Cocktails and Records

I don’t know if any of you have ever seen the Akira Kurasawa film Throne of Blood and its atmospheric translation of Macbeth into a samurai drama in the misty Japanese mountains, but the picture above is kind of reminiscent of it.

Sadly this is not from the film, but a snap I took a few days ago in the French Pyrenees. Still, walking through a cloud is a unique experience and when the rain actually stopped, it did bring out the lovely autumn colours.

And now I’m back with aching legs, saturated walking boots and a proven need to re-enrol in my French classes.

I’m off away again to Aberdeenshire for a few days next week, and yes, I will be taking my brolly and maybe even my boots if they ever dry out. Until then, I’ll be busy weaning myself off the five-course meals I’ve become accustomed to. Life’s tough, eh.

Last Friday morning, in a hotel room in Greece, I switched on the TV. You can guess what was on – wall to wall stories covering the demise of the King of Pop (TM). One of the many talking heads dragged out for the occasion happened to mention that the great thing about music is how it defines those ’special moments’ that you will never forget and how, of course,  Michael Jackson provided those moments for many people.

Sadly, although I like his music, Michael Jackson has largely failed to supply me with any personal ’special moments’. Happily though, another group created a ’special moment’ for me that very same day.

We had decided to go on a cruise around some of the Ionian islands associated with the Onassis family (as recommended by Planet Mondo). The morning started off bright and sunny, all was picture perfect as we smoothly glided through the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. ‘This is the life’ people said to each other with big, stupid grins on their faces.

Mid-morning though things started to change: the wind picked up, dark clouds started to loom ominously in the distance and the boat began to sway. By the time we were scheduled to leave our final destination, a lunch stop in Nydri, Lefkada, the sky was dark and it had started to spit. We all hurried back to the boat looking nervously upwards.

Back onboard, the cheery staff decided that what we all clearly needed to buck us up was a blast of the world’s real favourite superstars, ABBA. So with astonishingly well co-ordinated timing, someone hit play on the CD player and ‘Dancing Queen’ burst out mid-song with Frida and Agnetha singing ‘having the time of your life’ precisely at the same time that the heavens opened - thunder crashed, lightning cracked, the boat lurched viciously, people clutched their stomachs, children cried, torrential rain poured, everyone got drenched and a boatload of holiday making Brits, Germans and Swedes failed to be amused.

And as we all sat there with towels wrapped around us, shivering as fresh blasts of rain attacked us all the way home, everyone gritted their teeth, glared silently into space and enjoyed the comforting sounds of a careful selection of ABBA’s most inappropriately chirpy numbers. It was a moment.

But other than that, the holiday was great.

On my more intolerant days, I wish I could see a few more signs like these around my busy commuter train…

From the National Railway Museum in York.

We were in York for a long weekend. I have spent quality time in this fine city in the past and it was nice to be back. Although the architecture, fabulous City walls and Minster continue to attract flocks of tourists from all over the world, this time I noticed York’s real appeal for the domestic market – nostalgia.

York has got peddling nostalgia down to an artform. There is something for everyone:

1. Nostalgia for the mythical golden age of Middle England. York has more twee-themed museums and gift shops, ye-olde-worlde tea shops and pubs proudly declaring that they are ‘traditional’ than I have seen in quite some time.
2. Nostalgia for the steam age. Remember when the trains ran on time and you didn’t feel degraded travelling in one at the excellent National Railway Museum.
3. Nostalgia for rose-tinted childhood. Every second hand book shop had a ‘nostalgia’ section filled with Enid Blyton books and old Beano annuals. York even has a shop dedicated to selling dolls houses and doll house furniture. No children were sighted near either.
4. Nostalgia for the 70s. There is a branch of 70s theme bar Flares and at least one 70s themed kareoke nights.
5. Nostalgia for the 80s. Represented by a branch of 80s theme bar The Reflex and local paper over-enthusiam for Spandau Ballet.
6. Nostalgia for the 90s. See picture above. This is probably going too far.

 
mural on the Falls Road, Belfast

I’ve been a bit quiet on the blogging front recently. This is because I have been away discovering the joys of Belfast. One of the most interesting things about the trip has been people’s responses to it now that I’ve returned.

Typical conversation:

‘You’ve been away? Where did you go?’
‘I went to Belfast.’
‘Really?‘
‘Yes. We had a great time.’
‘Really?!’
‘Yes, we have some friends over there and there was loads to do. We saw where the Titanic was built, we visited the Northern Ireland parliament buildings at Stormont, went to some really good pubs (lousy beer though), saw the infamous Europa Hotel (bombed 33 times by the IRA), saw some of the wall murals on the Falls Road, enjoyed a wander down Crumlin Road past the gaol…’
‘Oh, right… Well, we’re going to Paris again in a few months. You should go there.’

I suppose I can understand. Belfast has a hell of a lot of image problems to get over.

We found ourselves in the Berkshire town of Beaconsfield this weekend. We were there to visit Bekonscot, a model village built by a bored London accountant in 1929 to entertain his friends. The folly started off as a few houses in his garden but wound up as a series of 6 inter-connected model villages over 1½ acres.

By some strange co-incidence we discovered whilst there that Beaconsfield was noneother than the home of Enid Blyton. And what a perfect coupling. Like Enid Blyton, Bekonscot Model Village seeks to ‘depict an idealised view of life in the 1930s’ – in other words the kind of England where the people who voted for Enid Blyton as their favourite author might aspire to live.

The England where:

1. Everyone lives in thatched roof cottages (even if they are fire prone)



2. Happy families pose by their Aston Martins



3. Fox hunting is fine way to spend a weekend



4. Evangelical missionaries can be found converting the villagers



5. Morris dancers are given free reign in the traffic-less town square

To be fair though, Bekonscot Model Village does have a colliery – its tucked away in the corner on the way out, just past the cable car…

It doesn’t really need saying again, but I’m not a huge fan of the glorified school sports day that is the Olympics. However, despite this I still found myself managing to spend just over a week in the Olympic City that is Beijing. And let me tell you, Beijing is a city possessed by the Olympic spirit. Here are a few lessons for London to learn:

1. Build lots of new things

Bejing is one big construction site. If the rumour that 25% of the worlds cranes are currently in Dubai is true, then the rest are probably in Beijing. The Olympics seem to be facilitating an unprecedented rush on ripping down, restoring (sometimes) and building – highrise apartment blocks are being flung up within weeks, traditional hutong neighbourhoods reshaped and rebuilt, subways extended and landmark buildings regularly unfurled to the world. We met a Taiwanese-American guy on the train one day who said that he could see workmen in a new apartment block being built near the Olympic site welding at 3am on a Saturday night. I think we can be quite confident that that won’t happen in London.

2. Launch a TV channel dedicated soley to the Olympics

Chinese Central Television (CCTV) has dedicated its sport channel entirely to the Olympics, even renaming it ‘the Olympic channel’ for the duration of 2008. This is useful because if you should miss out on any vital Olympic news or highlights at home, you can watch them on your way to work on the subway – each carriage on the new subway line that we were near had TV screens broadcasting CCTV’s Olympic channel. Rhythmic gymnastic highlights from previous Olympics seemed to feature a lot, but what would appeal to Londoners? Darts?

3. There is nothing that cannot be merchandised

Official (and unofficial) Olympic shops are everywhere – the airport, every shopping mall, every department store, the Forbidden City etc. – selling everything you could possibly ever want. T-shirts, tea sets, ties, towels, chopsticks, kites, coins, stamps, collectable medals, piggy banks, car/airplane neck pillows, cosmetic bags… everything. No snow domes or big novelty pants though disappointly.

4. There is nowhere too famous or too UNESCO World Heritage listed to be branded

5. Maintain a strong uniformed presence at all times

There were a lot of offical looking uniformed people in Beijing. The first time we went to Tianamen Square they were either studiously marching about everywhere or attempting to blend in as by-standers. The last time we went to Tianamen Square was the day the Olympic torch rolled into town and we couldn’t get within a mile of the place. Police were stationed at every intersection, every potential public loitering place and every subway entrance to make sure that you knew that there would be no trouble.

If London Met. Police can pay as many fresh faced young men to stand around looking threatening as the city of Beijing can then I will be truly impressed… but then again we probably won’t need to…

I’m back. Suffering with a cold, jet lagged and swamped by emails, but pleased to be home nonetheless.

Until I get my act together to write something, I’ll get the holiday mood out of my system by sharing a couple of snaps.

Temple of Heaven, Beijing

Sign in Beihai Park, Beijing. Further translation welcome.

Falls Creek in the Victorian ‘Alpines’. More Scotland than Alpine I think.

Public amenities in Australia.