So I was lying in bed, sipping a mug of coffee, flicking through my Lonely Planet Guide to Sweden, thinking about getting up and actually doing something. I really hadn't got the use out of my LP Sweden as I only bought it to use for a few days and it turned out there were only a couple of pages dedicated to Malmo where I was planning to go. In fact, so little of the book concerned Malmo I did something I have never done before. After much deliberation I decided I really didn't want to carry the whole book around, didn't have time to copy the relevant pages and so, I'm really struggling to say this, I (deep breath) ripped the pages out. Now I was thinking I really should get some more use out of this mutilated book.
Malmo is right at the bottom of Sweden, just over the Oresund Bridge from Copenhagen. It's a very nice place in what seems to be a very nice and very long country. As I've been to one end, maybe I should go to the other end? And as the other end is in the actual real Arctic as soon as this idea popped into my head, it seemed like a very good idea indeed. I turned to the Arctic section of the book and the page fell open on the description of a very long walk in this very long country.
The walk is called the Kungsleden Trail (means the King's Trail or the Royal Trail, depending who you believe) and the whole thing is over 400km through beautiful wilderness. Ok then, that's my summer holiday planned. My very long walk in this very long country will take place during the very long days of summer (are you seeing a theme yet?)
A few weeks later sitting in brother's kitchen in Germany I had time to do a bit more research. Apart from a few blogs and the official website and one not very well-known guidebook, there's very little written on it in English. This is all part of the attraction. It's something not many Brits either know about or will have done. I'm sold.
Monday, 21 April 2014
Friday, 10 January 2014
Thames Path - Maidenhead to Bourne End
Friday 3rd January, 2014
Today I planned to walk from Maidenhead to Marlow but things didn't quite work out as I'd hoped. I drove to Marlow and found free street parking just round the corner from the train station. I caught the train to Maidenhead so I could continue my walk from where I'd left off yesterday.
 |
| Taken from the train window |
From the train window I could see an awful lot of flooding. It was worst on what would be the last section of my walk from Bourne End to Marlow. The Thames had overflowed so much that what should be green parkland running alongside the riverbank was completely under water. I could see the tops of park benches looking as though they were planted mid-river ready for any passing swimmers to take a semi-submerged rest. I couldn't see any option for getting round the flooded area as it was bordered by the fenced-off train tracks. The railway fortunately ran along the top of a higher bank, otherwise it would have been under water too. I had a feeling my walk would have to end at Bourne End, though I didn't want to make a decision until I'd actually got there and checked it out.
Arriving in Maidenhead, I made my way down to the river. According to the official tourism website, Maidenhead is one of the most affluent areas of the UK with house prices often exceeding those of Central London. It goes on to give the reasons for this as being the ease of commuting into London from here, plus the proximity of the Thames countryside. There were some very posh houses along the riverbank and a few old buildings around the town centre, but on the whole it didn't do it for me. It was too bland. If I had money, Maidenhead would not be high on my list of desirable locations to reside in.
Crossing the bridge to the far side of the river, I set off walking. The first part of the path on this section leads through a manicured riverside park. This soon turns into a roadside walk before reaching Boulter's Lock. The lock is the longest and deepest on the Thames. At one time it was also the busiest.
Not long after this house, the grounds of Cliveden appeared on the opposite bank. Cliveden, a large mansion house, is a luxury hotel. In its former life as a private house it was the home of Nancy Astor who was known for her holding of lavish parties. Anyone who was anyone attended including Charlie Chaplin, Winston Churchill, Gandhi, Lawrence of Arabia, Rudyard Kipling, Henry James, A J Balfour ... the list goes on. It gained notoriety in 1961 when it became the background setting for the Profumo Affair. Christine Keeler met John Profumo here and they began an illicit affair. As he was the Conservative Secretary for War and she was having a simultaneous affair with a suspected Russian spy, and it was the height of the Cold War, the resulting scandal brought down the government.
Although the house is now a private hotel, the grounds are owned by the National Trust and a few years ago I spent a pleasant afternoon wandering around them. From my side of the river today, I could see very little. Knowing how lovely the grounds are made me wonder what else I might be missing out on by being on this side of the river. But of course, if I was on the other side of the river, I'd be thinking the same about this side. Ah well, grass is greener and all of that. I continued walking.
Next up was Cookham. Here the path detours from the river to pass through the small town. Cookham is usually associated with painter Stanley Spencer and there is a small gallery here dedicated to his works. Although Spencer painted on an array of themes he is probably best known for his biblical paintings created with Cookham as the backdrop. I'd been into the gallery on a previous visit and so with the days being so short, and not knowing if I'd face a long detour further on, I didn't linger and followed the path through the churchyard.
The dramatic statues of angels in the churchyard made me think of the Weeping Angels in Doctor Who, though I'm sure their sculptor meant for them to be figures of other-worldly goodness and not scary other-worldly creatures who preyed on humans and zapped them back in time.
Meeting the river again the path continued along soggy grass to Bourne End. Houses, boats and small jetties lined both sides of the river. Crossing the railway bridge the path continues on the far side of the river. This is where I came to the area I'd seen from the train window. The water was sloshing deeply along the path and I knew that this wasn't a short stretch I could easily wade through, but continued most of the way to Marlow. I wandered into the town away from the path to look for an alternative route, but with the railway line now between me and the path I would have had a pointless walk along the main road if I was to continue. Instead I made my way to Bourne End train station for the ride back to Marlow and my van.
*As it happened, a month after my walk the banks broke and the news was full of properties along the Thames being underwater. I didn't see my little blue house on the news, but it's hard to imagine it surviving unscathed.
Tuesday, 7 January 2014
Thames Path - Windsor to Maidenhead
Thursday 2nd January, 2014
It's always difficult timing walks at this time of year. I had a fairly long drive to Maidenhead, but didn't want to leave early and sit in rush hour traffic. On the other hand, without an early start, there aren't many walking hours before dusk. However, I think I got my timing right and had an easy drive to a multi-storey car park in Maidenhead town centre. I popped into a bakery to buy a pasty and ask for directions to the train station. Ticket bought, I was soon on the train to Windsor.
I've been to Windsor several times in the past and so didn't feel the need to spend time poking around. I took a few photos of the castle and headed for the bridge across to Eton. I did digress from the Thames Path to take a quick walk up to the top of Eton High Street and back and took a few photos of the school.
Formally known as Eton College this is the posh public school Princes William and Harry attended. Apart from the princes, it has also been responsible for the education of nineteen British Prime Ministers including current PM David Cameron. Oh, and Bear Grylls was a pupil here too. Does that mean he'll be Prime Minister one day? As it's the Christmas holidays, if there were any future prime ministers wandering around, I couldn't tell because they were not in the long-tailed jackets and pin-striped trousers that comprise the school uniform.
Back at the river, I turned right and continued along the path. Walking over a grassy meadow along the bank I passed under the railway bridge and over a footbridge on to a small island. The path skirts the edge of the island, alongside the main river before leading another over another footbridge back to the 'mainland'.
Leading past Boveney Lock and Dorney Lake, the path passes under the M4 motorway. Before reaching the M4 I stopped to peer across the river at Oakley Court. The house was built in 1859 by an Englishman for his French Wife. The French connections continue with General de Gaulle who is known to have stayed there. In 1950 Hammer Films bought the house, possibly swayed by its Gothic style, and used it to film St Trinian's and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The house looked very sedate and peaceful when I passed by. Maybe because it's been a luxury hotel for the past 40 years?
Once on the other side of the M4 more people start to appear as the path draws closer to Maidenhead. I passed under the railway bridge before reaching Maidenhead road bridge over which I crossed the river and headed back into town.
Thursday, 2 January 2014
Thames Path - Staines to Windsor
Tuesday 31st December, 2013
 | |
| First view of Windsor Castle |
 |
| Staines was a major linoleum producer |
I soon found the path where I'd left it last new year and crossed the road bridge to follow the continuation of the path on the other bank. The weather forecast hadn't been good and there have been more flood warnings on the radio, though not for the part of the Thames I was walking alongside. It was a dry start to the day though, but as soon as I started walking on the path proper the heavens opened. I sheltered by some trees and struggled to get my waterproof trousers on and put the cover over my daypack. That was the rain set in for the rest of the day. It did ease a bit but never really stopped. I struggled with my waterproof pants all day. As it is a flat walk I wanted to take big strides, but each time I tried, the lack of flexibility in my trousers acted as a barrier my legs were pushing against. I felt like I was getting an extra workout and could feel my legs getting quite tired towards the end.
I was also trialling my Sealskinz socks on this walk. I've always been dubious about paying nearly 30 quid for a pair of socks, but several people have raved about them to me and I've read good reviews online so I'd decided to try a pair. They really got put to the test and failed miserably. As well as the Sealskinz socks, I was wearing gaiters and waterproof trousers and had waxed and sprayed my boots. I'm sure it all would have been fine if it wasn't for having to wade through water that came halfway to my knees on more than one occasion. As water poured in over the tops of my boots I knew the socks would have no chance and the 'test' was probably a bit too extreme.
 |
| The river was very deep. Even the boats were underwater |
 |
| One of the flooded bits I had to wade through |
Leaving Staines behind, I passed under the busy M25. This is the motorway encircling Greater London and the first sign that I'd really left the city behind. The first bits of it were built in the early 1970s, but it wasn't completed until 1986. At 117 miles (188km) long, it's Europe's second longest orbital road, beaten only by the Berliner Ring which is a mere five miles longer. As one of the UK's busiest motorways it often seems more like a car park than a high-speed roadway, particularly the stretch near Heathrow Airport.
 |
| Passing under the M25 |
Passing below, I could hear the hum of traffic above, but felt like I was in a different world. I walked on towards the day's second landmark: Runnymede.
Runnymede is a flood plain now in the ownership of the National Trust. The name is possibly derived from the Anglo-Saxon 'runieg' which means regular meeting and 'mede' which today is written as mead or meadow. This meeting meadow is considered to be where the signing of the Magna Carta took place in 1215. This charter was instrumental in the development of the parliament and laws we have today.
There are several memorials in area including the Air Forces Memorial commemorating the men and women of the Allied Air Forces who died in the Second World War. Another memorial is that dedicated to former US President John F. Kennedy.
Continuing, the path heads towards Old Windsor and alongside Old Windsor Lock. Old Windsor is the original Windsor and only became 'Old' when the newer town of Windsor was built near the castle a few miles away. Elton John apparently lives in Old Windsor. Although I looked, I don't think he was one of the people I saw out walking their dogs.
 |
| Heading back to Windsor |
At this point, it's possible to walk directly to Windsor. But as I was following the Thames Path my walk looped round via the village of Datchet. I crossed the Albert Bridge and had a bit of road walking before joining a riverside path again just before Victoria Bridge. Then it was past Romney Lock before following a lane back to the car park and my van.
Distance: about 8 miles
Saturday, 14 December 2013
Nelson Mandela and his effect on my thought processes
The news that Nelson Mandela has died, though sad, was hardly unexpected. What I hadn't expected however, was how reflective it would make me feel. People all over the world are mourning and/or paying their respects to the life of a man who not only had a profound effect on his own country and people but to others around the world. I'm reflecting on the effects he, and the struggle against apartheid, has had on me.
It was as an A Level student in the mid-1980s that I first became aware of Nelson Mandela, South Africa and apartheid. I was horrified at the injustice of it and refused to buy anything with a 'Produce of South Africa' label. This was my first engagement with politics and realisation that the world was an unfair place. Everything was black and white to me (no pun intended): white South Africans were all evil and powerful; black South Africans were downtrodden victims.
Later, living in London, I would frequently walk through Trafalgar Square, stopping to stand with the protesters and sign their petitions outside the South African Embassy. It was whilst I was living in London that Nelson Mandela was freed. Soon afterwards a huge celebratory concert was held at Wembley Stadium and he attended and spoke to the crowds. Even though I can't remember what he said, I clearly remember the awe, the exuberance and the emotion of the day.
It just so happened that at this time I was planning an overland trip though Africa. I was going to fly to Nairobi and head vaguely east, west and south. Any way but north really. Having by this time lived in Israel for a couple of years and met lots of South Africans (it being one of the few countries they could go to without a visa), and found out that most of them, despite being predominantly white, were actually quite nice, I was still horrified by the thought of apartheid but realised that things were maybe not as black and white as I'd originally assumed.
Living in Israel during the first intifada had given me a tremendous insight into how politicians and the media (and anyone else with a self-interest) manipulate situations and distort truths. This is true of all involved sides and my experiences both of the intifada and the Israeli occupation of Palestinian lands, and my conversations with South Africans, including those who were not white, had made me re-assess a lot of my own beliefs. It was realising that the best way to understand a situation is to see it from the inside: be there; talk to the people involved; experience it first-hand, that made me determined to finish my African trip in South Africa. A place a few years before I wouldn't have dreamt of visiting. The freeing of Mandela and the transition that would have to follow also made a visit at this particular time an exciting prospect.
The majority of African countries at that time, would not allow anyone to enter if they had a South African stamp in their passport. I always carried two passports, a habit I'd got into during my Israeli days as Israeli stamps were equally unwelcome in a lot of other countries, but even so, it seemed easier to make South Africa the end rather than the start of my journey.
As I travelled through the countries of East and Central Africa I'd started by keeping quiet about my plans to finish in South Africa. Yes, Mandela was free and apartheid had been abolished soon afterwards but the country still had white rule and was a hotbed of racism. But although I didn't mention South Africa, other Africans would bring it up. 'Are you going to South Africa?' My cousin lives there. I hear it's wonderful there'. I was bewildered and confused. Did they not know? Was cousin lying to them?
The more I travelled in Africa the more I understood. Africa is a tribal society and most of the countries I travelled through had their own forms of apartheid. It might not have been as obvious as different entrances and water fountains, but the better jobs, houses and chances in life went to the people of whichever tribe had a member in power. I was travelling at the time of the genocide in Rwanda and Burundi. This was an horrific example of how this tribal mentality had been taken to extremes. Although the minority tribe, the Tutsis had been in power. This power had been misused and after years of discrimination the majority Hutus had overthrown and massacred the minority Tutsis. Once I got my head round the reality of black Africans discriminating against their own countrymen, I could kind of understand the draw of South Africa. Yes, you would be a fourth-class citizen there, but that was nothing new and at least you could make more money than you could in your own country. The realisation of this didn't sit comfortably with me, but I had to try to adjust my Western, Euro-centric way of thinking and understand things from what was a completely alien perspective.
After a year wandering around Africa I finally arrived in South Africa. I spent over 3 months hitch-hiking the length and breadth of the country, sometimes camping, occasionally staying with friends, but more often than not staying with complete strangers who'd picked me up on the side of the road and couldn't do enough for me. Most of the people I was picked up by and stayed with were white, but I stayed with an Indian family in Durban for a few days and spent several weeks in Cape Town staying with the family of a coloured friend I knew from Israel. Although things were changing and apartheid had been abolished the white government was still in place and everything was in flux. A year of two before I'd have been breaking the law if I'd stayed with my coloured friend's family. The husband of the Indian family I stayed with was a late middle-aged psychologist. He had a PhD, worked at the university, drove a Mercedes. The height of respectability. Yet he told me that a couple of years before when a British psychologist had visited the university and he'd given her a lift, he'd been stopped by the police. She had been taken to one side and the police had tried to intimidate her into making allegations against him. She was white, he was Indian.
Most of the people I met accepted that things were changing and were pleased their country would no longer be a pariah state. Of course some saw the whole idea of black people being intelligent and capable of ruling as laughable and made jokes about the stupidity of the black Africans. But these people tended to be the minority and it was easy to see that they were not exactly well-educated or articulate and so were the chip-on-the-shoulder losers that every society has. Once their white superiority was taken from them they'd be even bigger losers and so really did have more to worry about than everyone else.
Although people tended to have accepted the change, as an outsider it was easy to see how it's one thing to say 'oh ok, we're all equal now' on a conscious level, but much more difficult to change underlying prejudices on a deeper sub-conscious level. The language of South Africa revolved around colour. People weren't just people, they were blacks, whites, coloureds, Malays, Indians. There were white buses and black buses, white taxis and black taxis. In my language a white taxi would be a white coloured car, just as the moniker 'black cab' refers to the colour of the vehicle and not the passenger. In the language of a South African a white taxi was a yellow car for white passengers and the white coloured car (actually a minibus) was what was called the black taxi because this is what black passengers used.
I would rarely hitchhike for long. In even the worst possible places someone would stop within minutes to pick me up. They would be curious as at this time there were very few foreign tourists in South Africa, so they would want to talk to me, ask me about their country and what I thought at this turbulent time. How did they know I was a foreign tourist? Well because 'you never see women hitching in South Africa'. Hmm, I'd think, 'Isn't that a woman hitching over there? And another one a bit further down? And what about the two down there?' But of course the other women were black and so that was different. You didn't even need to say the colour out loud for the implication to be there in your sentence.
Hitching through Transkei I was picked up by an off-duty Afrikaans policeman on his way home from a meeting. He was young, married with two young daughters. He took me home and I ended up staying for a couple of days. The Afrikaaners were known as the more conservative of the white people and the ones least tolerant of change. The police were also not known for their amenability towards black people. As my host was a combination of the two I expected him to spout right-wing drivel at me and I was psyching myself up to bite my tongue. Instead we had a deep and meaningful conversation about how he realises the country has to change, that it was unfair before, that this is a good thing that's happening, but how hard it is to change your feelings inside when you've spent your whole life being brought up in a particular belief system. How do you suddenly change like that? He knew he had to because as he put it, 'My daughters will grow up in a different world. What happens when they bring home a black friend? Or their first black boyfriend? If I can't change I could lose my daughters.' Speaking to him, more than anyone, made it clear to me that it wasn't a case of 'bad white people' and 'good black people'. It's the system that is bad, not the people who have been brought up to believe it to be the truth. Of course this doesn't excuse the people who go to extremes and abuse others because their belief system says they're sub-human, but this goes some way to explain how the system could have remained in place for so long.
Towards the end of my stay in South Africa I had an experience which completely contrasted with all the positive experiences I'd had and showed just how some people were doing their best not to accept the changing situation. I was taken by friends to a white girl's birthday party. It was a private party held in her house and the guests were a mix of white and black people. The front door was open as people were coming and going. The party was in full swing when the room began to fill with gas. Eyes streaming, noses burning, everyone ran outside and tried to climb on to things to get higher than the low lying gas. Candles were lit, newspapers were set alight to try to burn the gas off. We'd been tear-gassed. The security police had been noticed sitting in a vehicle a few doors down watching the comings and goings. When the canisters of tear gas had been thrown in through the front door they had disappeared. The girl whose birthday it was and her friends were completely unsurprised by this. Apparently they'd been active supporters of the ANC, hence the black guests at the party, for a long time and were well known to the security police. They were used to harassment of this sort. That it was still going on showed the last desperate measures of a doomed regime to still exert their power. As it happened their show of power that night amounted to nothing because once we'd got rid of the gas, the party continued as if nothing had happened.
Not long after I left South Africa the first elections were held in which everyone, regardless of the colour of their skin, could vote. The ANC got in with a landslide victory and Nelson Mandela, former high-security prisoner, became the country's first black president. The hurt and remembrance of atrocities which had happened over the years and decades in South Africa wasn't going to just go away because there was a new government however. If the country was going to descend into anarchy and civil war this is the time it would have happened. It could well have happened too, if the new government decided to exert their newfound power and do unto others as had been done unto them. The more extreme and militant whites would have had no hesitation when it came to fighting back and would have had the perfect excuse to try to take the country back to the bad old days.
What actually happened instead though was a policy of reconciliation. People, black or white, told their stories, met and questioned their attackers, atoned and asked for forgiveness from their victims. When crimes so bad have been committed it must be the hardest thing in the world to turn the other cheek and not seek revenge. It's far easier to burn up with hatred than it is to quash that hatred down and rebuild your life. But under the leadership of Mandela the South Africans managed it. I look at other conflicted countries, countries that have tried to find peace for years but been unable to do so, even with the aid of the world's best peace negotiators on hand. The only way there will ever be peace if everyone can follow the example of South Africa and accept reconciliation no matter how gutting it may be to see someone 'get away with it'.
How has all this had an effect on me? I have learnt that no matter how repugnant the other side might seem it's important to make the effort to understand it if you want to have any chance of ever changing it. I've also learnt not to put my euro-centric slant on everything, but rather to stand back and examine each situation from the point of view of the 'other'. I don't have to like it, but at least I can look beyond my prejudices and respect that others may have a different worldview to me and that this alternative worldview can be as equally valid as my own and may even make more sense. And of course, I know that there's no point dwelling on what has been done as that doesn't change, or help, anything. It's far better to focus on the future and use what has gone before as part of a learning curve to ensure that that future is a better future.
It was as an A Level student in the mid-1980s that I first became aware of Nelson Mandela, South Africa and apartheid. I was horrified at the injustice of it and refused to buy anything with a 'Produce of South Africa' label. This was my first engagement with politics and realisation that the world was an unfair place. Everything was black and white to me (no pun intended): white South Africans were all evil and powerful; black South Africans were downtrodden victims.
Later, living in London, I would frequently walk through Trafalgar Square, stopping to stand with the protesters and sign their petitions outside the South African Embassy. It was whilst I was living in London that Nelson Mandela was freed. Soon afterwards a huge celebratory concert was held at Wembley Stadium and he attended and spoke to the crowds. Even though I can't remember what he said, I clearly remember the awe, the exuberance and the emotion of the day.
It just so happened that at this time I was planning an overland trip though Africa. I was going to fly to Nairobi and head vaguely east, west and south. Any way but north really. Having by this time lived in Israel for a couple of years and met lots of South Africans (it being one of the few countries they could go to without a visa), and found out that most of them, despite being predominantly white, were actually quite nice, I was still horrified by the thought of apartheid but realised that things were maybe not as black and white as I'd originally assumed.
Living in Israel during the first intifada had given me a tremendous insight into how politicians and the media (and anyone else with a self-interest) manipulate situations and distort truths. This is true of all involved sides and my experiences both of the intifada and the Israeli occupation of Palestinian lands, and my conversations with South Africans, including those who were not white, had made me re-assess a lot of my own beliefs. It was realising that the best way to understand a situation is to see it from the inside: be there; talk to the people involved; experience it first-hand, that made me determined to finish my African trip in South Africa. A place a few years before I wouldn't have dreamt of visiting. The freeing of Mandela and the transition that would have to follow also made a visit at this particular time an exciting prospect.
The majority of African countries at that time, would not allow anyone to enter if they had a South African stamp in their passport. I always carried two passports, a habit I'd got into during my Israeli days as Israeli stamps were equally unwelcome in a lot of other countries, but even so, it seemed easier to make South Africa the end rather than the start of my journey.
As I travelled through the countries of East and Central Africa I'd started by keeping quiet about my plans to finish in South Africa. Yes, Mandela was free and apartheid had been abolished soon afterwards but the country still had white rule and was a hotbed of racism. But although I didn't mention South Africa, other Africans would bring it up. 'Are you going to South Africa?' My cousin lives there. I hear it's wonderful there'. I was bewildered and confused. Did they not know? Was cousin lying to them?
The more I travelled in Africa the more I understood. Africa is a tribal society and most of the countries I travelled through had their own forms of apartheid. It might not have been as obvious as different entrances and water fountains, but the better jobs, houses and chances in life went to the people of whichever tribe had a member in power. I was travelling at the time of the genocide in Rwanda and Burundi. This was an horrific example of how this tribal mentality had been taken to extremes. Although the minority tribe, the Tutsis had been in power. This power had been misused and after years of discrimination the majority Hutus had overthrown and massacred the minority Tutsis. Once I got my head round the reality of black Africans discriminating against their own countrymen, I could kind of understand the draw of South Africa. Yes, you would be a fourth-class citizen there, but that was nothing new and at least you could make more money than you could in your own country. The realisation of this didn't sit comfortably with me, but I had to try to adjust my Western, Euro-centric way of thinking and understand things from what was a completely alien perspective.
After a year wandering around Africa I finally arrived in South Africa. I spent over 3 months hitch-hiking the length and breadth of the country, sometimes camping, occasionally staying with friends, but more often than not staying with complete strangers who'd picked me up on the side of the road and couldn't do enough for me. Most of the people I was picked up by and stayed with were white, but I stayed with an Indian family in Durban for a few days and spent several weeks in Cape Town staying with the family of a coloured friend I knew from Israel. Although things were changing and apartheid had been abolished the white government was still in place and everything was in flux. A year of two before I'd have been breaking the law if I'd stayed with my coloured friend's family. The husband of the Indian family I stayed with was a late middle-aged psychologist. He had a PhD, worked at the university, drove a Mercedes. The height of respectability. Yet he told me that a couple of years before when a British psychologist had visited the university and he'd given her a lift, he'd been stopped by the police. She had been taken to one side and the police had tried to intimidate her into making allegations against him. She was white, he was Indian.
Most of the people I met accepted that things were changing and were pleased their country would no longer be a pariah state. Of course some saw the whole idea of black people being intelligent and capable of ruling as laughable and made jokes about the stupidity of the black Africans. But these people tended to be the minority and it was easy to see that they were not exactly well-educated or articulate and so were the chip-on-the-shoulder losers that every society has. Once their white superiority was taken from them they'd be even bigger losers and so really did have more to worry about than everyone else.
Although people tended to have accepted the change, as an outsider it was easy to see how it's one thing to say 'oh ok, we're all equal now' on a conscious level, but much more difficult to change underlying prejudices on a deeper sub-conscious level. The language of South Africa revolved around colour. People weren't just people, they were blacks, whites, coloureds, Malays, Indians. There were white buses and black buses, white taxis and black taxis. In my language a white taxi would be a white coloured car, just as the moniker 'black cab' refers to the colour of the vehicle and not the passenger. In the language of a South African a white taxi was a yellow car for white passengers and the white coloured car (actually a minibus) was what was called the black taxi because this is what black passengers used.
I would rarely hitchhike for long. In even the worst possible places someone would stop within minutes to pick me up. They would be curious as at this time there were very few foreign tourists in South Africa, so they would want to talk to me, ask me about their country and what I thought at this turbulent time. How did they know I was a foreign tourist? Well because 'you never see women hitching in South Africa'. Hmm, I'd think, 'Isn't that a woman hitching over there? And another one a bit further down? And what about the two down there?' But of course the other women were black and so that was different. You didn't even need to say the colour out loud for the implication to be there in your sentence.
Hitching through Transkei I was picked up by an off-duty Afrikaans policeman on his way home from a meeting. He was young, married with two young daughters. He took me home and I ended up staying for a couple of days. The Afrikaaners were known as the more conservative of the white people and the ones least tolerant of change. The police were also not known for their amenability towards black people. As my host was a combination of the two I expected him to spout right-wing drivel at me and I was psyching myself up to bite my tongue. Instead we had a deep and meaningful conversation about how he realises the country has to change, that it was unfair before, that this is a good thing that's happening, but how hard it is to change your feelings inside when you've spent your whole life being brought up in a particular belief system. How do you suddenly change like that? He knew he had to because as he put it, 'My daughters will grow up in a different world. What happens when they bring home a black friend? Or their first black boyfriend? If I can't change I could lose my daughters.' Speaking to him, more than anyone, made it clear to me that it wasn't a case of 'bad white people' and 'good black people'. It's the system that is bad, not the people who have been brought up to believe it to be the truth. Of course this doesn't excuse the people who go to extremes and abuse others because their belief system says they're sub-human, but this goes some way to explain how the system could have remained in place for so long.
Towards the end of my stay in South Africa I had an experience which completely contrasted with all the positive experiences I'd had and showed just how some people were doing their best not to accept the changing situation. I was taken by friends to a white girl's birthday party. It was a private party held in her house and the guests were a mix of white and black people. The front door was open as people were coming and going. The party was in full swing when the room began to fill with gas. Eyes streaming, noses burning, everyone ran outside and tried to climb on to things to get higher than the low lying gas. Candles were lit, newspapers were set alight to try to burn the gas off. We'd been tear-gassed. The security police had been noticed sitting in a vehicle a few doors down watching the comings and goings. When the canisters of tear gas had been thrown in through the front door they had disappeared. The girl whose birthday it was and her friends were completely unsurprised by this. Apparently they'd been active supporters of the ANC, hence the black guests at the party, for a long time and were well known to the security police. They were used to harassment of this sort. That it was still going on showed the last desperate measures of a doomed regime to still exert their power. As it happened their show of power that night amounted to nothing because once we'd got rid of the gas, the party continued as if nothing had happened.
Not long after I left South Africa the first elections were held in which everyone, regardless of the colour of their skin, could vote. The ANC got in with a landslide victory and Nelson Mandela, former high-security prisoner, became the country's first black president. The hurt and remembrance of atrocities which had happened over the years and decades in South Africa wasn't going to just go away because there was a new government however. If the country was going to descend into anarchy and civil war this is the time it would have happened. It could well have happened too, if the new government decided to exert their newfound power and do unto others as had been done unto them. The more extreme and militant whites would have had no hesitation when it came to fighting back and would have had the perfect excuse to try to take the country back to the bad old days.
What actually happened instead though was a policy of reconciliation. People, black or white, told their stories, met and questioned their attackers, atoned and asked for forgiveness from their victims. When crimes so bad have been committed it must be the hardest thing in the world to turn the other cheek and not seek revenge. It's far easier to burn up with hatred than it is to quash that hatred down and rebuild your life. But under the leadership of Mandela the South Africans managed it. I look at other conflicted countries, countries that have tried to find peace for years but been unable to do so, even with the aid of the world's best peace negotiators on hand. The only way there will ever be peace if everyone can follow the example of South Africa and accept reconciliation no matter how gutting it may be to see someone 'get away with it'.
How has all this had an effect on me? I have learnt that no matter how repugnant the other side might seem it's important to make the effort to understand it if you want to have any chance of ever changing it. I've also learnt not to put my euro-centric slant on everything, but rather to stand back and examine each situation from the point of view of the 'other'. I don't have to like it, but at least I can look beyond my prejudices and respect that others may have a different worldview to me and that this alternative worldview can be as equally valid as my own and may even make more sense. And of course, I know that there's no point dwelling on what has been done as that doesn't change, or help, anything. It's far better to focus on the future and use what has gone before as part of a learning curve to ensure that that future is a better future.
Friday, 29 November 2013
Firearms and Fingertips
Corpses, video games, shoot-outs, manic harbingers of death, desperate surgery and blood and gore galore are the mainstay of the action-packed 70 minutes that is Firearms and Fingertips.
A DJ plays in the corner, a corpse with a bloodied torso lies still on a hospital bed. After several minutes we realise that the corpse isn't quite dead yet and frantic doctors and nurses try to revive him. He's in pain, screaming, gurgling, swearing and asking for his mum. She's outside. He's been shot and she found him by the bins when she arrived home with their takeaway. He's a good boy; no reason for anyone to shoot him.
Cue the harbingers of death, they love a good death but it really isn't the same these days. They lament for the good old days of plague with all the puss, and the times when people died of syphilis. The '80s were good too; that was the time of AIDS you know.
They are presenting a show: 'This is Your Death'. They wake almost dead Spencer up to tell him the good news. He doesn't take it too well. With plenty of macabre pomp and fanfare they introduce a series of guests: Spencer's mum, his girlfriend, shooter Jordan, and Jordan's mum. As they are hot-seated in turn we learn more about the background of the incident as well as being introduced to the five stages of grief.
A mock-up of 'The X-Factor' ('The Death Factor'), a killing spree computer game and a re-enactment of a war-zone in which the actors race around the place shooting each other and using members of the audience for cover. Bit by bit the reasons for the shooting are uncovered. Was it bad parenting? Was it a disloyal girlfriend? Or was Spencer not the good boy his mother believed him to be?
The dark themes of teenagers and guns, death and bereavement are dealt with in a way that is chilling and humorous. And loud. And freaky.
In the end Spencer dies. It couldn't end any other way. We return to the hospital scene with the doctors and nurses realising they can't save him and his mum coming to his bedside and hugging his bloodied body as she says her final goodbye.
Here's a link to a youtube clip
A DJ plays in the corner, a corpse with a bloodied torso lies still on a hospital bed. After several minutes we realise that the corpse isn't quite dead yet and frantic doctors and nurses try to revive him. He's in pain, screaming, gurgling, swearing and asking for his mum. She's outside. He's been shot and she found him by the bins when she arrived home with their takeaway. He's a good boy; no reason for anyone to shoot him. Cue the harbingers of death, they love a good death but it really isn't the same these days. They lament for the good old days of plague with all the puss, and the times when people died of syphilis. The '80s were good too; that was the time of AIDS you know.
They are presenting a show: 'This is Your Death'. They wake almost dead Spencer up to tell him the good news. He doesn't take it too well. With plenty of macabre pomp and fanfare they introduce a series of guests: Spencer's mum, his girlfriend, shooter Jordan, and Jordan's mum. As they are hot-seated in turn we learn more about the background of the incident as well as being introduced to the five stages of grief.
A mock-up of 'The X-Factor' ('The Death Factor'), a killing spree computer game and a re-enactment of a war-zone in which the actors race around the place shooting each other and using members of the audience for cover. Bit by bit the reasons for the shooting are uncovered. Was it bad parenting? Was it a disloyal girlfriend? Or was Spencer not the good boy his mother believed him to be?
The dark themes of teenagers and guns, death and bereavement are dealt with in a way that is chilling and humorous. And loud. And freaky.
In the end Spencer dies. It couldn't end any other way. We return to the hospital scene with the doctors and nurses realising they can't save him and his mum coming to his bedside and hugging his bloodied body as she says her final goodbye.
Here's a link to a youtube clip
Sunday, 24 November 2013
Planning for New Year
As I don't have any family planning to stay with me over Christmas this year, this means that right after Christmas Day I can get away. I've thought about heading overseas for a week but as I'm spending rather a lot on my van conversion at the moment and as I only came back from Oman a couple of weeks ago, I've decided to spend the time catching up with friends in the UK and trying to walk a bit more of the Thames Path.
Last time I walked the Thames Path (which was also at New Year) I finished in Staines. Not the most salubrious of places. I've been told by a local that they're thinking of re-naming it Staines upon Thames to make it sound a bit more upmarket. I think St. Aines would sound even posher, but I'm not sure who to forward my suggestion to officially. And whatever it's called it's going to take a bit more than a name change to improve its image.
But I digress. Last year I finished in Staines and so that is where I need to start from this year. If I can get three days' walking in, I should be able to make it to Marlow. On day 1 I should get as far as Windsor; day 2 should get me to Maidenhead; and then if I have chance to do a day 3 I'll make it to Marlow. As usual at this time of year daylight hours will seriously impact on how far I can walk. Even with a headtorch I wouldn't want to be walking along lonely riverside paths in the dark.
I spent a couple hours in the week researching parking and trains and it all seems very easy. I've found relatively cheap parking in Windsor, Maidenhead and Marlow and good train connections back to my starting point each day. Hopefully the traffic won't be too heavy as it's just after New Year and schools won't be back in. Big time-eating traffic delays at the start of each day would mean me having to re-assess my plans for that day.
So, all I need to know now is what's the weather going to be like?
Last time I walked the Thames Path (which was also at New Year) I finished in Staines. Not the most salubrious of places. I've been told by a local that they're thinking of re-naming it Staines upon Thames to make it sound a bit more upmarket. I think St. Aines would sound even posher, but I'm not sure who to forward my suggestion to officially. And whatever it's called it's going to take a bit more than a name change to improve its image.
But I digress. Last year I finished in Staines and so that is where I need to start from this year. If I can get three days' walking in, I should be able to make it to Marlow. On day 1 I should get as far as Windsor; day 2 should get me to Maidenhead; and then if I have chance to do a day 3 I'll make it to Marlow. As usual at this time of year daylight hours will seriously impact on how far I can walk. Even with a headtorch I wouldn't want to be walking along lonely riverside paths in the dark.
I spent a couple hours in the week researching parking and trains and it all seems very easy. I've found relatively cheap parking in Windsor, Maidenhead and Marlow and good train connections back to my starting point each day. Hopefully the traffic won't be too heavy as it's just after New Year and schools won't be back in. Big time-eating traffic delays at the start of each day would mean me having to re-assess my plans for that day.
So, all I need to know now is what's the weather going to be like?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)