8 June 2014

Gallery

Our second day in Vancouver. More pictures. On our lovely bike ride round Stanley Park, we stopped at the totem poles:-
We passed by Siwash Rock:-
By Lost Lake, two families were strolling:-
In Granvile Island Public market we saw spindly carrots:-
A painted metal buoy from older times:-
This poor down-and-out man was happy to pose for me after I gave him some money. He wished us a happy holiday:-
In downtown Vancouver The Fairmont Hotel is reflected in the cladding of a newer addition to the skyline:-

7 June 2014

Vancouver

By English Bay, Vancouver... and no! He's not me!
Still "knackered" as my German friend Meike (Miss Arian) so accurately described tiredness the other week. We arrived in Vancouver on a lovely spring afternoon. Even the police cyclists and parking enforcement officers were wearing shorts. We didn't bother with a taxi from the city centre - just pulled our suitcases along Robson Street to the West End.

Though in a well-heeled neighbourhood, we have noticed a good number of down-and-out fellows in the area. Men with shopping trolleys and beards. Men with crutches and begging bowls who say "Have a nice weekend" as you pass by. We even saw an old white lady in her seventies with all her worldly possessions in tow rooting in a litter bin and we saw a wild-eyed young man with a massive plastic sack filled with recyclable cans and plastic bottles, hunting for more. What a mad world we occupy for down at West Marina there are dozens of designer yachts and motor cruisers bobbing in the bay. Why can't the down-and-out people live there? After all these boats don't get much use. They are mainly status symbols - toys for the rich.

We walked from our pleasant suite on Bidwell Street over to English Bay where Vanouverians were enjoying the sunny afternoon. Such sharp, clear and lovely weather. There were roller bladers, cyclists, an English style  bowling club and a couple of young men smoking cannabis under a tree. We caught a strong whiff of it but it didn't make us high. A woman cycled by with a tortured chihuahua on a lead. Poor thing!

Then we went to a place I had previously visited courtesy of Street View - "The Dover Arms" - a locals pub with a friendly Canadian atmosphere. St Louis Cardinals were playing Toronto Blue Jays on the big screen but mostly people ignored this baseball game and drank and chattered instead. A former barmaid came in to show off her baby daughter to the clientelle. It was a nice place to be and we sank two refreshing beers before staggering in to "Safeway" to buy two Chinese meals from the oriental self-serve counter.

Some pictures:-
Statue of Robert Brague
Just one of the shadowy hobo men
Virginia creeper on The Sylvia Hotel
Shirley by the sea
English Bay, Vancouver
Lazy woman with chihuahua in dog coat
Cycle cops - "on duty"
In "the Dover Arms" on Denman Street
"Darling, will  you marry me?"
"How much money you got?"

6 June 2014

Adios!

We are taking our little laptop with us so I will probably have chance to blog while we are away in the Pacific North West of America. We are leaving in the morning. Taxi to Sheffield railway station - train to Mancnester Airport then inside a big lump of metal that will magically rise into the sky and transport us to Vancouver. Well, that's what I am hoping.

Above - our hotel whilst in Victoria on Vancouver Island. Below our unremarkable motel in Goldendale, Washington State and below that the house where we'll be staying in Seattle's northern suburbs. Well, somebody's got to do it. Adios!

4 June 2014

Brum

In The Jewellery Quarter
Shh! Great Britain's second city is not Newcastle or Edinburgh, Manchester or Glasgow, Belfast or Sheffield... it's Birmingham or "Brum" as it is often affectionately known by its inhabitants. It sprawls across England's West Midlands with a rich industrial history, threatening to absorb satellite towns and cities like Solihull, Dudley and Coventry. But Brum is rarely visited by foreign visitors to our shores and even within England itself I know many people who have never been there. It is almost as if it has an invisible force field around it - repelling invaders.

Our lovely daughter Frances attended the University of Birmingham and when she graduated in the summer of 2011, I don't think she ever expected that she would be back to live and work there. But that is what is happening. Her company are transferring her from Leeds to Brum - it's a promotion - and yesterday, accompanied by her aged father, Frances was back in the city seeking suitable accommodation ahead of the move.

We were mainly focussed on The Jewellery Quarter which is just west of the city centre and even today remains the base for many small jewellery businesses. Nowadays, these small industrial premises and back streets are interlaced with inner city housing developments - mostly apartments appealing to "young professionals". We walked from The Jewellery Quarter along the side of the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal to Brindley Place which is where Frances's ultra-modern offices are housed. This would be her regular walk to work and very pleasant it was too - no roads to cross  and an oozing sense of Birmingham's past when back in the day canals were key to its burgeoning growth as one of the world's prime industrial cities.

We found a couple of contenders for apartments she could rent and had a drink in "The Jewellers Arms" before heading home for tea. Here are four more of my snaps from yesterday:-
By the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal. The National Indoor Arena is ahead.
"The Jewellers Arms"

At Cambrian Wharf. The pub is called "Flappers".
Brindley Place where Frances will be working.

2 June 2014

Umlazi

I have written about my little trip to South Africa before. Go here. It was almost eleven years ago. It's funny how most weeks that we live in are completely forgotten and other weeks, other moments are seared in our minds forever. I didn't want to get on the plane to come back home. Just being in South Africa was thrilling and visiting Ogwini Technical School in the middle of the vast Umlazi township on the edge of Durban was inspirational and uplifting.I would have liked to join the teaching staff and contribute to helping young township dwellers out of poverty through education. But of course I had to come home.

I remember walking on to the Ogwini campus for the first time. A minibus dropped me near the gate and I was led round to the back of the school where there was a mound overlooking the sports field. The teachers were gathered on that mound and the children - around 2,000 of them were clustered in front of us like a football crowd. Then the singing started. I looked at the sea of faces in front of me and every mouth was singing out the words without a hint of self-consciousness - all contributing to the communal sound. The volume was large and the harmonious coalition of voices was both natural and beautiful. They were singing "Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika" (God Bless Africa) and I shivered in the heat with two big fat tears rolling down my cheeks though I couldn't quite understand why.

Here's me with some of the schoolboys. I am looking over their heads like Dr Livingstone I presume. They all lived in ramshackle huts made of corrugated iron, chipboard and advertising signs. And they got their water from communal pumps. The township was rife with HIV, AIDs, drugs, gangsters, alcoholism, rape and above all its grinding poverty. So it was quite amazing that the teenage students all turned up for school in clean uniforms with schoolbags and pens.
And this lovely, bright Zulu girl gave me the awful news that her English teacher - the only white teacher in the school - had been raped and murdered at home just a few weeks earlier. I wonder what that girl is doing now. She'll be in her mid to late twenties if she is still alive. I hope she climbed out of the poverty trap and used education as a springboard to a better life in Mandela's Rainbow Nation - for that is the dream of all Umlazi families - their version of winning the National Lottery:-
]

31 May 2014

Amoo


Who is the world's dirtiest old man? Is it the Angolan holiday resort magnate Tom Gowans or perhaps a certain infamous resident of the city of Canton in Georgia USA? No - apparently it's the fellow pictured above. He is called Amoo Hadij and he lives on the outskirts of  Farashband in Iran. Of course I discovered this claim on a short internet surfing expedition.

Amoo Hadij, is "a peculiar 80-year-old man who has not bathed himself once in more than sixty years. He lives in a small abandoned brick hut in the village of Dezhgah, completely alone, surrounded by garbage, dirt, and animal faeces. A bit of a loner, Amoo likes to keep to himself, and rarely has the opportunity to interact with other people. This is probably due to the fact that he smells to high heaven and has the outward appearance of a troll."

"However, Amoo Hadij has no idea he’s so dirty. In fact, his less than sanitary but simple life is completely by choice. He is dirty because he has refused to bathe – not because he does not have a way of cleaning himself."

"Looking at Amoo, one can see that his skin is as thick as leather and a bit scaly, most likely due to the layers and layers of dirt and grime that have accumulated over his body over the last sixty years.

His face and beard are covered in black soot because he is a constant smoker, with his most prized possession being a broken steel pipe, which he uses to smoke animal dung on a daily basis. Though he’s technically not homeless, he often sleeps outside of his simple shelter, preferring the “fresh air,” as well as the warmth of his fire pit.

No one knows why Amoo has refused to bathe in over six decades. However, he seems to be doing fine. While it is difficult to understand why anyone would choose to live the way he does, he appears to be completely content with his primitive but personally satisfying lifestyle."

You have to feel sorry for Amoo. He clearly has mental health issues that haven't been addressed. Nonetheless his filthy lifestyle brings western obsession with personal hygiene into sharp relief. The television often seems to be bursting with commercials for various shampoos, grooming products and indeed germ busting cleansers. If you believed the legend you would imagine that little green gremlins live under every toilet seat threatening the annihilation of the human race.

When I was a small child, it was common for people to bathe just once a week and families would often share their bath water. In northern England, nobody had showers at home. They were reserved for public swimming baths. My family were lucky - we had a functioning bathroom but both my mother and father remembered tin baths on the kitchen floor - filled with hot water from their old black kitchen ranges.

Nowadays - like  most of us - I shower and shave* every day. Blessed with aroma-free armpits I nevertheless insure myself with roll-on underarm deodorant from "Lidl" (currently on offer at 55 pence). After shave spray, combing of the leonine locks and I'm done. The old tushy pegs are brushed morning and night come what may. (*Yes ladies!)

In all of this, I must admit that I am just a teensy bit jealous of Amoo. After all, his personal hygiene is much closer to the habits of our ancient ancestors who had different priorities from us. Maybe I'll join Amoo for a while in his cave in Iran - I have heard that Iran is becoming increasingly popular with package holidaymakers, eco-tourists and cruise liners. Mind you, I'm not so keen on the idea of smoking animal dung!

29 May 2014

Closer

Closer to Friday June 6th. All being well, that's when Shirley and I will be jetting to North America for a fortnight's holiday. I have planned it all and fingers-crossed everything will go swimmingly - but of course, you never know. I have carefully tailored several successful holidays in the past twenty years. We don't need travel agents any more - not with the internet grinding away in our study. In the past everything has always gone like clockwork.

We will fly from an obscure Lancashire village called Manchester all the way to Vancouver in Canada. Three nights there in a downtown  apartment. On one of the days there, we will drive up to Whistler for some whistling before moving on to Victoria on Vancouver Island.

Next we will take the ferry over to Washington State where I have booked a week's car hire. Working out insurance for this has been nightmarish because quoted car hire fees in the USA no longer appear to include basic Collision Damage Waiver insurance. In the end, I decided to get insured over here in England and shall fend off the aggressive salesmanship I expect to encounter at the Budget desk in Port Angeles.

From Port Angeles to Ocean Shores - then to Olympia - then to Portland, Oregon - then to Goldendale - then to Ellensburg before three nights in a studio apartment in a private house in Seattle. Then across Puget Sound and back to Port Angeles. Leave the car - ferry back to Victoria and the next morning bus and ferry combo back to Vancouver Airport for the long flight back to Ringway - now known as Manchester International.

It will be an adventure - especially if we are chased by bears, caught up in one of those shopping mall shootings they have in America or get to witness Mount St Helens exploding once more. Shirley and I are both unashamed Americophiles and it is a good while since we were there. Was it really the spring of 2005... California, Las Vegas, The Grand Canyon, The Sequoia National Forest? Nine years ago. How time flies. Unfortunately, we won't be calling in on Mr and Mrs R. Brague in salubrious Canton or checking out Ms Blawat's infamous Sloughhouse hippy commune. They're both too far away. 

O beautiful for spacious skies, 
For amber waves of grain, 
For purple mountain majesties 
Above the fruited plain! 
America! America! 
God shed his grace on thee 
And crown thy good with brotherhood 
From sea to shining sea! 

Addendum: To any blogging burglars out there - if you imagine that our designer mansion is going to be left empty for two weeks you are utterly wrong. I have hired two security guards from my favourite "Lidl" supermarket and they are going to take it in turns to patrol the hallowed corridors of Pudding Towers. They have my full permission to utilise any of the various weapons we display on our walls - including my Great Uncle Walter's blunderbuss. So you enter at your peril! Be warned!

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