Teglia Frazionata (Rome), London City Runners and the Rome marathon

37th km. My legs are starting to give in. The sun above has no mercy and I pour a cup of water over my head to cool down. I look at my watch thinking "surely I did another km by now", only to discover I barely moved by 200 metres. I want to go faster, imagining finishing strong and fast, but there is nothing left in the tank. I grab a water bottle from the last refreshment station at the 40th km, drink half of it and my brain fried at this point, I mindlessly toss it to my left, hitting another struggling runner in her legs. All she can muster at this point is an "I kill you" look, one of the "I'm not angry, just disappointed" kind. I apologise profusely, and still feeling guilty try to press on: two more kilometers. Just like Murakami said in his memoir "What I talk about when I talk about running", all I can think about at that point is the moment when I'll be finally able to stop running. In the distance I see the Colosseo. Are we really gonna face a lion in there at the end? The good news is: nope. The bad news is: there is one more hill, probably the worst one of the race. But it is the last one, rounding the Colosseo, crowds cheering, only the downhill to the finish line in front of me. In retrospect, I wonder why I didn't press on, why I didn't give it one more sprint, and triumphantly smile for the cameras crossing the line. Instead, I just keep going and give the photographer a look saying "alright, can I stop now..."

The idea to run a full marathon came in August, in a pub (where else) after Cal's birthday dinner. I was with a few other London City Runners (LCR) folks and four of us shook hands on the marathon. To be more precise, we shook hands on Paris, and so technically none of us stuck to it. And while I wanted to see this deal through, I actually wasn't super keen on a full marathon back then.. But then came the Big Half and things started to change.

The eve of Big Half

Big Half was on the 3rd of September 2023, and it was my first half after a year and half. Somehow it felt like quite a long gap and so even though I did several halfs before, it seemed like a massive challenge. Lots of other people signed up from LCR though and all were keen to train. And so we trained. On the Sunday runs we graduated from 6k to the 11k route, eventually going for the longest 18k ones. We bought hydration vests and people around started to look at us as pros. Or maybe not, but that's how I'd always been looking at people in hydration vests: "a vest on your back = ultra marathoner". We'd drink 2 pints of apple-mango smoothies after the runs - bear in mind the peak of the training was in August. And most of all, we got a bit of a group buzz, with plenty of other people training for the same common goal. I simply loved that period in LCR and was rediscovering my passion for running again, definitely feeding off the excitement of others, but also (hopefully) amplifying back that excitement myself.

I got a few people together for some sacred pre-race carb loading at La Porchetta Pollo on Sat evening in Soho. Big bowls of pasta went down, pre-race breakfast tips were exchanged, gel strategies discussed..  Christine stood by peanut butter. Haley advised on hydration tablets. Ken offered tons of tips as the most seasoned runner around, with e.g. NYC marathon under his belt. Other than Andy, we all bought bananas on the way home and I went to bed buzzing for the next day, which is an absolutely brilliant state for falling asleep.

The half itself was fantastic, even though we were cooking in the late summer heat. Mr Brightside was booming from the speakers at the start as we set off, first towards Canary Wharf, then back and through Tower Bridge, basically doing a half of the London Marathon route, but in reverse. I high-fived Tim (the LCR owner) around the 8th mile, followed the wide half-loop through Rotherhithe (my home ground) and pressed on in the long straight line towards Greenwich, finishing by Cutty Sark (a massive ship that only Haley somehow failed to notice :- P)

Big Half done!

Pub after Vitality - the Rome idea
was born here

Celebrations, pizzas and 3 days of endorphins followed and this is when I started to think that a marathon is neither unachievable, not a bad idea at all. And admittedly it also felt like an obvious conclusion out of the "now what" situation in the aftermath of Big Half: I was a bit sad the Big Half excitement was over, but I could see that there was still lots of momentum to keep going, I guess we were just not sure where next. Almost like addicts wishing to replicate the effect of their drug, we signed up for Vitality 10k a couple weeks later. Needless to say, the Vitality race didn't reach the bar set by Big Half. BUT it was crucial in one very important way. This is where the idea to run Rome was born. 

We were chatting in a pub after the race when the topic of a marathon came up, and this is when Ken's colleague Rachel mentioned she's doing Rome. The moment she said it I knew that that was it, that Rome is our destiny, that we'll have to fight those gladiators and round the Colosseum at the 42nd kilometer. Everything about it simply made sense: we'd be carbing up on the best of the best pastas and pizzas, the race was in mid-March, perfect to train through the winter, there was no waiting list, you just sign up. And they even had a 4-person relay option for those not willing to run the full one. Last but not least, the promo video gave me chills every time I watched it, and I can tell you - I watched it lots of times. I can't find it anymore, darn..

Prep for Oxford

The idea was crystal clear to me, but I thought it'd be more fun as a group, a kind of Big Half vibe on steroids. So I started to poll the interest with people (read "push them into it"), seeing who'd be down. It's a funny thing and a fine line psychology wise - once you get a good group together it's easy to get the momentum and snowball further, but until then people can stare at you thinking you're crazy, or politely reply "yea, maybe". I gave it a bit more time.

A bit over the top race gear shot

Before signing up for Rome, I did one more half, the Oxford Half. This turned out to be probably the most enjoyable half I've ever done (counting now, I did 9 of them: 2x Kosice, Bratislava, Prague, Plzen, London Landmarks, Hackney, Big Half and Oxford). What made it so enjoyable? A few things I guess - the weather was absolutely perfect with 8 degrees and sunny and I managed a super enjoyable negative split with almost a sprinting finish. But mainly, the company and the vibes were top, the 4 of us staying in a cozy and very English house, watching Breaking 2 for extra motivation the night before and composing the most ridiculous pre-race gear shots.

Whatever it was, after Oxford I knew I was ready for the full marathon. Or, OK, more precisely - I was ready to train for a full marathon. For one thing I remembered from Prague was that marathon is no joke and I knew there'd have to be much much more in terms of training than for a usual half. But the belief was there, the vibe was right and enough other people said "yea why not" by this point.

The first run of the training plan

All roads lead to Rome and it turned out to be true for quite a few of us at LCR. We signed up in early November, 8 full marathoners + a relay team of 4. The game was on, the wheels were set in motion and we even booked the most amazing guesthouse at a pretty damn good deal. The sign-up mischief managed, I jetted off to Patagonia for a few weeks.

I didn't run at all during my trip, but I read a running book by Murakami I mentioned earlier (What I Talk About When I Talk About Running), further affirming me in my decision that signing up for a marathon was a good choice and getting some extra motivation for the upcoming training. It felt like it's gonna be a game, a  challenge into the unknown and a sort of experiment with my body, but all in a good healthy way and ending with a grand finale at the heart of Rome. 

When I returned before Christmas, I found most of the people already in the early stages of their training and so it was time for me to start mine too. I wasn't starting from ground zero though, so I found myself a 12 week plan designed originally for the Manchester marathon (usual marathon training plans are ~16 weeks). Counting backwards 12 weeks from 17th of March, the first marathon training run fell on Christmas day, on the icy roads in Važec, a small village at the north of Slovakia where my mum is from. Gliding on the slush and ice for over 6k, I can tell you it made for a very fun and memorable start to this journey.

At Chelsea bridge, about 28k/34k

One thing I didn't expect is how enjoyable the training turned out to be. True, it was tiring and at times it was difficult to find the time to train. But overall it was an overwhelmingly positive experience. The short ones during the week were perfect for playing around with the pace, trying to sustain a fast one or alternating. This would generally leave us on a high and we'd spend many a Tuesday evening in the LCR clubhouse discussing how we're looking forward to Rome over a pint. 

The long ones were slowly turning from mere long runs to full-blown adventures. This culminated in a 34k run leading us all the way to Greenwich in the east, then all the way to Chelsea bridge in the west and back to the the club house - something of a full-day trip condensed to 3 hours. Andy, the machine he is, did this 34k one after 6 pints the night before. He lost a pizza bet there, as he bet me he won't drink till the race, but we did make another one after and he stuck to that one. Kudos.

Most of the long runs were followed by a hearty ramen or another meal, some of the longest runs justifying a continuous feast lasting the rest of the afternoon. Or literally eating (no pun intended) well into the next day. Or the whole week. Being able to eat guilt-free pretty much anything and all the time was simply one of the key benefits of the training, I won't lie.

After the 34k run we'd start to taper off. That was 3 weeks before Rome and this is where I started to feel the tiredness of the training kicking in. I'd eat a lot, would be often tired, but I'd keep running trying to squeeze the most out of the last bits of the training. Partly cause I started to think about getting a better time, which I know was a bit too late for, and a bit of a mistake. But partly because I just enjoyed running at this point: running 20-25k was suddenly easy, pushing the pace was fun and interesting. It's almost like we've turned into gazelles that could just happily hop around forever. There was one Thursday when it was literally pissing down and I went for a run - twice. In retrospect, I think I was starting to feel sad (again) that the whole journey is coming to an end, even if Rome was still a couple of weeks away.

Second before last training run - Burgess park run

More and more the subject of the aimed-for finish time would come up in the conversations. I tried to be conservative here, like a politician who doesn't want to jinx it before the election. But subconsciously I was thinking in the 3h 40m, even faster times. Yea, the Fero from 12y ago in Prague was much younger and he did manage only 3h 52m, but then he also didn't train as much back then. I did the longest 34k run in a 5:08/km pace - why not think of a sub 3h 40m marathon?

My last training run was one week before Rome, a LCR 11k to Greenland pier, in pretty heavy rain. I did the first half of it in an easy pace chatting to Doug. The second part though, I decided to push it a bit with sub 4:30 splits. A mistake. While the rest of the day went fine, on Monday I suddenly felt an occasional sharp pain in my left calf. Was pushing it the day before the last straw for my tired muscles? Was it a super-tight knot or a micro-tear? I had no idea, but I was panicking, with 3 months of training all going to nothing suddenly my greatest fear. I immediately decided to "rest the shit out of my calves" for the remainder of the time and not do any exercise at all - ideally I would have done a couple more easy runs, but with even a small chance of this being a tear in the muscle, I wanted to give it the best chance to heal by Sunday. 

We flew to Rome on Friday and by then, I could barely feel the pain in my calf. Whether it would come back half-way through the marathon is another thing but I was definitely getting calmer. But the marathon gods were not done with me yet. Post landing, as we were grabbing a taxi to the centre, I felt another sensation - breathing became difficult as with every breath I felt a sharp pain in my left back.

When I was 18, I had something called "spontaneous pneumothorax" - loosely explained, a bit of your lung ruptures and there's some air on the lung that prevents the it from expanding fully. A small rupture can resolve on its own in time, for the large ones (like when I was 18) one goes straight to the hospital to get the trapped air taken out. The pain in my back in that taxi in Rome was very similar to that from the past, though perhaps not as strong. Either way, running a marathon 2 days later sounded kind of crazy, given on Friday I couldn't even get a deep breath sitting down.. Can it resolve, at least to the point I could run slowly, by Sunday morning? I just didn't know and decided to decide when I had to. But I won't lie, not being able to look forward to the race took quite a bit of joy out of me those two days.

5:15 am

Sunday 5am. The alarm rings and I wake up knackered after barely 3h of sleep. It was just too hard to fall asleep as for some reason I was excessively salivating - if you're like "what the fuck" reading this, do know that I was too, as not a single other time in my life was this the reason for me not being able to fall asleep. 

Anyway. 5am. The idea that we're about to run a marathon seems ridiculous at this time of the day. I go down for a quick coffee and a bite to get the digestion going. I go back to the room finding Cal and Maria doing some sort of funny ritual dance around the bedroom in their light-up hats, as if they just sacrificed a runner to the marathon gods. I pinch myself if I'm still dreaming.

The pain in the back is still there, but milder and so I get dressed anyway and decide I'll go for it and worst case, I'll just stop. Whether it sounds crazy or even irresponsible, at this point it just didn't make sense for me to give up. And I wasn't certain it was a pneumothorax anyway. At the same time, I did everything kind of mechanically, not really allowing myself to feel any of the pre-race buzz, in the expectation of a disappointment later.

The buzz finally took over me in the starting corridor, and when the crowd started to move forward as the waves in front of us were set off, I'd finally get the goosebumps. Last selfies, high fives, waves to the GoPro and off we went too, the Colosseum right in front of us. 

The first kilometers were slow. There were tons of runners everywhere and overtaking was difficult. Not that I was really keen on overtaking anyway, rather focusing on the breathing and seeing how it goes. But after the first 5k I felt like things are actually going well - breathing was getting better, the pain was disappearing. My calf was holding up ok too and while I was definitely not speeding off, I found myself slowly edging the pace up to where I wanted it to be, around ~5:10/km mark. With the dense crowds and the occasional narrow segment slowing me down though, I would try to chase the delay back, whether consciously or subconsciously - the first hints of getting carried away. Still, I felt good and I popped my first gel at around 12k mark just when I saw Maria and Gabi who were helping out at the water station and waiting for their respective relay teams.

At the start of the marathon

12k mark - first gel while spotting Maria and Gabi

With the now reclaimed hope of perhaps achieving a better time, I ended up speeding up a bit and doing a few faster splits, some even below 5m/km. Any experienced marathoner would be now shaking their head at these rookie mistakes - marathon is a long run, some even say it only starts on the 32nd km and that it's all about conserving energy for those last 10k. I kind of knew that, but with quite a lot of other things on my mind before the race, I wasn't thinking particularly clearly. 

On the plus side, I haven't done that many fast splits and my half marathon time was only at 1h 55m 23s, inclusive of a toilet break as somehow I didn't get the pre-race nutrition right either. And I felt still very good, with another mental boost from a high-five to JJ and Cal at the relay station just a few min earlier. Maybe that's why I thought "ok, if I want to do at least 3h 45m, I need to press on and that pressing on should start now. That should make for a negative split and a victorious feeling, right?". 

JJ and Cal at around half way point - I took this frame from my GoPro time warp vid (see below)

Wrong. I felt victorious, but only for those first 4-5 km of the second half. The wall time being already around 11am, the sun has by now climbed up substantially and around this point, as we were running through the olympic village, I started to feel the first proper dips in energy levels. I was suddenly tired, while still trying to cling on to those unreasonable 5m/km splits from the past half an hour. I quickly realized that continuing this way I'd just fuck it up completely and slowed down to around 5:25/km, finally accepting that I still have a lot to run and trying to conserve the little energy I was left with. Around the 28th km I was struggling, I popped another gel (think that was my 3rd), properly refreshed at a water station and that gave me a bit of fuel. 

This must have been towards the end

The next 5-6km were a bit off and on. The gel would kick in and I'd get back into it, reaching back towards that hope that I'd salvage a reasonable time. Then I'd slow down, this time my digestion starting to play up again. Then it'd pass and I'd get back up to speed etc. The sun was unforgiving already, energy was draining, heart rate increasing. I took my 4th gel sooner than I planned, luckily still having an extra gel bar in my belt for the end. The energy returned for a bit but this time the digestion issues came back. Time was running out - not only to reach 3h 45m, now I wasn't even on track for 3h 50h and I was close to being overtaken even by Fero from 12y ago. 

Finitto!

At the 34km and struggling, I emerged from the tunnel section and being overtaken by everyone I made one more pit stop: screw the finish time, I'd rather be able to enjoy the remainder of the race. And that was a great decision. The last 8 or so km were beautiful, running through the historic centre of Rome, past our airbnb, Spanish steps and famous plazas. The streets were narrow and laid with tricky cobbles, my legs heavy and muscles in pain. But I kept running, keeping the avg split well below 6m/km and I realized I did actually have a bit left in the tank. Not enough for the wished-for negative split, not even enough to beat Fero from 12y ago. But just enough to enjoy this incredible atmosphere at the end. 

The rest of the race is the section from the start of this post. Past the finish line I was stumbling forward with the runners around me. I downed a bottle of water and went for tons of refills, some of them ending up poured over my head. I bumped into Andy who finished a minute after me - turns out I wasn't the only one who mismanaged their energy, ha. Henry and Oisin, still sub 4 found us a few min later, and slowly, bit by bit, we gathered everyone in the finish corridor. Everyone made it, and some even got their PBs, which was quite an achievement given the hot weather and a tricky course. 

Finito

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. I was dead tired but everyone wanted to celebrate. There were big jugs of beers, wine later. But I couldn't even get drunk, I was exhausted and perhaps not really in a proper party mood either, the introvert in me asking for some time off and I dropped dead around 11.

Digital nomading

Most people left early the following morning and the few of us left would hang around in the centre of Rome, sluggishly walking around, eating and groaning at every curb or stair. Eventually, even the remainder of the group left and I was to spend a couple days in Rome by myself. I tried the lifestyle of a digital nomad, working from cafes, asking for wifi passwords and generally overdosing on coffee out of the guilty feeling that I should be making my stay worth for the business. 

Why don't we have more fast foods like this?!

I stayed in a place called Vecchia Roma Resort which was a perfect choice for a post marathon recovery - the hosts were super hospitable and made tasty breakfast, the location was quiet yet still very central, and I'd get to chat to other travellers, some of them also in Rome for the marathon. But also, this blog being about pizzas as well, I had the best pizza of my stay in Rome, just round the corner from the guesthouse!

The place was a tiny takeaway called Teglia Frazionata, opened only recently. As the name suggests (to those speaking Italian), these were the typical Roman takeaway pizzas, cooked on a baking tray and sold by the rectangular slice. Admittedly, this was on the Monday evening, the day after the race and I was starving so quite possibly anything would have tasted spectacular. But enjoying a variety of those crispy pizzas with a cool beer, sitting outside on that warm mid March evening - I was in a pizza heaven. 

I did pay a hefty price for that pizza heaven too which was perhaps the only drawback of this experience. I forgot to check how much a slice is, and I ended up ordering 7 of them (needless to say, way more than I could have eaten. The pic above is 3 slices) and paying 38 euros. But given the super nice service and the fact that these fellas were still tasty the next day, I wasn't sorry at all.

Dough - 10
Ingredients - 9
Sauce - 10
Atmosphere - 9
Service - 9

And that was Rome. It may sound funny, even downright masochistic, but those last few km of the marathon are the ones I want to run another marathon for. However painful they are, they make for some of the most vivid memories that I can recall and feelings of being alive like in few situations in life. And while, as mentioned earlier, all I could think about was the moment I'd be able to stop running, I also felt grateful for being able to be there and be able to have this humbling, yet beautiful experience. 

Grazie Roma per un'emozione per sempre!

And a massive thanks to Tim - none of this would have happened had it not been for the fantastic community of LCR, and someone creating it in the first place. #localhero

Circolo Popolare (London, UK)

Warning!

Serious pizza hunt ahead!

End of warning.

This was our third attempt to get in Circolo Popolare, a relatively new restaurant in the city and one that Alessandra crowned as the "best pizza place in London". And when an Italian says something of that kind, well, it must mean something. Circolo, here we come!

First time we aimed (quite naively, looking back at it) to simply walk in on Friday 6pm-ish in a group of 8 people. Needless to say, the place was hopelessly full and we were promptly briefed that the next available table was one for two people only, and with four and half hours of wait. Hmm.

On the second attempt, Alessandra tried to book a table mid-week for her leaving do - no joy again. Bookings are limited, mysteriously evasive and one needs to book a month in advance, kind of like when one wants to make an appointment with NHS GP regarding minor conditions, such as internal bleeding.

But we didn't have a month. For Alessandra was soon to set off for her new adventures across the ocean, and I thought it'd be a shame to do this one without her. Thus a mission plan was formed, timeline agreed, strategy outlined - we meet in the morning streets of Soho on Saturday 11am, hoodies on, and storm the main entrance, not giving up till we get in. If not given choice, we'll use force!

This time round, it was just three of us and so the hopes of making it were higher. The emptiness of the streets around was even more promising - surely everyone's still sleeping! But the moment I entered the restaurant I knew what the front-desk lady would say - "we're full".

A funny thought passed my mind, if the restaurant is perhaps employing actors in order to pretend being always full (and if they do, how can I apply). Before I got to proceed with those thoughts further though, the lady continued: "but we are just finishing breakfasts, if you come 11:30, we should have a table for you".

Welcome to Circolo Popolare, it's Saturday morning and it's full.

Wohoo! A minute later, Alessandra arrived along with her friend Liliana and I shared the news. We decided to do a stroll around the block, but came back already 11:15, trying our best to form a queue that would make it clear to anyone coming after us that "they should better get the hell in the queue as we're WAITING!". The strategy eventually paid off and finally, a bit after 11:30 we were ushered to a table.

Every alcoholic's dream...

The interior of the place is probably the first thing that makes one go "ooooh". The walls are tall and are featuring 10 or so embedded "caves". Each "cave" in turn has about 10 shelves full of bottles of alcohol (still full!). The shelves being about 5 bottles deep and 20 bottles wide, we calculated to be surrounded by something like 10000 flasks of often expensive content. Alessandra identified some special or rare ones and if we assume an average price tag of £25 per bottle, we're looking at £250k worth of alcohol around us - seemingly used purely for decoration! Did I say this is London?

We ponder the menu and thinking about how hard it was to get in, I decide to better try everything I can now, my order eventually featuring Zerotto (kind of like a soft drink by San Pallegrino mixed with Aperol or Campari), the "animal lover" pizza (a vegetarian pizza - because I love animals), thinly sliced San Daniele ham (because I love animals) and even a home-made Tiramisu for desert. A basket of delicious fresh bread is brought to the table, along with water.

When making the order, I attempt putting on a serious face asking for a pineapple pizza and a bottle of ketchup, but I only manage a second or two before succumbing to the pressure of conforming to the Italian norms. When I later considered Capuccino after the lunch, both Alessandra and Liliana nearly choked in the indignation over me breaking some sacred Italian laws, much like if I suggested that we should revoke basic human rights. You CAN'T have cappuccino with lunch! Gosh....

Definitely the most tasty cured ham I've
ever had...!

Anyway, the incredibly tasty San Daniele ham made for the best starter, whetting our appetites and putting to work the digestion fluids in our stomachs (am I really writing about digestion fluids?) in anticipation of the new arrivals soon to be coming down our esophaguses (I am not sure what's wrong with me now).

Filling the time a bit, I went for a inconspicuous stroll around the restaurant, mainly peeking into the kitchen like a weirdo on a nude beach. I dared not to speak to the sure-to-be top-end professionals and super-chefs, but I could easily see that Circolo has a kitchen simply on the next level compared to any other place I've been to. For one, it's a huge kitchen, divided into many sections, easily manned by 25-odd people (most likely many more behind the front facade doing e.g. dishes or support work). The pizza section itself has two ovens, each handled by a separate pizzaiolo. The inside of the ovens seems further to be made out of two parts. First, the "engine" compartment where the wood is burned to produce heat. And then the auto-rotating platform holding the fire-bathing pizzas themselves, easily 7-8 at a time. When the pie is about to be taken out, the pizzaiolo holds it on the shovel up against the hottest place in the oven and then - voila, another baby sees the light of the world. Stunning.

Magic happens here

Our treats are soon landing on the table in front of us and it's time to dive in. Beautiful they are, the Neapolitan style pizzas. A very soft, thick and puffy crust looks just like from a pizza chef's textbook, and so does the bottom of the pie. Ingredients not only look authentic, but taste that way too and I love the oily, almost mushy nature of my veggies - a testament to the quality of the oils used. The only thing we lack in general is a bit more salt in the taste, however that's also one of the simplest parts of the equation to adjust individually.

Alessandra's pizza featuring Burrata cheese

My Animal Lover. I loved it.

The girls were very content too (be it not - poor starved Italians in this fish-and-chips UK!) and after the sweet Tiramisu ending, I was even happy to pronounce a satisfactory level of satiation. Not an overload in any way - mind you, 45 minutes later I was already playing frisbee in Shoreditch - but a nice, happy and confident feeling that the quality food will be easily handled by my digestion fluids (damn... really? The fluids again?!). And that, ladies and gents, was worth it - the failed attempts to get in, the morning wait, the 40-odd quid I left there. After all, this is London with its best restaurants, and it's worth to try the best of the best ;-)

Zerotto

So was this the best hunt yet? Hmm. Very close, but nope. Sotto Sopra, Real Italian, Sorbillo or possibly others would not be shifted from their positions in the chart. And I guess while it is partly due to the style of the pizza (Neapolitan not being my favorite), it is also partly due to something else - the memories connected to the place, the experience of the days around the pizza hunt, the atmosphere not just inside the restaurant, but outside on the street. To put it metaphorically, it's simply the whole "slice of life", along with the slice of pizza, that creates that perfect experience. And although enough money can make absolutely superb pizzas in the heart of London, it can't make that perfect experience, if only because the notion of what is perfect is different for each of us.

I guess for me, it's still just about building that relationship with London, especially at the time of this pizza hunt - already few weeks down the line I'm more friends with the UK's capital. Either way, in terms of Circolo Popolare, you can't go wrong - a friendly and quick service, mind-blowing interiors, superb pizzas... It's worth it. So grab a sleeping bag, camp in front of the restaurant overnight and make your digestion fluids happy for the next day's lunch!

And don't forget some enjoyable Italian company. Otherwise you can mess it all up with an afternoon cappuccino... All the best in US Alessandra ;-)

PS:

Dough - 9
Ingredients - 10
Sauce - 9
Atmosphere - 9
Service - 9

The Duke (Deptford, London)

Vinny has great ideas. And one such great idea came when he read one of these blog posts: 

"Pizza blog, that's great, man. You should call it "a slice of life""

How come I never thought of that? Renamed, cheers again Vinny.

And so, here's a slice of my life, from the period that felt like making a true leap of faith. One where the abyss below felt kind of scary and where I hoped to see people on the other side. But a January 2020 now wrapped up, I think I've now touched the land, mainly thanks to the many helping hands that came my way, sometimes perhaps not realizing they were helping hands. And whether this "other side" is the right one, I don't know. People say "it will grow on you" or "give it a chance" and I think they're right.

But let's start at the beginning, almost taking off where this blog post left it. And we'll start with an advice, one that'll give you as a true friend, free of charge, an advice that you'll come and personally thank me for:

If you are about to change a job, move house and start in a new city, do it all in a single weekend.

On a smelly tube of some sorts

It's mid-December, about 9:30pm on Sunday evening and I am on a smelly tube line towards the east London, where my new "home" is. With me is the giant Fjallraven backpack full of stuff I kept for the last night at my ex-studio in Cardiff, as well as my small Klos travel guitar. I've just had 3 days of good-bye parties, packing, minivan round-trip to London to move the bulk of the stuff and a last minute cleaning of the studio before handing the keys to the landlord. A coach to London, the mentioned tube ride, another bus and there I am, dead tired at something like 10pm, standing in my new (cold) London room, with boxes everywhere, about to start a new job the very next morning.

Being tired, I fall asleep but it is an intermittent one. Waking up feels surreal with the inevitable feeling of "where the hell am I". The answer to the question is obvious though, with the omnipresent boxes not giving me any space for doubt. In London, baby.

I get dressed and I set off to work, trying to maintain a professional expression on my face, one that would indicate that I moved with a responsible schedule, am well rested, unpacked and ready for my first day.

The first day in work also means the first commute to work and here I am, for once, pleasantly surprised. Instead of the expected hoards of bankers in suits, my first steps pass a primary school with many kids saying goodbye to their parents for the day. Past the chicken shop I then go (with box of fries, 5 chicken wings and a drink for suspicious £2.5, cash only) and over the DLR and busy roads separating Poplar from Canary Wharf. Here some of the dreaded bankers join my route, though upon a closer look, they don't feel particularly evil, neither they are particularly high in numbers. Anyway, most of them turn left where I go right, and so in relatively sparse conditions, I enter Canary Wharf (sounds of fanfares everywhere now). Through a lovely bridge, past Cabot square with the thought-provoking statue of an industrial worker and here I am, at the reception of 10 South Colonnade. 15 minutes - not bad at all! Though deep within, I still long for that bus 30 to show up behind the corner, or for spotting those merrily-hopping rabbits from ONS campus.

Just off my street - a rush hour to the primary school

Morning view from the pass over the DLR and highways separating Poplar from Canary Wharf

The footbridge over the water basin in Canary Wharf

What was worse though was the first day at work - I soon find out that the lock-down level at my new workplace is a tiny bit on the excessive side: running any code, accessing Google Drive or even creating your own desktop shortcuts is simply not allowed, generally due to obscure clauses in the "security policy", leading me to hours of trying to understand the security risks involved in letting people create their own desktop shortcuts. I draw a big sigh and get mentally prepared for a long fight that I'll need to lead to enable me and my team to do our work. But at 3pm, I just have enough for the first day and decide to go home to process the thoughts and unpack. I come home, sit at the edge of my bed and look around at all the boxes. Then I put my head in my hands and ask myself the question "what have I done". My new "home" is shit. Work seems horrible. I don't like London already...

Slowly, over time, though, things would improve. 

At home, the boxes would be opened and the room tidied up. I'd find out how to fix my radiator to let some warmth in, clean the mould on the wall and install a dehumidifier. Pictures would be hanged, painting of Nash Point put on display and a projector set up to convert the wall opposite my bed to a cinema-like screen.

Nash Point - one of the nicest place I've ever been to and my favorite in Wales. Pic by the best photographer I know (Gareth), painted by the best painter I know (Miles). 

Home cinema test - check!

At work, I'd start the many "IT security fights", slowly getting access to tools and services I need. I'd find out that there's nice people at VOA too, that there are things that actually work better than at ONS, and that there's a true potential for me to do interesting and meaningful work. And perhaps most importantly, that the things I looked for in my move to a more senior role are very much there, reassuring me that the "leap of faith" is, at least work-wise, in the right direction.

I'd meet up with friendly faces - mainly ex-ONS - even if they're on other side of London. I'd volunteer to see them at their neighborhood, so that I get to know London, even if I did not necessarily feel like I want to get to know it. And I'd visit the meet-ups - Frisbee, Salsa, Toastmasters, a running club - all in the spirit of "let's just do something and speed up this get-to-know-London process". For what I really missed deep inside was not Cardiff itself, but the feeling of it being a home.

A bunch of awesome people from ONS London office at Princi in Soho. Photo is actually from the same table as we once sat with other awesome ex-ONS people.

Joining Peter and Kika for a run with their Fulham running club. Not really checking in advance what this will be, it turned out to be a knee breaking 26km in the hills of North Downs way

"Ain't nothing but blues bar" - exploring the gig-scene of Soho

This one is from a place in Deptford and actually features one of my new colleagues - do check out  "JB conspiracy" on Spotify!

And one good way to make a new place feel like home is to have friends from the old home visit, and go explore the new one. Therefore, when Alex and Vinny suggested a mid-January weekend visit to record a podcast (conveniently one about "how is it to move to a new place"), I was all for it.

On Saturday, 11th of January, we kick-start our journey with a visit to the mentioned dodgy chicken shop, getting a box of chicken and fries each, creating a solid turnover of £7.5. This was mainly to ensure that Alex does not activate his "hungry to angry fury" ultimate, a feature of his that I haven't experienced myself but was warned to watch out for. Also, we just want to get some proper greasy junk food.

Another order for some extremely spicy chicken is in progress, making the air almost unbreathable and literally forces us to wait outside.

Once we're done licking our fingers after the healthy breakfast, we begin our walk through the Canary Wharf, which has an interesting vibe on a weekend - families with kids are not an uncommon sight and well-dressed bankers give way to curious tourists interested to see the fancy financial centre. A little south of it though, we're back to the yet-to-be-gentrified London at Isle of Dogs. A commonly used expression is "up and coming area", which, as Mrazo told me when I bumped into him on a Ryanair flight, essentially means "a shit area".

Somber skies and sky-scrapers, that's Canary Wharf. But down below, it's often not too bad. For the true evil bankers are actually in London City!

 

Podcast recording in action

A proud civil servant. Seconds later, a security guard came out saying it is not allowed to take pictures like this. After creating desktop shortcuts banned by security policy, I won't be surprised by anything.

At the very south point of Isle of dogs, we enter a traditionally looking pub which has a small room where we decide to spend a bit of time recording. The setting is perfect for a discussion and we get the best material here. If interested, give it a listen - the topics touch on the unavoidable Cardiff vs. London comparison, what makes a place feel like home or picking apart our experiences of spending first days in a new city. Interspersed with tunes by a perspective - shall we say "up and coming" - musician Fero Hajnovic, you can't go wrong by putting this on at any time of your day! Link ;-)

The sun sets meanwhile and darkness meets us when we're out of the pub. We cross the Thames in the pedestrian tunnel to Cutty Sark and aim for the observatory point in Greenwhich, with Canary Wharf skyline in prime display right in front of us. It's an interesting view and at some point I get asked how it compares to the views of Himalayas. In short - it doesn't - but there's is something impressive in the way humans are able to convert abandoned docks and swampland into a world-class sky-reaching business centre.

Canary Wharf from Greenwhich view point

We continue towards Deptford - a decision that may have seen random to Vinny and Alex, but one that was in fact part of a meticulous and devious plan of a Dire Straits geek (me). For it is there, in Deptford, where the band spend its early days and made the breakthrough. It is also, as I was told, an "up and coming" area, and so I warned Alex and Vinny to put on their Unagi mode and be ready for some rough locals.

Without any harm though, we make it to Farrer house and look for a plaque marking the beginnings of the band in the flats above. In the quiet neighbourhood, we feel a bit weird, kind of like those groups of geo-cachers taking unusual interest in the most ordinary things. We succeed though and with a idiot-like wide smile, I get a picture with the plaque marking Dire Strait's first gig in the area. 

Found it! The best music ever began here :-)

I quickly google for the name of the pub where this gig could have actually happened. One suggestion leads to The Duke just minutes away and since we're relatively hungry, it's a no brainer, even more so when we find out that the place is effectively a pizzeria! A pizza hunt? Hell yeah!

The Duke is a cozy place, with friendly staff. I shoot a question to the waitress if Dire Straits' first gig happened here indeed, and she confirms they did one of the first ones here. I continue by asking what beer does she think they would've been drinking that time, but this time I only get a raised eyebrow and "how would I know? I wasn't alive back then". I get the point, shut up and order a pizza.

The prices here are also good and we attribute that to a principle we discussed earlier - the pub has not uncovered yet the "missing pound symbol" hipster trick that goes around London. You ask what is that? Well, it's very simple. When designing a menu, instead of writing e.g.

"House beef burger with chips    £11.00"

Write (preferably on a blackboard with a chalk):

"House beef burger with chips    11"

For not including the pound symbol is a sign of a modern restaurant, one where "it's not about the money". It's not 11 pounds. It's just 11. You're not spending money. You're spending eleven. And because of that, you should not mind to see e.g:

"House beef burger with chips    14"

Anyway, I wanted to say that the prices are good at The Duke.

And the same goes for pizzas. I got a marinara which came with plenty of sauce, solid touch of garlic and a proper, vivid taste. We further spiced it up with some chilly oil - with Vinny using about half a cup and breathing fire - and it was a treat. Nothing super special, but a decent pie, quickly delivered and on a tasty base too. 

The well deserved pizzas have landed!

 

Superb marinara indeed! Demonstrated by me being so eager to dive in that I forgot to take a pic while the pizza was still untouched.

Sunrise over London from Primrose hill

Here we also concluded the podcast recording, and the day in general, heading back for the DLR and home for the day. And I did feel better about London - after all, Dire Straits started here and there's a pinch of truth in asking "where else?". It may be crowded, too large, stinking and much less homely, but if there's one thing that London does better than any other city, it's providing opportunities.

Festival of lights in Canary Wharf

As Alex put it - London has many faces (though first we heard "feces", which is also true), you just need to ask the question "where is X?". And London will answer. Thus perhaps the hardest thing is to identify what that X is for you. But I do have some ideas.

Weeks passed and so did January 2020. Slowly, I touched the ground and the leap of faith seemed to be drawing to its end. It's certainly not the end of settling in here, it's not even the beginning of the end, but it is perhaps the end of the beginning. 

All things considered though, it hasn't been an easy one, and I am truly thankful for people that were with me during this time, helping me get through that "what have I done" feeling - may it be the very new faces, the well-known London ones, or those that came from "back home", kind of sending a message that it's not really that far away. 

Writing these words on a coach, coming back from an awesome extended weekend in Cardiff - I can confirm myself, it's just round the corner :-)

A bike ride in Wales. Can this be ever beaten by London? Don't think so ;-)

Dough - 8
Ingredients - 8
Sauce - 9 (super tasty on my Marinara)
Atmosphere - 11 (Dire Straits' FIRST GIG - what did you expect?)
Service - 9