For Christianne

Here is another poem for your delectation. This one was written about my mother by Susan Maciver. The son she mentions is my brother Coinneach. I rather like this poem, so thank you to Susan for allowing me to post it on here.

FOR CHRISTIANNE

I am cutting her peats
Standing for hours in the sleety rain
Plunging the blade in the black mud moor
Down, jerk, up, down, jerk, up,
As once she churned butter on a summer's day.
I see white in the hair of her son's bent head
As his still strong hands lift the cold peat slabs.
Each has a hollow where his thumb has held.
The sky is grey, the gulls fly low.
Her kitchen is smokey, steamy-warm.
She opens the small stove door and thrusts
Another fibrous parcel into the dull red ash.
I like to see her there, moving lightly
From kettle to broth-pot to hot fire flames
Rearranging her patterns of spouts and handles and sticking up spoons,
Not shivering through a cold wet morning
Bowed with peat buckets in the wind and rain
While her old man weeps that he is weak and she an aged queen.

By Susan Maciver.

The poem was published in 1985 in a book called: No Holds Barred, an anthology put together by The Raving Beauties. I feel sure that my mother would be very impressed to know that this wee poem is now being read by people around the world. I am. Thanks again to Susan xxx

In the Botanics: Edinburgh

Here is the poem which I mentioned in my last post which Tom Pow wrote upon meeting Marian in the Botanic Gardens in Edinburgh. I rather like it:

An hour till dusk. The castle lodges its span
in the crook of a giant sycamore.
Through arteries of beech, the domes and spires
of the city turn to a scattered fan
of embers. I kick chestnuts from the path
and, like a bird scattering through the black
skirts of a rhododendron, forage back
into my past. That's when your airy laugh
calls me. Maria Angeles Huarte,
your daughters share spirits with the squirrels
they feed, dancing between silver birch light.
You yourself know the moment's poetry:
"See!" the sooty heron's labouring flight,
the cyprus where its wings stumble and curl.

Spanish Classes

I've been going to the same Spanish class for the past few years on a Tuesday night. I don't mean that it's been the same class repeated over and over again. That would be stupid.

I know lots of folk in Edinburgh go to classes but I reckon this class is different. Out teacher is called Marian and is Spanish, from near Pamplona I think, but now lives here with her family. I'm pleased to say that Marian has become a good friend. Her classes are not like any other classes I've ever attended. They are more of a social, cultural event every Tuesday night with some Spanish thrown in as a bit of a bonus. You would have to be there to appreciate it.

Like myself a lot of students come back every year as they too have become friends with Marian and each other. There is Neville, who is a bit of a mountaineer and has done all The Munros, twice, and also climbed in the Andes. For those who don't know, The Munros are all the mountains in Scotland over three thousand feet (914 metres). To do all once is impressive, but to do them twice is above and beyond the call of duty. I've climbed twelve of them, so only another 270 to go. Neville has promised to take me up one or two next year, so don't forget Neville.

Then there's Jean who is a Camino Santiago obsessive, and has walked most if not all of it and keeps going back. She likes to walk solo and meet people on the way. Jean also leads walking tours around Edinburgh's hidden gardens, which I plan to do with her next year. And then there's Anna, who is a potter and is very funny, and sometimes throws in a bit of French, just to confuse us all.

So this post is by way of a thank you to Marian for all the good times and fun over the years. It's a great class, and my Spanish seems to be coming on nicely too, thank you very much. I feel this post should have been written in Spanish. I will write a post in Spanish soon.

Marian has had a poem written for her by Tom Pow, who is one of Scotland's leading and best poets, which I rather like and will share with you. I'm sure Tom wont mind.

I see I now have a reader in Bolivia. I suspect I know who you are. So good luck Iain Macive over there in La Paz. I hope you make it to Cusco and Machu Picchu.

GIFTED

Here are a couple of photos showing the last minute arrivals at the Poetry Library exhibition of Edinburgh Book Sculptures. Will post some more pics tomorrow if I feel you all deserve it.

GIFTED- The Edinburgh Book Sculptures

I went to the Scottish Poetry Library on Friday to see the exhibition of miniature sculptures which were left at various venues around Edinburgh during 2011.  The first one was left at the Poetry Library in March 2011 and the last one in the same venue in November 2011, except that, much to their surprise another one arrived on the morning of my visit, which of course was causing much excitement and celebration. It had just been opened and was laid out on a table in the library as they had not had time to add it to the exhibition, which will end on eighth of this month anyway.

I was equally excited to be a wee part of Scottish cultural history in the making.... well almost. I'm sure you know what I mean.

The exhibition itself is superb. The sculptures were produced by a mysterious anonymous artist and they are beautiful, exquisite pieces all with a Scottish literary theme featuring various Scottish writers, old and new.

She, for I suspect the anonymous artist is female, though for no good reason, is obviously a fan of Ian Rankin, who is himself a big fan of RLS (especially Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde).The one that arrived on Friday features a poem from RLS, "To My Mother" : "You too my mother read my rhymes, For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more, The little feet along the floor."

I believe all the pieces now go back to where they were originally left by the artist, such as the Writers Museum, Edinburgh Filmhouse, Edinburgh Central Library, National Museum and the Book Festival. And of course the Poetry Library, who now have three of them. Which I hope they will keep on display. So that would be best place to start for anyone wishing to see them.

I love the mystery surrounding these sculptures and I hope she (or he) keeps up the good work. I did think at one time I would like to know the identity of the artist, but I've decided that it's best not to know. Let the mystery abide.

Silver Linings Playbook

Excellent movie, very enjoyable, left the cinema on a high. Almost in tears half way through but definitely had tears of happiness at the end. It's all very embarrasing being reduced to tears but one has to let go sometimes,don't you think.

I'm listening to England doing over the All Blacks as I write this, and as one would expect the commentary is over the top. They're calling it the best England performance ever!

Anyway back to Silver Linings. Tiffany, played by a very beautiful and sexy Jennifer Lawrence decides to teach Patrick how to dance. He's reluctant at first but then goes along with her plan to enter them in some dancing competition. They're in her apartment and she turns on her ipod, and I thought to myself I know that tune, surely they're not going to dance to "Girl from the North Country". But they did, and it was beautiful, and I did feel a little tear form in the corner of my eye. Very moving.

For those of you who don't know the song it's a Bob Dylan song from his second album, "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan". The version they used is the one he did with Johhny Cash, where they duet and sing verse about. It sounded as good as it ever has. I still remember the first time I heard that album, and there are at least two of you reading this who were there at the time, way back when we were boys.

When I got home I went to play my copy of the CD but it's vanished. Who could have nicked it? Must be a very bad person. I've turned the place upside down looking for it today and it's definitely gone. Anyway it's on youtube if anyone wants to have a listen. You will need to search out the one with the video as there are lots of copies on youtube.

Robert De Niro was superb as the father. He's such a performer. I love it when he says "fucking". He says it like no-one else can. It's great to see him ageing so beautifully.

This movie is worth seeing for all the performances, but Dylan fans it's a must see.

England have won, so well done boys... and Chelsea going great guns... I don't think... wonder if what's his name will be there come new year.

The Pentland Hills seen from window, and the moon too

John Cairney at Central Library, Edinburgh

Robert Louis Stevenson (RLS)

Last night I went to hear John Cairney talking about Robert Louis Stevenson at the Central Library here in Edinburgh. John Cairney is one of Scotland's finest actors, best known for his Robert Burns shows on TV and stage in Scotland and all round the world. I still remember him doing his Rabbie on TV, in fact it's one of my earliest TV memories, that and watching westerns on my late auntie's TV on a Saturday night, much to my father's annoyance at the time.

John Cairney is now a very young eighty three years, looking more like sixty three, and still able to hold his audience mesmerised and enthralled by his performance. There were a few moments when you could hear the silence, he said himself at the end that "we had two minutes of heaven tonight". I could have listened to him all night.

He described his performance as a threnody for RLS, which I suppose sums it up nicely. RLS was  Scotland's finest wordsmith, as good as, if not better than Burns even, and one of our greatest contributions to world culture, one of many of course, too long to list here. But I'm sure you could produce your own very long list. He was a writer, poet, novelist, dramatist, travel writer, children's writer and essayist. He travelled the world in search of good health and finally settled in Samoa, where he was known as "Tusitala" or "Teller of Tales". He died there 1894.

The first poem I ever learnt by heart was his poem "The Lamplighter" and when I close my eyes and think about it now I can still feel the same thrill as I felt as a wee boy, reading it and wondering who Leerie was and if I would ever get to meet him. Well I met a few Leeries in my time, but I'm still waiting to meet the real one. Maybe someday he'll be there lighting the lamps in Morningside.

RLS loved The Pentlands and owned a house in Swanston, a  village lying in the foothills, where he spent his summers until eventually he left Scotland forever. I have a view of those Pentland Hills  from my apartment here in Edinburgh, and often think of him wondering about up there and writing his stories about Balfour and the rest and maybe he even wrote The Lamplighter there, although more probably at 17 Heriot Row, "with a lamp before the door".

So a very enjoyable evening was had by all, and we chatted with John afterwards and he signed a copy of his new book about RLS for us all. John now lives in Auckland, New Zealand, and his book is partly based on a PhD on RLS he completed at Victoria University, Wellington.

Tonight for a complete change I'm going to see Silver Linings Playbook, I'm told it's hugely funny. So lets see. De Niro is always worth seeing. But lets finish with a wee quote from RLS on Edinburgh:

"Beautiful as she is, she is not so much beautiful as interesting. She is pre-eminently Gothic, and all the more since she has set herself off with some Greek airs, and erected classic temples on her crags. In a word and above all, she is a curiosity."

Early Roman Kings

You may recall that in my last post I asked "who were the Early Roman Kings". I was delighted to receive an email from my good friend George which I'm sure he won't mind me quoting from here, as it's rather amusing.

George is a classics scholar, Gaelic scholar, cellist and intellectual. We've been friends since we met at a New Years celebration about thirty years ago, when we had partaken of a little whisky together and put the world to rights. As I recall it was an all nighter, which neither of us could manage ever again. Anyway here is George's reply to my question:

"From memory: Romulus, Numa Pompillius, Ancus Martius, Servius, Tarquinius Priscus, Tarquinius Superbus. Could be one other??"

And knowing George these will be from memory. Thank you George this is all very  helpful; educating the people as always. I like the Superbus one. A fine name for a king. I wonder if there was a Supertram as well? Probably not.

Needless to say George is not one of Bob Dylan's greatest fans. And for those of you who likewise are not followers of his Bobness, I should maybe point out that Early Roman Kings is a track on Bob's latest CD,  "Tempest",  the seventh track as I recall. One of the best tracks on there, and Dylan showing off his own classical scholarship, or something. Who knows with Bob. Just genius.

I went to see "The Master" at the weekend. What a performance from Joaquin Phoenix, chilling, extraordinary, definitely an Oscar winning performance. I never knew the man had it in him, best thing he's ever done and makes one look forward to many more performances like this. The film is worth seeing for him alone, playing a man damaged by his wartime experiences and the powerful way he is able to show us how war leaves even the survivors as victims. Fine acting as usual by Phillip Seymour Hoffman, playing the cult leader, but obviously just as disturbed as the Joaquin character.  Go see if only for Joaquin's performance, and if he doesn't win an Oscar, I will eat my hat, or would do if I wore one.

Mirrors

Dylan's new album is playing in the other room, hope not too loudly, but it's early morning so neighbours should be at work. I don't have hifi in this room, just my laptop, so prefer to play Bob in other room with doors open and listen away as I write. He still writes the best love songs and blues, just no-one there to match him. I sometimes wonder why I bother buying anyone else's music; well almost wonder.

I shall have to write about all the books I've been reading this year some day soon, but meantime thought I should mention Eduardo Galeano's book "Mirrors" which I've been reading on and off for a few months now. It's a book you can pick up anytime and start in the middle or wherever takes your fancy. It's his version of the history of the world told in mini episodes or fragments. He is incredibly  erudite, how he finds the time to read all this stuff and then to write it all is a mystery.

John Pilger  says " he is the enemy of lies, indifference, above all forgetfulness...... his tenderness is devastating, his truthfulness furious". I couldn't have put it better myself John. His best known book is "Open Veins of Latin America", a must read for anyone who cares about the history of that part of the world, and how it's been exploited to ruination by the west. If you are planning to visit that part of the world don't go without first reading Galeano. Or take him with you.

He tells the story of Iqbal, a boy in Pakistan in the 1990s, who was sold by his parents when he was aged four for fifteen dollars. " He was bought by a rug maker. He worked chained to the loom fourteen hours a day. At the age of ten. Iqbal was a hunchback with the lungs of an old man. Then he escaped and became the spokesman for Pakistan's child slaves. In 1995, when he was twelve years old, a fatal bullet knocked him from his bicycle."

When I read this I couldn't help but think of Basilio in Cusco, a boy I met and worked with at La Policia de la Familia. He too had been sold by his father into slavery and escaped to live on the streets of Cusco till the police picked him up and took him to La Policia de la Familia. I've told his story in this blog a few years ago. He ended up in an orphanage and then a few weeks later a police woman and I took him back to his village, a few hours drive from Cusco. But they weren't prepared to take him back, so back to Cusco we had to go, to find his place in the orphanage gone, so back to La Policia he went. I often wonder what became of him. He was a fighter so I'm sure he survived. Maybe some day I will find out.

Anyway Galeano has lots more to tell. Must tell you about the Spanish footballer called Bebel Garcia, socialist, anti fascist, anti Franco, played for Depor, at the age of twenty one, stands before the firing squad, and tells them to hold on a minute, opens his fly, button by button, and facing the firing squad takes a long piss. Then he buttons up and says "go ahead". There's another version online of this story in which he calls the officer over and when he gets close he pisses on his shoes, and is quickly shot. Whichever is true it's an inspiring story. Can you imagine any of today's players in that situation? Well maybe Wayne would do it......

Who were/are the "Early Roman Kings" ?

Amour

I guess it's time to be writing again, now that I'm back home in Edinburgh. I'm sitting at my desk with a view to The Pentland Hills from the window behind me and the newish moon hanging up there over the Hills reassuringly. And life goes on. I remember a few weeks ago watching the new moon rising over Cuzco and thinking of being home in Scotland and now here I am thinking about being back in Cuzco. But I do wish that Cuzco wasn't so high up in the sky and so much nearer to the moon. Or is it? And so life goes on. But I do wish it would slow down sometimes and give me a chance to catch up with all that happens.

A few days ago I went to see "Amour" at The Filmhouse. Truly a great movie, one of the best I've seen for a very long time. Simply superb. It's a film by Michael Haneke and is a story of love,  illness, compassion, caring, end of life and death. Sounds grim I know but its not like that at all. It's life affirming in fact. Devastatingly and totally believable.

Magnificent performances by Jean-Louis Trintignant and Emmanuelle Riva, playing the two octogenarians facing up to life's travails together, acting of the highest quality. Some very funny moments and some enchanting bits, as when they come home from a concert and he turns to her and says " You were looking very pretty tonight". ( you look wonderful tonight as Mr Clapton said once upon a time). Some shocking bits too, but you will have to go and see the movie to find out about those. This movie will make you want to live life to the full, and treasure every moment of it, whatever that may mean in your life and hopefully at the end your memories will see you safe.

The film brought back some difficult memories to me of caring for my father as he died. The last few days of his life were distressing for him and for my mother and in a lesser way for me. I knew for a long time that he was dying, as did he, and sometimes, I have to admit I wished he would get on with it. His last night alive was the worst of all as he was so disturbed. At midnight we (my mother and I) decided to call the doctor. The young doctor who arrived shall remain nameless. He asked my mother and my aunt, who was also there for some reason, known only to herself, to go to bed.

So it was just him, my father and me. He gave my father a morphine jag, but this didn't calm him down, so he gave him another one. It's hard to describe my father's behaviour as he was so very disturbed, so much so that the second dose of morphine failed to calm him down. I then realised that the doctor was making sure that my father would die peacefully, in fact a mercy killing I suppose. So he gave him a third injection. I often think about this night and what happened. I think the doctor did the right thing, but I know my father would not have wanted it. So who knows, or can tell what is right in these circumstances.

The doctor stayed with us for an hour by which time my father was sleeping soundly, or unconscious, i don't know which. But he was at peace. I spent the night with him and didn't go to bed, just sat there with him and probably had a cigarette or two as he lay there. So many things I wanted to  tell him but now couldn't. So I told him anyway, I'm sure he would have been shocked, amazed had he been able to hear some of the things I told him. Nowadays I like to think that he did hear me and told me all was well.

He died the next day. Having spent the night with him I went to bed about 9 o'clock in the morning. I got up for dinner later that afternoon. Went in to see him for half an hour or so, then went for dinner. When I went back to see him, he had died alone. I was angry with him for being so selfish and not letting me be with him when he finally passed away. Stupid I know. I should have been annoyed with someone else, maybe god?

That's a long story brought on by the movie. I shall probably go back to see it. I highly recommend it.

I hope those of you who have been checking my blog since I left Peru and not seen any posts will forgive me, but it's taken a few days to adjust to life back in UK. Hope this post makes up for it and shall be posting regularly in future.

Remembrance Sunday

Back home two days now and all well here in a not too cold Edinburgh. Still the same old Edinburgh and my hills are still there every morning, not that I expected otherwise. They are faithful old hills, The Pentlands, always there to keep an eye on things for me. Think I shall ask my friend Neville to walk along the ridge with me some day soon. He's a mountaineer who has climbed in The Andes so I'm sure he would love to do the Pentlands again. What do you reckon Neville? Are you still reading my blog? See you Tuesday night anyway.

Tomorrow is Remembrance Sunday, 11th of November. We shall have 2 minutes silence at 11 am. I will be thinking about my uncle Alex John Maciver, my father's brother, who was killed in action on 31st October 1940 in the North Sea. He was aged just 20 years. I will post a blog about his death later this year. I'm waiting for more information from National Archives. Not that they have a huge amount.

I will also be thinking about my father, who survived the war, but had some terrible experiences, as well as losing his young brother. He was 22 when he lost his brother. He rarely mentioned the war or his brother's death. I often wonder how much these things affected him in later life. I didn't take the time to ask him when he was alive, and now regret it. I should have been more inquisitive, but it was never easy to ask him about what happened to him and his brother. Maybe it accounts for lots of things in his life that were a puzzle.

So tomorrow is for both of them, and all the other men from Isle of Lewis who were lost, and not forgetting my late aunt's service in North Africa and elsewhere throughout the war.

Homeward Bound

Here I am in Amsterdam, Schipol Airport, with five hours to while away until my flight back to Edinburgh leaves at 21:15. So might as well spend a few minutes on my blog or at least until the one hour of free Internet access so generously provided by the Dutch is exhausted, or I'm exhausted, whichever comes first. Probably my exhaustion, though I did manage a few hours sleep on the overnight flight from Lima. We had a medical emergency on board but I think he survived ok. They found a doctor and gave him some oxygen, so hopefully he's going to be home safe and sound by now, unless of course like me he's connecting here for home airport.

Airports are not great places to be wasting a few hours in, and they seem to be the same wherever you go,excep Stornoway airport which is a law unto itself. So many people, you have to wonder what they all get up to on their travels?

I had this strange woman sitting beside me on the flight from Lima. Usually you dread having someone of large proportions sitting next to you. But she was just a skinny thing but she wanted lots of space, including mine. She kept pushing my elbow out of the way, every time I tried to rest it on the shared armrest. She was a bitter old woman. She fell asleep so I gave her a good slap. Well no I didn't but I was lose to it. While she was sleeping in the middle of the night the cabin crew brought some snacks for us and I had some ice cream, at 3:15 am! Anyway her husband had a sandwich but didn't bother to wake her up. He probably felt the same as me, let her sleep and give us peace. She woke up when the cabin crew were away. She was furious with him and seemed to imply that I was somehow culpable too. She gave him a good talking to and seemed to think that he should go in search of the crew, which I'm glad to say he refused to do. Unfortunately they came back round so she got her snack. Usually one makes an effort to chat to fellow passengers but not with this one.

I've noticed that Schipol are timingmy access time and have only few minutes left.

So will close this post for now and go back to reading Molloy,which I've read a few times now but is always like a new experience every time. Such is Mr Beckett. I think in fact I may have quoted from him in the past in this blog. Maybe the bit about his method of communicating with his mother, with knocks on the head, one tap for yes, two for no, etc. I'm sure you know the drill by now.

Will write more re my trip once I'm home. All for now.

Oscar and his pals at Villa Maria

Oscar is one of the two boys who will play a six a side against the President's team on Saturday. He is the middle one in the group photo. Wish I was still here on Saturday. He told me on my first day back that I was like his second papa. I've known him since my first time in Villa Maria.

Some kids of Villa Maria

These are some of the kids who come to the centre at Villa Maria. The boys are Freddy and Sebastien and two of the girls are Geraldine and Natalyn.

Younger party goers

They knew all the words no matter what was played.

Happy beautiful girls of El Salvador

Have you ever seen more beautiful happy girls than those of Villa El Salvador?

Girls of El Salvador

Singing their hearts out with Flor conducting a little. The cheer leader was not impressed with Flor's solo singing efforts, gracias señorita she said in a somewhat facetious tone of voice, while I declined her invite. My voice was out of tune at the time. Unfortunately.

DJ, key board player and animadora

Our DJ and key board player and cheer leader at our little party.

Working boys going to a party

Two boys get done up by mum for party in Villa el Salvador.

Flor and Milena

Preparing for party at Villa el Salvador.

Things

The problem of shitting in public places seems to be getting worse, and as for pissing well what can one say. Quite often when one is on the bus to Villa Maria one can see a guy with his trousers round his ankles having a dump behind a pillar in full view of all passers by and public transport users such as myself. Something has to be done. I've not seen it anywhere else except on way to Villa Maria, and I don't see why the good people of Villa Maria should have to put up with it. I've not seen anything like that elsewhere in Lima or Cusco, though some men, a few only, in Cusco think nothing of spitting on the pavement(sidewalk) right in front of you. Disgusting habit.

Went to see the latest Bond movie "Skyfall" last night, which was the opening night here in Lima. Cinema was sold out for our Daniel and maybe for Javier too. Or probably for Javier. We went to the cine bar and I treated myself to a pisco sour as I watched Mr Bond drink his martini, stirred not shaken, my pisco sour I mean. Delicious it was too and included in the entrance which was a very reasonable 50 soles. Movie is best Bond film for years and certainly best that our boy Daniel has done. Great chases and fights, Javier is excellent as baddie and Judy is her usual terrific self. I became quite nostalgic when the film moved to Scotland. What a beautiful country. There's nowhere else quite like it really. Peru is beautiful too but Scotland's Highlands and Islands are still top of the league, as is Edinburgh of course, though Cusco takes a very close second place in my heart.

Incredibly enough I'm getting close to the end of my stay in Peru this time round and will need to start thinking about coping with the cold but hopefully not the snow by this time next week. Will also need to start getting ready to leave so may not have much time on my hands for my blog but will do my best, maybe some more photos? Would that be acceptable for you all.

For those of you who like stats my blog has been viewed 2000 times since I left the UK in early September. I wish I knew who you all are, maybe its just the same person travelling around the world and checking into my blog. It's been read in UK, USA, Peru, Russia, Italy, Germany, Greece, Sweden, France, Indonesia, Argentina, Chile, Venezuela, Romania, Ukraine, Poland, Latvia, India and Netherlands. So who are all these guys?

Thanks anyway for taking the time to read my ramblings and I hope you found something of interest to you. More to follow.

Heber at 18

This is Heber on Sunday. He does usually smile a lot but likes to look cool so he can use the photos on his Facebook page, so can't be seen to smile too much, he makes me delete from my camera any he does not like, and they were all the ones I thought were best. But what can you do? Boy that age just won't listen now would he? Anyway I like these too. He's grown up so much in past year but still a boy really.

Heber 2012

Yesterday Heber and I met for the first time this time round. He's 18 now and quite grown up. It's hard for me to believe all the years that have flown by since I first met him and his brother in La Policia de la Familia in Cusco, in 2006. I always enjoy seeing him, he's a pleasure to be with and loves to chat and tell me all about his life here in Lima. I was a bit worried for a while back there that he was about to go back to Cusco, but he's decided to stay here.

He's now working and getting trained in electronic/electrical installation work for a big company in Chosica called, I think, Pinturas CPP. He seems to be doing well there and enjoys the work but he's always tired as he starts work every day at 8, which means leaving the house at 6, and he works till 5, so gets home at 7. Six days a week. And not for much money. He will start going to college some time next year, but he will have to go at night.

Still it's better being tired than being on the streets. He tells me that he's known me now for longer than he's really known his father, with whom he is no longer in touch. His mother keeps promising things for him and promising to come to see him. But she never does. He's developed a resistance to these disappointments in his life and knows not to put much faith in empty promises. Luckily for him he is able to live with his aunt, and his uncle is good to him too, and got him the job. He works alongside his uncle and gets his transport to work with him.

So altogether it's been good news from him and I'm really pleased and happy for him, and hope I've played a wee part along the way by supporting him and encouraging him. He seems to think so. He's got himself a girlfriend now and has been with her for some time. He tells me he met her when she used to take his moto taxi to college and he sometimes took her home as well. Which I thought was a romantic wee story. She is studying to go to university, but I forget what she will study. He still says his first boy will be called Donald, though the girlfriend is not yet aware of this. If it's a girl maybe he will call her Donaldina!! or maybe not.. still the thought is nice.

His favourite music right now is Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Queen (Freddy and the boys). He was listening to "I want to break free", when he arrived in Miraflores to see me. He also likes Peruvian music of course. I might put a link to Queen on my fb page just for a laugh.

That's all for now. I will see him again next Sunday, all being well. I know there are a few people who read my blog who also know Heber, so this posting is by way of keeping you all up to date on his life. Those of you who have known him would be proud of him now and those of you who didn't believe in him, well........ what can I say?

I meant to mention, talking about moto taxis, as we were back there, that I had my first ride in one on Friday in Villa Salvador. Along with Flor and Milena, sitting cosily in the back with them, there not being anywhere else of course but the back. It was a short exhilirating ride, shall we say, quite nerve wracking, but we got there. I hope not to have to do it again.

Señor Chan's House

This is the house where Flor meets the kids of Villa El Salvador every Friday. The door on the left is the entrance to the room we use, and where we had the party on Friday night. The blue coloured bit on top of the house , which says INABIF is where Flor meets and talks to the mums while the kids are playing in the room. As you can see it's all a bit basic but at least there's a place for them to go.

Housing & Roads in Villa El Salvador

 

Pictures 1 and 4 are looking to Pacific, which is amost visible, picture 3 is looking to the desert.

News from Peru

I was in a cafe in Miraflores having a quiet coffee and reading Vargas Llosa's book "Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter" when I realised the guy sitting beside me was reading "A Tale of Two Cities" in Spanish, obviously. So we got talking about how good both writers are. He was impressed when I quoted the first sentence of his book to him, but I didn't bother with the bit about it being a far better thing that I do, as he hadn't reach that bit yet so didn't want to spoil his fun. Turns out he is a lawyer, taking a break I assume from the rigours of the law in Lima. He didn't know anything about Neil Morrison unfortunately, but his brother is a colonel in the Peruvian Army. Very strange I thought to myself.

The main news hereabouts right now is the pardon request from ex-president Fujimori who is serving 25 years for human rights abuses and theft from the state of about $15 million. Not a good man, but popular because a lot of folk think he got rid of Shining Path, but really he is a nasty wee fascist. He has a pal called Vlad Montesinos who is also in jail because of various crimes he committed as Fujimori's right hand man. Of course they all say they are innocent. It is said that Vlad has people on the outside doing his business for him and that they have ears everywhere, so won't say anything about him. But it's all there for anyone to read about. Amazingly 60+ percent of Peruvians are in favour of granting a pardon. I don't envy President Humala his decision.

There was a bit of a riot two days ago in a place called La Parada. Big fight with the police, seems like an operation badly planned which went out of control, leaving two people dead and many injured. I worked there for two days last year and wrote about it in my blog. I don't think I will be going back in a hurry.

"I've always imagined him to be hung like a budgie." Rupert Everett on Piers Morgan.

Working boys of Villa El Salvador

Fantastic Party at Villa El Salvador

Our party last night in Villa El Salvador turned out to be a triumph in every way imaginable. Kids loved it. Must have been about forty or more there. They seemed to keep coming. They said it was the best party they have had. People came from around to see what was going on, as we were quite loud.

The childrens' entertainer was superb. She kept all these kids going for two hours or more. They sang their hearts out. Amazing how many songs they know. They seemed to know all the lyrics for just about any song she played. She was accompanied by a DJ and an organist, who both did a great job too. They had come earlier to decorate the place for a Halloween type party and I must say it was looking good. Flor and Milena and myself brought along the drinks and delicacies and all the kids got a little pack to keep them going or take home as they wished.

I had to make a very short speech, in Spanish of course, and I suddenly heard myself asking the kids if I should come back next year, which brought a loud cheer and yes of course I promised to come back. All the kids seemed to know my name, even ones who had not been there the previous Friday, and I waited outside to say goodbye to them all. I don't know if I will be able to go back next Friday as it's quite a journey to get out there, as I have to go to Villa Maria first and then go in a bus with Flor. I don't think I could find my way around there on my own, and in any case Flor would not allow me to.

So got home last night feeling very happy at having made my small contribution to life in Villa El Salvador. And tired.

Meantime life goes on as usual in Villa Maria. Two of our boys, Oscar and Jean Paul, have been chosen to play in a football six a side game against President Humala and two of his ministers and three congressmen. This is happening on 10 November two days after I leave Lima, so I miss my chance of getting to meet the President of Peru. I'm tempted to extend my stay.

All for now. Will post some pics of Villa El Salvador.

Villa El Salvador (2)

So there we were in Villa El Salvador walking along the a dirty dusty track, over the hill and down the other side where we were joined by the two boys. Dust everywhere. Beginning to get dark but had time to take a few pics before dusk came over us. So much dust my clothes and shoes were covered with it.

The houses (shacks) are built on very dodgy ground. It's the start of the desert, so they've built on sand. Obviously not having read the relevant parable, which I'm sure you will all be familiar with, so his Holiness succeeds with his decrees on family planning or the lack therof, but forgets to teach them the parable about house planning.

Of course it's completely illegal to build here as far as the state is concerned but the rules are made to be broken it would seem or in this case have to be broken or where else could they build or live, in the absence of government provision for housing all these people. We are talking here about nearly half a million people, and I can't speak for all the other similar barrios round about Lima.

There is nowhere for the kids in this part of Villa El Salvador to go, so Flor has found a local good citizen who has a place for them. He's Senor Chan, whose father came to Peru from China many years ago and built a restaurant business in Lima, but Senor Chan didn't inherit this business for reasons which need not concern us here, so he's now living in El Salvador with his wife and children. I'm not sure what he does for a living, but he seems to work lots of hours. They have one of the better houses in El Salvador onto which he has built an extension which is like a lean-to attached to the side of his house, which he allows Flor and the kids to use every Friday.

This is about as basic as one can get in terms of accommodation for the kids, but its the best that can be done to get them off the streets. There are about forty kids who use it, though not all come every week, which is just as well really. The room has no furnishings, but Flor has moved the three tables and the chairs I bought for the San Juan centre a few years ago, to use in El Salvador. You can imagine my surprise when I saw these chairs and tables, and my delight that they were being put to such good use. I've never been so pleased with so few tables and chairs in all my life. It made my heart sing. To know that I've done such a small thing and given a little help to these kids is just unbelievably joyful.

And there is one small light in the middle of the room, as Senor Chan is one of the lucky ones with electricity in his house. I was pleased to see him using energy saving bulbs.

There were about 20 kids turned up in the end. Flor gave them a talk on good living and such things. The kids just seemed to enjoy having a place to come. And they all are well dressed, and indeed why should they not be. They want to look their best just like all other kids do.

There were two wee boys there with their mum. It was their first time and they were quite excited and pleased to be there. They are about 8 or 9 years old and work in the rubbish dump to support themselves and their mother. It's a family affair. They told me about their work and knew all the prices. I'll post a picture of them. They seem content with their lot and of course know no other life than working in the rubbish (garbage) dump. Flor will work with the mother over the next few months. When we walk through Villa El Salvador, many of the women come out and talk to Flor. They all seem to know her and want to share their troubles with her. Of which there seem to be many.

So we've decided to have a big party for the kids this Friday and I've given Flor the money to pay for food, drinks, entertainment etc. Flor will decorate the room and the entertainers will bring their own gear to play games and music for dancing I suppose.

So looking forward to my next visit tonight. I never seem to have much time. Don't know where it goes. Seems to be some deep hole where my time and days disappear. Must do better time wise otherwise life will just disappear in a cloud of smoke or something.

"The everydayness of life - of every day." who said that?

Villa El Salvador 2012

Villa El Salvador is another, bigger community on the outskirts of Lima, built on a mountainside by people moving to Lima in search of work and a better life. There are over four hundred thousand people living there, so it's huge, about the size of Edinburgh. It's goes up one side of the mountain from inland and then down the other side until it reaches the coast.

Flor works there on Friday nights with a group of forty kids so she decided it was about time I saw the place for myself. I don't think I've ever seen such poverty. It was a two bus journey from Villa Maria, over roads which don't really deserve the name. And of course the drivers drive flat out as is usual in Lima so that even conversation was difficult and at times impossible, what with all the noise and the bumps, causing us all to bounce up and down as if we were on a trampoline. Sometimes he slowed down for the bigger holes but mostly we hurtled along at breakneck speed, heading for world's end it seemed.

I don't think I've ever seen people living in such poor conditions. These shanty towns, are known as pueblos jóvenes, and I guess are like the favelas of Brazil. The people who live there mostly came from the countryside to escape the poverty there, to end up in these places. I'm trying not to use any derogatory or disrespectful language because the people I met seem to be coping cheerfully if not to say heroically with what life has handed to them. But it's not easy.

The houses are more like shacks, built of wood with corrugated tin roofs, some of the roofs held down by nothing more than a few bricks along the top. Many of them have no electricity or water. Though it is true that more and more are getting electricity and water provided by the state. But mostly the state seems to be non existent as far as El Salvador is concerned. But I'm sure nevertheless that someone is trying to help change things, but it will take huge investment and commitment, which seems lacking, even though Humala promised so much. Mind you he has only been there briefly and it sure ain't got to be like this in a couple of years.

Once we got off our second bus we had to walk over the top of the hill and some way down the other side. There was no road as such, just a dirt track and even the bus drivers of Lima wouldn't be able to take there buses down here. There are rows of houses along both sides, shacks of wood and tin, with no light. Later it was dusk and quite depressing to see these places with no light. It's no wonder they have so many kids, as there can't be much else to do once it gets dark, and the pope won't let them use condoms. So lets blame him for it all.

There are no provisions for the kids, not even a place where they can meet, in this part of El Salvador. Even Flor's work can't provide facilities. It's quite depressing really so how they keep on smiling and surviving is nothing short of a miracle. As we walk along we meet lots of folk who know Flor and want to talk to her. These are the parents of the kids she works with. She seems well known. She is nothing short of a star. A truly amazing woman and who will ever recognise her work. I hope she can keep going for years to come, but she's been having fairly serious health problems,  which are not resolved so far, after a year. Please keep going Flor. For all these kids sake and their families we need you.

You think you've seen it all but then you meet a couple of boys who take you to see the rubbish dump where so many of the kids work to help their families survive. They call themselves recyclers, which I suppose is what they are, as they collect, mostly plastic bottles, for recycling. Even the youngest ones can tell you the prices for all the stuff they collect and know what brings the best prices.

The boys took me down to show me the dump. Their football pitch is beside it. The dump is illegal of course and people from other parts of Lima bring their rubbish here to get rid of it. I assume this is because there is no rubbish collection in their own barrios and El Salvador is at the edge of the desert.

I've just realised this post is getting out of control, so will close it here and write some more later about the kids and where they meet Flor. etc

British Cemetery in Callao, Peru

 

Neil Morrison's burial spot

He is buried in empty spot at centre of photo.

Cementerio Británico

I went in search of Neil Morrison's grave on Monday, having managed to establish by phone that he was buried in Cementerio Británico, which is in Callao, and is also called Cementerio Bellavista. I managed to persuade Francisco to take me for a smallish fee. He drives an old jalopy of a van which is converted for use as a taxi and has been patched and repaired numerous times. It reminds me of the van I used to drive for Kenny B, that summer when Jimmy B's boy wrecked my elbow and almost took my life away. No time to go into details right now.

Francisco likes to drive fast and has no time for stragglers or dilly dalliers. However he was in a more serene frame of mind on Monday and the morning passed with no arguments with other road users. Unlike two weeks back when he picked me up at the airport and had a ding dong argument with another driver, who was probably marginally in the wrong, but whose misdemeanours hardly warranted shouting at him through the window at the next lights, and giving him a mouthful, including advice as to the need to learn how to drive. He then apologised to me for losing it. What could I say, except to agree that the other guy was an idiot.

Callao is the port of Lima, founded by the Spanish in 1537, soon to become the most important port of it's time on the west coast of Latin America. Still is I guess. I'm sure Neil Morrison would have visited Callao on his many voyages, and would have known it well before he eventually moved to Lima in 1879. I reckon many Scottish sailors would have been familiar with Callao, including many from Isle of Lewis. Donald J has sent me a rather lewd song which the sailors sang as they left Callao. All about the professional ladies having taken all their money for services provided. It's not what one would call politically correct so will refrain from quoting it here.

When we got to Callao we were a bit lost, as there are two sites for the British Cemetery, and we were looking for the original one, where burials stopped in 1955, due to lack of space. Francisco shouted at a passing police vehicle asking for directions, so we were driving along side by side with this cop car, who was shouting out directions for us. They then drove off ahead of us, but must have taken pity on us, as they slowed down until we were again side by side, and told us to follow them.

So we had a police escort for the final bit of our journey. Not quite with guns loaded but you get the picture I'm sure. Not the sort of thing that would happen in Edinburgh. As we got near the place the police car stopped and one of them got out to speak to us to make sure we knew where to go. Amazing. Obviously not a lot of crime in Callao to be discovered. Or maybe they are all like that in Callao.

Neil Morrison is buried at plot no 2-K-46 in Cementerio Bellavista. There were a couple of grave diggers busy at work as we arrived, and they downed spades to help us find the grave. We were joined by security with his radio phone, which he used to confirm the information I already had. We found the grave, quite easily in fact. Unfortunately there is no gravestone.

So there I was standing on Neil's grave and I have to admit I felt quite moved and sad thinking of my fellow Lewisman buried there. He seems to have died without a family, at least none that I've been able to find out about and the cemetery office folk don't know who arranged the burial,except that he/she was called J. Martin. Seemingly forgotten by one and all, except for Donald J Macleod back in Aberdeen. Including it seems the whole of Peru, for whom he almost sacrificed his life.

I'm still hopeful of getting some information from Peruvian Army records. Francisco has a pal who was in the army and he is currently trying to help find his army record. I've also written to El Comercio, Peru's biggest newspaper and I've just had a reply from them inviting me to come in to search their old copies. Maybe they printed an obituary for him. So will need to call them.

There are a large number of Scotsmen and women buried in the cemetery at Bellavista, and folk from all over UK and Europe. Many with great big gravestones. Quite astonishing that I made my way there. I've not been to Callao before so was good to see the place. I might go back. Everyone here says how dangerous the place is, and tell me not to go. But they said the same about Villa Maria del Triunfo, and look what I would have missed had I listened to the warnings. But must close this post now. I'm hungry. I see Scotland went down to defeat yet again. As did Peru to Paraguay. Like I said Brazil is not for the likes of us. Levein must go. But please no Strachan!!!

Neil Morrison in the Peruvian Army

This is the story of Neil Morrison, born on the Isle of Lewis in 1850, in Newton near Stornoway, the island capital and famous port. He lived there with his parents and used to watch the ships come sailing in and out of Stornoway harbour, which in those days was a much busier port than it is today.

Neil was an adventurous young man and at the the age of sixteen years he ran away from home and joined a Dutch ship which had called into Stornoway harbour. He spent two years sailing around the world, only returning to Stornoway for two weeks at the age of eighteen, before setting off again on his travels.

He eventually made his way to the USA, where he worked for some years and trained to be a mining engineer. He must have become restless again and he would doubtless have known about employment opportunities in South America from his previous travels and he would certainly have known the port of Callao in Peru, now part of Lima.

So off he went arriving in Peru in 1879 at the time of The War of the Pacific, (1879-1894), between Peru and Chile. Also involving Bolivia of course whom Peru went to defend against the Chileans. I don't have time here to explain the background to this war but it had long lasting consequences and changed the geography of all the countries involved fairly dramatically. It's still remembered with some degree of sadness if not bitterness hereabouts.

Neil decided that there was nothing for it but to join the Peruvian Army. He rose to the rank of colonel and fought at the Battle of Miraflores, which was a decisive battle in the war, where Peru lost 3000 men and after which Chile occupied Lima and most of Peru it seems, though not Cusco. Neil was injured in the battle and bleeding for a long time.

He survived his injuries and because of his bravery the Peruvian government offered him a pension, which was said to be substantial at the time. But with one condition. He would have to give up his Scottish nationality and become a Peruvian citizen. Needless to say your man rejected the offer telling then that he was born a Scotsman and would die a Scotsman. So no pension was paid.

He continued to work in various places in South America in the mining sector including working in a Chilean mining camp which was hit by a large earthquake and sunami which wiped out the whole camp and mine. He continued to wander around South America and is said to have been the first white man to have walked the length of the Amazon basin from Peru to the Atlantic.

He eventually settled once again in Lima where he died in 1942 at t he age of 92 years. He is buried in a cemetery in Lima but which one is another matter altogether.

I've only recently discovered about Neil Morrison. I was told his story by Donald J Macleod , a Lewis historian now living in Aberdeen. He has asked me to see if I can find his grave and any other information about him that I can find. A tall order but I shall do my best. In fact I may already have found his grave. But more later.

Farewell Cusco

It's Monday morning and I'm waiting for my taxi to take me to Cusco airport for my 11am flight to Lima. I've been here four weeks but it seems more like four days. So many things I meant to do but never quite got round to them. Including the trip to MP I'd promised myself and a visit to Elim. Sorry about that Jeremy but maybe next year.

Still I managed to fit quite a lot in and met lots of new people and renewed some old acquaintances.

So it's off to sunny Lima now, or partially sunny Lima. I'm taking a week off and will start at Villa Maria next week all being well.

That's all for now, have the excitement of that flight out of Cusco ahead of me, right over the Andes, and down to the Pacific coast of Peru. What more could one ask for on a Monday morning.

Thank you to all my friends in Cusco and all the good folk at Maximo Nivel for making my trip another special one. Thank you all.

Cajamarca

Cajamarca is a city and a region in north west Peru and is currently featuring in the news on a daily basis, because of the protests and demonstrations going on up there against proposals for opening a new gold mine in the region. The indigenous population are totally opposed to the development and when I read about it and was told the details I was not at all surprised, in fact I would be astonished if it were not a cause for protests and demonstrations, which unfortunately due to state violence have lead to a number of deaths.

The mining company involved is the Denver USA based Newmont Mining Corp, who have been gold mining in the area for a long time. Their mine in Yanacocha, Cajamarca is said to be the biggest in Latin America and the second largest in the world, covering an area of 535 square miles. It provides Newmont with the bulk of it's profits every year, which are not insignificant.  Of course there is a Peruvian front company called Minera Yanacocha but the profits don't stay in Peru, needless to say.

They now wish to expand operations and start a new open cast gold mine, but in order to do this they propose to drain four lakes that are vital to the survival of the indigenous people. They will replace the lakes with artificial reservoirs which they will build. In return they offer 1000 jobs. It's hard to imagine anything more environmentally criminal, never mind socially criminal. Just incredible.

Needless to say the government is on the side of big business, using the jobs argument, but ignoring the huge profits extracted by Newmont from the people of Peru. They offer a thousand jobs at slave wage rates, thereby increasing their profits tenfold or more and putting nothing back into the country they rob. You don't need to be a Marxist economist to understand whats going on here. Naked exploitation.

Guess what side the Roman Catholic church is on? It's not on the side of the poor, that's for sure. The cardinal hereabouts belongs, so I'm told to Opus Dei, the fascist wing of the church, which wields a lot of power. So we can't really expect them to stand up for the poor and defend them against big business, now can we?

The processes used by Newmont to extract the gold, which involve the use of copious amounts of cyanide, are illegal practices in the USA, Europe, Argentina and many other places. The contamination over the past 20 years is huge, but will be as nothing compared to what will happen if they get the go ahead to drain these lakes.

So the basic idea is that the Cajamarcans will lose their drinking water, their water sources for cultivating their land and have it replaced with contaminated artificial water from Newmont's reservoirs, so that the profits of a foreign owned private company are hugely increased.

Of course Keiko Fujimori wants the indigenous people out of the way in an even more extreme way than does the government. The newish president, Humala, won his election last year partly due to the support he got from the indigenous people, and now he turns his back on them.

So all in all a very sad state of affairs. Not unusual in Latin America, over the course of its history since the Spaniards arrived. I will be supporting the people of Cajamarca, not that it will do them a huge amount of good, but at least a few more people will know of their struggle having read this posting. There is much more I could have said about pollution levels and corruption, but enough for now.

Quipus

Life continues much as before in La Policia de la Familia. The boy with no name is still there. He seems content enough with his lot.

Today there were four boys there and one seventeen year old girl with her eighteen month old child. She had run away from the home for adolescent mothers she was living in. Says she doesn't like it there and wants to go back to her parents' house. However they live in Arequipa which is a long way from here and I'm not even sure they know where she is right now.

She has a beautiful daughter and looks after her more or less competently, though I did have to ask her not to leave the kid alone at an open window, which has bars to keep us all in place, but kid could easily have fallen in between bars and window. But you can't really blame the girl. The place is not fit for any children never mind a child that age. One can't blame the police either as they are stuck with the situation, so let's hope the courts sort something out quickly.

One of the boys, Roel, is thirteen years old but looks the size of an eight year old. He tells me that his mother could no longer cope looking after him as she has eight other younger kids at home, so he's had to leave . He says she sent him off in a car with a complete stranger. They live out in the countryside, many miles from Cusco. Whether to believe this story is another matter of course, but it will have some elements of truth. He seemed relieved to be in La Policia.

Then there was Marco who was waiting for his mum to come for him, and had been waiting anxiously all morning. By midday there was no sign of her and this twelve year old boy was very very upset and in floods of tears. Tried to comfort him as best I could but what do you say to a boy who thinks his mum is not going to come for him? It's not easy I tell you. I tried to suggest that maybe she was not well and unable to make the trip , but he was not for accepting that. I gave him a hug and told him I would be back for sure to see him tomorrow morning. But I'm no substitute.

And there's Jose who speaks Quechua and was trying to teach me some, at my suggestion of course. All these kids are bright and intelligent, well most of them anyway, let's not exaggerate, and once they get going they are happy to draw and write for me, and read out loud from the lovely book of poetry I bought to use with them. I doubt they get much chance to read poems otherwise, and it's all poems about various aspects of Peruvian life and history so it's like a wee lesson for them, and they don't even realise it. So all good there.

The poems are in alphabetical order so I ask them to choose a letter and then they read that poem. Today Jose got to read a poem called Quipus, which is all about the Inca counting and recording system, which is like an abacus but different if you know what I mean. The Incas had no written language of course which is why their history is lost to us to a large extent. Jose had never heard of it, despite his knowledge of Quechua, so I was quite quietly pleased with that. For sure he learnt something new today. As well as the poems the book is beautifully illustrated so he was able to see what Quipus look like.

Better get off to bed now if I'm to be there for Marco in the morning.

The Living Mountain

I was told this story by Vivi as we were making our way to a womens' project where Maximo Nivel is doing some work, supporting the project now that it's ONG funding is coming to an end. She was sitting in the front of the taxi as she was recounting it and  it wasn't easy to follow her Spanish but I got the general drift of it and I thought it was a such a great story I asked her to write it for me which she very kindly did. Any mistakes are down to my misreading.

It's an INCA legend and as she was telling me the story I thought of my friend John LLewelyn in Edinburgh and all the things he has taught me, and of Nan Shepherd, Scottish writer who wrote a book called "The Living Mountain", about her passion for the Cairngorm Mountains in Scotland. It also brought to mind Robert Macfarlane and a story he tells in his book "The Wild Places" about a Glasgow man called W.H. Murray, which I will tell you about soon.

Anyway to get back to the legend. It tells the story of two mountains near Cusco, one called El Apu Wanakauri (Huanacaure in Spanish) and the other called El Apu Pillqu Orqo (Picol). The Incas venerated the mountains, the earth, the water, and many celestial objects, considering them to be living, sentient beings. Hence Apu is a Quechua word meaning a god, or sacred, divine being.

The two mountains were in love with the same female being (ser femenino) and proceeded to have an argument over her, which then lead to a fight. Apu Wanakauri had a big sling, similar I imagine to the one used by David to smote Goliath, except on a bigger scale, obviously, which he used to throw a huge rock at his opponent Apu Pillqu.

This rock left a huge crevice or hole in that sacred mountain, which can be seen to this day. However and lamentably for both these sacred mountains neither of them was able to win the love of the ser femenino.

Taita Inty, the Inca Sun God, got wind of what was going on between them and, would you believe it, blamed the ser femenino for causing the fight and as punishment turned her into a pillar of stone and so she remains to this day. I'm going out to try to find her, as the legend has it that she is outside the city. Maybe one of you knows her whereabouts? If so let me know please.

I like this story, and apologies to any of my Peruvian friends if I've got it wrong or misunderstood Vivi's recounting of the legend. Vivi did include the legend of the Ayar brothers in her account which is connected to this one, and is important in Inca history, which is also mixed up with Inca myths. Maybe I will tell you the story of the Ayar brothers another time.

I can hardly believe it's the first day of October today. It's just gone 9 am so better head off to La Comisaria to see what awaits, or who awaits.

El Cóndor Macho

El Cóndor

The condor is the national symbol of Peru and I think of a few other countries as well. It's said to be the largest bird in the world, at least it has the longest wing span of any bird. It doesn't hunt or kill as it's just not cut out for such nastiness due to poor design maybe. It feeds on carrion which it can see from way up in the Andean skies, at about 5000 metres up. It has a very strong sense of smell and a very strong beak which enables it to tear apart the carcasses it feeds on, such as cattle or deer.

The male bird (el cóndor macho) is said to be more beautiful than the female (el cóndor hembra). They are monogamous and once they've chosen a partner, if it dies the condor will remain faithful as long as it lives, and not take another partner. It spends most of it's time gliding way up high where it can keep an eye on things, and only comes to rest to feed or sleep. It can fly hundreds of miles a day.

Thats all I know for sure about the condor, but I've been told lots of stories about condors and sometimes it's hard to separate fact from myth. My friend Daniel claims that the male condor, when it reaches old age, knows that it's time to go, so commits suicide by diving full speed into a mountain and ending it all. I like this story and can just imagine the old condor flying around and saying goodbye to family and friends before he heads off to what he probably thinks is a new life on the other side. However my pal and teacher Eric is not quite so keen on this story, probably an Incan myth/legend, and he reckons that the old bird thinks he is still a young thing and can fly as fast as he could in the days of his youth, but of course he can't, loses control of his dive and crashes to his death. Eric reckons the condor is unable to reflect on life, like us humans and so could not decide to finish it all. But if not how can he think he wants to fly like a young thing. I think overall I prefer Daniel's myth, and who knows anyway what that fine bird thinks?

Daniel also reckons that the condors do a special little dance when they find carrion to feed on, as a kind of celebration, and then the chief bird has to eat first before the rest can pile in. Eric reckons the condor is a lonesome soul and doesn't like group activity, and has never heard about the dance.

The Incas of old venerated the condor, especially as it kept the earth clean of rotting carcasses and the earth was worshipped too, pachamama, and still is in some places. This is why you might see older Andean folk, when they drink chicha, will pour a little out on the earth first to feed pachamama. So I'm told anyway.

The reason for all this about the condor is that I'm off to Pisac, in the Sacred Valley tomorrow to visit the market there and also to go to the zoo where I will be able to see some condors. Apparently held there to recover from injuries and then released when they are fit. So they say but I'm a bit sceptical. These will be my first condors.

If you're from Peru and you're reading this and it's a load of crap please let me know so I can educate myself. I would hate to be misleading folk around the world.

Pentwater

Pentwater is a small town on the east coast of Lake Michigan where Michigan folk like to spend their summers and where I spent a few days some years back with my US cousins and their families. I went to a wedding there and also had an excellent swim in the Lake. Though no one else wanted to join me. Which reminds me I've yet to swim in the Pacific Ocean, which I should do seeing as I've swum in the Atlantic Ocean, The North Sea (at Kieran's instigation I hasten to add, almost drowned me the so and so) and in the Med. Mind you the waters off Miraflores are not exactly inviting so may have to do my Pacific swimming elsewhere.

Anyway to get back to Michigan and my Pentwater story, I was chatting to one of my Spanish classmates who comes from Chicago and telling her about my visit to her fine city and how much I enjoyed it and hoped to go back one day. I mentioned that we had gone up to a place called Pentwater after our days in Chicago and wondered if she knew it, and to my astonishment not only did she know it, but she has spent all her summers up there. 

Her family have been going there since the early seventies, I'm not sure if they own a place there, like my US cousins, but probably they do. 

I know there are a few people who read my blog from time to time who have very strong connections to Pentwater, life changing connections for one or two of you, I would say. So maybe you know this young lady and her family. Just in case you do her name is Sarah Klaiber, and her father is a friend of Johnny Schwarz and his brothers, who are apparently a well known clan in the town. 

I reckon that must be getting close to the six degrees of separation theory, though I don't quite know how to get to Kevin Bacon from here, nevertheless it's a strange and pleasantly enjoyable coincidence  at least for the purposes of this post. 

I would love to hear from those of you with Pentwater connections if you have heard about or know these folk. And Don K when are you bringing your mum to Scotland?