Forgive me readers for I have sinned. It's been, um, 31 days since my last post.
Though I can't be entirely sure, I believe this is the longest period of silence since I started this blog.
Why? The main reason is that I've been working on a few other more "serious" projects lately, or at least attempting to work on them and then falling into deep gloom and frustration. In between those, a fairly demanding day job, some well-meaning gestures at a social life, occasional exercise, cooking, cleaning, and the odd few hours of sleep, blogging has kind of fallen off the end. As has any attempt to update the Daily Minion in the last couple of months.
But serious projects are a cruel mistress. Newspaper and magazine editors must be the most fickle creatures on this earth. Funding commissions for documentary films seem equally unpredictable - though fortunately I don't have to deal directly with that particular negotiation.
Two other things.
1) All this faffing around trying to get things published...you have to worry so much about the publication's parameters, style, and whether it will be "of interest" to their audience. It makes you appreciate anew that feeling of just shooting your mouth of, pressing a button, and hey presto, it's out there.
2) This much time unplugged from the interwebs, you start to wonder whether you even really exist anymore. I mean, there's nothing new when you google yourself, you've got no new comments notifications...are you even part of the Matrix?
So I will be returning to the blogosphere - but there will be changes. I'm considering setting up a new website for all Latin America-related things - travel blog, stories, politics, culture, travel tips, photos, etc. I'll then work on getting it fully linked up and improving its Google ranking. Could be quite good - just need to think of a catchy name...
Then, depending on how things actually turn out with aforementioned serious projects, I may have another crack at updating the Minion and improving its profile. Had a few ideas for new stories a while back, but they didn't get written, and I've had to question whether any of it was even funny to begin with. Steve Braunias had a satirical piece today in the Sunday Magazine on Brad and Ange which was laugh-out-loud funny; aimed at much the same things as my Angelina story, I'm afraid it was much funnier.
In any case, this blog will probably return to being simply "Bidsta", and will stick to a core content of politics, philosophy, issues of the day, a bit of sport and music, and just general shooting off of mouth. Can't wait to post on how serious international public intellectuals have written things recently that agree exactly with Stuff I Said about a year ago.
There's nothing quite like hitting that "publish post" button.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
The House of Hugo
For the last few weeks, excluding my expedition to Puno and Bolivia, I've been living with the family of Hugo, with whom I'm working on the Sudamerica Tour website. When I first started working for Hugo, he suggested it would be much nicer for me to live with a family than be stuck in a hotel surrounded by tourists. I agreed; I understood that this was to be part of my payment for working, and I thought it would be good to be somewhere where I never had to speak English. There was no hurry, however - I was quite happy enough in the Casa La Reyna hostel, with its beautiful roof terraces, piping hot showers and friendly people.
Originally the intention was that I would stay with the family of Hugo's rather patrician aunt, in the suburb of Umacollo, on the other side of the river Chili. After paying a visit there, this seemed fine to me, as it wasn't too far away and I would have plenty of privacy, with the spacious ground floor all to myself. For some reason, however (no one ever tells you anything directly here), this plan was abandoned. As Hugo insisted that I couldn't possibly stay another day in the hotel, it was decided that I would go and live with him.
This I was a bit more reluctant about, as his house was a bit further away from the centre, and I already saw a quite a lot of Hugo and Lisbet (his wife, who manages the Incaventura adventure travel agency). I said there was no hurry and I was really quite comfortable in the hotel, but there was no arguing, and before long I was installed in the sprawling, three-floor concrete house on the Avenida Gutemberg in the suburb of Selva Alegre.
The permanent residents of no. 405 Gutemberg at the time of my arrival included: Hugo's extroverted and vaguely eccentric mother "la señora Gloria", who the house ultimately belongs to; Hugo, Lisbet and their 3 1/2 year-old son Gerardo; Hugo's older brother Juan, his wife Vivian from Santa Cruz in Bolivia, and their 2 1/2 year-old daughter Lia; Hugo's younger brother Alan, his wife Erica and their 1 year-old daughter; Teodoro from the Colca Valley, who helps out with chores (his brother Alejandro was my guide on Chachani and has recently moved out to pursue mountain guiding full time); two dogs, two kittens and two parrots.
Hugo prides himself on having lived in Switzerland and being more reliable than other Peruvians, whom he calls "incumplidos". His example of this is the carpenter who was to construct a new desk/counter for the Incaventura agency. On the day it was supposed to be delivered at 12 midday, the carpenter failed to show up, and on being called, promised the counter would be ready at 4pm. This later became 8 pm, then successively 12, 4 and 8 the following day, before in turn being revised to a similar succession of hours after the weekend.
When the desk finally arrived, it was two inches too short, despite the carpenter and his assistant having made measurements of exaggerated precision in the agency office when it was ordered. Delivery of the modified desk followed a similar process of unforseen postponements.
Hugo may not be an "incumplido" (though he delights in telling me of all the important appointments and events he's missed through falling asleep or not waking up), but nevertheless seems to attract disaster. The first day I was supposed to meet him at the agency he failed to show up at the agreed time and called to say that his car was "malogrado" (an expression much-used in Peru, roughly meaning "broken down"). Later we were to move our work on the website to the office in San Camilo market, only to experience a range of delays due to various computers also being unexpectedly "malogradas".
Incidentally, Hugo himself is lucky enough not to remain signficantly malogrado. About a year and a half ago he broke several vertebrae in his back; climbing in the mountains without rope, he fell and rolled 300 metres. He lay there in a semi-conscious state for a day and a half, while his climbing partner broke records descending to get help from the nearest town. A rescue team climbed into the mountains and carried him out, while his mother desperately but unsuccessfully tried to convince an acquaintance air force general to authorise the despatch of a helicopter. Miraculously, Hugo eventually made a full recovery.
I soon discovered that the tendency for mechanical failure extended to the family house. While assuring me that I must move in, Hugo briefly passed over the fact that there wasn't actually any hot water. I noted that the upstairs shower at least had an electric attachment, while on the roof terrace was a solar water heating system. Neither of these seemed to work, however; they were, I was assured, "malogrados".
Also malogrado was the flushing mechanism on the upstairs toilet, while downstairs one worked but the water had to be turned off most of the time because the system leaked. Reassuring me about the lack of hot water, Hugo pointed out the rows of three-litre soft drink bottles filled with water and lined along the walls of the second-floor terrace. These heated up in the sun, he said, and provided an adequate substitute for a real shower. This turned out to be technically true; the strong Arequipeño sun does get the bottles of water to a reasonable temperature - between 2 and 4 in the afternoon. When one works 35 minutes walk away to the south of the city centre, this makes such a shower unfeasible except on weekends...
Eventually I worked out a way round the hot water issue, by boiling the kettle and mixing the water with that from the soft drink bottles, to be tipped over the head in the traditional manner. Other simple comforts, such as a night's sleep, didn't prove to be so easily obtained. Originally when I moved in, I was going to sleep in Alan's room. This had it's own bathroom with a working toilet (though no hot water), big dark curtains, a comfortable double bed, cable TV, and was on the quiet side of the house furthest from the street. Alan was in Lima with Erica and his little girl, who suffers from a heart condition, and was possibly going to have a definitive operation. Hugo told me that he didn't know how long Alan would be in Lima, but "definitely for at least a week".
The next day Alan was back (the operation had been postponed), and I found that my things had been moved to the small room next door, also on the third floor terrace, which is where Alejandro had used to sleep. In complete contrast to Alan's room, this one featured a big curtainless window, a bed with a surface resembling the Colca Valley, and poisonous fumes emanating from a recently waxed floor. The fumes dissipated after about five days, and when I mentioned the intense moonlight which streamed in the window from the cloudless Arequipan night sky I returned home the next day to find that I had been supplied with a net curtain, cleverly attached to the wall with masking tape.
There wasn't much anyone could do, however, about the other outstanding feature of my room. It overlooks the second-floor terrace, which in turn is bordered by the terrace of the neighbouring building, which houses - you guessed it - a rooster hutch. I estimate that there are about ten to twelve roosters on the terrace, housed in rickety wooden cages with hardly enough room for them to turn around. Not really having many other options, the roosters understandably content themselves with doing what roosters do best.
Some nights there is an hour of two of peace and quiet, between when the neighbourhood dogs wind up their evening chorus and when the roosters start up. Other nights they overlap. On average the crowing commences sometimes between two and three a.m. You just have to hope you fall into a deep enough slumber beforehand to be oblivious to it.
Shortly after sun up the chorus is taken up by the human inhabitants of the house. None of them really make an impression on my consciousness apart from the señora, who addresses all and sundry, wherever they may be in the house, as if she were a ship's captain barking out orders in the teeth of a fierce gale. And Gerardo. Gerardo is the crowning glory of the house, Lisbet and Hugo's 3 1/2 year-old son and possibly the most spoilt, loud, demanding little kid I have ever met. He is of angelic appearance, and in quiet moments quite pleasant, so I don't think he is actually a demon child. But he has been indulged to an extreme degree by Hugo, Lisbet, and in particular his grandmother. Although he can more or less talk normally, his principal method of communication is screaming and crying. Almost anything can induce screaming fits. He cries if he doesn't get a soft drink right this instant, He cries if someone else is spreading their toast and reducing the volume of available jam (it should all be for him). He cries if he doesn't like the way Lisbet is cutting the papaya.
He also seems to have been weaned very late, and still demands to suck on Lisbet's breasts; when he can't he tries to reach into her jumper and grab them. To my horror, I noticed that she sometimes lets him, or at least doesn't push him away immediately. While Lisbet is in every other respect an exemplary person, her approach to mothering Gerardo is not what I would call ideal. She tells him that he can't suckle her breasts because "I've had an operation" (rather than "because you can't"), and when he behaves badly, she sometimes responds with emotional blackmail - for example, once when he refused to say "please" while demanding the butter, she got mad and said "right! I don't love you anymore"
Mamiiii" howled Gerardo.
"I'm no longer your mother" snapped Lisbet.
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling her "you have to make him say please because it's polite, not because you'll disown him if he doesn't". After all, what do I know - she's the mother...
A trip to the bathroom from my upstairs room also proved to be a bit of a trial. It was first necessary to go out onto the terrace, descend the outside stairs to the second-floor terrace and negotiate the entrance to the second floor (I had a key, but for about the first week the señora Gloria would shout out "Who is it!!!" at the slightest noise at the door, no matter the hour, and I would have to explain my presence. "It's just me, Simon". "What's wrong!? Are you sick?". "No, just going to the bathroom" I would mumble. It didn't help that the first week after I moved in she confined herself to her room as she had just had plastic surgery and didn't want to go out in public with bandages all over her face.
Once in the bathroom one had to deal with the fact that the flushing mechanism was broken (though by no means irredeemably), and there was always a variably strong smell of urine. Desperate not to add to this, I always made efforts to flush the toilet by emptying buckets of water into it. This was made more difficult by the fact that both the seat and the cover were broken and detached from the bowl, meaning that really you had to lift both of them off and place them on the floor in order to avoid splashing water all over the seat. Then, about a few weeks after I moved in, the S-pipe leading from the basin began to leak badly whenever the water was turned on. The household response? To place a large bucket under the leaking pipe...
It's not as if this is a poor family struggling to get by. Hugo at one stage had no less than three four-wheel drive vehicles. Both Juan and Alan have modern motorcycles, and Alan spends all of his spare and time and money on restoring a 1968 Fiat sports coupe. As I mentioned, their mother had just had cosmetic surgery when I moved in. It just seems that things like simple comforts don't rank high in anyone's list of priorities.
The general sense of chaos at no. 405 also extends to people and animals. One weekend morning there was general alarm and recriminations when it was discovered that one of the dogs, a Siberian husky, had gone missing. The dogs live in the back patio and it was no surprise that this one had taken its first chance to escape. The other one is a squat little mongrel with an unfortunate facial paralysis which makes its teeth appear in the manner of a canine possessed when it's just trying to be affectionate; it seems quite happy waddling round the patio.
The husky, however, must have been going insane. When I asked if anyone exercised it, the answer was "Well, Alan used to take it for runs...but what with him having a baby now and everything, he doesn't have much time..." The dogs eat human food - during my first dinner in the upstairs kitchen I asked what I should do with the chicken bones, not seeing a rubbish bin. "Throw them to the dogs" was the answer. "What - just throw them down into the patio?" I asked. "Yup".
This doesn't always seem be to the dogs preference, however. When discussing the husky's escape with Vivian she told me with a puzzled expression "You know what - sometimes they don't eat, either. We prepare food for them specially, but they just don't want to eat it..." The concept of "dog food" is not one which holds much currency in the household.
The same morning as the husky's disappearance, there was more serious alarm when it was reported that the señora Gloria's 80 year-old aunt had also gone missing. She had disappeared from her house in Miraflores, last being seen wandering in the street outside her front door. Gloria's sister and niece came over to the house for a panicky council of war, and they spent the afternoon calling the police, hospitals and morgues.
By the end of the weekend, things had normalised. The husky had inexplicably returned, while the señora's aunt had also shown up. She had wandered far away from her home and had apparently ended up spending the night in a brothel, where she reported that she had been treated very kindly.
When I came back from Bolivia, the configuration of animals had changed. The husky was nowhere to be seen, and one of the kittens, the tiny cute one, seemed to have been exchanged for an annoying but rather irresistible spaniel-cross puppy. Vivian explained to me what had happened. The little kitten had unwisely wandered into the dog' compound, where it had been killed and dismembered by the frustrated husky. Little Lia had the misfortune to witness this, and was rather traumatised. To make up for it, Juan had decided to get her a puppy, which was the spaniel.
Meanwhile, the other, scrawnier, uglier, slightly smarter kitten had found its way up to the third-floor terrace, into my room, and had completed its ablutions all over my blankets.
The parrots are also relatively new. There was a previous parrot, which Vivian had brought from Santa Cruz. It was very clever and spoke quite fluently, being able to imitate the various household members. One night Hugo's father showed up drunk at the front door of the house. He is separated from the señora Gloria and lives in Ilo. On this occasion he was quite inebriated and for some reason convinced that Gloria was with another man. He was banging on the door and shouting "Open up Gloria! I know you're there! Let me in!".
As a matter of fact, the señora wasn't in the house at the time, but from the terrace the parrot answered. "No! I don't want to!" it squawked. This threw Hugo's father into paroxysms of fury. He battered at the door, shouting "Open up, Gloria!" You're with another man, aren't you?" "Ahahahahaha!!" cackled the parrot in response. Hugo's father left, convinced that his estranged wife was in the house with a man.
The parrot was unable to fly, but waddled happily around the second-floor terrace. It liked to climb up into the bougainvillea which creeps up next to the terrace wall. This proved to be its downfall, as one day it was climbing in the bougainvillea, lost its grip, and tumbled into the downstairs back patio. There, of course, it met with a pacing, restless husky, which ensured that it was soon converted into an ex-parrot.
The new parrots are young and can't talk much yet. They are kept in a cage, and Juan takes them out and carries them around the terrace on the weekend. They're learning some basic vocabulary, though, principally "Alan!" (in the voice of the señora shouting up to the third-floor terrace; Alan seems to get more phone calls than the rest of the family put together). Their other favourite vocalisation is an imitation of Gerardo screaming. When the parrots are bored, hungry, or want attention, they start up a chorus of "Alan! Alan! Aaaaaaaaggghhhhhh!!! Alan! Aaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!!" Somehow, that seems to sum up life at the Avenida Gutemberg 405 rather well.
Originally the intention was that I would stay with the family of Hugo's rather patrician aunt, in the suburb of Umacollo, on the other side of the river Chili. After paying a visit there, this seemed fine to me, as it wasn't too far away and I would have plenty of privacy, with the spacious ground floor all to myself. For some reason, however (no one ever tells you anything directly here), this plan was abandoned. As Hugo insisted that I couldn't possibly stay another day in the hotel, it was decided that I would go and live with him.
This I was a bit more reluctant about, as his house was a bit further away from the centre, and I already saw a quite a lot of Hugo and Lisbet (his wife, who manages the Incaventura adventure travel agency). I said there was no hurry and I was really quite comfortable in the hotel, but there was no arguing, and before long I was installed in the sprawling, three-floor concrete house on the Avenida Gutemberg in the suburb of Selva Alegre.
The permanent residents of no. 405 Gutemberg at the time of my arrival included: Hugo's extroverted and vaguely eccentric mother "la señora Gloria", who the house ultimately belongs to; Hugo, Lisbet and their 3 1/2 year-old son Gerardo; Hugo's older brother Juan, his wife Vivian from Santa Cruz in Bolivia, and their 2 1/2 year-old daughter Lia; Hugo's younger brother Alan, his wife Erica and their 1 year-old daughter; Teodoro from the Colca Valley, who helps out with chores (his brother Alejandro was my guide on Chachani and has recently moved out to pursue mountain guiding full time); two dogs, two kittens and two parrots.
Hugo prides himself on having lived in Switzerland and being more reliable than other Peruvians, whom he calls "incumplidos". His example of this is the carpenter who was to construct a new desk/counter for the Incaventura agency. On the day it was supposed to be delivered at 12 midday, the carpenter failed to show up, and on being called, promised the counter would be ready at 4pm. This later became 8 pm, then successively 12, 4 and 8 the following day, before in turn being revised to a similar succession of hours after the weekend.
When the desk finally arrived, it was two inches too short, despite the carpenter and his assistant having made measurements of exaggerated precision in the agency office when it was ordered. Delivery of the modified desk followed a similar process of unforseen postponements.
Hugo may not be an "incumplido" (though he delights in telling me of all the important appointments and events he's missed through falling asleep or not waking up), but nevertheless seems to attract disaster. The first day I was supposed to meet him at the agency he failed to show up at the agreed time and called to say that his car was "malogrado" (an expression much-used in Peru, roughly meaning "broken down"). Later we were to move our work on the website to the office in San Camilo market, only to experience a range of delays due to various computers also being unexpectedly "malogradas".
Incidentally, Hugo himself is lucky enough not to remain signficantly malogrado. About a year and a half ago he broke several vertebrae in his back; climbing in the mountains without rope, he fell and rolled 300 metres. He lay there in a semi-conscious state for a day and a half, while his climbing partner broke records descending to get help from the nearest town. A rescue team climbed into the mountains and carried him out, while his mother desperately but unsuccessfully tried to convince an acquaintance air force general to authorise the despatch of a helicopter. Miraculously, Hugo eventually made a full recovery.
I soon discovered that the tendency for mechanical failure extended to the family house. While assuring me that I must move in, Hugo briefly passed over the fact that there wasn't actually any hot water. I noted that the upstairs shower at least had an electric attachment, while on the roof terrace was a solar water heating system. Neither of these seemed to work, however; they were, I was assured, "malogrados".
Also malogrado was the flushing mechanism on the upstairs toilet, while downstairs one worked but the water had to be turned off most of the time because the system leaked. Reassuring me about the lack of hot water, Hugo pointed out the rows of three-litre soft drink bottles filled with water and lined along the walls of the second-floor terrace. These heated up in the sun, he said, and provided an adequate substitute for a real shower. This turned out to be technically true; the strong Arequipeño sun does get the bottles of water to a reasonable temperature - between 2 and 4 in the afternoon. When one works 35 minutes walk away to the south of the city centre, this makes such a shower unfeasible except on weekends...
Eventually I worked out a way round the hot water issue, by boiling the kettle and mixing the water with that from the soft drink bottles, to be tipped over the head in the traditional manner. Other simple comforts, such as a night's sleep, didn't prove to be so easily obtained. Originally when I moved in, I was going to sleep in Alan's room. This had it's own bathroom with a working toilet (though no hot water), big dark curtains, a comfortable double bed, cable TV, and was on the quiet side of the house furthest from the street. Alan was in Lima with Erica and his little girl, who suffers from a heart condition, and was possibly going to have a definitive operation. Hugo told me that he didn't know how long Alan would be in Lima, but "definitely for at least a week".
The next day Alan was back (the operation had been postponed), and I found that my things had been moved to the small room next door, also on the third floor terrace, which is where Alejandro had used to sleep. In complete contrast to Alan's room, this one featured a big curtainless window, a bed with a surface resembling the Colca Valley, and poisonous fumes emanating from a recently waxed floor. The fumes dissipated after about five days, and when I mentioned the intense moonlight which streamed in the window from the cloudless Arequipan night sky I returned home the next day to find that I had been supplied with a net curtain, cleverly attached to the wall with masking tape.
There wasn't much anyone could do, however, about the other outstanding feature of my room. It overlooks the second-floor terrace, which in turn is bordered by the terrace of the neighbouring building, which houses - you guessed it - a rooster hutch. I estimate that there are about ten to twelve roosters on the terrace, housed in rickety wooden cages with hardly enough room for them to turn around. Not really having many other options, the roosters understandably content themselves with doing what roosters do best.
Some nights there is an hour of two of peace and quiet, between when the neighbourhood dogs wind up their evening chorus and when the roosters start up. Other nights they overlap. On average the crowing commences sometimes between two and three a.m. You just have to hope you fall into a deep enough slumber beforehand to be oblivious to it.
Shortly after sun up the chorus is taken up by the human inhabitants of the house. None of them really make an impression on my consciousness apart from the señora, who addresses all and sundry, wherever they may be in the house, as if she were a ship's captain barking out orders in the teeth of a fierce gale. And Gerardo. Gerardo is the crowning glory of the house, Lisbet and Hugo's 3 1/2 year-old son and possibly the most spoilt, loud, demanding little kid I have ever met. He is of angelic appearance, and in quiet moments quite pleasant, so I don't think he is actually a demon child. But he has been indulged to an extreme degree by Hugo, Lisbet, and in particular his grandmother. Although he can more or less talk normally, his principal method of communication is screaming and crying. Almost anything can induce screaming fits. He cries if he doesn't get a soft drink right this instant, He cries if someone else is spreading their toast and reducing the volume of available jam (it should all be for him). He cries if he doesn't like the way Lisbet is cutting the papaya.
He also seems to have been weaned very late, and still demands to suck on Lisbet's breasts; when he can't he tries to reach into her jumper and grab them. To my horror, I noticed that she sometimes lets him, or at least doesn't push him away immediately. While Lisbet is in every other respect an exemplary person, her approach to mothering Gerardo is not what I would call ideal. She tells him that he can't suckle her breasts because "I've had an operation" (rather than "because you can't"), and when he behaves badly, she sometimes responds with emotional blackmail - for example, once when he refused to say "please" while demanding the butter, she got mad and said "right! I don't love you anymore"
Mamiiii" howled Gerardo.
"I'm no longer your mother" snapped Lisbet.
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling her "you have to make him say please because it's polite, not because you'll disown him if he doesn't". After all, what do I know - she's the mother...
A trip to the bathroom from my upstairs room also proved to be a bit of a trial. It was first necessary to go out onto the terrace, descend the outside stairs to the second-floor terrace and negotiate the entrance to the second floor (I had a key, but for about the first week the señora Gloria would shout out "Who is it!!!" at the slightest noise at the door, no matter the hour, and I would have to explain my presence. "It's just me, Simon". "What's wrong!? Are you sick?". "No, just going to the bathroom" I would mumble. It didn't help that the first week after I moved in she confined herself to her room as she had just had plastic surgery and didn't want to go out in public with bandages all over her face.
Once in the bathroom one had to deal with the fact that the flushing mechanism was broken (though by no means irredeemably), and there was always a variably strong smell of urine. Desperate not to add to this, I always made efforts to flush the toilet by emptying buckets of water into it. This was made more difficult by the fact that both the seat and the cover were broken and detached from the bowl, meaning that really you had to lift both of them off and place them on the floor in order to avoid splashing water all over the seat. Then, about a few weeks after I moved in, the S-pipe leading from the basin began to leak badly whenever the water was turned on. The household response? To place a large bucket under the leaking pipe...
It's not as if this is a poor family struggling to get by. Hugo at one stage had no less than three four-wheel drive vehicles. Both Juan and Alan have modern motorcycles, and Alan spends all of his spare and time and money on restoring a 1968 Fiat sports coupe. As I mentioned, their mother had just had cosmetic surgery when I moved in. It just seems that things like simple comforts don't rank high in anyone's list of priorities.
The general sense of chaos at no. 405 also extends to people and animals. One weekend morning there was general alarm and recriminations when it was discovered that one of the dogs, a Siberian husky, had gone missing. The dogs live in the back patio and it was no surprise that this one had taken its first chance to escape. The other one is a squat little mongrel with an unfortunate facial paralysis which makes its teeth appear in the manner of a canine possessed when it's just trying to be affectionate; it seems quite happy waddling round the patio.
The husky, however, must have been going insane. When I asked if anyone exercised it, the answer was "Well, Alan used to take it for runs...but what with him having a baby now and everything, he doesn't have much time..." The dogs eat human food - during my first dinner in the upstairs kitchen I asked what I should do with the chicken bones, not seeing a rubbish bin. "Throw them to the dogs" was the answer. "What - just throw them down into the patio?" I asked. "Yup".
This doesn't always seem be to the dogs preference, however. When discussing the husky's escape with Vivian she told me with a puzzled expression "You know what - sometimes they don't eat, either. We prepare food for them specially, but they just don't want to eat it..." The concept of "dog food" is not one which holds much currency in the household.
The same morning as the husky's disappearance, there was more serious alarm when it was reported that the señora Gloria's 80 year-old aunt had also gone missing. She had disappeared from her house in Miraflores, last being seen wandering in the street outside her front door. Gloria's sister and niece came over to the house for a panicky council of war, and they spent the afternoon calling the police, hospitals and morgues.
By the end of the weekend, things had normalised. The husky had inexplicably returned, while the señora's aunt had also shown up. She had wandered far away from her home and had apparently ended up spending the night in a brothel, where she reported that she had been treated very kindly.
When I came back from Bolivia, the configuration of animals had changed. The husky was nowhere to be seen, and one of the kittens, the tiny cute one, seemed to have been exchanged for an annoying but rather irresistible spaniel-cross puppy. Vivian explained to me what had happened. The little kitten had unwisely wandered into the dog' compound, where it had been killed and dismembered by the frustrated husky. Little Lia had the misfortune to witness this, and was rather traumatised. To make up for it, Juan had decided to get her a puppy, which was the spaniel.
Meanwhile, the other, scrawnier, uglier, slightly smarter kitten had found its way up to the third-floor terrace, into my room, and had completed its ablutions all over my blankets.
The parrots are also relatively new. There was a previous parrot, which Vivian had brought from Santa Cruz. It was very clever and spoke quite fluently, being able to imitate the various household members. One night Hugo's father showed up drunk at the front door of the house. He is separated from the señora Gloria and lives in Ilo. On this occasion he was quite inebriated and for some reason convinced that Gloria was with another man. He was banging on the door and shouting "Open up Gloria! I know you're there! Let me in!".
As a matter of fact, the señora wasn't in the house at the time, but from the terrace the parrot answered. "No! I don't want to!" it squawked. This threw Hugo's father into paroxysms of fury. He battered at the door, shouting "Open up, Gloria!" You're with another man, aren't you?" "Ahahahahaha!!" cackled the parrot in response. Hugo's father left, convinced that his estranged wife was in the house with a man.
The parrot was unable to fly, but waddled happily around the second-floor terrace. It liked to climb up into the bougainvillea which creeps up next to the terrace wall. This proved to be its downfall, as one day it was climbing in the bougainvillea, lost its grip, and tumbled into the downstairs back patio. There, of course, it met with a pacing, restless husky, which ensured that it was soon converted into an ex-parrot.
The new parrots are young and can't talk much yet. They are kept in a cage, and Juan takes them out and carries them around the terrace on the weekend. They're learning some basic vocabulary, though, principally "Alan!" (in the voice of the señora shouting up to the third-floor terrace; Alan seems to get more phone calls than the rest of the family put together). Their other favourite vocalisation is an imitation of Gerardo screaming. When the parrots are bored, hungry, or want attention, they start up a chorus of "Alan! Alan! Aaaaaaaaggghhhhhh!!! Alan! Aaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!!" Somehow, that seems to sum up life at the Avenida Gutemberg 405 rather well.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Can She Say That, Dr Brash?
Following on from my previous post...
Doing some research for a possible article on relations between New Zealand and Chile (one of the reasons why I've been rather quiet in blogland of late), I came across this article from 2003 by Auckland law professor Jane Kelsey.
This was back when New Zealand and Chile were still negotiating a free trade deal (it's now signed and sealed, with Singapore and Brunei the other parties). The version of Kelsey's article I spotted has been translated into Spanish, but it basically says that a free trade deal would be a bad idea for small Chilean producers, women, indigenous communities, cute furry animals, etc, as they would be overrun by powerful, rapacious New Zealand multinationals (yes, we have two).*
I generally don't agree wholly with this kind of kneejerk anti-globalisation, though she is correct that this deal is less about trade - since both countries produce similar products and have very low tariffs anyway - than what Helen Clark herself has referred to as a "strategic alliance".
But the point is: as a high-profile, internationally renowned, professor of law with academic tenure (see this post for an amusing perspective on how to get through her classes), Kelsey was making a far more effective attempt to sabotage "New Zealand interests" - guided by what she believes are set of more universal principles - than any poor Muslim immigrant tapping out letters to foreign newspapers saying "don't buy our stuff".
So, in light of his comments in the Herald article, I have these questions for Don Brash:
1. Putting aside any question of disagreement on the issues of substance, does he agree that Professor Kelsey, as a New Zealander, "can't" undermine her country's economic interests as she attempted to do here? If so, what action would he take to stop her from doing this, were he Prime Minister?**
2. If he believes that Professor Kelsey has a right to subvert New Zealand's export interests, but that the Muslim immigrant in question does not, how does he justify this distinction?
3. Should his response to (2) be along the lines of the immigrant "owing" New Zealand a higher standard of loyalty than a natural-born citizen, how does this square with the fact that immigrants on average pay more in tax than they receive in public services, while Professor Kelsey's 30-year career has been built largely through a publicly-funded institution?
*From the article: "...any commerical gain will do nothing more than increase the inequality between and within the two countries, openly favouring New Zealand companies..."
**Yes, I know there are many out there in the blogosphere would happily send Jane Kelsey to Siberia; the question is [hypothetically] for Dr Brash.
Doing some research for a possible article on relations between New Zealand and Chile (one of the reasons why I've been rather quiet in blogland of late), I came across this article from 2003 by Auckland law professor Jane Kelsey.
This was back when New Zealand and Chile were still negotiating a free trade deal (it's now signed and sealed, with Singapore and Brunei the other parties). The version of Kelsey's article I spotted has been translated into Spanish, but it basically says that a free trade deal would be a bad idea for small Chilean producers, women, indigenous communities, cute furry animals, etc, as they would be overrun by powerful, rapacious New Zealand multinationals (yes, we have two).*
I generally don't agree wholly with this kind of kneejerk anti-globalisation, though she is correct that this deal is less about trade - since both countries produce similar products and have very low tariffs anyway - than what Helen Clark herself has referred to as a "strategic alliance".
But the point is: as a high-profile, internationally renowned, professor of law with academic tenure (see this post for an amusing perspective on how to get through her classes), Kelsey was making a far more effective attempt to sabotage "New Zealand interests" - guided by what she believes are set of more universal principles - than any poor Muslim immigrant tapping out letters to foreign newspapers saying "don't buy our stuff".
So, in light of his comments in the Herald article, I have these questions for Don Brash:
1. Putting aside any question of disagreement on the issues of substance, does he agree that Professor Kelsey, as a New Zealander, "can't" undermine her country's economic interests as she attempted to do here? If so, what action would he take to stop her from doing this, were he Prime Minister?**
2. If he believes that Professor Kelsey has a right to subvert New Zealand's export interests, but that the Muslim immigrant in question does not, how does he justify this distinction?
3. Should his response to (2) be along the lines of the immigrant "owing" New Zealand a higher standard of loyalty than a natural-born citizen, how does this square with the fact that immigrants on average pay more in tax than they receive in public services, while Professor Kelsey's 30-year career has been built largely through a publicly-funded institution?
*From the article: "...any commerical gain will do nothing more than increase the inequality between and within the two countries, openly favouring New Zealand companies..."
**Yes, I know there are many out there in the blogosphere would happily send Jane Kelsey to Siberia; the question is [hypothetically] for Dr Brash.
Monday, July 31, 2006
A Brash Reception
Passionate, well-informed, articulate, even witty. These are not words you normally associate with New Zealand media columnists. And you can be assured I would not use them within a mile of the heavily recycled bitterness and negativity served by up by the likes of the McLeod / du Fresne / Haden axis.But they do sit pretty well when applied to Public Address blogger Tze Ming Mok, who has also recently started writing a column for the Sunday Star Times.
Once I get past the inevitable surge of Martin Amisian envy at someone who is younger than me, writes excellently, attracts an audience, and gets paid for doing it, I have to like her style.The things I particularly admire about Tze Ming are her obvious intelligence, her (sometimes over-enthusiastically expressed) sense of outrage, and - perhaps aided by her oft-analysed Chinese-New Zealander perspective - her readiness to point out that received wisdom about New Zealand and its culture is often bullshit.
My specific reason for mentioning this right now is that I had an almost identical response as she did to an opinion piece on immigration by Don Brash in the New Zealand Herald.
Brash actually says a good deal in his speech that I agree with, nowhere more so than where he criticizes the horrendous, Kafkaesque treatment handed out to prospective applicants for New Zealand residency, notably to foreign-born spouses of current citizens. I've seen some good examples of rhetoric and action heading off in opposite directions. But no gulf greater than that between public pronouncements that the country wants to attract motivated migrants - in particular to reclaim its own exiles - and the bizarre bureaucratic hoops that such people are made to jump through.
Read some of Brash's examples (plus the reader comment), and tell me you don't know of similar examples within two degrees of personal separation. Dumbly draconian policies, apparently enforced by sadistic fools.
I guess there may be a risk of New Zealand-resident serial bridegrooms conspiring to bring in a string of undesirables as their spouses. But you'd think there'd be a better way of controlling for this than demanding that a Kiwi and his wife of nine years, with two children, provide proof that they have an exclusive sexual relationship.
So much for being welcomed to NZ with open arms. You'd have an easier time opening a French bank account.
As heartening as it is to see Brash take on some actual, genuine examples of public sector incompetence and stupidity, he ruins it all the end with this concluding paragraph:
It's important to recognise that there's an implied contract between New Zealand and would-be citizens: New Zealand offers you citizenship with all the rights and privileges of being in every respect a Kiwi, but in return you owe New Zealand your loyalty and commitment. You can't be a New Zealander and seek to undermine New Zealand. You can't be a New Zealander and claim that some other law takes precedence over the law of the New Zealand Parliament. You can't be a New Zealander and write to foreign newspapers urging a boycott of New Zealand exports, as one would-be citizen did recently in reaction to the publication by two newspapers of some cartoons satirizing Mohammed.
Tze Ming and others have done a much better (and earlier) job than I could at critiquing this, but I will utter this exclamation: What? Is he serious?
Here was I, thinking he was arguing we should largely, apart from in special categories, accept people who will be of net benefit to the country. But then, having already won on the deal, he wants to hold immigrants to a higher standard of “loyalty and commitment” than other citizens?
Any citizen of this country can properly be expected to obey the law of the New Zealand Parliament (including things like the Human Rights Act), but surely not to believe that it “takes precendence” over all other law. Can a Christian who believes that God's law overrules all others, not be a New Zealander?
And if there is some narrow definition of “New Zealand interests” that basically equates to “export earnings”, does that necessarily make traitors of the likes of Keith Locke and others who upset Chinese trade delegations, rather than, as many see them, brave and principled New Zealanders?”
Dear me, should a recent South African immigrant not be allowed to support the Springboks against the All Blacks?
Having argued that there are a core set of “our values” which include freedom of conscience, thought and speech, Brash is effectively saying that immigrants to Aotearoa should cleave to the nation state with the kind of blind and absolute loyalty demanded by a tribal chieftain.
In response, I would suggest that if there's anything which drags hard-working, smart people down to this draughty spot at the bottom of the world, it just might be that they're attracted by the well-known New Zealand tradition of thinking and saying what you bloody well want.
Once I get past the inevitable surge of Martin Amisian envy at someone who is younger than me, writes excellently, attracts an audience, and gets paid for doing it, I have to like her style.The things I particularly admire about Tze Ming are her obvious intelligence, her (sometimes over-enthusiastically expressed) sense of outrage, and - perhaps aided by her oft-analysed Chinese-New Zealander perspective - her readiness to point out that received wisdom about New Zealand and its culture is often bullshit.
My specific reason for mentioning this right now is that I had an almost identical response as she did to an opinion piece on immigration by Don Brash in the New Zealand Herald.
Brash actually says a good deal in his speech that I agree with, nowhere more so than where he criticizes the horrendous, Kafkaesque treatment handed out to prospective applicants for New Zealand residency, notably to foreign-born spouses of current citizens. I've seen some good examples of rhetoric and action heading off in opposite directions. But no gulf greater than that between public pronouncements that the country wants to attract motivated migrants - in particular to reclaim its own exiles - and the bizarre bureaucratic hoops that such people are made to jump through.
Read some of Brash's examples (plus the reader comment), and tell me you don't know of similar examples within two degrees of personal separation. Dumbly draconian policies, apparently enforced by sadistic fools.
I guess there may be a risk of New Zealand-resident serial bridegrooms conspiring to bring in a string of undesirables as their spouses. But you'd think there'd be a better way of controlling for this than demanding that a Kiwi and his wife of nine years, with two children, provide proof that they have an exclusive sexual relationship.
So much for being welcomed to NZ with open arms. You'd have an easier time opening a French bank account.
As heartening as it is to see Brash take on some actual, genuine examples of public sector incompetence and stupidity, he ruins it all the end with this concluding paragraph:
It's important to recognise that there's an implied contract between New Zealand and would-be citizens: New Zealand offers you citizenship with all the rights and privileges of being in every respect a Kiwi, but in return you owe New Zealand your loyalty and commitment. You can't be a New Zealander and seek to undermine New Zealand. You can't be a New Zealander and claim that some other law takes precedence over the law of the New Zealand Parliament. You can't be a New Zealander and write to foreign newspapers urging a boycott of New Zealand exports, as one would-be citizen did recently in reaction to the publication by two newspapers of some cartoons satirizing Mohammed.
Tze Ming and others have done a much better (and earlier) job than I could at critiquing this, but I will utter this exclamation: What? Is he serious?
Here was I, thinking he was arguing we should largely, apart from in special categories, accept people who will be of net benefit to the country. But then, having already won on the deal, he wants to hold immigrants to a higher standard of “loyalty and commitment” than other citizens?
Any citizen of this country can properly be expected to obey the law of the New Zealand Parliament (including things like the Human Rights Act), but surely not to believe that it “takes precendence” over all other law. Can a Christian who believes that God's law overrules all others, not be a New Zealander?
And if there is some narrow definition of “New Zealand interests” that basically equates to “export earnings”, does that necessarily make traitors of the likes of Keith Locke and others who upset Chinese trade delegations, rather than, as many see them, brave and principled New Zealanders?”
Dear me, should a recent South African immigrant not be allowed to support the Springboks against the All Blacks?
Having argued that there are a core set of “our values” which include freedom of conscience, thought and speech, Brash is effectively saying that immigrants to Aotearoa should cleave to the nation state with the kind of blind and absolute loyalty demanded by a tribal chieftain.
In response, I would suggest that if there's anything which drags hard-working, smart people down to this draughty spot at the bottom of the world, it just might be that they're attracted by the well-known New Zealand tradition of thinking and saying what you bloody well want.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Shoot the Whole Aid Down
You don't have to like Bob Geldof, and I can kind of see why the blunt language he used to criticize New Zealand's level of foreign aid (one of the very lowest in the OECD) would have raised some people's hackles slightly.
But I've been a little taken aback by the outpouring of boorish, hypersensitive responses from NZers, in forums such as the Kiwiblog comments section and the Stuff website feedback. They range from the straightforward "how dare he come here and criticise us" to the ill-informed cop out, "their corrupt leaders will take it all", to the openly racist "I'll give aid when they stop having ten kids".
And it's the Americans who are supposed to be arrogant, insular and unable to take criticism? God, I would hate to see what kind of superpower NZ would make.
It's the "aid will just be wasted and encourages corruption" line that is perhaps the most insidious. People use this as an excuse to absolve themselves completely of responsibility and not to have to think about the issues again.
It's true that a lot of aid has been squandered in the past. But how hard was anyone trying to make it effective and well-targeted? During the cold war, both blocs squandered a lot of foreign "aid" buying the support of corrupt elites, in the service of their respective geopolitical strategies.
But if you have the right motivations, getting good value for aid money is far from impossible.
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs' international aid unit, NZAid, works with proven, reputable partner organisations in selected countries, and directs funding towards specified projects that aim to support human development, especially in health and education, in these countries. The ones I have seen look well-designed, at least on paper.
The aid we do provide is actually quite transparent and well-targeted; generally, we aren't handing out pork in exchange for political influence. But we could do more; additional $ going in from New Zealand would probably make a genuine difference to people in the developing world.
In Peru, I talked extensively with a local NGO that ran a number of projects, some of them quite innovative, and very much driven by the "hand up not a hand out" philosophy. They were able to answer my "and how are you evaluating this project?" questions, rather better, I might say, than in some examples I could identify closer to home.
They are supported by Italian, US and Swedish organisations, but resources are of course limited. Again, I would be reasonably confident that more funding for them would not go amiss.
Some argue, like Helen Clark, that NZ helps in other, less quantifiable ways, such as by contributing to peacekeeping and having open trade policies. But there's no reason why we can't do those things AND increase our level of direct aid. Then we could more genuinely argue that we are an example to others.
On David Farrar's Kiwiblog (this post seems not to be presently available) , there were the usual responses from the"government shouldn't be spending my money for me" types (including Farrar himself), arguing that private citizens should be making personal donations, rather than the government spending our tax dollars.
That's fine; I would agree that in some circumstances individuals can make more effective, better targeted contributions. This is an area that interests me - so I would be genuinely pleased if those people could describe their experiences in contributing aid at an individual level, and their strategies for ensuring its effectiveness.
But I've been a little taken aback by the outpouring of boorish, hypersensitive responses from NZers, in forums such as the Kiwiblog comments section and the Stuff website feedback. They range from the straightforward "how dare he come here and criticise us" to the ill-informed cop out, "their corrupt leaders will take it all", to the openly racist "I'll give aid when they stop having ten kids".
And it's the Americans who are supposed to be arrogant, insular and unable to take criticism? God, I would hate to see what kind of superpower NZ would make.
It's the "aid will just be wasted and encourages corruption" line that is perhaps the most insidious. People use this as an excuse to absolve themselves completely of responsibility and not to have to think about the issues again.
It's true that a lot of aid has been squandered in the past. But how hard was anyone trying to make it effective and well-targeted? During the cold war, both blocs squandered a lot of foreign "aid" buying the support of corrupt elites, in the service of their respective geopolitical strategies.
But if you have the right motivations, getting good value for aid money is far from impossible.
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs' international aid unit, NZAid, works with proven, reputable partner organisations in selected countries, and directs funding towards specified projects that aim to support human development, especially in health and education, in these countries. The ones I have seen look well-designed, at least on paper.
The aid we do provide is actually quite transparent and well-targeted; generally, we aren't handing out pork in exchange for political influence. But we could do more; additional $ going in from New Zealand would probably make a genuine difference to people in the developing world.
In Peru, I talked extensively with a local NGO that ran a number of projects, some of them quite innovative, and very much driven by the "hand up not a hand out" philosophy. They were able to answer my "and how are you evaluating this project?" questions, rather better, I might say, than in some examples I could identify closer to home.
They are supported by Italian, US and Swedish organisations, but resources are of course limited. Again, I would be reasonably confident that more funding for them would not go amiss.
Some argue, like Helen Clark, that NZ helps in other, less quantifiable ways, such as by contributing to peacekeeping and having open trade policies. But there's no reason why we can't do those things AND increase our level of direct aid. Then we could more genuinely argue that we are an example to others.
On David Farrar's Kiwiblog (this post seems not to be presently available) , there were the usual responses from the"government shouldn't be spending my money for me" types (including Farrar himself), arguing that private citizens should be making personal donations, rather than the government spending our tax dollars.
That's fine; I would agree that in some circumstances individuals can make more effective, better targeted contributions. This is an area that interests me - so I would be genuinely pleased if those people could describe their experiences in contributing aid at an individual level, and their strategies for ensuring its effectiveness.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
I Take (Some of) It Back
OK, I admit my errors. After posting "As long as it's not Italy vs. Germany" and writing off the World Cup as a disappointment after the quarter finals, the semi-final match between those two teams turned out to be the game of the tournament.
It was a contest of great skill and tension, helped along by an excellent refereeing performance and a positive attitude by both teams. Italy won deservedly with two brilliant goals in the last three minutes. Could have been a script written by Verdi.
The Italians played a beautiful passing game, as attractive as any of my past or current flaky teams, but added to a resilience and self-belief that the latter always seem to lack. Germany were relentless, and contributed hugely too.
France vs. Portugal wasn't a bad game either, though not up to the same standard. In my view, Portugal have been wrongly vilified at this tournament, and were a bit unlucky in this game. Their neat, skillful midfield play is as good or better than anyone, but their lack of a striker was never more painfully obvious than when they went behind to a marginal penalty, and battered away impotently for most of the second half.
So then to the final...
After their great performance in the semi, I was almost about to do the unthinkable, and support Italy for the first time in my life. Then, when France began to play some scintillating stuff early in the second half and threatened to overwhelm the Italians, I decided that it would be poetic justice for les vieux to take a second World Cup.
By the time it all petered out and Italy won on penalties, there had been Materazzi's nipple-twist, the rumoured racist insults, and Zidane's headbutt. You wouldn't really have been surprised if Buffon and Brathez had then engaged in a drawn out swordfight, before leading the rest of the players in a rousing final chorus as the curtain was lowered.
Time may well be kind to this World Cup. There were so many close contests, and more controversy and drama than since at least 1986; before long the dives, the punches, the crotch-stamp, the wink, the nipple-twist and the headbutts will becomes as mythical as la mano de dios.
But despite the redemption served up by Germany vs. Italy and the operatic finale to the final, the overall point of my previous post still stands: there wasn't much on the field of play to truly inspire.
Games in the knockout rounds were tight, skillful, and with some positive intent, at least in theory. But goals were undeniably few, and those that came were mostly been from set pieces (including several dubious penalties). Excluding the third-place match, there were just two goals scored from open play in the post-second round stages: Italy's two last-minute strikes in the semi-final.
There was a lot of good defending, but it was just a bit too easy for the defenders. With modern day fitness levels and carefully-coached systems and tactics (the dreaded 4-5-1), even a pretty mediocre team can shut out and frustrate the opposition (as Greece showed par exemplar in Euro 2004).
Not only were goals scarce, but even opportunities for scoring were few and far between. In most of the knockout games, keepers hardly needed to make more than two or three serious saves a game. Much attractive build-up play ended somewhere just outside the penalty area.
There's been a lot of debate and comment about whether there need to be changes to the rules to open up the game and allow more scoring opportunities. Some of the suggestions are radical, such as widening the goals, or removing the offside rule. Others scoff at any such suggestions. But football is a game that can adapt itself to changing times like any other; indeed, it has a history of rule changes such as outlawing the back pass in the early 90s, which led to a period of more open play.
In my view it's more tweaks than transformations that are needed; football is a simple game, and the main thing will be to change the attitudes - from an overpowering fear of failure, to a situation where there's some incentive to take risks. Here are what I see as the priorities that most need addressing:
-Retrospective awarding of, and appeals against, yellow and red cards. This should do something to quell the epidemic of diving, exaggerating fouls, and trying to get people sent off. There's no question that this is a somewhat despicable aspect of the modern game.
-Better use of the advantage rule by referees, a la rugby. The Mexican referee in the Germany-Italy game was the best example I saw in the tournament of how this could be done.
-Some way to reduce the significance of penalties for minor fouls in the penalty area when a goal is not really likely. This is a very tricky one, as any law change I can think of is likely to have unintended consequences. Nevertheless, options should be put on the table.
-World Cup format: I think we need to go back to the - not particularly popular - second group stage format which predominated from 1974 - 1982. With at least two games each, this gives teams a chance to really show how good they are, and reduces the overpowering fear of making a mistake which makes otherwise creative sides choke up in high-stakes, knockout games. Knockout can wait until at least the semis, and perhaps the final.
-An extra suggestion here is a possible bonus point for scoring three or more goals (again, a la rugby) in either the first or both the first and second rounds.
-Do not decide games on penalties!! Some of what made the Italy - Germany contest so good was that neither side really wanted it to go to penalties, and the Italian were absolutely desperate for it not to. As many have suggested, one solution could be to take players off the field, one from each side every ten minutes after 90 minutes. Once it gets to seven against seven, somebody has to score. If the final itself ends in a draw, it should be replayed.
-For now, leave out widening the goals, broadening the field, or changing the offside rule. Let's see if tweaks like the above work, then take it from there.
Of course, it would be fantastic if some new, great coach and team just went out there and played irresistible, attacking (and winning) football, and everybody wanted to become like them. For a while in this tournament, I thought Argentina could be that team. But it wasn't to be. Within four years, such a team may emerge, perhaps from Africa. But I wouldn't count on it.
It was a contest of great skill and tension, helped along by an excellent refereeing performance and a positive attitude by both teams. Italy won deservedly with two brilliant goals in the last three minutes. Could have been a script written by Verdi.
The Italians played a beautiful passing game, as attractive as any of my past or current flaky teams, but added to a resilience and self-belief that the latter always seem to lack. Germany were relentless, and contributed hugely too.
France vs. Portugal wasn't a bad game either, though not up to the same standard. In my view, Portugal have been wrongly vilified at this tournament, and were a bit unlucky in this game. Their neat, skillful midfield play is as good or better than anyone, but their lack of a striker was never more painfully obvious than when they went behind to a marginal penalty, and battered away impotently for most of the second half.
So then to the final...
After their great performance in the semi, I was almost about to do the unthinkable, and support Italy for the first time in my life. Then, when France began to play some scintillating stuff early in the second half and threatened to overwhelm the Italians, I decided that it would be poetic justice for les vieux to take a second World Cup.
By the time it all petered out and Italy won on penalties, there had been Materazzi's nipple-twist, the rumoured racist insults, and Zidane's headbutt. You wouldn't really have been surprised if Buffon and Brathez had then engaged in a drawn out swordfight, before leading the rest of the players in a rousing final chorus as the curtain was lowered.
Time may well be kind to this World Cup. There were so many close contests, and more controversy and drama than since at least 1986; before long the dives, the punches, the crotch-stamp, the wink, the nipple-twist and the headbutts will becomes as mythical as la mano de dios.
But despite the redemption served up by Germany vs. Italy and the operatic finale to the final, the overall point of my previous post still stands: there wasn't much on the field of play to truly inspire.
Games in the knockout rounds were tight, skillful, and with some positive intent, at least in theory. But goals were undeniably few, and those that came were mostly been from set pieces (including several dubious penalties). Excluding the third-place match, there were just two goals scored from open play in the post-second round stages: Italy's two last-minute strikes in the semi-final.
There was a lot of good defending, but it was just a bit too easy for the defenders. With modern day fitness levels and carefully-coached systems and tactics (the dreaded 4-5-1), even a pretty mediocre team can shut out and frustrate the opposition (as Greece showed par exemplar in Euro 2004).
Not only were goals scarce, but even opportunities for scoring were few and far between. In most of the knockout games, keepers hardly needed to make more than two or three serious saves a game. Much attractive build-up play ended somewhere just outside the penalty area.
There's been a lot of debate and comment about whether there need to be changes to the rules to open up the game and allow more scoring opportunities. Some of the suggestions are radical, such as widening the goals, or removing the offside rule. Others scoff at any such suggestions. But football is a game that can adapt itself to changing times like any other; indeed, it has a history of rule changes such as outlawing the back pass in the early 90s, which led to a period of more open play.
In my view it's more tweaks than transformations that are needed; football is a simple game, and the main thing will be to change the attitudes - from an overpowering fear of failure, to a situation where there's some incentive to take risks. Here are what I see as the priorities that most need addressing:
-Retrospective awarding of, and appeals against, yellow and red cards. This should do something to quell the epidemic of diving, exaggerating fouls, and trying to get people sent off. There's no question that this is a somewhat despicable aspect of the modern game.
-Better use of the advantage rule by referees, a la rugby. The Mexican referee in the Germany-Italy game was the best example I saw in the tournament of how this could be done.
-Some way to reduce the significance of penalties for minor fouls in the penalty area when a goal is not really likely. This is a very tricky one, as any law change I can think of is likely to have unintended consequences. Nevertheless, options should be put on the table.
-World Cup format: I think we need to go back to the - not particularly popular - second group stage format which predominated from 1974 - 1982. With at least two games each, this gives teams a chance to really show how good they are, and reduces the overpowering fear of making a mistake which makes otherwise creative sides choke up in high-stakes, knockout games. Knockout can wait until at least the semis, and perhaps the final.
-An extra suggestion here is a possible bonus point for scoring three or more goals (again, a la rugby) in either the first or both the first and second rounds.
-Do not decide games on penalties!! Some of what made the Italy - Germany contest so good was that neither side really wanted it to go to penalties, and the Italian were absolutely desperate for it not to. As many have suggested, one solution could be to take players off the field, one from each side every ten minutes after 90 minutes. Once it gets to seven against seven, somebody has to score. If the final itself ends in a draw, it should be replayed.
-For now, leave out widening the goals, broadening the field, or changing the offside rule. Let's see if tweaks like the above work, then take it from there.
Of course, it would be fantastic if some new, great coach and team just went out there and played irresistible, attacking (and winning) football, and everybody wanted to become like them. For a while in this tournament, I thought Argentina could be that team. But it wasn't to be. Within four years, such a team may emerge, perhaps from Africa. But I wouldn't count on it.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Starting to Lose the Faith
Following the quarter-final stage, the World Cup has already turned into rather a disappointment for me - perhaps I was naiive to expect things to be different this time.
The second round of matches, were, as the weather report used to say, a mixed bag.
The Argentina-Mexico clash was an excellent, absorbing game. Mexico were for periods the better side - they closed down Argentina's passing game, counter-attacked at pace, and can count themselves unlucky to go out to Maxi Rodriguez's wonder goal in extra time.
The Portugal-Holland match, which ended with nine players on both sides, was derided by some as a disgrace and a near farce. But in between the cards and controversies, I thought it was dramatic and entertaining, and there was three times as much skillful football as in the entire England-Ecuador match.
The flurry of red and yellow cards was partly due to loss of control by both teams, and partly to over-officious refereeing. In terms of actual fouls, it was nothing close to as bad as, say, a River Plate-Boca Juniors derby - as Portuguese coach Luis Felipe Scolari candidly acknowledged, saying “I'm used to that; I've coached in the Copa Libertadores” (S.American club championship).
Ukraine-Switzerland I understand was a predictable bore. I also found the Italy-Australia game very frustrating, in that Italy were patently the more talented side but constrained by a nervous lack of ambition. It was a great adventure for Australia, but in the second half, against ten men, they never looked like scoring.
Spain against France was, in the manner of things to come, a game of considerable skill but little incision. As I mentioned in my previous post, it wasn't a great surprise to see the experienced French shut out Spain’s pretty passing game and hurt them on the break.
When all the dust had settled, there still looked to be three classic match-ups in store for the quarter-finals, plus a chance for Italy to continue their sleepwalk into the semi-finals against Ukraine.
Italy duly obliged, with a 3-0 win suggesting that they are moving into their stride at the right time.
But the other matches were ultra-cautious battles of attrition played by teams afraid to lose. Three goals were scored in three games - from a corner, throw-in, and free kick - and two of the matches were decided by penalties.
The best of the bunch was probably France-Brazil, if only for the impressive performance of the French, and the heartening fact that a guy two years older than me – Zinedine Zidane – was easily the best player on the field. But it was rather depressing to see the much-vaunted Brazil show absolutely nothing, their “marvellous quartet” feeble and anonymous.
Great things weren't really expected from England and Portugal, who duly obliged with a 0-0 stalemate. The obligatory controversial sending-off / brave English battle with 10 men / penalty shoot-out debacle was so predictable it makes you groan. Someone come up with a new script, please!
But perhaps the biggest disappointment of all was the Germany-Argentina match. This should have been a classic, between the two teams who had impressed most to date. Instead, we saw a cagey, conservative encounter which was tense, but ultimately pretty dull.
There was always a good chance that Germany's resilience and power, with home support, would overcome even the best of teams. But Argentina should at least have made an attempt to overwhelm them with skilfull, attacking football. As it was, they knocked square balls around with excruciating caution for most of the first half, and hardly created a shooting opportunity.
They still managed to nick a 1-0 lead midway through the second half, with a header from a corner. But then, in a disastrous loss of moral courage, Argentinean coach Jose Pekerman decided that they were going to be Italy. With 25 minutes still remaining, he pulled off Juan Roman Riquelme for defensive midfielder Esteban Cambiasso and brought on the ineffectual Julio Cruz for Hernan Crespo. With an injury to the goalkeeper, all the subs were used up, and exciting young Lionel Messi had no chance to get on the field.
When Germany duly pinched a goal back, Argentina had nothing left. As the game went to extra time, Crespo, Messi, Riquelme, Javier Saviola, and Pablo Aimar - Argentina's best attacking players - watched helplessly from the bench.
After the game, as some Argentina players were involved in an ugly brawl, it was as if all their demons had returned at once. The philosophy of playing a confident, attacking style had been abandoned when it mattered most, and it seemed almost karmic to see the old petulance return.
It's probably unfair to France and Germany, neither of whom have done anything wrong, but for me the charm and romance has already gone out of the tournament and I don’t care much who wins.
The best we can hope for is that in four years time in South Africa, some team – perhaps an African one - will break the mould and show that it's still possible for football to inspire the imagination, rather than simply mimicking the calculating materialism which mostly governs our modern lives.
The second round of matches, were, as the weather report used to say, a mixed bag.
The Argentina-Mexico clash was an excellent, absorbing game. Mexico were for periods the better side - they closed down Argentina's passing game, counter-attacked at pace, and can count themselves unlucky to go out to Maxi Rodriguez's wonder goal in extra time.
The Portugal-Holland match, which ended with nine players on both sides, was derided by some as a disgrace and a near farce. But in between the cards and controversies, I thought it was dramatic and entertaining, and there was three times as much skillful football as in the entire England-Ecuador match.
The flurry of red and yellow cards was partly due to loss of control by both teams, and partly to over-officious refereeing. In terms of actual fouls, it was nothing close to as bad as, say, a River Plate-Boca Juniors derby - as Portuguese coach Luis Felipe Scolari candidly acknowledged, saying “I'm used to that; I've coached in the Copa Libertadores” (S.American club championship).
Ukraine-Switzerland I understand was a predictable bore. I also found the Italy-Australia game very frustrating, in that Italy were patently the more talented side but constrained by a nervous lack of ambition. It was a great adventure for Australia, but in the second half, against ten men, they never looked like scoring.
Spain against France was, in the manner of things to come, a game of considerable skill but little incision. As I mentioned in my previous post, it wasn't a great surprise to see the experienced French shut out Spain’s pretty passing game and hurt them on the break.
When all the dust had settled, there still looked to be three classic match-ups in store for the quarter-finals, plus a chance for Italy to continue their sleepwalk into the semi-finals against Ukraine.
Italy duly obliged, with a 3-0 win suggesting that they are moving into their stride at the right time.
But the other matches were ultra-cautious battles of attrition played by teams afraid to lose. Three goals were scored in three games - from a corner, throw-in, and free kick - and two of the matches were decided by penalties.
The best of the bunch was probably France-Brazil, if only for the impressive performance of the French, and the heartening fact that a guy two years older than me – Zinedine Zidane – was easily the best player on the field. But it was rather depressing to see the much-vaunted Brazil show absolutely nothing, their “marvellous quartet” feeble and anonymous.
Great things weren't really expected from England and Portugal, who duly obliged with a 0-0 stalemate. The obligatory controversial sending-off / brave English battle with 10 men / penalty shoot-out debacle was so predictable it makes you groan. Someone come up with a new script, please!
But perhaps the biggest disappointment of all was the Germany-Argentina match. This should have been a classic, between the two teams who had impressed most to date. Instead, we saw a cagey, conservative encounter which was tense, but ultimately pretty dull.
There was always a good chance that Germany's resilience and power, with home support, would overcome even the best of teams. But Argentina should at least have made an attempt to overwhelm them with skilfull, attacking football. As it was, they knocked square balls around with excruciating caution for most of the first half, and hardly created a shooting opportunity.
They still managed to nick a 1-0 lead midway through the second half, with a header from a corner. But then, in a disastrous loss of moral courage, Argentinean coach Jose Pekerman decided that they were going to be Italy. With 25 minutes still remaining, he pulled off Juan Roman Riquelme for defensive midfielder Esteban Cambiasso and brought on the ineffectual Julio Cruz for Hernan Crespo. With an injury to the goalkeeper, all the subs were used up, and exciting young Lionel Messi had no chance to get on the field.
When Germany duly pinched a goal back, Argentina had nothing left. As the game went to extra time, Crespo, Messi, Riquelme, Javier Saviola, and Pablo Aimar - Argentina's best attacking players - watched helplessly from the bench.
After the game, as some Argentina players were involved in an ugly brawl, it was as if all their demons had returned at once. The philosophy of playing a confident, attacking style had been abandoned when it mattered most, and it seemed almost karmic to see the old petulance return.
It's probably unfair to France and Germany, neither of whom have done anything wrong, but for me the charm and romance has already gone out of the tournament and I don’t care much who wins.
The best we can hope for is that in four years time in South Africa, some team – perhaps an African one - will break the mould and show that it's still possible for football to inspire the imagination, rather than simply mimicking the calculating materialism which mostly governs our modern lives.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Let the Games Begin
So to round two. For a while there it looked like the qualifiers would almost all be traditional powers. But while all my favourite flaky underachievers have gone though - Portugal, Spain, Holland, Mexico and England - there's also been a few surprises. The success of Ghana, Australia and Ecuador means there will be some new faces in the second round, and still a chance of a bolter getting right through to the semis.
I've rather been beaten to the punch by an article in the Guardian / Observer blog in describing my fears for the knock-out stages of this World Cup. After a pretty entertaining series of group games, with attacking play, plenty of goals, and some skillful, intricate play by Argentina and Spain in particular, there's still the chance that part two of the tournament could be a damp squib.
History says that when World Cups get to the winner-takes-all stage, teams feel heavily burdened by the fear of losing, and matches become tight, dour affairs decided by the odd goal or going down to penalties. Japan / Korea 2002 was a good example of this trend.
A reaon for being optimistic and expecting this time to be a different is the theory I described previously, relating to the movement of the ball and the improvement in attacking play, which have seen goals being scored from everywhere and teams wary of sitting back. In addition, with fewer minnows through, most games will see a contest that both sides think they can win, perhaps resulting in a more aggressive approach.
Games at this stage often turn on a stroke of luck, or a refereeing decision, so that the side with the moral claim to being "better on the day" doesn't necessarily progress.
The other great confounding factor is the vagaries of the draw.
Because the trajectories through to the semi-finals and final are already set out in a neat geometric patterns, we can already discern the likely match-ups, and groan as we see two of the favourites pitted against one another at a too-early stage. The draw for the knock-outs is divided into quadrants - and just as there are "groups of death", this time there is both a "quadrant of death", and one that looks comparatively weak.
The quadrant of death features Spain, France, Brazil, and Ghana. The last two World Cup winners, one of the two best teams at the tournament so far, and the exciting Ghanaians. Only one of these four teams can reach the semi-finals. My biggest fear here is that the aging French will call on their experience and shut out the Spanish, thus depriving us a of a classic mano a mano clash between Spain and Brazil in the quarters. Assuming, that is, that Brazil gets past Ghana, who I think will give them a huge fright and may even cause an upset.
Next quadrant across is a complete contrast, with the winner of Italy vs. Australia facing either a moderate Switzerland or a pedestrian Ukraine in the quarters. It makes you want to weep. Granted, Italy has had some bad luck in the past, going out to penalties in 1990 (semis), 1994 (final), and 1998 (quarters), and being on the wrong end of some dubious refereeing in the 2002 2-1 second round loss to South Korea. This time it looks like they've got some good karma. If they play to anything like their potential, Italy will surely be in the semis.
The other worrying fixture comes in quadrant 4, where Argentina and Germany are headed for a showdown in the quarters. It's a concern that Argentina, now probably the favourite team for most neutrals, have to face up to the hosts at such an early stage. Argentina certainly won't be beaten for skill, but with the Germans' strength, persistence, and the self-belief instilled by their home crowds, there's every chance they could squeeze a win.
Of course, it would be sad for the home team to go out, too, but it would also provide an opportunity for the amenable Germans to concentrate 100% on being fantastic hosts to a great tournament. Let's hope that Riquelme, Crespo, Saviola, Messi et al refuse to be overawed.
The other quadrant is something of a consolation, since it features three of my underachievers - Portugal, Holland and England - plus Ecuador, who have the chance to earn more respect for the next tier of South American football - much better, I feel, than the impression given by the non-Brazil/Argentina teams' usual performances at World Cups. One of these four teams will also make the semis.
I'm not going to make any predictions for the individual games, but I am:
-sticking to my orignal prediction of a Italy vs. Argentina final
-dreaming of a possible Spain vs. Argentina final
-hoping against hope that it's not Italy vs. Germany
NB (written before the matches Germany vs. Sweden and Argentina vs. Mexico,to be played in the next few hours)
Categories: football, Germany 2006, World Cup
I've rather been beaten to the punch by an article in the Guardian / Observer blog in describing my fears for the knock-out stages of this World Cup. After a pretty entertaining series of group games, with attacking play, plenty of goals, and some skillful, intricate play by Argentina and Spain in particular, there's still the chance that part two of the tournament could be a damp squib.
History says that when World Cups get to the winner-takes-all stage, teams feel heavily burdened by the fear of losing, and matches become tight, dour affairs decided by the odd goal or going down to penalties. Japan / Korea 2002 was a good example of this trend.
A reaon for being optimistic and expecting this time to be a different is the theory I described previously, relating to the movement of the ball and the improvement in attacking play, which have seen goals being scored from everywhere and teams wary of sitting back. In addition, with fewer minnows through, most games will see a contest that both sides think they can win, perhaps resulting in a more aggressive approach.
Games at this stage often turn on a stroke of luck, or a refereeing decision, so that the side with the moral claim to being "better on the day" doesn't necessarily progress.
The other great confounding factor is the vagaries of the draw.
Because the trajectories through to the semi-finals and final are already set out in a neat geometric patterns, we can already discern the likely match-ups, and groan as we see two of the favourites pitted against one another at a too-early stage. The draw for the knock-outs is divided into quadrants - and just as there are "groups of death", this time there is both a "quadrant of death", and one that looks comparatively weak.
The quadrant of death features Spain, France, Brazil, and Ghana. The last two World Cup winners, one of the two best teams at the tournament so far, and the exciting Ghanaians. Only one of these four teams can reach the semi-finals. My biggest fear here is that the aging French will call on their experience and shut out the Spanish, thus depriving us a of a classic mano a mano clash between Spain and Brazil in the quarters. Assuming, that is, that Brazil gets past Ghana, who I think will give them a huge fright and may even cause an upset.
Next quadrant across is a complete contrast, with the winner of Italy vs. Australia facing either a moderate Switzerland or a pedestrian Ukraine in the quarters. It makes you want to weep. Granted, Italy has had some bad luck in the past, going out to penalties in 1990 (semis), 1994 (final), and 1998 (quarters), and being on the wrong end of some dubious refereeing in the 2002 2-1 second round loss to South Korea. This time it looks like they've got some good karma. If they play to anything like their potential, Italy will surely be in the semis.
The other worrying fixture comes in quadrant 4, where Argentina and Germany are headed for a showdown in the quarters. It's a concern that Argentina, now probably the favourite team for most neutrals, have to face up to the hosts at such an early stage. Argentina certainly won't be beaten for skill, but with the Germans' strength, persistence, and the self-belief instilled by their home crowds, there's every chance they could squeeze a win.
Of course, it would be sad for the home team to go out, too, but it would also provide an opportunity for the amenable Germans to concentrate 100% on being fantastic hosts to a great tournament. Let's hope that Riquelme, Crespo, Saviola, Messi et al refuse to be overawed.
The other quadrant is something of a consolation, since it features three of my underachievers - Portugal, Holland and England - plus Ecuador, who have the chance to earn more respect for the next tier of South American football - much better, I feel, than the impression given by the non-Brazil/Argentina teams' usual performances at World Cups. One of these four teams will also make the semis.
I'm not going to make any predictions for the individual games, but I am:
-sticking to my orignal prediction of a Italy vs. Argentina final
-dreaming of a possible Spain vs. Argentina final
-hoping against hope that it's not Italy vs. Germany
NB (written before the matches Germany vs. Sweden and Argentina vs. Mexico,to be played in the next few hours)
Categories: football, Germany 2006, World Cup
Saturday, June 17, 2006
As Long As Its Not Italy vs. Germany
Thrilling stuff in the World Cup's first week, with lots of goals, attacking play, and several excellent games. In addition, nothing so far has contradicted my prediction that the two teams to watch would be Argentina and Italy.
Yesterday's stunning 6-0 win by Argentina over Serbia & Montenegro, with several goals which brought tears to the eyes, demonstrated exactly what I meant when I talked in previous posts about the "elaboarate interweaving of individual skills".
Overnight, there's been a lot of jumping on the bandwagon, with the Guardian, for example, asking "Can anyone stop Argentina?". But of course the caveat is that it's all too common for teams which dazzle in the group stages to be knocked out later by an opponent which is more clinical, or simply has luck on its side. And World Cup history is replete with examples of teams, which begin looking thoroughly ordinary, transforming themselves in the later stages.
It's pleasing that my favourite flaky, underachieving teams - Holland, Portugal, Spain and Mexico - have all won, and look good to go through to the second round. In fact, Spain has been the other team to impress most, with a dazzling 4-0 demolition of Ukraine, leading some to suggest that they might finally replicate the flair and confidence of their club teams at a national level.
Of the other teams, England have looked flawed and extremely pedestrian despite their two wins. Brazil were also disappointing, and appeared brittle in their win over Croatia. Worst of all, France can't seem to buy a goal, and appear unlikely to erase memories of their disaster in 2002.
On the other hand, the pessimism of the German fans has rapidly dissolved, with a couple of bright displays. They look quite potent up front, and with the home advantage and their traditional resilience, I'll be suprised if they don't make the semifinals.
The distinction seems to be between the teams that seem determined to play all their "stars", no matter how unfit, out of form, or past it (e.g. Brazil, England and France), and those which have placed an emphasis on form, youth, and a proper team structure (notably Argentina, Spain and Holland). In the former case, there's more than a suggestion that coaches have half an eye on the desires of the sponsors.
What's different from South Korea and Japan four years ago, and many previous World Cups, is that so far there haven't been any real shock upsets. I'm of the view that this is a good thing. While upsets give unpredictability to the tournament, they also lead to some poorer quality matches later on, as the minnows can't sustain their quality of play.
This time it looks like the knockout stages will be dominated by the bigger teams, so whoever gets through to the final will have proved themselves in a number of major contests.
Worst piece of luck is the demise of Ivory Coast in the "group of death". After narrow losses to Argentina and Holland, they're already out, despite having played some of the best football of the tournament so far. And like many others, I must apologise for my dismissal of Ecuador's prospects at sea level - they've been the surprise performers of the World Cup.
Overall, there's no doubt that already it's been a much better tournament than Korea & Japan 2002, or Euro 2004, where a heroic but uninspiring Greece squeezed out wins against all comers.
One of the reasons for this may be the longer preparation time - the finals have started nine days later than in 2002, so teams have had longer to overcome injuries, rest, and prepare. In addition, it may be that some of the bigger teams got such a shock at their poor performance in 2002, that they have prepared more carefully this time.
My view is that an important factor is the controversial tournament ball. So far, it's been a goalkeeper's nightmare: it flies, it swerves, it dips. With each game, more and more spectacular goals are being scored from ever more improbable distances (to my mind Torsten Frings' goal against Costa Rica was one of the best, but was upstaged by Bakary Kone's sensational effort for Ivory Coast against Holland).
The ease of scoring from distance has meant that the defensive approach of sitting deep and putting the majority of players behind the ball becomes a lot riskier. You might try and play conservative, but then - ping! - you go behind to a 30-metre screamer. Better to take an attacking approach and try and score first.
Only time will tell if this approach continues in the knockout stages.
So, what are my predictions for the knockout rounds? Really, I can't do better than pure speculation, but I will say that's I won't be at all surprised if the semi-finalists don't go outside the big four of Brazil, Argentina, Italy and Germany. If one of them misses out, my pick is for Brazil's fragilities to be exposed in the quarter-finals. Fourth semi-finalist? Spain or England. Don't laugh, England have a strong defense, are capable of pinching a goal or two, and usually play better against the bigger teams. Wouldn't bet on it, though.
Though I'll be holding out for a Spain vs. Argentina final, really I can live with any combination as long as it's not Italy vs. Germany. While both teams look to have made some changes and are playing in a way that gives the lie to their dour reputations, my prejudices just run too deep. Key perhaps is that my formative football-watching experience was in 1982, when Italy knocked out the beloved Brazilian team of Zico, Socrates et al, and a cynical West Germany stopped Michel Platini's France on penalties in the semi-final.
Speaking of which, if there's one more request I could make to the footballing gods, it's that as many matches as possible are won by the side that score more goals in open play. I know there's no obviously better and fairer way of separating two sides, in this day and age of tight schedules and domination by TV. But please, please, if at all possible, let there not be penalties.
Yesterday's stunning 6-0 win by Argentina over Serbia & Montenegro, with several goals which brought tears to the eyes, demonstrated exactly what I meant when I talked in previous posts about the "elaboarate interweaving of individual skills".
Overnight, there's been a lot of jumping on the bandwagon, with the Guardian, for example, asking "Can anyone stop Argentina?". But of course the caveat is that it's all too common for teams which dazzle in the group stages to be knocked out later by an opponent which is more clinical, or simply has luck on its side. And World Cup history is replete with examples of teams, which begin looking thoroughly ordinary, transforming themselves in the later stages.
It's pleasing that my favourite flaky, underachieving teams - Holland, Portugal, Spain and Mexico - have all won, and look good to go through to the second round. In fact, Spain has been the other team to impress most, with a dazzling 4-0 demolition of Ukraine, leading some to suggest that they might finally replicate the flair and confidence of their club teams at a national level.
Of the other teams, England have looked flawed and extremely pedestrian despite their two wins. Brazil were also disappointing, and appeared brittle in their win over Croatia. Worst of all, France can't seem to buy a goal, and appear unlikely to erase memories of their disaster in 2002.
On the other hand, the pessimism of the German fans has rapidly dissolved, with a couple of bright displays. They look quite potent up front, and with the home advantage and their traditional resilience, I'll be suprised if they don't make the semifinals.
The distinction seems to be between the teams that seem determined to play all their "stars", no matter how unfit, out of form, or past it (e.g. Brazil, England and France), and those which have placed an emphasis on form, youth, and a proper team structure (notably Argentina, Spain and Holland). In the former case, there's more than a suggestion that coaches have half an eye on the desires of the sponsors.
What's different from South Korea and Japan four years ago, and many previous World Cups, is that so far there haven't been any real shock upsets. I'm of the view that this is a good thing. While upsets give unpredictability to the tournament, they also lead to some poorer quality matches later on, as the minnows can't sustain their quality of play.
This time it looks like the knockout stages will be dominated by the bigger teams, so whoever gets through to the final will have proved themselves in a number of major contests.
Worst piece of luck is the demise of Ivory Coast in the "group of death". After narrow losses to Argentina and Holland, they're already out, despite having played some of the best football of the tournament so far. And like many others, I must apologise for my dismissal of Ecuador's prospects at sea level - they've been the surprise performers of the World Cup.
Overall, there's no doubt that already it's been a much better tournament than Korea & Japan 2002, or Euro 2004, where a heroic but uninspiring Greece squeezed out wins against all comers.
One of the reasons for this may be the longer preparation time - the finals have started nine days later than in 2002, so teams have had longer to overcome injuries, rest, and prepare. In addition, it may be that some of the bigger teams got such a shock at their poor performance in 2002, that they have prepared more carefully this time.
My view is that an important factor is the controversial tournament ball. So far, it's been a goalkeeper's nightmare: it flies, it swerves, it dips. With each game, more and more spectacular goals are being scored from ever more improbable distances (to my mind Torsten Frings' goal against Costa Rica was one of the best, but was upstaged by Bakary Kone's sensational effort for Ivory Coast against Holland).
The ease of scoring from distance has meant that the defensive approach of sitting deep and putting the majority of players behind the ball becomes a lot riskier. You might try and play conservative, but then - ping! - you go behind to a 30-metre screamer. Better to take an attacking approach and try and score first.
Only time will tell if this approach continues in the knockout stages.
So, what are my predictions for the knockout rounds? Really, I can't do better than pure speculation, but I will say that's I won't be at all surprised if the semi-finalists don't go outside the big four of Brazil, Argentina, Italy and Germany. If one of them misses out, my pick is for Brazil's fragilities to be exposed in the quarter-finals. Fourth semi-finalist? Spain or England. Don't laugh, England have a strong defense, are capable of pinching a goal or two, and usually play better against the bigger teams. Wouldn't bet on it, though.
Though I'll be holding out for a Spain vs. Argentina final, really I can live with any combination as long as it's not Italy vs. Germany. While both teams look to have made some changes and are playing in a way that gives the lie to their dour reputations, my prejudices just run too deep. Key perhaps is that my formative football-watching experience was in 1982, when Italy knocked out the beloved Brazilian team of Zico, Socrates et al, and a cynical West Germany stopped Michel Platini's France on penalties in the semi-final.
Speaking of which, if there's one more request I could make to the footballing gods, it's that as many matches as possible are won by the side that score more goals in open play. I know there's no obviously better and fairer way of separating two sides, in this day and age of tight schedules and domination by TV. But please, please, if at all possible, let there not be penalties.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
World Cup Fever
What could possibly console you when you return from fun-filled adventure in the steamy Amazon to the cold, dead world of a Wellington office job in winter?
Well, the beginning of a football World Cup makes a pretty good start. Tomorrow night (NZ time) Germany 2006 kicks off when the hosts play Costa Rica, followed by six weeks of what we all hope will be skill, excitement, and lots of goals.
When I last posted on the football, I was still hanging on the outside chance that one of my "home teams" might sneak into the finals. In the end, none of Peru, Guatemala or Colombia got through, though Australia did secure an historic place for Oceania, and I suppose we're honour bound to support them.
With a reasonably dispassionate eye, then, who do I think will win the tournament?
As usual, it's very hard to go past the big four of Brazil, Argentina, Italy and Germany. A year and a half ago I was picking Argentina, who have developed a fluid, attacking style based on the elaboarate linking of individual skills. But they seem to have lost confidence a little since then, and Brazil have been beaten them on every occasion that's mattered. Even in the Copa America final, a Brazil team missing its stars was completely outplayed but managed to scrape a 2-2 draw and win on penalties.
As an article in the weekend Guardian pointed out, whoever wins the tournament will need to find a bunch of goals from somewhere, and no one appears to have a better guarantee of this than Brazil, with four or five players likely to make their mark on the scoring sheet. Though it is claimed that not all the stars are at their best, it looks a more complete team than in 2002, when they won relatively easily. If they maintain a half respectable defense, they have a good chance of taking another crown.
Germany seems to be on the decline, and is the despair of many of their fans. But it would be a foolish mistake to write them off: they made the final in 2002 while looking pretty ordinary, and have a funny habit of coming back from the dead. Home advantage will be a major boost.
Italy is my another story again. Though they are rarely among the glamorous sentimental favourites, with every Italian team you can be sure that they will give nothing away, and that they will convert the oppotunities they get with skill and ruthlessness. As always, they have a strong defense, and it will just one of their attacking players to discover himself for them to have a very good tournament.
England is being talked about in many quarters, and it is true that they have their best team (playing XI at least) for a very long time, with strength in defense, midfield, and attack. But I feel that at the top level they rely heavily on Wayne Rooney as a creative link between midfield and attack, as well as a goalscorer. He is being rushed back from injury and is not yet 100 percent. Without Rooney at his best, I doubt they will go past the quarterfinals.
Of the other European teams, I doubt that France will go close to repeating their 1998 success, unless Thierry Henry breaks with tradition and performs in a major international tournament. My other "second favourites", Portugal and Holland, will once again flatter to deceive. The Spanish national team will again fail to reproduce the flair and confidence shown by its players at club level. The Czech Republic played the most attractive football at Euro 2004, but its squad may be past its best.
Japan and South KOrea will turn in some good performance, but I don't think they will repeat the heroics seen on their home soil last time around. Of the African teams, Ivory Coast looks the strongest, with good goalscoring potential.
For a dark horse, I'll go with Serbia and Montenegro, who look pretty solid and could embarass Argentina or Holland in the "group of death", Group C. The United States is another that is underrated.
My pick for the final? Italy vs. Argentina, with Italy having knocked out Brazil in the semi-finals - as in 1982, a star-studded Brazilian team defeated by the more clinical Italians. I'll be cheering for Argentina, but won't pick a winner.
I just hope it doesn't come down to penalties. At that point it's a lottery, and I won't be watching.
Categories: football, Germany 2006
Well, the beginning of a football World Cup makes a pretty good start. Tomorrow night (NZ time) Germany 2006 kicks off when the hosts play Costa Rica, followed by six weeks of what we all hope will be skill, excitement, and lots of goals.
When I last posted on the football, I was still hanging on the outside chance that one of my "home teams" might sneak into the finals. In the end, none of Peru, Guatemala or Colombia got through, though Australia did secure an historic place for Oceania, and I suppose we're honour bound to support them.
With a reasonably dispassionate eye, then, who do I think will win the tournament?
As usual, it's very hard to go past the big four of Brazil, Argentina, Italy and Germany. A year and a half ago I was picking Argentina, who have developed a fluid, attacking style based on the elaboarate linking of individual skills. But they seem to have lost confidence a little since then, and Brazil have been beaten them on every occasion that's mattered. Even in the Copa America final, a Brazil team missing its stars was completely outplayed but managed to scrape a 2-2 draw and win on penalties.
As an article in the weekend Guardian pointed out, whoever wins the tournament will need to find a bunch of goals from somewhere, and no one appears to have a better guarantee of this than Brazil, with four or five players likely to make their mark on the scoring sheet. Though it is claimed that not all the stars are at their best, it looks a more complete team than in 2002, when they won relatively easily. If they maintain a half respectable defense, they have a good chance of taking another crown.
Germany seems to be on the decline, and is the despair of many of their fans. But it would be a foolish mistake to write them off: they made the final in 2002 while looking pretty ordinary, and have a funny habit of coming back from the dead. Home advantage will be a major boost.
Italy is my another story again. Though they are rarely among the glamorous sentimental favourites, with every Italian team you can be sure that they will give nothing away, and that they will convert the oppotunities they get with skill and ruthlessness. As always, they have a strong defense, and it will just one of their attacking players to discover himself for them to have a very good tournament.
England is being talked about in many quarters, and it is true that they have their best team (playing XI at least) for a very long time, with strength in defense, midfield, and attack. But I feel that at the top level they rely heavily on Wayne Rooney as a creative link between midfield and attack, as well as a goalscorer. He is being rushed back from injury and is not yet 100 percent. Without Rooney at his best, I doubt they will go past the quarterfinals.
Of the other European teams, I doubt that France will go close to repeating their 1998 success, unless Thierry Henry breaks with tradition and performs in a major international tournament. My other "second favourites", Portugal and Holland, will once again flatter to deceive. The Spanish national team will again fail to reproduce the flair and confidence shown by its players at club level. The Czech Republic played the most attractive football at Euro 2004, but its squad may be past its best.
Japan and South KOrea will turn in some good performance, but I don't think they will repeat the heroics seen on their home soil last time around. Of the African teams, Ivory Coast looks the strongest, with good goalscoring potential.
For a dark horse, I'll go with Serbia and Montenegro, who look pretty solid and could embarass Argentina or Holland in the "group of death", Group C. The United States is another that is underrated.
My pick for the final? Italy vs. Argentina, with Italy having knocked out Brazil in the semi-finals - as in 1982, a star-studded Brazilian team defeated by the more clinical Italians. I'll be cheering for Argentina, but won't pick a winner.
I just hope it doesn't come down to penalties. At that point it's a lottery, and I won't be watching.
Categories: football, Germany 2006
Friday, June 02, 2006
Last Word on the Peru Elections
The second round of voting for the Peruvian presidential elections is scheduled for this Sunday, and all the polls are showing that Alan Garcia is likely to defeat Ollanta Humala by as much as 60 to 40 percent.
Polls before the first round of voting suggested that an Alan-Ollanta faceoff in the second round would be veru tight, some even showing Ollanta more likely to win. So what has changed?
The key seems to be that many who voted for Lourdes Flores or Valentin Paniagua in the first round have looked at the options actually in front of them, and decided to apply Polly Toynbee's peg to their nose and give Alan a tick. Even my friend Hugo, who had previously sworn to jamas vote for Alan, was having doubts. "Hmm, it seems that Alan may be the best candidate", he acknowledged.
He, like a significant proportion of others, is now planning to turn in a blank or spoiled vote in disgust at the choices on offer. But it seems that enough people will reluctantly vote for Alan just to keep Ollanta out: as much as Garcia's record is offputting, there is a sense that what an acquaintance of mine referred to as "ese militar" would be even worse.
Crucial in this turn has been the heavy-handed, bullying interventions of Hugo Chavez, who has repeatedly abused both Garcia and incumbent president Alejandro Toledo while endorsing Ollanta Humala.
Most Peruvians don't want to become a satellite of Venezuela, and given that many whom I talked to see international investment and tourism as crucial to their country's future, aren't keen to go down the Bolivian road of heavy-handed nationalisation.
It also helps that Alan has at least sounded like a model statesman, talking of "responsible change" and respecting democracy. He has moderated his populist appeal to hardcore followers and the poor with increasing sops to the centre-right. When he speaks, if you didn't know of his previous record, you could be mistaken for thinking he is the archetype Third-Way social democrat personified.
The western mainstream media's references to a "resurgence of leftism" in Latin America was always an unsophisticated description of diverse developments in different countries. True, as there has been a pretty consistent reaction against the failure of Washington consensus neoliberal economic policies to improve living standards for the great majority in the region. But it's more complicated than that. As I mentioned in my first post on the Peruvian elections, there is more than one vision of how to address the social problems of the continent.
An excellent analysis of the different approaches is provided in this article by former Mexican foriegn minister Jorge G. Castañeda. He distinguishes on the one hand the reformist social democratism of Lula in Brazil, Lago as Bachelet in Chile, and Tabare Vasquez in Uruguay. On the other, the authoritarian populist nationalism of Chavez, Morales in Bolivia and Peronist Nestor Kirchner in Argentina, Peronism being that country's unique brand of populism. Ollanta Humala is cited as an example of the second tendency.
There's no secret which left he (and I) favour. The former approach aims to incrementally improve social indicators; the latter tends to ignore these and focus on battling real or imagined enemies while making grand seeming but poorly evaluated gestures at "helping the poor". While social improvements and reductions in inequality have been slow or uneven in countries like Chile, Peru and Brazil, in Venezuela poverty has actually increased over the last six years of Chavez's mandate.
A Colombian paper I read the other week also made quite a clever distinction between "Chavezism" vs. "Blairism"as the competing forces on the international left. Brazil and Chile were again held up as examples of"Blairist" policies - mixing a broad faith in markets and international trade with increased investment in education, health and infrastructure (New Zealand, of course, is another in the sway of the Blairist model).
Garcia has embraced this dichotomy, and painted himself into the reformist corner. In recent days he has even specifically said that he wants to follow the example of Chile and Brazil, and that "Chile is an example for the region". Since Peruvians routinely like to beat up on Chile and blame it for their own country's ills, this represents a welcome attempt to model a more mature attitude. Mind you, this was an interview reported in the Chilean press: as in all politics, the message varies according to the audience.
Even more importantly, he has jumped heavily on the interventions of Chavez and suggested that Peru faces a choice between determining its own destiny (i.e. voting for him) or becoming another obedient client of big brother Hugo. "Peru or Chavez" has been his slogan in recent days, and this seems to resonate with many.
The bad news is that, after a relatively restrained and responsible first round of voting, things seem to have got progressively more disorderly. Humlala has called Garcia a "thief" and Alan responded by calling Ollanta a "murderer of policemen". Violence broke out between the opposing supporters at a May 25 political rally, and shots were fired. Both sides are accusing the other of having made a pact with Peru's favourite betes noires, Fujimori and Montesinos. Humala has made (unsubstantiated) allegations that a fraud is being prepared for Sunday's vote.
Even if the result is clear cut in terms of votes, the winner may well face questions as to their legitimacy, since both have chequered past records, many of their votes will have been registered as a protest against the other candidate, and the proportion of blank or spoiled votes will be high. At worst, there could be ongoing threats to the political stability that, for all his difficulties, Alejandro Toledo has maintained over the past five years.
It is to be hoped that likely loser Humala will maturely accept the result and focus on working from within the system to help make a difference to the lives of the 50 percent of Peruvians who still live in poverty.
Polls before the first round of voting suggested that an Alan-Ollanta faceoff in the second round would be veru tight, some even showing Ollanta more likely to win. So what has changed?
The key seems to be that many who voted for Lourdes Flores or Valentin Paniagua in the first round have looked at the options actually in front of them, and decided to apply Polly Toynbee's peg to their nose and give Alan a tick. Even my friend Hugo, who had previously sworn to jamas vote for Alan, was having doubts. "Hmm, it seems that Alan may be the best candidate", he acknowledged.
He, like a significant proportion of others, is now planning to turn in a blank or spoiled vote in disgust at the choices on offer. But it seems that enough people will reluctantly vote for Alan just to keep Ollanta out: as much as Garcia's record is offputting, there is a sense that what an acquaintance of mine referred to as "ese militar" would be even worse.
Crucial in this turn has been the heavy-handed, bullying interventions of Hugo Chavez, who has repeatedly abused both Garcia and incumbent president Alejandro Toledo while endorsing Ollanta Humala.
Most Peruvians don't want to become a satellite of Venezuela, and given that many whom I talked to see international investment and tourism as crucial to their country's future, aren't keen to go down the Bolivian road of heavy-handed nationalisation.
It also helps that Alan has at least sounded like a model statesman, talking of "responsible change" and respecting democracy. He has moderated his populist appeal to hardcore followers and the poor with increasing sops to the centre-right. When he speaks, if you didn't know of his previous record, you could be mistaken for thinking he is the archetype Third-Way social democrat personified.
The western mainstream media's references to a "resurgence of leftism" in Latin America was always an unsophisticated description of diverse developments in different countries. True, as there has been a pretty consistent reaction against the failure of Washington consensus neoliberal economic policies to improve living standards for the great majority in the region. But it's more complicated than that. As I mentioned in my first post on the Peruvian elections, there is more than one vision of how to address the social problems of the continent.
An excellent analysis of the different approaches is provided in this article by former Mexican foriegn minister Jorge G. Castañeda. He distinguishes on the one hand the reformist social democratism of Lula in Brazil, Lago as Bachelet in Chile, and Tabare Vasquez in Uruguay. On the other, the authoritarian populist nationalism of Chavez, Morales in Bolivia and Peronist Nestor Kirchner in Argentina, Peronism being that country's unique brand of populism. Ollanta Humala is cited as an example of the second tendency.
There's no secret which left he (and I) favour. The former approach aims to incrementally improve social indicators; the latter tends to ignore these and focus on battling real or imagined enemies while making grand seeming but poorly evaluated gestures at "helping the poor". While social improvements and reductions in inequality have been slow or uneven in countries like Chile, Peru and Brazil, in Venezuela poverty has actually increased over the last six years of Chavez's mandate.
A Colombian paper I read the other week also made quite a clever distinction between "Chavezism" vs. "Blairism"as the competing forces on the international left. Brazil and Chile were again held up as examples of"Blairist" policies - mixing a broad faith in markets and international trade with increased investment in education, health and infrastructure (New Zealand, of course, is another in the sway of the Blairist model).
Garcia has embraced this dichotomy, and painted himself into the reformist corner. In recent days he has even specifically said that he wants to follow the example of Chile and Brazil, and that "Chile is an example for the region". Since Peruvians routinely like to beat up on Chile and blame it for their own country's ills, this represents a welcome attempt to model a more mature attitude. Mind you, this was an interview reported in the Chilean press: as in all politics, the message varies according to the audience.
Even more importantly, he has jumped heavily on the interventions of Chavez and suggested that Peru faces a choice between determining its own destiny (i.e. voting for him) or becoming another obedient client of big brother Hugo. "Peru or Chavez" has been his slogan in recent days, and this seems to resonate with many.
The bad news is that, after a relatively restrained and responsible first round of voting, things seem to have got progressively more disorderly. Humlala has called Garcia a "thief" and Alan responded by calling Ollanta a "murderer of policemen". Violence broke out between the opposing supporters at a May 25 political rally, and shots were fired. Both sides are accusing the other of having made a pact with Peru's favourite betes noires, Fujimori and Montesinos. Humala has made (unsubstantiated) allegations that a fraud is being prepared for Sunday's vote.
Even if the result is clear cut in terms of votes, the winner may well face questions as to their legitimacy, since both have chequered past records, many of their votes will have been registered as a protest against the other candidate, and the proportion of blank or spoiled votes will be high. At worst, there could be ongoing threats to the political stability that, for all his difficulties, Alejandro Toledo has maintained over the past five years.
It is to be hoped that likely loser Humala will maturely accept the result and focus on working from within the system to help make a difference to the lives of the 50 percent of Peruvians who still live in poverty.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
What I'd Left Out
There just hasn't been time to update the blog over the last week and a half. I have to do a bullet point list of where I've been and what I 've done.
As I mentioned, we got to Iquitos in three days and three nights on the boat from Pucallpa. I'll put together a whole story on that some other time.
I was over a week in Iquitos. As well as the motorbike classes, I also participated in an ayahuasca ceremony, which I suppose did "cleanse" my body through repeated vomiting, but disappointingly didn't produce any psychdelic experiences.
We went to visit the Boras and Yahuas tribes, about half an hour from Iquitos by boat, and bought more miscellaneous arts and crafts, while they jumped into native costume, performed a brief traditional dance, and charged us for the experience.
We also visited the "serpentario", an animal santuary perched above the river which included a tame anaconda amenable to being photographed draped around the neck of tourists.
Not to mention the social life and numerous invitations to people's houses to be stuffed full of local cuisine.
Tuesday morning at 6:00 am I took the fast, but extremely cramped, boat to Leticia, wher the frontiers of Peru, Colombia and Brazil meet. I spent four days in Leticia, undertaking some investigations about which I hope to be able to write in more detail some time in the future.
There was another trip to a native community, and some more handling of another anaconda, this time wild, which had eaten seven of the local chickens, and had recently been captured.
On Friday the "dry law" started in Colombia; presidential elections were on Sunday, and no alcohol was allowed to be served throughout the country during the weeknd, presumably so all voters would make a sober choice. To address this inconvenience, we left the country - several blocks down the street into the Brazilian town of Tabatinga.
This didn't turn out to be such a good idea, as the next morning I very nearly missed my flight to Bogota, luckily being saved by my new Letician friends who came to my hotel and woke me up.
I spent the evening in Bogota at the comfortable house of a friend of a friend, and the next day took a taxi through the very quiet city to the airport to catch my flight to Santiago. Seven hours of pleasant flight in the company of a very gregarious girl from Bogota who was going to study in Australia, and I was at my second to last stop.
My uncle and aunt, who live in Viña del Mar, very kindly picked me up, and that's where I am now. My body has had soemthing of a "what the hell have you ben doing to me these last five weeks" attack over the last couple of days, but now I'm on the mend.
Tomorow I'm heading back to Santiago to catch up with a couple of people, and then it's back to NZ and to work. Another time, another place, another life.
As I mentioned, we got to Iquitos in three days and three nights on the boat from Pucallpa. I'll put together a whole story on that some other time.
I was over a week in Iquitos. As well as the motorbike classes, I also participated in an ayahuasca ceremony, which I suppose did "cleanse" my body through repeated vomiting, but disappointingly didn't produce any psychdelic experiences.
We went to visit the Boras and Yahuas tribes, about half an hour from Iquitos by boat, and bought more miscellaneous arts and crafts, while they jumped into native costume, performed a brief traditional dance, and charged us for the experience.
We also visited the "serpentario", an animal santuary perched above the river which included a tame anaconda amenable to being photographed draped around the neck of tourists.
Not to mention the social life and numerous invitations to people's houses to be stuffed full of local cuisine.
Tuesday morning at 6:00 am I took the fast, but extremely cramped, boat to Leticia, wher the frontiers of Peru, Colombia and Brazil meet. I spent four days in Leticia, undertaking some investigations about which I hope to be able to write in more detail some time in the future.
There was another trip to a native community, and some more handling of another anaconda, this time wild, which had eaten seven of the local chickens, and had recently been captured.
On Friday the "dry law" started in Colombia; presidential elections were on Sunday, and no alcohol was allowed to be served throughout the country during the weeknd, presumably so all voters would make a sober choice. To address this inconvenience, we left the country - several blocks down the street into the Brazilian town of Tabatinga.
This didn't turn out to be such a good idea, as the next morning I very nearly missed my flight to Bogota, luckily being saved by my new Letician friends who came to my hotel and woke me up.
I spent the evening in Bogota at the comfortable house of a friend of a friend, and the next day took a taxi through the very quiet city to the airport to catch my flight to Santiago. Seven hours of pleasant flight in the company of a very gregarious girl from Bogota who was going to study in Australia, and I was at my second to last stop.
My uncle and aunt, who live in Viña del Mar, very kindly picked me up, and that's where I am now. My body has had soemthing of a "what the hell have you ben doing to me these last five weeks" attack over the last couple of days, but now I'm on the mend.
Tomorow I'm heading back to Santiago to catch up with a couple of people, and then it's back to NZ and to work. Another time, another place, another life.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Born to Be Not So Wild
AS I mentioned in a previous post, traffic in the jungle cities of Peru is completely dominated by various kinds of motorcycles. I already knew this, as my friend Blanca in Arequipa had painted a romantic picture of her "tierra", of people riding around on motorbikes, hair blowing in the wind. So one of my goals before coming here was always to try and learn to ride some form of motorcycle.
Having expressed this wish to various people on my arrival in Iquitos, I had several offers to give me classes. I took up the invitation of a girl called Glahiss, whom Hugo and I had met with her sister at an open air disco on Sunday evening.
We rented a small motorcycle and headed out of the city to the Quistococha reserve, where there is a stretch of asphalt with no traffic.
Everything was going fine. The motorcycle was stable and easy to handle; I was getting the hang of working through the gears. After making another lap of the short stretch of ashpalt, I slowed up and went to stop. I squeezed the brake; unfortunately in my efforts to concentate on the gear downshifts, I neglected to take my hand off the accelerator, and in fact ended up squeezing it harder.
The result was predictable; the bike careered and skidded about 10 metres, I was thrown off, and the bike rolled onto its side. There pretty much ended the lesson. I escaped with a light graze on my right elbow. The motorcycle, however, received some noticeable scratches around the front wheel and mud guard. Worse, the steering wheel appeared to be twisted, and the bike would no longer go into neutral.
We headed back to Iquitos, going slowly in second, me with some trepidation about what I would have to pay for the damages. About five minutes down the road we were stopped at a police checkpoint. The rented bike had no plates, and they also wanted to see Glahiss' non-existent licence.
Glahiss was called across the road to talk to the more senior policeman. "Where's your licence, señorita?", he asked. "I don't have one, Ramón", she replied. "What? How do you know my name?", asked the policeman. It turned out that she had known the cop when he was much younger and used to come to her mother's store. She had just that moment recognised him.
Meanwhile, I was left with the other policeman. Having explained the gravity of driving an unlicensed vehicle and the need for police vigilance, he took an interest in my piranha necklace. "What else have you done here, bought any other artesanias?", he asked. I told him about our trip to the communities of the Boras and Yahuas tribes. We were let go with a warning.
We struggled on. Just as we were coming into the central part of Iquitos, we had a puncture which completely deflated the front tyre. We stopped a moto taxi, whose driver agreed to "tow" us to a tyre repair shop (meaning the front wheel lifted onto the taxi's baggage space, us holding on). He also managed to straighten the steering column and get the bike going through the gears again.
The puncture took less than ten minutes to fix, and the shop manager was sympathetic about my accident. "Ah, it's the only way to learn", laughed. "When I was twelve, I rode my bicycle directly into a power pole".
We headed off again. Two blocks later, we ran completely out of petrol. The bike stalled and completely refused to start. This time, we got another moto taxi driver to "push" us the few blocks to the nearest petrol station. I rode in the moto taxi; Glahiss sat on the bike, which the traxi driver pushed along with a free foot. This is very Peru - informal, creative improvisation making up for failures in other areas.
We got to the gas station, bought some petrol and headed back to the motorbike rental plae. As soon as we had parked the bike, Glahiss went into flirtatious negotation mode with the young attendant. We had been away two and a half hours, but she was trying to convince him to charge us for only two hours. "Oh come on, make it two hours", she simpered, batting her eyelids.
In this way, the attendant was distracted from checking the condition of the bike and noticing the scratches, which I had convinced myself weren't that bad anyway. He eventually caved in and charged us for two hours, and we walked away, me wanting to hurry to the next block somewhat quicker than Glahiss.
If slices of bad luck do seem to come in threes, at the end of the day we had been favoured by fortune.
Having expressed this wish to various people on my arrival in Iquitos, I had several offers to give me classes. I took up the invitation of a girl called Glahiss, whom Hugo and I had met with her sister at an open air disco on Sunday evening.
We rented a small motorcycle and headed out of the city to the Quistococha reserve, where there is a stretch of asphalt with no traffic.
Everything was going fine. The motorcycle was stable and easy to handle; I was getting the hang of working through the gears. After making another lap of the short stretch of ashpalt, I slowed up and went to stop. I squeezed the brake; unfortunately in my efforts to concentate on the gear downshifts, I neglected to take my hand off the accelerator, and in fact ended up squeezing it harder.
The result was predictable; the bike careered and skidded about 10 metres, I was thrown off, and the bike rolled onto its side. There pretty much ended the lesson. I escaped with a light graze on my right elbow. The motorcycle, however, received some noticeable scratches around the front wheel and mud guard. Worse, the steering wheel appeared to be twisted, and the bike would no longer go into neutral.
We headed back to Iquitos, going slowly in second, me with some trepidation about what I would have to pay for the damages. About five minutes down the road we were stopped at a police checkpoint. The rented bike had no plates, and they also wanted to see Glahiss' non-existent licence.
Glahiss was called across the road to talk to the more senior policeman. "Where's your licence, señorita?", he asked. "I don't have one, Ramón", she replied. "What? How do you know my name?", asked the policeman. It turned out that she had known the cop when he was much younger and used to come to her mother's store. She had just that moment recognised him.
Meanwhile, I was left with the other policeman. Having explained the gravity of driving an unlicensed vehicle and the need for police vigilance, he took an interest in my piranha necklace. "What else have you done here, bought any other artesanias?", he asked. I told him about our trip to the communities of the Boras and Yahuas tribes. We were let go with a warning.
We struggled on. Just as we were coming into the central part of Iquitos, we had a puncture which completely deflated the front tyre. We stopped a moto taxi, whose driver agreed to "tow" us to a tyre repair shop (meaning the front wheel lifted onto the taxi's baggage space, us holding on). He also managed to straighten the steering column and get the bike going through the gears again.
The puncture took less than ten minutes to fix, and the shop manager was sympathetic about my accident. "Ah, it's the only way to learn", laughed. "When I was twelve, I rode my bicycle directly into a power pole".
We headed off again. Two blocks later, we ran completely out of petrol. The bike stalled and completely refused to start. This time, we got another moto taxi driver to "push" us the few blocks to the nearest petrol station. I rode in the moto taxi; Glahiss sat on the bike, which the traxi driver pushed along with a free foot. This is very Peru - informal, creative improvisation making up for failures in other areas.
We got to the gas station, bought some petrol and headed back to the motorbike rental plae. As soon as we had parked the bike, Glahiss went into flirtatious negotation mode with the young attendant. We had been away two and a half hours, but she was trying to convince him to charge us for only two hours. "Oh come on, make it two hours", she simpered, batting her eyelids.
In this way, the attendant was distracted from checking the condition of the bike and noticing the scratches, which I had convinced myself weren't that bad anyway. He eventually caved in and charged us for two hours, and we walked away, me wanting to hurry to the next block somewhat quicker than Glahiss.
If slices of bad luck do seem to come in threes, at the end of the day we had been favoured by fortune.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Iquitos - Marchitada y Bonita
The trip by boat from Pucallpa to Iquitos took three days and three nights, with an extra day's delay thrown in when the Henry I, despite all assurances, didn't leave port.
It was an experience and an adventure, most of everything I had hoped it would be. I'll try and find time in the next few days to describe the journey in all its detail and texture.
For now, in a few snatched moments in the internet, I content myself with reporting that Iquitos is an absolutely intoxicating place, a faded and soporifically lazy tropical dream. At the same time as understanding why many people who live here have the goal of moving somewhere else, you can easily comprend why visitors never want to leave.
Within an hour or so of arriving, both Hugo and I independently concluded that it reminded us of our received image of Cuba. Attractive colonial buildings in the centre, eroded and peeling in the heat. Palm trees hanging lazily in the windless air. Fleets of motorbikes and ancient buses buzzing through the streets. People sitting outside corner stores and motorbike repair workshops playing cards in the evening. Fiestas every night with people of all ages joyously shaking their hips to salsa and cumbia. Beautiful women strolling casually through the plazas. Endless variety of exotic dishes, strange fish and fruits.
I don't have time right now to describe the things we've done so far, but must mention the overwhelming warmth, friendliness and hospitality of the people. These are cliches; nevertheless I defy anyone to find a place where the local population is at once as nice and as interesting as here.
I should mention that is also very safe; this is the first place in Peru where people talk down the dangers rather than exaggerate them. Lima seems like a planet away. Social conditions are not much different from the rest of Peru; it's more that the possibility of crime doesn't seem to occur to many people. It would generally involve moving slightly too fast to be feasible.
Will try and write more when I can.
It was an experience and an adventure, most of everything I had hoped it would be. I'll try and find time in the next few days to describe the journey in all its detail and texture.
For now, in a few snatched moments in the internet, I content myself with reporting that Iquitos is an absolutely intoxicating place, a faded and soporifically lazy tropical dream. At the same time as understanding why many people who live here have the goal of moving somewhere else, you can easily comprend why visitors never want to leave.
Within an hour or so of arriving, both Hugo and I independently concluded that it reminded us of our received image of Cuba. Attractive colonial buildings in the centre, eroded and peeling in the heat. Palm trees hanging lazily in the windless air. Fleets of motorbikes and ancient buses buzzing through the streets. People sitting outside corner stores and motorbike repair workshops playing cards in the evening. Fiestas every night with people of all ages joyously shaking their hips to salsa and cumbia. Beautiful women strolling casually through the plazas. Endless variety of exotic dishes, strange fish and fruits.
I don't have time right now to describe the things we've done so far, but must mention the overwhelming warmth, friendliness and hospitality of the people. These are cliches; nevertheless I defy anyone to find a place where the local population is at once as nice and as interesting as here.
I should mention that is also very safe; this is the first place in Peru where people talk down the dangers rather than exaggerate them. Lima seems like a planet away. Social conditions are not much different from the rest of Peru; it's more that the possibility of crime doesn't seem to occur to many people. It would generally involve moving slightly too fast to be feasible.
Will try and write more when I can.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Rolling on the River
HUgo and I arrived in Pucallpa Tuesday afternoon after a tiring but tolerable two-leg trip from Arequipa via Lima. We have reserved tickets for Iquitos on a boat called the "Henry", which has claims to being the fastest on the river, and leaves this evening at 5:30.
After looking at the options, we decided to pay a little extra for one of the tiny, hot cabins, as this means we can leave our bags in a secure place and will at least have the option of sleeping in a bed. But we have also bought hammocks and will be able to relax on the (covered deck). The guys selling the tickets made all sorts of extravagant claims about special food for those in the cabins, and armed on-board security, which we didn't believe.
Later this afternoon we will stock up on provisions, including insect repellent, fruit, water and beer, before boarding the boat for what we hope will be an interesting and tolerably comfortable trip.
On the way here, we climbed out of Lima in the evening, crossing the Andes by night. Morning saw us already in Tingo Maria, in the lush lower part of the "ceja de selva". From there we endured two stretches of rough unsealed road, and had to wait for an hour for roadworks, before finally arriving in Pucallpa at around 3:00 in the afternoon. The countryside was green and attractive, ranging from jungly lowlands, to hills with ferns and waterfalls.
Pucallpa is a friendly, surprisingly attractive town, decorated by plams and othe trees and buzzing with swarms of moto taxis, three wheeled vehicles with the front part of a motorbike attached to a passenger platform seating two people. There's evidence of some wealth; Pucallpa is the centre of commerce for a large area, and the wood and petroleum industries are being supplemented by increasing agriculture in the lowlands to the west of the town, plus the beginnings of tourism.
Last night we took a moto taxi out of town to a lagoon which had been recommended to us by another taxi driver. We feasted on the local cuisine, and were surrounded by indigenous women selling crafts. I opted for a píranha tooth necklace, which I hope will protec me against all fierce beast, fish and serpents during my journey.
We then took a launch across the other side of the lagoon to visit an animal reserve run by a kindly ex-policeman who was originally from Camaná in Arequipa. There were several kinds of monkeys, sloths, a range of South American rodents, a boa, an anaconda, and a beautiful ocelot. Most of the animals were in cages, but the monkeys were free to climb in and out.
The animals were also mostly babies or quite young; the owner said he always ended up getting animals dumped on him to take care of, so had decided to start up a nature reserve. It had been going for 8 months; they had just completed a restaurant and were starting on building tourist bungalows. We left a donation for the animals, and talked with the owner's son about creating eco-tourism links with Incaventura and Sudamerica Tours.
From this evening, we will be on the river until we get to Iquitos, so this blog will not be updated for at least three days.
After looking at the options, we decided to pay a little extra for one of the tiny, hot cabins, as this means we can leave our bags in a secure place and will at least have the option of sleeping in a bed. But we have also bought hammocks and will be able to relax on the (covered deck). The guys selling the tickets made all sorts of extravagant claims about special food for those in the cabins, and armed on-board security, which we didn't believe.
Later this afternoon we will stock up on provisions, including insect repellent, fruit, water and beer, before boarding the boat for what we hope will be an interesting and tolerably comfortable trip.
On the way here, we climbed out of Lima in the evening, crossing the Andes by night. Morning saw us already in Tingo Maria, in the lush lower part of the "ceja de selva". From there we endured two stretches of rough unsealed road, and had to wait for an hour for roadworks, before finally arriving in Pucallpa at around 3:00 in the afternoon. The countryside was green and attractive, ranging from jungly lowlands, to hills with ferns and waterfalls.
Pucallpa is a friendly, surprisingly attractive town, decorated by plams and othe trees and buzzing with swarms of moto taxis, three wheeled vehicles with the front part of a motorbike attached to a passenger platform seating two people. There's evidence of some wealth; Pucallpa is the centre of commerce for a large area, and the wood and petroleum industries are being supplemented by increasing agriculture in the lowlands to the west of the town, plus the beginnings of tourism.
Last night we took a moto taxi out of town to a lagoon which had been recommended to us by another taxi driver. We feasted on the local cuisine, and were surrounded by indigenous women selling crafts. I opted for a píranha tooth necklace, which I hope will protec me against all fierce beast, fish and serpents during my journey.
We then took a launch across the other side of the lagoon to visit an animal reserve run by a kindly ex-policeman who was originally from Camaná in Arequipa. There were several kinds of monkeys, sloths, a range of South American rodents, a boa, an anaconda, and a beautiful ocelot. Most of the animals were in cages, but the monkeys were free to climb in and out.
The animals were also mostly babies or quite young; the owner said he always ended up getting animals dumped on him to take care of, so had decided to start up a nature reserve. It had been going for 8 months; they had just completed a restaurant and were starting on building tourist bungalows. We left a donation for the animals, and talked with the owner's son about creating eco-tourism links with Incaventura and Sudamerica Tours.
From this evening, we will be on the river until we get to Iquitos, so this blog will not be updated for at least three days.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Pasándola Bien, Too
My long-winded accounts of my investigations into issues for the pueblos jovenes of Arequipa shouldn't lead anyone to think that I haven't been having fun as well.
Last Wednesday Lizbeth and Tessy talked me into acting as a guide and taking a Dutch couple to the waterfalls of Sogay. Those who read my blog when I was last in Peru may remember that I "discovered" this walk as a possible tourist attraction, and had made three trips there.
Lizbeth had already sold the trip to the couple, who said they wanted to do something"different", but couldn't get hold of a guide. I was reluctant to go; I wasn't entirely sure of the route (it was a year and a half since I'd been there), and thought the river might be a little high from melting snow.
However, Rafael, with whom I'd gone there twice previously, said that there were now arrows pointing the way to the falls (just what I had suggested in a blog post at the time) so you couldn't go astray. I also thought it would be a good chance for exercise, to burn off some of that comida arequipeña, as well as a favour to Lizbeth, who is giving me free room and board for the entire time I'm here.
It was quite a good trip in the end. The river wasn't any higher than it had been in September / October, but the rainy reason had left countryside awash with green. The normally arid areas beyond the township of Sogay were ablaze with red, orange and yellow wildflowers, and buzzing with birds and butterflies. The strategically positioned painted blue arrows were also a great help in ensuring we didn't get lost.
I took along Ayda, an apprentice from the Incaventura agency. She is the younger sister of Rivelino, who also worked for Incaventura. Their family is from San Juan de Chuccho, a little village at the bottom of the Colca Canyon, and examplify the new generation of rural mestizo migrants to the Peruvian cities. As an exhibition I saw at a gallery of the San Agustin university said, their parents or grandparents lived a near subsistence existence; while this generation "dances to salsa and reggaeton and is studying computing and English at an institute".
Ayda still posseses a healthy dose of country-girl ingenuity and is subject to restrictively close family ties, but is at the same time very into her clothes and makeup. When Tessy suggested she come on the trip to Sogay, I said that would be great but to make sure to wear some sensible clothes. "It's a trek over rough ground and you're likely to get wet crossing the river", I harrumphed. "Don't think you can just wear tight jeans and flat-soled trainers".
Ayda obeyed my instructions to the extent that she showed up the next morning in leather street shoes and slightly older jeans. But during the walk, although she played the high-maintenance girl ("are we nearly there yet, Simon?"), her country background came out. While I and the tourists struggled along the hot, dusty walk and scramble along the riverbanks, Ayda casually made her way over the rocky bits, across the river, and up the steep and somewhat risky climb to the falls, as if they weren't there.
On Sunday afternoon, we were invited to a "pollada" in the lower-middle class suburb of San Martin in northeastern Arequipa. This is kind of community fiesta, organised by a family or local group, usually held in the street. Fried chicken and beer are served, usually as part of a fund-raising effort.
This particular pollada was supposedly in honour of "la santísima virgen de Fatima", but there was no discernible religious tone to the proceedings - just chicken and beer, plus a performance by a group of mariachis in full costume.
On the way out there, through dusty, potholed streets past houses with peeling paint, I thought that this was one of the less attractive parts of the city, and had a rather depressing feel. But later, as we sat at a table in the middle of a street blocked off by a row of parked cars, enjoying the food and good cheer and laughing at Gerardo's attempts to join a game of football ("no, Gerardo, you have to stand in front of the goal to guard it!"), it occurred to me that these kind of casual, friendly, neighbourhood festivities no longer exist where I come from.
On Monday, which was a public holiday, I took Ayda to eat at La Cecilia, the best known of the typical restaurants to the south of the city at Arancota. These all have big interior and outside patios, and serve huge helpings of traditional Arequipan dishes. On weekends and holidays, they also often have live music.
One of my last trips to Arancota was on my birthday in 2004, and was something of a disaster. I'd picked up a case of food poisoning in Bolivia, and though I'd had a couple of relapses upon eating rich food, thought I was over it.
However, after a long afternoon of scoffing piles of artery-trashing chicharron de chancho (fried pork), litres of beer, and the excitment of the Copa America Peru-Argentina quarter final, I discovered later that night that the bugs in my stomach weren't yet entirely gone. The violent reaction of my metabolism lasted most of the night; it was close to the sickest I've ever been for a short period, as my afternoon's consumption was rejected in, shall we say, both directions. I was eventually cured the next day by a rather execrable "home remedy" cooked up by Hugo to supplement the powerful, unprescribed antibiotics supplied by his nurse technician cousin.
On Monday, though, I suffered no such problems. After being frustrated in my search for lighter items on the menu - arroz con pato and tamales were "weekends only"- I settled for a huge heap of fried chicken. Washed down with plenty of beer and burned off by marathon dancing efforts to the brassy salsa, merengue and cumbia pumped out by the house band, it was all part of a great afternoon.
There's also been several trips to discotheques, and I've rediscovered the joys of dancing salsa, as well as the possibility of going out and doing something other than just drinking.
Today (Saturday) is likely to be my penultimate in Arequipa, and I'm contributing the food and alcohol for another parrillada at Hugo and Lizbeth's place. It's with considerable reluctance that I'm moving on, but I'm just grateful that I've been able to pass such a happy couple of weeks. And I have to remember the original purpose of my trip - more adventure awaits in the jungle.
Last Wednesday Lizbeth and Tessy talked me into acting as a guide and taking a Dutch couple to the waterfalls of Sogay. Those who read my blog when I was last in Peru may remember that I "discovered" this walk as a possible tourist attraction, and had made three trips there.
Lizbeth had already sold the trip to the couple, who said they wanted to do something"different", but couldn't get hold of a guide. I was reluctant to go; I wasn't entirely sure of the route (it was a year and a half since I'd been there), and thought the river might be a little high from melting snow.
However, Rafael, with whom I'd gone there twice previously, said that there were now arrows pointing the way to the falls (just what I had suggested in a blog post at the time) so you couldn't go astray. I also thought it would be a good chance for exercise, to burn off some of that comida arequipeña, as well as a favour to Lizbeth, who is giving me free room and board for the entire time I'm here.
It was quite a good trip in the end. The river wasn't any higher than it had been in September / October, but the rainy reason had left countryside awash with green. The normally arid areas beyond the township of Sogay were ablaze with red, orange and yellow wildflowers, and buzzing with birds and butterflies. The strategically positioned painted blue arrows were also a great help in ensuring we didn't get lost.
I took along Ayda, an apprentice from the Incaventura agency. She is the younger sister of Rivelino, who also worked for Incaventura. Their family is from San Juan de Chuccho, a little village at the bottom of the Colca Canyon, and examplify the new generation of rural mestizo migrants to the Peruvian cities. As an exhibition I saw at a gallery of the San Agustin university said, their parents or grandparents lived a near subsistence existence; while this generation "dances to salsa and reggaeton and is studying computing and English at an institute".
Ayda still posseses a healthy dose of country-girl ingenuity and is subject to restrictively close family ties, but is at the same time very into her clothes and makeup. When Tessy suggested she come on the trip to Sogay, I said that would be great but to make sure to wear some sensible clothes. "It's a trek over rough ground and you're likely to get wet crossing the river", I harrumphed. "Don't think you can just wear tight jeans and flat-soled trainers".
Ayda obeyed my instructions to the extent that she showed up the next morning in leather street shoes and slightly older jeans. But during the walk, although she played the high-maintenance girl ("are we nearly there yet, Simon?"), her country background came out. While I and the tourists struggled along the hot, dusty walk and scramble along the riverbanks, Ayda casually made her way over the rocky bits, across the river, and up the steep and somewhat risky climb to the falls, as if they weren't there.
On Sunday afternoon, we were invited to a "pollada" in the lower-middle class suburb of San Martin in northeastern Arequipa. This is kind of community fiesta, organised by a family or local group, usually held in the street. Fried chicken and beer are served, usually as part of a fund-raising effort.
This particular pollada was supposedly in honour of "la santísima virgen de Fatima", but there was no discernible religious tone to the proceedings - just chicken and beer, plus a performance by a group of mariachis in full costume.
On the way out there, through dusty, potholed streets past houses with peeling paint, I thought that this was one of the less attractive parts of the city, and had a rather depressing feel. But later, as we sat at a table in the middle of a street blocked off by a row of parked cars, enjoying the food and good cheer and laughing at Gerardo's attempts to join a game of football ("no, Gerardo, you have to stand in front of the goal to guard it!"), it occurred to me that these kind of casual, friendly, neighbourhood festivities no longer exist where I come from.
On Monday, which was a public holiday, I took Ayda to eat at La Cecilia, the best known of the typical restaurants to the south of the city at Arancota. These all have big interior and outside patios, and serve huge helpings of traditional Arequipan dishes. On weekends and holidays, they also often have live music.
One of my last trips to Arancota was on my birthday in 2004, and was something of a disaster. I'd picked up a case of food poisoning in Bolivia, and though I'd had a couple of relapses upon eating rich food, thought I was over it.
However, after a long afternoon of scoffing piles of artery-trashing chicharron de chancho (fried pork), litres of beer, and the excitment of the Copa America Peru-Argentina quarter final, I discovered later that night that the bugs in my stomach weren't yet entirely gone. The violent reaction of my metabolism lasted most of the night; it was close to the sickest I've ever been for a short period, as my afternoon's consumption was rejected in, shall we say, both directions. I was eventually cured the next day by a rather execrable "home remedy" cooked up by Hugo to supplement the powerful, unprescribed antibiotics supplied by his nurse technician cousin.
On Monday, though, I suffered no such problems. After being frustrated in my search for lighter items on the menu - arroz con pato and tamales were "weekends only"- I settled for a huge heap of fried chicken. Washed down with plenty of beer and burned off by marathon dancing efforts to the brassy salsa, merengue and cumbia pumped out by the house band, it was all part of a great afternoon.
There's also been several trips to discotheques, and I've rediscovered the joys of dancing salsa, as well as the possibility of going out and doing something other than just drinking.
Today (Saturday) is likely to be my penultimate in Arequipa, and I'm contributing the food and alcohol for another parrillada at Hugo and Lizbeth's place. It's with considerable reluctance that I'm moving on, but I'm just grateful that I've been able to pass such a happy couple of weeks. And I have to remember the original purpose of my trip - more adventure awaits in the jungle.
Friday, May 05, 2006
The Mayor and the Engineer
On the ground floor of the municipality there were a confusing series of offices and counters and a lot of people waiting. We had been advised that we had to talk to the mayor in order to get any action. I was fully expecting us to have to take a ticket to wait our turn to talk to a clerk to make a preliminary appointment with the mayor for some days hence.
I was just looking around to figure out in which section we would have to do that, when Ilona simply bowled up to one of the security guards and said that we wanted to talk to the mayor. "OK, just head up the stairs" said the guard. It turned out that the mayor and the chief engineer hold court on Monday and Tuesday mornings, receiving complaints and petitions from their offices on the second floor.
After being directed to take seats by a smiling woman in the public relations department, we didn't have to wait long before we were ushered into the office of the mayor. On hearing that we there to enquire about Villa Ecologica, the secretary sent us in at the same time as a young woman who turned out to herself be from Villa Ecologica.
The woman was called Julita, and she recognised us. "Hey, weren't you guys in the community yesterday?", she asked, smiling. "In a maroon jeep?". She had been one of the people working collecting scraps of rock in the dust beside the track uphill where we had passed in the 4WD.
The mayor and the chief engineer were both robust, jovial men in their forties. Ilona and I were keen to get straight to the question of the health campaign, but the mayor was already in full flow. "You've come about Villa Ecologica, no?", he said. "You're interested in the water situation, then".
We decided to go with the water, given that the chief engineer Salinas, whom Ilona had spoken with previously, was present. "The problem about supplying water just to Villa Ecologica", said the mayor, "is that it would be a major investment for relatively few people. "Any solution needs to be part of an integrated project that can benefit a greater number of people".
But couldn't it be done relatively cheaply, I asked, and explained the proposal of pumping the water over the hill from the river. "Aha, nice idea", replied the mayor. "But it won't work. The problem is that the river at that point is contaminated. There would need to be a treatment plant installed, which as I'm sure know, costs a lot of money".
I said we had been told that there were no farms or anything further upstream. He said that in fact there were several settlements a way further upstream, including a police camp, whose drains were discharged into the river.
"Anyway", continued the mayor, "we have a better plan, which will bring water to a greater number of people. Wait, let's bring in the whiteboard".
During the lengthy wait while the mayor and chief engineer Salinas hunted down a whiteboard and were accosted by various other petitioners, we chatted to Julita. In contrast to the common image of poor, struggling people from marginal zones, she was bright, positive, articulate and well-informed.
She said she was from the northern jungle, beyond Iquitos, and had left home at age 12, arriving in Arequipa through "a long story of adventure". She said the main issue for Villa Ecologica, apart from water, was that the community was dominated by solo mothers and "abandoned women".
"And I admit - I'm one of those solo mothers", she grinned. "But I only have one child. And I don't see why being a solo mother should make me helpless. There's always something to do, some way to advance. If there's no work, you can always find something to sell. But fortunately, right now the council is supporting our work that you saw us doing".
I said that the work looked pretty back-breaking. "Yes, it's hard work, but at least it's regular", said Julita.
She said that one of the main problems in the community was the sheer number of kids, caused by complete lack of family planning. Women didn't " take care of themselves" (cuidarse is the euphemistic verb employed here to refer to using contraception), firstly, because of a lack of information, and secondly, because their husbands blankly refused. "They think that if their wives want to use contraception it's so they can cheat on them", said Julita. "Right, so then they end up with five, six, seven kids. And then, the husband decides to run off, leaving the woman with all the kids".
Julita said some of programmes supported by NGOs "didn't help", by creating perverse incentives. "You have three kids, you're eligible for getting a latrine built", she said. "Four, and they might help you with a new kitchen. Five, and they might provide you with a house. In other words, there's an incentive to be helpless and dependent. If you stick to one kid, work hard, and try to get ahead, you don't get any help".
By then the mayor and the engineer returned with the whiteboard, and the engineer proceeded to provide a layman's account of the project that they proposed. It involved running a new pipeline from one of the main Arequipa pipelines, uphill to a central high point at 2,700 metres. This would involve the installation of two additional pump houses and the construction of a reservoir on top of the mirador.
From there, water would flow downhill to the five or so pueblos jovenes in Selva Alegre. The engineer Salinas drew a detailed side bar of how things would work in Villa Ecologica. To supply water to Villa Ecologica would require a small "regulatory" reservoir uphill from the township, connecting pipelines, and a reticulated network to supply each house.
The whole project was estimated to cost around $2.5 million USD, while the Villa Ecologica section would cost about $600,000.
This all looked great on the whiteboard, we said, but when was it likely to occur? In fact, said the mayor, the first stage - the pipeline uphill from the main Arequipa supply was already fully planned, and the Arequipan provinical government had agreed to finance it. Construction was slated to start within a month. Municipal elections were scheduled for November, and, said the mayor, "people need to see that we've made a start".
However, for the supply to reach the pueblos jovenes, they also needed to do their bit. "You should never", said the mayor wagging his finger, "give people something for nothing. It leads to unrealistic expectations". As a contribution to the planning for the initial stage, each resident of the Selva Alegre pueblos jovenes had been asked to give 3 soles (about 90c US). So far, the only township not to pay in full was Villa Ecologica, which had collected less than half their designated amount.
Julita shook her head. "It's just that the president doesn't mention this in our weekly meetings", she said. "He talks about other things, but misses this stuff out".
In any case, said the mayor, any progress in Villa Ecologica would require an "expediente técnico" or detailed study of the terrain. The estimated cost would be about $12,000 USD. However, this could be reduced if the municipality could get hold of the mysterious plans of the Villa Ecologica residential area, which were thought to be in the hands of Vladirimo, el presidente.
We agreed to renew efforts to get hold of Vladimiro and ask him about the plans. We also agreed that Ilona would go with the engineer Salinas to the civil engineering department at la Catolica to look for students to help with the studies.
After the elaborate explanations of the water situation, we managed to move on to the question of the health campaign. I explained what we had been told at the university, and pointedly mentioned that the municipality of Socabaya has already arranged their health campaign.
"Right, no problem", said the mayor. "We'll write the letter now" - and he went next door to find his secretary. She wasn't there, but to make sure it would definitely happen, we said that Ilona would come back next morning at 9 am, collect the letter, and deliver it by hand to the university.
Our meeting wasn't yet over, as the mayor and the engineer felt like some more conversation. We talked about politics (the mayor was an Aprista; "if Alan is elected this will all happen quicker", he said). We were given an in-depth explanation of a cheap, environmentally friendly drainage system developed in Brazil and Bolivia and being piloted by the municipality in a nearby villge called Javier Herault.
We then moved on to the etymology of the town's unusual, French-sounding name. The mayor explained that it was named after a 1960s, Che Guevara-type rebel, who had also been a poet. "The town is named in his honour for his poetry, not for being a communist", he laughed. Apparently, young Javier had not been much of a fighter. "He used his rifle like a guitar", explained the mayor. "He lasted about five minutes as a guerrilla".
After more conversation, pleasantries, and exchange of contact details, we eventually staggered out into the sunlight, desperate for something to eat. We had been in the council offices over two and a half hours. One thing you can guarantee about Peru - people love to talk.
In New Zealand, I reckon, the whole meeting would have taken about ten minutes.
I was just looking around to figure out in which section we would have to do that, when Ilona simply bowled up to one of the security guards and said that we wanted to talk to the mayor. "OK, just head up the stairs" said the guard. It turned out that the mayor and the chief engineer hold court on Monday and Tuesday mornings, receiving complaints and petitions from their offices on the second floor.
After being directed to take seats by a smiling woman in the public relations department, we didn't have to wait long before we were ushered into the office of the mayor. On hearing that we there to enquire about Villa Ecologica, the secretary sent us in at the same time as a young woman who turned out to herself be from Villa Ecologica.
The woman was called Julita, and she recognised us. "Hey, weren't you guys in the community yesterday?", she asked, smiling. "In a maroon jeep?". She had been one of the people working collecting scraps of rock in the dust beside the track uphill where we had passed in the 4WD.
The mayor and the chief engineer were both robust, jovial men in their forties. Ilona and I were keen to get straight to the question of the health campaign, but the mayor was already in full flow. "You've come about Villa Ecologica, no?", he said. "You're interested in the water situation, then".
We decided to go with the water, given that the chief engineer Salinas, whom Ilona had spoken with previously, was present. "The problem about supplying water just to Villa Ecologica", said the mayor, "is that it would be a major investment for relatively few people. "Any solution needs to be part of an integrated project that can benefit a greater number of people".
But couldn't it be done relatively cheaply, I asked, and explained the proposal of pumping the water over the hill from the river. "Aha, nice idea", replied the mayor. "But it won't work. The problem is that the river at that point is contaminated. There would need to be a treatment plant installed, which as I'm sure know, costs a lot of money".
I said we had been told that there were no farms or anything further upstream. He said that in fact there were several settlements a way further upstream, including a police camp, whose drains were discharged into the river.
"Anyway", continued the mayor, "we have a better plan, which will bring water to a greater number of people. Wait, let's bring in the whiteboard".
During the lengthy wait while the mayor and chief engineer Salinas hunted down a whiteboard and were accosted by various other petitioners, we chatted to Julita. In contrast to the common image of poor, struggling people from marginal zones, she was bright, positive, articulate and well-informed.
She said she was from the northern jungle, beyond Iquitos, and had left home at age 12, arriving in Arequipa through "a long story of adventure". She said the main issue for Villa Ecologica, apart from water, was that the community was dominated by solo mothers and "abandoned women".
"And I admit - I'm one of those solo mothers", she grinned. "But I only have one child. And I don't see why being a solo mother should make me helpless. There's always something to do, some way to advance. If there's no work, you can always find something to sell. But fortunately, right now the council is supporting our work that you saw us doing".
I said that the work looked pretty back-breaking. "Yes, it's hard work, but at least it's regular", said Julita.
She said that one of the main problems in the community was the sheer number of kids, caused by complete lack of family planning. Women didn't " take care of themselves" (cuidarse is the euphemistic verb employed here to refer to using contraception), firstly, because of a lack of information, and secondly, because their husbands blankly refused. "They think that if their wives want to use contraception it's so they can cheat on them", said Julita. "Right, so then they end up with five, six, seven kids. And then, the husband decides to run off, leaving the woman with all the kids".
Julita said some of programmes supported by NGOs "didn't help", by creating perverse incentives. "You have three kids, you're eligible for getting a latrine built", she said. "Four, and they might help you with a new kitchen. Five, and they might provide you with a house. In other words, there's an incentive to be helpless and dependent. If you stick to one kid, work hard, and try to get ahead, you don't get any help".
By then the mayor and the engineer returned with the whiteboard, and the engineer proceeded to provide a layman's account of the project that they proposed. It involved running a new pipeline from one of the main Arequipa pipelines, uphill to a central high point at 2,700 metres. This would involve the installation of two additional pump houses and the construction of a reservoir on top of the mirador.
From there, water would flow downhill to the five or so pueblos jovenes in Selva Alegre. The engineer Salinas drew a detailed side bar of how things would work in Villa Ecologica. To supply water to Villa Ecologica would require a small "regulatory" reservoir uphill from the township, connecting pipelines, and a reticulated network to supply each house.
The whole project was estimated to cost around $2.5 million USD, while the Villa Ecologica section would cost about $600,000.
This all looked great on the whiteboard, we said, but when was it likely to occur? In fact, said the mayor, the first stage - the pipeline uphill from the main Arequipa supply was already fully planned, and the Arequipan provinical government had agreed to finance it. Construction was slated to start within a month. Municipal elections were scheduled for November, and, said the mayor, "people need to see that we've made a start".
However, for the supply to reach the pueblos jovenes, they also needed to do their bit. "You should never", said the mayor wagging his finger, "give people something for nothing. It leads to unrealistic expectations". As a contribution to the planning for the initial stage, each resident of the Selva Alegre pueblos jovenes had been asked to give 3 soles (about 90c US). So far, the only township not to pay in full was Villa Ecologica, which had collected less than half their designated amount.
Julita shook her head. "It's just that the president doesn't mention this in our weekly meetings", she said. "He talks about other things, but misses this stuff out".
In any case, said the mayor, any progress in Villa Ecologica would require an "expediente técnico" or detailed study of the terrain. The estimated cost would be about $12,000 USD. However, this could be reduced if the municipality could get hold of the mysterious plans of the Villa Ecologica residential area, which were thought to be in the hands of Vladirimo, el presidente.
We agreed to renew efforts to get hold of Vladimiro and ask him about the plans. We also agreed that Ilona would go with the engineer Salinas to the civil engineering department at la Catolica to look for students to help with the studies.
After the elaborate explanations of the water situation, we managed to move on to the question of the health campaign. I explained what we had been told at the university, and pointedly mentioned that the municipality of Socabaya has already arranged their health campaign.
"Right, no problem", said the mayor. "We'll write the letter now" - and he went next door to find his secretary. She wasn't there, but to make sure it would definitely happen, we said that Ilona would come back next morning at 9 am, collect the letter, and deliver it by hand to the university.
Our meeting wasn't yet over, as the mayor and the engineer felt like some more conversation. We talked about politics (the mayor was an Aprista; "if Alan is elected this will all happen quicker", he said). We were given an in-depth explanation of a cheap, environmentally friendly drainage system developed in Brazil and Bolivia and being piloted by the municipality in a nearby villge called Javier Herault.
We then moved on to the etymology of the town's unusual, French-sounding name. The mayor explained that it was named after a 1960s, Che Guevara-type rebel, who had also been a poet. "The town is named in his honour for his poetry, not for being a communist", he laughed. Apparently, young Javier had not been much of a fighter. "He used his rifle like a guitar", explained the mayor. "He lasted about five minutes as a guerrilla".
After more conversation, pleasantries, and exchange of contact details, we eventually staggered out into the sunlight, desperate for something to eat. We had been in the council offices over two and a half hours. One thing you can guarantee about Peru - people love to talk.
In New Zealand, I reckon, the whole meeting would have taken about ten minutes.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
A Visit to the University
On Tuesday Ilona came round bright and early and we headed off in a kombi to La Catolica university. Though she speaks excellent English, her Spanish is rather rudimentary, so as well as getting interesting information, I would be a significant help to her in her various meetings.
A week or two previously, Ilona had been to the university with the idea of seeing whether they could help with social programmes in Villa Ecologica. She bailed up the rector, who referred her to a woman named (as it transpired) señora Angelica in the multidisciplinary Department of Social Projects. When we arrived, Ilona admitted that she didn't know the name of the person, position, or department we were looking for, but that it was "round about here", as we climbed stairways, crossed courtyards and walked down corridors.
Ultimately we did happen upon the right office and person, entering while a meeting was in progress. The señora Angelica broke off to talk to us. Ilona had told me that the university's response had been quite positive when she suggested a health campaign for Villa Ecologica, and she was hopeful that something would happen soon. But when we spoke to the profesora, she explained the situation more clearly.
In order for la Catolica to undertake a health campaign, it had to receive a formal request from a public organization, preferably the municipality. It could not run a campaign simply because we thought it was a good idea; nor could they take a request from an NGO or even from the Villa Ecologica community association itself.
She said that the day after Ilona's visit, they had rung the Selva Alegre council offices to see whether they would put in a formal request for a health campaign. By mistake, they had rung the offices of the municipality of Socabaya - another poor, outlying area. The Socabaya council had been enthusiastic, and in fact their letter requesting a health campaign promptly arrived the next day.
Later, they had tried to ring Selva Alegre again, and had been put through to the Public Relations department, who had said yes, they would pass the message on regarding a possible health campaign. A week and a half later, no further word had been received from Selva Alegre.
The señora Angelica explained that there were two types of campaigns run by the university. The smaller, "focussed" campaigns were run Mondays to Fridays, and included paediatrics, general practice and dentistry / oral health. "Integrated" campaigns were run on Sundays, and included all specialities. In answer to my confession of ignorance, she explained that campaigns consisted in medical assessments, ordering of appropriate treatments or vaccines, and health education and promotion.
I asked what was the role of the Ministry of Health in ensuring primary and preventive health services to poor communities, and she said that the Ministry was limited to providing vaccines.
For an integrated campaign, said Angelica, it was necessary to have at least 2,000 families. This seemed to me to be a rather arbitrary figure, given that we had just told her that there were about 1,500 families in Villa Ecologica. But nothing at all could happen, she reminded us, until they got a formal request from the municipality.
Ilona seemed a bit frustrated that things weren't moving quite as fast as she'd hoped. I told her that such hoops to jump through were only to be expected; not only was this how things worked in Peru, it was typical of all bureaucracies. The only thing for it was to go and hassle the municipality to write their letter of request.
So we headed off in a taxi, with the intention of trying to talk to the mayor of Selva Alegre.
Categories: Arequipa, South America, Peru
A week or two previously, Ilona had been to the university with the idea of seeing whether they could help with social programmes in Villa Ecologica. She bailed up the rector, who referred her to a woman named (as it transpired) señora Angelica in the multidisciplinary Department of Social Projects. When we arrived, Ilona admitted that she didn't know the name of the person, position, or department we were looking for, but that it was "round about here", as we climbed stairways, crossed courtyards and walked down corridors.
Ultimately we did happen upon the right office and person, entering while a meeting was in progress. The señora Angelica broke off to talk to us. Ilona had told me that the university's response had been quite positive when she suggested a health campaign for Villa Ecologica, and she was hopeful that something would happen soon. But when we spoke to the profesora, she explained the situation more clearly.
In order for la Catolica to undertake a health campaign, it had to receive a formal request from a public organization, preferably the municipality. It could not run a campaign simply because we thought it was a good idea; nor could they take a request from an NGO or even from the Villa Ecologica community association itself.
She said that the day after Ilona's visit, they had rung the Selva Alegre council offices to see whether they would put in a formal request for a health campaign. By mistake, they had rung the offices of the municipality of Socabaya - another poor, outlying area. The Socabaya council had been enthusiastic, and in fact their letter requesting a health campaign promptly arrived the next day.
Later, they had tried to ring Selva Alegre again, and had been put through to the Public Relations department, who had said yes, they would pass the message on regarding a possible health campaign. A week and a half later, no further word had been received from Selva Alegre.
The señora Angelica explained that there were two types of campaigns run by the university. The smaller, "focussed" campaigns were run Mondays to Fridays, and included paediatrics, general practice and dentistry / oral health. "Integrated" campaigns were run on Sundays, and included all specialities. In answer to my confession of ignorance, she explained that campaigns consisted in medical assessments, ordering of appropriate treatments or vaccines, and health education and promotion.
I asked what was the role of the Ministry of Health in ensuring primary and preventive health services to poor communities, and she said that the Ministry was limited to providing vaccines.
For an integrated campaign, said Angelica, it was necessary to have at least 2,000 families. This seemed to me to be a rather arbitrary figure, given that we had just told her that there were about 1,500 families in Villa Ecologica. But nothing at all could happen, she reminded us, until they got a formal request from the municipality.
Ilona seemed a bit frustrated that things weren't moving quite as fast as she'd hoped. I told her that such hoops to jump through were only to be expected; not only was this how things worked in Peru, it was typical of all bureaucracies. The only thing for it was to go and hassle the municipality to write their letter of request.
So we headed off in a taxi, with the intention of trying to talk to the mayor of Selva Alegre.
Categories: Arequipa, South America, Peru
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