Englishman in New York

You’ve got to see this to believe it.

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One of the perks of freelancing is the ability to take an hour out from an otherwise busy day to read the newspaper, take a stroll, or, in today’s case, to accompany William ‘Macboy’ Levin on his trip to a Park Slope health spa for a back wax.

William is heading to Israel on Saturday and decided his back hair was an impediment in his quest to find a ‘hot Israeli chick’. (I think he believes his Austin Powers-esque chest is a bonus.)

Well, I’m pleased to say the back hair is no more thanks to the skill of a very nice Russian beautician who wanted to know which of William’s parents was the hairy one. (William assured her it was his father.)

Unfortunately the experience was nowhere near as painful as I had hoped. But for fans of the creator of Shabot and myriad viral Jewish cartoons here is an excerpt from the forthcoming, straight to DVD, S&M documentary Back Wax: The Ben Baruch Way, soon to be available in all good synagogue bookstores.

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David Pogue links to some fascinating video and audio downloads from the Technology, Entertainment, Design (TED) talks in Monterey, California.

TED invites the world’s smartest, most creative and—judging by the talks—most entertaining people to deliver short lectures on a range of subjects including the arts, business, science and technology.

A ticket to TED costs $4,400 but the dowloads are free. On Pogue’s recommendation I watched an eye-opening and amusing talk by Swedish public health expert Hans Rosling last night. For the current list of downloadable talks click here.

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He’s the greatest!
He’s fantastic!
Wherever there is danger he’ll be there!
He’s the ace!
He’s amazing!
He’s the strongest, he’s the quickest, he’s the best!

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This is a slightly distorted view from my friend Dezik’s balcony (sorry, but my camera’s usually excellent ’stitch mode’ let me down). What a wonderful surprise to discover that Dezik lived in East Berlin which, as you can see, is still in transition.

My first 24 hours in Berlin were utterly miserable. It was about 90F outside but inside I was shivering under two duvets. However, I was excellently looked after in Russian, German and English by Dezik, Dima and Sofie. A friendly German doctor diagnosed toncilitis and three Penicillin later I was shuffling around the city, soaking up the World Cup atmosphere.

Here’s the Brandenburg Gate:

And here’s the view inside the cupola of the Reichstag. The cupola was designed by Sir Norman Foster and those reflective panels are designed to deflect light inside the Reichstag chamber. As you can see there’s also a walkway that leads to an observation chamber above:

Despite my illness, I had a great time in Berlin. I loved the bike lanes and trams and the laid back atmosphere. Dezik told me that unemployment is at 20 per cent in Berlin but the city felt remarkably safe. And the surplus of housing and lack of jobs means living expenses are relatively low. Dezik and Dima pay just 460 euros per month for a one-bedroom apartment. The city is overflowing with bars and restaurants and clubs and galleries. I was practically sold. Who knows, maybe one day?

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Congratulations to Adam for winning three golds at the 2006 BDA North America Design and World Gold Awards competition in New York.

My friends and I used to think Adam was just a spawny git but it turns out he’s actually quite talented too.

You can see his winning entry, a promo for the Lions tour of New Zealand, here.

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We’re back! What a great holiday. Five days of sun and spa water in Badenweiler, southern Germany, three days of football fever in Berlin and three days of friends and family in Leeds, England.

The most blogworthy event was probably my gruelling massage at the hands of a hammam meister in Badenweiler. I waited until the end of our stay for this Turkish delicacy, which I have since found out was especially popular amongst Ottoman soldiers for all the wrong reasons.

My hammam meister bore a striking resemblance to Ali G’s Borat. About one hour before our appointment he took great delight in giving me the thumbs up, firmly shaking my hand and insinuating that he was about to cause me a great amount of pain.

The hammam started innocently enough. The hammam meister wrapped me in a tea towel-like loin cloth and placed me in a steam room for about ten minutes. Then he took me into the massage room, removed the cloth and told me to lie on a giant human-shaped sink. Then, with just a small towel to protect my modesty, he proceeded to swish warm water over my body and scrub me from head to toe.

Five minutes in I was still in good shape. The hammam meister took what looked like a giant, cloth shopping bag, dipped it in water, twirled it above his head and pulled a drawstring to release a cascade of soap bubbles that soon covered me from head to toe. I could almost feel the weight of the bubbles, like lying underneath a sheet of soapsuds.

All very relaxing, until the hammam meister covered my eyes with a towel and, starting at my feet, proceeded to massage each major muscle group in my body. He ran his hands over the muscle, digging in with his thumbs and forefingers, first firmly, then deeply and finally with the kind of pressure one reserves for squeezing the remnants of toothpaste out of a tube. I clenched my teeth. At times my body lifted off the table. I realised I would crack easily under torture.

By the time the hammam meister reached my neck I thought I had survived the worst but as he dug his fingers between each of the vertebrae heading towards my head I realized how easy all that had come previously had been. Finally, he hit me with a Vulcan death grip, digging his fingers into the base of my skull.

“Is good, no?” came the voice of the hammam meister, as he lifted the towel from my eyes and motioned for me to turn over.

It would be the same all over again as I lay on my front. I thought I remained conscious throughout but I found out afterwards that at some point he invited Sofie in to take photographs of me, so I must have either dozed off or passed out.

After the massage the hammam meister sat me on the edge of the table, pulled and pushed me into a few stretches and then washed my hair.

“Hammam very good massage for man,” said the hammam meister. “You feel?”

Indeed I did. Every muscle and vertebra felt in line. Every knot had been undone. I was exhausted but rejuvenated. Unfortunately I was also about to become very ill.

The next morning, as we set off for Berlin at about 6.30am, my throat began to hurt. By the time we arrived I was running a fever. And soon I would be suffering from a bad case of tonsilitis.

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Well that wasn’t much of a first game for England was it? I think it’s time to take a break. Maybe pop over to Germany to lend the boys some support— although not travel to any actual games. Perhaps just spend a bit of time at a spa in the Black Forest. Then pop to Berlin to see a friend. Then hop over to England to see the folks. And my friends of course. Now there’s an idea. Back in two weeks…

PS If you’re wondering about the picture. That’s me listening to gypsy jazz guitarist Stephane Wrembel playing at Barbes in Brooklyn last weekend. I’ve posted about Stephane before. He plays Barbes most Sundays. And he’s even varied his repertoire a little from last year. Go on. Check him out.

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