Tuesday 28 December 2010

HAPPY & HEALTHY 2011!

Well, another year almost over.
        Last night I saw a DVD of  'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button'.  If you don't know the film, Benjamin, played by Brad Pitt, was born old and wrinkled and as the years go by he grows younger until he dies a newborn baby.  He falls in love with Daisy, played by Kate Blanchett and they work out that when she's about 40, he is too. But after that she gets gradually older while he gets younger. When she's 75 he's about 10 and suffering from dementia. She looks after him until as a baby he dies in her batwing arms.  Daisy tells Benjamin a thousand times,'God, you look good' and boy, doesn't he!
       As my years flash by, whizzing through space ever faster, I was thinking how wonderful it would be to be growing younger, more intelligent, having a sharper short term memory than a better long term one, be sexier, more beautiful, more naeve, less cynical, have just had my children, be fresh to marriage and relationships, just starting a career. Whoa! Then they'd be teenage hormones, moods, anxiety, depression, self hatred, lack of self confidence,  constant embarassment and humiliation, disastrous relationships. No! No! Fairy Godmother if you're listening, I didn't really wish for that.
       What I really wish for is that my world slows down so that I can savour and enjoy everything that's good, learn from the bad stuff and let it go. I may not be growing any younger but I do hope that I can  go on growing- and not just widthwise!
        What I have really appreciated this year more than ever is the constant love and support from my family and friends.  Thank you! Particular thank you to Rhys, Angharad, Steffan, Jo, Sue, Den, Di,Wendy, Lynette, Janice and Emily.
         A Massive Happy & Healthy New Year to everyone who's read my blog this year.
         THANK YOU!

Monday 20 December 2010

FABLER THEATRE & WRITING FOR THEATRE

Last week I was delighted to be invited by Adam Timms, a co-participant on the Sherman's new writing course and co-founder of Fabler Theatre, to an evening showcase of his work, entitled,' A Mindless Distraction.'  Fabler is' a multi-faceted theatre company focussed on strong storytelling, public engagement with the arts, and the provision of experiential training.' Adam and his co-founder Hannah O'Leary set up Cardiff Shakespeare Readers and Healthcare Interact in 2007.  They have incorporated a performance element to their work and under the banner of Fabler offer opportunities for actors and the community to become involved. Four short plays were performed by professional actors. Each play was sharp, witty, challenging. Adam is a talent to watch. 
      Several people we knew long ago, when I worked for Spectacle Theatre and Arts for Disabled People in Wales (now Disability Wales), were involved in the productions as actors and directors. It was lovely to catch up with ex Hijinx and ex Theatre Powys folk and to see how their careers have developed.  And very sad to hear of the recent death of Dave Hardy, a talented graphic artist and well respected in his field. Most of us had some kind of health issue. Some more worrying than others. 
It was like time had stood still. Difficult to believe over twenty years have passed since I worked for Spectacle. Sadly, their funding is being withdrawn. As is funding for Theatre Powys and Theatre Gwent. 
      Most of my counselling clients have cancelled due to the bad weather but it has meant opportunities to stay put and get on with writing. I'm pleased to say I've finished the first draft of 'Fathers & Sons'-a play about a co-dependent relationship, blown apart by the arrival of an unexpected foreign guest. It also explores sexual tension between men at a time when homosexuality was illegal. I have also rewritten parts of 'The Reunion' with a different ending. It explores how three women, political activists in the 1960s, meet after 40 years to discover how their lives have changed and question the nature of friendship. 
       I'm on a bit of a roll, so if you don't hear from me, it's nothing personal, just the muse seems to be with me. HAPPY CHRISTMAS!

Tuesday 14 December 2010

PARIS ON ICE

December and it must be Paris. Well, perhaps a little exaggeration. We spent a few days last year in Montmartre to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary and decided to go again this year. This time our great friend Jo came too. It looked chaotic at St Pancras but despite the heavy snow in the south-east, Eurostar got us out with only a 15 minute delay. Speed restrictions meant we were an hour late. But on the return journey we caught an earlier train and got an upgrade to First Class. For 59 quid return, that can't be bad!
     We strolled around the city sightseeing, visited the Sacre Coeur, the Notre Dame, the Shakespeare Bookshop, where among the shelves of English books is a piano and visitors are invited to take a pew, read or play. One evening we did the Christmas market in the Champs Elysees. Didn't buy anything but drinking vin chaud and peeping at the stalls was fun. We also managed to see Elles@Pompidou. The art centre had been closed due to strikes last year. They have made this exhibition of women's art (since the 1960's) a permanent feature. Well worth a visit.
       In our apartment there was a visitor's book, where people wrote about the chic little restaurants they'd found.  Looking for an authentic place to eat, we found a cheap place to eat near the Pompidou called 'Flunch'- a kind of BHS restaurant but where you can go back and help yourself to seconds from a vast range of veggies. It clearly provides a social service as we shared our meal with all kinds of characters-lady boys, hustlers, immigrants. One poor man, who looked like he had mental health problems went up three times to refill his plate with a mountain of rice and tomato sauce interjected by frequent visits to the Men's. On the way out a man who called himself himself the Chef, asked Jo if she'd enjoyed her meal and they shared a moment on the stairs enthusing about the quality of the food.  I think the meal had cost about 6 pounds in total.  One for the book!
    By the third day it was sleeting and the pavements an ice rink. I began to get worried that I might fall and do damage to my hip but I held on tight to Rhys and all was well. Jo was braver and wandered round our area for hours inhaling the atmosphere.   It was fun to spend the time together. But, I'm not sure I want a third helping of Paris in December.   Now April, perhaps?

'THE PLAY'S THE THING'

  I hadn't realised this was a quote from Hamlet until last Thursday, when together with some local friends and pals from Script Cafe, we saw a live performance in Cardiff broadcast from the National Theatre, London on to the big screen at Cine World cinemas across the globe. It was a stunning performance by Rory Kinnear as Hamlet and a very contemporary production directed by Nicolas Hytner, set in a modern dictatorship where everyone is being watched, and is watching and telling on everyone else. The play within the play that's performed by travelling players becomes a mask to reveal treachery.
      I never studied Hamlet and at school I found the language of Shakespeare very difficult to understand. It bored me. I appreciated the lighter plays, the comedies. It's only as an adult, and now trying to write my own plays that I can appreciate the genius of the man- the complexity of the characters, the poetry, the drama and conflict, the twists and turns of the plot.  I still struggle with the meaning of the language but Rory Kinnear  gave Shakespeare's words such clarity and irony that really engaged me.
     Two weeks previously, I saw a Sherman production of 'Measure for Measure' at what was the old Nat West Bank in Bute Town. It was a good production with wonderful set and costumes designed by Takis. The acting was good but some of the actors gabbled their lines and I was left not quite understanding some of the longer monologues.
      In both plays I noticed that Shakespeare liked to tie up his endings neatly. I wonder if he was writing today if he's be so inclined to do so? I also wonder if he'd have done a bit more editing!
     This week I've been tapping away at my own play, 'Fathers and Sons' (the working title). This has to be submitted to the Sherman's Script Cymu by the end of January. They set up two writing groups, one in English and one in Welsh. As a winner of Script Slam, along with others who'd taken part, I was invited to participate in the English language group, lead by Alan Harris, in a five week writing course and the bargain is to produce a full length play. My play is about the co-dependent relationship between a father and son running a B & B in West Wales in the 1960's. Their world is blown apart by a guest, who isn't what he first seems. It will explore men's relationships at that time and in the time of war.
     A tad ambitious, perhaps!  Well, with the inspiration of the Bard in my belly, who knows what might roll out, and 'catch the conscience of the King'?

Wednesday 17 November 2010

SCRIPT CAFE WELCOMES HELEN GRIFFIN

Third Tuesday of the month and it must be Pontadawe Script Cafe. This month I was given the dubious honour of chairing the session.
          The invited speaker this month was Helen Griffin, Playwright, Screenwriter and Actress. She is currently appearing on TV with her friend Jo Brand in 'Care'. They met when they were both training to be psychiatric nurses and collaborated on their first play together,'Mental' at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 1986. Many more plays were to follow. Helen's first full length play, 'Flesh & Blood' she adapted for the screen for the film, 'Little White Lies'. She's written for TV and acted in a number of series, including Gavin and Stacey, Human Traffic, Belonging and Dr Who. She continues to be in great demand.
         Ron Meldon's play, 'The Bigger Fool' was given a reading and Helen gave helpful feedback and led a workshop that explored the characters and their relationships.       Another great evening!
         The Spring and Summer 2011 programme is now out and next year looks to be an interesting and exciting one. Guest speakers include Tina Walker, Kit Lambert, Louise Osborn, and Alan Harris. Two sessions, in February and June will be open mic- aspiring and experienced playwrights will be invited to have their work read and work-shopped. If you are interested in learning more contact Celia on j.thomas@ntlworld.com

Friday 12 November 2010

GHOST OF JOHN OSBOURNE & OTHER ARVON STORIES

Did you hear the one about...?
The week started at Craven Arms station. My first independent train journey since my hip op and I'd forgotten to ask about steps, lifts and heavy suitcases. A friendly young pastor from Elim Church, who spoke to me of God most of the way from Cardiff, put his religion into practice and hauled my case onto the platform. The train fled out of the station leaving me alone with a case the size of a package holiday, a steep flight of steps and an obvious question. An elderly man appeared and when I asked him he told me he'd just had a hernia operation. He bravely put his repaired stomach lining to good use and between us we dragged my case stuffed with pens, notebooks, walking boots and malt whiskey up, over and down to the waiting minibus. The driver had been John (Look Back in Anger) Osbourne's housekeeper. As she drove at breakneck speed through darkening and narrowing countryside I tried to pump her for juicy gossip. The most she could say was, he was 'nice'.
    'Hurst House' set in lolloping Shropshire countryside was the residence of Osbourne and his last wife (Number 5, I think). The Arvon Foundation runs creative writing courses there and after a glass of wine other staff were willing to be a bit more entertaining. Apparently, John liked to party and enjoyed a drink in company. Writers were made to stay up with him carousing until the early hours and John was ready for bed. On one occasion, a gardener found him asleep in the grounds, surrounded by numerous empty champagne bottles. On enquiring if he was alright, John roused himself to say,'Where am I? My, that was a bloody good party!' He later died of liver disease. The epitaph on his grave says, 'Let me know where you're working tomorrow night and I'll come and see you.'
    That night as I lie in bed trying to sleep the house whispered and groaned as if John was angry with me. I knew he hated his mother and had acrimonious relationships with most of his wives. He disowned his 17year old daughter, cast her out of the family home, never speaking to her again. Perhaps he also had a problem with female students. However, the following morning, David one of the tutors said, 'I think it was me he was angry with. He must have heard that I only like two of his plays'
    David Eldridge and Tanika Gupta are two talented playwrights/tutors who entertained and instructed us throughout the week in aspects of theatre writing and stories about their colleagues, the famous and infamous:- writers, directors, actors, and celebrities. David has a new play,'Not of the Heart' to be performed at the Almeida in London next March and Tanika is doing an Indian adaptation of Great Expectations, soon to tour the UK. They both gave me positive feedback on my work. David liked my play 'The Reunion' and suggested helpful ways of making it better. Tanika told me I was a natural writer but that my play,'Two-step at Glanyrafon' had already been written by Martin McDonagh. The play was his first and made him a star. I'd never heard of him.  So, it looks like I've a lot of rewriting ahead of me. No matter, the Sherman script writing course is coming to an end. On December 11th I'll be 'locked in' in Chapter Arts Centre with several other writers to write a play that must be finished by mid January.  This may give me the kick I need to finish one play and start a rewrite of another.

Sunday 31 October 2010

HOPE, ACTUALLY

On Saturday, I attended a poetry and climate change workshop, organised by Awel Aman Tawe, an organisation committed to sustainable development and change. Emily Hinshelwood has recently become the Development Officer and set up a number of events using the arts as a means to raise awareness of climate change. This workshop was lead by environmental poet, Sue Richardson, my favorite course leader and a few of us Pontadawe Script cafe members were among the 11 participating. Sue's starting point was a quote from Paul Kingsworth of the Dark Mountain Project, 'A Manifesto of the Future',
   'And so we find ourselves, all of us together, poised trembling on the edge of a change so massive that we have no way of gauging it. None of us knows where to look, but all of us know not to look down . . Our question is: what would happen if we looked down? Would it be as bad as we imagine? What might we see?'
We responded by free writing, tapping into our sub conscious and later drafting a poem inspired by this. As is usual with Sue's format, we also studied the form of a poem, this time a terzarima, a chain of rhymes, by a Hungarian poet, Georg Szirtes, 'Death by Deluge', and part of a collection, 'Earth Shattering'.

All this may sound terribly depressing. The outcomes of Copenhagen were depressing. No agreements on carbon emissions. Now with the government set on decimating the less well off, public sector employees and social services, everyone's talking about the economy and it feels like climate change has slipped off the edge of the political agenda. This kind of workshop where like-minded concerned individuals come together, the over riding feeling is of solidarity and hope. Who knows where the words of one poem about climate change will land and seed?

Thursday 30 September 2010

AUTUMNAL OPPORTUNITIES


    
After my disappointment at not hearing anything from the Sherman Theatre since the start of the year about scripts I'd sent for feedback, I'd almost given up ever hearing from them again. Then, last week I met Alan Harris, the guest writer at Pontardawe Script Cafe, who gave me constructive feedback on the reading of my short play,'The Dove and the Frog.' Later that week I received an email from the Sherman inviting me to take part in workshop sessions covering various elements of script writing, led by Alan, taking place at Chapter this autumn. At the end of these sessions they designate a Saturday when all participants will be asked to go into Chapter for a 'Lock In' day and asked to write for a full day and have a session with Alan or Sian Summers discussing the idea that we've had for a play in some detail. They will give us a submission date, about 6 weeks hence, by which time they will expect us to have completed a first draft of our plays. We will then receive detailed feedback from the team at Sherman Cymru. 
    I am so thrilled to have this opportunity-it feels like the kick start I need to get writing plays again.
Meanwhile, I'm continuing with my cycle of full moon poems and some poems about climate change.
    Awel Aman Tawe has a series of arts events around the theme of climate change this autumn. Contact Emily Hinchelwood at info@awelamantawe.co.uk or 01639 830870 for further information.   


Wednesday 22 September 2010

DOVES & FROGS

Thank you to all my friends who've kept in close contact and given me enormous support since my operation. I have really appreciated your friendship. To those who haven't been in touch, well, you know who you are! It's true, you know who your real friends are when you're in need. It certainly separates the doves from the frogs.
Anyway, I'm making good progress now, walking shortish distances with the aid of a crutch. I'll be going back to see the consultant in three weeks time and hope that the operation has been a success.
This week I went back to work. I wasn't expecting to be looking forward to it but it's bucked me up and has taken my mind off myself.
Last night was my first evening outing to Script Cafe in Pontardawe. Alan Harris was the invited writer/speaker. He has written a number of plays, including plays for the National Theatre of Wales, Hijinx, Sherman Theatre, BBC Radio, and is currently involved in writing a libretto for Wales National Opera.
My short play,'The Dove & The Frog' about the relationship between Frida Kahlo & Diego Rivera was given a reading by Llinos Daniel, Mark Cainan and Emily Hinchelwood. The feedback from Alan and members of Script Cafe was constructive and helpful. This was written for the NT's 'The Habit of Art' competition and inspired by our recent visit to Mexico. It seems that there have been lots of plays about the famous couple, as well as a film, and it was good to hear that many of the women in Script Cafe are great fans of Frida's art. I'm wondering if there's a Frida Kahlo Appreciation Society in this country?

Friday 10 September 2010

CUTS START WITH THE SICK

After getting back to the ward I was left alone for a day before the physios came marching in with their sweet smiles and hard discipline. As soon as they got me out of my chair I came out in a sweat and vomited ferociously.
'We've told them it's too early, but they do insist,' said the staff nurse. 'Would you like something for the sickness? she asked and stuck a syringe into the IV connector in my hand. I immediately perked up.
Later that day I was sick again.
'Would you like something for that?' another staff nurse asked and brought me a tablet.
'Can't I have the IV one? It worked a treat last time.'
'OK, but don't tell anyone.'
'Why?'
I'm supposed to give you the tablet first and if you're sick again I'm meant to look to see if there are any bits of tablet in the bowl. If there aren't then you get the tablet again if you need it. If there are, then you get the drug through your IV.'
'But that could mean more distress for the patient.'
She smiled sadly,
'Yes, but the IV drug is more expensive.'

I suppose that every person who comes out of theatre is likely to be sick at some point. Vomiting and retching's horrible and leaves you feeling weak and low.  I'd like to know what the difference in cost is between the two drugs? The benefits of the more expensive drug is self evident. Surely, at the point people come out of theatre, weak and vulnerable, it is not the time to start making cuts?

Thursday 9 September 2010

WHAT'S THAT BANGING?

On September 1st I was finally admitted to Llandough for my hip replacement. I was given an epidural. Anaesthetics are pumped into your spine. You can have the choice to be awake or not during the operation. I chose not to be awake. Towards the end of the op I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness, chatting to the freckled face anaesthetist perched at my head.
'What's that banging?' I asked her. 'It sounds like someone's hammering decking or demolishing a wall.'
No comment.
'Is it my hip?'
She smiled.
I asked if I could see my old hip and the surgeon pushed a red bald tennis ball into my face pointing out the white bits of arthritis and the total lack of cartilage. Someone else whipped down a plastic splash sheet and like the sawn-box magician's trick my lower half miraculously appeared again. Smiling doctors stood round me dressed as spacemen wearing welding visors. At the bottom of the bed the consultant held my feet together and said,
' You now have two legs the same length.'
I was then pushed into the recovery room, where I guess you're supposed to wake up.

Saturday 14 August 2010

DON'T TEMPT FATE!

No, I wasn't one of the nine chosen ones and without feedback or a list of them it's hard to know what criteria was used to make the short list.  Perhaps I should have chosen contemporary Welsh characters? Who knows?
Apparently, there were a huge number of submissions.  I hope that one of the Pontadawe Script Cafe members got a place on the course.
The Sherman Theatre's script reading service is very slow so despite hopes of moving forward after winning Script Slam last year I'm feeing a bit stuck. So I've booked to do an Arvon course- writing for the theatre in November. I'm hoping that I will be able to get advice and guidance so that next time...

Tuesday 3 August 2010

THE DOVE & THE FROG

I have just submitted a 10 minute play for a Wales writing competition linked to a National Theatre (UK) touring production of 'The Habit of Art,' by Alan Bennett.
My play is an imagined scene from the lives of Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera, Mexican muralists and communists, set in 1935. If I am successful, I would be one of nine writers allocated a place on a residential writing course in North Wales, given feedback and mentoring by NT staff and a rehearsed reading in Llandudno in October. How amazing would that be!
Wish me Luck!

LAMMAS AT LLWYNBWCH & THE COUNCIL OF ALL BEINGS

In the Celtic calendar Lammas is a time for celebration of the first corn harvest of the year. Rhys and I spent Lammas weekend camping at 'The Council of All Beings,' held at Llwynbwch in Mid Wales. The land is jointly owned by Sue Weaver and a friend, who conserve it for future generations. It is rich in wildlife with oaks, beech and other varieties of British trees, and a river runs through. Some of the land is lightly grazed to encourage wild flowers. At this time of year the perfume of meadowsweet pervades and the land is vibrant with purple thistles and yellow birds-foot trefoil.  We heard the frequent cry of buzzards, the tapping of woodpeckers, the zizzing of bees in the orchard and best of all, there was no traffic noise. This place feels ancient and sacred. 
In the last year I have been on three eco-psychology weekends that have explored the connections between us and our relationship to the rest of the natural world, considered the impact of the Copenhagen summit on climate change, and have been inspired to write poetry about the environment and become involved with Cardiff North Transition Group. The work that is lead by Sue, her partner Alan, and her colleague Rosie from Totnes Town in Transition is based on the work of Eco-Philosopher, Joanna Macy( http://www.joannamacy.net)
'The Council of All Beings is a communal ritual in which participants step aside from their human identity and speak on behalf of another life-form. . .the ritual serves to help us acknowledge and give voice to the suffering of our world. It also serves, in equal measure, to help us experience the beauty and power of our interconnectedness with all life'(JM)
There were thirteen of us who took part in our ritual. The river chose me to represent it and the owl chose Rhys. At the Council, held in a North American Indian teepee by the river, we wore the masks we had made to represent the life-forms that had chosen us. Present were Rainforest, Soil, Stream, Mole, Python, Snow Leopard, Squirrel, Slug, Cow, Bee, River, Salmon, Owl. We discussed our plight and the damage done to us by human beings. 
By the end of the weekend, as human beings, we all committed to action that we will take to raise awareness about the plight of endangered species, our environment and the planet Earth. Also, to seek opportunities to become greener, healthier and enjoy the power of nature in its many forms. 

The weekend for me was thought provoking, interesting, creative, exhausting, sensual, sad, uplifting and fun.!

For further information about eco-psychology workshops and rituals, contact
Sue Weaver at Llwynbwch, Llansadwrn, Carms, SA19 8LP. Tel: 01550 777402.
Outstandingly delicious veggie food was created and produced from home-grown produce by Creative cook, Sue Laker (email jonsuzi@btinternet.com)

Friday 9 July 2010

14 ACTORS CREATE ANARCHY FOR CLIMATE CHANGE

Well, it happened, quickly, too quickly.
But I wasn't thinking that as I stood in line waiting to go on stage. Our play, a one night only production called, 'Nine Meals from Anarchy,'  explores what might happen in a local community when the oil runs out and food shortages start to happen.
My heart was pumping and thumping like Sigourney Weaver just before the Alien jumped out of her chest. This was the first time I'd acted since school days. That was when my phobia for forgetting lines started. It happened in 'The Importance of Being Ernest' and again in 'The Christmas Carol'. Mortification and embarressment for myself and regret at letting people down. I just hoped that this time I wouldn't be the one who messed up or forgot her cue.  Us 14 actors managed to get through the play, somehow, with a couple of scenes going awry and our supporters said the audience would never have known. They may have been kind but there were some really good performances, particularly those from my old school play mate, Jo, and Amanda, a new member of Peacock Vein's Script Cafe. How Derek, Emily and Sarah managed to pull together the script from our weekend of devising and manage the production in three and a half days is truly amazing.
Derek was also directing Sylvie Butterbach's play, 'White Goods', which explores the experiences of an African asylum seeker and his relationship with a charity worker (played by Emily). It is beautifully written, exploring how language and cultural differences can lead to tragedy. It was also very well received by the audience at Pontadawe Arts Centre.
So, what's next?   I'm off to our allotment, so when the oil runs out  . . .

Thursday 24 June 2010

THE LIVING IS EASY?

 It is said that time goes faster the older you get. That's not my experience this year. This summer seems to be going on forever. Like one of those that gets talked about from an idyllic childhood. False memory syndrome wasn't named that then but I often wonder if summers in the 50's really were that long and hot.  The summer for me started in April in Mexico and there's still a couple of months left. The past two months without much work have been spent idling in Pembrokeshire. Wonderful especially in the sunshine but good weather is bad for my writing.  I tend to avoid it.  So I'm willing a shower or two to water my creativity.
Rain or shine I've signed up for a weekend with Pontadawe Script Cafe, led by Derek Cobley and Emily Hinchelwood, devising a play about climate change with the working title, 'Nine meals from Anarchy' to be performed at the Arts Centre on 8 July along with a play called 'White Goods' written by Sylvie Butterbach, a member of the group. For further info contact Emily on 07522 076084 or contact Pontadawe Arts Centre 01792 863722.

Friday 4 June 2010

40, 60, 51 & 57

Congratulations to Chris and Dave on their 40th wedding anniversary! We were among the sixty odd people who were invited to share the couple's celebrations at Manor Parc Hotel. It was a great evening, an intimate, elegant venue, excellent food and interesting company. One woman had last seen Chris and Dave on the day of their wedding. She remembered waving them off on a train to their honeymoon. Their lives taking different routes she hadn't heard from them again until through 'Friends Reunited' Chris tracked her down living in Ireland and invited her to the celebrations.
 Nowadays it would seem that you can re-connect with anyone you might wish to from your past. I did the same last year and met up with old College friends who I hadn't seen for nearly forty years. I've written a play, called 'The Reunion', loosely based on the event. I enjoyed meeting them again. I'd been unconsciously searching for one of them for years. Her look-a-likes appeared randomly on buses, at train stations and once even at Bangkok Airport. When I met her again I realised that I'd fossilised her in my imagination, a young skinny girl with a chestnut bob. Forty years on she's still very slim but her bob's pure white. I had been searching for the wrong person. After forty years, can you just pick up again or has too much life gone by for the historical connection to be enough to sustain a future relationship? In this case apart from one e-mail straight after the reunion we haven't been in touch.
On Monday we went to London to share Kate's 60th birthday celebrations in a special lunch held at The Exhibition Rooms in Crystal Palace. Kate had invited sixteen of her closest friends. Having heard a lot about some of these people over the past ten years since I first met Kate it was nice to meet them.
It made me think about how and why we choose people to be our friends, why we are chosen and why certain friendships endure?
We stayed with one of my oldest friends, Jane, who has been my friend for the past fifty-one years. We met at secondary school and became close friends from the start, encouraging each other to be wild, dramatic and in the eyes of the teachers so naughty that at one point we were separated.  Drama is still our passion and we went to see a play at the Young Vic, called 'Joe Turner's Come and Gone'. A very deep and complex play about the interplay of shamanism and slavery on the black person's psyche around 1914.
We met up with another school friend for lunch at LMNT, an Egyptian- themed restaurant in Hackney. I have known Sue since primary school, around fifty-seven years. I see her perhaps once or twice a year but she's been such a loyal and reliable friend I know that I could always go to her if I needed support or help. I hope she feels the same. This for me is the essence of true friendship. Everything else is a bonus.

Some names have been changed to protect identity.

Wednesday 26 May 2010

NEW DAWN NEW DAY NEW WORLD

4.30am. I love that song by Nina Simone. Really captures the hopeful feeling of the candy-rock sky behind my screen and the baby black bird hopping after its parents across the patio. Joanna Macy's book, 'World as Lover, World as Self' didn't make me nod off, so after laying in bed for a couple of hours in the dark thinking about my future I got bored, and thought I'd bring you up to date with  what's been happening.  
We got back from Pembrokeshire last night. The hedgerows are teeming with white and pink hawthorn trees, sunny gorse, red campions, bluebells, garlic and those tall white umbellifers, that could be wild parsley or carrot. I'm not sure.
 On Monday we went to Broadhaven South Beach. Together with Barafundle Bay, a little way further along the coast, these have to be the best beaches in the world. Horseshoe bays backed by dunes, clean sand and turquoise water.  Despite the water being too cold for me even wearing a wet suit, brave souls were swimming in bikinis-not for very long mind you- the average time running into the water, thrashing around in a small circle and skipping out, was around 20 seconds.
I finally managed to complete my fifth full moon poem for April based on the Pyramid of the Moon at Teotihuacan outside Mexico City. Just in time as it's May full moon today. This is a project I have for 2010-to write a poem at each full moon. It's hard not to repeat oneself!  I thought that May's poem would be under the cut of the surgeon's moon-shaped light.  No such luck. Instead, I've written him a poem.

HIP OP
Please Mr Jones
Operate my hip
cos my hip aint hopping.
Like Chester after the Sherriff
I'm a limping and a-lopping.
I can stomp like Ian Dury
but aint got no rhythm stick
I aint got no rhythm.
Mr Jones
September is far too long to wait
It's a bore
Operate my hip
Make me tall and straight
Not crook'd no more.
Replace the chewed up bone
with your new ball and socket
Lock it Mr Jones
so I can jump, skip and run
walk miles, have fun.
Be Cool Mr Jones
Operate my hip!


Have a great bank holiday weekend.

Tuesday 18 May 2010

HIP OP CANCELLED

It's May 18, the day I was supposed to go into hospital to have my left hip replaced, the day this year has been planned all around.  In the letter postponing the op until September there was mention of bed shortages, bed blocking and emergencies. However, the cynical side of me and a view confirmed by some NHS workers, is that this is where the cuts begin. One nurse friend even said,
'Don't believe otherwise.'
The Occupational Therapist came yesterday with her measuring tape and plastic elephant feet to do a rece of our home and furniture and to sus out if Rhys is up to what it takes to look after me post-op.
'He's been doing it all our married life', I said.
He said, 'I've had the op myself.'
They compared notes on equipment. Three years ago it was cheaper to give you all the equipment you needed new:-commode, extra-long shoe horn, grabber, sock-thingy that looks like a cotton bike saddle with long tapes, high chair, elephant feet etc, rather than loan them, collect after use and recycle.
The OT noticed the extra-long shoe horn with Rhys' name on hanging in our porch. Very useful for scratching your private parts and getting your boots on and off without bending down. Problem is you still have to bend down to do up your laces. It's where your walking partner's mobility and willingness to stoop that low is tested. If you are walking alone and can't face asking a random passerby then you may trip over your laces and you're back to square one. Waiting for another hip replacement operation.
'We did try to give the stuff back, honest!', we said in collective guilt, 'but nobody wanted them.'
'It's all different now,' she said.
She apologised that I was to have an inferior grabber to the one Rhys had-one without a magnate on the end. Cuts again. Not that I can think of a good reason why I would want to use my grabber as a metal detector, but Rhys assures me not having one is a distinct disadvantage.
Now I'm all measured up and perfectly fitted out with no party to go to. Today, I read an article by Barbara Ehrenreich in Therapy Today (May 2010), She says that positive thinking won't help me in my situation if it ignores the reality of my circumstances and inhibits action. Given I might reach September having not worked all summer (positive) and then be postponed again(realistic?)- potentially putting me out of business for even longer, I've put myself on the 'ready to go at a moment's notice' list just in case some other poor person is cancelled and I move up the queue.
So I've bought a new hoodie dressing gown. Steffan says my wearing it reminds him of the 'grim sleeper'. I couldn't find a cotton nightdress, so bought a dress that could double up. Oh, and some pink slippers with rubber soles-for grip. Very out of character. Now, all I need to do is pack my hospital bag. Bit like preparing to have a baby.
That house-sit in the jungle of Panama. . . How long would it take me to get home if I get that call and there's been a cancellation ?

Saturday 1 May 2010

'VIVA LA VIDA!' VIVA MEXICO!

'Viva la Vida' are Frida Kahlo's words. I think it means something like, 'Celebrate Life!'  'Long Live Life!' It's salutary that despite all her pain and suffering she was still able to say this at the end of her short life.
Tomorrow is our last day and given the problems I've had with the lap top I've decided to do a brief summing up of our Mexican experience tonight instead of waiting til after our visit to Teotihuacan tomorrow and the possibility that Dell boy may not want to cooperate.
Mexico is a fascinating country of contrasts; huge, diverse, complex, rich in history, custom, tradition, with many of the contemporary problems facing the rest of the world: rising unemployment and cost of living, climate change, diminishing resources etc. This year 2010 celebrates two hundred years of independence. At the demo supporting the strike by the Mexican Electricians' Union, we saw a poster which we think said something like,

Celebrate Mexico? What's there to celebrate?
Narcotic trafficking, Lack of Security, High Crime, Corrupt Politicians, Unemployment, Injustice...

Clearly, if workers are prepared to go on hunger strike then the situation for some must be desperate.
We have only been here for five weeks and our contact with Mexican people has been quite small. However, what's impressed us most is that despite the possible personal consequences there are those individuals and groups, like staff and volunteers at Natate, the Zapatistas and the Electricians, who are standing up for what they believe in.  One of our guides talking about environmental issues told us, 'In Mexico it's dangerous to be an activist. People who protest loudly can disappear. Get killed.'
In a video of Rufino Tamayo's work, a Mexican muralist of Rivera's generation, he says that in his view it's a myth to believe that Mexicans are all about fiestas and celebrations. He believes that the national Mexican personality is quite a tragic one. I guess if you consider the oppression that the people have been subjected to from the very earliest times this view is understandable. The Mexican, 'Day of the Dead' is a celebration of the lives of ancestors and sees death as part of the process of living.
We have felt safe here, even in Mexico City, where we've riden the metro, the train and the bus and where we've stood out as the only gringos seemingly taking public transport. There are obviously dangers, like in any big city, and maybe we've been lucky, but there is also a large police presence. Maybe that helps us feel safe too.
We find the people very helpful and friendly. To our surprise most Mexicans don't speak English and our appalling Spanish has caused some grins. We wish we'd come better prepared language-wise. 
We've learnt alot during this holiday. House-sitting for Larry was a great experience. He taught us to re-examine the place of trust in our lives.  He's truly an exceptional person. We look forward to getting to know him better when he comes over to Europe next year.
We'd love to get to know this interesting, colourful and vibrant country better. Hopefully we'll come back one day. In the meantime, VIVA MEXICO!


  

FRIDA, TROTSKY & MEXICAN ELECTRICIANS ON HUNGER STRIKE

It' s May 1st and it would seem that the whole of Mexico City is out on the streets enjoying La Vida. The streets are teeming with people, mostly young, arms and lips entwined. It's very very hot. In the 90s at least, maybe even the 100s. The streets are full of little stalls with tin baths of iced drinks, others selling mangos on sticks like lollies, cups of sliced tropical fruits, ice creams, hot and cold food wrapped in banana or corn leaves, that you can eat on the go. Or, you can sit by the stall, eat, chat and watch the world go by. We haven't done much of any of this as we've been cowardy custards fearing that some germ would get into our system and spoil our last few days in Mexico.
Today, we took the metro to Chapultepec to visit the park and the National Anthropological Museum. It's an impressive building, very spacious and airy and is said to be one of the best of its kind in the world. It tells the story of the indigenous people, their beliefs, myths and rituals and has rooms dedicated to different groups such as those who built the pyramids, like Teotihuacan, a massive site north of Mexico City and a contemporary with Imperial Rome. We're hoping to visit it tomorrow, our last day.
Yesterday, we visited the home of the great Mexican artist and communist, Frida Kahlo. Her home,where she was born and lived all her life including during her marriage to Rivera is in Coyoacan, a posh residential area of the city There's a small collection of her paintings: self portraits and narratives of key points of love and pain in her life. Some are a mixture of the literal and surreal. She uses the iconography of Mexican folk art. Rivero gets in on her act again, with a room displaying his paintings, portraits and landscapes. However, we get to see the bed ,where she spent so much of her time after the traffic accident that left her in so much pain. There's a canopy over it and on the underside is a huge mirror. She used it for her many self portraits. On the wall at the end of her bed there are pictures of Lenin, Trotsky, Marx and Stalin.  We also saw her studio with the wheelchair she used towards the end of her life after her leg was amputated. It sits against an empty easel and her paints, pastels and coloured inks are arranged on a table nearby. The room is also full of books in English and Spanish, including the history of art. I spied a book of Augustus John. There are also many books about communism.
It was very strange and probably totally psychological but when in her bedroom, I felt intense hot pain in my hip, dry bones rubbing against each other. I've been in pain with my hip over the holiday but this was different. 
I desperately wanted to see the larger collection of her work at the Museo Dolores Olmedo Patino, but before setting off for it, Rhys persuaded me that we might regret it if we didn't visit the nearby Trotsky Museum, the house where there were two attempts on his life and where he was assassinated by a Stalinist sympathiser. We did the tour led by a Mexican woman who'd done her masters at Sussex and spoke a Brighton English. She was clearly somewhat infatuated by Trotsky. On the tour was a Russian couple, who were n't able to throw much light on how Trotsky's role in the Russian Revolution is now taught in Russian schools. Given Trotsky's influence in revolutionary socialism in the UK, it is rather sad to see how politically sidelined he became with Stalin's rising popularity and influence. The Russian guy tried to tell the guide that when Trotsky was head of the Red Army, there were things he did and ordered that were n't good. But the guide didn't want to listen.
So, off to the Museo Dolores in a very hot taxi in a very crowded rush hour (Or is it rush hour all the time in Mexico City?)  only to find that the whole collection of Frida's work is in Europe (Where?) until December 2010. Grrr!
We took the overland train and metro (3pesos a single trip cf 70 pesos by taxi) back to the centre, the Zocalo, Constitution Square,supposedly the largest public square in the world after Tienamen Square. There we found a demonstration, speakers, banners, men in earnest conversation. We stopped several people to ask what was going on but could find no-one who spoke English. Eventually, someone we asked  found a school girl, who told us that some Mexican Electricians sitting under a canopy nearby were on hunger strike. The Union, SME are protesting about their rights and work opportunities. Her mother worked for the Union. Today, when we visited for the May Day celebrations, there was a large banner in English saying 'Famine Strike'. Everywhere, there were people in red shirts rattling tins to support the protest.
Trotsky would have been well pleased.

Tuesday 27 April 2010

NATATE

Our main aim in coming to San Cristobal de las Casas has been to visit Natate, a partner organisation of UNA Exchange. We have been very well looked after by the Mexican staff and the volunteers. We have visited a private alternative school, a street school, sustainable development project, an ecological park, a Mayan Medicine Museum. Tomorrow we are returning there, with basil and an egg so I can have soul healing.
There are volunteers from France, Italy, Belgium, Czech Republic and elsewhere, but no British volunteers. This is an excellent place to volunteer. You can come for two weeks on a work camp, or up to a year on a range of social, educational and environmental projects. Theres no upper age limit. You can learn Spanish for 40 pesos an hour (about two pounds fifty) in the language school next door, run by the Italian woman responsible for setting up Natate a few years ago The town is lively, lots going on, very pretty and elegant, culturally and historically important and interesting, and many tourists. We have felt very safe here. Mexican people are friendly and helpful. Theres also lots you can give and contribute. And lots to learn. Tomorrow we will be meeting with the Director to talk about how we take forward two-way volunteering between Wales and Mexico.
Then, we àre off on a fifteen hour bus journey to Mexico City before heading home on the 3rd of May.
Finally, we just heard from Larry. He hàs seen his first hummingbird of the season, humming and hovering on his jasmine. The Aztecs believed that the hummingbird was the spirit of a warrior and they were prized as talismen, representing vigour, vitality, and power. It seems a fitting symbol for Larry s return to his own home..

THE IRISH & ZAPATISTAS

Tuesday 4.30pm. Hotel of the Half Moon
I am so excited. I can not quite believe what I have just experienced. Rhys and I took an alternative tour to the usual tourist trail. We had a young Social Anthropologist as a guide and visited the regional HQ of the Chiapas Zapatista Movement. Inspired by the revolutionary Emiliano Zapata, this movement started in 1994,  overpowering the local municapality and police for thirty ours but managing to negotiate an agreement on the rights of the indigenous peoples. The people fought with sticks. Over 600 were killed and around the same number police and army.
It is still trying to get these rights recognised, but this movement is still very much alive. They work and organise themselves quite separately and autonomously from the Mexican Government.
We drove for about an hour into the mountains and stopped at what looked like an ordinary village. The difference was that the women dressed in traditional Mayan costumes were also wearing black woolen balaclavas. Our passports were checked and we were led into a small room. Behind the table three men in black balaclavas took our details, writing them down carefully on what looked like a home made scrap book. Black eyes peered at us without any real curiosity. They àre used to Gringos visiting. The next stop was another hut, where six people, four women and two men in balaclavas welcomed us as comrades-campaneros. Again our details were taken, three writing meticulously in exercise books and we were given permission to take photos of the murals but not anyone else and not the cars. We sat on a bench in front of them like we were being granted an audience with the Pope or the IRA. In fact above their table were photos and flags, images of Che Guevara and Zapata, and a green silk kipper tie, with the inscription,
Kiss me I m Irish.
We were told about the Zapatistas. I cant remember much of what was said through our translator, except, we àre still here, struggling for our rights to social justice, freedom and peace. Half of the reception committee were falling asleep in the heat. The temperature must have been in the 90s.
Our guide took us round the village. Those wearing balaclavas were volunteers coming from other villages and were part of the organising authorities. We saw a secondary school, where education is focused on cultural tradition-these communities are indigenous Mayans- history, culture, revolutionary change, leadership,and organic guardianship.  We visited handicraft cooperatives, a clinic and we photographed all the murals we could. 
I hàve just read in my Rough Guide that being in or near the conflict zone invites suspicion of taking part in political activities-illegal for foreigners-and can lead to deportation.
If it does it will have been well worth it.

Sunday 25 April 2010

SAN CRISTOBAL DE LAS CASAS

Sunday evening 9pm.  Hotel Media Luna.
Well, this is going to be interesting. I am using the hotel s computer. It is linked to another keyboard. Both are Spanish and a lot of the keys donàt work or work differently, as you can see. So this blog will be full of typos, so apologies in advance.
The journey from San Miguel de Allende to San Cristobal de las Casas took nealy 24 hours with a long stop in Mexico City North Bus Station. It is spacious and clean, not like poky old Victoria so we felt quite safe sitting and biding our time. We travelled from Mexico City by night and woke up to a misty dawn over the most stunning scenary-semi tropical and mountainous, very different from the plains of Central Mexico
We are here mainly to meet people and visit projects run by UNA Exchange s partner organisation, Natate. On the first evening the young staff and volunteers did a presentation about their work and yesterday we visited a school, where a young French man and an Italian woman are working. It is an alternative private school, a bit like Steiner and I had the sense that both would like to be working with indigenous, more needy children. On his own initiative, the French man, who is just 19 and on a gap year, has set up, with an Irish guy, an evening school for children who are working during the day. It is held on the streets and we àre hoping to drop in. Young boys polish shoes and little girls, often followed by younger brothers and sisters sell handicrafts. Our children dont know they àre born. Tomorrow, we àre hoping to visit three projects, two are environmental and the other a museum for Mayan medicinal plants.
San Cristobal de las Casas is a lively little town surrounded by limestone hills with the Rio Grijalva running by. Today we went on  a boat trip through The Sumidero canyon, full of Egrest, Vultures and Pelicans. We even saw some crocodiles!.  The town was designed as a Spanish stronghold against an often hostile indigenous population. In 1994, there was an uprising  in the spirit of Emiliano Zapata, led by a pipe smoking balaclavaed Commandent.  Even now, there are signs everywhere, Action not words. The Mayans are the predominant indigenous group and it would seem that there is still a lot of discrmination against them.
Yesterday, we visited the home of Trudy Blom, a Swiss journalist and photographer, who died at the age of around 95, in 1993, and who recorded the faces of the indigenous people of the Lacandon rain forest, particularly the women who fought in the 1910 revolution Her house is known as Na Bolom. In the local language, Bolom means Jaguar, which has special powers as a spiritual messenger between this and the other world. When she and her husband, a Danish Archaeologist, first arrived there was a misunderstanding about their name. The local people heard Bolom rather than Blom, and so this gave her a great start in the respect department. She is still highly regarded for the work she did to protect and advocate for the rights of these people who were never colonised by the Spanish.. Their house became known as The House of the Jaguar.

Wednesday 21 April 2010

FAREWELL NAGU RAO & SAN MIGUEL DE ALLENDE

Tonight, is our last night in Larry's palace. It's eight thirty and just dark. There's jasmine and lemon blossom perfume wafting in through the open patio doors.  The only sounds are the cicadas and the odd dog wishing his pals, 'Buenas Nochtes'. I'm on my third Margarita. Well, it is our last night.
I've had awful problems with my lap top. It's been fading and taking for ever so today I popped into an internet cafe to pick up my emails and chanced to look into my Counselling Cardiff account. I found some shocking and devastating news. Nagu Rao, a dear person, who I trained with at the start of my career as a counsellor in 1994-5 has suffered a heart attack after a clot on the brain and has died suddenly. She was a loyal and committed friend, highly intelligent and fun loving, who had first trained in India as a chemist, then a lawyer, and in Newport at the University of Wales as a counsellor. She was very active in the Hindu community and on the board of various voluntary organisations, including 'People in Partnership.'  She described herself as 'a Welsh Indian', and even phoned us while on holiday in Dallas on St David's Day to wish Rhys, 'Dydd Gwyl Dewi Sant Hapus!' I will miss her greatly and our heart goes out to her dear husband, Raj.
Today, we also said goodbye to Larry. We took him out for lunch to show our appreciation for letting us house-sit even when his plans had changed and Equador was off. He could have cancelled but he didn't and although he was gracious about house-sitting his friend's house, supervising the installation of a new septic tank, it was clear today that he was greatly looking forward to getting home and being able to sleep in his own bed.  His motives it would seem have been entirely honourable. He hasn't asked us for anything extra than what was originally agreed; that is we pay the Maid's weekly visit, and we reckon he could even be out of pocket as we've also used three weeks of gas, electricity and water and then there's the wear and tear  on his furniture and hosuehold goods. 
Being someone's house sitter is a strange relationship. It's not like staying with a friend. You're giving a service albeit in our case, very miniscule. Larry's been very friendly and amenable but he hasn't introduced us to any of his friends or taken us places.  Not that we expected him to at all, but that's the difference.  And what friend would have you stay for three weeks and move out?   So, here's to Larry, the Archangel of San Miguel de Allende.     Oh, and what was that you said Larry, about visiting Europe next June? 
Tomorrow, we take a couple of buses down south, to San Cristobal de las Casas. We are going to visit projects run by Natate Voluntariado Internationale. The organisation runs work camps and projects that British volunteers participate in. I am a trustee of a partner organisation in Wale called UNA Exchange that sends and hosts international volunteers and we want to promote the work of Natate back home. The journey will take over 24hours and we're not sure yet where we'll be staying. One thing's for sure it won't be like Larry's place. Still, it will be another adventure. Just like going up to Shetland.  . . Er, but not quite.

Monday 19 April 2010

BUS & BAPTISM AT ATOTONILCO

Yesterday was Sunday and the town had a real holiday feel about it. Young families strolling about: Dad in front followed by Mum and two or three small children, wide eyed and excited. People like to eat lunch out here on Sundays and the stalls and roadside restaurants were full of groups loving each other's company , laughing and enjoying the hundred and one ways to eat a tortilla. The covered market downtown is a bit like Pontypridd market. It's a mixture of fruit and vegetables, baby clothes, CDs, shoes, flowers, more CDs & DVDs, raw chicken, watches, handicrafts, cactus, toys & lots of women's fashion. Working women were having their hair streaked or styled.  'Can't imagine Ponty hairdressers opening on Sundays.
We'd decided to visit Atotonilco, a dusty village about ten miles from San Miguel de Allende. It's famous because of the church, Sanctuario del Jesus Nazareno, newly declared World Heritage by UNESCO. Here it's called a temple. It's ceiling are covered in murals, the conquisadors are pictured giving Jesus vinegar on a sponge. Some call it the Mexican Sistine Chapel. It's name means 'place of hot water' as it's near to Gruta hot springs.
So we went looking for the bus. It took sometime, asking lots of people, for us to understand that where the first bus had dropped us was the correct place to get the bus out of town to Atotonilco. This bus had a different system from the ones we've been on. You pay when you get off the bus and you don't get a ticket. I said to Rhys that it seemed an expensive bus ride and it was. The driver over-charged us coming and going. The fare should have been seven pesos each one way, we read later, and we paid thirty-eight. We've just got to learn our Spanish numbers.
The village is in a rural area and the main occupation for men is bricklaying. In front of the temple,women sell rosary beads and gruesome pictures of an anguished Christ wearing a bloody crown of thorns, and other religious knick-knacks and handicrafts. The monthly income of families is around 1500-2000 pesos, about £125.
The church was full one moment and the next most of the congregation had disappeared. A priest in white dashed in front of us into a grilled door, that was opened and closed behind him by a sacristan. Then we saw a notice, which said, 'No Flash', and behind it was the whole congregation, who had moved into a side chapel. It was a community baptism. About seven or eight babies, swaddled in lace and satin in their  teenage mother's arms and flanked by young fathers and god parents, casually dressed in denim jeans and smart tops.We spied the whole event through the grille. It was in four parts. First, the priest came round and with his thumb drew a cross on the forehead of each baby.The father of the child did the same thing as if to stress his belief in Christ. Then the baby was taken by the godmother to the font for the baptism itself. The godmother had a box with a little handkerchief and white candle. The father wiped the wet baby's head with the cloth.The
 blue-eyed priest  came around again and with oil made the sign of the cross once more on the child's forehead. By this time most of the babies were screaming like a pack of nocturnal dogs out on a hacienda.
Then the godfather lit his candle from the large white candle at the baptismal font and the parent, godparents and priest all held the candle while a photo was taken. The priest called each child's name and the godparent came forward to claim the baptism certificate. Another eight catholics received into the church.
We hung out with a few stray dogs and some bored young people while waiting for the bus to return. A brass band and what sounded like a rock group played in loud competition with each other. We guessed it was all part of the post-baptismal fiesta. We didn't like to gate crash.

Saturday 17 April 2010

PC, GUANAJUATO & DIEGO RIVERA

Saturday morning. Bliss! We can lie in Larry's four poster bed, don't have to go anywhere, and can read  'The Ascencion.' Not as fat as the Saturday Guardian but a good Gringo read nevertheless.
Yesterday, we took the first class bus, Primera Plus, to Guanajuato.  That's a hard one for us to pronounce so we've been using Guatanomo as a shorthand. I know, not very PC. We were sent off with a little bag of provisions by the hostess wishing us a safe journey. Well, she may have said something altogether different. We've been somewhat lax about listening to the Spanish tapes. Rhys has taken to writing down phrases like, 'Can you tell us where to get off the bus, please Sir?' which he tries to say, but when faced with a confused bus driver he shoves the paper in front of the driver's nose, and usually gets a 'Si,Si!' or a 'si,si', depending on how many other passengers are waiting patiently to board the bus or if he needs to get out his reading glasses.
 Rhys has taken to hooking his reading glasses and sunglasses onto the top of his shirt. It saves time but doesn't do him any favours in the cool department. Not that I can speak about looking cool either. In my straw hat, beads, long skirt and flat grubby canvas shoes with plaster marks on my heels I look like a throw- back to another generation, but an older round person also carrying a Nordic walking stick, very uncool.
Going back to learning Spanish, we're trying to learn the numbers but not with a great deal of success. The other day we managed to bargain upwards with a taxi driver. He must have thought we were right idiots.
This is beginning to sound like a Ronnie Corbett tall story or should I say, short story. That's not being sizist. I'm vertically challenged myself. 
Anyway, back to the journey to Guanajuato. It takes about an hour and a quarter across the gentle rolling hills of the Sierra Guanajuato scattered with cactus and I think (from the tree book we bought at the Jardin Botanico), Huizache chino and Mesquite and other unidentifiable (to us) shrubs & trees that grow in semi-arid conditions.
Guanajuato is a prestigious university town, and it was buzzing with young life doing young things: hanging out, chatting, smoking, laughing, shouting, making rude gestures,couples into each other on plaza benches and others sitting in the shade of food stalls, eating gorditos and enchilladas. We sat down with them and muscled in, eating from a stall for the first time since arriving. There must be a knack to eating hot filled tortillas. We managed to get chilly and tomato sauce all over ourselves. But that was the only consequence.
The city is shoe horned into a narrow ravine and a rainbow of square houses totter up the side of the hills. For centuries it was the wealthiest city in Mexico, its mines pouring out silver and gold. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Zone and there are no traffic lights or neon signs. It's laced with tunnels taking traffic in and out of the city. It is bursting with history. Our friend and local hero, 'El Pipilo' (Turkey Cock) is waving a light from the top of the city. Using a huge stone slab on his back for protection he blew up the door to the granary, helping the fight for independence, but dying himself in the process. Walking from shady plaza to plaza, up and down narrow streets, catching views of large colonial churches, peering up at wrought iron balconies, into small shops selling silver jewellery, the sun shining, a buzz of intellectual life- it felt like being in Nice- without the seaside.
 It is also the birth place of Diego Rivera and his house is a museum with a gallery of his paintings. Thirty odd years ago, in Battersea, I was involved in an action group trying to save a mural painted by local artist, Brian Barnes in the tradition of Rivera; a record of local life and aspirations, including the Wandsworth bus depo, where my father was an inspector. It was highly political in its local and national content. The local people loved it. The Morganite company, that owned the wall, hated it and wanted to demolish it so that they could sell the land for housing. Not for local people but for the gentry moving in from across the Thames. We even went to the High Court to save it but sadly the interests of big business won the day.
When I came to Wales, Rhys and I became involved in painting murals with local children. Diego Rivera has always been a hero of ours. His paintings are a great disappointment. They seem to imitate well known artists of his day, such as Braque and Matisse. They only start to become interesting, original and accomplished when the content is political and then you start to see his commitment, his energy and strength as a painter. If you're travelling this way I think you could pass over this museum. But, we can't wait to see his murals in Mexico City!. 

Thursday 15 April 2010

PICASA WEB PHOTOS

Hi Family & Friends
Sorry about the problems in viewing the slide show. Here is the link. I've tried to change the number to an easier user name, like Janet Daniel, but it won't let me. I'll keep trying.
http://picasaweb.google.com/ 108583614049565790828

Can you let me know if this works?
Thanks for reading the blog,, for your support, interest and feedback. We really appreciate it all.
Love
Janet and Rhys

CHILDREN, EL CHAN & EL CHARCO DEL INGENIO

Today, has been a wonderful day.
First we got to see and talk to our children Angharad and Steffan for free on Scype. Thankfully, they couldn't get to see us. I haven't  managed the visual bit of the technology yet and as I rushed out of the bathroom wearing just a shower cap and towel to answer Angharad's call, it was probably for the best that I haven't.
Secondly, we took a short taxi ride to the Jardin Botanico, called El Charco del Ingenio. It is dedicated to the conservation of nature, especially Mexican Flora. It consists of 220 acres, divided in three zones: the dry chaparral, the canyon and the wetlands.
 We wandered about this beautiful area, admiring different varieties of plants, cactus and succulents.
The cactae are in so many interesting forms. Some have fruit and flowers on the same structure. Some look like groups of Balinese dancers, bodies leaning into each other, their faces fringed with a red and yellow head dress. Others resemble groups of tall guys making high-fives. Others like oblong ancient coins. Others just look like cactus. In the market women de-prickle them so they can be cooked and they are delicious. Others, like the Agave variety are used for their alcohol content in drinks such as tequila.
There are a lot of different types of  trees too. The most common was the Mesquite, particularly attractive to bees, with medicinal virtues and the seed pods are used as animal fodder. Apparently, in the region of San Miguel there is a delicious and nutritous drink called 'atole' also made from the pods. We'll have to look out for it.
We saw many exotic birds,which we later identified in our Audubon bird book as a White-Faced Ibis,The Black-Necked Stilt, the Black Phoebe, Barn Swallows, the Golden Fronted Woodpecker, the Snowy Egret, Kildeer & the magnificent Northern Cardinal, totally scarlet and apparently a newcomer to this area. We saw fluttering yellow butterflies as big as birds, velvety black and turquoise ones and green dragonflies. We even saw two squirrels but they had bigger heads than those at home and sported number 2 haircuts.
There was an area dedicated to 'Rescue Plants,' brought over from Queretaro in 1991 at the time they were building a dam there. They looked like giant green hedgehogs that had been kicked randomly into touch. We wanted to pet them like rescue ponies that had had a hard life and were now in retirement but they weren't responsive.
We didn't see any snakes or lizards. We could have gone into a special exhibition of reptiles in plastic cases but were too mean to pay the extra entry fee.
On our two hour saunter around the gardens we saw only two people, one Gringos and one Mexican. Guess it's different at weekends. The Mexican man was painting posts on the bridge across the lake-once a reservoir for San Miguel de Allende.  The Gringo carried his own fold-up chair. We heard a few children's voices from the depths of the canyon where El Chan, a scary mythical creature with supernatural powers is said to reside in a deep pool that changes colour throughout the year. It is also the source of an original spring that quenced the thirst and watered the needs of San Miguel residents.  It's the place of a sixteenth century mill, a piece of engineering (Ingenio) installed by the Spanish to grind seed and make cloth.
At the Cafe,while sipping fresh orange juice and recovering from the heat we met another Gringo, an artist, Agnes Olive, an American who thought Rhys' accent was Scottish. Her father was from Paisley and she's been living and working here for fourteen years. In her art, sculptures mainly I think, she uses indigenous materials. The Gardens are also a focal point for local ceremonies and rituals. They have rituals at the time of the full moon at the 'Plaza of the Four Winds.' There's a mozaic there inspired by Toltec, Pre-Columbian symbols and a huge cross. The space symbolises the unity of the local communities.  Agnes is involved  in building a huge 'nest' for 'The Day of the Land', an event on the 22nd of April. Its poster symbol is of a pair of clasped hands painted in blue and green like a distorted planet earth. Sadly, this is the day we leave San Miguel. While we sat the excavators were digging out the nest, a hole of about sixty metres in diameter. In the nest she plans to help people make hands of clay and within each pair of hands will be pressed a seed.
Being out in the gardens, with signs telling us about the area, of the damage being done to the environment and the conservation work being done there we felt enormously priveleged to be experiencing such a connection with this land and with its ancient history. It's interesting for me that a two hour walk in these gardens caused me no hip or back pain, only joy and wonder. It's so sad that unless something extraordinary happens to limit climate change our grandchildren may never experience this.  Oh, how I wish we could be there at full moon! This year, one of my projects is to write a poem at every full moon, wherever I am. I've written three so far. Hopefully, the next one will be in Mexico City.

Wednesday 14 April 2010

SLIDE SHOW-PICASAWEB

Hi Friends!
You can see a short slide show of some of our photos of San Miguel de Allende and the surrounding area so far, by typing in the search box of the blog, 'Picasaweb'. ...  Well, I hope you can cos it's taken me ages to upload them. ...
Janet & Rhys

WASHING WINDOWS WITH THE ARCHANGEL OF SAN MIGUEL

A lazy day today.
Well, lazy for the Chief Security Officer. The Head Gardener helped Larry clean his windows, of which there seem to be hundreds-small panes in difficult to reach places with inappropriate tools. Larry ended up gaffer-taping a squeegy -whatsit to a long pole. He's afraid of heights and Rhys isn't so no prizes for guessing who went up the ladder. Not the maid, Marcelia, that's for sure. It looks like she rarely washes or cleans anything properly. I offered to dust Larry's treasures but he said Marcelia does that-every other week-and they're covered in the stuff. I don't think she's done them for a few weeks.  Here, hark at me! You can see how easily I've taken to this life of luxury.
I broke the news to Larry this evening. Before the boys washed the windows. I thought it best to get it out of the way. Just in case we had to leave sharpish. ' Didn't want Rhys to have spent all that energy for nothing. Anyway, I asked him how he'd feel if we were to leave early. I explained that I'm a trustee of UNA Exchange and would like to visit projects run by Natate Voluntariado International, a Mexican partner organisation based down south in San Cristobal de las Casas, that we work closely with in promoting vounteering in Mexico and in Britain.
He didn't bat an eyelid.
'That's absolutely fine. No problem at all. San Cristobal is my most favourite place in Mexico,' he said. 'When you wanna go?'
'He's probably glad that he can sleep in his own bed again and have his house to himself,' Rhys said to me privately, while Larry was washing his clothes. There's not enough pressure in his friend's place so he calls by about once a week to use his washing machine and even rings the bell. I open the door to him as if I'm the lady of the house and he's the guest.
'That would work well, as the jack hammer should be finished by then and I can call in to see how the septic tank work is progressing. Oh, and I've got a friend staying on May 1st, so....'
'So, he probably can't wait to get rid of us,' I said to Rhys. 'In fact, we may have already outstayed our welcome. '
'He's not wanted to disappoint us, has he? What a sensitive chap'
'The Archangel of San Miguel de Allende?'
'We've not gone yet,' Rhys said. 'There's still another eight days.'
'Yes, you're right. A lot could happen before then.'
Take this afternoon, for example, when we were walking through the car park of Pollos Felix. On Wednesdays Mr Chicken dinners are half price. In the rush of hungry diners a shiny Chevvie reversed into Rhys who was distracted by a Vermillion Flycatcher he'd just seen fly past. Fortunately, I pulled him away-just in time- before he was raw material for a Mr Chicken dinner.

Tuesday 13 April 2010

CONSERVATION,CONVICTS & CONMEN

Today, we mosied into town to attend the Audubon lecture at the Biblioteca Public on the Sierra Gorda Biosphere Reserve. Not sure who Audubon is or was but the organiser said that the Audubon Society of Mexico in San Miguel de Allende wants to be the best and foremost advocate for conservation and to preserve the fragile ecosystems in this country. As she spoke with a Californian accent we couldn't help thinking, probably with a degree of unnecessary prejudice, that this is just another form of colonialism-the yanks want to take over the local environment. However, in their literature the Society says,
'We work with local communities in order to preserve and restore habitats for birds, wildlife and plants, and to create biodiversity for the benefit of humankind.'
That's what I love about Americans they think big. Hang on we're in Mexico. Where do the Mexicans figure in this world view?
The lecturer Roberto Pedraza Ruiz, a Mexican naturalist, photographer and expert on the region's wildlife and whose parents set up the Sierra Gorda Biosphere Reserve, talked and showed slides on the scope of the reserve and its endangered species. The Reserve occupies a third of the northern part of the state of Queretaro, the city of which we visited yesterday. It contains 327 species of birds-nearly a third of all the species found in Mexico and many other forms of wildlife. As well as birds, such as the bumblebee hummingbird and parrots who mate for life- even if one of them dies, they don't 're-marry', he showed close up photos in the cloud forest of jaguars, pumas, ocelots, exotic orchids and trees you might not expect to see there: oaks, Douglas firs, willows, sweet gums. He said that bees which pollinate flowers, that produce nectar and that are key to feeding us humans, are disappearing at a frightening rate across the universe. What he didn't say, and which I only read afterwards, was that his family are involved in linking international investors to local forest owners whose trees 'soak up and store carbon dioxide'. In other words, carbon offsetting industrial production of greenhouse gases. It's highly controversial in Britain whether or not this works. I wonder what Mexicans think about it? Anyway, we salved our conscience by buying arnica to rub on my hip and some orange marmelade produced on the Reserve.
We walked onto the Institute and we sat in the Gallerie Pergola, that promotes artists living in San Miguel de Allende and contemporary Mexican artists. They have glossy coffee table books that you can browse through and we took the opportunity to read up on the arts scene. One of the artists is Daniel Leonardo, whose contemporary murals grace the walls of the Institute. I hope to put up on Picasa Web Photos some of the images from his mural of the history of San Miguel de Allende. The mural tradition that originated in Mexico has been controversial here. Is it art or is it just political narrative? What can be defined as 'art' here? If it's just political narrative, is it the instrument of government and therefore not truly a work of original individual creativity?
I'm interested in the work of Mexican female artists, such as Frida Kahlo, Izquierdo, Vaco and Carrington. Apparently, until recently it was felt that only women artists could express their private feelings through the visual arts. These women artists were famous firstly for their sexual liasons and relationships with male artists. It was only later with the advent of feminism that their work was valued in its own right. It was considered a weakness for men to express their private feelings (possibly in life too?) and their art was to be expressed by a political or public statement. It's therefore interesting that at one time Francis Bacon's 'emotional extremism' was very popular in Mexico.
As we got up off the bench from examining David Leonardo's mural in some detail, we happened by chance into another private gallery in the Institute. This had two exhibitions: one, an exhibition of historic silver jewellery and the other by Donnie Johnson, a lifer in a US prison in Pelican Bay, who had committed a murder and an attempted murder on a prison guard. It had sold very well, there were lots of red spots against the tiny pictures made from candy and grape jelly and according to the owner, like those resembling the work of Rothko and Jackson Pollock, and showing the isolation and alienation of the lifer. The exhibition had apparently been arranged through the prisoner's therapist and the owner told us he was also getting a little profit. Most of the proceeds were going to a charity for the children of prisoners at Pelican Bay. However, he told us that he'd heard that people were selling these pictures on for a considerable profit. He couldn't control that, he said, but it was clear that he didn't want to talk to us for much longer about it as we weren't going to buy anything. So, he got on with whatever he was doing on his computer. Looking for other profitable opportunities, perhaps?
I'd like to think that in Britain we wouldn't allow such an exhibition to happen but is this very different from Jeffrey Archer making a profit out of the novels he's written from his experience of being in prison for fraud?
We're not exempt from this either.
On the way back we walked behind a woman holding a large bouquet of white lillies, the sort painted by Diego Rivera and which I think are called Alcatraz Lillies. I tried to capture her photo from behind without her seeing. She criss-crossed the road, entering cafes and hotels trying to sell her wilting flowers without success. I suddenly remembered something I'd read about local people being very unhappy about having their photos taken unawares, later discovering that some Gringo had made a fortune out of a painting based on their photo. So, Rhys crossed the road and offered her a few pesos for her photo, which she accepted graciously.  On reflection, we would have helped her more by buying the whole bouquet of lillies but what would we have been doing for the environment?

'DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED HERE?'

This seems to be the gist of the message on plaques outside museums and sites of historical interest in this area. 2010 is the bi-centenary of Mexican independence. It's raised for us the issue of how history is recorded, whose history it is and how it is used.
Yesterday, we took a bus to Santiago de Queretaro. En route we watched a DVD of Vinnie Jones in a Spanish version of the vicious film, 'The Condemned'.
From the bus terminal we took a local bus across the sprawling industrial and business sectors of this large bustling city set against the gentle hills of the Sierra Gorda. The city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The tourist information leaflet describes it as 'an exceptional example of a colonial town whose layout symbolizes its multi-ethnic population...also renowned for its outstanding buildings...'  So we headed for the historic area. It was here, in a meeting under the guise of the Literary Association, that the Independence conspirators laid their earliest plans. Later in the century, The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed here. This ended the Mexican-American War by handing over almost half of Mexico's territory-Texas, New Mexico, California and more to the US. In 1867, Emperor Maximilian made his last stand. He was defeated, tried by the court and finally condemned by firing squad on the 'Hill of Bells' nearby.
This was also an Aztec town and many Otomi still live here. In the tourist information there is lots about the churches, the plazas, the museums, the Viceroyalty houses, which we strolled by, entered, admired and enjoyed. But, there's nothing in the leaflet about the Otomi people. In walking around the little alleys full of craft stalls we came on a beautiful sculpture of an Aztec Indian. At that moment, ironically, my camera's battery gave out so we couldn't even get a digital image to remind us of their history. It may not be the intention of the local tourist agency but we couldn't help thinking that the Otomi of Santiago de Queretaro have been condemned to near invisibility. Or perhaps we just picked up the wrong leaflet?
All this activity made us hungry as usual so we searched out a kind of workmen's cafe over a shop that did a three course special lunch with a drink of lemonade for 40pesos, about £2.30. It wasn't the best meal we've ever eaten but it beat the showy tourist restaurants for local authenticity. We like to think that the friendly owners were Otomi. Who knows?

Sunday 11 April 2010

CACTUS & TRUST ISSUES

Today, we met Larry for brunch at the Cafe Parroquia next to the bookshop La Tecolote that sells English books.  Rhys and I enjoyed cactus omelettes with a side dish of beans.
Larry seemed somewhat subdued but was still as friendly as he's been since we arrived. While sipping margaritas and lounging on his expensive leather couch we've speculated and talked to each other at length about his life. It was easy to imagine all sorts of nasty reasons why he'd give over his palace to a couple of older foreigners while he was off in Equador, but for the past fortnight Larry's been house-sitting a friend's house, five minutes drive from here, overseeing the installation of a new sewerage system. The noise from the pile drivers means he tries to stay out most days. It has meant he's not been able to shower and because there's no purification system, he's had to buy bottled water. He still comes to the gym at the bottom of the road here most days.
On our first night he said it would be like a vacation and that he needs to stick around because he thinks he has a prospective buyer for another house he's recently built and wants to sell to a Mexican (rather than an ex-pat, I guess). He's called on the phone a couple of times and on Wednesday Rhys helped him clean his tall windows and prune his banana trees. Ofcourse we're watering his plants twice a week (although it's rained a little the last couple of nights). The maid comes in once a week and cleans. He has an alarm system. To our minds he doesn't really need us to be here. He could alternate nights here and at his friend's house. So, why does he allow complete strangers to stay in his luxurious pad full of precious objets d'art?  Why hasn't he suggested we do a bit of travelling so he can reclaim his home for himself? In effect, he's giving us a free holiday. In theory, we could all be in this situation for another two weeks.
'Do you miss your home?' I asked Larry at lunch
'No,' he said.
Is he being polite or has it been our enormous good fortune to meet an extremely generous-hearted human being with sound values, who has no trust issues? We may not know the answer until we leave, or ever, but for now it's made us think and talk alot about our own issues of trust and not just with complete strangers either.
 It's made us wonder what it would be like to be a Gringo permanently living here. We've seen mostly older people, mainly American retirees we think, at the Biblioteca, in the supermarkets, at The Institute. We Gringos really stand out. The men are tall and fair and some women look so thin, perhaps anorexic. One such woman power walks each day in and out of town in the mid-day sun. Her face is bronzed, wrinkled and in the kind of pain that comes from enforcing hard regimes on the body and the psyche.
What do Mexicans really think of the wealthy white ex-pats?  To what extent is there integration here in San Miguel de Allende? Clearly, many are making a contribution to the community and language will be a big factor in developing relationships. We wondered if some Mexican people speak Spanish to foreigners as a political statement even though they can speak English, rather like some Welsh speakers do at home. I have no problem with that, but in just visiting for a short time as a tourist, we feel the weight of colonial history on generations of lives. Should we carry the sins of our European ancestors on our shoulders like El Pipilo-the war hero, immortalised on the roundabout by Mega, carrying a huge stone slab on his back ready to fight for his beliefs? Guilt doesn't feel a healthy emotion here unless it's a trigger for change. It's made us think about how we can establish trust between people and nations focusing on the present and the future rather than our past?
We haven't told Larry yet, but we've decided to accept an invitation to visit a voluntary organisation down in San Cristobel de las Casas at the end of the month. It will mean leaving a week earlier than agreed. So much for being trustworthy,eh?

Saturday 10 April 2010

GRUTA, GUITAR & GRINGOS

Yesterday we went on another little day trip by bus from here. On the way passengers watched a DVD of 'Slumdog Millionnaire' with Spanish sub-titles. I love that film! On the way back Robert de Niro and Al Pacino spoke Spanish to us in a film that seemed familiar.
Our outing was to the hot springs at Gruta about half an hour away.  Set in beautiful shady gardens full of pots of yellow and purple pansies, the springs spill out into connecting pools. We thought the waters would be therapeutic and  full of older people with arthritic conditions taking the waters-yes, people like me. But families with inflateables played in the pools and laughing children lined up for a cold shower under a bamboo pipe. In one there were seats positioned just under the water line and people sat chatting in the hot water. From this pool you can swim or wade through a long white-washed tunnel with a peep of light at the end. After a few minutes you reach a circular pool with a bee-hive shaped ceiling constructed of individual rocks. Holes in the roof shaft sunlight at the water at odd angles like electric spots. The atmosphere's magical but the water so hot I could only stay a few minutes. 
All that exercise gave us an appetite so we ordered beers, and along with them came free nachos with a little bowl of spicy sauce and a wooden spoon for us to pour over them. Lunch was avocado stuffed with tuna salad and a chicken salad for Rhys. All freshly prepared from local produce at a cost of around a fiver each. Delicious!
Tonight, we went to another classical guitar concert. This time a young man of 18, Enrique Hernandez-Ruiz, gave a virtuoso solo performance at the Biblioteca Publica. The audience was made up of mainly Gringos. A number seemed to have health problems: one woman wore a sling, another looked like she's had a stroke and was in a wheelchair, another looked like she was dying of some terminal disease, and then there were those of us leaning on sticks and the arms of our partners.  Enrique seemed to be having an intimate conversation with his guitar, made faces at it like a mother might do to her baby coaxing it to smile. At times he seemed in such ecstacy at his own playing it was difficult to concentrate on the beauty of the music and not giggle at his 'mugging'. After an hour the small crippled audience left clearly uplifted. This was soul therapy.
Out into the central plaza  and a old man was MCing a street dance from the band stand. Couples of all ages and sizes were swaying their hips and turning to Latin American beats and tempos. More therapy.
Then, from the other side of the square in front of the pink Parroquia, the Cathedral, we heard a brass band and spied above the crowd two huge papier-mache characters: a dancing bride and groom. We thought at first that this was another execution by fireworks, like the Judas dolls on Easter Sunday. But no, beneath these caricatures were a real bride and groom and a whole Gringo wedding party, suited and booted with seven bridesmaids dressed in jade. Members of the brass band wore white Mexican cowboy outfits, sombrero hats and trousers embroidered down the seams in blue. They formed a procession around the plaza, the brass band competing with the stereo of the street dancers
A little later as we sat on the bus, listening to an elderly busker at the back playing the mouth organ for his supper, we glimpsed the wedding party in the Institute Allende, sipping champagne.
It just goes to show that having therapy doesn't always turn out the way you think it will.

Wednesday 7 April 2010

OCTOPUS ICE-CREAM, PARROQUIA PERFUME & CONFLUENCIA

We've had the best day so far.
We went by bus to Dolores Hidalgo, a town about fifty kilometres from here. The bus was very comfortable,  large seats that go back, air conditioned, showing a modern DVD and only cost £2 each way. Bit like being at the cinema.  Mexican public transport is subsidised but it beats our system hands down. My father was a bus inspector. He'd have been impressed with the 'inspection' of tickets. Some might find it bureaucratic, but there's no getting away with a free ride here. However, each bus we've got on has had a different system. On the bus here from the airport, we bought our tickets from an office.  We were given a little bag of goodies: a sandwich, biscuit and drink as we got on the vehicle. We refused it first of all because we thought we'd have to pay. Then saw every other traveller gobbling and supping away so went back and claimed our booty. OK, we were also frisked and videoed, but at least the police are serious about potential free riders. . . and other crime. ' Can't imagine First Great Western, where I worked for a while as a staff counsellor, offering freebies of any sort nowadays.On the local bus you buy your ticket from the bus driver. Today, it was from the driver and then we were checked out by the bus conductor and the inspector. On the bus we hopped on at Queretaro to San Miguel de Allende, the driver waved us in. We thought some drug addict was trying on a scam when a blood-shot eyed young man tried to get money out of us. Our Mexican neighbour kindly intervened and explained it was just the bus conductor trying to take our fare. No tickets issued on this one. Duh!
We passed through beautiful countryside,cactus plants and tamarisk trees lining the road, rolling hills in the distance, a few cows competing for the shade by the road, en route to this historic town, which is also famous for its ceramics. We saw shops full of froggie plant pots and other pottery knick-knacks celebrating the Bi-Centenary of Mexican Independence.
The town is especially famous because it is where a priest, Dolores Hidalgo, fought the Spanish with the help of Allende, Jimenez and other committed revolutionaries in the War of Independence in 1810. There is a great museum charting the road to national independence, walls painted with metaphoric murals showing the atrocities suffered by local people, particularly the Indians and the oppressive influence of the colonial powers. In one painting there is a wounded man lying in obvious pain and on top of him sit a number of eagles,wings spread wide. Our guide told us they represent Britain, France, Spain. The one sitting, watching closely and waiting is the USA.  I guess as a socialist this Soviet- realist style, laden with metaphor, color and strength appeals to my romantic vision of revolutionary struggle. It's inspiring and captures the imagination, like stories of Che Guevara and Castro. Emotionally rewarding tourism but intellectually challenging. Our guide, green-eyed with good English, told us he couldn't stand the hypocracy of the Catholic Church and had lost his faith sometime ago.
'When do priests do what they tell us we should do?' he said.
 I wonder if there are the same stories about child abuse by priests in Mexico like there are currently running at home, in Ireland and the USA?
After all that excitement we headed for the local ice cream stall on the main square opposite the Cathedral- another beautiful shady plaza, with magpies screching from the trees that we still fail to identify. You can have all the flavours Heston Blumenthal has been touting as original- avocado, beer, tequila and octopus- very salty and not to my taste. Rhys went for the beer-nothing surprising there. I stuck to the familiar- creamy vanilla with fruit and nuts. It still had a surprise factor-I found a prune at the bottom of my cup.
This evening we went into San Miguel and for the first time ventured into the main church-the Parroquia, pink stone like a fluted wedding cake. The overwhelming smell of lillies was breathtaking.  Huge vases of post Easter flowers sit on the ornate altar. You could smell their perfume outside on the plaza- sweet and musky.
Finally, this evening at the Biblioteca Public, we attended a wonderful live concert, part of a guitar festival, of a two man group, Daniel Torres and Jonathan Molines, called 'Confluencia'.  They had been studying guitar since they were less than 10 years old. They looked in their early twenties. Their classical jazz improvisations were technically amazing and I felt I'd been taken to heaven with their music. In my enthusiasm to communicate my enjoyment and find common ground with one of the artists afterwards, I tried to tell him how my husband had just started to learn the guitar, aged 67, but he didn't really understand. He just signed my programme,' Con mucho aprecio'.