Texas – 7 days in the Lonestar state

A week in the Lonestar state in Galveston, Houston, San Antonio then Austin: two days work and five days of fun. Have to say, Texas has confounded my expectations, not a Stetson in sight, no barmy bumper stickers and no cowboy boots.  

Day 1: Houston - we have a problem!

Bad start with an almighty cock up with a crap UK internet booking company (Netflights), who booked our car at the wrong Houston Airport (Hobby - Domestic flights only) we had to shuttle across to pick up our car, which took forever. 

Galveston, oh Galveston…

Can’t actually say the word ‘Galveston’ without Glen Campbell reverberating round my skull. Flattened by a hurricane in 2008, it’s been rebuilt (again). Reminds me a little of Brighton, a south facing beach and pier sort of place, built around the idea of ‘fun’.

It has a huge sea wall, really a huge hump along which the seafront road runs. And true to Texan style a few distant rigs are visible way offshore. Southern friendliness can be disarming, “Ain’t never been outside of America, in fact, ain’t been north of the Mason-Dixie line”. How long before our first Stetson? Four hours in – not one to be seen.

Day 2: Oil rig

Never been on an oil rig, but as a kid in Scotland I saw them being built at Rosyth and knew no end of guys who ‘worked on the rigs’. Now this was something. It was huge and I mean huge. These things are bigger than skyscrapers and drill to depths beyond the height of Mount Everest.

I didn’t know that many rigs literally float. Some are like cigar cases that float stand vertically in the water after the bottom bit is flooded with water. Others sit on huge underwater floatation tanks. Others sit on the bottom atop huge concrete or steel legs. Some, have huge protective casings to bounce off icebergs. This is architecture at its most extreme – big, utilitarian and dangerous.

The deck was awash with kit – hoist mechanism, mechanical grabs and pincers for the pipes, Christmas tree, concrete mixing and blow out valves. This is pure, brute mechanics; big bits of steel, all force and hydraulics. Drills are sent down then spread out slanting and weaving into identified oil reservoirs. When a new reservoir it found explosives punch holes in the pipe and the oil flows. Every now and then ‘pigs are sent down to clean the pipes – they squeal like hell.

Each rig has an army, navy and airforce to keep it going. The army man and work the rig, the airforce transport them to and from land and the navy provides supplies and transports the oil. This is living on the edge, the edge of physics, safety and civilisation. It’s a dangerous frontier but I can see the thrill and excitement of being here. The flying saucer pod was witness to the danger, as is the decompression chamber and the dodgy choppers.

Bolivar Peninsula

Took the free ferry to Bolivar Peninsula, named after Simon Bolivar, the Venezuelan revolutionary. Chavez, I believe, has yet to receive a similar accolade. It’s a long, wild, unprotected spit of land with a completely empty beach. There’s no real protection from hurricanes here so everything looks a bit precarious, where every house is built on stilts and everything seems here today gone tomorrow. I liked it.

Bolivar lighthouse is as permanent as it gets out here. An iron lighthouse that gave shelter to the terrified people in 1900 and 1915, when 125 and 65 people crammed into its spiral staircase, a column of people, protected by what looks like a flimsy structure – but it’s still here – now unused.

This is hurricane country and the whole area was almost wiped out in 2008, with hurricane Ike. You can still see some wrecked houses but this is America, so everything was quickly rebuilt. Our waiter at ‘Gaidos’, Galveston’s famous (but not so great) seafood joint, told us he had 13 relatives stay for three months with three families’ worth of dogs and cats. “Ain’t never been gladder to get back to work”. The experience had clearly been worse than the hurricane.

What isn’t mentioned much down here is the Civil War and slavery. Although we did find one plaque that explained how slaves were landed here and marched for hundreds of miles along the coast to New Orleans. Before oil, this was cotton exporting country.

Day 3: Houston

This is one BIG city, fourth largest in the US, so we headed for one area. Montrose and the museums.

Houston Centre of Fine art

Some fabulous pieces of Greek and Roman sculpture un the lobby and a pretty extensive collection of European work including an astonishing amount of African, Indian and South American work. It’s really a collection of collections as almost everything has been donated by a wealthy collector.

However, it was the new stuff I wanted to see not the schoolroom stuff and sure enough, the Indian roundel of tin cooking vessels was a brilliant piece of sculpture. There’s a thousand differently shaped and angled surfaces that reflect the light like a huge gem. Diamonds from base metal.

The blue Buddha, from Korea, was a radiant blue. On closer inspection it was covered in shiny sequins.

The current exhibition is a brilliant ‘War in Photographs’ show which has every damn image I can recall about war. The supposedly staged cannonball shot from Crimea, Civil War, all the Vietnam Tim Page, Don McCullin stuff, Iwo Jima. If you’ve seen it, it’s here.

Rothko Chapel

Well, art truly has replaced religion! Step in from the hot sun and you enter a polygonal room, a Rothko on every wall. You are literally surrounded by Rothkos, all similar. They’re dark, sombre and exactly what is needed for a place of contemplation – completely stilling. Some are triptychs, others single canvases, all huge. A trio of musicians were playing when we entered. I’ve never been anywhere like it.

Cy Twimbly

Scribbles on white canvases I’m familiar with but there was a set of green and white paintings like Chinese landscapes and a huge canvas that was indescribably incomprehensible. I’m afraid I can generally give Cy a bye.

Menil Collection

Laughed out loud at the African shack and video showing, representing a mock charity, NGO SBOP (Beninese Solidarity with Endangered Westerners) an African collecting for ‘poor white people’ in Benin. He explained, that although we are rich financially, we are poor in love. Amazingly a number of people gave him coins for his charity can.

There was a life size 3D sculpture of the painting in the Wallace collection, Fragonards famous woman on a swing and some thoughtful painting and a room with a huge array of calligraphic variations.

This area, Montrose, is delightful, all small porched homes, hats and bikes.

Napsterised!

Whatever happened to bookshops? We always do a shop in the US, where I hole up in a bookshop with a coffee. But this time, despite the huge array of shops, no bookshop. They’ve been Napsterised. Jeff Bezos may also have disintermediated my ability to shop in malls. To be fair this didn’t stop Gil swiping the plastic and we spent so much that the credit card company fraud department called us to make sure it was us – we had exceeded the ‘velocity’ check limit!

Day 4: Austin

Keep Austin weird

Arrived in Austin after a 3 hour drive from Houston. ‘Keep Austin weird’ is the tee-shirt of choice. This is the home of SXSW, Lance Armstrong and we’re here for a little techy meet-up. Staying not far from Congress Avenue, a foodies street and I can attest to virtues of ‘Home Slice Pizzas’ and Hoppadaddy’s Burgers.

Barton Springs

A cool spring-fed, limestone pool almost in the centre of Austin, set in a park full of ‘soccer’ teams. When I came to study in the US. at age 19, soccer was so rare that even I got into the team! True, they’re still chasing the ball like a pack of wolves but the beautiful game does seem to be taking hold. Must be the Beckham effect, although I hear he’s jumped ship again. Some serious fast walkers, joggers and cyclists on the ‘hike & bike’ trail - mobbed. We felt like slobs just walking at a normal pace. Eventually we succumbed to a Mexican lunch – nachos unlike the tiny portions you get in the UK, big crispy things with beans and chilli on top, washed down with some Don Equis.

Capitol building

The big TV news is that women are to be allowed to be combat soldiers, so we can look forward to movies like Full Metal Jacket and Slacks. Some apoplectic military men on the radio. So time for some local politics. Slam dunked right in the middle of Austin is the huge, pink, granite Capitol building. It’s a credit to their democratic system that you can just pop and get a free tour. We were taken into the Senate room, House of Representatives even the administrative area underground.

Texan politic is a rough old affair and they’ve produced LB Johnson and, of course the Bushes. But George W Bush wasn’t really a Texan, as he was packed off East for his schooling. What’s surprising is how much the South in general has dominated US politics in the late 20^th century, with LB Johnson, Carter, Clinton and the Bushes.

Moved up to the University area for a further couple of nights and stayed in the Austin Inn, with its themed rooms – ours was gothic, basically a four poster bed, a suit of armour and some knick-knacks. Although we had a balcony that sat beneath trees with lights – beautiful spot.

Day 5: San Antonio

Remember the Alamo

1836 marks independence from Mexico in the battle of San Jacinto, where the Texans slaughtered the Mexicans as they were having a siesta, with no front guard (although this story reeks of revisionism). This is a big deal to Texans, who almost see their state as a country. Indeed Perry, the current Governor hinted at this recently. There’s ‘lonestar’ flags everywhere and Texan patriotism is almost a form of nationalism.

Prior to this was the Alamo. The site is bang in the middle of San Antonio, a church and compound, largely rebuilt, that tells the story well. It’s a simple tale of a rather pointless tactic and defence that led to the slaughter of over 100 people in this compound. There were even three Scotsmen in the role call. The guide was excellent and cut through the hubris to explain how much of this was less about liberty and more about land. Talking to him personally, he disliked the gung-ho visitors who see this as some sort of sacred site. It was a minor skirmish in an overall political struggle for land and assets. Take the one slave that fought here. He was spared by the Mexicans, who had abolished slavery, but enslaved again by the Americans after he was freed. Maybe the US should remember the Alamo less and the Civil War more. Indeed, when Texas became part of the US, all black people were forcibly evicted from Texas.

Curiously, one of the largest buildings in San Antonio was the Scottish Freemasonary Hall. Turns out that Jim Bowie, he of big knife fame, and Davy Crockett, a Congressman from Tennessee, were Scottish masons. The door was a huge bronze affair with reliefs of Moses, Ezeikel, Plato, Socrates, Dante, Confucius, Luther, Jesus, Zarathustra (no Mohammed?).

The riverside walk is pleasant enough and we found a Mexican restaurant to fill up on enchiladas verde, refried beans, and tacos. Forget the Alamo, just keep on serving Mexican food. Stopping off on the way back to Austin, we once again came across a couple of young people serving us in a shop, who had never met anyone with an English accent (forget the fact that we’re Scottish). But it was the following line that made me smile “Do you have ‘whataburger’ over there? No! You don’t have ‘whataburger’?’” To explain, Whataburger is a Texan burger chain. It ain’t even US wide. In any case Hoppadaddy’s burgers, in Austin, are better.

Out later for dinner at Legends – a barbeque joint downtown. We were with the gates Foundation and they had put the word Gates up on a big sign inside the restaurant. Once again, a great night with academics from all over the US. As Brett from the Gates Foundation said “When I joined this organisation I realised that I would never know if someone was being sincere again”. Nice guy – good point. The out for a beer at the W hotel, very different from the Crystal bar in the W in Doha Qatar, where it’s one of the only places in the whole country where you can get a drink. Tried the local brew Shiner Bock.

Day 6: First photograph, first book: Ransom

Popped in to the Harry Ransom’s Museum of Film and Photography to see the ‘first photograph’, taken by Joseph Niepce, in France around 1826-27, only to find that it was out on loan in Munich. He was quickly outshone by Daguerre and Fox Talbot, but there’s something about being first. The good news was that they did have a two volume Gutenberg Bible.

Big gallery, big art

There’s the usual collection of Greek and Roman stuff paintings as you enter, rooms of representative, but not great, European art and some abstract expressionist paintings. But in this big building there were a few big pieces that made the trawl worthwhile. First a piece with a thousand cow bones hanging over 60,000 pennies and 800 communion wafers. It was infused with an orange, copper light.

Then a huge ‘Long’ stone circle of Cornish slate that was a great slab of beauty. The stones were laid out delicately but the form was monumental. I'm not always fond of Richard Long's work but this was a fine. big slice of rocks in a gallery room that was big enough to show it to good effect.

Finally, my favourite piece of the whole trip – a fibreglass cowboy lassoing in a steer covered in automobile paint and lit up red eyes. It was a huge, shiny, American thing that was unashamedly big, brash and bold. There’s greed and gutsy life in the red-eyes of the cowboy and steer and the tension, set across the rope is that focal point for reflection. America tamed nature but not quite as nature fights back. Americans made money but the markets couldn’t be controlled. America sometimes reaches beyond its need and ability and gets kickback.

LBJ Museum and Archive

Museums are everywhere and in the US the buildings are huge. You’ve got to be a little suspicious about Museums’ role around cultural conformity, fixed narratives and consumerism. Ever since the Guggenheim in NY, a place where the building completely overwhelms the art, making it the worst place in the world to actually view art, galleries and museums have become bigger and bolder. In the US, the older ones are neo-Classical, them modernism hit (big time). Bilbao mad this even worse, another place where architecture triumphs the art. But you’ve got to hold back some of the scepticism. They’re nice places, especially on week days, where you can just hang-out in peace and quiet.

LBJ was an interesting President who found himself in a situation he would rather not have found himself in, a default President that resulted from a tragic assassination. But he was more than this and his legacy has lasted to this day. He was a working politician who pushed through legislation that was to create a much more equal America. He was a teacher in Texas and knew poverty and prejudice. The Civil Rights Acts, Voting Right Acts, Medicare. Gun Control Act, Education Act, Environmental Act – he got them all through in one term. Compare that to Obama. Whenever I turned on the radio on the highway, it was still one or another of these issues that were being discussed. The whole LBJ shrine thing is done rather well, but the main hall looks like a communist Mao think – all red books and a huge mural. They even have a huge Lincoln Continental, lots of film and a replica of the Oval Office. We may remember him as the Vietnam President, but Vietnam broke him, and look what came next – Nixon.

Our final few hours in Houston were spent down on Congress Avenue, and a burger at ‘Hopadaddys’. I have to say this was the best burger I’ve ever eaten, washed down with a Vanilla Bean Milkshake. Had to be done.

Day 7: Houston – no problem

Back in Houston for our flight and a hotel receptionist who, when she saw our passport, said, “Wow, this is the first passport I’ve ever seen!” It’s not that she didn’t have a passport, most Americans don’t, she had never seen one. “Geez you folks have been to a lot of places”. They say it’s all BIG in Texas but it’s the little things that were noticeable. The genuine welcomes, jokes and laid back attitude. It was far more fun and bohemian than I expected. 

Scottish New Year – Dumfries & Galloway

Day 1 – Castles, Birds & Towers

Christmas period was spent in Edinburgh and Glasgow but it was in Twynholm that we spent New Year with old friends Tony, Ruth, Ken, Fran, Hilary and Ron. We spent New Year here two years ago and had a great time, it was just as good this time round.

This is not the Scotland of Bens and Glens but rolling green hills, huge sandy beaches and castles. Our first walk was a trip to Threave Castle. This single tower castle surrounded by later fortifications, sits on an island in the River Dee. The river was in full spate but this made it even better for bird watching.

All along the path we saw robins, so friendly that they sat, literally inches from the camera. Every fifty yards or so another would be guarding their territory. Looking us right in the eye. Tony has a new birdwatching app that has lots of images but also plays bird calls. Not that you’d need it for the hundreds of geese we saw feeding on the farmland.

But it was the lapwings that we were after. We knew there was a Peregrine Falcon in the area as a more professional sounding bird man told us, and the lapwings were certainly skittish, which was fine as they look great in flight.

Then off to Orchardton Tower, a very rare round Tower house. It had three stories and when you climb inside, seems quite cosy. This whole area is dotted with fortified towers and castles. They’re often in well-chosen, beautiful spots and have a fascinating history. This is the land of border raids, changing royal allegiances, wars between Scotland and England.

Ruth and Tony are great cooks and their venison stew, laced with fruits was fantastic. If you're reading this guys - thanks for the food, walks and endless laughter.

Day 2 Hogmonay

Off to the butchers for some Scottish goodies – a couple of Desperate Dan steak pies, some black pudding and fruit pudding (to be fried for breakfast) yes there’s nothing we won’t fry. New Year was spent playing games, drinking and reflecting on the past year. Everyone gave their highlights and all in all it seemed to have been a good year. For me the highlights were; Best experience: Berlin debate, Best trip: Greece, Best music experience: Latitude, Best TV series: The Walking Dead, Best meal: Ljubljana, Best film: The Hunt, Best exhibition: Bronze (Royal Academy), Best theatre: Timon of Athens (National), Best Museum: Tank Museum Bovington, Best architecture: Charles Rennie Macintosh's Glasgow Art School, Best Album: EdwardSharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, Best single: Willy Moon's Yeah Yeah. Best reading: Robert Macfarlane's three books on nature.

Hilary and Ron arrived in their mobile home and we got a tour. It’s amazingly comfortable inside with a fixed double bed, toilet, shower. Really thinking about buying something like this. Ron runs this as a small business, renting it out for around £800 a week.

Day 3 New Years Day – Birds and spot of geology

Down to the coast to walk. The views across the Solway look south and west and are stunning. More birdwatching – Plovers and Redshanks. It’s down this road that John Paul Jones lived, one of my favourite Scots. He left from here as a cabin boy and was commanding his own ship in his early twenties. He then founded the American navy, left to head up the Russian navy with great success and eventually was Admiral of the French Navy. Fascinatingly, he returned here as a US commander, robbed the local Earl, who had wronged his father, of his silver, then invaded and burnt down Whitehaven across the firth in England. He also sailed round to Edinburgh, pretended to be a British ship, received gunpowder, then bombarded Edinburgh. What a man!

At Abigland we walked along sandstone beds that have been seismically altered so that the current bedding is literally folded back on itself. There’s rippled beds in the sandstone at the back of the beach. The strata are at 50 degrees or so and rise up from the sand. Further along there’s a fantsastic fissure that forms a natural arch.

We stopped at the site of The Wickerman Festival, where the huge wickerman had been dressed as Santa. It takes place on 27/28 July this year may turn up as a precursor to Latitude. Finally a trip to the pub where Tony was due to play in a folk session. It was rammed and we were fleeced for raffle tickets, which the ticket collector won! Finally, Gil was kissed by the 'man with no nose'! Strange place the Borders. On the way back the stars were out and we could see the Milky Way.

Day 4 Final walk

Walked around the village with Ruth and Tony’s lovely daughter Rachael who had turned up down from Glasgow University where’s she’s studying Psychology. She was bemoaning the sociology lecturer who doesn’t believe in quantitative research and constantly disses psychology. Witches were burnt in this area, on the hill behind the village, no doubt qualitative research showed they were witches. Views were sought, people surveyed, views sought and yes the research showed that they were guilty! Discussed our planned cycling holiday on Islay and Jura – that will be something special in 2013.

Berlin December 2012

Been visiting Berlin for many years before and after the fall of the wall in 1989. This time to do a triple bill of lecture, debate and chair a film at Online Educa, with two extra days to explore the city.

Day 1 – Talk, talk, talk

The double-decker S-bahn express from Schonenfeld loops through former East berlin round the back of Museum Island and the Reichstag to Zoogarten. I went straight to delivering a lecture on the future of Universities but something weird happened. Just as I was about to start, while opening a bottle of water with a bottle opener, the top of the bottle snapped off and I cut my hand in three places. A fair amount of blood was flowing but a woman in the front row had three plasters and I was patched up.

At the end of the day I was a participant in The Big Debate, again on the future of Universities, which we won (surprisingly) as most of the audience were academics. Then off to the Soho House Hotel for dinner. It’s in a restored Bauhaus building, in former East Berlin, formerly used by the Communists as a huge archive, one of those dark, stylish and busy joints where musos stay – sure enough there was a band checking in as I left. Then U-bahn back to the Intercontinental, where Gil and I were staying – huge room, espresso machine….

My son and our friend Jackie were at the H10 Kaufdamm hotel, which I highly recommend. Not only did they both get upgrades, there’s a superb artwork in the huge foyer, a metal figure in a balletic pose. Rooms are great and only £70 a night and it’s right next to a U-bahn station.  So nice, we moved here for the remaining few days.

Day 2 – Gluwein and bratwurst

Breakfast at a small café across the road, always preferable to expensive hotel buffets, then down to Charlottenberg and the Christmas market for some gluwein and bratwurst. I was back chairing a session for a film titled Connections, which I disliked but the audience loved. The German’s really invented Christmas as we know it, and they still do a good job.

Out to an unusual Italian for dinner. You get a card, grab a table, then fetch your food and drinks from counters. It’s classier than a buffet, busier than a sit-down restaurant but the food was excellent.

Day 3 – Walls, Gates and Platzes

First time in Berlin for Callum and Jackie so off to the Holocaust Memorial, Brandenburg Gate and walk down Unter den Linden. I was a little shocked at German tourists standing on the blocks and screaming with laughter for photographs. This is a beautiful and sombre monument, a maze of grey blocks, all of different sizes. It speaks to the horror of being lost, confused, losing your identity, and ultimately represents the anonymity and brutality of the Final Solution. How could they fail to see this?

The Brandenburg Gate has those famous horses that Napoleon stole and I remember this as the site of the wall until 1989. You can now pose with Russian hats, listen to buskers and buy pretzels. I’ve visited lots of walls - The Great Wall of China, Berlin Wall, Hadrian’s Wall, Antonine Wall, Derry’s Walls….. None of them worked in the end.

Then back to the Pergamum Museum. I’ve been there often so sat in the café reading while the rest did the Ishtar gate and Pergamum Altar.

Across to Potzdammer Platz for dinner at the Lowenbrau Brauhaus and a fine evening was had by all – beer, goulash soup, meat, dumplings and strudel. This is really Bavarian food but it was fun. The Sony Centre is fantastic at night.

Day 4 – East Berlin – Stasi Museum

Stasi Museum

Off on a long U-bahn and S-bahn trip to the Stasi Museum deep in the former East Berlin. I shared a room with the guy who turned out to be a major Stasi spy, so this was a trip with a purpose. We first learned of his double life in a Panorama programme. This is someone we went on holiday with, have holiday snaps together, drank together – and we never knew. My initial reaction was to feel miffed at the fact he never asked me to be a fellow spy.

When the wall fell in 1989, the Stasi started to shred their 100 kilometres of files but the shredders overheated and were kaput. Unfortunately for Robin, who was active right up to the night before the wall fell, they stopped just before these British files. He was the real deal with invisible ink and a transmitter, paid 500 Marks per month.

As you enter East Berlin, the huge apartment blocks appear, with lots of graffiti (excellent it is) and the area that surrounds the Stasi Museum is truly stark. The museum is well worth the hike, as you’ll see more of the real, post-unification Berlin as well as experience something extraordinary – a state that turned on itself.

The rooms, living quarters, meeting rooms and so on are still there with their brownish, dated furniture. I visited the DDR Museum near the Dom and found that their reconstructed typical ‘living room and kitchen’ were almost identical to the council house I grew up in Scotland. It all looks so ordinary but the people in these rooms were responsible for executions, torture and oppression on a massive scale.

Surveillance

But it’s the apparatus of spying that betrays the extremes of the surveillance. This is a disguised baker's van used to lift and transport suspects. There’s flatbed trucks with spy cabins, cameras in car doors, watering cans, rail sleepers, logs, ties, behind buttons on coats, in bags, pens, walls, electric sockets, telephones. You name it, they shoved a camera into it.

Youth movements

I can remember Robin wearing one of these pioneer blue shirts. Looked a little odd in the late seventies and early eighties. Mass youth movements are usually a sign of a dysfunctional society, whether it be the Nazi Hitler Youth or Socialist Pioneers.

Punk

What I really liked were the photographs of the punks and rockers in disused churches and basements, defying the state in style. I like to think that punk played a part in the downfall of the wall. This girl with the huge guitar says it all.

Jar

But the most fascinating exhibit was these sealed jars. Thousands of these were found, and at first they puzzled the citizens who broke into the various Stasi headquarters. Turns out that those who were interrogated, were made to sit on towels, as they sweated during interrogation, their personal smell was captured and the cloth stored in these jars. There’s even a manual on where to mplace the towel.

PS I highly recommend Stasiland by Anna Funder if you and further insights into the Stasi and their methods.

Postcards from Egypt: Haircut Morsi style

It’s hot here and the end of the year, so a haircut seemed in order. The two of us, Ken and I, have reached that time in life when hair is rare on top, but bountiful in all other facial orifices. After striking a deal (way over the odds at £1.50 each) I sat down in a chair which had stuffing erupting from its own orifices. Amed, the Barber, started by lighting up a cigarette, then after a long studied draw, lifted the scissors and went at me like Edward Scissorhands, boy was he fast. Then the cutthroat razor, flicked open casually, like a Glasgow gang member, for edges, sideburns and nape of the neck. So far so good, but there was something far more painful coming –  threading. A twisted thread snags individual hairs and the end held in the mouth. He flicked his head to one side and plucked them out. He started on my forehead, then down my nose, across both cheeks, then both eyebrows. Finally, the coup de grace - my ears. Now that was pain. Gil, my wife, was in stitches, every laugh visible in the mirror. The only saving grace was that Ken had yet to have his time in the chair of pain.

Morsi haircut

Now when we went in Ahmed was watching, on TV, prayer from a Mosque. I asked him about the referendum and Morsi was his man. Many I spoke to liked Morsi, head of the Freedom and Justice Party and a man respected for his strong line on corruption, nepotism and economic fairness. They want an Islamic influenced state , if not a full blown Islamic state, and see him as a champion of the poor. However, he made a grave error in trying to grab too much executive power and split the country. Nevertheless, he has emerged as the winner in the referendum. Winning the presidential position was the haircut. Unfortunately, he wanted to cut off more than the customer wanted with almost absolute power.

Morsi razor cuts

Others liked Morsi, but were fearful of the Muslim Brotherhood and felt that he would be straight-jacketed into implementing Islamic law and cultural norms that would be restrictive and regressive, especially for women. However, they were willing to give him a chance and I heard many say ‘he needs time’. This is the razor –shaving away the peripheral power of the military and remnants within the judiciary that will hold him back from reform.The thing about hair is that it grows back and at some time you’ll need another haircut. He can be voted out in four years’ time.

Morsi threading

There were also many genuine, floating voters, who were reading the constitution and making their minds up. It is a long document and at times, complicated. Like any long list of rules, it’s hard to agree with all of them and some of the Islamic insertions seem very odd to Western eyes. Then again having scores of Bishops (none who can be women) in the House of Lords, would seem odd to them. It is certainly odd to me. Lots of groups of hairs sprout from ears, nostrils and on the face. These have to be dealt with. Unfortunately, it looks as though Morsi will have little time for the Coptic minority, secularists and other western-orientated citizens.

Beards in and hair covered

But there were also people who were absolutely against Morsi. ‘Morsi no’ they exclaimed, wagging their fingers. They did not want the constitution to be passed. They had read it and didn’t like the retention of the military right to try civilians. Nor did they like the absence of women’s rights. They saw him as the leader of the Muslim Brotherhood, not the President and thought he would be guided by the Brothers not the voters. Morsi will demand short haircuts, precision razor cuts to peripheral groups and the rooting out of dissenting voices.

Some liked the Christian woman I spoke to (Copts are 10% of the population), were ‘really, really scared’ and saw trouble ahead for religious minorities and moderates. They claim he believes in ‘girls marrying at age nine, curfews for women and the compulsory wearing of the veil.’ They have already witnessed the burning of churches, murderous attacks and were fearful of more. The enshrinement of Sunni Muslim doctrine in the constitution is indeed worrying for these minorities. Their great fear is that Morsi will allow the Islamic beard to grow but will demand that men conform to one hairstyle and that all women will have to cover their hair.

Autumn in New Forest

Stopped off in Portsmouth on way to New Forest and saw, for the first time, their Spinnaker Tower. Looked quite fine but seemed like a substitute for a Victorian pier. Like a pier it’s a ribbed, white metal structure on the coast, designed to allow people to look out to sea. I suppose a pier would be prohibitively expensive to build now but not a tower.

Stayed for the second time in the Burley Manor, an old-school hotel that plays classical music at dinner to guests who dress for dinner and whisper. It has a roaring fire, burning the wood from the recently felled oak that threatened to fall on the building.

Autumn in the New Forest means less foliage and lots of deer, just before the cull, at the end of November. Deer management basically means shooting them. We cycled into the heart of the forest as saw Fallow, Red, Roe, Sitka, as well as dozens of the famous ponies. The forest is scattered with holly trees deliberately planted for winter foliage. Other sights are daylight foxes and foraging pigs. You get well away from the casual walkers on a bike.

Revisited the lovely Canadian War Memorial that had some photographs of smiling young men who never made it home. Sad indeed. Had an unusual encounter in the forest with a woman with a nervous dog who told us about eating squirrels, the rabbit who boxed her old dog and won, and of her appearance on the X-factor and Britain’s Got Talent. She gave Simon Cowell some backchat on his age and Piers Morgan about newspapers and blamed this on her failure to progress. Interesting encounter, but there’s a difference between the eccentric and the deluded.

My Greek Odyssey. Why Greeks don't pay taxes - hidebound by history (Ottomans, Church, Militarism, EU)

Arrived in Athens Airport, then down to the Herz area to pick up our car, only to be cut up by a Herz employee doing a hand-brake turn with a newly returned car – ah Greece! Then out to Napflion along the spanking new, three-lane motorway, as the troika of black German luxury cars (Audis, BMWs and Mercedes) zip past in the outside lane, at speeds up to 180km/hr or hammer up to your exhaust pipe and honk to pass, a derisory look is the penalty you pay for obeying the speed limit. (Countries where black cars signal political status (usually corrupt) have citizens who also are fond of black, luxury consumer models.)

The European-funded roads are superb running alongside the European funded, state of the art railway that is horrifically expensive to run and underused, as the main status item is a car. Fuel is expensive, as it’s all imported and we were warned by the car hire company that the petrol stations near the airport ‘sometimes run out’.

The driving is erratic, rules optional, and mobile phones seem permanently stuck to a large number of ears, zebra crossings are seen an inconvenience to be conveniently ignored and indicators optional. The casualty figures are, of course, horrific, nearly twice the EU average. The journey is a sort of weird metaphor for what’s happening here. Rich Greeks don’t pay tax so buy expensive German cars to break the rules on new roads paid for by the EU, many heading for a crash.

Greece’s problems go back to Ottomans

Napflion is my favourite Greek town and if you amble through the narrow streets and alleys you’ll see at least ten Ottoman fountains with Arabic inscriptions, an Ottoman bath complex, the crypt of the Catholic Church which was an Ottoman cistern. Look closer and you’ll see that many of the finest large buildings in the town, the Cinema, large concert hall, church and Catholic Church, are all misaligned in the overall street grid, the reason - as they were all once mosques, aligned to Mecca. It’s not easy to erase over four centuries of Ottoman rule, when Greece was governed from Istanbul and paid taxes to a Sultan. A little digging into political history will reveal the Ottoman’s long-lasting physical, cultural and fiscal mark.

Why do Greeks resent paying tax? For centuries the Greeks saw the state as an oppressor whose taxes went to a Sultanate of a different religion. It wasn’t until 1830 that independence from the Turks was achieved with the help of Europe. First, Ottoman taxes were higher for Christians than Muslims, leading to resentment, even conversion (its aim). What’s more, if a villager fled or converted, the others had to pay his tax bill. Second, during war, taxes rose, often inflaming the rebellions they wanted to crush. Third, they taxed different crops at different rates leading to inefficient switching to lower tax crops, much like the EU Common Agricultural Policy today. Subsidies often lead to lower productivity. Fourth, the Ottoman Empire was so large that they, by necessity, delegated tax collection to local despots who abused the system even further. Fifth, on top of all this the Orthodox Church was allowed to levy an additional tax. That’s four centuries of layered, oppressive taxation.

Now the 1830s may seem like a long time ago but Ottoman rule continued in the bread basket of Thessaly, Epirus in the West and Macedonia in the north and the Dodecanese Islands until as recently as 1913. Add to this the difficulties in collecting taxes from hundreds of distant islands and a mainland that is a collection of fiefdoms, separated by mountains and seas, and you have an on-going problem.

Greeks and Orthodox Church

Another, even older, theological hand reaches out from history to haunt the Greeks, the Greek Orthodox Church. There’s no austerity in the Kingdom of God as the Church has been remarkably successful in sucking out funds from Europe. Every time I travel in Greece, more churches are being built and renovated. Corruption is rife, as exposed in Michael Lewis’s recent book Boomerang. Just one monastery Vatopedi is reported as a dark hole of greed and corruption, with nearly 1 billion euros of government land snapped up at no cost.

This is a one-church state, with 97% of the population baptised into the Orthodox Church. Yet sexual scandals (91 year old bishop videoed naked with young girl prostitute, drug dealing, selling of antiquities and financial corruption) are regularly reported in the Greek press. On top of this is the stifling pressure by the Church on the state, so that even identity cards and bar codes have been a problem. The Orthodox crazies deemed them the marks of the Devil! No wonder they can’t collect taxes – the Church refuses to allow the state to identify its people.

Tyrants and monarchs

Even with independence in 1830, the first president was assassinated within a year, here in Napflion, by a warring Greek faction from the Mani peninsul. The bullet hole in the church wall can still be seen at that very spot. The solution, in 1844, to Greece’s incapacity to govern itself was the imposition of that old political prop, a Monarchy. But Otto was an autocratic fool who distributed power and lands to his German friends (German interference is not new in Greece). He was forced to flee in 1862 after a revolution. The next solution was another less greedy monarch, George 1, from Denmark of all places. But discontent led to the Cretan Venizelos being elected in 1910. He was a social reformer and wanted to side with the allies in World War 1. But the cretinous Constantine 1, who was married to the Kaiser’s sister, decided otherwise (German interference again).

By 1920 the Monarchists has routed Venizelos, the last really great Greek leader, and attacked Turkey. They were themselves routed and the ‘katastrophe’ began, years of massacres, population swaps and the growth of urban shanty towns around Athens. Constantine was forced out by the military in 1922 and ten years of military rule ensued. Venezelos returned to politics in 1928 but Greece had borrowed huge amounts and its economy crashed, spectacularly (sound familiar). Democracy was once again suspended by the military and King George II in 1936 and General Metaxas began a brutal, fascist dictatorship. This was to give way to an even more brutal, fascist German occupation for most of the second World War, with mass starvation, executions and deportations.

The post-war, cold war era saw the Americans consistently back right wind dictatorships and coups, until Papandreou came to power and tried to curb military power. Once again, a monarch, Constantine II, interfered, sided with the military and democracy was ditched in the 1967 coup.

This see-sawing between dictators, monarchs and occupying forces, embedded deep, defensive attitudes among the Greek people. Democracy may have began in Athens but it was never really allowed to take root again.

Greeks and Militarism

The Colonel’s Junta of 1967-74, really a CIA supported attack on democracy, gave the Greeks nightmarish, fascist rulers, who lined their own pockets and ruled by patronage, and let’s not forget the thousands that were tortured. Military spending in Greece was for a long time at a whopping 7.5% and is still at 4% of GDP, double the European average. Military procurement has also proved to be massively corrupt with even a Minister of Defence, Akis Tsochadzopoulos, being jailed for an 8 million Euro bribe from a German arms company (Germany again!), that sold them submarines they don’t need. When the military junta came to power suppression and state patronage went hand in hand and corruption was deeply embedded.

Golden Dawn’s fascist symbol, a barely disguised swastika, is to be seen in Napflion but this is no sudden eruption of xenophobia and ubernationalism. The Greek monarchy and many of the generals who ruled after independence, were explicit in their belief that the Greeks predicament should be defined in terms of race, a position encouraged and supported by the Greek Orthodox Church. What’s odd, given their experience of the second World War, is the adherence to blatant German Nazi beliefs and symbolism. A walk to our Hotel from the centre of Athens found us in an immigrant ghetto that was truly frightening. It was like a scene from a post-apocalypse movie, with groups of desperate people being hounded by aggressive police.

Torched economy

Even its Classical past has come back to haunt Greece. To visit Olympia, Delphi, Corinth and Nemea, is to witness something unique, the gift of sport. But there’s another ancient ruin to add to the list – the Athens 2004 Olympic site. You can walk freely around this concrete ruin and wonder at the lack of foresight. Even here that odd mixture of ‘heroic historic values’ was used to fuel ‘modern greed’ to produce weed-filled monuments to corruption and collapse. The failure to keep to schedule meant a cash splurge that, even today, has proved impossible to untangle, a project so rushed that no one really know how much was spent and where the billions went. The ‘legacy’ has been fatal to the country and sport - facilities that can’t be maintained and Olympians who get little or no support. The Olympic torch was the final act of destruction - a monument to greed and short-termism.

Greeks and EU

Robin Lane Fox’s brilliant book The Classical World tells the story of Greece as a battle between the values of democracy, discipline, even austerity and the lax values and luxury of tyrants and the Persian East. The Greeks have, unfortunately, sided with luxury (for the few) and left the rest of the population to suffer. In a period of cyclopean myopia, a warped version of democracy that saw votes bought by utopian political promises has resulted in catastrophe for the poor.

The country is awash with expensive, empty buildings and infrastructure projects that were never about long-term planning. All of this monument building took place under the cloak of European funds that could never be repayed. I met a Scottish lad in Brussels last year who was part of the audit team for Greek entry into the EU and he told me horrific tales of political pressure to lie about figures for Greece’s entry. The EU project has long since abandoned realism for optimism.

Greece, more than any other country is hidebound by history. Its landscape is littered with archaeological ruins that speak of more heroic times but also of churches that speak of two millennia of unreformed, dogmatic belief. Its more recent monuments have that giveaway blue symbol with a circle of stars – European Union. Allowed into the EU by politicians who put optimism above realism, the Greeks milked the system for all it was worth. With their leaders spent, Greece is an on-going catastrophe.

Exodus

Now back at Athens airport and it’s here that Greece’s problems surface once more. The easyjet bag drop for those that have checked in online should be easy and quick, that’s the point, but it’s not. Our queue is held up as a Greek girl’s passport has expired, and almost every single person in front of us has overweight luggage or luggage that it too big. The floor is strewn with open suitcases, as unnecessary items are redistributed from one bag to another. What’s worse are the endless appeals to the check-in staff to bend the rules. One woman brought out six large cans of milk from her suitcase to get under the 20Kgs and put them in her hand luggage! Any liquids madam? The Greek attitude to travel is that everything is negotiable. Do Ryanair fly here? Now that’s a check-in I’d love to see!

Conclusion

Despite all this I’m a philhellene and truly love the place. I’ve been coming here for over 25 years and love the landscape, to swim in the sea in the late afternoon sun, walk in woods thick with the smell of pine resin. I even love the food, ‘slow’ cooked for centuries before it became fashionable; Greek salad, beef stefado with sugar sweet onions, suckling pig, stuffed tomatoes, calamaris, giant beans, tsisiki. And before you complain - they serve it tepid to enhance the flavour. Then there’s the archaeology, mythology, literature, and philosophy.

My own view is that Greece should leave the Eurozone, eliminate airport taxes and encourage a massive expansion in tourism. I can remember Greece before EU entry, essentially a non-industrialised country that was growing slowly on tourism. Suddenly, with the introduction of the Euro, it became an expensive and less friendly place. On this trip we traveled on empty roads to see empty archaeological sites, saw empty shops and barely heard a German accent. Stop the uncertainty, devalue the currency and people will flock to what is one of the most beautiful countries in the world.

Art Nouveau

What’s the difference between Art Nouveau and Art Deco? Not as much as you would think. Art Nouveau came first with the likes of Mucha and Horta, full of rich sinuous curves that suggest sweaty, curvaceous sex. Art Deco comes later, more geometric, industrial and austere, suggesting, maybe, more, tied to a chair S&M. 

In any case, we (three lads on our annual City jaunt) stayed in the Hotel Central, itself a place of pilgrimage for lovers of Art Nouveau. It’s façade is unapologetically ornate, with the classic, organic canopy, nouveau font, interior ironwork on railings, lift cage and windows.

Not far is the Hotel Paris, again with its curvaceous canopies and flowing lines. But for honest and pure Art Nouveau, the Hotel Europa and Hotel Marin stand side by side on Wencelus Square (actually a long thin rectangle) more interesting on the outside than inside.

The Municipal House, a huge Art Nouveau building that attempted to create a Czech revival using modernism for municipal ends. The Topic publishing house and many other buildings have Art Nouveau touches that fit well with the many Baroque and Neo-Baroque buildings.

In an interesting twist, Prague’s main Cathedral (St Vitus) has some modernist stain glass windows, including one by Mucha, that shows St Cyril inventing the Cyrillic alphabet so that the Bible could be made available to the Slavic people. Other windows by other Czech artists attempt to do similar modernist things with the medium.

Wander round to the greatest unsupported secular building in the world, and you walk into a huge hall where there is no distinction between the walls and roof. The entire structure is a Gothic, ribbed cage, but look carefully and you see that they’re sinuous ribs. This is closer to Art Nouveau than Gothic and makes you feel as though you’re inside a stone Tiffany lamp. It doesn't really work aesthetically but it's bloody adventurous.

Art Nouveau, whether in Glasgow, Paris, Brussels, Prague or Riga, brings a city to life as it treats the facades of buildings as canvases and is fearless in making them look good. I like this. It makes a city walkable. Too many buildings require you to peer into them. Art Nouveau makes you peer at them.

Cubist architecture

As a counterpoint to Prague’s wonderful Baroque and Art Nouveau architecture is its Cubist buildings. Cubist….architecture? How can you take a style of painting that re-presents things simultaneously in different dimensions and apply it to a real 3D object? Well the buildings themselves seem to be ‘cubist’ in form and ornament. They use geometric forms for doorways, pillars, windows and the structure, of the buildings themselves. The word ‘cube’ in Cubism is a bit misleading, as the forms represented in Cubist painting, and Prague architecture, are polygons, many-angled shapes and slants. This is interesting as Prague’s cubist buildings do look different from different angles and use 3 dimensional form to create this effect. The different facets of the facades mimic the painterly effects of a Picasso or Braque, but in from not re-presentation. Although one could argue that the building itself is being re-presented as you walk past or view it from different perspectives.

Rondo Cubism

If you want to see the most bizarre and puzzling building in Prague, forget Gery’s dull Ginger and Rogers and head west to see the Czech Legionnaire’s’ Bank. It takes circles, squares (hence the term Rondo Cubism) and socialist motifs to create something you can’t really love, as it’s too crowded and clashing a composition. I’ve never seen anything like it.

What’s of interest here is the Czech rush to modernism after 1910 on the back of their increasing independence from the Hapsburg Empire. There are two aspects to this. First, they looked not to Germany for their inspiration; second, they wanted to do something that was their own. It’s no accident that the great Arty Nouveau movement in Prague happened at the same time. Similarly in Glasgow, Vienna, Brussels and Riga, one can see in these movements an attempt by more regional cities to assert and differentiate themselves from Paris and London.

Kafka

At the same time Kafka was producing novels and short stories that still cut a modernist sabre through traditional virtues of work, law and the certainty of knowledge. Kafka is everywhere in central Prague but of course he is nowhere. On mugs, mouse mats, fridge magnets and tee-shirts, his face is everywhere but few visitors have read his work. Coming back to Modernism, my own view is that Kafka’s work has little to do with the streets of Prague, Judaism or historical context. Kafka was breaking with the past not reinventing it. Like Cubism, he was stripping the form of the novel and short story down into a formal representation of the subject, free from the realm of normalised perception. Stories told from the perspective of a dog, mole or insect look at our human predicament from almost cubist perspectives. The Castle and The Trial are stripped bare and leave the imagination to build interpretations on to the text. Kafka is not replete with meaning, he’s replete with the power to let you bring meaning to the text.

Art

After a wipe out in their main gallery, where we did come across a ginger Christ, we came across a few good pieces hidden away. Prague may be short on quality art galleries. but it's not short on public art. 

Conclusion

We visited the Café Louvre where Kafka and his friend Max Brod hung out, until Brod was banned, which prompted the ‘Brod-banned’ quip from Ronnie. Almost as Good as Ken’s, when in reply on to an Italian waiter’s ‘Bueno’, said U2. I laughed -the waiter was bemused. I suppose that’s the joy of these trips – the laughs. You don’t go to Prague for the food. You can go to Prague for the beer. You should really go for the architecture (and maybe Kafka but only if you’ve read him). We walked for four solid days, ate reasonably well, and found a lovely local, tourist-free pub with good, cheap beer and plenty of atmosphere, where we supped every night. My third time in this city but I’ll be back.