Fear and Loafing in London

I arrived somewhat bothered by the fact that, according to a popular web forum, I am a racist. Some silly argument about Gonzo journalism had come up, and someone had suggested that Modern Gonzo is “travel writing with the flair of Hunter S. Thompson”. Obviously, I would never make such a claim myself, but a few hundred people did click on the link, leading to a comment accusing me of being a racist. To my defense, someone replied, “that’s quite the accusation! What makes you think that?”

“Dino213b”, who no doubt takes life awfully seriously, lifted a passage from my report in Kuala Lumpur in which I ponder hotel toilet phones, and how they might be used to conduct important business while you’re “dropping off the Cosby Kids”. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that the joke defines toilet humour, but you have to be pretty constipated to connect it to a general hatred for all things non-Caucasian. I should have asked big, black and beautiful Carl what he thought, but he was too busy using his considerable arms to give Charlotte and I a simultaneous bear hug in the dance tent. Having encountered many wonderful people of white, brown, black, pink, yellow, turquoise, red, green and blue persuasion on my travels, it irks me that “Dino213b” sees me as white supremacist. Perhaps I’m just being overly sensitive that this flaking mooch with halitosis and a small penis might call me racist. Especially after talking to a few black guys in St Petersburg and listening in horror to their stories of being beaten up and persecuted by local men (the St Petersburg Times reported that six Russian guys were acquitted after beating a Congolese student to death!)
“I regret studying here,” says Morton from Zambia. Adds his friend Kabunda,
“These people hate us like nowhere else in the world. It may be unsafe for a black man in Russia, but I believe in finishing what I start.” His courage is inspiring, and I hope he survives getting his degree. “Dino213b” is not the first person to get offended by Modern Gonzo, but calling me a racist is like calling scary hairy Bill Bryson a transvestite sex god. Uh oh, that sounds homophobic!

My host in London was Minesh, who I had first met in Chile when the two of us volunteered to fetch a crate of beers for an impromptu hostel party in Valparaiso. Coincidentally, we had both departed on one year round the world adventures on February 25th, 2005, albeit in different directions. So we kept in touch, and reconnected in Southeast Asia where we ripped a new hole in Thailand, Laos and Cambodia.
“Remember that time we went to the night market in Laos, and Jess was worried about bargaining? ‘You’re with a Jew and an Indian, for fuck’s sake, don’t worry about it!’” Minesh recalls in a fit of laughter. He’s always had an uncanny knack of putting everyone at ease immediately. Mins had come down to London from Northampton so we shared a lounge in his impossibly accommodating sister Cookie’s apartment in Northolt, which is not far from Staines, and Ali G’s Westside Massive (wicked!) Says Charlotte, “that’s hardly London, my dear!”

Gonzo Gallery for Fear and Loafing in London

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