of our friends. This former colleague of mine was born on the same day in the same hospital, an hour and ten minutes after me. We ended up in the same company, and are now both working in product management. Another friend, who ended up driving me to the airport, jokes that I “follow [him] around”, because we’ve both lived in Vancouver, London, and Riga.
So maybe this isn’t so much a travelogue as it is a reflection on how good it feels to go home.
Swordfoosh 