A few sad-eyed, dark-haired men sit in the spacious canteen of an old community centre in north London. It isn't exactly a gloomy place, but the men sipping sweet black tea from tiny glasses have an air of melancholy, especially in contrast to the beautiful mountains and brightly costumed peasants photographed on the walls. The men - like the mountains and the peasants - are Kurdish; their sadness is the sadness of refugees.