The Reading List Catch-up - Part 1

It's been a long time since I recorded my reading, roughly 15 books have been eaten with my eyes since I last posted. Time to catch-up...

During 2012 I discovered some lovely books, dipped into different genres, and found some new and inspiring authors.

And then there's the reading list for 2013. Since the new year, I have read lots of books including a moving World War II soldier's account, the first installment of Stephen Fry's autobiography and the first book that has made me seriously weep since I read E.B. White's 'Charlotte's Web' as a child.

First to pick up where I left off...somewhere around August 2012:

The Power of Kaballah - Yehuda Berg

A good friend of mine lent me this book - thank you Tash. I have never been one for following a religion, but I have always been interested in spirituality and nurture of the soul.

What I love is faith. I think faith in itself is an entirely different ballgame to religion. Your faith may be strong and beautiful and channeled into a religion, which is great if it helps you lead the kind of life you want to. The difference being that faith is something that I think comes from within. How can a book, or someone else's experience or lessons teach you about your own faith? Each of us has our own individual faith. We cultivate it along the way, through our own experiences and beliefs. It is inevitably influenced by what we read and see and feel and the people that enter our lives, but it is something made of all those personal elements that only we can know.

I am always interested in reading about spirituality and 'the stuff that lurks beneath the material surface', so I enjoyed this book. It is an introduction and overview of the spiritual practices and beliefs of Kabbalah, a practice with its roots in Jewish mysticism that has previously been shrouded in secrecy and passed down by word of mouth. It is somewhat like Scientology, if only in the number of celebrity endorsements it draws; Guy Ritchie, Mick Jagger and Madonna are among others.

According to Kabbalah, we have forgotten how to connect with the ethereal reality beyond what we see every day and often find ourselves trapped and unsatisfied as a result. This realm contains all of the things we don't know how to attain through money and status: peace, happiness, fulfillment, hope and freedom. The manual is written in simple and approachable terms, with shades of a self-help manual. It is a nourishing read, even if you do not find yourself agreeing with all of the principles. It escapes religious dogma by exploring the spiritual power of the universe and how we can start to connect with and apply it to our everyday lives.

 

Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut

Vonnegut's most renowned novel is a satirical and fantastical anti-war book. It was first published in 1969 and is inspired by his own personal experience as an American Prisoner of War during World War II. He was one of few survivors of the firebombing at Dresden carried out by the allies in February 1945. Click here to read more about the firebombing at Dresden, and/or for those with a strong stomach, I advise whacking 'firebombing Dresden' into Google images to get an idea of the extent of the damage - truly horrifying.

In the novel, the protagonist Billy Pilgrim has become unhinged from reality in his later years, having been abducted by aliens from a planet called Tralfamadore. He constantly time travels, jumping to different stages of his own life. One phase of constant return is Billy's time as a soldier during WWII. He is rendered a weak and incapable soldier, eventually taken prisoner by the Germans in an old slaughterhouse in Dresden with other fellow American soldiers. After hiding in a cellar, they are some of the few survivors of the devastating firebombing. Is Billy's abduction real, or are the aliens a fantasy created to help Billy escape the horror of his past?

Vonnegut warns his readers in the opening chapter of the novel that he has attempted to write about his experiences of the war, but really 'there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre'. At the outset, Vonnegut actually aimed to write a book about heroic young soldiers; it was his war buddy's wife Mary O'Hare who brought him back to reality. She exclaims with outrage to the two men reminiscing about their experience during the war, 'but you were just baby's then'. This comment held firm with Vonnegut and is the inspiration behind the alternative title for the novel, 'The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death'.

I loved my first taste of Vonnegut and he is on the reading list for 2013. 'Slaughterhouse-Five' manages to ride a fine line between humor and tragedy. Comedy often enables us to face the dark stuff. In an interview on the BBC World Service Book Club in 2006, Vonnegut explained that he included the aliens and science-fiction aspect not only as a relief for Billy Pilgrim, but for his reading audience. He wanted to give his audience 'a breather' from the heavier stuff.

There are some beautiful and memorable passages in the book and some scenes that really made me share in Vonnegut's feeling of the futility of war. For example, when the war has officially ended, one of the freed American POW's is executed for stealing a kettle. Such incidents of individual violence reveal the vacuity of the violence inflicted on innocent men during war.

The Celestine Prophecy - James Redfield

This one was a recommendation from my boyfriend Murry who found it in a book exchange in New Zealand. I read it in Peru, which was a nice coincidence as it is set in Peru. It is an adventure book mixed with a good dollop of spirituality. 

The protagonist embarks on a quest to discover the nine insights described in an ancient manuscript recovered in Peru. The Peruvian government and Church are attempting to hide the manuscript from the public as it threatens their own power and doctrine. Through the teachings and experience of the manuscript, Redfield explores ideas rooted in Ancient Eastern philosophy and New Age Spirituality.

The plot was pretty cheesy at times, but I appreciated the book for the content more than the story, which I think was just a device for Redfield's interest in and deliverance of the spiritual ideas.

How To Look Like You - Rose McClelland

This is the second novel by Rose McClelland, and the follow-up to her debut 'The Break-Up Test'. I don't read much Chick-lit so this was a welcome deviation from my usual reading. I steamed through this book. The characters really jumped to life. The story centers around relationships; their beginnings, endings, trials and tribulations. The narrative is written from the perspective of  Chloe and Ella, both twenty-somethings seeking love and happiness. The girls could not be more different from each other but the book explores the insecurities and doubts that they both, and in fact we all experience in love and relationships.

This was a great introduction to Chick-lit and a really enjoyable read. I'm pretty sure I even had a dream inspired by it, so it must have sunk in under the skin.

Click here to visit Rose's blog and find out more about her.

Gunshot Glitter - Yasmin Selena Butt

This is Yasmin Selena Butt's debut novel and rest assured, it's quite a corker. It was published in 2012 for Kindle, and has recently become available in print. It's a love/ thriller/ crime story all rolled into one. The plot is gripping and fluid, knitted together gradually through the perspective of many different characters.

I developed empathy and compassion for both the seemingly heartless hit-girl protagonist and the family of one of her murder victims (an innocent twenty-one year old boy). I imagine this is a hard feat to achieve on the writer's side. I don't want to give any more away on the plot as I am hopeless at doing that (I'm always the annoying person who accidentally informs everyone of the twist in a film they have yet to see).

In terms of plot development, character and writing style, this debut was very accomplished for a first-time novelist. Yasmin is now working on her second novel and all I can say is watch this space...I know I am...

Click here to find out more about Yasmin and have a peek at her blog.

FEAR: A Modern Anthology of Horror and Terror: 2 (Crooked Cat Publishing, with an Introduction from Sherri Browning Erwin)

An anthology of new horror writing. All royalties from sales go to Barnardo’s and Médecins Sans Frontières. I have to make a disclosure and a public apology on this one:

Disclosure: I have not yet read all of the thirty short stories in this anthology (Volume 2 of 2). That's one of the reasons I love short story collections, because you can dip in and out of an anthology at your whim and fancy, without losing the thread. I was really eager to dip into the last story first on this account, as 'Daisy And The Bear' was written by a good friend. I met Mel Melis on a writing course I did a few summers ago. I remember being impressed by his unique and quirky writing voice and also the range of genres he was able to successfully try his hand at. Among his offerings in class, there was gentle, lyrical and poignant poetry, laughter-inducing modern fiction, and stories that reached into a surreal and fantastical past.

Public Apology: Mel - if you are reading, I realised when writing this blog that I never gave you any feedback after initially reading the story. Not that you need my feedback, but I still feel bad. I'm slow and rubbish and I really enjoyed your story!

Ok, enough about Mel (yeah Mel, stop being so greedy)...what about the whole?

Well it's a great collection of original and gritty horror tales, and I imagine the first volume is too. Among the ones I have read so far, a few stand out in my mind:

The Sculptor - Tom Gillespie
The hauntingly creepy story of a young man and his impromptu encounter with an old sculptor. Maybe becoming an Artist's muse isn't all it's cracked up to be?

I enjoyed Gillespie's writing style and the mystery we are left to ponder at the end of the story.

The Living Eucharist - A. Taylor Douglas
A surprising tale about a lady seeking a better connection with God. Through a sustained head injury, she summons something perhaps closer to the devil instead.

I was drawn to the main character in this story and her desperation and desire to be close to and feel God's blessing. I could not relate to it, but it hooked me in and made me want to read on. Although I knew it was a horror story, I was not expecting the ending either, so it was a nice twist.

Black Ash - A.E. Doylle
An accomplished story about a teenager who gets entangled in a terrifying myth from the past. The old charred remains of a convent capture her imagination when she arrives in town with her parents, who are surveying the site for construction. When she starts experiencing nightmares that relate to what supposedly happened at the convent before the fire, she becomes more involved than planned....ooh and eeek!

Daisy And The Bear - Mel Melis
An inspired tale about an arranged marriage imposed on a young teenager, just seventeen on the day of her wedding to an almost-stranger. Daisy's comforting (and later terrifying) childhood teddybear becomes a symbol of her emotions. Where Daisy feels helpless to express her true anger, hatred and anguish towards her husband and the situation imposed on her, her teddybear decides to give her a helping hand (or should we say claw)...

Impressive writing style and economy - always tricky to nail in a short story and Melis does a fine job. The action moves along nicely and hooks the reader, each sentence revealing something new. It's a well-rounded, structured and polished tale with a deliciously dark twist.

To have a mooch at Mel's blog click here.

The next Catch-up blog will feature the rest of what I have been devouring recently. Some of it is 'South America inspired' and I have much to rave about on that front. All in a good way I should add.

Travel Snapshots

Oh dear...it´s all turning to proverbial shit isn´t it?...the old blog that is. I am in Argentina and I haven`t posted for two months. Naughty. And I can´t say I haven´t had anything to write about - I´ve been exploring new countries in Spanish-speaking South America with my boyfriend. My only excuse is that the adventure of real life took over for a little while there...

Ecuador, Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Argentina. They are the six we have given ourselves six months to explore. One month each. We are nearing the end of our trip, with time in both Argentina and Chile left (save the most expensive ´til last eek)! There is too much to say to compress into one catch-up blog and in months to come I will write more about our experiences and encounters (and about our continued struggle to learn Spanish, complete with all of the embarrassing faux-pas' we made along the way).

For now, I want to write about the little things that make travel worthwhile.

This fine dog specimen wearing a neckerchief was, for example, one of the many little things that has made my trip.

So...we have been bussing our way around South America for 4 months. We are still thoroughly enjoying the experience, however we both agree that at this stage of the trip we are both feeling the inevitable niggles. Firstly, there's the itchiness of our wafer-thin travel towels after 4 months use, and then there is the mind-itch of the impending end of our trip - home time, job time, down time, broke time. After 4 months of freedom, excitement, adventure and beauty...we have both also started to feel a little lethargic! I feel very spoilt saying that, as we wake up with the promise of discovery at our feet every day, and the hardest decision in a day usually consists of what to have for dinner. What luxury! But...can too much beauty and freedom be a bad thing?...well, not really. But we do miss our friends, families, beds, home-cooking and a decent cup of tea (so British).

I remember experiencing a similar feeling at the same time during my last trip in Asia too. Carla and I both felt a bit depleted and lethargic in Cambodia. The thought of home was on the horizon and frankly, we just didn't give a shit about seeing 'another waterfall'. Travel, is in many ways, similar to the consumerism we indulge in at home. It depends how we travel of course. But consumerism is our way of life and it invades every aspect. We often think we travel to escape it, but is buying into all this quick-dash sightseeing not just another gulp of it? More about that another time...

 I know this is just a week of ´travel blues´ and I know it will pass. We have two good friends coming to meet us in Santiago, Chile in 2 days and are so looking forward to it. They will definitely put the spring back into our step. And for now, we are enjoying relaxing, and drinking copious amounts of Argentinian red wine...yes, life is still very, very good.

Relaxing in Mendoza (Argentina) with Jorge the turtle (I'm sorry, a lot of this is inadvertently animal related).

Anyhow, whilst sinking coffees a few days ago in a lovely cafe in San Pedro de Atacama (Chile), we pondered (somewhat sullenly) what to do with the day. Silly to be sullen, but we had just made our way to Chile from Bolivia and were still in shock over the prices and mulling over the inevitable work options upon our impending return home. At that moment, a llama happened to strut casually up to the table next to us on the cafe terrace. He sniffed around until the cafe owner came and offered up a nectarine. The llama was chuffed. He sloshed and slurped away on the thing in that comically slobby way that llamas eat; crooked mouth, blubbering lips, chowing down in opposite directions and overlapping all over the place.

                                      Llama eating nectarine - San Pedro de Atacama, Chile

In 30 seconds he was done and spit the nectarine stone neatly on to the table, directly in front of a woman enjoying her morning cappuccino. He sniffed around some more and took a tentative step towards the entrance of the cafe. The owner anticipated his hunger and returned, proffering an orange and a banana. The llama had a good go at the orange, but it was too big (peel and all) and kept rolling out of his mouth. The banana went in whole though, and somehow the full banana skin slipped out after a little chewing.

Little did this llama know, but having skulked up to the table and swallowed a load of free fruit, it also swallowed my sullenness. How can one be sullen in the presence of a llama?

This made me think about the little moments that are some of the best. I wanted to note some down in a bid to share the joy, and to not forget them.

* Quito, Ecuador - beautiful little Grandma's and Grandpa's (they already have a previous post dedicated to them). There was one particular little lady who got on the bus one day when we were on our way to Spanish school. She was tiny (of course, they all were). She had a curly cherobin-like halo of hair nested on top of her head. It was sort of golden and orange and reminded me of an orang-utan in the way that the sun hit and went straight through it, exposing the thinness of her hair and the whiteness of the top of her head. She had the kindest round face, with so many smile wrinkles etched around her eyes. She sat down and her legs swung from the bus seat. She was great. It was too obvious to pap her so no photo evidence.

* Trinidad Square, Cartagena, Colombia - a group of the same boys would turn up to play football in this square every evening. It became our favourite Cartagena date. We would arrive every evening (lazy, cold beer in hand) and sit on the stone bench that surrounded the square. The boys would turn up at the same time, barefooted and ready for play. They all had such big personalities in little bodies that it was easy to come up with nicknames for each of them. Little did they know we were giving a running commentary of their actions from the bench. The boys would play an energetic hour or two of football, and then at bedtime, they would hand over to the older boys. Suddenly the energy levels dropped. Self-conscious guys would make smooth, slow passes, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. The little boys were far more fun, but the contrast was funny and recognisable.

              Trinidad Square, Cartagena, Colombia. Unfortunately without footballers at this time.

* Trujillo, Peru - we visited an old temple built from sun-dried mud bricks called 'Huaca de la Luna' (literally translates as 'Temple of the Moon'. We were not expecting anything particularly spectacular, but thought we better slot in some culture as we had recently arrived in Peru. Peru is described by many as the 'Egypt of the Americas'. This sight was incredible. It is still undergoing excavation and I found this added to the experience.

I felt in awe that what we saw was recently uncovered and more will be discovered in years to come. The excavation is particularly tricky work as the pre-Inca's who are responsible for the existence of the site built five temples on the very same location. It seemed to be some sort of unknown ritual to build a new temple directly on top of the old one every ten years or so, complete with engraved and painted decoration covering every inch of the mud-brick walls. Somehow, bright paint was still intact and many parts of the designs were on show.

Men were lying in the sun, radios tuned in, injecting water into cracks and carefully brushing away earth as part of the excavation effort. Across the desert land we could see a huge dusty mound. This was 'Huaca del Sol' ('Temple of the Sun'). Excavation has not even begun here, as the project lacks funding. Between the two temples was the dusty maze of the ancient town, also undergoing excavation.

                                    Excavation work at 'Huaca de la Luna', Trujillo, Peru

* Virgen Hogar de Fatima, Obrajes, La Paz, Bolivia - I was lucky enough to be able to volunteer for two weeks at an orphanage in a district of La Paz. My time here was short (boo), but I loved it. I worked with the same nine under-one year old's every day. I'm not particularly broody or 'cooey' over babies, but they were adorable. I fell in love with each and every one of them, even the annoying ones. Abel, Tito, Alejandro, Victor, Catlin, Angela, Rosita, Isabelle and Jasmin.

I am dying to put up a photograph of Alejandro, but I don't feel right doing that. I have one snap as a lovely memory. I would like to say I didn't have a favourite, but I had such a soft spot for him. He was seriously chubby with beautiful brown eyes. He had a cleft lip that meant he dribbled immensely and we had to tie a pair of trousers around his neck as a bib to soak it up. He had the funniest soft giggle, and he knew when to use it (usually when he was doing something cheeky). He had just grown his top and bottom two teeth and feeding time was hard work. He would bite down on the spoon, intrigued by the power of his new enamels, simultaneously dribbling all of the soup on the spoon out of the corners of his mouth. I would tut and sigh and bid that he eats (I was good at baby-language-Spanish)...and he would giggle, and then my heart would melt. He was good. I miss him now! :(

* San Pedro de Atacama, Chile - we went stargazing in the desert. We learned lots from a lovely young Chilean astronomy student and saw what the sky looks like in the Southern hemisphere. We saw the milky way and Jupiter with four of its moons (apparently it has about 83 moons)! We also saw nebulas, which made me think of Laura Kenwright :)

It's hard to take a picture through a telescope, but here is Jupiter with four of its moons

* San Pedro de Atacama, Chile - birds playing football with a grape. No, seriously. To combat the high prices in Chile and adhere to our budget we bought fruit for breakfast and ate it in the main square. This was the same square with the cafe where the llama had visited us the day before. One of our grapes rolled on to the ground. Before long, a group of tiny sparrow-like birds landed to examine the unidentified object. They tried to eat it, but their tiny beaks just pecked at it, causing the grape to roll off in different directions. They were playing 'beak-ball', or 'grape-ball'. It tickled me.

* Mendoza, Argentina - drinking the delicious glass of Malbec in front of me, while I type. YUM.

                   Vineyards in Mendoza with grapes that make some of the world's finest wine

Right, I'm going to finish this glass of red and get to bed. We have a bus to catch to Santiago early tomorrow.

Ecuadorian Art: Oswaldo Guayasamin

After a long gap in the blog (oops) this post is a homage to Oswaldo Guayasamin (1919-1999), the much-loved and famed Ecuadorian artist.

                                                             Oswaldo Guayasamin

                                                 Image credit: Guayasamin Foundation

I say famed, but actually, I had never heard of Guayasamin before I stepped foot into Ecuador. In fact, when we signed up to 'The Guayasamin Spanish School' in Quito named after the guy, I was still clueless. I remember asking Murry in a whisper if he knew who this Guayasamin geezer was, in case we were meant to be clued up. He shrugged his shoulders, wandered if it was the name of a river, and we resolved to resort to Google later.

We visited The Guayasamin Museum ('Capilla del Hombre') and house in Quito a week later, and I was very glad of the discovery. So what better now than to share it here with you...

A micro biography

Oswaldo Guayasamin was born in Quito (capital of Ecuador) on 6th July 1919. He was the first of ten children born to his Quechua Indian father and mestiza (mixed race) mother. The family lived in poverty. 

In 1932, at the age of 12, Guayasamin commenced his studies in painting and sculpture at The School of Fine Arts in Quito. Not long after starting Art School, a close friend was killed in the 4 day civil war in Ecuador. This loss at an early age  in such a cruel way was to stay with Guayasamin and influence much of his later works.

                                                       Self-portrait, 1963 (oil on canvas)

                                                      Image credit: Art of Guayasamin 

In 1942 at the age of 23, Guayasamin exhibited his work for the first time. Nelson Rockefeller, an American who chanced by the exhibition was impressed with the work and arranged a grant for him to exhibit work for sixth months in the U.S.

Following his stint in the U.S., Guayasamin travelled to Mexico, where he became assistant to José Clemente Orozco (a Mexican muralist). The following year Guayasamin travelled around much of Latin America. His travel experiences and exposure to the poverty and oppression of indigenous societies all over the continent inspired his art works as well as his view of life and people.

He had many friends who were well known in political and artistic spheres of Latin American culture, including Fidel Castro, Gabriel García Márquez and Pablo Neruda.

Guayasamin died on 10th March 1999 at the age of 79 in Baltimore, Maryland.

During his lifetime he won many prestigious art awards and held exhibitions in the U.S. and Europe as well as Latin America.

What did Guayasamin create?

Guayasamin is pinned as an expressionist painter, sculptor and designer. He is referred to by many as 'the Latin American Picasso'. I can definitely see where this distinction arises. When I walked into the Guayasamin Museum in Quito the first thing I uttered to Murry was "wow, it's a bit like Picasso".

                       Some of the paintings on the first floor as you enter the museum.

                                                       Image credit: tripadvisor

However, Guayasamin deserves entirely his own credit. The style is definitively his own, with his own recurring trademarks, such as his beautiful and expressive way of painting hands.

                                             Las manos de la protesta (The hands of protest)

                                                     Image credit: The Guayasamin Foundation

The paintings housed in the 'Capilla del Hombre' in Quito are huge in size and cover large high walls. There are giant works of sculpture too.The sheer scale creates a moving impact for the viewer. Walking around the gallery I felt like a quiet tiny spectator, dwarfed by these huge silent paintings that seemed somehow to shed screams that bounced and echoed off all of the walls and filled the space, without making a sound. Guayasamin himself wrote:

"I have painted as if I were screaming in desperation, and my screams have joined the screams that express the humiliation of so many, and the deep anguish for the times we have had to live in."

The gallery was designed by Guayasamin, unfortunately he died whilst it was being built and never saw it finished. It is entitled 'Capilla del Hombre' ('Chapel of Man'), as it is designed in the style of a chapel. Guayasamin wandered why men are so ready to build beautiful structures and offering for Gods and religions supposedly higher than themselves, but do not build such sacred structures to honor themselves. This then, was his offering to man and to the unity of Latin America. A domed and painted temple-like roof in the centre of the upper hall creates the 'chapel', with a flame burning underneath on the ground floor.

                                                  The Chapel of Man dome ceiling

                                                   Image credit: Milena Frieden

              The above inscription is printed on a ground floor wall, opposite the chapel flame:

                                        "Keep a light burning because I will always return"

                                                                  Image credit: blog

Another inscription in the same print as above is figured on the opposite wall. In translation it reads 

"He cried because he did not have shoes, until he saw a boy who did not have any feet."

Guayasamin is considered an important figure in Latin America not only for his unique style, but also for his role in recording the politics, history and struggle of the indigenous cultures of the continent. Beyond that, he is also important on a universal level for his interest and compassion in mankind and human nature as a whole.

                                                            The Bull and the Condor, 1957 

                                                           Image credit: www.twoyangs.com

This painting depicts an Andean ritual and also holds deeper meaning. The bull often symbolised Spain (the coloniser) and the condor represented the Inca (indigenous) . Here, we see the Inca fighting back against colonial takeover in Latin America.

Guayasamin held an unforgiving dedication to express human pain and suffering, torture, loss and war. Themes depicted extend beyond Latin America and reach out to the world and all of its pockets of suffering. Many of the works may seem depressing and morbid at first glance; twisted faces with eyes widened in horror and gaping screams feature a lot. What I read into these mangled figures begging for viewer attention, was Guayasamin's refusal to turn a blind eye. His attempt to pay homage to human suffering shows both his underlying compassion for mankind, and also his frustration at the pain we inflict upon one another. He sees all humans as united, and yet distressingly fractured by the boundaries we inflict upon and between ourselves.

Some of the recurring motifs and themes evident in his work are indigenous suffering at the hands of imperialist colonisers, war (civil, world and genocide), torture, relationships and bonds, death, emphasis of hands as instruments of action and emotion.

                                                 Lágrimas de sangre (Tears of blood)

                                                    Image credit: Guayasamin Foundation

                                                     Madre y niño ('Mother and child'), 1989

                                                  Image credit: The Guayasamin Foundation

Guayasamin's paintings are not all doom and twisted gloom. In his later years, he entered what he called 'La Ternura' ('The Age of Tenderness'). From 1988 - 1999 his paintings embraced the bonds between humans and the love and compassion imminent in human nature. They inspired hope for things to come, rather than focusing on the destruction of the past.

                                                El arbol de la vida ('The tree of life')

                                                    Image credit: Rem Sapojnikov

Guayasamin's house sits next to the gallery and we visited here too. It is a beautiful and peaceful spot in a quiet suburb on the outskirts of Quito, with a breathtaking view of the city and volcanoes that surround it. Guayasamin's ashes rest in a clay urn underneath a tree in the garden. The tree has been decorated with numerous lanterns and windchimes and is known as 'el arbol de la vida' ('the tree of life').

I have included a few paintings in this post, but Guayasamin's work has a much broader range and is worth looking into. If you ever happen to find yourself in Quito, Ecuador, I strongly recommend a visit to the 'Capilla del Hombre'. It is an experience and discovery that will stay with me for years to come, especially the hands! Guayasamin's beautiful, expressive hands were truly extraordinary.

Questions of Authenticity

If an alien came down and landed on earth and tried to address and understand our world as one, he would see that we all look and act much the same. But if the alien was to stay for a long time, (say he was like an 'exchange student' on earth), he would likely be treading the most confusing obstacle course of juxtaposed truths. A big web. We have so many lines and boundaries. There are boundaries in race, culture, religion, sex, class, politics, morals...to name but a few.

I often think one of the hardest and most frightening tasks for a stand-up comedian must be in their duty to judge boundaries. The scary part is not knowing whether you've pulled it off until you've done it live in front of an audience. You could be laughed off the stage, or it could go completely tits-up. Part of the thrill of comedy I suppose? I commend all stand-ups out there to be honest, even the shit ones. Just for taking the mic. It's a terrifying position.

A lot of good comedy dances tremendously on a tightrope, tipping into the dangerous territory of what we consider 'un-pc', and then regaining balance on the tightrope again. Most of us love 'un-pc' in comedy. That's if it is achieved with a certain edge and expresses a truth that we recognise. We are all different after all. As much as we learn from and respect each other, so are we all rooted in our own upbringings and perspectives to a certain extent. There has always and will always be tension between different nations, cultures and classes. Fear of the unknown and protection of our own is an animal instinct, and we're just animals really.

When comedy jumps over these boundaries, it often explores the thoughts many of us subconsciously have but are afraid to express; the worries that preoccupy us where boundaries are concerned. By overstepping the mark, whether it be social, moral, racial, political or other, a comedian opens up a dialogue into that 'dangerous territory'. That's why it's so funny, when done well. And so soul-achingly embarassing when it's done badly.

Take Ricky Gervais' sitcom pilot for 'Derek' as a prime example. It was aired on Channel 4 in April 2012, to a mixed reaction. There was outrage and serious debate over Gervais' choice of main character; a vulnerable man portrayed as having learning disabilities. Gervais has found success with cringe-comedy in the past, but was he going a step too far by preying on disability for cheap laughs? When questioned by disability campaigner Nicky Clark about whether Derek was disabled, Gervais answered:

"Derek is a fictional character and is defined by his creator. Me. If I say I don't mean him to be disabled then that's it. A fictional doctor can't come along and prove me wrong."

Nicky Clark is actually in favour of the sitcom and her full interview with Ricky and article are well worth a look: click here .

  Ricky Gervais as 'Derek Noakes', with Karl Pilkington who plays 'Dougie' in the new sitcom.                           

                                                    Image credit: NME 

The boundary Gervais tackles on this one is dangerous then, but he seems to have pulled it off as Channel 4 have commissioned a full series of 'Derek'. It will be interesting to see the reaction when it is aired later this year.

A writer also treads a dangerous type-space when writing about what is outside their own frame of knowledge and reference. This has been playing on my mind a lot. Sometimes I feel tied to a very small frame of reference in my story writing. Isn't art meant to be about freedom, imagination, going anywhere, even if you haven't in reality, or the place does not really exist?

How important is authenticity? And what does it mean to be authentic? Is it a case of who we are and where we were born?

I read an interesting piece in The Guardian back in June, called 'How not to write about Africa in 2012 - a beginner's guide' by Binyavanga Wainaina.

The tone of the piece was clearly set in the sub-heading:

'The booming continent is ripe for new partnerships, but with those who address us as equals not in aid bullet points'. 

The article employed scathing sarcasm to criticise Western notions of Africa. It painted Western journalists and charity-workers (as well as the wider public) as self-proposed martyrs, who dither outside the battlezones of Africa, professing to help with aid work and charity money. It drew up the modern Western man as an unprogressed echo of his colonial history: unaware, patronising and downright eurocentric in his thinking of the wider world and how to approach other nations. Wainaina seemed to ask, what makes Westerners so smug and supreme in even feeling entitled to 'help' another nation?

The article is well worth a read, as well as the debate it sparked from readers in response. One reader points out that in making his case, Wainaina utilises the same sort of stereotypes about Westerners that he accuses them of making in Africa. Perhaps this is Wainaina's aim? The satire is an attempt at holding up a mirror for his audience. But in doing so, he brings the argument on to an 'us and them' level, which surely just means drawing the battle lines. It's not helping anything is it? It's just another tiresome boundary.

As illustrated by Wainaina's anger, there is a fine line when we consider how we write about other cultures. Others often become very critical when we try to write about cultures outside our own. If we were born in a culture, and had lived outside it all our lives, I imagine having it in our blood would still allow us to write about it. But it depends how.

What qualifies us to write about something?

I suppose the fundamental rule to remember here goes back to that old chesnut of writing wisdom - 'write about what you know'. 

But I find this premise limiting. Surely the whole point with writing, is not to have rules. Rules exist as guidelines, advice for good practise. But if you really want to try your hand at writing from the point of view of a Tibetan monk, or a Nigerian electrician, or an Indian business man etc, do your research and then have a go...

Although, I warn you, it's bloody hard.

When writing stories, I find that mine are either obviously rooted in my own culture and class, or vaguely rooted in that culture without naming, or otherwise totally surreal stories that exist in otherworldly places. I sometimes find this annoying. Particularly now, when I am travelling.

I am in Colombia, and before that I was in Ecuador for a month. I see things daily that inspire me. I have a notebook where I collect images in words. Things that I see that I can use later. Details that I like, that I think could translate nicely between life and art. These aren't necessarily specific to a new Latin American culture. Just characters, people, places, things, a scene or exchange between people.

I have tried to start writing a story based on a man I liked who I passed everyday in Ecuador. His workshop was open to the street. He was old, and he sat every day at a machine. It looked like he was weaving. It took me a few days to figure out that he was making washing up brushes. After a few days there was a stack of finished brushes on the floor next to him in different colours. He was there when we walked to our Spanish school in the morning, and there in the same position, working away, when we walked home. Sometimes his family were around him in the workshop, eating dinner or talking with him, sometimes he was alone. But, in writing the story, I am finding it difficult to root it. How do I authenticate him? What voice do I use? What name and what characteristics to place him in his culture? My attempts are crass and inauthentic. In which case, I have attempted to lift him into an unnamed, unknown, universal place. But this seems too general at the moment to stick. The art is, after all, in the detail.

So, I don't really have an answer. But I do know from trying, that writing about other cultures is pretty tricky and maybe sort of impossible. If you do some extensive real-life research and find real people to slip on the skin of your characters, then maybe, just maybe...

We must remain aware, however, that if we choose to take such risks, we put ourselves up for higher criticism. Such is the nature of tribes, cultures and people. We are all protective of who we are and where we come from. If someone is trying to write about us, and they have not lived in our shoes, we of course, feel entitled to shoot them down at the first sign of weakness.

Oh, and as a final word, hats off to Zadie Smith. She writes bravely and authentically about race and the intermingling of cultures in Britain. 'White Teeth' (which I wrote about in a previous post) sees her confront the melting pot of British culture head-on. She succeeds in writing from the vantage point of three different cultures at once, because her characters are so authentic and recognisable. They come off as real. The art is is in the detail and she nails it. So maybe it can be done...

Goodbye Ecuador, thanks for all the volcanoes

The time has finally come to say goodbye to this old 1990s musical chestnut! Thank God. It has been whirling around my head all month.

                                                   Sash! - Ecuador (press play at your own risk)

Our month (and a bit) learning Spanish in Ecuador is up. Tomorrow, Murry and I are off to navigate our way across the Colombian border at Tulcan. When I say 'navigate', we won't really do much. We will probably be groggy from sleep on a bus, perhaps watching some strange film or other, maybe featuring a wolf. 

We are heading for Popayan, a town close to where the 7.1-magnitude earthquake hit in south west Colombia last Sunday. Luckily the tremor was deep enough underground not to cause too much damage. 

The previous earthquake to hit Popayan in 1983 was not so kind. At 5.5 on the Richter scale, it destroyed/damaged many homes as well as old Colonial buildings and churches. Over one hundred deaths were counted, and many citizens were left homeless. The quake occurred at 8.15am during Easter Week, and as a result, sadly, many died due to damage caused at the main Cathedral, where Holy Friday Mass was underway. After careful and costly restoration, the city retains its old colonial charm. 

If the news is anything to go by, fingers crossed not much of the restored city has been ruined again by Sunday's earthquake. We shall see. How frustrating it must be to build a city on unhappy fault lines? All that work, and then the earth moves, and you have to go again and rebuild it all like a game of lego, except far less fun. 

I've been thinking the same about some of the other towns and cities here, built menacingly close to volcanoes. Beautiful places, but dangerous places for town planning, no? Quito is the most obvious example; a sprawling, thin capital city that stretches itself like a cat in the valley between the Andes and at the foot of Volcan Pichincha. It's huge and developed. I imagine it as a cat that's getting all cosy and doing that morning-cat-stretch-thing where they remarkably change shape completely and become really thin and twice as long. Yet, it is the only city in the world, supposedly, to be nestled at the foot of an active volcano. 

          That's Quito the cat down there somewhere, poking out from below Volcano Pichincha

Volcan Pichincha has many peaks, we climbed to the top of one of them: Rucu Pichincha (4700m). Guagua Pichincha is the active peak. The largest eruption occurred in 1660, when ash covered the city. The most recent eruption was in 2003. Fingers firmly crossed that Quito never has to have a full on brawl with the volcano. I think we know who's likely to win. 

                                           At the top of Rucu Pichincha (4700m)

If you look straight ahead between the clouds, you can make out the mighty snow-peaked Cotopaxi volcano in the distance.

In other volcano related news, we stayed in one of the only inhabited and farmed volcano craters in the world. Pululahua Geobotanical Reserve is not far from Quito and up the road from the Mitad del Mundo (Equator monument). 

            Looking down into Pululahua crater from the top before hiking down for the night

It was quite eery in the crater at night as it seemed deserted, bar the quite creepy chef in our hostel. We couldn't get the horror film 'Wolf Creek' out of our minds as we tucked ourselves up in bed. And then the cows outside started screaming, which didn't help. At first it sounded like a human man letting loose the most piercing scream, and then we realised it must be cows. I think they were having sex, I hope it was more enjoyable than it sounded.

                                        Waking up in Pululahua volcano crater

                                            Volcanic rock

   We found a geothermal pool where you could see bubbles rising to the top of the water from    the earth's core

Volcanoes aside, Ecuador has much more to offer. I might write about that another time though...will let the volcanoes have their say for now...

Back to school

At midnight last night it was our one week anniversary in Quito - yeaah, congrats to us and to you Quito, and we haven't even been mugged yet! :)

Being a couple can make travel really relaxing and easy-going. It can however mean it's harder to meet other people. We are staying in the Old Town, full of impressive colonial churches and steep cobbled streets. It is about an hour away from La Mariscal Sucre (dubbed 'gringolandia' by locals) - the main tourist centre of bars and hostels.

We have however met some lovely people at our Spanish school. Swiss, Swedish, British and American so far. There's a young American couple living here and planning to adopt a baby. The Swiss guy was here for the climbing - he told us altitude-induced horror stories that made us all want to get down and kiss the safe ground we were on.

Our best friend, by far though, here in Quito is Pedro. He hovers over the bushes and flowers outside our window every morning as we eat breakfast. It's pretty much a solid friendship. He usually turns up just as we are having our first sip of (weak and rubbish) breakfast tea. He is a tiny electric blue and green hummingbird.

Pedro looks just like this violet-bellied hummingbird. Thank you to Paul Pratt who I borrowed the image from and who has many other beautiful images of the Hummingbirds of Ecuador on his site:

http://www.netcore.ca/prairie/Pauls_Web_pages/Hummingbirds_of_Ecuador.html

Trying new fruit is also fun, and all the 'exotic' stuff you'd fork out a few quid for in Britain is obviously the cheap way to eat here, as it is native. The discovery of 'maracuyas' is my favourite find so far. They are giant passionfruits.

Breakfast fruit - bananas, pineapple, maracuyas and dulce tomates ('sweet tomatoes' that taste a bit like papaya). 

In India, Carla and I got addicted to eating fresh green-fleshed passionfruits that you could buy from street vendors. They were hacked in half and you could suck out the insides. They were much tastier fresh, than the purple-skinned passionfruits we get at home in Britain. Over shipping time, they grow old wrinkly skins and extortionate price tags. So the discovery of these fresh GIANT passionfruits that cost 50 cents for two, was pretty exciting.

We found a great Spanish school (Guayasamin Spanish School) directed by an Ecuadorian guy with a moustache called Luis. We are doing four hours intensive Spanish Monday-Friday with our teacher Kenia. It is fun but intense. We also get about an hour of 'la tarea' each night, aka homework. So it's pretty much like being back at school. Except with more of an urge to learn.

All ready for our first day of school. The 'Experto' bit turned out not to be true, but we're working on it.

Some pictures of our walk to school, through the Old Town to La Mariscal:

                                                                On our road

                                                Basilica del Voto Nacional

                                                    Most days we walk through El Ejido Park

                                                         Quito's Boris-bike equivalent

Walking back home again. If we ever get lost, all we do is look for the Virgin Mary. Literally, not spiritually. El Panecillo is the hill that stands behind us with the Virgin Mary on top.

I love old people!

I have changed continents, and so far, the above is what I have learnt.

Murry and I woke up at 5am in London on 1st September, and ended up in our rented apartment in Quito, Ecuador exactly 24 hours later.

Flying into Quito was exciting. It was 10pm so the night outside was dotted with those glittering white and yellow city lights that always look so inviting from the sky - a bit like a man-made attempt to recreate the stars up above. What made it really exciting though, was the contours. Quito is all hills. On the outskirts of the city, where the lights stopped, we could just about make out the dark looming triangles of volcanoes.

This morning we woke up to a view of Pichincha volcano outside our window. The hills above us, and below the volcano, were scattered with whitewashed houses. What is it about hills and mountains? I can't get enough of them.

  View from our bedroom window, Quito, Ecuador

 Then there's the steep ups and downs of the cobbled streets in The Old Town, where we are staying. When we arrived we had to crouch with our arms out ready to catch our bags, by the car boot, as the steep hill would have seen them tumble out the boot and straight down the hill. 

After a big wander around Quito's Old Town today, I can confirm that my other instant love in this city is the old people.

The old people here are amazing. I have gathered this much just by watching them, like some kind of creepy reverse paedophile. I think I have a fetish. I am already scheming some kind of 'grab a granny/ adopt a grandpa' plot. The old faces here are so weather-beaten and wonderfully wrinkled. Maps of lives and stories to be told. The grandmas look so kind and wise; really open faces and lots of toothless grins. Many of them have shrunk to tiny proportions, and oh my! Their feet! Old people in Ecuador have the smallest feet I have ever seen!! Their shoes are tiny.

My favourite grandma so far is an old lady I spied in The Plaza Grande who can't have been more than 3 feet tall. She was wearing a white dress and a big colourful woolly cardigan with slippers on her feet (tiny slippers of course). She was wandering around eating an ice-cream cone. That was it really. I didn't speak to her, I just fell a bit in love from a distance.

Murry sometimes gets annoyed when I say old people are cute. They are, after all, much older, wiser and more experienced than we are, so it's pretty patronising. But I mean cute in a lived, totalled, whole, shrunken again, and 'they-don't-give-a-shit' kind of way. They tend not to rush about like us younger folk, preoccupied with forwards and back, ups and downs, ego worries and life strains. They are sort of done with it and let go. Sometimes it seems people revert to a sort of childlike form in old age. Maybe we shed all of those other layers, keep the lessons we have learned and perhaps just learn to be a bit still with it all? 

Anyhow, still a bit jetlagged. I had a huge siesta earlier (could get used to this lifestyle).

Tomorrow we are going to look for a Spanish school to try and get our tongues rolling out the lingo. Then perhaps, once the language is on my side, I can start making my moves on some of the old folk...

All very wrong, I apologise. I really just mean have some innocent chatter with them.