Day Seven - A Day in Tangier

Well last night was pretty awesome, watching Arsenal get an away goal in the Bear House - a pub you suspect might have been better named ´The Beer House´ but there you go - with the brass bands of the Semana Santa festival playing outside. What a great goal from Adebayor to give Arsenal a well deserved advantage for the second leg.

I was so inspired I changed my plans for the day and went over to Morrocco. I´d had this crossing in my mind´s eye for some time so it would never match exactly and although I had a good time it might be worth mentioning a few of the differences between the apprehension and the reality. For one thing the boat was closed and didn´t really allow you to go on deck. Much of the first part of the crossing was spent standing in the queue to have your passport stamped. This took some time and when I got to the front of the queue the guy crossed out my surname, Drummond, from the top line of the imigration card and wrote ´Drummond´in its place. Perplexed but free I watch the coastline develop into the continent of Africa.

Getting out of the port was tricky with numerous check poimts and passport related activities. On the outsdide there was quite a lot of opportunistic tourist hunting going on. I was civil to the first guy who collared me and ended up having to be quite rude to the guy after that. I told him I didn´t want a guide. I learned the word for ´no´in Morrocan (la) and repeated it several times. He said he like the sound of ´no´ and that no didn´t mean no in Africa. He got some of my emotion in the end and left it at that.

Walking through the old town was sort of a hustle competition with plenty of people aiming to engage the intrepid tourist in all sorts of haggles and offers. I was offered drugs as well which I politlely refused. I bought a Morrocan football shirt which I hope is an orignal. I went up the hill and found an old English church, St Andrew´s, where a caretaker called Mustapha showed me around. He´s been there 45 years he told me. The church has the Lord´s prayer written in Arabic and an Islamic design to the altar which is quite striking. A nice way of acknowlidging the local life. It also features verses from the Koran on the back wall which don´t seem quite right to me but I guess that´s up to them.

I strolled around the old palace, the Kasbah, hoping for a place to wash my hands but instead was presented with an interesting and at times beautiful run down old castle. Plenty of swirly Arabic styles patterns on the floors and in the ceilings and a description of the many layers of history in the area around Tangier, including a Roman period. Hummed the old clash tune to myself as I walked round of course, wondering if this was the Kasbah they were planning to rock. The other song I had in my head all day was Jackson Browne´s song where he sings ´You say Morroco and that da da da dine, I haven´t seen Morrocco for a long long time,´and I quote.

This was good value: getting a bottle of mineral water from a very local looking cafe, with the guy having to run across the square to get it as he had run out. That cost about 60p but I wanted to give him extra for all the effort.

It was striking though how different the people were though. Considering the stretch of water is only a few miles wide the gulf in development and culture is immense. I wonder if there is anywhere in the world that presents such a divide for such a small geographical distance. I am not including the English-Welsh border or anywhere like that either. I strongly got the feeling that it was tough to make a living in Morrocco and in fact one person told me that as a fact. I felt grateful to be part of Europe and could understand clearly why people want to live here legally or otherwise.

Returning to Tarifa was great with a slight sense of sadness that things are so relatively familiar compared with camels on the beach and Kaftans, tall Minarets and fake DVD; pointed slippers and hookahs to blow (which I didn´t); the vastness of the continent beyond and the constant sense of gravity with being a rich foreigner; a target, an opportunity and a mystery.

The sand in my shoes don´t come from Europe.

Days five and six - Puerto de Santa Maria and Tarifa

I just moved down the coast to Tarifa which was an interesting bus trip passing some quite stark hills. Finding the bust stop was the main issue of the day really. It was like the bus didn´t exist for a while. The shelters had long lists of services except the one I wanted and the locals had varied opinions on where the best place to wait was. In the end we narrowed it down and got it right - a kind of group wisdom prevailed where a sign may have sufficed. To be honest though that is the kind of thing I like about travelling, in hindsight, although at the time it is a pain in the neck.

Had a chilled out day yesterday going over to Cadiz just for the boat trip and letting the mind float away with the seabirds. Actually there are lots of birds but if only I could name them, which sadly I can´t. After the boat trip I went out to the dunes and had a relaxing afternoon drifting among the pines. These pines though are not like English ones - their needles are concentrating towards the top of the tree whose branches cluster together in more of a bunch than our angular Christmas tree models.

In the evening I went out to find a meeting that almost didn´t exist either. Well, its location wasn´t on the internet (this is not yet an a priori condition of actual material existence). The taxi driver looked a bit dazed but light bulbs lit and he drove me out to a church with no markings at all on the outside - it looked a bit like a World War II garden bunker, only bigger. Inside were four friends of Bill W including an old guy called Alvaro (ironically sharing the name of my good friend now stranded in England). This meeting was a chaotic affair largely consisting of their asking me questions in Spanish which through force of will and paraphrase I was able to comprehend parts from time to time. It w asn´t a scintilating demonstration of language ability but it was quite a display of good will on their part. After the meeting Alvaro took me for a coffee and told me how much he had suffered in his life. A quite sad moment from a nearly broken man.

Later I took a cup of tea out to see the Santa Semana float for Monday and this time the Nazarenos were dressed in black and looking quite menacing I must say. Some of the ladies crossed themselves when the float carrying Mary passed by. Again, I wasn´t sure if they felt the figure itself had some kind of power or significance other than as a material representation. If I had to guess I´d say it looked like they believed it to be more than a statue.

Well, I am in Tarifa now, in a house in the old town with a lovely roof terrace, a thin TV (what do you call them?) and lots of space and clean air. Other than myself the house is currently empty but other could arrive. But for the time being it my personal palace. I feel quite guilty about this but I slowly accepting thes situation. This is clearly a good problem to have. Hey, guess what? I can see Morrocco from the roof! That´s not something you can say everyday.

This is the base for the next few days from where to get to Morrocco for the day, visit Gibraltar and and generally explore the are

Day Four - Cadiz

That´s a lot to take in in one day. I took a lovely trip across to Cadiz from El Puerto de Santa Maria in an old boat called El Vapor. I saw some sea birds that I will attempt to name at some later date but some of whom I may have once known the names of. Cadiz is an interesting place, reminding me of Valleta in Malta to a degree. It was interesting to walk around and take in the mix of old architecture. I am not sure what I was expecting, except that I was told to expect that public holidays would throw a spanner in the plans which they did today - the cathedral being closed due to the Semana Santa festival. I did get to see the art gallery though and the castle. I had a few flashes of imagnitive apprehension of the gravity a past now largely lost but somehow giving very brief glimpses of itself when you are not looking.

The Hostel here is really friendly which really improves the quality of the stay.

This Semana Santa thing though is really something else. Those guys with the pointy hats are really terrifying. We just came back from Plaza de Espangne where we saw a cart carrying an image of Christ being beaten on it. Apparently it weighs about 600kg and takes about twenty people to carry it. This was not the time for jokes about wanting to buy a hat, with devout older ladies taking the proceeding very seriously. I could not ascertain entirely well, but I gathered from what people were saying that the figures on the carts are thought to be more than simply reminder of the invisible omnipresent Christ but that they are possess a kind of entity status similar to that of a Hindu type of deity. I think this may vary from person to person, but I got the impression that prayers and promises were offered to the figures. If this is correct, Martin Luther would not, I should imagine, be entirely in favour......

The strange thing was the whole thing had the feeling a 1977 street party. The people seemed really together and at ease with one another which was great to be a part of. My guide was a friendly Spanish guy called Daniel, not known to have been to any Royal street parties but something of a veteran of the whole procession thing. The other thing it was similar to is the New Orleans brass band funeral. The band here had that kind of sway and were dressed in black too.

More later I expect... the Semana Santa goes in til next Sunday.

El Puerto De Santa Maria Day Three

I have been travelling mainly today getting the train down from Seville to El Puerto De Santa Maria. This seems like a nice town that gets a lot of sun. I managed to negotiate down the price of the room a little bit which is good since my poor old friend remains in England waiting for his passport to leave someone´s in-tray at the home office.

I was a bit whacked out when I arrived so I haven´t seen much of the town yet. I have noted though a couple of excellent superarkets and the prices are much cheaper here. The atmosphere is the hostal is friendly and people seem pretty excited about the upcoming Semana Santa.

Walking back between the hostel where I´d left my camera to the place where I was staying (oops) I happened upon some kind of premliminary hat wearing on the part of the festival participants. I had seen the Semana Santa costumes on the web but I must say it is certainly quite startling to see it in real life. They are apparently not too different from ones worn by the Inquisition.

Not being a Catholic I find some the imagery and poise a bit strange. Contemporary Anglo-Evangelicalism (or something like that) is sort of like ´God loves me even if I am wearing my worst T shirt´so the idea of wearing particular clothing to express particular leanings of the soul is a bit alien to me. It may be going too far, though, as I am tempted to do to imagine that all it does is get in the way of a simple and connection with God. I guess I don´t know everything, as much as I would like to think I do.

It certainly is good to see the Grand Narrative of Easter out there and writ large. It remains even when others fade away. For my own part, I am struggling to see my own life in terms of a grand narrative - one which is and will be characterised by a persistent ability to overcome obstacles in all areas. For example, I have gone through some quite unpleasant periods of treatment for fatigue which have not resulted as I would have wished. I am still not able to move forward the narrative of more hours, more money, better standard of living etc., as mental fatigue persists even where physical benefits have arcued. I cannot present the face to the world that I would like to present. It appears to demand materially from me more than I am able to offer.

Come to think of it, though, the narrative of Easter is not on the face of it a huge success story. Well, it is in the end but not before a crisis that may have appeared quite final. I guess the words of Paul remain true today that for me to live is Christ and to die is gain. There is a pitfall here too, though, and that is the temptation to hide in religion and negate the many aspects of life there remain to be experienced and participated in. So my formula for the day, if I can put it like this is: don´t panic, something good/bad is happening.

Food Hike Day Two Seville

Well, I must say it can be difficult managing more than one obsession, but I´ll try. As if there wasn´t enough to worry about regarding money, there´s also food to get ones mental teeth into. I suppose a day that inlcudes seeing one of the world´s most spectacular Cathedrals need not be dominated by food in principle. Add to that the opportunity to view some of the maps made by 16th Century Spanish explorerers in the Archive of the Indias and that amounts to surely at least a temporary distraction from the process of buying, preparing and eating food. I have to say I found the documents quite breathtaking, things like the first map of Mexico and pen and ink outlines of Florida and Cuba. Wow! I think I have my dad to blame, genetically, for an interest in archives. I haven´t even mentioned the spectacular Alcazar, the little brother to Granada´s Alahambra but certainly quite spectacular. Amazing- a civilisation that makes swirly bits on building in a style so different to ours it can take your breath away.

It is great to be here and I am starting to feel a bit of good old ´straight buzz´. It is just that I seem to be spending half the time in food related activities. This food plan I am is quite limited including further restrictions due to the presence of a couple of gut nasties that you don´t want to know about. That´s part of the reason why I walked across the city with no fewer than two backpacks stuffed with food. It might have been my imagination but I am sure my heavy laden appearance - imagine a backpack with three Ewoks hanging off my back and further bag with two Ewoks in the front - caused some mirth and casual comment from people in Cafes. (They didn´t know this was against my principles).

I got this food at a dawn raid on a local supermarket that did sell food but only at prices that stang. It did strike me though that this period of a weakened pound might be good not only for our exports but to feed the domestic market with home grown products. That´s my policy and I am sticking to it. It could be the beginning of an argyument for protectionism.

When I arrived at the hostal it had a sign on the bedside table about not eating and not drinking that with the best will in the world I will not be able to comply with - weighing and measuring dried quinoa in a bench down by the river the only viable alternative.

Later, I met some of the friends of Bill W in a home for retired nuns. One of whom was quite strident in directing me down the corridor to the location of the meeting. I found the room and met the guys. Everyone seemed to be called Antonio. Strangely, the secretary misheard my name also as Antonio and I was temporarily able to join the party - until I corrected him that is. I may have imagined it but I think he looked a bit disappointed. The leader, Antonio, gave me some literature in Spanish for practice which I have taken to heart in preparation for a potential inaugarul share in Spanish. Who knows? It might even make more sense than my Italian share (I hope so).

Seville is in the money

I am just going to thack this onto the paper and edit it later. I landed OK in Seville, well, with a little help from the pilot. I found the airport a little lacking in facilities though. I had hoped for an ATM that had some money in it or a bureau de change. Neither seemed much in evidence but a line of travel weary but philosophical Spaniards not quite moaning about the inconvenience made it almost worthwhile. I managed to change some money at the Iberian airways desk and lost about 50p in the process due to a spontaneous 1 for 1 excahnge rate. This loss was offset rather well though by the lady manning the the information desk. When I asked her for change she gave me 2E30 which was the exact change for the bus and wouldn´t hear of me breaking my note. I told her she should be promoted. It got still more interesting money wise when I arrived at the hostel and they had charged me for two nights including the one I had cancelled. They refunded this including a seemingly random extra Euro that had ventured onto the bill from nowhere.

I think I am obsessesed with money. It is not that I love it, it´s just that it seems to get involved in all aspects of life. There you go, the only escape is service, voluntary work and true compassion.

Money and other illusions

Hello my lovely people.





I doubt I shall be able to say anything new about money since better people than me have been thinking about, reasoning with it and earn more of it than me for since yonks ago. However, it still does seem to need a mention with all the G20 business and the protests going in London. People are obviously very upset -- putting bricks through the windows of banks and stuff like that. It is hard to see from this vantage point how far these protests are based on ideology and how much on character defects like blame and envy.



I know there is a recession going on but I get the distinct impression that there are several million people complaining of the present difficult circumstance whose situation has not worsened at all. There is an influence on the national mood that is in addition to the net material changes in circumstances. It seems a bit like the nation catching a virus. This virus though only infects thinking and mood and makes you feel that things are worse than they really are. This doesn't refer to people who really have lost jobs and homes etc like some of my favourite colleagues at work who, for the record, have not complained at all to my knowledge.



It would be a bit hard to get worked up about the stupidity of global gambling on assets that don't quite really exist if it didn't really affect a lot of people somewhere. If it were not for that, it would seem like the biggest joke of all time. I am in danger of indulging in the latest national pastime -- kick a banker. I doubt they are particularly worse than anybody else. Lots of people gamble for a living. It would seem to be an advantage though at least to gamble on a real horse rather than a notional one.


Today I bought a cash passport and loaded it with some Euros. Although the home office still have my friend's passport, I'll travelling tomorrow and I needed a bit of back up. Or, more to the point, I felt like I did. They are like debit cards but without the bank account and with a £1.50 charge every time you withdraw money from the ATM. Not bad for a little peace of mind I suppose but certainly, in a small way, an example of an industry that employs quite a lot of peopel and makes quite a lot of money for just moving numbers around from one computer system to another.


I am not an economist but in my head it strikes me that this type of industry must be underpinned by a far greater proportion of economic activity that is genuinely based on a mutually favourable excahnge of things that have been developed out of material natural resources. I suppose I see things like agriculture and manufacturing as giving our economy gravity. In some way I see a move towards an economy dominated by service industries as being Lando's Cloud City in Empire Strikes Back -- a thing that doesn't look like it should be standing up by itself but somehow it does. I know the argument about the more developed economies supplying skilled services etc that newer econmies don't do it is just that -- aren't we pegged to the greater currency of what natural resources we have and how we make them into things we can exchange really?


I read in Nial Ferguson's book The Ascent of Money that if I lend you the bank £100 and they keep £10 on deposit and lend the other £90 out to the next borrower, effectively they have created some wealth; an additional £90. If the second lender then deposits that money in a different bank, who, in turn, lends £80 of that to another lender there are now held as deposits £270 from an original £100. The problem is that the additional £170 is only really a notional reality. It only exists in thin air. Thin air might look thin but it can really come back to haunt you like the hounds at head of this credit crunch. That's not bad for an illusion.