The Commonwealth Games took place this summer in
Glasgow. What a palava - the media don’t half make a meal of it! 71
commonwealth countries participating. Just really a showcase for England,
Australia, Canada and Scotland to show everyone else that there is something
they can still win at if you exclude all the other serious countries from the
competition. Also a nice opportunity for the dictators of dozens of nasty
countries across the world to come over and soak up the Glasgow rain with their
peers on the world stage. The dictators and rulers of many of the
countries attending regularly kill their political opponents, persecute
homosexuals and generally kill people they don’t like. For example King
Mswati 3 (sounds a bit like a motorbike) has 15 wives of which 2 are appointed by
the state. He lives a very lavish lifestyle with many very luxury cars.
His household budget is $61m per annum. Meanwhile his people,
amongst the poorest in the world, struggle to live on $1.25 per day. You
can google him to see a long list of all the other nasty things he does.
Should we separate sport from politics and ignore all this stuff?
And of course there has been mass speculation as to whether Usain Bolt
did actually call the Games ‘a bit shit’ compared to the Olympic Games.
Well at least he bothered to turn up to run for Jamaica unlike various
other famous athletes. If he did say it I can’t say I disagree with him
although I remain undecided if we should ignore all the bad things and say ‘Hey
this is sport so it’s all okay’.
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| London Evening Standard |
Last month we commemorated the 100-year anniversary of the start of the First World
War. On August 4th 100 years ago, Britain declared war on
Germany following the invasion of Belgium by the German army. All wars are terrible, but this one was
clearly one of the worst: over 9 million soldiers died as a result of the
fighting. Food shortages, sometimes deliberately inflicted by blockade and
sometimes resulting from failed harvests, weakened the people who remained on
the home fronts. Nearly 6 million civilians died from disease or starvation.
Almost 1 million more were killed as a direct result of military operations. In
all, the estimate of dead resulting from the war stands at over 16 million. And then there were the wounded. More than 21
million. Some recovered. Others were never the same again, either in body or in
mind. It is very hard for us to imagine the implications of this as it is on
such a massive scale. Even worse, it was
all in vain as the same countries were at war again just 20 years later. The commemoration ceremonies held across
Europe, both locally and internationally were dignified and relevant. The international ceremonies started in Liège
in Belgium which is where the first battle of WW1 took place. The sequence of events in that 24 hour period
that led to this disastrous war were as follows: on August 3rd
1914 the Belgian Government refused German demands to allow them passage to
France and the British Government guaranteed military support to Belgium,
should Germany invade. Germany declared war on France, the British government
ordered general mobilisation and Italy declared neutrality. On 4 August the
British government sent an ultimatum to Germany and declared war on Germany at
midnight on 4–5 August, Central European Time. Belgium severed diplomatic relations with
Germany and Germany declared war on Belgium. German troops crossed the Belgian
frontier and attacked Liège. It was very fitting therefore that the commemorations
should start in Liège and move on to Mons, some 130 kilometres to the
west, where the Germans first fought the British army. Kings, Queens, Leaders and representatives of
those who fought in the battles 100 years ago from Germany as well as the allied
nations were all attending. The first
British soldier killed in the war was John Parr. He was from Lodge Lane in North Finchley,
very close to where I was brought up in London.
He was killed in his role as a reconnaissance cyclist as he located the
enemy and stayed to engage them as his colleague went back to report on their
location. He is buried in the St
Symphorien cemetery near Mons.
The last British soldier said to have been killed was George Edwin
Ellison, who was killed 90 minutes before the Armistice came into effect. He was also killed near Mons and is also
buried at St Symphorien cemetery.
A further co-incidence is that his grave faces that of John Parr. St
Symphorien was created and maintained by the German Army, and it contains the graves
of 229 Commonwealth servicemen and 284 German soldiers. A very small
cemetery by WW1 standards. One of the strongest images of the commemorations of
the atrocities we embarked on 100 years ago for me is the outstanding artwork
being created at the Tower of London, which was used for the recruiting and training
of troops. A ceramic poppy is being ‘planted’
in the moat areas for each of the British and Commonwealth soldiers killed in
the war. The art is called “Blood Swept
Lands and Seas of Red” designed by Paul Cummins and Top Piper. 888,246 poppies are being plated between
August 4th and November 11th to remember every Commonwealth soldier killed in
that terrible war. I will be going to
see it at the first opportunity. One of
the reasons I am in favour of the European Union is that it was set up after
WW2 with the aim of ending the frequent and bloody wars between neighbours.
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| The Tower of London |
We
are what we eat.
Or are we? I recently visited the
food market in Salamanca in Spain, a city some 200 kilometers north west of
Madrid that I was fortunate to be staying in for a couple of days. It is a beautiful city with a rich
history. The central square, Plaza
Mayor, made me think of Piazza San Marco in Venice. We had time to visit a good deal of the
historic old town, including the extraordinary cathedral (which consists of the
old cathedral from the 13th century and the new one from the 17th
century, both of which are breath taking in their scale, beauty and
workmanship) and we stopped to have a look at the large two storey fresh food
market. There were four types of food
stall: fruit and veg, fish, meat and jamón.
The fruit and veg didn’t hold any surprises for me, nor did the fish although
the varieties and quality looked impressive, particularly the profusion of
squid and octopus (which I don’t normally see in Tesco). The jamón shops were quite eye opening in
terms of the sheer volume of different types of ham from classic Ibericos to
Pata Negra top grades and dozens of varieties in between. And I can tell you not only does it look good
but it tastes amazing. Particularly with
a glass of red Rioja, Ribero del Duero or another wonderful Spanish wine. And these ham shops can be found all over the
city; from tiny shops of no more than 10 square meters to large luxurious
‘supermarkets’ and bars just selling hams and tapas and pinchos, raciones and
bocadillios full of ham. But the most
unusual for me was some of the produce in the meat shops; pigs trotters (piles
of them), pigs snouts (all sizes), stomachs (that look like sheets of white
rubber with bumps on), pigs’ tails, ears, brains, ox tails, whole baby pigs
(they are very very white, can’t be more than a few weeks old) and plenty of
other stuff I didn’t even recognise. But
no, I am still a meat eater with no immediate plans to become a
vegetarian. The trouble is most of the
dishes I have tried taste so damn good.
So if we are what we eat I will leave you, Dear Reader, to guess what I
am.
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| Salamanca Food Market |
When we were in Bilbao, it was the annual carnival, Semana Grande in Spanish or
Aste Nagusia in Basque, and of a metropolitan population of about 1 million
people, it is estimated that 100,000 were in the streets that evening which
kicked off with fireworks at 22.45 precisely.
We had a stroll around the old town where the celebrations were focused
and there were musicians in the streets singing and giving free concerts, there
were actors with spinning tops, with puppets like skeletons, and a very large
series of fairground type attractions lining the banks of the Rio Bilbao and in
the park. This very festive atmosphere
was of course complimented by piles of delicious looking food that had been
prepared in the bars and restaurants, of which there are hundreds, all looking
tempting, snacks from tostados with tomato and jamón, to tortillias and a whole
variety of scrumptious mouth watering looking things, although I have not the
faintest idea what most of them were, which makes ordering them quite tricky
and even harder if you don’t speak Basque.
Maybe some contained pigs snouts but boy did it look amazing. Very hard to order something you don’t know
the name of, in a language you can’t speak, and in a section of the bar where
they won’t serve you those anyway! Despite being deprived of the tapas, our eyes,
ears and noses were all popping out of their figurative sockets by the variety
of activities and peoples surrounding us.
The vast majority were local Basques, but there were also other groups
who looked very different. Teams of
small round native Latin-American people walked around with very large
balloon-like blankets that presumably concealed their wares. These balloons were easily as large as they
were and I imagine they were waiting for the right moment to settle down and
display their wares – whatever they may have been. And then there were African men wandering
around with various trinkets for sale, all very polite and gentle. And large groups of African ladies ladies in bright
coloured clothing, each with a very large suitcase, sitting down, waiting. And travellers cooking churros and other
delicacies in vats of hot oil, with the smells mingling with all of the other
fragrances. It was quite an event for
the senses. Bilbao used to be a big
industrial town with virtually no tourism.
Over the last ten tears it has transformed itself into a modern city,
largely service-based, with tourist numbers rising from 25,000 annually to over
625,000 now. The Guggenheim museum is at
the heart of the tourist route but there is plenty more to see from the fine
shopping in the modern commercial district to the sightseeing opportunities in
the old town.
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| The Guggenheim Bilbao |
The Basque
language makes for difficult navigation in
Bilbao. The street names are all in Basque
– words made up mostly of ‘ZZs’ ‘XXs’ and ‘TTs’ a bit like welsh is all ’LLLs’
and ‘YYs’. The trouble with this is that
google maps and other navigation shows it all in Spanish and to match the
Spanish names to the Basque ones you need to be more than a good
detective. This explains why it took us
half an hour to find a tapas bar (rated best restaurant in Bilbao on
Tripadvisor) that was actually just 3 minute walk from our hotel. And when we did eventually find it, it was
full. Unless you want to stand near the
bar and drink with one hand and eat tapas off a porcelain plate with the other,
which I certainly would have done without hesitation if I had a few more hands. Before returning to France we visited the
seaside Basque city called Donostia. In
English, French and Spanish it is called San Sebastian.
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| Pinxtos or Tapas in Bilbao |
We have got quite good over the years at
trying to avoid the tourist areas
and eat where the locals eat, or at least away from the main tourist
corridors. The benefits this brings are
twofold: better quality food, cooked with more care and attention; much lower
prices. But there is no clear
formula. For example, in San Sebastien
(Donostia) we decided to eat on Saturday evening at the hotel rather than on
the beach or in the old town, both of which would have been more
atmospheric. But at the hotel, they have
to try much harder to get people to eat there.
The service was second to none and the food certainly exceeded expectations. We chose a 23 euro menu that included three
courses of freshly prepared local ingredients.
The fish was very good indeed. We
asked for a glass of white wine each and were given and excellent local
Chardonnay and some mineral water. A
pleasant surprise when we were served the bill was that all of the drinks were
included! On the other hand, the
following morning we were not very hungry after such a great and copious meal
so we decided to give the hotel breakfast at 18 euros each a miss and go to a
local café instead. We found a modern
film themed café with the usual tapas of jamón and tortilla patatas piled up on
the counter. There we had freshly
squeezes orange juice, café con leche and the best croissant I have eaten in
years (no grease), all for under 3 euros each.
That is 5 times less than we would have paid at the hotel! Imagine how much we would have paid and how
bad the food would most likely have been at a tourist café or restaurant near
the beach! We had a similar experience
in Venice many years ago where we were fed up with the high prices and lousy
food everywhere. The best meal we had
was in a side canal behind the coach station where the menu was only in Italian
and the staff could not speak and other language. The pasta was amazing and it cost half the
amount we had paid elsewhere. The moral
to this story is that it is hard to have top location and top food and service
together!
"The
lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our
life-time."
Edward Grey, British Foreign Secretary, 3rd August 1914
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