Archive for June, 2010

30
Jun
10

Heritage – Another excuse for commercialism

Stone Henge

Stone Henge

So the government has decided not to go ahead with a contribution to the Stone Henge visitors centre. Obviously there will be howls of anguish but really, who cares? Stone Henge is there and it has a road running past it. If you want to see Stone Henge drive past it. I think there’s a car park there too so you can stop if you want.

But that’s not good enough for some people. They say we need a visitors centre. A visitors centre? Consider what that means. Consider all the other visitors centres you’ve ever seen anywhere in the world. A visitors centre is a themed set of shops and restaurants. It’s a mini shopping mall. If you want to visit a themed shopping mall go to Heathrow Airport but don’t insist that a prehistoric wonder requires an outlet of Star Bucks – it doesn’t.

I imagine that the driving force behind these centres are the retailers who will have captive markets. I notice that the plan is to place the visitors centre around a mile away from the stones and to eradicate the current road running past the stones. Probably there will be some bloody buses or a light railway to take people from the stones tot he centre. The obvious aim is to stop anyone seeing the stones without paying to get into the centre and be lured into the shops selling Stone Henge calenders and druid T-Shirts.

We don’t need this damn commercialism! We don’t need a branch of McDonalds at every tourist attraction. A Human being can live for about three days without water and weeks without food. The aboriginal people of Australia roamed the land and survived on what they found there. The prehistoric people who built Stone Henge had no access to sandwiches in polythene bags or coffee with warning labels or toilets with the constant sound of hand dryers.
You don’t need to buy refreshment. If you want refreshment go to the local mall. If you want to see a prehistoric wonder, get your cagoule on and take a walk over to the stones. Take a thermos flask with you and have a cup of tea while you’re there.

But please let’s not concrete over yet more of the countryside in the name of heritage.

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29
Jun
10

The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York

Torso of a High General

Torso of a High General

I wrote a blog article recently knocking the content at the Getty Centre in Los Angeles but praising the building.  I failed to mention that I had earlier visited The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Blimey Mrs. It’s a corker!

The Metropolitan has art from all over the world. I’d seen some of the types before but what I found completely stunning was the quality of the pieces. It seemed that if there was only one perfect example still in existence of a type of art from somewhere in the world then the Metropolitan would have it and all beautifully displayed and perfectly lit.

I was stuck by one piece in particular. This was a damaged statue with the title Torso of a High General from 4th Century Egypt. The piece is of a young man but the torso has sheered away revealing the raw sandstone. It occurred to me that, for people who had not seen carving of this quality before, it must have seemed miraculous. Sandstone in it’s raw state is uneven and quite obviously inanimate. Yet in the hands of a craftsman it takes on the appearance of a man. Even the damaged example had  all the strength and vibrancy of a living body even after 2000 years!

If there is one museum you visit in New York then it should be the Metro.

Marble Head of a Woman, 1st Century Rome

Marble Head of a Woman, 1st Century Rome

Marble Head of Athena, Rome, AD 138-92

Marble Head of Athena, Rome, AD 138-92

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Metropolitan Museum of Art

Sea Bear Head, Haida, British Colombia, 19th Century

Sea Bear Head, Haida, British Colombia, 19th Century

Forehead Mask, British Colombia or Alaska, 1840

Forehead Mask, British Colombia or Alaska, 1840

Smiling Figure, Mexico, Remojadas, 7th-8th Century

Smiling Figure, Mexico, Remojadas, 7th-8th Century

Female Mask (Gabanda), Democratic Republic of Congo, Pende Peoples, 19th-20th Century

Female Mask (Gabanda), Democratic Republic of Congo, Pende Peoples, 19th-20th Century

28
Jun
10

Carry on England

Carry On England

Carry On England

As I walked along Western Road in Hove on Sunday afternoon the sun shone, flowers adorned the pubs and the pavements thronged with England supporters. Optimism was in the air.

At 3pm I switched on the box and saw that Carry On Up The Kyber was just about to start on Channel 4. For a joke, I texted a friend to suggest he watch it. He replied that if I only watch one game this year then England vs. Germany should be it. Needless to say, I watched the game.

From the start, all the action was in the England half yet the English defence seemed thin on the ground. After England went two nil down I felt I couldn’t watch any more and switched channels to find Kenneth Williams as the The Khasi of Kalabar encouraging a bunch of Indian “Burpers” to fight the British. The Burpers refuse, claiming that it was a well known fact that the British were invincible. A pity the Germans didn’t think so.

About this time a cheer went up from the pub outside my flat and I, hurriedly (and guiltily), switched back to the game. England had scored and the commentary was claiming that England had come alive. Within minutes came the disallowed England goal and the commentary quickly focused on this setback and forgot the game in hand. Suddenly Germany scored again and by Germany’s 4th goal the commentators were speculating over the future of English football. England staggered on to a shameful 4 -1 defeat.

The analysis started Immediately and today The Sun described the disallowed goal as “a red herring which merely papers over the cavernous cracks in England’s display” – Excellent! Much of the criticism seems to come down to the accusation that the system fails to nurture new talent, preferring to buy it in from abroad.

I agree that this is part of the problem and I suggest that another part of the problem is the egocentric, “me first” nature of English football. Everyone wants to be a star but without commitment to the team.

Consider my own actions when England went 2 – o down. Rather than sticking with them I had switched channels and the commentators had practically given up all hope when Germany got their third goal. Can you imagine the Koreans, the Japanese or the Americans giving up so quickly?

All this probably reflects Britain’s comparative decline in the world and the wider British culture. We expect that we should be amongst the top rank and when we’re not we lose heart. We need to take a good look in the mirror.

Other nations, with less baggage, will see each success as a step forward and each defeat as a warning against complacency. England seldom displays such purpose or determination and oscillates between euphoria and despair. We see success as proof of innate superiority and defeat as an inevitable nail in our coffin.

When England succeeds we proclaim our team as heroes but when England fail we crucify them. A so called football supporter supports nothing more than a dream. He does not even support his local club; instead he picks a Premier League side which employs a bunch of foreigners to entertain him while he drinks. The premier league has no allegiance to England or English football and it has no supporters. The Premier League has merely an international TV audience of customers bound together by their shared purchase of associated merchandising. The Premier league is to football what Hollywood is to film: superficial, over paid and lacking soul.

Both the obsession with instant stardom and the tendency to buy in talent from abroad are not limited to football. British business lobbies government to allow immigration of workers with required skills while education and training are neglected and the X-Factor encourages youngsters to believe they can become stars over night.

Football was part of our nation’s soul but we have sold our soul to pay for replica kit, Sky Sports and holidays in Tenerife.

Come on England? – More like Carry On England!

22
Jun
10

Driving Culture

Traffic in Port Harcourt

Traffic in Port Harcourt

While in America I had hired a car. Americans seem to ride more than drive and when the traffic stops they leave vast spaces between each car. They seem more tolerant of poor driving but this may be because they lack lane discipline. Cars weave between lanes without warning.

In Nigeria the driving style was to never give an inch to any other driver. I remember a journey crawling along a narrow street in Lagos approaching a crossroads. Once we reached the intersection every car was revving their engine madly and pushing forward  to gradually edge past the other cars which were all doing the same thing. Normally, in Nigeria, I had a driver but one Christmas I had to drive myself and determined to show Nigerians how it should be done. My plan was doomed from the start. I waited forlornly for someone to let me out into the moving traffic but if I had not abandoned my stupid idea and pushed my way out I would be waiting there to this day.

It is the same with the Nigerian corruption. It is all very well claiming moral superiority and deciding that you will pay no bribes but you will achieve nothing. One cannot eradicate corruption by example any more than one can force lane discipline on Americans by example. This is a lesson I believe should be understood by armchair stay at homes who lecture multinational companies on their behaviour in the developing world.

On occasions a Nigerian would become so frustrated by the lack of progress that he would emerge from his car and start directing traffic himself until his own driver was able to navigate the intersection at which point he would re-enter his car and leave the whole tangled mess behind him. I did this myself on several occasions and it gave one a great feeling of elation as one finally gained the open road and sped away into the hot night.

Another boon to Nigerian traffic control were the disabled. I vividly recall a one legged man who would stand on the podium provided for the permanently absent traffic police and direct the traffic with his crutch. As the traffic passed the drivers would sling him a handful of Naira.

bangkok traffic

bangkok traffic

A few years ago I drove across Bangkok in the rush hour. Starting around 5pm, I reached my destination by 9pm but on the wrong side of the road which was divided by a concrete barrier. I continued and, noticing that U-turns were prohibited, I turned left and then left again into a car park where I re-emerged and turned right back onto the correct side of the road. A traffic cop stopped me and accused me of making a U-turn. He explained that although I had not actually made a U-turn I had achieved the same result and had therefore broken the law. Unlike the British police he seemed to enforce the spirit of the law if not the letter of the law.

Back in the UK this morning I drove north on the M23 and, as the lanes merged into the A23, I indicated left but the other driver refused to let me in. My initial reaction was that the driver was an anally retentive moron but then I saw the driver was a woman. It is a fact that women do not let you in. I once knew a salesman who said that he never let cars pull out from side streets as it was a “a sign of weakness”. I don’t believe that the reason that women do not let you in is driven by this same insecurity but by a preoccupation with following the rules. If you have right of way, why should give it up?

Men (excluding salesmen) appear more cooperative when they drive. At the meeting of Woodean Drive and Dyke Road Avenue in Brighton each morning cars take turns to join the main road. This admirable cooperation is interrupted only by women and, presumably, salesmen. Perhaps this is related to Enoch Powell’s comment that women are not “clubable”.

I have heard that a study was carried out in the United States to test the effectiveness of the process for launching Inter-Continental Ballistic Missiles (ICMBs) and that the test provided that the launch technicians believed that they were initiating a real nuclear missile launch. It was found that women would always launch the missiles as they had been instructed but that a percentage of men would refuse. The men would fall back on their own reasoning and decide that since all they could achieve was wholesale murder there was no point in proceeding. I have heard that more women in the UK support the introduction of capital punishment than men.

It is interesting that my reaction on seeing that the driver who failed to let me in was a woman was to dismiss the incident whereas I would have continued to feel aggravated if the driver had been a man. I guess this is related to some kind of male competition.

21
Jun
10

Rome stag and a complicated British Airways sandwich

Outside the Pantheon

Outside the Pantheon

On Saturday I caught an early flight to Rome for a friend’s stag night. Our hotel was close to Rome Termini and I walked there from the station. The Italian at the desk told me: ”Your room is not ready. Come back at 2”. After returning from the United States I had commented on how the English appear terse and rude. Obviously the Italians are no better.

I dropped my bags and took a taxi to Castle Saint Angelo where I met my friends and had a beer. Rome is quite a contrast to the United States and efficiency takes a second place to ancient history. Central Rome is stuffed full of the ancient world and from the top of the Castle one can look out over Rome. The view is fantastic.

In our younger days we may have done a through-er. That is to say, we may have started drinking in the afternoon and continued drinking through into the evening and early morning. However, our advancing years dictated a return to the hotel where a short siesta allowed us to catch our second wind.

On regaining consciousness three taxis carried us to the Pantheon where we found a restaurant and settled at an outside table. The waiter was a comedian and kept us laughing all night as we sat eating pasta and drinking red wine. A street performer ran through Pavaroti’s standards and memories of the 1995 world cup returned. After receiving the bill we realised that our waiter really was a comedian but having had a satisfyingly enjoyable evening we coughed up and headed for the bar near the hotel where we talked bollocks with a couple from the Czech republic.

On Sunday morning we visited the Colosseum. The area was thronged with all the trappings of tourism: Guides, souvenirs, us etc. I guess ’twas ever thus and in a way that is part of the fun. I thought of the Edwardian tourists in in A Room With A View and The Life of Brian when they sold stones and bags of gravel just prior to the stoning. When we gaze upon wonders of the ancient world it is tempting to imbue the creators of these artefacts with awesome and ponderous spirituality. Thankfully Monty Python have shown us a vision of the reality of these people who would have been more akin to modern day builders. While the architects of Canary Wharf and the Gherkin may well hob nob with royalty and have their heads up their arses the actual builders probably supped tea from a saucer, whistled at passing young women and had their arses sticking out the backs of their trousers. Likewise with the Colosseum, it is comforting to realise that the Colosseum building site would have had more in common with Auf Wiedersehen Pet than with Spartacus.

I noticed one “guide” muttering into a microphone and a friend explained: “That’s how it’s done now”. Each member of the tour group wears headphones to receive the wisdom from the droning self appointed guide. Not very sociable if you ask me. Having been on guided tours in the past I enjoyed comments and banter from the audience to supplement the, sometimes dry, rhetoric of the guide. This obsession we have with individualism renders us all spectators. We mistakenly believe that entertainment is something that is done too us rather than something in which we engage – I fantasised about obtaining a transmitter and interrupting the guide’s monologue with musings of my own.

As we reached the restaurant the skies opened and the rain poured down. A canvas canopy protected most of us and a party of Americans sitting nearby hoisted umbrellas but refused to budge.

On the aircraft home I am handed a sandwich with a label listing approximatively 200 ingredients. After landing I queued interminably at passport control in the UK to be greeted by a jolly English passport control officer who apologised for the wait and hoped I had a good time in Rome. We English are not so bad after all, I muse, though, obviously the officer is the exception who proves the rule.

Gatwick Airport have now engaged the services of two separate companies for North terminal Long Stay parking. Two separate buses ferry passengers between the terminal and the car parks but, predictably, none of the passengers, including myself, know which company run the car park in which they have parked. The driver patiently points this out to each and every passengers who boards the bus and each passenger then engages in a short period of confusion before realising that the company name is printed on their ticket.

After arriving at the car park I found that I had not recorded the location of my car an spent five minutes wandering around pressing the button on my car key and listening for my car to beep. It did and I returned home.

18
Jun
10

Are Americans all Potty?

Are Americans All Potty?

Are Americans All Potty?

Very often after returning from the U.S. I contrast the chirpy cheerfulness of sales staff in the U.S. with the monosyllabic and apparent indifference of their counterparts in the UK. Arriving at Heathrow on Wednesday afternoon I bought a ticket for the bus and then a bottle of juice and was confronted by aforementioned monosyllabic staff.

For some reason, this time, I was more philosophical. Yes, the guy could have done with some training in how to relate to customers but on the other hand he was being himself. After dealing with car hire and mobile phone companies in the U.S. I had started to speculate that the U.S. forces people to modify their behaviour to suite the system. This arrangement is good in that it increases efficiency and allows greater material prosperity but I wonder whether the cost is increased alienation of people from society.

The Virgin Atlantic flight from L.A. to London had been on an airbus A300-600. The seats on this aircraft allowed virtually no room for one to move ones legs. I recall that, in the past, long haul flights made a big issue of telling you to perform leg exercises and I believe that this was to counter a tendency of long haul passengers to suffer blood clots in the legs following a flight. This is known as known as Deep Vein Thrombosis.

The emphasis on efficiency has led Virgin to pack the seats closer and closer together so that now it is not possible for even a person of my modest stature to raise ones legs once seated. Consequently the airline no longer deems it necessary to encourage passengers to exercise and I wonder whether the instances of known as Deep Vein Thrombosis, which can be fatal, have increased. I also wonder whether these chairs conform to any safety standards and whether Deep Vein Thrombosis is considered within these standards.

England was warm and sunny and I boarded a National Express bus to Brighton. Arriving home around 7:30pm I implemented my strategy for negating the effects of jet lag. There are two important factors to countering jet lag. The first is to attempt to stay awake during the daylight hours of the destination both on the aircraft and as soon as one arrives. For this one needs some kind of activity to perform on arrival. The second factor is to consume alcohol just prior to the desired sleep period.

As I had arrived home in early evening my course was clear. I occupied a couple of hours preparing and consuming a curry and then opened a bottle of beer.

I switched on Radio 4 and considered my three weeks in the United States. While driving around in California I had listened to talk radio. While American PBS fights a bravely to encourage intelligent debate it is a battle it seems destined to lose. I listened with interest to shock jocks and dismissed the right wing as bigoted. I listened to the liberals and began to think that there might be reasoned debate but soon realised that the left too is obsessed with over simplification and adherence to dogma.

A friend of mine once met an American woman who claimed to be allergic to glass and insisted on drinking beverages through a straw. He deduced from this that all Americans are potty and this is a widely held view in the United Kington. Personally I temper this with acceptance of difference and the knowledge that the United States is a vast country with numerous disparate people.

However, I sometimes find myself wondering, if Americans appear potty to the British, why do we not hold similar opinions of other nationalities? It is possible that pottyness is merely the most prominent defining character for Americans and that other nationalities too have their defining characters but I think that what is more likely is that the language we share with Americans enables us to gain an insight into their world view and that we are denied this insight with other nationalities. This reasoning is strengthened as I believe that Brits also consider Australians to be potty. Perhaps if we were fluent in Spanish or Chinese we would consider them potty too?

I guess that if an understanding of the language of a foreign country means that on is capable of appreciating their pottyness then, as English is the most common second language, it is the British who must appear the most potty and that is a stereotype that I am very happy to live with.

11
Jun
10

Hendrys beach and Lake Cachuma

Hendrys Beach

Hendrys Beach

Dog walking along Hendrys beach was the order of the day yesterday morning. In fact dog walking seems to be all this beach is used for. After lunch I headed down to the marina. On Wednesday afternoons Santa Barbara Yacht Club runs a race known as Wet Wednesdays. I walked around the pontoons looking for a boat that needed crew. Most did not as the wind was light but eventually I was invited onto a J125. A beautiful boat with a good crew. The sea was flat and there was about 4 to 5 knots of wind. We didn’t break any records but it was a wonderful sight to see about 30 boats out.

Cereal Bowl

Cereal Bowl

One thing I like about America is that they continue to innovate. In the shower this morning I noticed that the plug hole had a little mesh thing to catch all the hairs but this little mesh thing was removable! – Brilliant! In L.A. I had seen a bike rack on the front of a bus and this morning I noticed yet another idea: a cereal bowl with an embedded straw. The idea is that you eat the cereal and then suck the milk up through the straw.

View over Santa Barbara

View over Santa Barbara

After breakfast I drove up to Lake Cachuma about 15 miles north west of Santa Barbara. The countryside around here is fantastic. Rolling hills, grass, oaks trees and numerous wild flowers. Then back east along winding roads up into the mountains. Amazing views over Santa Barbara and space to stop on bends which stick right out with steep drops. Many signs of the previous summer’s wild fires. Bushes burnt grey and black but new growth everywhere. Up here it is quiet. No traffic noise, just the sounds of the birds and the bees. In a landscape such as this one has a feeling for the land and I imagined the days before the freeways when a journey from Lake Cachuma to the sea might have taken several days.

By half past twelve I felt a little peckish and so set the GPS to the Cajun Kitchen and drove back to Santa Barbara for breakfast.

09
Jun
10

Santa Barbara

chalk painting

chalk painting

Arrived in Santa Barbara around lunch time on Sunday and was picked up by a friend from the station and taken straight to the Cajun Kitchen for breakfast. Excellent! Then back to her house for a sunday dinner with her family.

Rolly Pollies or Lice?

Rolly Pollies or Lice?

On Monday morning we took the dog for a walk along with her kids. The kids kept picking up little bugs which they called “rolly pollies” but which I insist are probably lice. The reader may judge for themselves by the photo I took. Later we stopped off at Santa Barbara Mission where a display of chalk paintings had just taken place. These were large images drawn in chalk on the ground and several were remarkable in their quality and detail. Surprisingly it was here that I noticed a group of gardeners vacuuming cacti.

I then wandered around Down Town Santa Barbara. State Street seems much the same. A mixture of bars, restaurants and shops. I walked along the coast to East Beach. When I first came to Santa Barbara in 1994 I would spend the mornings laying on the lawns by the sea near East beach reading a book. I now found myself wondering why there were no benches to sit on. A sign of my age no doubt.

The mist clearing over Santa Barbara

The mist clearing over Santa Barbara

I walked on the pier and stood watching the mountains just as the mist began to clear. Santa Barbara weather is amazing. In the mornings it is cool, misty and overcast. Then, in the space of a few minutes, the mist is blown away and a beautiful, hot and sunny days begins. As I loitered taking photographs I was asked by four separate groups of people to take their photo. They obviously spotted my inherent talent. Alternatively it may have been because there was nobody else around. Surprisingly two of the groups of people were British and we chatted about Heathrow, Hackney and America.

The mist clearing over Santa Barbara

The mist clearing over Santa Barbara

The entrepreneurial spirit of the American people is a cliché but I am often surprised at just how ubiquitous this can be. While walking back along the pier I noticed that some homeless guy had set up a game for passers by to flip a coin into a paper cup dangling from a stick. Several coins had already been thrown and I tossed a quarter his way.

I walked back up State Street past the old Schooner Inn. In 1994 I stayed here for about three months paying $15 a night. The shared bathrooms meant that after an evenings in the bars I would get up in the middle of the night dressed in only a sarong and wander the corridors in search of a bathroom. Inevitably I would forget my key and be forced down to the reception desk to get a spare. In one instance I was informed that I was “butt naked”. Sadly this excellent hotel has gone up market and has been renamed the Santa Barbara Hotel. They now want $200 a night and presumably the bathrooms are en suite and there is no need to wander the corridors late at night in search of somewhere to piss.

Opposite the Schooner used to be Kings Tavern and this has now been renamed the Old Kings Road London Pub and now has a Union Flag across the entrance. Joe’s cafe is still going strong but Mel’s Bar further up State Street has closed. I spent many a hot and happy evening whiling away the time in Mel’s and fondly recall singing New York, New York and Nessun Dorma at the top of my voice here. OK, so I did not know the words but tiresome details such as these were not important in a bar like Mel’s. As far as I am concerned the closure of Mel’s has taken the Bar out of Santa Barbara.




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Pimlico

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Blue Route 2

Blue Route 1

The Blue Route

Palace of Culture and Science

Palace of Culture and Science

Palace of Culture and Science

Palace of Culture and Science

Triumph of Technology Over Tradition

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