acausal connections

An ode to the Brisbane Sofitel

2010-11-22T23:10:00.000Z

O Sofitel, my Sofitel
Defender of everything gallic
From the Fortitude girls who wish you "bonjour"
To the very last drop of Chateau Latour
Where tap water's slightly metallic.

O Sofitel, brave Sofitel
Where Franglais is language de jour
Where pomme mousseline means potato not apple
with trout armondine you're willing to grapple
and "siorées" you blithely endure.

O Sofitel, wee Sofitel
your bathrobes are laughably tiny
Your swimming pool's quite Lilliputian in size
Though the towels are ample - a word to the wise
The water's unpleasantly briny.

O Sofitel, dear Sofitel
You've room service meant for the wealthy
While your choice of desserts is impressive
And the length of the wine list excessive
You've no single main course marked healthy.

O Sofitel, sweet Sofitel
You're not quite my hotel of choice
Though your strange Francophonia's sweet
And the top floor lounge is a treat
If the Stamford had rooms I'd rejoice...

Mmmm, first class...

2010-10-22T21:29:00.000+01:00

I will openly confess to being a travel junkie. I looove getting that boarding pass and getting on a plane. As long, mind, as it doesn't involve budget airlines or charter flights to remote mine sites (too often).
I have bounced between Perth and Brisbane enough times in the last few months that, even upgrading every possible opportunity, I still accumulated beaucoup points.
It's been a while since I have done a long-haul international trip. You know, the kind that involves four flights in 32 hours and ends at some little airport in small-town somewhere and it's raining. Except the one time when I went to Buenos Aires and the plane was 3 hours late because it snowed for the first time in 86 years.
However my ever-entertaining employer has invited me to visit upper Michigan for a couple of weeks. We looked it up on Google Earth. We discovered it is as far as you can travel from my home town in Perth without coming back (apparently the earth is round! Who knew!).
And I have had a rotten cold for the last week which is finally releasing its grip on my nose.
So, tired, snuffly and over-worked, I took this as an opportunity to really beat every ounce of enjoyment out of being a platinum frequent flyer.
As I write, it is sunrise in Melbourne in the international first class lounge. I have had a nice long shower in a marble bathroom with expensive soap, I have upgraded the next 14 hour leg of the trip to first class, I have had a very strong and very Melbourne macchiato, I am sipping Pellegrino in a leather armchair while I watch the planes go by, and I am about to go and have a facial at the spa.
It can only go downhill from here...
Next blog and next destination - LAX - it's an adjective, not a noun...

iPad apps I'd like to see...

2010-08-27T12:25:00.000+01:00

I have had an iPad now for about 6 weeks. I think. TBI (Time Before iPad) is a little vague. How did I ever stay calm on a flight from Brisbane to Perth before I had this thing?
Wondrous as it is, I thought, when I let my imagination free, I thought that there were still some apps that were missing from the app store:

etch-a-sketch - no wait, a few people have done that;
a tunable tuning fork - I showed the middle C tuning fork app to my low-tech acoustic musician friends and when they stopped laughing, their first question was - "how do I change pitch?". It's been done - http://www.apptism.com/apps/stay-in-tune
OK, how about a Terry Pratchett app - nobody would have thought of that - http://download.cnet.com/Terry-Pratchett-The-Pocket-Essential-Guide-for-iPad/3000-2125_4-75183693.html;
hmmm - a T-shirt designer? Nah - too many good sketch apps fill this niche;
a twitcher's diary - really - http://www.appolicious.com/tech/apps/232206-twitcher-edgeware-technology-ltd;
but does it do aromatherapy - oh seriously - http://www.medlmobile.com/index.php?page=viewapp&appId=5;
an atlas of tropical skin diseases - eeeuwww - http://www.medlmobile.com/index.php?page=viewapp&appId=5;
a general aviation flight planner - http://www.medlmobile.com/index.php?page=viewapp&appId=5;
a 3D polygon modeller - uh-oh, this exercise is starting to get expensive - http://www.lostpencil.com/?page_id=76;

But not EVERYTHING is in the iTunes store - here are some app gapps begging to be filled:

a trainspotter's diary;
a patchwork quilt pattern designer.

Knock yourselves out, appers....if I had an iMac, I might try it myself.

So where does Masterchef really shop?

2010-07-11T06:00:00.000+01:00

I watched Friday's MasterChef MasterClass, hoping to see a recipe that wasn't either deconstructed McDonalds or "Death by Cholesterol".
The roast pheasant with salsify sounded great - I love game. So I got the recipe list and went to Coles to buy my ingredients. Coles, after all, is "where Masterchefs shop".

1 pheasant - NO
1 bunch tarragon, large leaves picked - NO
1 single-bulb garlic - NO
6 salsify - NO
8-9 black garlic cloves - NO
½ cup flat pancetta, cut into lardons - NO

It looks like if I was going to rely on Coles for my ingredients, it was lemons poached in chicken stock with butter and lettuce.
How good is a cross-marketing campaign if the featured ingredients of a featured recipe are unobtainable from the biggest advertiser?
Note, this wasn't Coles Express, this was one of the big "new Coles" in one of the most expensive suburbs in Perth.
And you know what you get if you search for "pheasant" on the Coles website?

"Your search - pheasant - did not match any documents.
No pages were found containing "pheasant".

Suggestions:

Make sure all words are spelled correctly.
Try different keywords.
Try more general keywords.
Try searching for a less pretentious ingredient, you poseur - what's wrong with chicken?"

I think I'll stick to the independents - at least they can spell food...

Creating terrain in PoVRay using isosurface and pigment

2010-06-18T10:16:00.014+01:00

The original jpeg

Every now and again I play around with isosurfaces in PoVRay. The one thing I persistently have trouble remembering how to do is generate solid terrain using a heightfield image mapped onto an isosurface.
There are plenty of examples out there of how to do it with a sphere, but for terrain you would rather use a box.

Here's an example using the jpeg to the left.

#declare P1=function{

pigment{
image_map{jpeg "texturegen.jpg" map_type 0 }
rotate x*180 translate <0.5,0.5,0> scale 2 }
}
Note the translation, rotation and scaling are required to make the original image sit in the same orientation and position on the isosurface as they appear in the original image.
The second part is the isosurface itself.

The isosurface version

#declare Height = 1 //use this to vary the depth of the image
#declare Land =

   isosurface {
   function { z-Height*P1(x,y,z).gray}
   contained_by{box{<-1,-1,-1><1,1,1>}}
   max_gradient 20
   translate <-0.5,0.5,-0.5> scale <5,5,0.2>

   rotate x*-90
   }
object {Land translate <-0.5,0,-0.5> scale <100,1,100> }
Again, the isosurface has to be scaled and rotated for the image to appear correctly on the top side.

Was this post complete gobbledygook? You need to visit PoVRay.

Nanny flies coach

2010-03-28T04:37:00.000+01:00

Last week I had to go to Brisbane for a couple of days and I stayed at the Sofitel. I don't normally stay at the Sofitel - it's very convenient for the office, but the Stamford Plaza down the bottom of Edward Street has a much bigger swimming pool.
The other thing that puts me off the Sofitel is the fake Franglais. All the staff have been trained to say "Bonjour, how can I help you?". It sounds very cute, but it doesn't have the same ring of competence that you would find in, say, Luxembourg. There, when they rattle off "hello, bonjour, guten tag, gute morgen..." and smile expectantly, you know they will cope with anything you throw at them.
The staff at the Sofitel have that slightly panicked look of people who have taken three classes of "French for the Hospitality Industry". I have travelled a bit in French-speaking countries and was very tempted to test their competence. But I didn't. I wasn't feeling mean enough. And though I could string together the words for "Your swimming pool is too short and too far from my room", I could not find the right tone of disappointment for "you have hidden the room service menu from me, your crispy duck salad isn't crispy, isn't salad and when I order pomme mousseline in a French hotel, I do not expect potato".
While I was leafing through the hotel guide in my room (trying to find the opening hours for the pool and waiting for another room service menu), I came across a handwritten annotation on one of the pages:
Jun 5th to LA
Kim and Bean - business
Nanny - coach
This was fascinating...who were these people?
Probably American because they refer to coach instead of economy. Unless nanny was catching the bus...
Was Kim the wife, or the husband, or the baby? Was Bean the baby? Was the author of the note another person, or possibly Kim (or Nanny?). Why did Nanny have to fly coach? What if Bean started crying on the flight, would Nanny come up to business to collect Bean, or would Kim take Bean back to Nanny? Why not put Bean in coach and Nanny up front? What does a baby care where it's sitting? Perhaps Nanny is Kim's mother, or the author of the note's mother (let's call him Tom). Had Tom and Nanny had a falling out? Was Nanny paying for her own travel and economising? Was the flight full and nanny drew the short straw? Perhaps Nanny is a superior kind of domestic servant who would feel she was giving herself airs if she sat up front?
I finally formed a hypothesis - Tom, Kim, Bean and Nanny all live together in LA. Tom does something in cosmetic medicine (dentistry?). American Tom is in Brisbane for a conference, but he brought his Australian wife Kim and two-year-old Bean with him so they could visit Kim's parents in retirement on the Gold Coast. Bean is a bit of a handful, so they brought the nanny along to give Kim a break. However, the practice (or possibly the drug company) will only pay for Kim's travel (part of the conference package) and not the nanny's. Bean flies free. Nanny had to sit down the back of the bus with all the returning tourists.
At this point the room service menu arrived - pomme mousseline or smoked salmon rollade? More important things to think about... but if you are Kim, Bean, or the nanny, please let me know the full story...

Climate change, hacked emails and why it really doesn't matter

2009-12-03T05:46:00.000Z

In a recent WSJ blog, Mike Hulme said
"The problem [...] with getting our relationship with science wrong is simple: We expect too much certainty, and hence clarity, about what should be done. Consequently, we fail to engage in honest and robust argument about our competing political visions and ethical values."
Let me put my credentials on the table first of all.
I'm not a climate scientist, a hacker or a philosopher. I believe that climate change is anthropogenic, without being able to have a very informed debate on the subject. I believe that some scientists have been indiscreet in committing some of their views and intentions to email, but I also believe it was wrong to steal the emails and publish them out of context.
The thing is, it just doesn't matter.
We are watching a group of scientists behave like scientists. Dissent, resentment, emotion, political behaviour, bias and withholding of information are absolutely part of the scientific process. Just remember Huxley, Darwin and Wallace.
Thomas Kuhn, in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, sums up the issue perfectly in the following quotation:
"The proliferation of competing articulations, the willingness to try anything, the expression of explicit discontent, the recourse to philosophy and to debate over fundamentals, all these are symptoms of a transition from normal to extraordinary research."
Anthropogenic climate change is not just normal science - it is a new paradigm - a final acknowledgement that humans step heavily enough on the earth for the earth to react. We are still in the early days of a collective intuitive leap to a different view of our effect on the world. Change is frightening, and it is not in the least surprising that people go to excessive lengths to either promote or deny the change. It doesn't mean they're necessarily wrong - that's not logic.
As Kuhn also says,
"If any and every failure to fit were ground for theory rejection, all theories ought to be rejected at all times."
Don't use dissent and denial as a convenient reason to reject the science - understand the process. I give Mike Hulme the last word:
"If climategate leads to greater openness and transparency in climate science, it will have done a good thing."

Red meat and Dennis the orangutan

2009-07-23T12:54:00.003+01:00

I am not one for topical posts, but this one is a factoid to be commented on. Australasians may well have seen the ads featuring Dennis the orangutan and Sam Neill.

Now I am not a PETA fan or an advocate for red meat - I have done without eating things on four legs quite happily for more than 15 years. However, I do not grudge the carnivores their fun. I do though, have a problem with bad science (and bad fact-checking). I think it important to point out that at least half the team promoting red meat (Dennis) is predominantly fruitarian. In fact the websites I have checked, comment that the only animal protein orangutans generally consume is insects. I would also wonder how much lamb or beef you would normally find wandering the Sumatran forest...

BTW, I suspect that Dennis, as well as being a child in orangutan terms, is actually a girl.

I assume I am being punished for something

2009-05-18T07:18:00.000+01:00

If only I knew what...
It's so exciting being a mining company employee. My dizzy, glamorous life takes me all over the world. It seems only weeks ago I was slumming in London: catching the Tube, drinking lattes, eating sushi, shopping at Harvey Nichols...
And here I am, in Capella, pop.730, Queensland, Australia. You can see my room from space (the outside, anyway).
There are lots of things to see and do in Capella.
There is the grain storage shed.

From 20090516_KME

There is the plaster cow and pig.
There is the Peak Downs Community Hall (built 1963).
There is the historic Railway Station with the unique ventilated roof trusses.
There are the painted poles - see what fun you can have discovering the story of every one.
At night, for a laugh, you can go down to the petrol station and sit with the mannequins - who needs Fashion Week when you have this?
The shopping in Capella is fabulous - it is so rich and diverse they give you Saturday afternoon and Sunday off from the shops to recover. There is not only one shop, but three shops, a bank and even a Post Office. It's a good thing they all close at 5:30 or I would have spent my entire site allowance by now.
On Friday I walked down to the petrol station and splurged on a packet of chewing gum and two bottles of ginger beer. Saturday night I was more adventurous - I walked all the way down to the Post Office, and stopped at both the closed newsagent and the market to check their winter opening times.
I have to wash my work shirts tonight, and will be too busy to go out. However I am looking forward to our hosts' Oat Cuisine - corned beef, chops, chicken drumsticks, spaghetti alla boscaiola.
My, that bain marie looks inviting...I think I will have jelly with my tinned fruit salad tonight - just for a treat.
Monday I might test out the local restaurant scene. Golden Fried Chicken looks like it might give Rockpool some competition (they even have Chiko Rolls).

which green - how can I choose?

2009-04-01T05:26:00.006+01:00

Back in Perth. I have been here more than 3 weeks - the longest stay in nearly 2 years. I am trapped - no overseas travel on the horizon - I must entertain myself until my sea freight arrives from England.
I shall renovate.
Not counting the bathroom, my little 1930s flat in Mount Lawley has not seen a fresh tin of paint in at least 20 years.
But what colour?

A recent trip to Dublin has inspired me with Georgian colour schemes - white woodwork and cool, pale walls. But what shade of pale?
I am leaning toward green.
There are too many greens - Natura, Issey-San, Fresh Lime, White Box, Pale Vellum, Silver Grass, they all appeal...

it never snows in London

2009-02-16T22:35:00.002Z

"His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead." James Joyce - The Dubliners.
I woke up a week ago to find a gift from Russia in the form of 6 inches of snow on the ground. This is the most it has snowed in London for 18 years, and it's wooonderfullll.
It lasted one beautiful day, though the snowmen lasted a little longer.

2009-02-02 london_snow

Here is how it first appeared - magic Narnia. I found myself scratching at the back of my wardrobe in the hope Mr Tumnus would make me a hot chocolate. Of course, nothing ever remains as sweet and innocent as on first appearance. By the time I was dressed and able (though not willing) to go to work, it turned nasty. I set out desperately smug because I had dragged my hiking boots out of the wardrobe (I had worked out by now Mr Tumnus wasn't coming). "Ha ha", I thought, "I climbed Tongariro in these, what's a bit of snow after that". Smartass. And soreass not long after. Hiking boots no damn good on ice without crampons.

2009-02-02 london_snow_II

Still, it was pretty, I only fell down twice, and the bruises are mostly faded a week later. The chap in the photo was from Singapore - he probably thought chilled rice noodle was falling from the sky - but he seemed to enjoy it.
The third iteration of the Great London Snow did not involve embarrassing sore bottom incidents. Even better, I got to see Hyde Park the Winter Wonderland - an experience sorely missing from both the actual 2008 and 2007 Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. Well worth the bruises, the lack of public transport, and having to go to work when I desperately wanted to release my inner smartass ten-year-old and build Henry Moore's 1967 tribute to WB Yeats out of snow.

2009-02-03 london_snow_III

La Grande Randonee - Day 4 - Tremolat - Le Bugue

2008-11-08T19:22:00.004Z

2008-09-19 Tremolat-Le Bugue

After coffee, croissants, and yes, some cheese, it was time to say goodbye to our lovely green attic room and head off for the next town. Leaving our bags neatly piled up in the foyer, we set off...
and immediately got lost. This was the morning when we started to discover the occasional tricks and errors in our walking instructions. Arriving at the 12th century church of St Hilaire (we saw the inside last night), we realised that there was no sign of the path markings. Thoughtfully we retraced our steps to the point at which we had left the trail the afternoon before, and soon realised that what we needed was the 12th century nave of the church of St Nicholas.

From 2008-09-18 Lalinde-Tremolat

Re-oriented, we were on our way. The morning was uneventful - farms, fields, farm cats and sleepy country roads. At lunchtime we climbed up a steep hill (accompanied by the gentle clonking of a bell wether), to find ourselves at what appeared to be the top of the mediaeval town of Limeuil . This beautiful walled town wraps around a steep hill next to the river. Predictably, while we were at the top, the only available lunch was at the bottom next to the river. We ate goat's cheese salad (only a little cheese) in the company of all the British tourists. You could see they would get to the first turn in the winding street up the hill and collapse panting, before returning to the river bank to buy the view from the top on a fridge magnet. We, of course, were made of sterner stuff. We got to the top of the town and realised we were only halfway up the hill before we too collapsed.

The rest of the afternoon was a slow-motion rollercoaster, as the GR markings led us up vertical limestone goat tracks and back down them again, with the occasional respite as we crossed fields of cows. We were immensely grateful to find ourselves on level ground at Le Bugue, and in the decadent 17th century surroundings of Domaine de la Barde.

La Grande Randonnee - Day 3 - Afternoon - Mauzac - Tremolat

2008-10-22T19:04:00.002+01:00

Our afternoon wandered up and down hills, through oak woods and corn fields. Even though this was the shortest day (allowing for measurement errors and accidental detours), we were very grateful to arrive in Tremolat and find our hotel - Le Vieux Logis.

The hotel garden

This beautiful hotel is reputed to be one of the best in the Dordogne - we don't disagree. The only disappointment was that the hotel staff all spoke excellent English and wouldn't let us practise our French.
Our luggage had been magically transported from Lalinde and was waiting for us in our beautiful attic room. L'Occitane bath products, fluffy bathrobes, foot ointment and clean clothes later, it was time for drinks on the terrace. After a glass of Bergerac Sec by the stream, we were ready for dinner.
Based on our last two dinners, our expectations were for good, but modest food. It was something of a surprise to be handed an 8 course tasting menu. The food was extraordinary, matched by superb wines. The middle courses are something of a blur, but I remember a few things like three little cubes of foie gras pate with different fruit jellies on top, foie gras creme caramel on the side and strict instructions for eating order. For the responsible people out there horrified that anyone could eat foie gras - it was the only time, I swear, it was a tiny amount, the goose was happy, and I had to know what the fuss was about. Then there was a perfectly grilled sea bass with a seaweed-scented foam, a tender magret de canard and, the CHEESE...
The waiter brought an enormous platter of cheese to the table - there must have been at least 15 different sheep, goat and cow cheeses on offer. I managed to restrain myself and not try all 15, but it was a challenge. This was followed by 3 different desserts. We barely made it up the stairs to bed.

Our room

La Grande Randonnee - Day 3 - Morning - Lalinde - Mauzac

2008-10-18T18:39:00.015+01:00

well, this was it, the start of our walk. We jumped out of bed (only slightly slowed by last night's cheese), ready to throw open the shutters and greet the French sunshine.
It was raining (of course).This was the moment that I realised that despite having brought 3 raincoats, a rain poncho and two umbrellas to London, I had carried none of them across the Channel.
Oh well, we had just enough time before our taxi arrived to find a sports store, remedy the deficit and buy a map.

Our taxi arrived just in time, driven by a charming lady who I swear was either wearing an original Chanel suit, or a very good imitation. She explained that she was only driving the taxi for the day, but didn't explain further. We chatted happily in somewhat broken French on the 45 minute drive to Lalinde.

We arrived under the dripping plane trees of the town square and pulled out our maps and guides to work out where to go. First items on the agenda - find something for lunch and a public toilet.

Finding a public toilet was fairly easy. Finding a public toilet that was actually tolerable took a bit longer. Fortunately the robo-toilet has made it to the Dordogne, and we found one a few metres from where we left the taxi after wandering disconsolately around in the rain for a while.
Lunch was even easier - cheese! We were bludgeoned into submission by two charming cheese vendors who persuaded us to buy 30€ worth of sheep cheese. It was delicious, and lasted us several days, but every now and again as we walked, I would hear a snort from behind and a muttered "30€ for cheese!".
We finally found our way onto the trail, and spent the rest of the morning walking along a canal toward Mauzac.

This was the first and last flat stretch of ground in the whole walk - obviously planned to lull us into false confidence.

Mauzac's main attractions were a small hydro power station and a nautical club. We bought bread and tomatoes to go with our cheese, and clambered up the hill on the outside of town to find a lunch spot.The hill was only memorable for a brief sighting of a red squirrel, but the picnic table in a grassy hollow at the top of the hill was a perfect lunch spot.
Next post - the afternoon...

La Grande Randonnee - Day 2 - Bergerac

2008-10-09T10:07:00.001+01:00

From 2008-09-17 M8_bergerac

According to Wikipedia, the medieval town of Bergerac had nothing to do with Cyrano de Bergerac. However this has not stopped the local residents from putting up a statue to the famous Cyrano in the town square.
We arrived mid-afternoon after taking the lunchtime train from Bordeaux.
Once you drag your suitcase out of the railway station and along the dog poo-strewn streets to your hotel, dump everything and wander out, Bergerac turns into a beautiful mediaeval town.
Our hotel was pleasant if unremarkable. The tour guide for our walk, Jean Paul, arrived about 6:00pm to give us a briefing. He insisted in going through the itinerary and the maps for all 6 days - pointing out those features that were very nice, those that were dangerous (but not too dangerous), and the various chateaux that we must be sure to see along the way. There seemed to be rather a lot of them...
I must admit my eyes glazed over about day four and chateau seven - that may explain the number of times we had to stop to check the map as time went on. The itinerary generally followed grande-randonnee #6 from Lalinde to Sarlat - it soon became obvious the first purchase of the morning would have to be a proper map.
After much friendly conversation and effusive best wishes, Jean Paul took his leave - not before selecting our restaurant for dinner for us. Fortunately the restaurant, Le Saint Jacques , was excellent. It was run by a cheerful Dutch family, who had a lot of fun seeing who could make jokes in the most languages. This evening, unfortunately, was also the start of a gluttonous week of cheese and cholesterol which we are still trying to overcome with soy milk and clean living.
Tomorrow, the start of our walk...

La Grande Randonnée - Day 1 - Bordeaux and the Getting There

2008-09-25T09:16:00.006+01:00

2008-09-16 Bordeaux

as threatened last blog, we did have to resort to Plan B - flying to Bordeaux. Fortunately Kensington-Victoria-Gatwick-Bordeaux Airport-Bordeaux St Jean was ridiculously easy. Unusually for BA, the steward was funny, friendly, and the food was edible - must have been an off day. The piccolo of lunchtime champagne on the flight was almost good enough to ease the sting of the fully flexible airfare (ouch).
Bordeaux knocks Bath off its perch for beauty and charm, not to mention much better food. We also score another tick on the World Heritage list.
We arrived in Bordeaux about 17:00, and enjoyed a couple of hours strolling around the 18th century town before dark. We had dinner at a little cafe across from the hotel. As it was our first night in France we opted for the Perigordais specialities of foie gras and magret de canard. Little did we know how tired we would be of anything made from duck or goose by the end of the week.
We stayed at the Amarys Royal St Jean, which was right across from the train station, very pleasant and good value.
The next morning we discovered that SNCF does not approve of credit cards without chips, and punishes foreigners by making them queue to buy train tickets from a real person. Fortunately we decided to buy train tickets before lunch rather than after, so this was not in fact a disaster. Next stop - Bergerac.

an incendiary week

2008-09-12T09:09:00.003+01:00

I don't know what is wrong with London this week. Despite my doom-laden prediction in the last blog, the Whole Foods Market did not burn down (though there was a distinct smell of smoke).
However London's Burning may be more than just a song by the Clash.
This week the London Stock Exchange fell over, there was a tram and bus crash in Croydon, all the bus drivers are out on strike, the Tube upgrade blew out by a couple more billion pounds, yet another budget travel company went under and stranded 200,000 people, and yesterday afternoon, the Channel Tunnel caught fire! It's not looking good for the weekend.
I personally blame the switching on of the Large Hadron Collider in CERN. It has obviously created a wave of malfunctioning reality to ripple across Europe.
None of this would normally bother me, except...we are supposed to be catching Eurostar to Paris on Tuesday to go on holiday.
Never fear, Plan B (refundable air tickets to Bordeaux) is already booked.

Hotel troubles in Montreal (C23)

2008-09-01T22:14:00.009+01:00

It's country #23 - Canada. By the rules of the country game, describing Montreal as part of Canada may be challenged. Many would vigorously defend the right of Quebec to be distinct from Canada. This includes many Quebecois who will be shuddering at my lack of accents (it's just too hard to find them on an English keyboard).

I spent this week at a putative 5-star hotel that shall be nameless to protect the staff. Now I'm sure on a good week this well-known and respected Montreal landmark would live up to expectations and deliver a fine and satisfying service. Unfortunately they seem somehow to have misstepped in the Canadian industrial relations system.

When I arrived, all seemed calm except for a polite notice that suggested some union action might occur. Certainly things seemed normal enough that evening - the bar and restaurants were open, all the staff seemed to be there. Over the next 3 days things grew steadily odder. Staff disappeared, my room was no longer cleaned, the health club closed, the remaining staff turned up in shorts and T-shirts, all pretence of service was abandoned.

Sunday morning a fire alarm at 7:30 brought the few remaining hotel guests out into the street in their dressing gowns and jarmies to stand around outside the lobby and watch the fun. The fire engines arrived in less than 5 minutes, and there was much busy to-ing and fro-ing before the all-clear was sounded. Thank goodness it wasn't a real fire. The lack of visible fire wardens, defined muster point or crowd control would have meant victims for sure. Canadian safety procedures? Unionised malice? I'll never know.

Just half an hour ago, two housekeeping staff appeared at my door. A more trusting person might have been overjoyed that they had finally come to make up the room - it had been 2 days out of 4. Unfortunately they seemed only to want to take away all the minibar biscuits, chocolates and other over-priced goodies you are only ever tempted to eat after room service closes for the night. I would have just assumed they were bringing fresher versions, or that the guests' pilfering had reached unacceptable levels, if they had not invited me to help myself from the collection on the way out. Canadian hospitality? Unionised malice? I'll never know.

On my last morning, after a week of bemusedly watching a 5-star hotel implode on itself, I decided it was time to be assertive. I marched up to the front desk:

"I would like a 6:00pm checkout please"

"That will cost you an extra day"

Using my best Jedi hand-wave - "It will not cost me anything more".

The receptionist looked at me blankly for a moment, disappeared into a back room and returned a minute later.

"No problem, 6:00 it is".

Bouyed with confidence in my mind-control technique, when I came back at 6:00, I managed to get another night free for the inconvenience.

At least the weather was warm and sunny, there were lots of cheap and cheerful restaurants to choose from, and I had fun shopping.

Back in London now. The fire engines were piling up outside my favourite market yesterday, and I'm off to see if it burnt down while I was sleeping.

Avebury & Lacock (LW04, WH0373)

2008-09-01T22:12:00.011+01:00

London Walks again came through on walk #4 (see the list of London Walks). In an eerie coincidence, they offered a day trip to Avebury and Lacock on the very day I was struggling to figure out a means of getting there by public transport. As usual, the cost was low, the organisation flawless and the guide whimsical.

Lots has been written about Avebury, so I am not going to be boring and repeat it all.The best book I have found on Avebury is "Prehistoric Avebury" by Aubrey Burl. I also read "Hengeworld" by Mike Pitts. Though this had lots of interesting content, the writing style was a bit breathless and incoherent. Here are some interesting links:

This doesn't rate as a new World Heritage site on the tick-off list because I have already been to Stonehenge (WH0373). However, it is huge, and wonderful, and I will go back one day and spend more than a couple of hours.

Lacock is a tiny gem of a village in deepest darkest Wiltshire. When not swamped by film crews, it is sleepy and peaceful. It may be the last living village in England with a Post Office and general store (and no Tesco's).

photographic fame at last

2008-08-21T11:58:00.004+01:00

Was in Trafalgar Square on Sunday after visiting the National Gallery. I am trying to tick off every painting in "1001 Paintings to See Before You Die", but it's going a bit slowly.
On my way back to the Embankment Tube station I stopped to watch the crowds watching the Olympics on the big screen.

One of my pictures (<---) even made it onto the BBC website this week. They said:

"Thanks for your photo of the crowds at Trafalgar Square, it's just what we are looking for and we've used it in our gallery of audience photographs"
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/olympics/7565307.stm
it's somewhere in the above gallery - you may need to look at a few of other peoples' photographs before you find it.

Ishmaelia mon amour

2008-08-13T18:53:00.004+01:00

20080706_Conakry

Early July, I found myself back in Ishmaelia (aka Guinea, aka country #21). After my disappointing encounter with country #22, and my failure to leave the grounds of the hotel on my last visit here, my expectations of this African experience were low.
I was also travelling for work. I think it may be a supplementary rule of the country game that you are allowed to be as negative and sarcastic as you like if your employer is paying for the trip (unless of course you work for a tour company).
If you are holidaying or otherwise there at your own behest, you always feel the need to defend the choice - "such an interesting experience", "dysentery is such a quick way to lose weight", "the foul sliminess of the local currency really discourages you from over-spending", and so on.
However, I strangely enjoyed myself. As one or two old Africa hands have said to me - either you hate the place or it sneaks up and grabs you by the heart. I can't see myself living in Guinea - for climate reasons alone (loathe the tropics) - but it is growing on me. Its mad, baroque complexity is oddly fascinating, the people are charming and dignified, and once you get out of the urban renewal target that is the capital and into the countryside, it is lushly beautiful. No timetables or guarantees, but looking forward to the next trip back.

Southwest

2008-07-20T10:41:00.002+01:00

2008-05-31_berry_farm

as usual, writing blogs for things that happened months ago...
Back in Perth for a few days in May, managed to sneak down to Busselton and try out the new (or at least less old) campervan. Crammed in a few favourite things - lunch with the honeyeaters at the Berry Farm, a stroll through the Lake Cave, and evening on the coast.

autumn harvest

2008-06-04T12:46:00.003+01:00

2008-05-29_autumn_harvest

one of the (arguably) nice things about being away from home for a few months is that you get to see things grow and develop in magic snapshots, like timelapse photography.

I went to visit our local community garden the other day, and was delighted by how much it has blossomed in just a few months.

I had to take a few shots of the autumn harvest.

Sydneyside

2008-05-20T02:48:00.004+01:00

2008-05-17_sydney

Oh dear,
despite best intentions, I haven't improved my blogging frequency. Blame air travel. I'm back in Perth this week after a week in Sydney.
The haul from London to Sydney wasn't too bad. The best part was blowing some points to travel first class Heathrow to Singapore. As expected, it is a lot nicer, but not that much nicer. The best part is the flat bed and the snuggly doona.

Unfortunately despite a stop & shower in Singapore, first-class comfort did not prevent me arriving in Sydney at 5:15am horribly jet-lagged. Due to time zone confusion the hotel had cancelled my booking, but we managed to retrieve it. I spent the day walking around CBD Sydney and the Rocks, trying to stay awake. Had dinner in a nondescript seafood place in Darling Harbour and went to bed ridiculously early. The next day much the same in the morning - I had to be in Ingleside around 4:00, so got a taxi about 3:00.

It seems Sydney taxi drivers are not required to have the Knowledge. The driver got lost and started to get panicky. I had to take his street directory away and navigate intersection by intersection. Fortunately we were only about 2km from where we were supposed to be, and arrived quickly enough once a woman was in charge of reading the map...

The week in Ingleside was intense - 5 days of business strategy and leadership with ping pong in the evenings. I made it to my friends' house on Friday night totally exhausted.

Spent Saturday wandering around the Domain and the Botanic Gardens - spiders, cockatoos and Wollemi pines dominate the pictures this time.
Sunday back to earth (I mean Perth), and back in the office.

Unfortunately I have two laptops, a desktop and a portable hard drive scattered around the world at the moment, and I couldn't for a while quite remember which hard drive the pictures were in. I finally tracked them down in the home (Perth home) PC, cunningly filed in Lightroom instead of Picasa.

dogs in space

2008-04-23T20:51:00.002+01:00

no pictures for this one, just a few thoughts.
Now the days are longer, I walk to work through the park. One of the odd joys of Kensington Gardens is the happiness that it brings to the dogs of Kensington. Many of them are starting to become familiar - the pair of wolfhounds, the two Irish setters, the pack (three bitser terriers, two aged golden labs, and two elderly ladies),the chows, and the many jack russells. I have never been much of a dog fan, but I do get a lot of entertainment out of the many dogs, racing each other through the trees, enjoying themselves immensely...

badly behind in blogging

2008-04-14T19:25:00.003+01:00

I have been very remiss in keeping up with my vow to blog every week. Sometimes life just seems to move at a pace faster than your fingers can type.
I have had a few distractions though...
First, Mirek was here, so I got to be a normal person with a life instead of a grumpy workaholic for a couple of weeks. Having company means, of course, adventures. We weren't wildly imaginative, but we had a wonderful three days of being Easter tourists in Cornwall. We stayed in Penzance

20080329_cornwall_penzance

and roamed the south-west coast. Cornwall is one of those beautiful coastlines you walk along and realise why all your ancestors emigrated to New Zealand. Just like home but much much better...
It's all tiny, beautiful fishing villages, historic houses, hidden valleys, neolithic stone circles,

20080329_cornwall_merry_maidens

friendly locals, 14th century pubs and cider. New Zealand just has fewer stone circles, no cider and farmland that hasn't been bought up by pop stars. Actually, I'm not sure about the cider. I'm not sure about Cornish cider either, but I tried very hard. Oh, and pounamu. Never underestimate the attraction of pounamu...
I tried to take pictures of things that actually looked like they were in England, and not just Margaret River or Dunedin, but it was tricky sometimes. There were other odd resonances. I was trying to explain to my French teacher how we went on a walk to St Michael's Mount. You can imagine:
"Nous sommes allés à Mont St Michel"
"Mont St Michel! En Bretagne!"
"Non, en Bretagne"
"Oui, comme j'ai dit!"
"Non, en Bretagne, en Cornwall..."
"Mais, Mont St Michel est en Bretagne!"
"Oui, comme j'ai dit..."
at this point I gave up and just showed him the pictures, which didn't actually help that much because of the unfortunate close resemblance between St Michael's Mount in Cornwall, and Mont St Michel in Brittany.

20080328_cornwall_marazion_stmichaels

I must admit one of the highlights of our Cornish idyll was the Jubilee Poo.

20080328_cornwall_jubilee_poo

I can't explain, you have to see the pictures, but I'm sure David Hockney would have approved.
Next blog, I describe what it is like to have 3 inches of snow in London in April, and explain why a new camera removed my ability to type words for a while...

Turner's London

2008-03-29T22:41:00.003Z

20080309_Southwark

Sunday the 9th was the day before the gales that blew all over England and led to a miserable cold and windy week. Perversely, London chose to be at its prettiest, giving us Turneresque skies and dramatic clouds. I almost expected the Fighting Temeraire to appear on the Thames.
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many...
I again took my guide from Benedict Le Vey and wandered up the Borough High Street. I passed London's only surviving galleried coaching inn, admired the fine brickwork of the hop factors, glimpsed the Corn Exchange, enjoyed the Art Nouveau excess of Harpers Cafe, and passed the oldest railway station in London. Across the street from St Thomas' Hospital, I was accosted by one of those worrying people with a satchel full of brochures and a slightly mad look in the eye. He was very interested to hear that this was the site where the first English bible was printed, but seemed disappointed at my lack of interest in his photocopies of inappropriate bookshop displays. I was just warming up for a lecture on the role of Southwark as a moral free zone outside the constraints of the Elizabethan City of London when he wandered away...
I made my way through Green Dragon Court (which you may remember from such films as Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)) and past the (closed) Borough Market. I whizzed past the Golden Hinde, Winchester Palace, the Clink, and wound up at the Anchor Tavern, arguably built on the spot where Samuel Pepys watched the Great Fire of London. Another fire viewed from nearby, The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 16th October 1834, was a subject for Turner, and thus leads me back to the start of my blog.

Fleet Street and Smithfield

2008-02-13T19:25:00.004Z

20080203_Fleet_St_Smithfield

I took my plan for this Sunday's stroll from two different guides - City Walks London and Eccentric London by Benedict le Vay. I started at Holborn Tube Station, where I was treated to the site of an open fire merrily burning on the truck painting stripes on the road. Safety? We don't have that in London.
I passed the home of the BBC World Service, dedicated to the friendship of English speaking peoples. I stopped to admire the Waldorf Hotel, famed for its tea dances in the 1920s. No doubt, like P.G. Wodehouse's Aunt Augusta, if I had gone in I would have seen Edwin lunching at the Waldorf with a creature.
Passing the Waldorf, I turned down India Place past the statue of Nehru, to find the little church of St Mary-Le-Strand. In Saxon times, this area was the heart of London. The present church is one of those built following the 1711 Act for building new churches in London.

I walked through the quite beautiful space of Somerset House, past Inland Revenue and down to the Thames Embankment. I walked past John Stuart Mill (the people you meet...), past the closed gate to Middle Temple Lane and up Temple Avenue to Fleet Street.

In bygone days, this was the course of the river Fleet - according to Benedict le Vay, the only river to have exploded due to the gas produced by its own effluent. Later of course, Fleet Street was more famous for the gutter press than the gutter. The outlet of the Fleet can still be seen below Blackfriars Bridge.

Just off Fleet Street and up a tiny alleway I found Dr Johnson's House. In the same little square you can find the bronze statue of Dr Johnson's cat, Hodge, who, according to Percival Stockdale,
...by his master when caressed
Warmly his gratitude expressed;
And never failed his thanks to purr
Whene'er he stroked his sable fur.
Hodge was presumably fond of oysters, as a pair of shells adorn the statue.
Returning back along Fleet Street toward Blackfriars I passed Wren's St Bride's, allegedly the primary inspiration for the tiered wedding cake.
I passed the Old Bailey, took a tour through Smithfield, visited Gloucestershire and found myself back at Ludgate Circus. Owing to the Engineering, Blackfriars Tube Station was out of service, so I had no choice but to make my way up to St Paul's and home.

I went to Camden Markets, but they were gone before I got there

2008-02-10T18:28:00.001Z

20080210_camden

Memo to self - watch the news on weekends...
I was sitting at home on Sunday morning, trying to decide what to do. Perfect Perth winter day (oh wait, I'm in London)... Weirdly warm and sunny winter day - 15 degrees, clear skies. I knew I had to do something outdoors.
My first thought was to go see the Henry Moore exhibition at Kew Gardens, however I've been in London long enough to be cautious about public transport. Check the Transport for London website. Oh, disruptions on the Bakerloo line. Every other transport option takes twice as long.
Plan B - Camden Markets - that'll be fun! Circle Line is running today - catch the Tube to Great Portland Street and walk up Albany Street. All seems fine. I pass the Queen's Head and Artichoke, say hello to St Pancras and head up Oval Street to Regent's Canal.
Odd - Camden High Street is blocked to the north and I can't get to the markets. I heard a policeman mention "the pub" and I thought knowingly, "Sunday afternoon, there'll be footy riot at the pub, saw one of 'em at the Hillgate Arms the ovver week". Town crier directing pedestrians to the Stables Market. Kept walking.
Walk up Hawley Street - more police lines. Must be quite a footy game - ambulances, fire engines, emergency response teams - wait, something's not right...
Got to Leybourne St and as I surveyed the smoking ruins of the Hawley Arms ...finally... realised what was going on...
Clearly I need to watch more television and get out less...

Highgate Cemetery

2008-02-07T19:37:00.001Z

20080127_Highgate

One of the less depressing things about London is the happy hunt for underappreciated tourist attractions. You know, things like Henry Moore's sculpture at Millbank on the Thames. Never heard of Millbank? Notorious Renaissance den of iniquity within the sanctuary zone of Westminster Abbey, 19th Century point of departure for the convict ships to Australia, origin of the term "Down Under", 1960s icon of Brutalist architecture? There you go - underappreciated.
This weekend's forgotten gem was Highgate Cemetery. In fact, before I got to Highgate, I had to turn again, turn again, turn again like Whittington, who stopped at the Archway Tube station to reconsider and go back to be thrice Lord Mayor of London. I took a picture of his cat. Bronze cats are popular in London - in a later blog, I will introduce you to Dr Johnson's.
You may know Highgate as the resting place of Karl Marx - I didn't bother to visit the great man. I did, however, pay homage at the modest gravestone of Douglas Adams - Writer.
Highgate represents the pinnacle of the great 19th century funerary obsession. It ranks with Pere LaChaise in Paris, and Recoleta in Buenos Aires. Unlike those two immaculate gems, Highgate has been allowed to subside into a delicately sustained neglect; something like that elderly relative who teeters between charming and vicious on the third brandy and dry.
Speaking of which, the West Cemetery is accessible by guided tour only. It is also guarded by a fierce dragon in Argyll plaid.
I was at the front of the queue, being compulsively early as usual. Immediately I was in trouble. I had my Hasselblad tucked discreetly under one arm. Not discreet enough for dragon-lady. My camera was too big, and thus disrespectful to the grieving and departed. She bore an alarming resemblance to one of my more intimidating primary school teachers, so the Hasselblad went back in its bag, and the baby Pentax came out. I must have projected the right air of cringing subservience, because she appointed me Head Girl in charge of collecting the tour group and walking them across the courtyard to our designated waiting spot.
Fortunately dragon-lady was replaced by cheerful and blonde, who walked us around the weird and wonderful relic of Highgate.
After the Highgate tour I still had energy to burn, so walked back across Hampstead Heath, then through Chalk Farm and Primrose Hill, across Primrose Hill and then to St John's Wood. All up, about 8km, so not too bad for a Sunday.

the strong, silent type...

2008-01-14T19:33:00.000Z

no, I'm not really... I have just been a bit busy. Had a much less intensive weekend this one just past than I have lately. I think I am getting over the frantic tourist "must see everything in London in 4 days" attitude and starting to believe that it is not a mortal sin if I don't see anything new for a week.
Had an in-principle frustrating day on Saturday. Went to yet another photo lab to discover that they have never heard of medium-format, and think black&white is what Granddad used to watch the cricket on in the shed when Grandma wanted him to mow the lawn...
However, I am learning to deal with these disappointments by embedding my forlorn visits to camera shops in long walks with interesting things in.

20080106_regentspark_camden

Last week it was Regent's Park and Camden, with a nice, apologetic paraglider whose film technician had just resigned. Even the back-in-5-minutes sign was not too disappointing, as it meant I found the Chinese tea shop 1/2 a block up.
This week it was a stroll around Victoria (eventually). I was diverted to Marble Arch by (apparently) planned engineering works on the Circle Line. But fortunately everything in Central London is accessible on foot (if you are a Sherpa). And it needs to be - the daily congestion charge is now 8 pounds, before paying for parking.
I did find a very nice espresso maker and a teapot to go with my tea of last week, so mustn't grumble. After waiting 15 minutes for the "oo er dunno" response to my enquiry on film processing, I grumpily walked up the street. I was cheered by first seeing the London Eye from a new vantage point, passing New Scotland Yard (I was too frightened by the frowning bobbie to take a picture), and ending up at the headquarters of the London Underground (St James' Park). This Tube station is notable by being:
a) faced in terrazzo marble,
b) apparently never closed for engineering works
c) unusually clean
As I had achieved my target of 10,000 steps before I am allowed in a Tube station, I rode the magic railway home.

20080113_victoria

Sunday was rain, wind & grim, so I stayed home and cleaned things. It cleared up briefly about 2:30, so I went out for some retail therapy and a stroll around Holland Park. Had a classic Enid Blyton moment sitting on a park bench involving squirrels, a magpie, a robin, and some obese doves (I know that sounds weird, but they were really, really fat...) If I had stayed out a bit longer there would probably be foxes too. A major culture shift in moving to England from Australia is learning to think of foxes as "aaaaw, cute", rather than "aaaagh, shoot!".

Country #22

2008-01-07T19:38:00.000Z

Country #22, South Africa,was underwhelming. Perhaps I'm being unfair. It was the worst kind of business trip for country appreciation: airport-hotel-office-hotel-another office-airport.
But even so, with the best will in the world, Johannesburg is just not nice.
The food is so boring I actually lost weight.
You have to lock your handbag in the car boot because people will shoot you at traffic lights for 20 R & a Blackberry.
The place seems like one big office park (see unfair above).
There was no electricity for several hours each day.
I can't be bothered showing you photographs, because I might as well have been anywhere in the developed world - generic downtown with Africans.
You can't walk anywhere because people will rob you (see shootings above).
However, to be fair, the people were friendly, the hotel staff were funny & charming & patient, the beds were soft, and there was plenty of hot water. I was horribly embarassed by the Englishman who was abusing the reception staff for his inconvenience caused by lack of electricity. I wanted to brandish my passport and cry "New Zealand! Youse is all good blokes! I dunno what him Pommie bastard talking except sounds like bullshit!"
All in all, South Africa deserves another chance (but maybe not Johannesburg).

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

2007-12-26T18:33:00.000Z

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...

2007-12-17T09:57:00.000Z

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)

2007-12-01T17:45:00.001Z

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

2007-11-25T18:31:00.000Z

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

2007-11-24T17:30:00.000Z

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)

2007-11-22T18:15:00.000Z

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)

2007-11-16T13:15:00.000Z

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

2007-11-10T07:16:00.000Z

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

2007-11-04T10:10:00.000Z

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

2007-09-22T21:48:00.000+01:00

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:

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

20070922_BA_spring_fever

across the andes by A400

2007-09-18T15:41:00.000+01:00

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)

2007-09-05T06:59:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-27T15:43:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-27T12:20:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-21T16:02:00.000+01:00

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)

2007-08-20T00:02:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-16T13:42:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-14T14:00:00.000+01:00

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

2007-08-08T12:48:00.000+01:00

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:

England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales count as one country.
Republic of Ireland is a separate country.
Macau is not a country.
Neither is Bali.
Nor is Tasmania (though they are different).
Hong Kong only counts separate from China if you visited before 1997.
The Vatican does not count as a country if you have also been to Italy.
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).
Papua New Guinea and Irian Jaya count as two countries regardless of the local opinion.
Gibraltar, however, only counts as one because it's too small to bother with.
The West Bank only counts if you passionately believe in the Palestine Free State.
The former Yugoslavia counts as one, two, several or none, depending on the year of your visit.
Slovakia and the Czech Republic only count as two if you visited after the Velvet Revolution.
Former Soviet Socialist Republics all count as separate countries, regardless of when you went, because of difficulty credits.
Out of respect for the Chagossians, so does Diego Garcia.
Antarctica gets triple points, but isn't really a country.
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

2007-08-06T22:32:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-31T11:50:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-30T12:52:00.000+01:00

...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

2007-07-23T11:59:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-19T12:07:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-17T16:18:00.000+01:00

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

2007-07-17T13:58:00.000+01:00

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.

you are now leaving the zone

2007-07-13T20:59:00.000+01:00

on this side of the line of naval control - peace, tranquility, nice lighting, bridges and boats...

on the other side of the tram tracks...cardboard collectors and stray dogs where Juan first met Eva.

Dead Cow Culture

2007-07-13T12:27:00.000+01:00

everything here has dead cow in it - seriously, everything. I had dinner in the hotel restaurant last night (yes Tony, I do know better). Menu - cowhide. Placemat - cowhide (hair still on). Amuse bouche - something pink on toast, but I'm sure there was cow in there somewhere. I think I had hake, but it could have been dugong...
Two loud Americans at the next table - definitely cows.

Welcome to Buenos Aires

2007-07-12T16:03:00.000+01:00

well, I've survived the plane trip and gotten through the first couple of days in the office. Weather is cold and clear. Have not yet managed to get out of line-of-sight of the hotel, but hope to remedy this (and do some shopping) on the weekend.
We are in Puerto Modero, which is supposed to be one of the safest parts of town. The high degree of police presence (both naval & other) is very reassuring. We have been out to dinner a couple of times - a tip for travellers - if you don't eat red meat or drink red wine, you are going to have an interesting time...
Moving to an apartment Monday, so should start living more like a normal Argentinian from then on.
Here is the view from the office at about 8:00 this morning (which is also the view from the hotel because they are next door to each other). Click on the picture to see more views of the neighbourhood.

20070712_BA

noodle doodle

2007-01-08T10:10:00.000Z

daffodils

2007-01-07T04:47:00.000Z

What statisticians do for laughs

2005-10-31T03:23:00.000Z

Andy sometimes wondered

2005-10-26T05:15:00.000+01:00

Carrot Check

2005-10-26T00:35:00.000+01:00

Before the Mine

2005-10-25T10:41:00.000+01:00

A short while ago, I went out to a soon-to-be mine site somewhere in Western Australia. It was a beautiful spring morning, 32C, a brisk wind.
We stood up on a mesa, about forty metres up from the floodplain. The mesa spread in a gentle arc from north to south, like an arm embracing the body of the valley below. The land to the east was flat, with other mesas to the north and the north- east.
A strong steady wind blew up the ridge, rattling in the spinifex. Small birds soared along the ridge crest and dodged through the ghost gums.
We left the top of the mesa and drove our 4WD down into the valley.
There were piles of test ore scattered about, left by another mining company years ago. In between the piles of iron ore, occasionally we would see flakes of worked stone, dropped by people working tools over many thousands of years. There were delicate chips of jasper and river rock, pale stone standing out from the dark pisolite surround.
We drove on into the river valley beyond the next mesas. It’s the dry season now, and the river bed was empty except for the permanent waterholes tucked in against the base of the rocks. As we drove through the deep gravel of the river bed and out across the flood plain, we saw a solitary cow, calmly pulling young shoots from a bush, indifferent to our roaring passage.
High in the branches of the trees we saw flood debris, carried there in the great cyclone of the year before, when the river bridge was washed away down to its footings.
We stopped at the waterhole. Dragonflies hummed, a kingfisher darted across the water. Further downstream, a pair of pelicans sailed in quiet dignity. A snowy egret darted across the water. A kangaroo came out from the trees to feed.
We could hear nothing but the calls of ducks and miner birds, the hum of the flies, and the occasional splash of a fish rising to an insect.
Surrounded by this richness and beauty, I felt a sadness that the construction contractors would come, and in two years time there would be a mine, a road, a bridge, and the constant noise of heavy vehicles.
But, thinking about the chips of jasper, and the piles of iron ore, and the birds, I reflected on the ancient ground, and all the things that had come and gone. Then I thought that a century after this mine had ended little would be left to ever say it was here. Thinking this I could put it in its perspective and say "It's ok".

Crosiers, cathedrals, and the memory of trees

2005-09-08T08:33:00.000+01:00

Many have commented on the resemblance between a bishop's crosier and the delicate spiral of a tree fern. Which came first? Well, that one is obvious- no ecclesiasts roamed the earth before angiosperms ruled.

Let's think about a more obscure connection: cathedrals and trees.

The great building period for the Gothic cathedrals coincided with a period of rapid deforestation across Europe.

As the massive cathedrals were being raised whole forests were being felled to meet the needs of a growing population.

My question is this: as the architects of York Minster and Chester cathedral designed their interlocking arches, did they dream of their lost Wirral?

Did the echoing spaces of the vast buildings bring them closer to their god? Or did the heavy walls insulate them from the verdant dark danger beyond the town gate?

Do the arches contain the revered memory of the lost trees, or are they the visible armature of defence from fear?

“The forest, an overwhelming presence of the great North, is the genius loci of the Gothic church. The tall tree trunks become columns, the ogive vaults replicate the arching of the branches connecting the trees high above. Light from the low northern sun filters through the long vertical breaches between the columns as it does through the trees. The forest/cathedral is home to northern imagery. Fairies, fantastic animals, ghosts, monsters peek out from every corner and receptacle. It was in the forests that Druids performed their liturgies and magic rites, that Celtic legendary heroes went to seek their glory or escape their curses. Man was alone, in the forest, and his relationship with God was personal, direct and somewhat fearsome.
“Notes for a history of glass in architecture: the Cathedrals
Lorenzo Matteoli
1994
http://members.iinet.net.au/~matteoli/html/Articles/Glass.html

The First Goths of the Year

2005-08-23T01:15:00.000+01:00

It's almost spring, and the first Goths are emerging from their winter dens, blinking and shivering in the weak sunlight. Soon the light will grow too strong for them, and they will return to their underground lairs.

The Semiotics of Cave Tours

2005-08-22T02:48:00.000+01:00

Independent of country, language and location, one can imagine a model of the ideal cave tour.

It starts with a climb (or possibly a descent) through forested (wooded, landscaped) ground to a rustic timber and steel structure at the entrance to the cave.
The entrance to the cave is locked with a steel (cast iron) gate.
You can feel the cool, still air of the cave beyond the grille.
The guide is not present, but a hand-drawn clock (whiteboard, plastic sign) announces the time of the next tour.
As you wait in the clammy dampness (bright sunlight) of the forest (wood, garden), other cave vistors drift in:

A harried woman, accompanied by 2 (3) children dressed in fluorescent colours. The children are fractious. They are eating icecreams (chips, soft drinks). They scatter litter on the floor and are scolded by the woman.
A small group of Japanese girls in tartan (flowered) knee socks. They giggle and take photographs of each other.
Two blond Germans (Danes, Swedes, Austrians) in their 20s. They are wearing all-weather khaki shorts, expensive hiking boots and large backpacks.
A couple of retirement age - sensible shoes, walking sticks, no-nonsense clothing.
A suburban couple with their aged mother. She will not go on the tour (the steps are a bit much), but will wait patiently outside.

While we wait, we read the explanatory signs - wildlife in the cave, the geology of the area, how the cave was formed, conservation activity.
The guide arrives. He (she) is a short (tall, medium-sized), cheerful individual, dressed in the uniform of the local parks service. He rounds up the visitors. He warns us that there are many steps, that the cave is cold (9-15 degrees), that he will turn out the lights at some point, and that people should stay together. The tour will take about an hour.
He unlocks the gate and motions the group inside, admonishing us to stop at the first landing.
He describes the lighting system.
He explains the difference between stalactites and stalagmites.
He points to (picks up) the stump of a broken stalagmite (stalactite). He uses this prop to

explain why you should never touch the stalactites and stalagmites because the oils and acid in your skin will slowly damage the calcite.
demonstrate the translucency of calcite by shining a torch through it
give a short homily on cave conservation

One of the children touches a stalactite (stalagmite) and is admonished.
The group walks down the stairs to the next landing. The guide explains the lighting system.
The group proceeds. The guide explains the geology of the cave, and explains the definition of an active cave.
The group proceeds. The path goes through a narrow (low) point. The guide warns people to be careful of their heads (other sticking-out bits).
The group proceeds. The guide explains the action of water in the cave. He explains that the water level in the cave is much lower than it was a few years ago, probably due to global warming.
The group proceeds. The guide points out a calcite shawl with a light behind it. The guide highlights a fossil embedded in the wall. He describes the extent of the cave, only a small part of which has ever been opened to the public, or even explored.
The group reaches the bottom (the widest part) of the cave.
The guide turns the light out. A child exclaims how at dark it is. The guide turns the light back on. People are (secretly) relieved.
As the group gradually winds its way back to the surface, the guide tells stories from when the cave was discovered. He describes the behaviour of the early cave visitors at the beginning of the 20th century, and is critical of their conservation practices.
The group returns to the surface. The guide counts heads, locks the gate and invites people to visit the gift shop. One or two people stay a few minutes longer to share stories with the guide.
We push on, as we have heard all the stories (in some form) before.

On Plagiarism Or, Parallel Discovery

2005-08-21T05:52:00.000+01:00

Everything needs to start from somewhere.
The point of origin is just as likely to be random as a careful selection from the well of possibilities.
In a Penguin travel book of the 1950s, "Ten Years Under the Earth", Norbert Casteret shared a description of the mountains and caves of his native France.
The words were curiously familiar, and eventually I realised I had read the same descriptions years earlier in the novel "Shibumi" by Trevanian. Now my question is:
Did he steal, or did he discover for himself?