London Christmas (in the style of Samuel Pepys, c December 1660)

20071224_holland_park_fog

Being Christmas week of 1659-60, and latterly moved to the great city of London, I find myself two days past Boxing Day in fine health and of abstemious temperament. This Sunday, not desiring to attend church, woke late morning to find the whole world enwrapped in fog.

I put on my coat with great skirts, having this week obtained this in the High Street, and strolled to the nearby estate of the Earl of Holland to take the air. I can well imagine in future centuries that this green and pleasant spot shall become a park. I think Holland Park a fitting name. The fog was most amenable to my wish to sketch a few impressions, and remained for some hours.

Christmas Eve I borrowed £100 of the bank for my purchases of the season, and so went to my office, where there was nothing to do. Those that did attend on this day grew weary of travail by twilight, and retired to the local tavern.

Christmas Day, being without family obligations and wishing to save my £, I planned a day of exercise in the open air. Sadly, the fates did not treat me kindly with the weather, and it was bitter cold and wet. Nevertheless, I determined to be jolly, and went out regardless.

I arose early and dressed for the cold though perhaps less well the wet. As I later discovered, I chose my gloves poorly, selecting Uruguayan leather rather than good English wool, and these suffered greatly from the rain through the course of the day.

I first attended the Peter Pan Swimming Race (price £0) in that Hyde Park, kindly granted to the people in my youth by our late lamented king Charles I. Each year, much to the astonishment of the waterfowl, a group of swimmers leap like geese into the Serpentine, tho the water is bitter cold. They must exercise themselves greatly to reach the end of the race some 50yds on, for fear of dying from the cold. It is said that one poor swimmer, not prepared for the chill, did indeed die some years past. Ending the race in but 5 minutes, the brave swimmers cheer themselves with mulled wine, which they do not care to share with the spectators.

I made my way along the park toward his Majesty Charles II's favoured promenade of Constitution Hill. I hope, with his Majesty's recent restoration to the throne, he will take the park in hand and lay a gravel track, for the walk is fearful muddy - a veritable Rotten Row.

As I strolled along the road through St James' Park, I was greatly taken by the disruption imposed on the park by his Majesty's building works. It pleased me tho, to see so many new trees planted, and I look with eagerness to the spring and the growth of the new turf being laid.

Continuing my walk, I passed Lord Goring's house to the right, and admired his mulberry garden. I have heard, that he may be in some difficulty with the freehold, for the document failed to pass the Great Seal before King Charles I fled London in 1640.

I passed Charing Cross, where King Charles I' equestrian statue formerly stood. Grant it will be returned to its place one day - I have heard it was hidden for safe-keeping from the depredations of the Lord Protector. As I stood before the King's Mews, I realised I had come near an hour before my appointed meeting time of 11:00. I had left the garret without breakfast, and grew irritable from hunger. Desiring a capon or perhaps some bread and cheese to settle my stomach, I searched for a public house. Alas, in this Christian country, all were fast shut until noon, and I wandered disconsolately through the streets of Whitehall until the appointed hour.

At 11:00 I returned to the square between the King's Mews and Charing Cross to meet my companions. What a whimsical fancy - to stroll the streets of Whitehall in the footsteps of Samuel Pepys - as if the man might not step from his lodgings in Axe Yard at any moment.

The afternoon I busied myself with domestic tasks and dined well, but that is a story for another day...

the days are just full...

20071217_earlscourt_embankment

I was a whirlwind of activity this weekend - I'm quite exhausted this morning. I don't think I have ever been so domestically minded in my life! Among other things:

• Took delivery of the final bits of furniture I think I need and managed to assemble a flat-pack chest of drawers in only two hours. The other one can wait until next week.

• Did 3 loads of laundry - this is a symptom of the tiny washing machine rather than my enormous collection of dirty clothing.
• Made a big pot of chicken stock - can't seem to buy it, so I have to make it.
• Got my home phone working with the aid of a new £19.99 handset - saved myself a £119 call-out fee.
• Wrapped all the Xmas presents and got them into post packs (carefully weighed to be under the 2kg small parcel limit). Unfortunately didn't make it to the Post Office by noon Saturday - maybe this evening.
• Acquired a library card and even got library books out.
• Bought enough coat hangers (finally) that I can finish the ironing.
• Acquired a coffee cup and tumbler for the office - no more paper cups for me.

After all that domesticity, and because Sunday was a beautiful sunny day, I decided I needed a good long walk. Unfortunately, due to my turning over two pages of the map at once and skipping a whole section of the Thames, the walk turned out to be a bit longer than planned - about 13km in total. Still, it was a very pleasant walk, and I saw lots of interesting things.

The Burghers of Calais were intruiging - the last time I saw them, they were in Rodin's garden in Paris. I suppose, if I were to write "1001 Pointless Lists to Complete Before You Die", I could add - "visit all 12 castings of the Burghers of Calais in situ".

I also met James McNeill Whistler (but not his mother), Emmeline Pankhurst, Oliver Cromwell, Winston Churchill, and caught a glimpse of a particularly tastelessly gilded statue of Thomas More from across the road.

The main purpose of the walk was to visit the Bankside Frost Fair - which was mildly entertaining. I was going to visit the Globe theatre, but couldn't be bothered by the time I got there. Contented myself with eating hot roast chestnuts as I strolled around, and snuck home on the Tube before it got dark.

Hardship Posting (my new home in London as told by Fungus the Bogeyman)

20071201_london_abode

Back in Bristol after two days in London waiting for my airfreight to show up. One day someone will explain to me how they can move a person in 20 hours, but 6 boxes take 28 days to travel the same distance. On the way back, I'm going by container...
Have the key to my new home, and frankly, I'm disappointed. I would have expected a far more likeable residence on a company ticket. I don't know where to begin to complain.
Firstly, the building is more than 100 years old. Just to make a point, here is evidence of the building from around 1900. I was so hoping for one of the finer examples of post-war Brutalist architecture, such as the Trellick Tower. It is rumoured that Ian Fleming so despised the architect of this building, he named one of his most famous villains after him. Why couldn't I have found such an unlovely residence instead of being walked around tasteful flat after tasteful flat.
My hopes were dashed again when I got inside - a century-old building conjures warm thoughts of rising damp, balky hot water systems, sculleries and the smell of boiled cabbage. Instead I get downlights, cedar blinds, hot water boosters, anti-tamper locks and 24-hour security. It's enough to make you weep.
The location is even more awful. My near neighbours include the Royal Academy, the South African Ambassador and Edina Monsoon. I can't even get the blood flowing in my legs before I am amidst the nightmare temptations of Kensington High Street. Habitat, Muji, Laura Ashley, Marks & Spencers, the Whole Food Market, Zara - it's a litany of horror. One block from Holland Park, 10 blocks from the V&A, what am I to do?
I looked for a grim and nasty way to walk to work - it's the antique shops of Kensington Church Street, Palace Gardens or Hyde Park - dismal. I thought I could increase the grimness quota by diving into the Tube - 5 minutes (literally 5 minutes) from Kensington High Street to Paddington. Not even enough time to catch a cold from somebody.
I can only console myself with the thought that I managed to spend an alarming amount of money in only two days - but doesn't that faux fox throw look divine...
And just to top it all off, I'm told the managing agent is absolutely charming.
BTW - if you're not a fan of strange childrens' books, more on Fungus the Bogeyman here...

Taking the waters

20011125_Bath_general

took the BBC at its word today, and assumed that a weather forecast of "bright" meant "occasional glimpses of sunshine filtered through clouds and no actual precipitation". Never mind the Eskimos and their words for snow, the English have a thousand euphemisms for cloudy with intermittent rain.
Anyway, "bright" was optimistic enough to pack the Hasselblad and head for Bath. I attempted to catch a train, failing to allow for British Rail. Eventually, I caught a "rail substitution bus", which, "owing to the engineering" in the words of Clive James, had replaced the train between Bristol Temple Meads and Bath Spa for the day.
You will have to wait for the artistic shots until I find a dinosaur who develops real film, but in the meantime, here are some happy snaps of what is arguably the loveliest town I have ever visited.

20011125_Bath_baths

It certainly ranks well up there with the Old Towns of Stockholm, Prague, Warsaw and Brussels, without feeling like a museum piece. Contemporary Bath is predominantly Georgian in style, and therefore frozen at about 1825. The town centre has a graceful, coherent feel, and seems to escaped the worst insults of post-war reconstruction.
Bath is another stop on the World Heritage checklist. According to the City of Bath World Heritage Site Management Plan, people have been living in Bath and enjoying the hot springs since at least 5000BC. The Roman Baths are a wonderful palimpsest of Roman, Georgian and Victorian layers. Oddly, I found one of the most interesting things was observing all the other gawkers enjoying their World Heritage.

20011125_Bath_abbey

After I visited the Baths I paid a brief visit to Bath Abbey. Not greatly memorable, but some lovely examples of funerary art on the walls. One of these days I will read up on Victorian funerary allegory, because there were a few recurring themes, such as the Good Samaritan, wreaths, animals and broken colums that would be interesting to understand further.

11 flats, 8 agents, 4 possibles and one offer

200711_london_hunting

Took a whirlwind tour of central London on Wednesday to find the perfect flat. I was not wildly optimistic - I had heard too many stories of gazumped offers, greedy agents, and fruitless searches. The relocation consultant was very efficient, and we drove briskly from possible property to possible property. Then we drove briskly around and around the block looking for a parking spot that would not result in a wheel clamp. Then we wrestled with the council to make their pay-by-mobile-phone parking system function. Then the consultant just parked in the middle of the street while I ran in to pass judgement.
By property #4 I had perfected the art of the 30-second decision. Too small, too pokey, hideous wallpaper, 5 flights of stairs, strong smell of mothballs, funny-looking caretaker, funny-looking neighbour, faint aura of boiled cabbage, too far from the Tube, too close to the Tube, too Laura Ashley, too Terence Conran, yellow walls, net curtains, no storage...
Flats #1, #5, #8 and #9 were all acceptable. #8 won on location, amenities and understated decor. We put an offer in, it was accepted verbally, now I wait to see if anything goes awry.
I hope this is the one - I have already located and Google mapped the local leisure centre, library, garden centre, Tube station, whole food grocer and branches of Habitat, M&S and Muji, not to mention testing the walking route to the office (35 minutes).
Even had enough time left over for the V&A, Hyde Park, and arguably the world's most tasteless monument before the train back to Bristol.

The Brunel Mile (after mile after mile)

20071118_Bristol_Brunel

as promised, I had a Brunel adventure on the weekend.
On Saturday, I walked from my cosy flat at the water's edge to the Clifton Suspension Bridge where it spans the Avon Gorge. A few factoids about the Bridge, some stolen (oops, I mean cited) from the official website:

• This was Isambard Kingdom Brunel's first major commission, which he gained by winning a design competition in 1830.
• The bridge was not completed until 1854, 5 years after Brunel's death.
• 11-12,000 motor vehicles cross it every day, even though they have to pay 30-40p a go.
• It is only ever sunny in Clifton when other people are photographing. All my pictures are grey and dreary.
  

On Sunday, foolishly optimistic, I thought it might be warmer and sunnier. However, as the 17th corollary to Sod's Law clearly states - "adverse weather is naturally attracted to the recreational days of the week". At the thermal peak of the day, the mercury registered 6.6 degrees. On such a day, I heartily (though not warmly) endorse a visit to the SS Great Britain in Bristol. No other reason is required than the comfortable warmth and 25% humidity of the below-decks, where a massive machine called Deep Thought labours to keep the fragile iron hull of the Great Britain from further deterioration. Nevertheless, the SSGB (getting too lazy to type the whole thing) offers a very entertaining couple of hours, with interactive exhibits, funny stories, dressed-up shop window dummies, and even authentic smells...

I finished my visit to the SSGB (still lazy), but did not entirely bid farewell to Brunel. Tuesday morning I set off to London to house-hunt. I left from next door to the Great Western Railway Terminus (as designed by Brunel), travelled by First Great Western (though at a price that I'm sure Brunel would gasp at), and stayed at the Paddington Hilton (former Great Western Railway Hotel). I don't think Brunel would have been very impressed by the gym or the food or the central heating, but the room was nice.

Next blog, 26 bathrooms in 260 minutes, as I search for the perfect London piéd-a-terre...

feather-footed through the plashy fen passes the questing vole (not)

20071115_ishmaelia

first thing to point out about Ishmaelia - it's not really Ishmaelia - names have been changed to protect the innocent. I can confirm it is a small, French-speaking country in West Africa, that may or may not have been immortalised by Evelyn Waugh.
First impressions? We arrived in the evening after a long day of travel - Bristol - Heathrow - Paris CDG - Ishmaelia. The airport was a blur of dark faces, noise and bustle. The car park and the area around the airport was crowded with people - all neatly dressed, immaculately clean and quietly chatting with each other.
The hotel was fine - I didn't expect the Ritz-Carlton, and what we got would have stood up well against the All Seasons Karratha or Kununurra.

Some interesting quirks of the accommodation:

• The lifts did not like to go up. Pushing the up button either did nothing, or sent the lift sailing gently downward to the ground floor. I kept expecting a lugubrious voice to intone "May I ask you if you've considered all the possibilities that down might offer you?"
• The lift lobby was not air-conditioned - you would go from your nice cool room on the way to a meeting room, and would be met with a warm wave of tropical heat. However, the resident praying mantis seemed to enjoy it.
• Brushing my teeth with Perrier - not nearly as luxurious as it sounds...
• The food was surprisingly excellent - classy French cuisine and everything very fresh. However next trip I will take Vegemite, cliched though it is.

The last night we were there there was a dinner with the cream of local society - I met several ambassadors, the chief of the port, and I believe the head of the navy and several politicians were also there. Spent most of the evening practising my limited French and trying not to make a fool of myself.

I tested my personal theory that you have a very good chance of avoiding tummy upsets and adapting to the local food if you eat lots of yoghurt. 2nd day back in Bristol and still healthy, so I think it worked.

We spent most of our 3 days there in workshops, so I only have a few hurried photographs from out a car window. We did get a tour of the port, and watched ore cars being unloaded and ships being loaded.

Return trip left on time at 23:30 - I am told this is not normal. At least Air France have good food and service. One of these days I will do a rating of the various forms of international business class.

Arrived back in Bristol late morning (see the above itinerary, just in reverse) with about an hour's sleep behind me to a cold and frosty morning. Made an executive decision that the office was beyond my powers and worked from home. Climbed the Mount Everest of relocation and successfully opened a bank account!

This weekend's agenda, seeing my time in Bristol is short - Isambard Kingdon Brunel and what he built...

7:00 am and the sun only just came up

well, that was the first 24 hours in the UK. Unmemorable trip over. Sat next to a young woman with her (thankfully) good-natured baby, watched movies, tried to sleep.
Arrived 5:00am, 4 hours to kill until the embassy opened, so my taciturn driver took me to a little hotel called the Gainsborough in Kensington. When I say little, I mean the rooms and the stairs. Note to self - when you have 50kg of luggage, choose a hotel with lifts.
Nice enough place - pretty decorating, if peeling around the edges. Some of the little homey touches that remind you you're back in the country of period conversions - the 15 minute wait for the hot water to arrive - the curious way the lights dim when you turn on the hairdryer - the mysterious drillholes in the walls...
One mystery (for a hotel called the Gainsborough) was the obsessive hanging of Dante Gabriel Rossetti reproductions and bad copies in the foyer. I looked everywhere, and didn't find a single Gainsborough in the plethora of prints. Another mystery was that the entire staff appeared to have come from somewhere in Eastern Europe.
Went to the Ishmaelian embassy early so I could walk around Kensington a bit. It was a perfect sunny day, so I got to enjoy the Friday morning bustle of the upper middle-class. The embassy was a surprise. I know it's a poor country in Africa, but the tiny office up rickety stairs on the 3rd floor of a faded Victorian was a little unexpected. However the staff were brisk, friendly and efficient, and I got my visa in only two hours.
To make up for the morning's silent driver, the one who took me to Bristol could talk for England. Fortunately he didn't seem to mind if I was listening or not, and nattered happily along for two hours about the weather, his cousins in Australia, and the motorways of the Home Counties.
Flung my pile of luggage in the middle of the apartment in Bristol and raced to the office for a few hours of meetings.
Last surprise for the day - left the office at 5:00 and it was pitch dark. Never mind - got some groceries, went home, cooked dinner, went to bed early.
The sun has finally lumbered above the horizon this morning, so today is stock the fridge, unpack, find all the things I forgot to pack, wonder if they are in the air freight, buy them twice just in case and recover from jet lag.
Tomorrow is another continent.

Una última mirada en Buenos Aires

20071310_Pasaje_de_la_defensa

It's three weeks now since I left Buenos Aires . Probably for the last time, but last times have a habit of turning into long-time-away rather than never-to-return.
Back in Perth for four more days then time to pack a much bigger set of bags and go to the UK. Expect the next post from Bristol - a brief waypoint on the road to Africa.
Here are the results of a few days with the Hasselblad on the streets of Puerto Madero and San Telmo.
All photos shot with a 503CW using either a 250mm CF or a 50mm C. BW film Ilford Delta Pro 400, Colour Fuji Velvia 100 transparency.

20071006_BA_HB_col

dia de la primavera

As I write this evening, I am looking out my 5th floor window across a small park. It is almost dark, and there are about three dozen swallows performing aerobatics at my eye level, chasing insects in the twilight. One of them perched on my windowsill briefly a few minutes ago before sailing off again.

Though the buds have been rising and the pigeons cooing for a couple of weeks, today is the first official day of spring in Buenos Aires. Despite the comparatively mild winter, los porteños greet the return of the sun with the riotous joy you might expect from the Inuit as the spring dawn feebly peeps above the ice.

The equinox is filled with local and inexplicable ritual. For example, in the office yesterday afternoon, flowers appeared on all our desks, great and small alike, from "the management". I thought for one terrible moment it was Secretary's Day and I had been misclassified.

It was the first evening since I arrived here in June when it was warm enough to sit outside in the evening. As we enjoyed a post-work beverage at the Spell Cafe, the sights and sounds of spring were all around us.

It seems that spring must be greeted with much shouting and tooting of car horns. The avenue was jammed with cars, however it all seemed in good humour. A party of girls strolled past the cafe carrying giant red hearts - who knows why.

I bid my colleagues goodbye about 20:00 and strolled home to an early night. My dreams were filled with shouts and car horns.

I woke this morning to a perfect, sunny day, after a week of clouds and rain. As I walked through the park taking photos, the debris of the night before demonstrated what a good time was had by all. As the day warmed up, every available surface was populated by recumbent bodies.

I will come back tomorrow to see if they are sunseekers, or leftovers from the night before.
I am running a book on these two - they are probably:

1. Sleeping off last night's wedding
2. Chauffeurs on their lunch break
3. Off-duty bouncers catching a kip on their way home.

20070922_BA_spring_fever

across the andes by A400

well, it may not have the same resonance to it as "Across the Andes by Frog", but it was still a memorable view.
An uneventful trip back to Buenos Aires - none of the planes were outrageously late, and the last LAN-Chile flight from Santiago to Buenos Aires was not only on time but half-empty.
In my jet-lagged state after 28 hours in the air I was happy to look out the window at the enormous mountains and daydream.
I read a book a few months ago by Dr Johan Reinhard about the discovery of some Inca mummies on Llullaillaco volcano. Then there was an article on Sep 7 from AP which brought the story to mind again.
Though Llullaillaco is a long way to the north, as I sleepily gazed at the view I could almost see the brightly coloured dots of people trekking to the tops of those peaks to make their sacrifices.

back in the old country (for now)

Finally made it back to Perth on Sunday afternoon. Trip uneventful (after we got out of Buenos Aires). The 18:15 plane took off at 22:15 for a 1:45 trip to Santiago. Even allowing for the 1 hour time difference, it was a dismal time sitting in Ezezia watching the clock tick past any hope of catching the 22:45 from Santiago to Auckland.
I was sitting glumly in the plane thinking about how on earth I would find a place to sleep in Santiago until the next flight. Then they announced that they would get us on the flight after all. Fortunately there were enough people connecting from BA for them to hold the connection for a few minutes. My plan for a couple of hours in Santiago airport browsing for semi-precious stones turned into a sprint for the plane, but we made it. That business class seat never looked so attractive.
Long day plus stress plus the pre-take-off champagne must have all added up, because I slept about 7 hours of the 12 hour flight. I think that's a personal record.
3 days back in Perth and I think I am starting to get over the jet lag. Should be back to normal just in time to go back to Argentina...

I went to Uruguay, but it was closed

20070826_Colonia

Yesterday was the worst day for weather since I arrived here in early July. That day was the first day of snow in Buenos Aires since 1918. What better way to enjoy miserable weather than taking a ferry boat ride to another country?

Colonia del Sacramento is the oldest town in Uruguay, a World Heritage site, and only one hour away across the Rio de la Plata, so it was high on our list of must-sees.

As I walked through the cold, dark, wet streets yesterday morning, my half-broken umbrella flapping in the wind, I did wonder if this was a good idea.
However, I didn't want to disappoint my colleagues by staying home. Perhaps it would get better later.

The ferry terminal was only a few minutes walk away, and we arrived in plenty of time (for any normal ferry terminal). I failed to allow for the comic opera of life in Argentina.

First, we couldn't pre-purchase the tickets because they had to see our passports. Then we had to take the vouchers to the cashier's desk to pay. Then we got our tickets. At this point we queued for security, got through the x-ray and found out we also needed boarding passes. Boarding passes obtained, we were directed out of the building and back onto the street. Why? Because that was where the courtesy bus was parked. This is the first ferry terminal I have ever seen where you drive off somewhere else once you have checked-in.

The ferry ride was uneventful - so uneventful that my colleagues (who had been up late the night before), dozed off as we cast off and didn't move until we docked at Colonia at about 10:00.

Any hope that the weather would be better on the eastern side of the Rio del Plata was swiftly dashed. It was worse. Rain, wind and gloom. No mud, but plenty of slippery cobblestones. We called a taxi for the short ride to the centre of Colonia and got out to enjoy the World Heritage site.

No question Colonia is very pretty. I could easily imagine the happy porteños crowding the cobbled streets and beaches in the summer time. This day, everybody appeared to be huddled inside trying to get warm.

By 10:30 we retreated to find coffee and toasted sandwiches, and tried to work what to do next to keep our blood circulating. It was too early on a Sunday for anything interesting to be open.

We had heard from one of the taxi drivers that Colonia had just opened a mall (yes, pathetic, but we were very cold), so we drove there. The mall turned out to be roughly the size of an Olympic swimming pool, so twenty minutes exhausted its recreational possibilities.

The next taxi driver had heating and turned out to be a well-informed local, so we adopted him as our impromptu tour guide. He took us to see the famous Colonia bull ring - built in 1910, used 8 times and closed in 1912. He also showed us where Diego Maradona used to live, and where people go to the beach in summer.

We spent another hour or so touring the town's two small museums.

The museum of colonial history is in a historic and partly-restored house. They have some interesting 18thC documents regarding the early history of Colonia, though stored in poor environmental conditions, and quite badly foxed. Donations for a climate-controlled case are recommended.

The indigenous museum is also entertaining, particularly for small, round rocks, of which they have a large collection.

By now it was lunchtime, and a cozy restaurant with hot food seemed very appealing. We made our way to a big stone tower on the waterfront that served approximate Italian. I can't remember the name, and I can't find a review to check. We ate on the second floor of the tower, looking out at the rain blowing across the big brown river. We ordered soup to start - the tower was cold enough we could see our breaths, and we needed the warmth. I know there is an energy crisis across the river, but it was less than 10 degrees in there.

It took me three attempts and nearly an hour to get my main course - first they confessed that they ran out of gnocchi, then they brought the alternative pasta with the wrong sauce. It seems that "quatras quesos" sounds just like "portuguezas" in Uruguayan Spanish. When the food did arrive though, it was good.

At 15:00 it was time to return to the ferry terminal. Everything ran smoothly through the rather eccentric emigration process, up until the point where our US colleague was detained at the border. We thought perhaps the United States had been behaving badly in Uruguay, but no, he did not have a stamped copy of his original boarding pass from the morning. Some arguments in Spanish later, he was grudgingly allowed to leave Colonia. He really didn't seem to enjoy the next twenty minutes of jokes about being detained in an immigration lockup until we sent a consul from Buenos Aires to rescue him. I just counted my blessings nobody asked me - the morning's boarding pass was one of the many soggy bits of paper that blew away during the course of the day.

By this time we were a little paranoid about what would await us going back into Argentina. The answer was - nothing... I suppose if you are getting on a vessel that only goes one place, there isn't much point in doing immigration at both ends.

It was only back in Buenos Aires, as we walked back toward the hotel, that the others confessed to their own second thoughts about the weather. If we had all been a little more selfish, we could have slept in! All in all though, it was a fun day out, and I'm looking forward to going back when the sun is shining.

Of course this Monday morning we awoke to a perfect cloudless sky. Curse the weather gods for their sense of humour.

the world heritage game

I scratched Uruguay off the country list over the weekend - I think I'm getting bored with the country game. Here's a new one - the world heritage game.
UNESCO publishes the World Heritage List. To quote UNESCO, the World Heritage List includes 851 properties forming part of the cultural and natural heritage which the World Heritage Committee considers as having outstanding universal value.
This game is a lot simpler than the country game because UNESCO has made the decision about what constitutes a World Heritage Site for you.
All you have to do for it to count is to have set foot on a site on the list.
I'm not doing too badly.
In Australia, I have visited Tasmanian Wilderness, Wet Tropics of Queensland, Royal Exhibition Building and Carlton Gardens, and Sydney Opera House.
In Belgium, La Grand-Place, Brussels, Historic Centre of Brugge, and the Major Town Houses of the Architect Victor Horta (Brussels) (just one of them).
In China, the Great Wall, Summer Palace, an Imperial Garden in Beijing (had dinner there), and the Historic Centre of Macao.
In the Czech Republic, the historic Centre of Prague.
In Luxembourg, the City of Luxembourg: its Old Quarters and Fortifications.
In New Zealand, Te Wahipounamu and Tongariro National Park.
In Poland, Cracow's Historic Centre, Wieliczka Salt Mine, Auschwitz Birkenau
German Nazi Concentration and Extermination Camp, and the Historic Centre of Warsaw.
In the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Castles and Town Walls of King Edward in Gwynedd (Conwy only), and the Tower of London.
In the United States of America, Yosemite National Park.
In Uruguay, Historic Quarter of the City of Colonia del Sacramento.
Wow, I never added them all up before...

revisiting recoleta

20070820_BA_Recoleta

I have been waiting for 5 weeks for a sunny weekend day to revisit Recoleta.
I spent an hour strolling around the mad wonderland of funeral art - stark pyramids, deco slabs of black granite, miniature Gothic cathedrals, and mournful marble everywhere.
After a while it became weirdly cheerful.
Perhaps it was the American tourists who had two topics of conversation: "Where's Evita's tomb?", and "Look at the poor kitties, do you think someone feeds them?".
Somebody was definitely feeding them yesterday - every grubby cat I saw (not already sleeping in the sun) was filling up on kibble.

abrazos gratis (free hugs)

Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps people were just tired of being grumpy, but everywhere I went today, I saw little moments of ordinariness and goodwill.

Two men had one of the the little braziers the street vendors use to make popcorn and toasted nuts. They were struggling to get a tin bucket of wood chips and charcoal burning under it. A third man in a security guard's uniform hopped off a bus with three big pieces of wood nailed together and brought it over to them.

A taxi broke down on the same street. Another taxi showed up with a tow rope to haul it away.

A man, scavenging for scrap metal in a skip near Plaza de Mayo, had a small child with him in a pushchair. The young policeman I thought was walking over to tell off the scavenger, had a biscuit for the child, and a friendly word for the man.

An elderly busker playing an accordion and singing old songs had his own private fan club in the well-dressed man who sang along with all the choruses.

Two off-duty living statues strolled down Belgrano with the remnants of silver paint all over their faces.

The Puma concept store on Estados Unidos in San Telmo had sprayed graffiti saying "no es Palermo". And they were right - San Telmo may be shabby, but it has its pride.

The beggar children on Florida made enough change to go to Macdonalds.

On Defensa, they were giving away free hugs (see the picture if you don't believe me), and there was a tango ensemble on every corner.

And, most miraculously of all, every time I got change, they gave me one-peso and 25 centavo coins for my laundry.

sonnet español

Alfonso the eleventh, a former king of Spain
Was often plagued by nightmares of worms within his brain.
Fearful of doctors' derision, but more for the state of his head,
he stationed twelve hungry sparrows in ranks at the head of his bed.

Each night as he donned his nightgown,he would whisper to his sparrows,
"Watch out for those wormies, be swift and sure as arrows,
If you see them peeking from the innards of my ears,
Peck and snap and gobble up those beasties of my fears."

Alfonso's wife, a patient sort, endured this for some time,
The sparrow poo, the twittering, Alfonso's nightly rhyme.
Eventually she had enough - the birdies had to go.
The worms, the rhymes, the ghastly noise - and so did Alfonso.

Accept that quite uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,
But don't let worms obsess you - that really brings you down.

misty morning in madero

20070814_BA_Puerto_Madero

It was quite foggy along the dique this morning. After a couple of days of drizzle and low clouds it was starting to feel like I was back in England.

The mists finally began to burn off about 7:30, with some nice cinematic effects as they departed.

It must have been unusual weather, because it made it into Reuters' pictures of the day

the country game

have you ever played the country game with a well-travelled group of friends? Pick people with full passports, or it can turn ugly. The principle of the game is to see who has visited the most countries, but most of the fun comes from getting agreement on the rules.
Here are a few basic rules to start you off:

1. England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales count as one country.
2. Republic of Ireland is a separate country.
3. Macau is not a country.
4. Neither is Bali.
5. Nor is Tasmania (though they are different).
6. Hong Kong only counts separate from China if you visited before 1997.
7. The Vatican does not count as a country if you have also been to Italy.
8. You have to have left the airport for the country to count. Note that being stuck overnight in an airport hotel does not count (there goes Denmark).
9. Papua New Guinea and Irian Jaya count as two countries regardless of the local opinion.
10. Gibraltar, however, only counts as one because it's too small to bother with.
11. The West Bank only counts if you passionately believe in the Palestine Free State.
12. The former Yugoslavia counts as one, two, several or none, depending on the year of your visit.
13. Slovakia and the Czech Republic only count as two if you visited after the Velvet Revolution.
14. Former Soviet Socialist Republics all count as separate countries, regardless of when you went, because of difficulty credits.
15. Out of respect for the Chagossians, so does Diego Garcia.
16. Antarctica gets triple points, but isn't really a country.
17. You get bonus points for supersets, e.g. Benelux, all 7 continents, all members of NATO, all members of ASEAN, all former French colonies, etc.

My current count is around 20, but I'm not quite sure about Taiwan. Happy travelling!

nothing ever happens in buenos aires

well, it was a slow weekend in Buenos Aires this time. Too cold and grey to do anything adventurous except stay warm.
Friday evening we introduced the locals to the great Australian tradition - Friday night drinks and a game of pool at the local bar. A quiet but enjoyable time was had by all.
After drinks three of us (notably those with no real homes to return to) moved on to dinner in the next block of buildings.
We were introduced to a new (I believe Brazilian) style of dining. You load up at the salad bar, then sit at your table while waiters bring by an endless stream of platters of barbecued dead animal for you to select from.
Yes, it's dead cow time again.
Fortunately the salad bar was good, so I didn't go home hungry. They had a couple of nice little touches - a large vermouth to start with, and a free bottle of red for paying with Mastercard.
If only I had a Mastercard. However, as it was my colleague's third Mastercard bonus bottle in three nights, he generously donated it to me (the only non-red drinker in Argentina). Still, a little rough red always helps a nice pasta pomodoro.
The next morning I was up bright and early for the 5km trek to the supermarket. Did I say 4km last time? Well, the nastier the weather the further it gets.
As I strolled along the dique, I noticed that the building we were dining in the night before was on fire, or at least smoking furiously. That barbecue must have been smokier than even the chef intended. This lasted for quite a while before the fire engines started to arrive. By the time I wandered past later everything was back to normal. I'm not sure the Saturday lunchers even left their seats...
On my long walk to the Disco supermarket for fat-free milk, I passed construction workers and naval officers and the occasional bit of public art. It is a little unnerving walking past monuments to the glorious defenders of the city against the English in 1806 and remember it wasn't that long ago we were on opposite sides of a disagreement involving large ships and guns. Around here you don't mention the war (any of them).
The amount of public artwork on display seems to be a good index for the relative wealth and strength of central government in a country. It seems that if you're short of cash and not sure people like you, the thing to do is make some kind of grand gesture (and feed a sculptor).
Sunday was the Costanera Sur fun run, which I watched from my 5th floor balcony in my slippers. It was about 5 degrees out there, but lots of people braved the cold. As I walked up Belgrano into San Telmo a while later, I passed the survivors hobbling along, limping and looking chilled but noble. Memo to self - I promise to go to the gym this week.
Nothing much else to report for this week - I saw some more decorative buildings in San Telmo, saw a really good tango group busking (bought the CD), watched kiddies feed the rat-birds in Plaza de Mayo and found myself a nice warm mall to spend money in for the rest of the afternoon.

20070805_BA_San_Telmo

san telmo

went for a stroll around San Telmo on the weekend. According to the guide books, the portenos don't like to go there because it is too touristy. No-one seemed to have told the locals, because the place was crowded.
Lots of wonderful old buildings ranging from the decrepit to the lovingly redeployed.
This house (Galerie de la Defensa) would once have been a single-family house, now carved up into antique and curio shops.

Some of the local people could also have benefited from some sensitive restoration.
Even the local cats and dogs got to enjoy the winter sunshine.

From 20070729_BA_S...

if it's wednesday, this must be bristol

...not a gondola in sight, but it's certainly wet enough for it.
Have just lived through the flying visit from hell. Left BA Tues 12:30. Arrived Heathrow Wed 08:30. Arrived Bristol Wed 11:00. Left Bristol Thur 16:30. Arrived Heathrow Thur 19:00. Left Heathrow Thur 10:30. Arrived BA Fri 09:30.
Where am I? What time is it? Why is my back so sore?
British Airways staff lived up to their sterling reputation (grey, tarnished and hard). They have taken grudging compliance to that knife-edge between smiling service and open hostility.
Food between Buenos Aires and Sao Paulo appeared to be made from various samples of industrial rubber. I think the chicken was a mercy killing.
Sao Paulo was wet but forgettable - they did turn the VOD back on to while away the extra hour and a half while they tried to work out what was wrong with the plane. I kept busy trying to work out what was wrong with my stomach after that chicken.
Back in the air again they racked up the service a notch. Whoever designed the new Club World clearly doesn't like the staff. They had to bend, stretch and contort to get anything to the poor souls in the window seats (i.e. me), which clearly didn't enhance their mood.
After all the warnings I expected Heathrow to be a hotbed of suspicion (not). I should have trusted in the famous British disinterest. At least passport control was interesting. After 16 hours in the air, I found myself trying to explain to the passport man how I could be travelling on a NZ passport, live in Australia, be coming from Argentina and only planning to spend 2 days in the country without looking like my motives were suspect. I finally told him who I worked for and he just laughed and stamped everything. Must see haggard antipodeans with laptops and strange points of origin all the time.
Bristol was an easy drive up the motorway, and the driver was friendly.
Checked into the Mercure Brigstow no problems. The Mercure lived up to the expected standard of a Mercure, qualified by its being an English Mercure. I.e. take middling and add indifference. The room was adequate apart from the intermittent hot water and the two single beds. For one night I couldn't be bothered changing.
The room service trays and empty bottles left in the hall until 6pm were disconcerting, but not unexpected.
Had a good afternoon in the office - worth the trip. Gave up trying to stay awake and interested about 5:00 and went back to the hotel.
Too early to eat and all the shops were shut, so walked around in the late summer light for a while, admiring the weird giant seagulls and the pub flowerpots .
You could tell it was summer, because it was a balmy 18 degrees and people were sitting outside. Dinner was a quite good salad nicoise and hummus at a restaurant on the river (see menu).
Went back to the hotel expecting to sleep the sleep of the just (worn out) - was just finally dozing off about 4:00am when I got a phone call from Australia about something trivial. Memo to self - turn phone off when out of normal time zone.
Got about 2 hours sleep. Dragged myself to the gym at 07:00 to try to get some circulation back into my body. I think that was probably what finally did for my back.
Spent a few more hours in the office, and played hooky to visit some of the shops we don't get at home. Weather too miserable to do anything outdoors. I heard on the radio that England is experiencing its wettest three months since 1750. For more pictures of soggy Bristol, see below.
Driving back to Heathrow took an extra hour. Luckily I got nervous and moved the car booking forward an hour, or else I would have been late for the plane. Another talkative driver - he told me lots of office gossip, and took great pleasure in pointing out the Slough Trading Estate sign (home of The Office).
Leaving Heathrow straightforward. Was expecting the one-bag carryon rule, though many in the queue were shocked & disappointed. At least they didn't seem to care how big the bag was. It's all on the website, people, if you can afford a business class airfare you can afford an Internet connection...
Going back to Buenos Aires was just the same as leaving, except with worse seats (the old version of Club World). Buenos Aires airport a lot less nerve-racking the second time, also daylight and no snow.
Now back in Argentina, which is starting to feel strangely normal...

20070726_Bristol

suburban weekend

This is the view from my apartment at about 9:00 on Saturday. As you can see, the weekend weather was sublime. I think the temperature peaked at about 13 degrees. This was the first time I tried the trek to the supermarket. It wasn't too bad.
The nearest market is 4km away, but it is a fairly pleasant walk through downtown, and I managed to get a few days' worth of groceries into my backpack. Walking is the only exercise I'm getting at the moment, so I shouldn't complain. The only odd thing at the supermarket was that they asked for my passport when I paid by credit card, and there is a place on the docket to put your passport number. Apparently they used to have a lot of credit card fraud.

I spent most of the weekend with a colleague from work, doing lunch, shopping, etc. We had lunch in Palermo. Despite the picture to the right, it is quite a chic area - full of clothing shops and restaurants.
We had lunch at a restaurant whose name escapes me. Though the menu was heavy on the less appealing internal parts of animals (gizzards?), they did nice salads.
Sunday we went to an up-market riverside suburb called Martinez, had lunch and walked along the river for a little while. It was a bit too cold and miserable to be out, so I felt for this homeless guy with his little fire on the river bank. We got to go to the mall and have coffee to keep warm.

no delante de los criados

My apartment has a cleaner. Normal, right? Not this cleaner.
When I got home Tuesday night I thought I had been visited by a poltergeist. Everything, I mean everything had been moved. She moved the sofas back where they were before I moved them. She moved the blue pouffe from the living room to under the dressing table in the bedroom (re-locating my luggage to do so). She moved every candle from where it was to somewhere else. She moved the bath salts from the shelf to the bath tub and changed the hook the loofah was hanging on. She burnt incense in the sink and moved my battery chargers from the living room shelf to a chair.
The strange thing was she didn't actually clean anything.
Of course I was braced for the worst when I came home last night. Would I find the stove hanging from the ceiling? Would all the chairs be piled on the balcony? Would she add dirt?
It wasn't too bad.
She cleaned things. All the furniture and the knick knacks were where she left them. She did move my shoes, relocate the spice rack, fold the clothes I left lying around and hide the ironing board, but I eventually found the extra blue blanket (in the bed). Perhaps tonight I will find my coffee cup. It's probably in the bathroom cupboard with bath salts in it.

Puerto Madero and Costanera Sur

20070715_BA_puerto_madero

Puerto Madero is very new. So new in fact, half of it is under construction. Though it is well-supplied with up-market restaurants, furniture stores and hairdressers, it lacks the basic suburban amenities - supermarkets, banks, bookshops, public transport,etc. I expect my next purchase to be a granny trolley on wheels so I can trundle my vegetables home from across the tram tracks.

East of Puerto Madero is the giant nature reserve of Costanera Sur - several square kilometres of pampas grass and wetland, bordered by the Rio de la Plata (see pictures). First time I ever saw a river I couldn't see across. If the air was clearer and I was standing on something taller I could probably see Uruguay.

Costanera Sur is crawling with wildlife - mostly wearing jogging suits and toting IPods, but I did see a few non-human denizens. Lots of birds - egrets, hawks, woodpeckers, and at least one coypu (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coypu).

Recoleta

20070714_BA_Recoleta

Recoleta is a collection of parks and green spaces with a little cemetery in the middle. If you have ever visited Pere Lachaise in Paris, you will feel right at home. The cemetery is a compact wonderland of funerary art, populated by plump, indolent and very grubby cats who stroll among the visitors with complete indifference. Evita's tomb is here - still with fresh flowers every day.

The park is next to a graceful little church (see pictures). The cloisters next to the church have been turned into a cultural centre which is in varying degrees of restored condition. If you are looking for design or homewares, the mall next door is the place to go.

On the weekend, the green space around the cemetery filled up with craft stalls. I bought a bright purple cotton scarf and a New Zealand 10c piece with the background carefully drilled out. Lots of people were strolling around exercising their dogs, and there were musicians playing tango on the footpath.