Apparently there's some kind of Reggae beach party going on tonight that plenty of the others are going to go to but I'll definitely pass. It sounds like a really good way to get mugged. Plus I hate reggae with a burning intense passion. Instead, I went out to Oxford street with a couple people and primarily hung out with Camilla and her boyfriend Andre (both from Norway). I was starving but one of the only options was this strange fast food joint across from the bar. I use the term fast food very loosely. When you approach the counter it's completely unclear who to give your order to, and when you do say something no one really moves or acknowledges anything other than the usual greetings. And then when someone does bother to listen to your order they don't ask for money or move or do anything other than turn to the next person and repeat the order while the next person also doesn't move. So you just kind of wander off to a table and watch everyone watching you and eventually, through some bit of magic the food you wanted appears and you finally pay for it. Quite different from the fast food experiences I am used to.
At the bar, I found out what it's like to draw the attention of a Ghanaian man. Rather uncomfortable actually. I tend to think of myself as rather forward but I guess I do enjoy some reserve. I don't think I've ever walked up to someone and told them that their presence was attracting me so much that I couldn't stay across the room any longer. It's nearly impossible to react to. His conversation wasn't unpleasant though. He did kiss my upper arm a couple times which was a) unwanted and b) completely gross because I was covered in bug spray. Seven of us piled into a tiny taxi home. Apparently, this is not unusual.
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