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? 

Pachacutec

 

This is my four hundreth posting to this blog so I thought a picture of the mighty Pachacutec up there on his lonesome in La Plaza de Armas in Cuzco was appropriate to celebrate the event. Perhaps the greatest of all the Incas he seems to be pointing the way to a better future.

Gabino Aguirre Segovia, artista, y amigo

 

Degrees of Separation... how many?

Yesterday I met Doug who comes from Ontario, Canada and has come to Cusco to do the Inca Trail but can't because it's fully booked, so no more spaces, so he's off to do another trail, which involves mountain biking, river rafting and trekking all the way to Machu Picchu. I said that Doug was a good Scottish name and unsurprisingly he told me that his grandfather came from Arbroath and emigrated to Canada many years ago.

Doug and his mother or maybe he said his father, visited Scotland last year and spent some time in Arbroath, where he had a pint of real ale in his grandfather's local pub. He waxed lyrical about Arbroath Smokies, which is haddock smoked in a special fashion known only to a few, or maybe more than a few. It has a very strong taste that is just delicious with a plate of potatoes, but probably does untold damage to the blood pressure and other vital symptoms. So not to every ones taste I don't suppose but definitely worth trying.

It's not every day one has a chat about Arbroath and it's most famous product and to be doing so in faraway Cusco seems correct in some way. We had a chat about all the places he'd visited, including my own fine city of Edinburgh. He somehow managed to get a ticket for T in the Park, Scotland's second best music festival. How he managed it I didn't ask but he thought it was one of the best he'd been to, where everyone was stoned or drunk or both and the music was loud. It was a bit wet too, but no-one worries about these small difficulties in Scotland. He left me to go off to his bed as he had an early start for his trip to Machu Picchu the next day and would be his last night in a bed for a few days. Says he will look out for me to tell me how it all went.

This was meant to be a two story post about degrees of separation but I've run out of time. It's Saturday night and one must go out to play....

Me and Bobby McGee

There I was sitting in La Plaza de Armas watching the world go by and thinking I should be doing my Spanish homework but putting it off for a few more minutes to enjoy the scene around me whilst avoiding all the kids offering to shoeshine me out of existence, when along came this beautiful young girl and sat herself down beside me and starting singing "Fever", which I'm sure is a song you are all familiar with from years gone by. A lovely wee tune I think we can all agree on.

I could hardly believe that I was giving this young woman fever all through the night being as I'd only known her for a few minutes and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe we'd met in some other existence. But I guess she must have had someone else in mind.

We got chatting and she told me her name was Haylly, which is a Quechua name, though she does not speak the language. She loves singing , it's her passion and is hoping to get some gigs locally with some jazz/blues group she knows.

Then her friend Albero turned up with his guitar and happy attitude. He's an architect student in his third year but not at classes because of the teachers/lecturers strike. We got to talking about music we all liked and books and stuff. He is a Morrison fan, Jim not Van. Don't think he knows much Van. But he likes to call himself Al Morrison, as a tribute to the late Jim. So Haylly says, but she may have been in jest.

Meantime she has taken his guitar and is playing away happily and singing some Beatles tunes. She said she knew some Dylan songs but then began to sing a Janis Joplin song I'd never heard before. I asked her if she knew "Me and Bobby McGee", which she did and a couple of minutes later she is singing and playing it for me. She knew the whole song, beginning to end, and it's not a short song to remember. She sang it beautifully, and a few wise people stopped to listen.

You can find Janis Joplin singing it on YouTube. Or even Kris Kristofferson himself, its one of his finest songs, if you don't Sunday Morning Coming Down and Help me make it Through the Night, and a few others which escape me right now.

I just love being in Cusco. It's moments like these and many others that make it all so worth while, never mind the joys of spending time with the kids at La Policia. I cannot imagine any beautiful young girls back in Edinburgh, stopping by to sing me a song; though there was one time when someone sang Lakes of Pontchartrain for me in a private, intimate performance but that was different, we were both young and beautiful. I still am of course. You can still find a very young Paul Brady sing that particular song on YouTube.

Albero was telling me he was an anarchist himself and didn't think we should have to work for a living. He was taken aback when he heard that I'd had the misfortune (or fortune depending on how you see it) of having worked for 40 years. I don't think the idea appealed to him and I could see the sense of what he was saying as we sat there in La Plaza listening to Haylly serenade us.

I showed him the book I was reading "The Wild Places", as he was fond of all things natural, mountains and rivers and stuff. He produced a mathematics text book from his bag, and said "for me this is beautiful". Impressive young guy, hope he finds all he seeks in life. I'm sure he will make a fine architect. My second architect of this trip.

Haylly, not to be left out of things, produced her current reading, which turned out to be some book by a fifteenth century Italian philosopher, name of which and whom I forget, but had an introduction by Borges, who was a fan.

Enough rambling for now. I might put a picture of Haylly up but I'm not sure as I'm in it as well, and don't wish to upset my readers. I handed my camera to Albero to take a photo, which is not something I would normally do, but he decided to include me in it as well, so I took one of him.

Teachers are still on strike, after two weeks. There were big demos in Lima and other cities yesterday, but not in Cusco, or at least not that I'd seen anyway. The workers united.

Padre Donald

The boy with no name is still at La Policia de la Familia, but is now called Antonio, but still no contact from parents or anyone else. That's him in the photo with another volunteer who is helping out there too. He's a lovely wee chap and seems content enough. Hopefully he will be found a place in a good orphanage soon, with lots of love and care on the go.

Guido is still with us. Goodness knows where he will end up. He says he is very bored which is no surprise really. He's been stuck there for a long time, weeks in fact. He seems to have toned down his aggression. He's a very bright intelligent boy. Whenever we play memory games he always wins. I get them to read some poems to each other from a book I bought for them which consists of poems about Peru and its history etc. He can read a poem beautifully and next day he will remember some lines from it. Such a shame his life chances are so restricted. Lets hope he will meet someone who can help him achieve a little of his potential.

That's him in the middle of the game of twister. And yes I know there shouldn't be three of them playing all at once, but the boys make their own rules which they like, and game ends with a total collapse and no winner, which amuses them.

I met the man who paints The Stadium of Light the other day in some cafe where I was helping him make his order. That's where Sunderland FC play for those not acquainted with English Premier League. He tells me he's met Steve Bruce who was very amiable and chatty, but he's not yet had the pleasure of meeting the saintly Martin. So that's a nice job to have. He's in Peru with his wife to do the Inca Trail, but he was suffering badly from the altitude. I told him he needs about four or five days to acclimatise, so fact he was off to the trail next day didn't seem too encouraging. I didn't know when I told him five days that he was off the next day. Geordies are softies don't you think?

My hairdresser here in Cusco is called Juan. When he heard my name he told me he knew one other Scottish Donald, except he was a priest called Padre Donald. Takes his confessions etc. So good to see that us Scots and especially the Donalds are doing our bit. I guess he will be a Celtic supporter so will look out for him tomorrow watching the gemme in some Irish bar.

Fun and games at La Comisaria

Gabino Aguirre Segovia

It rained in Cusco yesterday. Lets hope that climate change hasn't brought forward the start of the rainy season. Having said that it's a fine and sunny this morning, so maybe yesterday was a one off. I would hate to think the rain is following me around the world. Surely the heavens have sent me enough rain this year back in Edinburgh to do me a life time.

However perhaps the rain and the heavens brought me a piece of good fortune. I was sheltering under the eaves of a cafe in Plaza San Blas as I waited for my pal Ernesto to show up. As I was standing there watching the rain teaming down and folk running to cover their stalls and disappear for shelter I was joined by this old guy, well as old as me anyway, and we got into conversation as one does, about the weather and climate change and stuff like that. Funny how the weather is always a great way to get to know people, don't you think?

It was looking as if we would be there for some time and no sign of my pal so we introduced ourselves. Turns out that he is a Peruvian artist called Gabino Aguirre Segovia who paints and works with textiles. He told me that he is 80 years old and when I expressed some degree of astonishment he stuck his hand in his pocket and produced his DNI card ( that's his national ID card). He was a warm welcoming guy and happy to converse and tell me about his life and put up with my Spanish.

He has an exhibition starting tomorrow in Salon Contemporaneo de le Municipalidad del Cusco and he has invited me to attend the official opening at 7 o'clock tomorrow night. When the rain eventually stopped he went to his car and brought me back a copy of the catalogue and an invite. I will of course be going along and maybe even buy a painting, which he assures me are "muy economical". I can roll it up and stick in a tube to carry back to UK in my suitcase. I'm sure they will be able to provide such things at the exhibition and I can go back to collect it when it finishes on 29 September, just before I go back to Lima. Well lets see how it goes anyway.

Gabino is one of those older guys whom I find an inspiration as I get on in years myself and look to my retirement in a few months time. I've been lucky to have met a few people like him over the years, to provide inspiration and ideas. So Gabino helps me look forward to the next part of my life, though he doesn't realise it. Let's face it I guess I have far fewer years ahead of me than I have to look back on, so it's incumbent on me to make the most of them and to take all the inspiration I can find to help make the next few years as good as those that have disappeared in the distance. Where do all the years go to anyway?

Bob Dylan has been an inspiration to me ever since him and I were young together, give or take a years or two. Some day soon I will write about how I got to know Mr Dylan as it's a nice wee story, so if I forget someone should remind me. I reckon my relationship with Bob goes back pretty near fifty years, with all it's ups and downs, though mostly ups, and now as we both get on in years and he produces some of his finest work at the age of 70 he is even more of an inspiration. Thank you Bob, and thanks too to the person who first made me listen to him. You know who you are!

I have to leave this post now, but I will write about someone who has inspired me on a personal level over the past few years in Edinburgh in a later posting.

The trip to the womens' collective/micro business was postponed at last minute but will be back on next week. Hence no report on it so far, but more soon I hope.

Saturday

Saturday morning and I've been up since 7 o'clock. My dawn chorus here is the noise coming from the rail shunting yard nearby which fortunately coincides with my getting up time, though of course one would prefer a more avian type chorus such as I'm blessed with in Edinburgh.

I've been watching the Man U game since 9 o'clock which I guess means a 4 o'clock kick off back in Manchester. Chicharito missed a penalty after 5 minutes but we're now three up and Powell has come on for Giggs and Van Persie for Scholes. Very satisfactory. I see Arsenal are going well this season. Wonder what Van Persie will think if they win the league this year?  Powell has just scored a goal which Scholes himself would be proud of and Buttner has his first.

Last night I took a taxi home from La Plaza as it was a bit late and don't like to walk home much later than 9.30 or so, unles I've got company. Taximan was as per usual in a hurry.  I keep telling the taxi drivers that it's quicker going down Ave El  but they see to think they know best so they go another route.

This takes us round the back way and along a very narrow one way street with tall buildings either side so it seems as if the buildings are crowding in on top of you. Can't remember what it's called.  It has a pavement (sidewalk) down the left which is no more than a ledge really but folk still walk along it. Along the other side the pavement is a little bigger, maybe about two feet or so.

The Spaniards didn't think of Peruvian taxis when they built on top of old Inca streets. This particular street is always busy with pedestrians on both sides, and there's a club or disco half way along so at night it's even busier. This doesn't cause my taximan to go any slower as he belts along swerving round the pedestrians as we go even though he can see a queue of cars at the end waiting to hit the main drag.

Once we hit the main road we are diverted by the traffic cops and go another way altogether which takes us right into what seems to be a riot going on. Streets are crowded with people and still we go full steam ahead. We hit another queue of traffic, mostly other taxis which he tries to overtake going into oncoming traffic and when this doesn't work he goes inside, nearly taking out a few rioters (as I thought they were).

I asked him what was going on and turns out it was a rock concert crowd waiting to get in or maybe coming out, but in any case very excited. Meantime a policeman on a motorbike is riding alongside us telling this guy to hurry along even though we were in a line of traffic. Father Ted came to mind as I'm thinking to myself  why are you telling this mad fecking fecker to go any faster? But your man gave it a shot as I knew he would.

We eventually reached a street I knew and we were home safely. I was in such a state of excitement myelf I gave the guy a one sol tip for his heroic efforts. This is a lot as taxis here do not get tips as a rule.

I'm off to get a Peruvian haircut now and meet a pal at two o'clock. Man U have won and Stoke have managed an excellent draw with City. So happy days. ps I have some news for  USA readers regarding Pentwater so look out for that as I know some of  you have been know to spend time there.

Maté de la Felicidad

I've been eating in Restaurante Granja Heidi now for a few years and always have their house maté (infusion) which is made to their own secret recipe. It consists of seven different herbs and you can have honey added, if such is your desire, but not mine as it makes it all too sweet. It's a delicious maté and better for me than chicha morada, which, though also delicious, has lots of sugar added.

Anyway, the point of all this, is that the restaurant owner insists on keeping the ingredients a family secret. He has had botanists coming from all over the world but none have been able to identify all of the herbs, which he says are not uncommon, which I guess must be the case as he would not be able to find enough if they were truly unusual.

He tells me that South America's most famous botanist (Argentinian I think he said) has identified most but not all of them. The poor man must be in some state. He will go to his death bed wondering. I had been hoping to write on my blog what it was made of, but as you can see this is not going to be possible. So we will all just have to wonder, bit like the coca cola family, don't you think.

I was in La Bondiet cafe last night awaiting my pal's arrival. So decided to try their fresh fruit salad (ensalada de fruta), which was absolutely enormous. It consists of nine different fruits and comes in this huge bowl along with a little jug of yogurt and a bowl of granola. Because it was fruit I decided it would do no harm, but of course fruit has lots of natural sugar, so when I got home my sugar level had gone through the roof and remains so this evening. What to do?

Today I got chatting to a lovely young woman, Lorraine, from California. We were photographing the same building, except she was doing it from a professional point of view as she is an architect and designs hotels, and she's working on one now in Cusco. We had a nice wee chat about the state of the world and went our ways. She's off to do the Inca Trail. A credit to her country I thought.

Finally for tonight I thought you should know that the street I live in here is named after Peru's greatest cyclist, Ramon Zavaleta. All I can find out about him is that he took part in the men's road race at LA Olympics in 1984, but didn't manage to finish the course. So not quite up to the standards of our own Sir Chris, though I am told on good authority that he did win some important races in South America.

Boy with no name

We had a young boy in La Policia de la Familia today, picked up from the streets of Cuzco last night, abandoned there. He's about eight years old and unable to speak or explain anything. He clearly has learning difficulties. No-one knows who he is or where he is from. A boy with no name or identity. He answers yes (si) to all questions, and just smiles at you, with his big brown eyes.

Unless his parents come for him, which seems unlikely now, he will eventually find his way to a good orphanage where he will be looked after and given some of the love and affection he needs. Poor wee chap was so dirty and hungry and cold, it having been a cold night last night and there being no such luxuries as heating for these kids at La Policia.

As the saying goes it fair makes you think. Police women were quite nice to him, but I had to ask them to take him for a shower, which they did and managed to find him a pair of cleanish trousers and a top. So he was much better though dribbles all the time.

I'm busy with these kids every morning and enjoying it, though enjoyment is maybe not the right word to use, when I see all these kids in such conditions and so distressed and worried and tearful. So not enjoyment but a certain satisfaction. I wish I could spend longer with them but its just too tiring, and my diabetic control could be better, so all in all a morning there is good going.

I've bought a beautiful new book for them tonight so should have some educational stuff for them tomorrow.

Today I saw this young couple in my regular restaurant, the girl wearing a Keele University top, so went to speak to them about my visits there back in the sixties, and my nights in the students union there, where I saw many bands, including the great Pentangle, just after their first album was released, maybe 67 or 68.

Well it turns out that she goes there and that they come from Stoke on Trent, where as some of you may know I spent three very happy years. Such a small world don't you think? They were a lovely couple doing the tour. They had never heard of Pentangle, but I guess that's no surprise, but they promised to seek them out. I guess there must be some of their stuff on you tube. However they were Stoke City supporters so we had a wee chat about our passion for the potters.

I was going to tell you about the six women from USA but it's late so will leave that for another day. Tomorrow afternoon I'm going on a visit to a very special project juat outside Cusco, which is a micro finance business type thing helping some of the poorest women hereabouts provide for their families. So looking forward to that and more later.

Cusco, Andy and an Aussie Intervention

There I was sitting in a cafe in Cusco last night trying to follow the tennis on the Grauniad's website, having watched most of it at my apartment, when this Australian woman joined me and was insistent on conversation, which normally is fine by me, but when it's the last set and our boy is about to make history, well one could do without these pesky Australian women causing a diversion. But I was typically polite and switched off my iphone in order to give her my full attention.

Turns out she was in Cusco with her parents and they were heading off to do the Inca Trail in a couple of days, so I was able to give her the benefit of my experiences on the Trail, which I did in 2005, would you believe? Well yes you would I'm sure, seeing as I say so. She had sent her parents off to bed to rest, them being 60 years old (youngsters really), and she had popped out to see Cusco by night.

Anyway to cut a long story short I explained about my predicament re the tennis and she was very understanding so we followed the last couple of games on my iphone together and then had a wee shouty of yippee and celebratory cup of latte, though she preferred cappuccino, and then we discussed why Australia no longer produced great tennis players. We didn't know, but we were able to remember lots of names. She told me she was an accountant, and she was pleased to hear that my wee brother was one too. She tells me he must be very rich being an accountant in Edinburgh and that.

Cusco is as beautiful as ever, hot during the day but cold at night, one needs to wear different clothes in the day to those for night time excursions. My friend Miller has left Cusco and is now working on a cruiser in the Mediterranean so I miss his company and Spanish assistance. I met for a few hours last Thursday in Lima, before his flight to Europe, Milan via Amsterdam, on Friday. Needless to say he was very excited and maybe a bit nervous. His first time for so many things. Lets hope all goes well for him.

I'm writing this in my apartment, which now has wifi, new large flat screen tv and brand new suite. Very cosy, and wifi is great addition to my comforts. How did we manage in the centuries before wifi one can but wonder? Not be very techno myself its a complete mystery to me and having been able to do so much online is astonishing for a slight techno phobe, though getting better as time goes by.

I've started my Spanish class with Ana Maria as my teacher, and two other students, one from USA and other from New Zealand, so we're very cosmopolitan. Was trying to explain to Ana Maria about the delights of haggis, but not with much success, though she says she likes the sound of it. This came up in an exercise on el imperativo negativo, and don't ask me how we got there.

I've also started work in La Policia de la Familia yesterday. More later, but Guido was there. Apparently he's been in and out since my last visit last year. What a boy! A trifle aggressive but a nice kid none the less. Needs some loving care in his life but his chances of that at the age of 14 is zilch, lamentably.

Lima once more

Back in Lima once more but only until Sunday when I'm off to sunny Cusco which is just as well as it's a cloudy Lima that I've arrived in. Hopefully when I'm back here in October Lima will be back to normal weather.

Teachers in the state schools are on strike just now, at least for a few days. Not sure if it's well supported but it has got the government all excited and of course the strike has been declared illegal. Funny how it's the same all over.

Shining Path have made the news here as one of their leading lights seems to have been shot dead near Ayacucho. He's known only as "William" as he's used so many identities in the past. They haven't been able to establish his true identity so far but they insist they've got the right man. One can but wonder though.

Only other important piece of news involves the famous cats of Miraflores. One of their number got stuck up on the church steeple but the priest wouldn't let anyone climb up to rescue him. There is now a big argument going on, mainly on Facebook and twitter as to what should be done with the cats. There are numerous abandoned cats here in Parque Kennedy and folk continue to dump there unwanted cats. Some folk want the cats to be allowed to continue living here and some don't so they fight it out, though not quite coming to blows. I believe things have got quite heated though no blows exchanged so far.

This is being written on my iPad and it's not exactly brilliant using the Blogger app. Will have to try without using the app. The problem with it is that I can't see what I've typed as I go along.

TEMPEST

A new Dylan album is always an important event in all our lives. One still gets that thrill of anticipation waiting for the first listen that one just does not get with any other artiste.

And I feel even more excited than normal waiting for his latest, which will be released in about ten days time. The man is over 70 now and no sign of him hanging up his guitar and putting his feet up. For which one can only feel truly grateful not to say inspired.

Reason for this post right now is that I've just seen the album being  reviewed on BBC2 and Paul Morley almost wetting himself with excitement as he couldn't wait to tell us all how brilliant it is. As good as Blood on the Tracks or even Blonde on Blonde he said. Which is high praise indeed.

In fact all the reviewers were ecstatic about it. Morley also called Bob a psychedelic historian, whatever one of them may be, it sounds like fun anyway. I hope that's how it's spelt, it's a long time since I've had to use that word.

It's a double album, like Blonde on Blonde, for those of you who remember such pleasures. One song, about the Titanic is said to be 45 verses long, but I think what's her name was probably exaggerating, just a little. Also has Bob's tribute song to his friend John Lennon, which for me is enough on its own to warrant the wait.

So all in all I'm even more excited than normal waiting the big event. As I will be in Peru at the time of its release I think I shall have to buy it from iTunes, and get the cd when I get back to UK. Await further reports on here asap.

Olympics and Festivals

Olympics over, Edinburgh Festival about to end and summer rolls along to a wet conclusion. Time for me to head off to Peru methinks. And to write a post on here! Hope you've all not been missing me too much.

I've enjoyed watching the Olympic games. Opening ceremony was beautifully done, and very funny. Good to see old Queenie has a sense of humour too. I thought asking her to do a parachute jump was a bit much at her age, but she seems to have survived it quite well, though I'm suspicious that may not have been her in the helicopter at all. We should be told, but the truth will out one day.

James Bond was excellent, (Scottish too) but best of all was Mr Bean, making a mess of Chariots of Fire. How those musicians kept a straight face through it all is a mystery to me. The whole ceremony was a credit to one and all, including those of us watching, as we did pay for all the fun. Where else in the world would they pay such a splendid tribute to their Health Service? The few places that have one, that is.Well done Danny Boyle, and you're almost Scottish too, though Manchester is just as good.

Highlight for me was second Saturday when Mo won the 10,000 race. I was going to the theatre that night to see Samuel Beckett's novel "Watt" as adapted for stage and acted by Irish actor Barry McGovern, in a production described as flawless, inspired, immaculate and suberb, by Joyce McMillan in the Scotsman. I absolutely agree with her judgement. Brilliant piece of theatre, maybe best Beckett I have seen and I've seen a few over the years. Guardian also gave it a 5 star review, calling it "astonishing: rhymthic, chiming, luscious.... "

Immediately before going to the theatre I joined a few hundred others in Festival Square to watch the 10,000 race on the giant outdoor screen there. It was just like being at the games for real. We all cheered Mo on, which seemed the right thing to do,but quite surreal, and I'm sure he must have heard us down in London. We all celebrated madly when he won, so easily. Much better watching with a crowd than sitting at home in front of the tele.

After having seen Watt, and on a bit of a high I went back to Festival Square and joined the crowd to watch Ussain and his Jamaican pals win the relay. It seemed like a stroll in the park for the boys, but we cheered them on anyway just in case. UK having made a mess of things as per usual. And USA trailling,  which was nice for them. Great night had by all, though I reckon mine was best. Theatre and Olympics at their best in the space of a few hours, and the sun shone for a change. Cannae beat it, as Stuart would say. Tam's pal I mean, for those of you who listen to Radio Scotland.

Other festival highlights were Mark Thomas in his one man show about his father, very moving, funny and sad; Bill Paterson in a play at the Traverse called "And no more shall we part" which had me in tears at the end, though not quite so many tears as the woman sitting beside me, to whom I had to offer comfort and assistance. She was deeply affected as was everyone else in the theatre one way or another.

I also enjoyed Stewart Lee, comedian, one of the best in UK, and so much better than the likes of Frankie Boyle. Saw Stewart with my big brother who also enjoyed it. Very funny man, Stewart I mean, though big bro is too. So look out for him when he's back on tele, but meantime there are a few longish clips on You Tube for your delight.

I also went to couple of things at the Book Festival. Liz Lochhead with my good friend Anne was a joy, and I spoke to Liz afterwards and she promised to read my blog. So just in case: I thoroughly enjoyed your show Liz and love your poetry, and have done over many years. Thanks for signing all my books of yours and the new one which will go with me to Peru next week. It's about time they knew about you over there. Though your sweet melodious Glasgow accent is a big part of your attraction, and your charm and wit of course. But your poems won't do them any harm to get to know. I might need to explain a fair bit though.

And finally I went to see Robert Macfarlane at the book festival with my good friend John Llewelyn, who introduced me to Macfarlane's books, for which a big thank you John. Hard to decribe Macfarlane, but his latest book is called "The Old Ways, A Journey on Foot". It's nature and travel writing combined with a bit of philosophy, random musings, history and biography. At his reading he spoke a lot about his time up on Isle of Lewis,where he met Ian Stephen, whom I went to school with, and with whom he went for a sail down the Minch. Remind me to tell you the story about the Blue Men of the Minch sometime. We tried to get to speak to him and get his signature at the end but there were too many waiting so we had to leave it, but maybe next time.

Thanks John, and thanks for all the chats in our cafe, and all the writers you've told me about. Especially Macfarlane and Edward Thomas, whose poems I've now got on my Kindle you'll be pleased to hear.

Mother in her younger days

 

A real olympic bicycle

 

A couple of jokes

Fiftyseven people from around the world have viewed, and  hopefully read my blog in the last seven days, so the cailleach is now known world wide so to speak. I'm sure she would be very impressed. A cailleach is an affectionate word for an older woman up the on the Isle of Lewis.  I'll maybe write more about her another time. She deserves her place on the interweb thingee.She would certainly be impressed to know that her church, The Free Church of Scotland, now has a Facebook page and a Twitter account. We all have to move on I can just hear her saying and I reckon my father would have been tweeting away all night, putting the world to right.

Madonna, another older woman, was performing in Edinburgh last night. In order to impress her audience she had to play with an AK47 assault rifle and a six shooter on stage, which says it all about the quality of her shows nowadays, nevermind the lack of respect and bad taste involved. Best give it up now, if you need an AK47 to hide the crap. Or else try a guitar next time; an ability to play one often impresses in these parts.

Those of you who love football, and there are a few, will be pleased to know that a statue of Denis Law was unveiled in Aberdeen City this week. He was born there but of course made his name as a player with Manchester United back in the sixties when I was a boy. Who can ever forget the names Charlton, Law and Best? Indubitably the greatest attacking strike force that the world has ever known, I'm sure you will all agree.

I see that Best was selected by the BBC as one of their "New Elizabethans", and was profiled by James Naughtie this past week on Radio 4. Naughtie recalled the description of Best by Hugh McIlvanney as "having feet like a pickpocket's fingers". Paddy Crerand said that he could turn an opponents blood inside out with his twinkle feet. ( the twinkle feet is from me and not Paddy). Incidentally Hugh McIlvanney was one of the greatest ever sports journailists. You can find lots of his stuff online. His brother was the Scottish novelist William McIlvanney, whom I once heard speaking here in Edinburgh, and whose best novel is probably "Docherty", but the Laidlaw books are pretty damn good too. Try "Strange Loyalties" if you like a good detective story.

I was even more pleased to see one of my all time heroes, the late Paul Foot, nominated by BBC as one of their new Elizabethans. The BBC even remembered to say that he was a life long member of SWP, but you can hear the sneer in Naughtie's voice when he says it. He was a finer man than most you will ever meet James my man. Paul was a brilliant journalist, a revolutionary socialist, and what I will remember him for most, one of the greatest public speakers I have ever had the privilege of hearing. If he were alive now I'm sure he would be busy exposing all the criminals who run our banks and big cosporations. What a parcel of rogues they are.
On a lighter note a couple of jokes courtesy of Chick Murray, a famous Scottish comedian:
He was walking down the road one night, man comes up to him and says "is that the moon up there?" Chick says "I don't know I'm a stranger here myself."

I was walking along the street in Glasgow and I walked into a lamp post. It was so dark inside the lamp post I decided to walk out again.

A Centenary

Today, 14 July 2012, would have been my mother's 100th birthday had she lived, so it's her centenary year, as it were. This posting is by way of a wee tribute to her. She was born on Bastille Day in 1912 and also on the same day as Woody Guthrie who inspired our old friend Bob Dylan to such heights over the years. She would have heard Woody and Bob many times over the years.

Especially Bob of course, as he was constantly listened to by my brothers and I on that old Grundig reel to reel tape recorder we had. It was not bought for us to listen to Dylan but was almost exclusively used for Bob appreciation purposes. It died with a Dylan tape in it's jaws I believe. Which is the best way to go I think we can agree.

She was of course a secret Dylan admirer; how else could she have put up with him all these years droning on day and night? I think my father in the end became a fan too and preferred Dylan to Calvin. Well almost. He never said that he didn't so that's proof enough for me. I think if he thought otherwise he would have told us before the end. Plus he never complained about God being on our side, so what more proof is required.

Friday was mother's day for making butter in the summer months, which were always hot and sunny as I recall. She had a big wooden butter churn which she used to thump away on, holding it firmly in place with her legs, the cream oozing out from the top of it to be deliciously tasted as it turned into butter. She made crowdie at the same time. All stored in her own invented cold store as we had no fridge in those days. Luxuries like fridges came a lot later. 

Monday was her washing day as it was for all, or most, of the women of Tong. It was a bit of a race to see who got the washing out first, as I recall. I can still see her with the clothes pegs in her mouth hanging out the sheets in a howling gale. In the early days all the washing was done by hand, it took some persuading to get her to accept that a washing machine would be a good idea. And then getting her to switch from the old twin tub to an automatic was an almighty struggle too. She never made it to an automatic dryer.

She had many favorite phrases, all in Gaelic needless to say. My big brother Coinneach, when he was in primary school came home for lunch for the first time, our school dinners being even worse than they are now. He was none too pleased to discover that she was having such a quality fare while he had to eat school rubbish. He demanded to know, "do you always have such good food yourself everyday? "Am bidh biadh math mu seo agu fhein a h'uile latha?" Excuse my Gaelic those of you who can read it. But you get the drift I'm sure. This kept her amused on and off, for fifty or more years and was used in many situations, as the occasion required. And you may be asking what it was that Coinneach liked so much. Left over potatoes nicely fried on her old frying pan and maybe a fried egg. Haute cuisine.

If I reminded her of this story she would often tell me, again, about  the time it snowed so heavily the snow was drifting and she was determined that Coinneach should not miss school, so she gave him a piggy back, a distance of nearly a mile. I don't know what she did with myself and my wee brother Neil. Maybe she tied us up and left us. I wonder if Coinneach remembers the trip. I guess he must have made it to school as he's still around now.

She kept hens and we often had chicks in the summer and a vicious big cockerel wondering around. It was always good to have a broody hen around to keep the cockerel calm, and stop it from biting Neil, who was as I recall the victim of a vicious cockerel attack one time. Attacked for no reason he claims to this day. Mother dressed his wounds and he survived. Traumatised for ever though.

One time I was sent me off to meet my father after he finished work. She was worried as to my safety as she was sending me with our cow, for an altercation with a big bad bull. I forget how old I was exactly, mid teens I guess, but obviously old enough to be trusted with walking this cow to meet it's lover.

I couldn't understand why she was so worried. It was an uneventful walk with the cow, who was called either Tiny or Daisy, and I met my father as arranged at the farm where the bull resided. Once the bull had done it's naughty business with our poor wee cow and we were half way down the field heading for the gate and the bull came thundering down the field after us I soon understood why my mother was so worried for my safety. We made it to the gate, just in time. I managed to open it to let my father and the cow through and shut it as the bull screeched to a halt on the other side. Obviously a sex starved bull.

She used to bake scones, bannocks and pancakes of the highest quality, and make pastry for her steak and kidney pies. I never did like kidneys though. She made rhubarb jam. She wore big black wellies when it rained. She had an old coat which she insisted on wearing long past it's sell by date. It took some persuasion to get her to throw it out and move on. She used to light oil lamps when the lights went out, as they often did back then. I can still smell the oil lamps burning away in the window.

She read the bible for us every day before we went to school. I don't think my brothers paid enough attention or even listened at times. I found it difficult to concentrate or even listen too, if not all the time a lot of the time. She would read it from beginning to end and then start again. She even did the begats and begots in the old testament.

She used to knit socks for us to wear in our wellington boots and very warm they were too. Made from wool left over from Harris tweed weaving by one of the neighbours. She moved on to knitting jumpers, though not from Harris tweed wool, but not with a huge degree of success. They were certainly not fashion items, though warm, but better than the ones my late aunt used to knit. Bless her.

I could go on about her. She was the best mother in the world, just like all mothers are, despite their faults. I wouldn't wish any mothers reading this to feel jealous obviously. She's probably surprised that I'm posting on my blog about her. She never wanted to be the centre of attraction, just the centre of her family. I don't know if they have blogger in heaven, but if they do all we can say is thank you mother for all the years.

She was buckets

and water flouncing into them.

She was winds pouring wetly

round house-ends.

She was brown eggs,black shirts

and a keeper of threepennybits

in a teapot.

Norman MacCaig

In Bloomsbury

I'm in London for Marxism Festival and meeting up with some old friends and remembering others who are no longer with us. I'm staying in London University halls of residence which is very central and close to all the action which mostly takes place in UCL, just round the corner from me. I've just had my inclusive breakfast and its raining slightly so thought I would pass the time writing a wee post on the University provided PCs.

I heard a Greek revolutionary socialist, Maria Stylou, speaking last night at the opening rally of the festival. Inspirational she was and about my age, so there's hope for us all. She is staying in the same halls as me and was having breakfast at a table beside me this morning so naturally went to thank her for coming over from Greece to give us a few words of wisdom. A lovely lady.

As it happens I'm reading Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels just now, which is set partly in Greece during and after the Second World War and then in Canada, Anne being Canadian. It's a book I've had for some time, years in fact, but never quite got round to reading, and I'm so pleased I've managed it at long last. She writes like a poet, and a historian and a geographer. "I wanted a line in a poem to be the hollow ney of the dervish orchestra whose plaintive wail is a call to God. But all I achieved was awkward shrieking." 

If I've finished the book I shall give it to Maria before I leave here on Monday; maybe I should have given it to her this morning as a wee gift from Scotland. But you don't think of these things at the time.

The part of London I'm staying in is called Bloomsbury, which is of course where Virginia Woolf used to live and where her books were written; Mrs Dalloway had her party and did her shopping round these parts as I seem to recall. There's a Virginia Woolf memorial and bust near here, I think, so will try to see it and take a photo for you all.

Did you know that Edward Wilson, who was one of the five who went with Scott to the South Pole, borrowed a book of Tennyson poems to take with him to the Pole and then carried it back with him to rerturn to the person who lent it to him, presumably. It was discovered with their frozen bodies when their tent was found. Weighty book for sure. Wilson came from Cheltenham.

Mixed Up Confusion

I see that I've only written two posts on my blog for the whole of June so I guess you've all been wondering what's become of me. Or maybe not. Anyway I'm still here in Edinburgh and looking forward to my trip to London next week to take in some talks at the Marxism Festival, meet up with my nephew Iain hopefully and see some old friends.

I'm usually reading two or three books at any one time, not together I hasten to add,  maybe we could call them my daytime book and my evening/bedtime book and my other book. Sometimes my books can swap places, so my daytime book is picked up when I'm thinking it's my evening book or vice versa. This can cause serious confusion.

This must have been what happened yesterday when I'm trying to work out who this new character was who suddenly appeared in The Hours by Michael Cunningham was.  I couldn't remember any mention of the character before, until I realised that I wasn't reading The Hours at all but had picked up my evening book instead. Problem solved.

I'm thoroughly enjoying The Hours, don't know why I've not read it before. Maybe something to do with Virginia Woolf, as the book was inspired by her book Mrs Dalloway. I think I will have to go back and read Mrs Dalloway now, though I suspect it was the effort of trying to read To The Lighthouse that left me with an aversion to Woolf. But must try again now that I'm older and hopefully wiser.

Will have to watch the movie of The Hours too; I think Streep won an Oscar for her performance in it or if nor was at least nominated. Missed it somehow. And speaking of awards, Cunningham won the Pulitzer Prize for the book, at a time when he was regarded by some as a gay writer. On winning the Pulitzer he said :  I couldn't help noticing that I finally write a book in which no one sucks cock, and I win the Pulitzer Prize. I think maybe with tongue heavily in his cheek as it were.

I'm writing this on an iPad in the Virgin cafe. I'm thinking about buying myself an iPad, so am checking it out to see how it feels typing more than usual on the touch pad and so far so good. I reckon it should do me for my travels. So a trip to the Apple shop in Glasgow is on the cards, there not being one in Edinburgh town. Will have to decide whether to buy a Kindle as well. and yes I know the iPad has a Kindle app but I have my reasons.

Tonight I had dinner with my friend Emer and I'm home now so will finish off this post. We ate in the Abbotsford Bar, which is one of Edinburgh's finest. Worth a visit for the superb island bar, though we ate in the restaurant upstairs as the bar was so busy. Always a good sign, methinks.

On my way home I pass by the Oxfam charity shop and would you believe it they have a window display of Virginia Woolf books. Including Mrs Dalloway, so shall be paying them a visit tomorrow morning.

For those of you who don't know his reportoire "Mixed Up Confusion" is a Dylan song, from early years and on Biograph album/cd.

President Humala visits my kids

Today I've been thinking about the working kids of Villa Maria, in Lima, not that they are often far from my mind. I keep in touch with their lives through Flor, whom I phone regularly. Good practice for my Spanish as she speaks not a word of English.

I would love to be with them today, in Lima, as they are being visited by President Humala, the recently elected president of Peru, who apparently  wants to see for himself the work being done with these kids in Villa Maria. Flor is very excited needless to say, so who knows what might come of it. More funds one can but hope or more support of one sort or another.

I'm hoping Flor will be able to take some photos which I can post on here. So good luck Flor and all those brilliant kids.

Last night I went to see Jaws in the Filmhouse. The film has been digitally remastered and is better than ever. If you have only ever seen it on TV you should take this chance to see it on the big screen. It's superb, Spielberg at his best. Scary, funny and moving. Made me jump out of my seat and scream at one scene. Go see, it's a treat.

Today it's been raining heavily in Edinburgh, so been listening to James Joyce's Ulysses on BBC radio. They are broadcasting a dramatised version of it spread over today, which is Bloomsday. So happy Bloomsday to one and all, and don't worry if you missed it today, there is a podcast available for downloading at your leisure.

I hope you all saw young Welbeck's goal last night. Goal of the tournament methinks, and Walcott did pretty well too, which is nice, as he seems like a good kid.

Gatsby

People keep reading my blog so I guess it's time I wrote another post for you all, in case you desert me. Reason for paucity of posts recently: my absence on a short five day break in Stornoway, more of which another time.

I've been re-reading The Great Gatsby this past week. I thought it was only right that I should re-read an American, having done a Russian last year. Some books just have to be read more than once, and Gatsby is definitely one of those. It's a masterpiece of the twentieth century. Every paragraph, is a gem. One of those books that has to be read slowly to savour every genius sentence.

It's a long long time since I first read it, so I'm finding things that I probably wouldn't have noticed first time round, such as the fact that Gatsby first met Daisy in Louisville, where in real life Fitzgerald met Zelda, which thirty years ago or however long it was, would have meant nothing to me, but now seems like a place I know, as my nephew Keith is now living and working there. And who incidentally got married to the lovely Trish yesterday, in Kentucky. Congratulations to you both. First wedding mentioned on my blog.

Gatsby was taken to Duluth by Cody to buy him some clothes suitable for life on his yacht. Dylan fans will know Duluth as the great man's birthplace, so quite  an important place in his story. Maybe some day I will visit, or again maybe not. Time running out, in so many ways.

There's a new movie being produced just now with DiCaprio playing Gatsby. I can't imagine that he will quite match up to the Robert Redford version, but should be interesting nevertheless. He just does not have Redford stunning good looks and neither is he such a great actor, but time is on his side. If you haven't read the book you should do so before seeing the movie. No movie can ever do justice to Fitzgerald's prose.

I will finish with a quote from the old man. Have you ever tried to describe a first kiss with a loved one? Here's Gatsby (Fitzgerald) describing the first time he kissed Daisy:

He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

Just heart stopping, although Nick, who is telling us this story, describes it as appalling sentimentality, which seems a bit harsh. But don't you just love that bit about waiting and listening to the tuning-fork struck upon a star, before he kisses her? Read the book nice and slow and enjoy.

Norman Mailer's Daughter

The Chilean writer Roberto Bolano returned to Chile after an absence of 25 years, he had to leave after being arrested in Pinochet's coup, and he was at a party where, he says he was talking to another writer, of the minor variety, who, much to his astonishment told him that she was in psychoanalysis and her analyst was no other than the daughter of Norman Mailer. Why she should have been in Santiago at that time he had no idea, but he was even more astonished to learn that two of the others at the party were also undergoing analysis with her. |

" If we were in Mexico, it would make more sense: there's a tradition of outrageousness there that encompasses a sub-genre of bizarre visitors." says Bolano.

I rather like that sentence, and can just imagine Mexico being like that. If you've read The Savage Detectives you will know what he is on about. Think I must visit there some day soon.

But the idea of Mailer's daughter being there and doing therapy or whatever for these people is unreal. At the same time as Bolano was visiting Chile Pinochet himself was under arrest in London. But that's another story.  

Tomorrow I'm escaping the jubilee festivities here in Edinburgh, with a wee trip north to the land of my birth: Isle of Lewis for those of you who don't know. So looking forward to that, and who knows I might even write a post from there. Or even post a nostalgic pic or two.

Another joke

I was writing a story for this week's class, but ran out of time, so had to brutally kill off one of the two main characters in order to be able to hand in a completed piece to the good professor, later that night. Which was a bit of a shame as I was getting quite fond of her. But the sun was shining in Edinburgh as I wrote and just had to go out to sample it. Sunshine is such an unusual phenomenon, one feels the need to make the most of it while it lasts. Having said that the hot weather persists so maybe there was no need to kill her off after all.

My pal John, who gets first sight of my efforts, told me it was a case of sudden death, which is true in lots of ways. He didn't see it coming, which is understandable; as I didn't either. Maybe I will go back to the story and finish it off as per my original idea. But I'll see what Colin, our esteemed teacher/professor, has to say about it first.

He read out another of my efforts last week, and the class spent a good forty five minutes discussing it, constructively I thought. It's a very strange feeling listening to folk talk about you like that. I kept wondering if these people had nothing better to do with their time. But apparently not.

Recently saw The Dictator, the new Sacha Baron Cohen movie. Very funny, lots of bits in very poor taste, not to everyone's liking I would imagine, but I think he's a very funny man. Simon Hoggart liked it in "hilarious film" he says.

And finally a funny one, also courtesy of Simon Hoggart. Sign seen outside a ladies toilet at Bristol Airport: "During a terminal evacuation, red lights will flash...."