Welcome to Cameron's Britain............

Is it only me or does anyone else find the juxtaposition of these headlines on the BBC website just now rather depressing?

A must-have accessory for your i-Pod/i-Phone/i-Whatever

I'm sure it's a problem we've all come up against every now and again.  When we are in the bathroom, whether we are bathing, shaving, washing our hair or, erm, sat down pondering life's mysteries, it's so relaxing to have a little background music.  In the latter case, your trouser pockets are probably somewhere near your shoes or your dress is tucked around your waist.  Either way, you have to hold your iPod or iPhone in your hand or balance it nearby precariously and risk it falling off into the bath, sink, or somewhere else that I really don't want to think about.

You'll be relieved to hear that we need struggle no longer: help is at hand.  If you are not already aware of it, let me introduce you to the new number one (or should that be "number two"?) iPod accessory - the iCarta 2.  Flushed with the success of their excellent iPod docks and other sensible items, the iCarta designers sat down, had a good think and came up with this 21st century addition to the smallest room.  It will surely wipe away those bathroom blues.

The iCarta 2 acts as a docking station for your iPod and/or iPhone and it comes with a set of adaptors to make sure your gizmo is a nice snug fit.  It even has a USB connector, an line-in socket and Bluetooth.  All that and rechargeable batteries, so there are no risky mains leads trailing in the bathroom.  Ooops, nearly forgot to mention that the iCarta 2 has 4 (yes, four! Count em!) speakers - two tweeters and two woofers - all moisture proof to cope with those steamy bathroom situations.  There's no need to strain your (r)ears as the sound reproduction does a thoroughly good job of playing your favourite tracks, whether they be Handel's Water Music, "Push It" by Salt 'N Pepa, something by Squeeze or maybe a cheery ditty from South Park's Mr Hankey. And, if you hadn't noticed from the photo, it is a handy toilet roll dispenser as well!

A great idea and you can get the full specification here.  Those with a penchant for toilet humour might muse on a more appropriate name than iCarta.  How about the iPoo'ed or i-Wipe or i-Wee'd or i-Flush or i-Bum or ........?

Some suggestions for dealing with the feckless

Why should we support the feckless, lazy and irresponsible?  How can we help them change their ways and become more responsible members of society?  Here are a few suggestions:

Gang Culture
Break up their vicious criminal gangs by arresting the ringleaders and locking them up. Perhaps starting with those attending the World Economic Forum.
Parenting
Provide parenting classes for the feral rich to teach them social values and respect for others that they can pass on to their offspring.
Housing
Move them out of their overvalued ghettos in the centres of the world's capitals. Turn over the properties they own but rarely occupy to public use and social housing.
Crime and Rehab
Crack down on repeat climate-crime offenders by confiscating their luxury cars and private jets. Rehabilitate persistent offenders by teaching them how to walk and use public transport.
Employment
Wean the work-shy off the benefits of unearned profit. Break trust-fund dependence. Get undeserving recipients on to work experience schemes.
Anti-social behaviour
Use 'tough love' to deal with those who engage in risky behaviour, who gamble, cheat and deceive and then expect the public to bail them out of trouble. Ground them, tag them and ban them from using the internet to vandalize the global economy.
Profligacy
Target contraception towards problem families with morbidly obese carbon footprints fuelled by irresponsible lifestyles.
Vandalism
Get them to clear up after themselves.  Remember Bhopal? Gulf of Mexico? Niger Delta?
Social Conscience
Teach them to start paying their own way. Lesson #1: Pay your tax.  Just because tax avoidance is legal, it doesn't mean it's not morally reprehensible.
Restorative Justice
Get overpaid execs who helped themselves to bonuses from bailed-out banks and businesses to face the victims of their crime and repay the money they owe.

Venturous harbinger of Spring

Not much colour in our garden at the moment although it won't be long before the daffodils are with us.  But we do have our first showing of snowdrops and there are many more to come.  Possibly my favourite flower and one that has moved many poets to verse over the years.  Here are just three examples: laugh-a-minute Ted Hughes gets my vote.

To the snowdrop (Charlotte Smith)
 Like pendant flakes of vegetating snow,
The early herald of the infant year,
Ere yet the adventurous crocus dares to blow,
Beneath the orchard boughs thy buds appear.

While still the cold north-east ungenial lours,
And scarce the hazel in the leafless copse,
Or sallows shew their downy powder'd flowers,
The grass is spangled with thy silver drops.

Yet when those pallid blossoms shall give place
To countless tribes, of richer hue and scent,
Summer's gay blooms, and autumn's yellow race,
I shall thy pale inodorous bells lament.

So journeying onward in life's varying track,
Ev'n while warm youth its bright illusion lends,
Fond memory often with regret looks back
To childhood's pleasures, and to infant friends.
 

To a snowdrop (William Wordsworth)
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend
Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend,
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, waylay
The rising sun, and on the plains descend;
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May
Shall soon behold this border thickly set
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing
On the soft west-wind and his frolic peers;
Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,
Chaste Snowdrop, venturous harbinger of Spring,
And pensive monitor of fleeting years!

Snowdrop (Ted Hughes)
Now is the globe shrunk tight

Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart.
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.

 

 

 

All things being equal....................Revisited

In a previous post I mentioned the work on inequality discussed in the book The Spirit Level written by Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett.  Just to recap, they presented data to support of the hypothesis that rising levels of inequality were leading to unhappier and unhealthy societies.

As a follow on, it's interesting to read that Oxfam has recently challenged the World’s political leaders, gathered at this week’s World Economic Forum in Switzerland, to do more to tackle inequality , demanding a “global new deal to reverse decades of increasing inequality.” Oxfam's report, 'The cost of inequality: how wealth and income extremes hurt us all' can be found here  In this they claim that efforts to tackle poverty are being hindered by an “explosion in extreme wealth,” which it describes as “economically inefficient, politically corrosive, socially divisive and environmentally destructive.  Oxfam argues that the “accumulation of wealth and income on an unprecedented scale, is at the expense of secure jobs and decent wages for the poorest” which undermines the “ability of people who survive on … low wages to improve their situation and escape poverty.”

The key points Oxfam makes are:
*  The world must urgently set goals to tackle extreme inequality and extreme wealth.
*  Extreme wealth and inequality are reaching levels never before seen and are getting worse.
*  Extreme wealth and inequality are economically inefficient.
*  Extreme wealth and inequality are politically corrosive.
*  Extreme wealth and inequality are socially divisive.
*  Extreme wealth and inequality are environmentally destructive.
*  Extreme wealth and inequality are unethical.
*  Extreme wealth and inequality are not inevitable.

Each point is supported with some evidence (nothing too weighty as it's a very short report -just under 4 pages) and the conclusion is: "we cannot afford to have a world of extreme wealth and extreme inequality.  We cannot afford to have a world where inequality continues to grow in the majority of countries.  In a world of increasingly scarce resources, reducing inequality is more important than ever.  It needs to be reduced and quickly".

All very laudable and a philosophy I agree with.  I am, however, underwhelmed by this stated objective: "that is why we are calling for a new global goal to end extreme wealth by 2025 and reverse the rapid increase in inequality seen in the majority of countries in the last twenty years, taking inequality back to 1990 levels".  Calling for a return to the poverty level of a previous decade strikes me as rather self-defeating for a organisation that claims to want to eliminate it.  After all, 1990 was not a year when the star of equality shone brightly in the sky. 

Serendipity and foul tasting seabirds

Serendipity* means a "happy accident" or "pleasant surprise" and it's always nice to make unexpected connections when reading a book.  I've just put down The Blackhouse by Peter May, another of his novels set on the Outer Hebridean Island of Lewis.  In this, guga hunting by the men of Ness, an area of Lewis to the north of the isle, looms large over the narrative.  What particularly piqued my interest was his description of the taste of the guga and, through this, the making of a serendipitous connection with a holiday we had in Tasmania in 2000.  To explain.................. 

First a little about the guga. It's the Gaelic word for a young gannet, the flesh of which is regarded as a delicacy in Ness today and, indeed, has been for many centuries.  In the autumn of each year, a group of 10 Nessmen set sail for Sula Sgeir, a remote and inhospitable rocky island far to the north, to kill a maximum of 2,000 young birds (restricted to 2,000 for conservation purposes and licensed by a specific Act of Parliament).  They set up residence for about two weeks in stone bothys. Working in pairs, the men take the fledglings from their nests with poles, catching them around the neck with a rope noose, then killing the birds with a blow to the head.  The birds are plucked and salted on site and loaded onto the return boat via a complicated wooden shute, as shown in this video clip.

The men bring home their catch to an eager crowd of customers and the demand is usually so great that the birds have to be rationed out to ensure that no-one goes without a taste of guga. And what about the taste?  Is it really worth all this effort?  It is considered a great delicacy by those who like it, with a texture similar to duck and the flavour of fish.  Take a look at this video clip and see how someone named Funny Gary reacted to his first taste of guga.  Yum!

And now the connection to Tasmania.  I haven't tasted guga but, on a visit to Stanley in 2000, I did try a local delicacy rather fancifully called the mutton bird.  And my reaction to that was exactly the same as Gary's.  The mutton bird is a short tailed shearwater which is ground nesting and is trapped in nets as they leave the nests after their overnight roost.  It is salted, boiled and then served with a stomach-turning layer of grease.  It really is foul: disgusting is a better word, revolting an even better one.  It has the texture of duck and the taste and mouth feel of cod liver oil.  It can only be a delicacy to the starving and those without taste buds.  If you have a chance to try it, don't.  Trust me on this.

Stanley, Tasmania.  For ever scorched on my mind by the taste of the mutton bird.

*(Those of us who like etymology will relish this comment from Wikipedia: The first noted use of "serendipity" in the English language was by Horace Walpole (1717–1797). In a letter to Horace Mann (dated 28 January 1754) he said he formed it from the Persian fairy tale The Three Princes of Serendip, whose heroes "were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of". The name stems from Serendip, an old name for Sri Lanka (aka Ceylon), from Arabic Sarandib, which was adopted from Tamil "Seren deevu" or originally from Sanskrit Suvarnadweepa or golden island (some trace the etymology to Simhaladvipa which literally translates to "Dwelling-Place-of-Lions Island".)

EU or not EU?

Lord Palmerston 1855

"Bombastic and foreigner despising" was the way my History Master used to describe the principles underlying the policies of Lord Palmerston when he was Foreign Secretary under Queen Victoria.  To be more accurate, it was "bombastic and foweigner despising" as (the late) Mr Percival had an unfortunate lisp. If he were still teaching today, Mr Percival would probably describe them as "arrogant and xenophobic" (sorry, "awwogant and xenophobic").  Which takes us to the Head Boy's speech promising a referendum on our EU membership if, heaven forbid, he gets re-elected,

I think 'arrogant and xenophobic' is an apt description of the UK's attitude to the Common Market/EU over the years.  We've never been fully engaged and our politicians have never seemed to take it really seriously.  No wonder that the great British public are lukewarm.  Yes, the EU faces major challenges brought on by neoliberal economic globalisation.  And, yes, the challenges are worsened by its own systemic weaknesses.  But it is taking measures to overcome these and the UK should be active and constructive participants in any discussions.  Unfortunately, I don't think we will as the long hard slog of detailed negotiations is not Posh Dave's style.  Much better to do a Lord Palmerston. 

Coming back to the promised referendum, what are the chances of us having a reasoned and rational debate about the issues?  With rabid attack-dogs like Nigel Farage already snapping and yelping, the answer to this is probably 'no'. We need to reflect on whether our net contribution of £7bn out of our total government expenditure of £695bn is good value.
 
And talking of good value: what has the EEC/EU ever done for us?  Not much, apart from:

Providing 57% of our trade;
Structural funding to areas hit by industrial decline;
Clean beaches and rivers;
Cleaner air;
Lead free petrol;
Restrictions on landfill dumping;
A recycling culture;
Cheaper mobile phone charges;
Cheaper air travel;
Improved consumer protection and food labelling;
A ban on growth hormones and other harmful food additives;
Better product safety;
Single market competition bringing quality improvements and better industrial performance;
Break up of monopolies;
Europe-wide patent and copyright protection;
No paperwork or customs for exports throughout the single market;
Price transparency and removal of commission on currency exchanges across the eurozone;
Freedom to travel, live and work across Europe;
Funded opportunities for young people to undertake study or work placements abroad;
Access to European health services;
Labour protection and enhanced social welfare;
Smoke-free workplaces;
Equal pay legislation;
Holiday entitlement;
The right not to work more than a 48-hour week without overtime; Strongest wildlife protection in the world;
Improved animal welfare in food production;
EU-funded research and industrial collaboration;
EU representation in international forums;
Bloc EEA negotiation at the WTO;
EU diplomatic efforts to uphold the nuclear non-proliferation treaty;
European arrest warrant;
Cross border policing to combat human trafficking, arms and drug smuggling;
Counter terrorism intelligence;
European civil and military co-operation in post-conflict zones in Europe and Africa;
Support for democracy and human rights across Europe and beyond;
Investment across Europe contributing to better living standards and educational, social and cultural capital;
It has for 60 years been the foundation of peace between European neighbours after centuries of bloodshed;
It has assisted the extraordinary political, social and economic transformation of 13 former dictatorships, now EU members, since 1980.

 

Spooks - the poet replies

Following on from yesterday's post about Jack Underwood's poem 'Spooks', I did find his e-mail address and did ask him about his inspiration.  Here is his reply, for which I have his permission to reproduce below. I can identify with his comment about wobbly brain activity over which we have no control: our minds have minds of their own.

"Thanks for getting in touch. I'm glad you liked the poem and found it had legs thought-wise.

What the poem might mean I would, of course, leave with you, and even the question of where it came from is tricky, since it is impossible to know how much of an idea is to do with conscious activity and artifice when writing and how much is to do with wobbly brain activity of which you have no control or dominion over.

I think it might be something to do with Litvinenko, and the idea of poisoning and espionage. I think I probably absorbed some sort of horror from urban myths about people injecting people in clubs with HIV. Then there is the image of a battenburg cake being injected with ink from Vic Reeves' Big Night Out*. There is that moment when you discover a small amount of blood wet you bite into a hard apple. All this, plus the slightly odd ways in which desire works relative to other people, how it plays out externally. All of the above, and perhaps none of the above; like I say, impossible to know.

Hope that helps a little, though!"

(* For readers in NC, Vic Reeves is a UK comic who has a rather surreal take on humour - something akin to Spike Milligan**).
(** For readers in NC, Spike Milligan was a UK comic who had a rather surreal take on humour - something akin to Vic Reeves*).

Probably the UK's most original humourist?

'Spooks' by Jack Underwood

A poem in this week's New Statesman has entertained me for longer than they normally do.  It's 'Spooks' by a young English poet called Jack Underwood.  The theme is very black and I'm still trying to understand what it is about it that I like.  Perhaps I should e-mail Mr Underwood?  In fact, I will e-mail him and see what he says.

I want to inject blood into the banana
then put it smartly in a bowl I want
someone to idly choose it peel it then taste
the strange rust a quarter way down
and spit it out see blood in the lemony mulch
(a sort of red spit with the tiny black seeds)
I want them to check their mouth for a source a cut
and by now the person they are with will be confused
(blood on the lip in the footwell
at the gum-edges) and say are you ok?
I want them to reply there's blood then without
even meaning to without a logical tracing
of thought look back to the banana and see
blood in the banana, feel the raw shock
of something possibly unthought of
I want them to get to the idea that
someone put the blood in the banana
an idea drinking heat from the skin but held
unable to understand to fit the reasons
I want this to happen.

What I read on my hols

Considering how much I love the written word, it's only when I'm on holiday that I indulge my passion as much as I would like. At home, life always seems to get in the way of just sitting down with a good book.  So times away are always preceded by the relatively careful selection and storing of titles that I want to spend time with. A typical two week break would mean about seven books and, thanks to the Kindle, any problems with bulk and weight are a thing of the past.

Here's a list of the books that kept me entertained in Mexico.

The Uninvited (Liz Jensen): a novel with a plot which brought to mind The Midwich Cuckoos by John Wyndham. But with an environmental message. 7/10.

Traveller of the Century (Andres Neuman): a 'serious' novel set in a town somewhere in Germany around 1840.  A mixture of philosophy, literature, history, religion, surrealism, politics and some lust.  It was a book that needed the total immersion of a holiday to really get into it. 9/10.

The Lewis Man (Peter May): a detective story set on the Isle of Harris.  A good read with some great local colour.  8/10.

Patrick Leigh Fermor: An Adventure (Artemis Cooper): I'd read a couple of travel books by Leigh Fermor and had enjoyed them. Disappointingly this book revealed that much of what he wrote was a fabrication.  He was a very colourful character and had an interesting war in Crete but he wasn't a person I'd want to spend any time with.  I didn't think it was particularly well written. 6/10.

The Russian Revolution: History in an hour; Ancient Egypt: History in an hour; World War One: History in an hour:  Three titles from the History in an Hour series which I got at a bargain price from Amazon.  I think they took 45 minutes each rather than the stated hour. Obviously they could only sketch a superficial picture of the subject matter but I found them well written and a very useful overview of some facts I'd forgotten. 7/10.

Occupation Diaries (Raja Shehadeh): written by a Palestinian writer living in Ramallah.  A record of the trials and tribulations of someone who confronts the reality of the Israeli controls on a daily basis. A book to make the reader angry. 9/10.

Not a real dud amongst them. Now why can't I read as much at home? Quite simply because I just don't have 6 hours a day free.

Oops, nearly forgot to mention that I could get the Guardian sent to my Kindle each day. A free trial 14 day subscription which fitted in rather well.

Vacaciones en Mexico: Parte 12

The journey back home, together with my inability to sleep on a night flight, afforded an ideal opportunity to reflect on our holiday, particularly the impact of tourism on the Yucatan. Has it been a good or bad thing for the area. I can only answer this question from a partial and, of course, highly personal perspective but I hope I’ve left the rose coloured spectacles off long enough to be reasonably objective. Whatever my opinion amounts to, working on it has helped to pass the time on a long flight back to the cold (as a matter of record, it was 30C as we left Cancun and -1C when we landed at Gatwick).


We are lucky enough to have visited the Yucatan once before, about 14 years ago. Then the main foci for hotel development were Cancun (which was, after all what it was built for) and Playa del Carmen: what was happening further south on the coastal strip was fairly patchy and limited by the atrocious track which passed as the main road. Since then the pot-holed roller-coaster has been replaced by a modern dual-carriageway and many more resort hotels have been built between Playa del Carmen and Tulum. This increase in the number of hotels has been accompanied by noticeable changes in the service infrastructure, for example, more tours, more local production facilities, more tourist shops, more public transport and much, much more construction.

All of these changes man more work for the locals, not just in the hotels but also in all the other areas. The tourist industry, although it is still expanding is also maturing in that more and more produce and expertise is being locally sourced rather than being shipped in. I spoke with a couple of people at our hotel about local agriculture and they pointed out that most of the vegetable, fruit and salads used by the hotel, and others, came from greenhouses in the vicinity which used modern hydroponic cultivation techniques. We got a glimpse of acres of these greenhouses on our flight path out of Cancun airport.

Of course, plonking huge resort complexes in the virgin jungle was never ever going to be a great gain for the environment. But what did strike me is the way ‘they’ (the hotels and the state) are aware that the environment is one of the major, if not unique, attractions of the Yucatan. They are doing what they can to be as sustainable and environmentally stewarding as possible. Lots of solar panels are in evidence, recycling seems to well structured, energy efficient air conditioning units are used, waste control and water conservation measures are in place, natural attractions insist on the use of biodegradable sun screens and insect repellents and conservation schemes are being put in place to protect natural wildlife. In this latter context, it’s worth mentioning that the tourist development is taken place along a relatively narrow strip right next to the sea: there’s still plenty of virgin jungle just beyond this strip. I realise I’m painting a very cosy picture but I do believe the commitment is there to continue along this ‘green’ pathway. They have to as their future depends on the Yucatan remaining a destination of choice for many holiday makers.

At the state level, the influx of money has meant that healthcare services have improved and schools and colleges are providing better education than before. In some places that was not hard to do as healthcare and education were pretty rudimentary (as they undoubtedly still are in the more remote Mayan villages). A lot of effort is being made to teach the locals the skills necessary to enable them to take advantage of what opportunities the tourist industry and support functions have to offer them. One interesting facet of this is the campaign by the state to provide bi-lingual instruction to prevent the Mayans from being disadvantaged by not knowing how to speak Spanish – many are still monolingual.

To come back to my original question: is tourism a good or bad thing for the Yucatan? I could not help but bear in mind what we saw and heard at the Mayan village. From their point of view, it has been a good thing as it has given them, particularly the young, opportunities they would never have had. Yes, there will be many who lament the loss of the old ways but those with the greatest stake in the future, the young, seem to be all for it. The developments are happening and, let’s face it, they will continue. As I see it, the locals are benefitting and the environment is being cared for responsibly. This is probably all we could ask for. If we are still around in 14 years, maybe we should go back to see if my optimism was well placed.

Vacaciones en Mexico: Parte 11

The Mankini of Derision

What to wear on holiday? A vexing question and one that always occupies a great deal of my time in the weeks leading up to departure to warmer climes. Elegant yet casual, fashionable yet understated: that’s the way I’d describe my travelling wardrobe (and I’m sure my ITC will be nodding her head in agreement when she reads this). Staying at a resort hotel is a great opportunity for people watching and it’s obvious that not everyone takes the same meticulous care that I do when it comes to vacation dress. When you are away, your normal sense of what is fashionable can go straight out of the window and there are lots of people here who have plainly lost sight of what looks good. Many a stylistic faux pas is in evidence.

We are paying a princely sum to stay at this hotel and, to be honest, I’m more than a little disappointed with the low couture that surrounds me. Given their otherwise impeccable attention to

The Coconut Bikini of Shame

detail, I’m amazed that the management do not specify some sort of sartorial standard for their guests. I’ve given it a little thought and I’ve come up with a proposal that they may care to follow. It would not be too difficult to put into action and it would result in a far more aesthetically pleasing stay for all. What they should do is to give out a list of what is acceptable apparel in a pre-arrival briefing pack and then have an inspection of suitcases on entry to the resort with, perhaps, a green sticker attached to clothes approved for wear whilst on site. Conformity to the rules could be maintained by a cadre of fashion police constantly patrolling the beach and pool surrounds and singling out any transgressors. A couple of lapses would be allowed but any more than that would mean the miscreants having to wear the Mankini of Derision or the Coconut Bikini of Shame for the rest of their stay. Who could possibly object to this way of enhancing their holiday experience? Isn’t this what a 5* resort should be doing anyway?

(And to those whose dress sense is behind the times, I would point out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with wearing socks with your sandals. Why is it that we trend setters are always mocked?).

The Look of 2013?

Vacaciones en Mexico: Parte 10

A day vegetating around the hotel, highlighted by the news that we got the room upgrade that I'd been agitating for.  I'm not sure that it's much of an improvement...............

Vacaciones en México: Parte 9

A day a little more energetic than our jaunt to Xpu-ha yesterday.  Today we took an organised tour that gave us the opportunity to visit a present day Mayan village, a guided tour around the ruins of Coba and, last but not least, a swim in a freshwater cenote.  From the outset the cenote swim was in doubt for me - cold water? You've got to be joking.

Firstly the Mayan village.  I am, by nature, a questioning, cynical person (Moi? Surely not) and that makes me a questioning, cynical tourist.  But I have to say that, putting a little folklorists colour to one side, our visit to the village was totally without the sort of 'look at the funny natives' patronising guff we've had during similar visits in other countries.  We saw a community as it is now (water from a well, open fires and clay ovens, one electric light powered by a car battery into which a small solar panel fed). Without most of the material trappings we consider essential for our lives but at ease with their way of life.  It's a community that embraces the present and wants to provide a different future for its young. It's also a community on the brink of tremendous change for across the road from them a new Mayan archaeological site, Muyil, is opening up new areas soon. This will attract many more tourists to their village and surrounds and there will be accompanying developments (hotels, restaurants etc).  We asked the question "what did they think about it?".  Some did not want any change, preferring the old ways, but the majority wanted to give their young more opportunities than they had.  It's going to happen so they may as well benefit from it. 

Concern for their future is shaping the way the community is positioning itself.

After the village, we headed for Coba.  Coba was in its prime from around AD 250 to 850, after which it declined through war with its neighbour, Chichen Itza.  It's a large site and is not yet fully excavated: there's a lot of buildings and structures still covered by the jungle.  The highlight of the visit was a climb (150 or so steps) to the top of Nohoch Mul, the tallest pyramid on the Yucatan.  It's also the only one that can be climbed but this is going to stop at the end of this month because of conservation concerns. It was steep but relatively easy going and the views from the top were magnificent.  It's then that the full size of the site and the mounds yet to be uncovered can really be seen.  As an aside, the previous time I climbed this structure I was wearing a steel corset - but that's another story. We went around the site the easy way - by cycle taxi.  OK, perhaps a lazy way of doing it but it was hot and the site is owned and run by the local Mayan community so we were helping them by employing their services.

Nohoch Mul: a doddle after Dartmoor

And finally my opportunity to show what a wimp I am - the cenote swim.  This one was at the end of quite a long path into the jungle and was surrounded by, you've guess it, trees.  Clear, fresh water oozing from limestone caverns.  Sounds tempting? But not tempting enough to get me in.  But my ITC, who is made of braver stuff than me, seemed to enjoy it.  Another good day out and we ended with the dilemma of where to eat tonight.


Look who's lurking in the cenote



Vacaciones en México: Parte 8

A leisurely afternoon on a beach called Xpu-ha (pronounced something like Eshpoo-ha). Imagine glistening white sands and a warm turquoise sea - just like the beach in the old Bounty Bar ads? That's Xpu-ha.

Not drowning but waving

I'd taken the above photograph and, almost immediately, the Stevie Smith poem 'Not waving but drowning' came into mind. Once upon a time I could recite the three verses off by heart but no longer. I spent the afternoon trying to remember the lines but I can only give myself 60% for effort. Here's what I could not quite recall.

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

There's a lot more emotion in this poem than a first read might suggest and it's well worth hearing Stevie Smith herself talking about her inspiration for it and, from around 2.47 mins onwards, reading it. Great stuff and hooray for the internet and YouTube.

Vacaciones en México: Parte 7

January 9th and the first birthday of our youngest grandchild, Gryff Rhys.  We thought long and hard about what we'd do today to celebrate for him by proxy.  We decided that nothing would give him greater pleasure than knowing his grandparents were having a good time and, with this in mind, we took ourselves off to Xel-ha.  Que Xel-ha?  A water park based on an inlet from the sea, with a number of fresh water rivers flowing into it. A great place to snorkel, with environments including mangrove swamps and reefs.  Lots of fish around the reefs, with the rainbow angelfish being large and plentiful.  I'm sure Gryff would have enjoyed it but, from what I've seen, he had an equally good time at home scoffing his Gruffalo cupcakes (I write somewhat enviously).

Xel-ha is so fertile that grass even grows on the internal transport.

Our hotel room is being serviced by Emilio, who we've never seen and who does an excellent job, especially when it comes to towel folding.  An art we shall call Toweligami and one that should not be confused with Toiletigami, the folding of toilet paper into shapes.  Emilio thus far has demonstrated minimal skills at Toiletigami but give him a towel and he's the king.  We do enjoy coming back to see what creation is awaiting us but can't resist giving each one a personal twist.  Such larks.

You can take a towel giraffe to water but you can't make it drink.

Neither you make his elephant friend eat biscuits or marshmallows.

A final cultural observation: Mexicans don't wave but they do say "ola" rather a lot.

Vacaciones en México: Parte 6

This is the very last time we take the budget accommodation option at a hotel.

Vacaciones en México: Parte 5



Boo, hoo - it rained today.  Yippee - it was Yucatan rain. Which means it was warm and lasted just 30 minutes.  A trip down Memory Beach this afternoon when we visited Akumal, a place we stayed in some 14 years ago.  We were pleasantly surprised to find out that it is pretty much the same now as it was then.  But rather than witter on about that, I thought I'd post a few photographs I've taken, if only to show that every now and again I manage to press the shutter at something approximating the right time.

A turtle coming up for air.  It took one gulp and was gone.

Our eldest grand-daughter likes 'stare you out' competitions.  I don't think she'd outstare this chap.

Iguanas are running around everywhere, ranging from a few inches to about 4 foot long.  This one had just snapped up a fly.

A cactus that caught my eye as the sun seemed to backlight it.

Two cormorants sunning themselves after a catch.

Vacaciones en México: Parte 4

Weather report for today: no rain.  A lazy day near the beach when thoughts turned to one of the endearing peculiarities of the area.

It's not long before anyone driving in the Yucatan (and I assume the same applies to other regions of Mexico) comes across the local version of the sleeping policeman/speed bump - the tope.  In the UK these are usually found where traffic restriction makes sense, such as near a school or for preventing high-speed dashes down quiet suburban avenues.  In the Yucatan topes are everywhere and seem to be placed without any discernible logic. You'll just as commonly find them strung across a dual-carriaged highway as in a town or on a dusty potholed track at the back of beyond. And there seems to be no pattern in their number or frequency. You might just come across one or five or more in quick succession. They fascinate me and, I'll confess, it's a fascination that could develop into an obsession.

Rope tope

There is no standard tope and they come in various guises. They range from the relatively benign (perhaps just a piece of rope across the road) to the positively malign (a 9-12 inch high reinforced concrete bar blocking the way).  And all variants in between.  The favourite seems to be a line of 6 inch high solid metal hemispheres, set at 2 inch spacings. in some cases, but not all, the vertical sides of the concrete bars may be softened with a little cement filling to form a sort of ramp.  A rathe empty guesture as it makes no difference to the impact.

The rope type topes, not in the majority by any means, can be taken at speed and are singularly ineffectual as traffic regulators. But the others?  To take them at any speed risks damage to tyres, suspension and teeth.  They really do work.  In fact, some of them can only be negotiated safely from a standing start.

Topes may or may not be signposted and our travels suggest that most of them aren't.  To come across a monster tope unawares is a body jolting experience for both vehicle and occupants.  Vigilance is mandatory when driving and the very best way I've found of spotting a tope is to keep a keen eye on the traffic in front.  If it bounces in the air rather alarmingly, that's a good sign that there's a tope lurking.  Of course, if there's no other traffic around or you are driving at night, you are on your own!  I have to say that the topes bring an added level of interest to driving over here.

Why are they there?  Perhaps a conspiracy between the government and the car repair business?  Perhaps a free form of street entertainment, watching drivers being thrown from their seats?  But the charitable explanation is that really are there to limit the speed of traffic and it has to be said that traffic speeds over here are reasonable.  Banish any images of a droopy moustached Pedro in a sombrero hurtling along at 100 mph in an open pick-up truck laden with wife, children and chickens. It is a safe place  to drive and the standards of driving are high, surprisingly so as the driving test is somewhat rudimentary (actually effectively non-existent according to a guide I talked to).

For the locals, topes are useful in other ways.  It is quite common to see street vendors clustered near the most vicious sub-species.  If a car has to come to a grinding halt, it provides an ideal opportunity to try and sell something.  If you are in the car, it's a good time to get a bite to eat or a drink or a souvenir or even a haircut or massage.  There are some very enterprising Mayans out there.  In the more rural areas, the tope-based vendor is commonplace but we've also been assailed by 'urchins', taking the opportunity of the car slowing down, to hang onto our wing mirrors and ask for money.  On one journey this happened so often that we had a competition amongst ourselves to see who could correctly estimate the speed at which the adhered urchin lost their grip and fell off as we accelerated away.  An impressive 75 mph was the best we recorded.  I must point out that we always checked in our rear view mirror to see that no bones were broken during their descent into the dust.

Given all of the potholes appearing in the lanes around us in Cornwall, I have a feeling that my topes negotiating skills might very well be called upon when we get back home.

Vacaciones en México: Parte 3

Our collectivo driver?

Still no rain and a day that saw temperatures well above 30C. It was also a day when we ventured to the Mayan fortress city of Tulum. About 30 minutes to the south of our hotel and we took a collectivo to get there. What's a collectivo? Small vans with room for maybe 12 passengers which ply their trade up and down the local highway between the main towns. You want to stop one? Put your hand up: there are few formal bus stops. You want the driver to stop somewhere? Tell him when you get on. No timetables and one set price per ride - a very affordable 35 pesos (about £1). A great idea but sadly too informal (and effective) to be used as a model for public transport in the UK. We much prefer to run buses that are too big for their passenger numbers, at a frequency that meets no-one's needs and with bus stops that are as inconveniently spaced as they can be. Now here's a weird thing. The driver on our return looked remarkably like Muammar Gaddafi. So much so that I'm beginning to doubt that his demise in Libya was quite as terminal as we were lead to believe.

Once at the entrance to the ruins, we had a chance to get familiar with what seemed to be the Mexican Code of Conduct for Tourist Queues. It goes like this:
1. Make sure, when maximum numbers of visitors are anticipated, to reduce the number of ticket booths open to just one.
2. Make sure that this single booth is staffed by an innumerate illiterate who only speaks an obscure Mayan dialect.
3. Make sure that the cost of the tickets involves the most difficult and most time consuming change-giving conceivable.
4. Make sure that as little shade as possible is provided for the queues.
5. Make sure that, every now and again, the queues are moved to keep everyone in the sun for as long as possible.

But it was worth it as the queueing technique made certain that at least 80% of the potential entrants expired from heat stroke and reduced the numbers tramping over the buildings. Just kidding: the attrition was more like 50%.

House of Columns at Tulum

Yes, it was worth it as the ruins themselves are striking. Perched on a cliff over looking the Caribbean, their position is stunning. Lots of iguanas around, looking like impassive sentinels to the secrets of the site. We had visited Tulum previously, perhaps 15 years ago, when there were no restrictions on clambering over what you liked. Nowadays, this is forbidden. It's a shame as viewing the carvings and glyphs from a distance just doesn't have the same impact.

We finished off our visit with a dip in the rolling waves crashing on to Tulum Beach. Deep blue sea and white beaches - just as we remembered it. The waves were massive. Eat your hearts out, Cornish Surfers! You would be orgasmic at the size of them. and yet another opportunity to show my photographic prowess. I'm getting quite good at this.

 Now you see her. Now you don't.

Vacaciones en México: Parte 2

Hee, hee, hee - still no rain. Unless I'm very much mistaken, I think that this 5 day dry period for us beats anything that we had in 2012. That's obviously the answer: if we want it warm and dry, move to where it is.

Yesterday we decided to do something more energetic than sitting by the pool and/or beach and took a tour described as a 'jeep safari' into a local national nature reserve, the Si'an Kaan. It turned out to be a long day but one that we were glad to have done.  Briefly, it involved:

* A 2 hour jeep drive (we jeep-shared with a Bulgarian couple and took turns at the wheel) from Tulum down a narrow peninsular (Caribbean on one side and a large lagoon on the other) down to Punte Allen. A somewhat isolated village of around 700 people who made most of their living fishing for lobster (70% of the time) and tourists for the remainder. I should mention that there was no road and the track gave us a nice bumpy, rock and rolly, dusty trip.

* From Punte Allen (after a chicken taco snack from a chicken taco shack where they had the chicken taco knack) we embarked on a small flat bottomed fishing boat to head out to sea. It was great for wildlife and we got up close to turtles (leatherback or loggerhead?), manatees and dolphins. This gave me a great opportunity to show how accomplished a wild-life photographer I am. It's wonderful to have the skills to capture such vivid images as a lasting memory of our trip. I know my ITC was quietly impressed and showed she was by rolling her eyes and laughing. 


Well, the turtle was there 10 seconds ago - honest.




Just missed the manatees by a similar margin.




And this is where the dolphins had frolicked a short while before. What a display!

*  After all this aquatic wildlife, we headed to a mangrove swamp and did a little bird watching (cormorants, frigate birds, pelicans, egrets and a large raptor that refused to be identified).

*  Thence to a coral reef for some snorkeling. The ineluctable consequence of this was my having to get into the water. It had to be an over-the-side instant total immersion job - definitely not my preferred style. Luke warm - much relief at not having to scream on entry.  The fish sightings were good and my ISC and I both thought that the variety was better than every other place we've snorkeled at other than the Great Barrier Reef.

*  Off next to some sandy shallows for a bit of a swim and then back to Punte Allen for a buffet, at which they served a rather delicious rice pudding and a ghastly 'special' coffee. We did miss the chicken taco lack at our second visit to the chicken taco shack. Will we ever go back for another chicken taco snack at the chicken taco shack?

*  Back into the jeeps for the return journey. Same road. Same bumps but taken from a different direction. Did that make them better? No. The only difference was that it got dark and this added an interesting dimension to dodging potholes and fallen palm fronds. Dodging potholes we do in Cornwall but we seldom have to contend with palm fronds.

We got back to the hotel almost exactly 12 hours after we had left. And then we faced the difficult decision of where to eat. It's a hard life but we managed it.