Monday, October 30, 2006

Monday 30th October 2006. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

This morning I meet Irene as usual and head into the office.

I have a lot of work to do today on the blog and on the website. I hit yet another hurdle when ESU Chile e-mail to inform me that they are withdrawing from the project and so I am left without project support or accommodation for my time in Santiago.

Its at moments like these I wish I had never left England...What is it they say about the best laid plans???

Out of the office I go to lunch with Paula and Jorge at Bistrô da Jaque. It is amazing how small a world it really is.

I knew Paula was Scottish when I first met her, but today I discover that she grew up in a boarding house at Edinburgh Academy where her father was a Housemaster. We discover in the ensuing conversation that we have a great deal in common.

I then head out across the city to address students. My first stop is the Jardim Botânico branch of the Cultura Inglesa. After my talk here I head out to the Cultura in Leblon (arguably Rio's most upscale neighbourhood).

I spend a lot of time with the branch manager Adriana who presents me with a gift of a prayer to St Jude...the Patron saint of lost/impossible causes. Adriana assures me that St Jude will help me get through this project very successfully.

Its a taxi back to my hotel where I intend to spend the evening on the internet working on the project and trying to sort out accommodations etc for Chile.

Tonight though I am having no luck. I enquire at the hotel about the internet and discover that I can pay twenty reais for a whole days access. Even though it is early evening I decide to bite the bullet and spend my food allowance on the project. Of course when I go down to log-on I am told that the charge is only applicable if you have a lap-top. As I do not it will be a 30 cents per minute charge on the hotel computer, but there are none available.

Unable to proceed I decide to call my best friend in New York and get her to call me back at the hotel.

The mobile telephone I have however turns out to bar international calls and the telephone in my room is giving out a constant busy signal...looks like another lonely night of TV then!

The weekend of October 28th & 29th. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Saturday morning and Jorge and I head out for the Jardim Botânico do Rio de Janeiro.
Our route takes me a drive along Copacabana, Ipanema and Leblon beaches before we park the car and take a local bus to the main entrance of the botanical gardens.

Unlike in the UK these gardens are not contained within stunning glass-houses, this wonder of nature is an outdoor spectacle. The dramatic main entrance of tall palms leading to the central fountain is a joy.

The gardens were laid out by order of the Prince Regent Dom João in 1808 and there are over 6000 varieties of plants.

We dine at Guimas in the Gavea area of the city where I sample my first Caipirinha made from persian limes. The flavour is far more bitter than the Caipirinha's I have tasted thus far.

On my drive back to Copacabana it strikes me as slightly strange to see people walking in the middle of the city streets in their swimming trunks.

I spend my afternoon walking the length of Copacabana beach taking in the atmosphere.

People come in all shapes and sizes, entertainers perform all along the beach and I particularly enjoy the sand sculptures and the travelling bands...and yes the beautiful people who come to see and be seen.

I head over to the world famous Copacabana Palace Hotel to join the jetset.

Here as I sit sipping my Caipirinha, the beautiful people are not only beautiful, they are also very rich.

It is true, people do sit around the pool sipping champagne posing in their bathing costumes; as is the case all around me. They are calling friends in London, New York and Miami to show each other just how important they are...and why shouldn't I join them? It may be pretend for me and the real-thing for them, but it is great to see all walks of life.

This could be the setting of a pre-war novel in colonial Hong Kong or Singapore. The architecture is not dis-similar, and it strikes me that whilst all around us in this paradise there is abject poverty; to the people here life is one long round of champagne and caviar.

The designer ladies lunching at the table in front of me, the expat group behind me and even the young German Count who is frantically leafing the pages of the Brazilian version of Hello searching in the vain hope of stumbling upon himself.


It would take a catastrophic event (such as the march of the Japanese into the tennis clubs of Singapore)that forces the two worlds to collide, before most of these people would even begin to comprehend the world that lies just beyond their manicured window.

I do get some of my interpretations wrong. The very obviously gay couple drinking expensive champagne is made up of a small and balding 50-something man and a beautiful and buffed young man in his twenties. I am shocked though to discover that it is the young man who has the money and is paying the bills rather than being the stereotypical toy-boy.

Finally though I think I have now seen it all. Climbing into and out of the pool, and swimming, without getting your Dior glasses wet...now that is style!


Today is another of those situations I am getting used to on my travels, when one minute I don't have enough money to eat - as last night - and then I am spending the average weekly wage on cocktails. My life remains one of extremes.

Its come time to leave, The guy in front is a wonderful caricature from an Agatha Christie mystery, resplendent in his Panama hat. The plonker behind is a loud American keen to let everyone know of his tenuous connection with His Serene Highness Prince Albert of Monaco and the Princess Grace Foundation benefit at Grand Central Station in New York.

We can all do the 'royal'connection thing...after all I once sat on the Queen's bed!

Let's move on. I can only take so much arrogance, time to head out on to the beach where there is no demarcation in who you are walking beside.


Sunday 29th October 2006.

The Presidential election today is basically a division of wealth. The leftist incumbent President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva with his social welfare programmes is popular in communities like Rocinha, whilst the middle and upper classes hold the view that under the current regime every day brings a new story of corruption and the choice is then to turn to the conservative opposition.

This morning I spend the day on Copacabana beach and the afternoon I spend by the rooftop pool in my hotel. At least one day I should do the Rio chilling thing, right?

Friday 27th October 2006. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

I am getting into the swing of being collected for work by Irene and we meet, as usual, outside my hotel at 8.30 am.

This morning I am heading into downtown Rio after I spend sometime updating the blog.

My first stop is Cinelandia, the cities central square. Jorge and I head into the National Library to view the building and then its on to the Fine Arts Museum.

Life really hasn't changed that much. The division of rich and poor, so evident in the paintings that adorn these walls, is all too evident in the streets that surround me.

On top of the Santo Antonio hill lies the Santo Antonio Convent home to the oldest church in Rio.

After my morning in the city centre we head to Rua Gonçalves Dias and lunch at Confeitaria Colombo. A landmark of old Rio this restaurant was built in 1894 and from its Belgian crystal mirrors to its straw chairs it retains a feel of days gone by.

After my lecture at the Cultura Inglesa Adult Centre I head up into the mountains through the lush green landscape that surrounds Rio to the former Imperial summer retreat of Petrópolis.

It is certainly much cooler as we climb and it is evident why the royal family chose this location to escape the summer heat of Rio.

On our drive into the mountains we stop for Agua de Coco (coconut water). It is most refreshing!

In Petrópolis we head for the Museu Imperial which remains a timewarp of the period when the royal family transferred from Brazil to a life in exile. Highlights include the Coronation Coach of Dom Pedro II and the Wedding Coach of Dom Pedro I.

However for me, the highlight was when I learned the true history of the charm bracelet.

In the days of slavery, good slaves were rewarded with a charm each year by their owner. Eventually, when your loyalty had left you with enough gold or silver, you could use this to buy your freedom; an early form of share-options scheme I think?

The museum is also hosting an exhibition at present to Santos Dumont, the inventor of the wristwatch and father of flight. This exhibition celebrates his first flight 100 years ago this month.

From the museum I head to the Catedral São Pedro de Alcântara, home to the Imperial tomb of Brazil's last Emperor. It is a very beautiful building with the feel of a large parish church rather than a cathedral.

This evening I deliver a Global Citizenship lecture in Petrópolis before returning to Rio.

Tonight I hit the money issue again. At the restaurants surrounding my hotel, there is a refusal to accept my credit card. It is visa and they all claim to accept visa, but I am told that they do not recognise the bank. Rejected even by McDonald's I return to the hotel, where the restaurant is now closed and dine on packets of peanuts from the mini-bar.

Thursday 26th October 2006. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Up and into the office with Irene, this morning I am working on the project here at the central office in Botafogo.

After lunch at Bistrô da Jaque with Jorge and Paula (a Scottish member of staff here at the Cultura's Rio HQ), I am heading out to the Barra district of the city.

At both branches of the Cultura Inglesa in this area of the city I am delivering lectures to students. These lectures are very well received and I get a tremendously positive response from the students.

In the car, one of the technicians accompanying me kindly offers me açaí, a sort of fruit smoothie drink to give me some local flavour.

I am getting on very well with Rico, my driver and he does me the honour of taking me to his home this evening after I have completed my days work.

We head off up the hill and into the favela community of Rocinha.

I learn that in Rio the communities do not like being referred to as Favela's. Rather they consider themselves communities.

This particular community is the most developed slum district I have seen in South America. Whilst all such districts I have visited have been communities in the personal sense, this is the first such area where I see such a strong material sense of community.

There are many shops, bars, restaurants and even a police station. Everything is very open. It is however explained to me that this is due to the fact that outsiders don't come in to these areas. The community protects its own and when there are issues thses are dealt with internally.

I am told that if trouble flares then there is no-one who can control this except the favela owner, i.e. gang chief. As such any visit is potentially dangerous as a situation arising will cause an imploding of the community and the rest of the city will just wait for matters to settle.

There is even a Bob's burger chain outlet up here. It is definitely NOT SAFE for tourists and I am, after all, a tourist.

However, I am very lucky. I am visiting with a very popular local who is well known and respected. Also, I feel like Madonna when I get out of my black car with tinted windows to take to the food stalls on the street. Rico is out to open my door and the two bruisers who are travelling with us in the car look like my mafia protection men as they stand over me and follow me on my walk-about.

Rico has brought me here to show me the beautiful night view of Rio from the heart of this community and it is stunning.

I can't help thinking as I leave that it is a shame that I didn't have these bruisers with me throughout my trip!

I get to see Rio at night for the first time, albeit from the safety of my car. We drive back along Leblon, Ipanema and Copacabana beaches and I watch the beach volleyball and a few football games that are happening on the beachfront.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Student work from George Heriot´s School, Edinburgh.

Following on from my attack, one of the positive benefits has been the opening of student eyes around the globe to the precautions we all have to take when venturing into new territory. Particularly important for those about to embark on a GAP year.

Some words of advice from Fraser Monteith, age 17 from his essay work on my travels.

The golden rule in any large city is beware in the evenings where pickpockets proliferate especially in shady, dark shadow areas including all major parks, in addition crowded market areas, as well as trolley stations are easy targets for pickpockets.

The main areas populated by tourists, local bars or restaurants and late at night. Call a taxi prior to departing.

Know where the Policia de Turismo are situated and what they can do to help you. Take a taxi!.



From a task set to produce an essay on Quito, giving a take on the city from a local's perspective; work by Calum Jones age 17.

Although Quito appears to be nice for tourists, it’s a very different story for many of us residents. When people visit our city, they see the designer shops and expensive hotels in the centre, but they don’t realise that these only exist for them. Tourism does provide us with some jobs and it helps our economy, but the companies push property prices up and force out local business.

Because we don’t always get paid fairly for our work, we are forced to live illegally on the outskirts of town; our choice is between better housing or healthcare and education for our children. We don’t get any money from the Government, because they don’t know we exist.

Four years ago, the Governments of our continent met in this city to discuss free trade. This has only happened on a small level, and the money that has been gained has gone to foreign companies and the Government; the foreign companies send their profits back to their shareholders, and our Government uses its funds for the army or to build airports to bring more tourists to the city.

Many of our employment problems are the Government’s fault. They have put a lot of money into colleges and universities to train people for better jobs, but they haven’t created enough jobs. This means that the jobs the poor communities need are taken by the middle classes, and we are forced to beg or steal to make a living. With so little money in our communities, families turn on each other, terrorising our neighbourhoods in masked gangs.

If our situation is to change, we need the world to stop looking at our city and start looking at our people. We have been ignored for too long.



The experience of living near a volcano by Louise Hoban, age 17.

I live 140 kilometres away from the Capital of Ecuador.

My family and I have been greatly affected by the recent eruption of the volcano Tungurahua, which started to erupt on Wednesday. Five people have been killed and lots more are missing. The roof of my home has collapsed, and there is no electricity, our water is now undrinkable, which has caused our community many complications as we are living in extremely bad conditions. Our crops are very damaged which could cause a lot of difficulties as we need them to live off, and there is a thick layer of ash which will make it very difficult to grow anymore potatoes, corn, vegetables and grain for a very long time.

Also the rivers Patate, Puela and Chambo have been blocked by the debris which adds to the problems of restoring our village. Quite a lot of animals are dying of diseases and starvation. I don’t know how we’re going to live if we do not have any access to food or are unable to produce any.

My brother was injured badly while trying to flee and was taken to the nearby city of Riobamba. This is very upsetting but he is strong and healthy so should pull through.

Our village was not the only village directly affected, ten other villages were hit by the volcanic eruption.

I don’t think that we are ever going to be able to live back in our village again because we now don’t have any resources to live off of and make money and also because the volcano may erupt again and I do not wish for this disaster to be repeated as it was extremely traumatic.

It has happened before but it has never affected our village in such a horrific way. I hope that help will be sent soon, relief supplies have been promised but none have arrived.

I love my village very much but if I could choose to live somewhere else, I would because it is difficult to live somewhere that is unsafe and unstable. I also do not like living in a place that is a danger to my friends and family as it is very upsetting to see someone who you care for very much get hurt, and living where I do poses this threat to those who live around me.



QUITO-ECUADOR by Ursula Braun, age 17.

My name is Maria and I live in Quito the capital of Ecuador. I have lived here all my life with my family. My country is very beautiful, and I am proud to live here, however we have been affected by many disasters.

Ecuador is a less economically developed country, my brothers and I find it very difficult to make money for our sick mother to get better. Often we try to make money by helping tourists; locals aren’t interested and ignore us. However unfortunately little money is made from this, so often we have to travel along the streets and beg any foreigners for money, so we can help our mother. We live in a shanty town in the outskirts of the city. We do not get much clean water or food, yet for my family it’s important to stick together.

The days are hot, and the sun can be quite irritating, and make us much thirstier. We have a local water supply near by the shanty town yet it is difficult collecting the water as it is not available all times of the day and many others want it too. It is difficult tolerating the sun all day, but you get used to it after a long time of working in the sun. Nights are very cold, the sun sets around 6-7 o’clock and as soon as it’s gone it quickly gets a lot colder, especially when it’s slightly windy. Therefore nights can be very cold where warm clothes can be needed.

As well as this it is very difficult to live here with the natural disasters. There are many active volcanoes and the last one has recently erupted on the 16th of August 2006 140km away from Quito. This, making it very difficult for people who live around that area as many have lost their family and homes. Due to this a lot of people have also moved to the city to find new shelters and like my family, have ended up in a shanty town. This is not the ideal life and my dream has been to get properly educated and live in a real house.

Therefore I find it very difficult to live my life here, in Quito, as there are no opportunities for me to change my life style. Also due to natural disaster there are many problems for us locals to find new shelters and jobs.

25th October 2006. First full day. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

This morning Jorge collects me at the hotel and we head in to the central offices of the Cultura Inglesa here in Rio.

I spend the morning in meetings with various academic staff before we head for lunch at Bistrô da Jaque in Botafogo.

The afternoon will be spent visiting Corcovado Mountain and the statue of Christ the Redeemer. A world recognised icon of Rio, the art deco statue stands some 125 feet tall and our journey to the mountains summit and the statue will take us up through the Tijuca Forest National Park.

The Corcovado rack railway that climbs the mountain is the only train in Brazil using the rack rail system. Quite simply the track consists of grooves that hold the trains toothed wheels.

In January 1910, the first electric train in Brazil ran on this route.

All constituent parts of the statue were carried to the summit on the train.

I am taking the same train journey that His Holiness Pope John Paul II took on his visit to Rio in 1980.

As we near the summit, the old Rio tuberculosis hospital comes in to view. The location of this santitorium high on the mountain side in this forest in the city was well chosen due to the infectious nature of tuberculosis.

From the hilltop the Pope blessed the brazilian people and he could not have chosen a better site. The open arms of the the statue of Christ the Redeemer are believed to be a symbol of the warmth of the Brazilian people.

The statue is constructed from reinforced concrete has an outer skin of soapstone. It was inaugurated on October 12th 1931 and this year on the statues 75th anniversary the chapel in its base was consecrated by the Archbishop of Rio.

An interesting fact is that no accidents occurred in the construction.

On my way down I am thrilled to see a peace pole located next to the rail tracks, for me, a comforting symbol of home.

Back in the city I am to deliver my first major lecture tonight at the Botafogo branch of the Cultura Inglesa.

The nuances of language.

I recently received some student work from Sao Paulo focused on a lecture I gave to students in a very wealthy school in the city.

I was fascinated when visiting this particular school by the educational philosophy.

In the mould of Summerhill, the lunatics were running the asylum.

The school was typical of trendy educational experimentation where the students call the teachers by their first names, students attend classes if the choose, work at their own pace as and when they choose etc. etc.

I am not against working at your own pace and indeed I have been a vocal international voice, both in journals and newspapers, in support of the portfolio model of the National Writing Project.

To my mind, after some thirteen years of educational research, I believe that children need boundaries. That we can only function in the adult world where deadlines, competition, unjust action and ineffective management are often the norms of the workplace; if we have been educated to the very best of our abilities.

Students need to be stretched and driven to achieve all that they can achieve.

This does not mean hot housing, rather it means traditional schooling. Education designed for the specific student population that will enable them to function in society.

It is essential that such education is open to interpretation to meet local need.

In the 1960´s great designers built award winning concrete utopia´s. They, of course, would never live in their constructions.

All too often in the designing of these monoliths no account was taken of the social class of future occupants, no account was taken of its structure, its education and its behavioural patterns yet we expected people to build their lives here. We were then surprised when such beacons of modernity became crime-ridden dens of vice, drugs and poverty?

So with education. As a middle-class intellectual it is easy to philosophise over a crisp chardonnay and a goats cheese salad about what people need. More often than not in reference to the working-classes and the so-called socially deprived.

So in education, trendy theorists design pedagogy that rarely takes account of social class, societies structure, its behavioural patterns, future economic demands and most importantly personal esteem.

What amazes me is that so much trendy pedagogy eminates from an intelligencia that has no connection with the world of the working-classes.

I grew up on, and was educated in, a working-class housing estate all my life. I was never socially deprived. ALL of my colleagues at school can read and write. Many have gone on to be doctors, lawyers, accountants, teachers...indeed to join that band of middle-class intellectuals to which I refer.

We are the product of the traditional, not trendy, rote learning on which the Scottish education system once prided itself and in which it was the envy of the world.

In my teaching career I have taught almost exclusively in traditional state and private schools. Traditional, not in the strictest sense of the word, but rather in the teaching methods. ALL possess one common characteristic, they put EDUCATION FIRST and not the ego of the administrator.

What fascinates me about this particular work from Sao Paulo is the lack of understanding of the nuances of language in the student population.

I have delivered the same talk to students across South America and indeed to students in a favela project in Sao Paulo itself.

In every other institution it has been understood.

Infact, in talking to the students at this particular school I refered to the fact that my dress was not as I would dress in the UK, or indeed, on a normal lecture tour. In apologising for what I felt was overly casual attire, I explained that travelling for fourteen months with one back-pack and covering extremes of climate meant options for dress were limited.

It amazes me that the student body choose to focus on attire rather than the academic content of the talk. Indeed, I was surprised on a personal level at how casually attired the students were for the school day.

I actually spoke about the arrogance of the British in not learning other languages and assuming that everyone would speak English and linked this to business topics. This point has been understood in all my other audiences.

Further, my Spanish has improved dramatically since coming to South America. That said I have had limited exposure in Portuguese.

It is interesting for me that the greatest difficulties in understanding me have come from the students who are products of a very liberal educational philosophy.

The command of English from such privileged students was very weak and in the short day I spent with them it was evident that their command of wider academic and cultural matters was equally so. I knew more about their home city than they did...this cannot be correct?

From Bryanston, to John Burroughs, to Summerhill, the CEB and beyond; I am happy for such experimentation to be conducted and amongst the wealthy. After all, a lack of education is no barrier to making money (some would even argue that it helps!).

As long as there is nepotism then I am all for letting the lunatics run the asylum, because whether educated or not they will be future CEO´s, but please policymakers...just don´t experiment on the masses.

Do enjoy what was written about my talk and please feel free to enter into a debate about what I have said.


To the students at CEB...

Muchas gracias para tu carta, que llegar hoy. Will

Last Manday, a scottish man calles William Glover came to our school to show your new project.
The name of the project is the Building Blocks Scholarship. He is going to travel around the world to make people aware of the importance of learn English, and the experiences will be reported in a book.
The students were disappointed with the way he conducted the speech. In a polite way, he said everything he really think about our country, sometimes saying that was the European vision. For example, he said that the clothes and the atitude we to do are not usual in England, but what we thought was that in Brazil people are not polite. He is traveling around the world and doesn´t have any curiosity to learn any other language . When a student asked this to him he was very rude: it´s an absurde, he said, “ I´m British, I don´t need to learn another language. “ But the last straw was when he said that it you don´t learn English you will never be a successful person in any career.
In a nutshell, that wasn´t what they really expected.
Everyone knows that English is important nowadays, but have much more to learn than English. We need culture as well. Knowledge everyone could have, but what really makes difference in your life is your culture.
It is clear that we, from South American have more culture than the developed country, because we have to learn about all the world, and they just know about their culture. But the real point is that they must know more than we. After all, they are “ the king of the world”. No, sorry, they think so.

24th October 2006. Arrival in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

After a long flight delay I have finally made it to Rio having spent almost seven hours in the airport at Buenos Aires.

Coming in over the city I attempted to take photographs of the beauty of the natural harbour on which the city sits, although only sight can do such a wonder justice.

Its sounds strange to say, as I have never been to Rio before, but it feels like coming home.

Maybe I am just on a high from my wonderful Lima experience and the warmth of my time with Margarita and Tim, or maybe it is simply because I felt so welcome in Sao Paulo?

If Rio can live up to Sao Paulo than I am in for a wonderful time. The Brazilian people I have met thus far have been extremely warm and friendly and I see no reason for things to be different in Rio.

I am met at the airport by my friend, the President of the English-Speaking Union of Brasil, Jorge Reis and our driver Rico.

A quick trip to my hotel, I am actually staying at Copacabana beach can you believe it!!!, and then it is on to one of Rio´s icons...the Sugar Loaf Mountain.

Sugar Loaf sits at the mouth of Guanabara Bay on a peninsula that juts out into the Atlantic. The peak rises to some 1,300ft and is actually accessed by a cable car ride that first takes you up Dog Face Mountain where you join a second cable car to the Sugar Loaf summit.

The mountain is so-called because of its resemblance to a concentrated refined sugar loaf. Although, the academic explanation is that the name derives from the Tupi-Guarani language of the Tamoios indigenous peoples and actually means simply high-hill...so take your pick!

The cable car here was built in 1912 and on exhibition there is an original car that plied the route from 1913-1972 when the new, 75 passenger cars, were introduced.

Sugar Loaf mountain is the most famous of the morros of granite and quartz rising from the waters edge around Rio.

And on this trip what else could Jorge and I do but indulge in a Caipirinha as dusk fell over Rio.

My first night in Rio and I cannot quite believe it, but I am actually dining on Copacabana beach, at Restaurante Transa.

I could not have had a better day in many ways.

My conversation today has been enlightening for me personally.

I am well aware that I may be physically recovered, more or less from the attack, but psychologically it remains a big issue for me.

In talking with Jorge I am, for the first time, understood.

Having worked, in a voluntary capacity, with crime victims in the UK; I have in the last few months found myself on the receiving end of those same well meaning platitudes that I also delivered to my clients.

It is very true what they say. You can never actually know what someone is going through unless you have endured the same experiences yourself.

Jorge tells me about being car-jacked at gun point here in his home city.

As we discuss; it is not actually the material items that are stolen that hurt in the long term, it is the fact an individual, or group of individuals, steal from you your sense of self-belief, of security and even of self-worth.

As I have said earlier, everyone in South America seems to have a story and I am made aware of the fact that most workers with the Cultura also have a story.

Facing up to my fears is the hardest road I have ever travelled and each new day is bringing its challenges, but also its rewards, and I must make sure that the positives outweigh the negatives!!!

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Last day Lima. Monday 23rd October, 2006.

Today unfortunately I am feeling rather ill. I have developed a cold over the last few days and so I decide to spend the day in bed recovering.

I could not be in better hands. Tim made me a wonderfully homely toddy last night (the famous Scottish flu cure of whisky, lemon, sugar and boiling water); to drive out the bugs.

Tonight I bid farewell to my dear friends. After all my highs and lows in South America the tender loving care of two such wonderful people was just what I needed to set me back on track here in South America.

I cannot express in words how very grateful I am to Margarita and Tim and how wonderful it is to be privileged in having so many true friends around the globe. As Mum has often said, "that boy would get a piece at anybody´s door"...Get yourself a Glaswegian dictionary and find out the meaning of the phrase!

In my time with the Dallmans I really appreciated the fact that the company of good friends and companions is one of lifes greatest joys.

I really loved Lima and the Peruvian people were so very warm and friendly.

Life is a journey that is made all the more pleasant by experiences such as my time in Lima. Kicking back with friends is one of lifes pleasures. That opportunity to stop, chill, throw of the shackles of day to day life and just lounge on the sofa.

Not only were Margarita and Tim the ultimate hosts, but give me a few weeks in Lima and Hablo Español...Margarita is a truly talented teacher!!

I head tonight for Rio de Janeiro via Buenos Aires and back to Brazil, the country that I found so warm and inviting on my original South American excursion back in August.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

The weekend of the 21st and 22nd October 2006

Saturday 21st October 2006. Lima, Peru.

I just Love Lima. I am having so much fun here and it is made all the more special as I am in the company of special friends.

Saturday proves to be one of those truly magical days in life when 24 hours becomes a dream world of joy.

I begin my day at the Post Office after my leisurely breakfast and pottering around learning a little from Tim’s gardener Jacinto.

Well to be exactly correct, the Post Office is actually in a supermarket. I am attempting to send a postcard home to Scotland.

As you have been made aware, I discovered very early on just how developed South America actually is. Well today I see how the first and third worlds can live in harmony.

The lovely lady serving us simply cannot recognize that if she places all the stamps she deems necessary on the postcard then there will be no viewable address to send it to. Unperturbed by this she is all for pasting and posting.

The decisions that are taken over this posting take an inordinate amount of time and that is actually a joy, in a weird way, for a Westerner so used to the rapid nature of life in the UK.

We eventually agree a compromise. I will go to another store and buy an envelope which I can then address and place the postcard inside, the dear lady can then stamp away until her heart is content!!!

Before lunch I am invited to visit Tim’s neighbour. Víctor Pimentel is an internationally renowned contemporary artist whose work can be found across the globe. A huge number of his pieces hang in the galleries and luxury homes of Europe.

Lunch itself is a cultural treat as we dine on Peruvian delicacies at El Villano a wonderful local establishment in the backstreets of Barranco.

Today just goes from one high to the next and in Barranco we discover Dédalo, arguably the most exciting store in the world.

This unique store is home to arte y artesanía and it is both a contemporary art gallery and stunning treasure house of inspirational items for your home.

I am so happy in Lima and I am so proud that my project is back on track that I actually splashed out and bought a handmade photo album with two smiley faces that show how much I have enjoyed Lima.

It is one of those stores where you can bump into the cities high and mighty, and we did, in the shape of the recently retired British Ambassador.

On the terrace outside there was a wonderful exhibition Chavin de Huantar of art inspired by the Chavin culture.

Then to top it all we head down to the ocean and then over to Lucia De La Puente, galeria de arte. Here I am lucky enough to view two inspirational shows. The majesty of sculpture is demonstrated in the work of Benito Rosas and the art of Fernando Taboada, particularly Contemplacion, is simply inspirational.

Margarita has been an excellent guide to the city’s old buildings and we explore further even convincing the owners at 103 Ave. Sáenz Peña to let us in to see the building up close.

After a siesta Tim and I head out for the night to the Teatro.

I am so so lucky. Tonight is the opening night of the latest round of Kimba Fa at the Teatro Canout. This fantastic show is the Peruvian equivalent of STOMP. It is a genuinely apt portrayal of day to day life in Peru and is a wonderful insight into the culture of the country (particularly Lima). The performance was of truly international standard and between the social commentary and the energy and enthusiasm of the performers this show blew me away.

I never ever fancied seeing STOMP in London, as I wasn’t sure that I could face such a prolonged period of action without words, after seeing this show…STOMP here I come!

Rounding off the perfect day, Tim and I head back to Barranco to take in the nightlife. We dine on anticucho and drink Chicha de Jora and we visit many and varied hostelries. Juanito’s is of course on that list and we round of the night in the stunning three story building that is La Noche.

Sunday 22nd October 2006. Lima, Peru.

It was a lovely leisurely morning this morning before we headed out to San Isidro to take the air in the Parque El Olivar.

Tim then took me to the scene of his many theatrical triumphs, the Teatro Británico in Miraflores where I had a guided tour of the facility before a well earned Pisco Sour on the pier at La Rosa Náutica. This is actually the first venue in my life where I have ever had to pay a cover charge…guess I am just not that posh!!

The highlight of the pier was the original organ grinder and his monkey (not very animal welfare friendly though).

The monkey choose for me though, the most timely of sentiments, when he pulled a card from his tray.

The card read that I am the type of person who cannot access all of my wealth (in material terms) and that in fact my wealth lies in what I do. That goodness is what makes me different from other people…Well its’ probably all hype but it inspired me!

After a late afternoon drive along the beach front on the Costa Verde where you will find some of the yuppiest restaurants imaginable we head into Chorrillos.

Not before however, that is, we take in the Friar leaping into the ocean at El Salto del Fraile, a true Lima highlight!

We dine in fine style today at the hottest ticket in town, Maximiliano. The venue only opened 3 days ago and already chef/owner Rafael Rivera is causing a stir.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Friday 20th October. Lima, Peru.

Well folks sorry about the delay in updating things but there have been connection problems with blogger.

This morning I was woken by my first true South American earthquake experience.

There were two temblores just before six am.

I am currently in the classroom at Markham College with the third Primary Five class of the morning. We have just changed over from mathematics to art and I am having yet another great day with my mate Tim Dallman.

As the day goes on I am having the greatest time imaginable. I am amazed at the inspirational teaching I am witnessing and I greatly enjoy sharing educational ideas with Lizzie McMahon, Headmistress of the extraordinarily (some twenty classes) large Early Years section of the College.

A large part of my day is spent with a Primary One class who have a simply outstanding command of what is after all their second language. The Early Years section in the school adopts a policy of language immersion which means that by the time the students progress from Kindergarten to Primary most have a command of English (both written and oral) that is comparable...and arguably more advanced...than their counterparts in the UK.

I had a wonderful day today at school. I remain fascinated by the different educational styles I am fortunate enough to witness during my travels and it was a joy to speak to Tim's classes about the project and its aims and to build an e-mail link between Primary school partners.

Tonight I am making the next major step on the road to recovering my confidence.

I have really enjoyed Lima and it is right that I begin venturing out again in the evening. Lima does not possess the feeling of threat that I sensed in either Ecuador or Caracas and so on a personal level I have more spring in my step.

Also as Tim rightly suggests this is the South American city in which to face my fear head on as I have back-up here that I will not have elsewhere.

So armed with Tim's mobile phone (for emergencies) I head off in a taxi and onto the streets of Lima at night. I have arranged to meet up with some project acquaintances, but I will make my way into and from town all on my own.

The evening proves to be one of enlightening experience and I am amazed when 1am arrives and I am still on the town. It is time now to make my excuses and head out onto the streets to locate a taxi and hopefully learn a few more words of Spanish as I make small-talk enroute back to Los Alamos de Monterrico.

The earth moved tonight for the second time in 24 hours!


Thursday 19th October. Lima, Peru.

Today I am heading off into Central Lima with Jorge, an old friend of Tim and Margarita and our host at the cocktail party Tuesday evening.

Jorge is a true renaissance man. Lawyer, travel agent, property developer, wine expert, speaker of French, Spanish, English etc etc etc.

I could not be in better company for my tour of his home city.

We begin with a drive around the city focusing on the historical and architectural significance of the main buildings and Plazas.

On entering Lima proper you are greeted by the monument to the Pacific War, fought between Peru and Chile in those days post independence when the countries of South America were asserting their individual strength.

Architecturally, central Lima is home to a significant French neo-classical influence in its building design, yet it is also home to the myriad of architectural styles that characterise the recent social history of the human race.

From stunning (if neglected) colonial buildings, through the grand European design of the Palace of Justice complex, through Art Deco and that hideous 70's affair with concrete which when done well is excellent and when poorly designed...as in the Sheraton Hotel complex...is appalling.

Like so many areas of the developing world, culturally aware Peruvians were looking toward Europe for style influences in the 19th and early 20th century's. In particular the rich were looking toward France which remained a hot bed of chic in everything from art and literature to philosophy and architecture hence the heavy French influence in the City's architecture.

One thing that I noticed early here in Peru is that almost all the beggers are willing to give you something in return, even if it is just a sweetie. You get something for your donation and often this is a wonderful display of circus skills from the very talented street children.

My driving tour takes me via sites ranging from the Plaza San Martin (constructed to mark 100 years of Peruvian independence); to the original site of San Marcos University (the first university in South America) to the old financial centre with its buildings reminiscent of Wall Street and The City.

The centre of the city is the outstandingly beautiful Plaza de Armas and its layout reflects the role Lima once held as the centre of Spanish colonial power in South America. The buildings on the four sides of the square housing the power of the Church, the executive, the regional government and commerce.

At the Plazas' centre stands a bronze fountain dating from 1650 which flows once a year on Pisco day not with water, but with the national drink of Peru.

The Cathedral surprisingly will not be the focus of my visit to the city's churches as I am destined for the gem that is the Church of San Pedro to crown my spiritual day.

Instead, in the Plaza, I head into the Palacio Arzobispal adjoining the Cathedral, which although it dates only from 1924, possesses one of these stunning wooden balconies that abound in the city centre.

When I get to the church of San Pedro I realise it is an overlooked gem in this city of churches. It contains the most stunning collection of art and although covered in gilt it is not overdone!
The church is a treasure house of work from the Cuzqueńa school with its merging of both Inca and Catholic iconography. You will see saints depicted in Spanish colonial dress with native feathers in their hair. You will even see saints depicted as pregnant!

The two wooden side altars are simply outstanding. I have never ever seen a bookcase like the Holy Family Altar and as for the Sacred Heart which dominates the central dome, who could fail to be inspired?

My tour naturally leads to the Monasterio de San Francisco famed for its catacombs that are estimated to be the site of roughly 70,000 burials.

However enroute to San Francisco we detour to the Congress building, not really for the architecture but rather to take the air on the most polluted street in Lima...and you really can feel the filth at the back of your throat!

I really like Lima. It has a warm and friendly feel in the same way that I loved Sao Paulo...and the similarity does not end there. Both cities are architectural and cultural gems and so I now head off for the Ferrocarril Central to view not just the stunning train station but also to take the opportunity to pop-in on a traditional leather workshop where you can still have shoes, saddles etc handmade.

Across from the station lies the Bar Cordano, a true city gem that is a moment in history captured for the present. This is a true locals establishment right down to the ham or roast sandwiches and the clients who have jumped straight from the pages of a mid-twentieth century novel.

Heading off past the Palacio de Gobierno where unfortunately there is no changing of the guard today (due to a ministerial meeting) we head down to see the old post office complex and on to the Convento Santo Domingo home to the remains of San Martin de Porres who remains an inspiration to the black community worldwide as he was the first black saint in the Americas'.

My architectural tour ends at the stunning Casa De Osambela, a true reflection of the colonial wealth and power of the merchant class.

Jorge and I now turn our attention to the great love of limeños, eating. We are to dine at L'Eau-Vive Del Perú, a unique restaurant run by the Sisters of the Carmelite Monastery and an institution in the city. I am told that if you dine here in the evening you are entertained by the sisters singing Ave Maria.

My day is rounded off by a true Lima experience. Jorge and I head to the Hotel Maury in whose bar it is claimed the first ever Pisco Sour was mixed.

Tonight Tim, Margarita and I dine at Tres Marias in Surco where I had my first Algarrobina which is a pisco based cocktail mixed with the syrup of the Algarrobo tree and condensed and evaporated milk. I also enjoyed had my first taste of Chicha Morada which is a drink made from dark purple corn cobs.


Wednesday 18th October. Lima, Peru.

Back in the saddle and today I am to spend the day teaching English to local university level students who are aiming to improve their English as a means to enhancing their job prospects.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Tuesday 17th October. Lima, Peru.

I am really enjoying Lima.

Today is an unusual day here in Peru. A half day holiday has been declared due to the death of Paniagua (a former interim President of the country) and so the country is paying its respects through a period of official mourning.

After school Tim, Margarita and I head out from Surco to the main secondary school campus of Markham College before my introduction to Ceviche (fish marinated in lime juice and in many ways the national dish of Peru). We dine at a local spot popular with the school staff known as Los Ceviches here in Miraflores.

The lime, by the way, should always be hand squeezed to avoid the acidity you get from machine squeezing that grinds right into the rind.

We head off and take a tour of Miraflores, another of Lima’s upscale neighbourhoods and then down to the Costa Verde and the Parque del Amor, based on Antoni Gaudi’s Parc Guell recently visited on my trip to Barcelona.

In this park of love there is certainly no shortage of courting couples.

We head off to visit Larcomar a very modern shopping complex cut into the cliff side in Miraflores and a most interesting architectural concept.

After taking a walk round Tim and Margarita’s old neighbourhood, where they lived in a small colonial house made from adobe, we are off to Barranco to visit a most stunning local workshop.

Casa Taller de Arte Colonial is actually where the Papal throne was made for the visit of John Paul II when he came to Lima, and it is a timewarp. A clutter of all things weird and wonderful in the art of model making and woodcraft.

The people here...Oh my God how friendly they are, and the woodcarving that is going on is beyond compare.

I am getting to know the locals of Lima and I am loving it!!!

Next stop is Juanito’s. A true original Peruvian bar and in all the guidebooks. However, it makes a real difference to come with locals who were partying here and playing the spoons, 20 odd years ago!

Juanito’s Bodega Bar dates from 1937 and, apart from a recent tart-up with a paint brush, remains true to its roots.

This evening we are to attend a cocktail party at Jorge and David’s apartment.
Picture Paris intelligencia in an apartment on the left bank in the 1960’s and you have captured the atmosphere perfectly.

Enroute of course we have to stop at Wong’s for some groceries…It is so cool being a local!!

Monday, October 16, 2006

Monday 16th October. Lima, Peru.

Today is a day at leisure. I am very well catered for and Rosa, the maid, is busy attending to my washing and the preparation of my lunch of tasty freshly squeezed juices and local meats.

We have a wonderful conversation about the city and Rosa’s impressions of life in Lima.

She loves it here in Los Alamos de Monterrico with its tranquility and she is at pains to point out that Peru is a very safe country, no different to the UK in this respect.

Tim and Margarita’s home is simply stunning. It is an architecturally designed masterpiece with huge picture windows looking out onto the family garden and park beyond. Tim’s gardener keeps all of this land pristine.

The neighbourhood is a gated community of stunning properties, as indeed are the myriad of homes I see on my way into and out of this particular sub-division.

Lima is not all barred-in as was the case in many cities in other South American countries I have visited.

I feel so at home here, not only because of the warmth of Tim and Margarita’s welcome; but also because of their American style house that I am very used to from my life in the US.

The one key distinction here is that no matter how friendly Rosa and I are becoming she chooses to eat alone in the kitchen. The demarcation of class is still so evident in Rosa’s attitudes to life.


The Joys of the English Language.

For some reason I have found the last few days difficult, and I have again begun focusing on my negative experiences in Ecuador. However I sat down to read for the afternoon today and became focused on the Robert Frost (1874-1963) poem The Road Not Taken.

It served to remind me that there were at least two different roads I could have taken this year and that I chose to take "the one less travelled...and that has made all the difference".

This thought process caused me to drift into the inspirational text of IF by Rudyard Kipling (1865 - 1936) and the fact that you "don't give way to hating": that you "meet triumph and disaster and treat those two imposters just the same".

I am finding it really difficult not to hate my attackers, yet I know that I must seek to understand what happened to me, to treat it as another of life's experiences that will shape and inform the man I am yet to become.

I know that everything you touch cannot turn to gold and indeed that the way I handle my problems may be more of a maturing and growing exercise than a project year that had sailed through with no trauma.


When Kipling talks of watching "the things you gave your life to, broken" he touches a cord with how I feel about having made such a great effort to get this project off the ground only for the rug to be pulled from under my feet.

Yet as Kipling continues, so have I since that August day, to "stoop and build'em [back]up with worn-out tools".

Coming back to South America is the greatest challenge I have ever faced and yet I knew that I had no option but to see this project through and make of it the potential I saw from the start.

In many ways I have lived literature since late August. As Kipling points out

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it one one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings.
...[then maybe you have achieved something in life?]

This is what has happened with me. I have lost all we raised to provide this scholarship program and so infact I am no further forward, nor any further back than I was at my beginnings...

Yet, I am arguably further forward as I am experiencing new horizons every day.

And again I have held on when there was nothing left in me, except the WILL that said you must hold on.

I hope for me that this year follows the sentiments of Kipling and that my experiences enrich my life and make me a better man than I might otherwise have become.

I know that on my return to the UK next year I must make that pilgrimage to Bateman's to thank Kipling for his inspirational words. It is strange that Bateman's remains one of the few cultural sites near my Sussex home that I have never visited!

One of the interesting observations I have made that in some way helps me to understand the attack I faced, is the fact that in South America in general there is a very short term mentality that cannot see beyond today...as long as I can make it today, then tomorrow, next week etc will take care of themselves.

Tonight Tim introduces me to Pisco. We sample an aromatic pisco made from the Italia grape which you should drink straight.

Pisco is brandy that is not stored in barrels. Remember that brandy gets its flavour and colour alteration from storing in barrels. With Pisco there is no alteration occurring from the storage vessel.

The funny thing about tonight is that in all my anal and organized state I had posted parcels to myself across South America. I love to give gifts from HOME when I travel and so I sent Scotch to various of my hosts.

No thought of course was given to the fact that I could have bought the Scotch in the airport Duty Free cheaper than in the UK and saved on the postage.

The Chile delivery has apparently arrived smashed, but not so here in Peru. Although the £20 spent to post it is actually more than the bottle would have cost in Duty Free.

Why the digression?

Well.

Tim’s bottle got here safely. But when he opened it we discovered that this bottle, bought and posted in Scotland, is actually an export strength bottle that is labelled for where?...Ecuador…the country of my torment.

We all have such a laugh about the fact that Ecuador seems to keep haunting me.

So to restore the balance, with supper, we have a wonderful bottle of wine called Aberdeen Angus from Argentina!

You know the more and more I travel the more I realize that we live in a world where distances may be short in relative terms, but we all forget that understanding of each other and our respective cultures remains a long term phenomena. We really still don’t understand or, at least most people choose not to understand, the differences that make the world a great big melting pot.

I am enjoying the opportunities this project is creating that allow me the privilege of learning about my brothers and sisters at close quarters!

Sunday, October 15, 2006

Sunday 15th October. Caracas, Venezuela.

Today I will leave Venezuela to join our partner school in Lima, Peru and to re-join the planned itinerary.

It has been fascinating in the Business Class lounge and like always I am observing my surroundings.

On Friday there was a flood of children who arrived to spend a few days with their fathers.

For me this seems such a strange concept, that the only quality time you get with your Dad is the odd snatched weekend in a hotel.

When I was growing up my Dad was always around, and I would not have wanted it any other way.

The people in the lounge are all very successful (in a materialistic way) yet I wonder how successful they are in life.

As a teacher I have seen too many children long for quality time with their absentee parents. In talking with one family, the parents are explaining the difficulties they are having with their teenagers. I am thinking that many of the problems they note are due to absence when the children were growing up.

I am not however, keen to start counselling the family. I gave up my newspaper column on child development some months ago now but I cannot help but feel that there are so many young people today who need the guidance of a loving and not an absent family.

What has been fascinating to observe is the obsession with money and profit.

I have enjoyed this environment for a few days. However, I could not tolerate living in such an environment for too long. One young couple from Argentina are living in the hotel for 6 months. They have just returned from 6 months in a similar hotel in Boston, USA.

I have felt here in business class the same way that I felt when I worked in New York. It is ok for a time, but I am not obsessed with the almighty dollar. Maybe that is why I teach business students rather than practice business.

I simply cannot understand the obsession we have in the world with money. As my Mum always says, you only need enough money to enjoy life.
Money after all is nothing special...they print more of it every day.

I am saddened by one lady from Colombia who tells me her dream is to take time out of life and travel the world. She is a company chief executive dripping in gold and yet she claims she will never be satified that she has made enough money to give herself this break.

We never know what tomorrow will bring and yet we never let ourselves live for today.

All of this reminds me of a saying I used to have displayed in my office...

One hundred years from now,
it will not matter what kind of car I drove,
how big my house was
or how much money I had in the bank.
WHAT WILL MATTER IS THAT I WAS IMPORTANT IN THE LIFE OF A CHILD!


I am also very pleased that I continue to collect project participants as I travel.
Jonas Vera, one of the waiters in business class, is trying to improve his English to enhance his job prospects. I am pleased that he has asked to participate in the project and I have agreed to act as an on-line tutor to support his learning.

The flight from Caracas to Bogota was simply an experience.

On the aircraft it was all a little Blue Peter. Think sticky back plastic and then imagine that the plastic trimming around the over head lockers is hanging off just across from you. Not an essential piece of flying equipment I agree, but it took the engineers forty minutes to decide to glue it up and hope for the best.

Take off was just as spectacular. Overhead lockers open and people lying horizontal in their seats, I have only once before experienced such a flight and that was a decade ago in Italy.

Later in my journey I am to become one of those infuriating individuals when I am boarding the flight in Bogota for Lima.

The man infront of me (well at least he was when he began his walk down the jetway initially) was drunk as a skunk. He demolished the sign at the boarding gate and then fell over four times on the jetway.

Being a nervous flyer, and aware of the problems we could have at 36,000ft with an uncontrollable drunk, I swung into action. Everyone else was staring at the guy but no-one was doing anything. So muggins here decides to report the guy to the purser and I end up helping her remove the man from the flight.

I don’t like to cause trouble for people but it was safer all round that he slept it off and travelled tomorrow.

On my journey down to Lima I shared the trip with a cool dude from Spain on his first visit to the continent.

Lima Arrival…

I must admit to being a little frightened when I got to Lima airport; with so many taxis wanting your business and trying to direct you here and there. I am busy looking for my driver but, as I later discover, he is not displaying his placard.

Never mind, we eventually find each other and head off into the early hours of the city´s day.

On my journey out to Surco I am amazed at how modern Lima appears to be. The feeling I am experiencing is one of safety and cleanliness, there simply is not the same threat in the air that I felt in either Ecuador or Venezuela.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Saturday 14th October. Caracas, Venezuela.

I have been sent a very complex question from Susan, a student in South Africa, who asks "Is there evidence of racism within South America?"


As I journey across South America I am becoming increasingly aware of the racial divide between Latino's and those descended from the indigenous people's; and the negro population.

There is a real tendency amongst those I speak to (even those of the Afro-Caribbean population) to distrust Afro-Caribbean's and to blame this population for much of the continent's legendary violence.

I worry about such racial stereotyping although in answer to your question I have to admit that all of the problems I have found have been at the hands of this community. From my mugging, assault and robbery; to attampts to rip me off in taxis, restaurants, stores etc.

I have found Latino's to be warm and welcoming and indigenous peoples to be peaceful and generous.

I do not wish to further engender stereotypes and would rather turn your question away from negative stereotypes toward questioning why the Afro-Caribbean population may have developed more aggressive/violent/criminal tendencies?

Maybe we need to examine this population's social history to determine current behaviours?

After all, we are simply a product of the influences and experiences with which we engage.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Friday, 13th October. Caracas, Venezuela.

This morning I finally discovered the handle in my luxury shower, spa, bath complex and I can now stop taking my life in my hands everytime I get in and out. I am obviously not used to such luxury!

I aim to make today my last major day of Caracas exploration, so I am I up and at it early.

For a country so impoverished there are so many vehicles (can´t call them cars as some are just holding on) ploughing the streets.

As we journey into the city centre I am aware of just how hot and steamy it is, and I don´t simply mean the weather.

The atmospheric heat is added too by the danger, the pollution, the poverty, the unfinished buildings, the vast numbers of people, the filth and the squalor.

It takes almost two hours to make the journey into town today as many streets are closed off for markets and also for a political march. I eventually have to head off on foot and begin by making my way first to the Capitolio Nacional where I am denied entry.

I had come here to see the Salón Elíptico with its domed ceiling painting by the prolific Martin Tovar y Tovar in 1888. The Salón is apparently open to the public and the oval hall is dominated by Tovar´s mural of the Battle of Carabobo.

Despite the published access hours I am discovering more and more that they set their own agenda in South America.

I am not happy today with the vibe in the city. There is a threatening feeling in the air. Indeed, my driver warned me before leaving the car to remove everything, watch and sunglasses included, for my own safety.

This proves to be very good advice and as I walk through the markets I am jostled and hands appear everywhere.

I decide to head off and see the Casa Natal del Libertador and the Museo Bolivariano and then get out of the city centre.

The complex is a lovely old collection of colonial buildings, and the Bolívar home is yet another testament to the power of both the Church and the Spanish and Portuguese on this continent.

The old town plans in the museum show just how dominant the Church was with religious buildings dominating the landscape and the Church controlling much of the fertile land (in harmony with a few privileged families). The aristocracy and the Church worked hand-in-hand to generate wealth in Colonial South America.

The Casa Bolívar is a very well-preserved building, although I would expect nothing less for a man portrayed in Venezuela as a saint. The building is a traditional courtyard set-up with rooms of highly decorated art, exquisite woods and gilt chandeliers.

The murels in the house are typical political statements of the period with the Spanish and the Church bringing civilisation to the bastard natives.

Of course, there is the standard small bed on show (as in every great home of the period), along with the characteristic dark wood furniture, gilt framed portraits of elegent men and unnaturally ugly women and no Hacienda would be complete without its private Chapel.

The murels are representative of all one would expect from the benevolence of the Church to the joys, and the dangers of not, turning to the Church.

This town is nuts. It is now mid-afternoon and cars are blocking every avenue, pumping out pollution. People are shouting at the top of their voices and hawkers are all around. Everyone is rushing and there is not a taxi to be had.

To get a picture think Moroccan Souk and multiply by 10.

I like local colour, but today I am not comfortable.

It gets to the point after walking the streets for an hour to find a taxi that I have no option but to take an unlicensed job. I need out of here and my guidebbok suggests that Sabana Grande is a good place to head.

In driving around the city there can be no doubt that it is dominated by ugly soviet style structures. However, there are a few stunning colonial era and traditional Spanish style buildings with which the city could do more.

Yet another driver who alters his price and when I say that I cannot afford to pay we embark on a magical mystery tour round and round in a loop of the Avenue Abraham Lincoln. He eventually agrees to a price 1/3 more than originally quoted and releases the doors for me to escape.

On leaving Sabana Grande I decide to take a real old wagon with no central locking to stop me being trapped again. However you realise just how vulnerable you are when you are sitting in traffic, everyone blasting their horns and vehicles coming at you from all points of the compass; and some I didn´t even know existed.

What has struck me travelling around the South American cities I have seen thus far is the social division. Yes, it is true London has its plush areas, as does New York, Glasgow, LA etc. However on this continent there is no concept of going up West.

The rich and the poor just do not mix and you really sense the demarcation lines.

PS I have been told so many times that I speak good English for a non-native speaker. It is amazing how many people seem to think initially that I am American, and when I say I am Scottish they think my English is great for someone with German as a first language?
Looks like education about our brothers and sisters globally has a long way to go!

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Thursday 12th October. Caracas, Venezuela.

Today is a holiday and the city is so quiet with almost no traffic. However, it also means no access to the business class lounge and so I lose all my freebies.

As I journey around the city today I see just how many posters there are for the opposition in the forthcoming (December 3rd) Presidential election. However, these are more than outnumbered by government posters and those that state that the opposition candidate Manuel Rosales is a traitor to his country.

I am to discover later today when talking to my new found friends that they do not trust the voting system. That they believe voting to be 'rigged' and that they are frightened to register a vote against the incumbent President for fear of official reprisal.

Today the taxi driver from the hotel attempts a major rip-off. When I left the hotel this morning in this official car I was told that the cost of the journey would be 20.000 bolivares, however the driver wants to extract 50.000 bolivares.

I am definitely getting back to my old self because I quite simply tell him to get me back to the hotel. He wants to negotiate enroute, I want an official from the hotel.

The Radisson dealt with him effectively, but it is a disgrace that a so-called 5* hotel puts its guests in this position. When I set out again to make my original journey the fare in a local taxi is only 15.000 bolivares.

I had intended today on visiting the Casa Natal del Libertador.

However on arrival I meet with two fine gentlemen who will be my guides to the real Caracas.

MD Golam Kawsar Sajoal is a Bangladeshi Muslim of Arab origin and his colleague Hamza is a recent convert from Catholicism of Spanish origin, originally known as Alexis Bermúdez.

Alexis is a mathematician and one of the many who is suffering under the economic crisis that grips most of Venezuela. Highly skilled yet unemployed, he speaks five languages, and like so many professional/middle-class people I have met he is scathing about government corruption. His comments are directed not just at the current administration, but at the world of politics in general and the corrupt and often oppresive way politics manifests itself in Latin America.

Alexis is conducting a tour of the city on behalf of the local mosque and I am invited to join him and his Bangladeshi guest.

Weighing the dangers of heading off with people I don't know, I judge that this situation is far less threatening than getting in a taxi in a strange country with a driver you don't know who could take you anywhere!

Travelling in our group we walk the back streets of the city and i get an idea of just how poor the vast majority of the population are. Our destination is to be the mosque which I have been invited to visit. Such an opportunity is thrilling for me.

It is an opportunity to venture off the tourist map. Further, as a former Director of Youth Ministry in the Department of Religion at the Chautauqua Institution in New York, I was witness to the outstanding eccumenical work conducted by Dr Ross Mackenzie and the department team in the area of Abrahamic Commonality long before 9/11 and our current obsession with Islam.

Indeed, the Islamic obsession is one reason why you do not feel threatened strolling the streets in such an obviously Muslim group. Those who know the religion greet you with Islam lacoom slam and everyone else clears a path and stares at my friends wondering if we are a collection of suicide bombers. Prejudice is everywhere!

The Sheikh Ibrahim Bin Abdulaziz Al-Ibrahim Mezquita is a large complex close to the museum district of the city.

Just like the synagogues I frequented in my early twenties, the women and the men are separated here with the ladies galleried above the main mosque floor. Mosques are very plain and as we disgard our shoes and step on to the carpet the first thing you notice are the thick lines spaced across the floor at regular intervals. These are simply a means of order when the mosque is busy, e.g. at Friday prayers in a way the lines act like chairs. There is no formal order of seating in a mosque, although you generally find the more senior members of the congregation kneeling nearer the front.

The Imam conducts prayers from the Mimber at the front of the Mosque and although this is a Sunni establishement local Sia Muslims also worship here.

It is very atmospheric sitting in the peace of the Mosque as a thunderstorm and heavy rains lash down outside admist the frequent bursts of lightening.

My new found friend Kawsar spends most of the day trying to convert me to Islam, and to give him his due he is very convincing. It is certainly very peaceful here in the Mosque and they make me feel very comfortable (even bringing a lawn chair for me to sit on...just like you would do for your old granny).

You cannot easily describe life on this continent unless you have experienced it for yourself. People´s outlook, their perceptions of life and what is acceptable and unacceptable (not just in their own behaviour, but in the behaviour they accept from others) is a shock to my European sensibilities. Today as I wandered the back-streets of Caracas, visited high-rise slums and saw hopelessness in peoples eyes I began to comprehend why people are driven to such extreme behaviours.

Venezuela is a very wealthy country, but the realities of corruption mean that the majority of the population live in poverty. Monthly income for many families is less than I pay for a cab ride and the people hawk literally everything and anything at street stalls just to survive.

I learn today about the realities of Burrundanga. This is a drug that is commonly used to paralyse victims of muggings. A few drops of Burrundanga on a piece of paper, on your skin, blown into your face and you are an easy target.

I am shown how you can paralyse a victim by shaking their hand; or blowing some of the drug from atop your mobile phone into the victims face; or from placing a friendly arm around the victim and rubbing the drug on the skin; or from offering some reading material that is coated with the substance. The list is endless of ways in which the mugger can transfer the drug to the prospective victim and the use of Burrundanga is wide spread in Venezuela.

Like so many people I have watched life in the developing world from afar; yet to see it up close is a genuinely life-changing experience.

The apartment Alexis lives in reminded me so much of those bombed out apartment blocks we see on TV in the Lebanon (pre bombing, of course).

You enter a rather stark 1970´s style hallway; the floor and the walls covered in that yellow coloured material that is speckled like formica. The entrance is guarded by a large metal grill and the elevator has seen much better days. When we reach the 22nd floor we embark into a narrow hall with apartments all behind barricaded doorways.

Once inside the apartment I am amazed that the windows (even at this height) are barred. I grew-up in a high rise apartment and we did not even have a security door on the main entrance.

The first thing you do once inside is ensure that you shut the security door. It reminds me of a cell door from a prison. The apartment is full to bursting with ancient furnishings, out-dated media equipment and it affords the visitor a dank mood of depression.

I would love to have taken photographs both of the inside of the apartment and of the cell like security. However, this would be very rude. I am a guest in someone´s home but I do ask and do take photographs out over the neighbourhood from the small apartment balcony.

Hollywood could not have built a better set if they were trying to show the despair, isolation and social agression that certain commentators believe are intrinsically linked to high-rise living.

Today´s insight into the culture of Venezuela could have been very dangerous for me. Caracas is famed for being the least secure city in Venezuela. It is a city of petty crime, robbery and it specialises in armed assaults at all times of day and night.

However, in many ways I am here as an investigative journalist and I have to take calculated risks.

In all my travels on this continent I have been acutely aware of danger and indeed my negative experience occurred on an occasion when control of my surroundings was not within my power.

Before travelling to South America I thought I was street-wise. After all I lived 4 years in South London; I have travelled the globe (except for the two most dangerous of continents - South America and Africa); I have worked in the United States; walked the streets of NYC and Chicago on my own and in the wee small hours, and frequently. I grew up on a tough council estate in Scotland...Nothing and I mean Nothing prepares you for the differences that are evident in South America.

This after all is a continent where you can have someone killed for just a few dollars. Life has little value.

Alexis was telling me about being robbed by the police and the fact that if he was walking down the street and saw a group of 20 would be attackers and two policemen on the other side of the road; he would rather take his chances passing through the group of men.

He was telling me that when a previous visitor went to the police to report a mugging he was asked if he had anything left after the attack. The policeman then proceeded to rob him again.

My risks, like all travellers, need to be weighed. I am just as likely to be hijacked in a cab in this city (frequent attacks on visitors are common where you are driven to a location robbed and then abandoned). Today I have been very lucky to gain a first hand insight, and a direct stroll through the back-streets of the city.

I am glad I have had this exposure, but I am also glad that we are now dining in an Arab restaurant (there is a large Arab population in Caracas) and that I will get back to the hotel before nightfall.

...Spoke too soon. The cab driver has decided part way through the journey that he is no longer willing to drive us? We are turfed out and Alexis has to head on the long road back to Central Caracas. I have a short walk across a couple of highways, but I can see my hotel in the distance.

I am continually learning that like a good boy scout, you need to be prepared. Everyone I pass ignores me as I am carrying nothing and wearing old clothes and flip-flops...I just look poor and not worth bothering with...Thank God!

Response to a student question from Canada on my awareness of danger in South America.

Thank-you Claire for pointing out the dangerous incidents you mention in South America. On your advice I checked the FOX News website and found the following story related to the horrific killing of the young Canadians.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

CARACAS, Venezuela — Venezuelan authorities found the bullet-ridden bodies of three Canadian boys who had been kidnapped more than a month ago in the South American country, the justice minister said.

The bodies of 17-year-old John Faddoul, along with his brothers Kevin, 13, and Jason, 12, were found Tuesday afternoon near an electrical tower in Yare, about 30 miles west of Caracas, Justice Minister Jesse Chacon said.

The body of the boy's driver, 30-year-old Miguel Ribas, also was found with them, Chacon said.

"We lament, despite the efforts that were made 24 hours a day since this started, we have not been able to prevent this abominable homicide," Chacon said. "The three boys were identified by a relative."

Police have said that the brothers were abducted Feb. 23 when unidentified men dressed as police stopped their car at a roadside checkpoint in Caracas as the boys were on their way to school.

Authorities have not ruled out the possibility that the kidnappers could in fact be police officers.


The killings come just days after a prominent Italian-born businessman, 74-year-old Filippo Sindoni, was abducted and killed.

That case prompted Italy's foreign minister to ask Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez's government to do everything possible to end the kidnappings of Italians in the country.

In January, officials in Italy said an Italian businesswoman and her 3-year-old son were freed two months after being abducted in Venezuela. Four men were arrested for their roles in the crime, officials said.

Violent robberies, kidnappings and murders are frequent in Venezuela. There were 9,402 homicides reported in 2005, slightly down from 2004, according to government statistics.


I AM MOST CERTAINLY AWARE OF JUST HOW LUCKY I WAS NOT TO BE KILLED, BUT I DO URGE YOU NOT TO VIEW SOUTH AMERICA ONLY IN A NEGATIVE WAY. IT IS A BEAUTIFUL CONTINENT AND I HAVE MET MANY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Wednesday 11th October. Caracas, Venezuela.

I never realised how difficult this travel gig could be.

You have this image of freedom, of being able to set your own agenda. No boss, no employment demands, no restrictions. Whilst I appreciated that these facts would not be the reality for me as I am constrained by the demands of the project; I had not allowed for the general demands of travel.

If you are not up in time for breakfast, you have missed it. Each day is a new adventure yes. Travel is about seeing things you will never see again, discovering things you will never get to discover again; but it is NOT relaxing.

In wind-swept Britain, in the dark of winter we all dream of escape. The weird thing is that I am living that dream and yes there are many positives. However it is a remarkably lonely road to walk by oneself.

When I think of John Betjeman

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough...Mess up the mess they call a town.

I hark now for such a town. For the normality I know. This year, I know is to be one of experiences and new horizons, it is also one where the greatest lesson I am learning is that you never know what you've got until it has gone.

The greatest epiphany thus far has been the realisation of just how much I love teaching and how desperate I am to get back into a school. I cannot wait to be back in school next week!

To quote that great modern day philosopher Morrissey. Everyday is like Sunday, but trust me unlike the forlorn teenage girl of this song I appreciate just how rich and varied my life was in that seaside town that they forgot to pull down.

Such navel gazing sets me up well for a day of culture that begins my museum explorations in Caracas.

This morning it is back to the bank for the daily allowance of bolivares that they will allow me to withdraw. Yesterday, my allowance was barely enough to pay for the taxis and entrance into the Teleférico.

As such I spent last night like a bird in a gilded cage. I would like to have eaten, but I had no cash available for the taxis to and from local restaurants and to eat at this hotel I would need to get a second mortgage. I spent the time fueling up on canapes...God I could use a good meal.

I am heading off to the bank to try and cut a deal to double my allowance today and then I can eat a full meal. If not i'll try my luck at Wendy's again.

Each time I leave the hotel in one of these jeeps, it feels like I am part of a presidential motorcade. The Plaza de Los Museos is a concrete plaza populated by bums, stray dogs and the unfortunate homeless.

I am directed to my main destination the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo, which has a reputation as one of the best contemporary art museums in South America. However, I get a little lost and decide to ask further directions when I have passed the splendid concrete monolith that is the Complejo Cultural Teresa Carreño. This performing arts centre is named after Venezuela´s most famous pianist.

Anyway, I digress.

Trying my luck with the local police, and I am very lucky to find a fluent English speaker; I am sent up and over one of those concrete flyovers I would never even cross at home. So I head off up urine flooded stairs and across the road for the short walk to the Museum.

Sadly, the building is currently undergoing renovation and so I will not be exposed to the collection that includes works by Chagall and Picasso.

However the museum is hosting a current exhibit entitled Vasoscomunicantes II Series.

The first exhibition entitled Juegos de la Mirada is the work of Gabriela Morawetz, an installation artist. The show contains both light and video shows. It is psychedelic and could not have a better setting than this concrete Palace. It is a surreal experience.

I am so happy to be here. As a writer I could spend my life in galleries and museums contemplating the human condition.

I love the way this museum is underground. Particularly stimulating are the 13 pieces that make up Los ojos DEL TIEMPO 2006, which seems to me symbolic of the struggle we all face to blend originality and freedom with conformity, and dare I say it, normality.

There is a similar theme in LE VÉRTIGE EST AU FOND a 2004, a triptic evoking the conditioned mask with which we all see the world.

It gets really psychedelic in the Magdalena Fernández exhibit Superficies.

The eerie sounds in the dark setting, the futuristic light and the concrete structure speak to me of a utopian future as our saviour.

It is fitting that I view this exhibition in Venezuela where the left-wing government proport to the utopian ideals of socialism.

The Columbians could export this exhibit and there would be no need for drugs (mind you I would not recommend being in here if you were epileptic).

I am heading off to spend the rest of my day at the Galería de Arte Nacional which is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year. The gallery houses around 7,000 treasures and it is a true celebration of Venezuelan and Latin American Art.

The gallery is home to a stunning collection and my first viewings are of contemporary pieces.

Talking earlier of futuristic art work you must see Julio Pacheco Rivas´ Compendium (Homenaje a llia) - políptico de 5 piezas - 1998. I also love Félix Perdomo's Puente de Brooklyn (1991). Another favourite was Sans Histoire, 1997-1998 Lámina de vidrio, elástico negro, plomo, creyón y grafito sobre lino y aceitera de metal by Pedro Tagliafico; it reminded me of my childhood and all those wonderful technical drawings of Mr Wood.

I was not struck by the religious art; but then nothing in this vein can touch El Greco.

Whilst I loved the cubist style of Pancho Quilici's De las partes l - tríptico -, 1982 Acrílico, tinta y grafito sobre papel entelado (with figures in the bottom left hand corner evokative of Da Vinci´s sketches); I am sorry to say that Óscar Pellegrino´s Maletín, 1986 is dreadful. I am no artist and my school work was better!

Indeed, my three-year-old cousin Catriona drew me a better picture when I was home in Scotland recovering last month.

I like the idea of the all-seeing eye in José Antonio Hernández-Diez In God We Trust 1, 1991 video installation...talk about making a political statement.

Another work that stood out was José Antonio Quintero's Vista del Ávila desde la avenida Sucre hacia la Cota Mil, 1977 which had more than a touch of Vincent about it - lets say, cloudy, cloudy day!

They do slip in some foreign works, but I can forgive them when you see such stunning pieces as Felipe Herrera´s El hombre, 1992 which I would buy, in my dreams, and hang alongside Luisa Palacios, Los boxeadores, 1960 from the collection.

The museum covers almost all the genres. I particularly enjoyed my walk through the GEGO Gertrud Goldschmidt Reticulárea - ambientación -, 1969-1981 installation.

I am finding the Galería de Arte Nacional an unexpected treasure. However the Abstracción Geométrica hall is all too much. There are some nice pieces but they need space if they are to speak to us.

The historic paintings gallery gives you a sense of the historical wealth of this continent and the money that must have been accumulated by the Spanish and Portuguese conquerors. You really get a good sense of Venezuela´s past and present at this museum, and I even got confirmation that the building I assumed to be the Casa De Gobierno in the Plaza Bolívar is indeed the said building. Confirmation comes from a painting of The Siege, April 26 1870 in which the Plaza is fully open and you are aware of a very different Venezuela.

On leaving the museum I head to the nearby Caracas Hilton, as I know that I am likely to get a safe cab from here. I head off infact in a hotel car aiming for what my guidebook claims to be the best meat restaurant in town.

My driver, De Silva, is originally from Trinidad, although he has lived in Caracas for over 50 years. It is fascinating to get different perspectives on the city in particular and South America in general.

De Silva blames the current government for not dealing with the lawlessness. He advises me never to go out at night in Caracas and tells me that robbers here often will kill the victim in order not to be identified later, Dead men can't talk!

He is well travelled and points out that the South American mentality is very different to that in Europe or even North America. He believes that South Americans have a different mindset as they have been raised on different laws of the jungle.

Although he blames the current government for not seizing the initiative on crime, he also conceeds that the current generation have known nothing but this violent life and that poverty (unemployment is high in Venezuela) makes animals of people.

We are in the upscale La Castellana neighbourhood. I got money from the bank and so I can eat. De Silva has suggested a different restaurant that he claims locals believe to be the best for meat dishes...I will be guided.

Caracas is an odd city in that it is the East and not the West that is upscale, more modern and desirable.

Lee Hamilton´s was founded in 1958. This is obviously where the wealthy dine. I am surrounded by businessmen and elegant couples. The restaurant is large and seems to be very successful, with an elegant cocktail bar and black-tied waiters to cater to your every need. The garlic bread proves to be exceptional; shame though about the service...and that meat...here I am with the North American´s...oh for some ketchup!

Getting a taxi proves a challenge.

One thing I have noticed all over South America are the street hawkers walking between the cars selling everything and anything. I just can´t imagine that you think to yourself, oh I need a brush when you are sitting in a traffic jam?

I also love watching the cars. The most wonderful concoction passes by held together by what looks like polyfilla.

Well I have had a great day, roll on tomorrow.