Edinburgh Fringe Festival

Edinburgh - ancient medieval buildings line the hilly roads, Arthur's Chair and the magnificent Edinburgh castle nestle the town and home of the Scottish Parliament. History, pride, dark ale in a barrow. Bleak, cloudy, chills to the bone on an August morning...

Land where they escaped from and then came back for some soul searching, and vice versa... I hear that if you are from either Edinburgh or Dunedin (NZ), and you got drunk in the middle of the night in the other town, you'd still be able to find your way home because the streets have the same names, same lengths, and same turns... spooky if you ask me.

outside the Andy Warhol exhibition.

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Welcome to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the biggest annual gathering of compulsive exhibitionists in the world. So I feel right at home. A kaleidoscope of performing artists gather from around the UK and the world and ensue in a month of comedy, music, drama, dance, and anything else in between.
High Street is explosive during the afternoon when all the acts come out to do short previews of their shows, and hundreds of actors and crew come out to tout for their shows. Beer gardens open till late and buskers who are not in the official program take over the pavements. Many actors just come out socializing and walk about in their costumes and make up, so it was hard figuring out whether a conversation at the pub or on the street corner was for real or out of a crazy script.
To make it here, pulling out a Statue of Liberty/poodle penis balloon ensemble/ Red Indian piping backed by tape type act simply will not do and simply met by pelting tomatoes from the highly critical audience. It is hard being creative when the good ideas and good jokes have all been thought about through out the last 50 centuries, and bloody competitive when the best of the world is also here. Everyone wants to be seen and heard, and many will do free shows or half ticket prices just to get their names out there. I did buy two half price shows but managed to get to quite a few just for free. The audience can be so desensitized that they could potentially not laugh one single time through out your entire session, so you have to be very very good, or very very bizarre.
Highlights – dirty rabbit man; children-eating vampires; Korean clown team that says nothing but ‘squeak’; the rugged Harley Davidson versions of celtic bagpipe band; church choir meet Backstreet Boys kind of ensemble; mutant super heroine; and soccer kneesupathon.

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I’d like to thank Jacky and Ruth for having me stay over, very kind of you gals I hope I didn’t make too much of a mess. And Fi for enlightening me about Pine Martins ;-)

GLASGOW 101: Jane's Bday Bash

Moooooooooooove ovahhhh Posh and Katie, cos Jane's 'Welcome to Glasgow' Birthday Party has definitely upstaged your meekly little 'Welcome to LA' Party'. reporting live...

1) 10:05 am. Barras Market
Despite heavy storm warnings and reports of danger lurking in the streets, a large and growing group of party goers mainly from the pro-Scot colony of New Zealand set off early on Saturday morning into the unknown of Barras Markets, their first stop of a weekend long education about Glaswegian life.

Yes, this is definitely a B grade or worse version of Paddy's Markets in Sydney. Think plastic guns, pirating, passed use by date food, deep fried mars bars, bones for your dogs, ginger wigs on pom pom hats, backyard fudge etc etc etc. My outfit today tried to replicate the French Revolutionaries, in honour of the Parisians I left behind a few days ago. However, perhaps due to the largest number of kiwis I've seen in four months, I ended up feeling a bit like Jake the Muss and low and behold was mistaken as Jeff da Maori by one of the locals almost immediately.

2) 11.34am. Mission Impossible

They were then given a list of tasks whilst in the underground system to undertake in order to familiarise themselves with fine Scottish traditions such as music, attire, beverage, theatre and, of course, procreation.

Ok, so I am thinking the dead baby scene and no probs with number 5 cos I have my lucky undies on. Will work on the others for now. NB: ginger is pronounced 'gh (as in gh in gherkin) ing - ah' in NZ.

3) 12.29pm The Primo Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery

The party goers attended a self guided tour of Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery, one of the oldest and finest institutions for historical and cultural preservation in Scotland. They were treated to an organ concert worthy of a standing ovation.

This must be where they keep all the heads of Englishman they chop off... Highlights for me were a) the giant prehistoric moose, b) Robert Burns's sexual exploits exhibition c) the very very large key to a chastity belt. ouch.

4) 1.45pm The Pub Meal & Whisky

A light lunch at the local pub, another old and fine institution of Glasgow, took place at The Primary, followed by even older and finer whisky at the Uisge Beathe. A small break away group then terrorised local children at the Kelvingrove Park with decomposing leaves. A young Glaswegian lad also reported a missing ice cream. So far no arrests have been made but those withholding information are encouraged to come forward.

Meat-and-three-vege. Excellent. But my hang over from the night before was starting to catch up with me after the first drink of the day and I don't remember much of the next three hours. Except for that I was teased. On the way through to the next of many pubs to follow we staged an amusing rendition of the breakfast scene from Trainspotting at the park as no one else was keen on sourcing a prop as a dead baby. Nevertheless, tick one.

5) 6.20pm Guinness World Record Haggis

A locally sourced and produced portion of haggis was then sampled by the revelers at The Goat and an environmentally friendly method of cleaning was employed for the silvery. The incredible amount of kilojoules provided by this fine Scottish staple led the party goers to perform what is known in the Southern Hemisphere as the 'Bird Dance' in the middle of busy traffic. No kiwis were killed.

Next thing I knew a very very very large portion of haggis preordered by Jane was served and demolished within 3 minutes and 43 seconds. It was so creamy, fatty, salty and good that we did some spoon and plate licking. I weep over the fact that I was completely cheated on my first afternoon here by eating that big piece of deep friend mongrel haggis served in the alley way behind Buchanan Street. I believe this was when the idea of an invisible bagpipe orchestra was first floated. Tick two.

6) 8.00pm Dooon a Booorkie
Soon after 8pm in the evening, an alleged male Australian was seen purchasing and distributing swig-fulls of an infamous local fortified wine commonly known as Buckfast to under aged female near the junction of Byres Road and Argyle Street in the well reputed West End neighbourhood by a motorist.

Woo hoo finally found some Buckfast!! Tick three. It actually tastes ok.

7) 9.00pm Ashton Lane
Unfortunately our reporter was barred from entering the Brel in Ashton Lane and lost the party goers for the rest of the evening and unable to complete the rest of the report.

Ashton Lane: we came here to drink a bit more and check out the cool kids. Head nodding Cooool. And enjoyed a bit more of that Scottish rain in the beer garden.

8) 11pm Cutting some kiwi shapes at Otago Street Yep this is a pretty hardcore house party. Best and hardest I've seen for about five months. I was almost about to give the Party-hard award to Canadians on this trip but I think Kiwis are back in the game. Jane you out did yourself, and kudos to the DJ and the hosts (Rachael, Lucy & Don) particularly for putting up with the mirror shattering, bathroom trashing, pizza passing and kilt peeping (oh, tick four) antics. There may even have been some homesick tears in my eyes as we head-banged to the beat of 'Victoria' by the Exponents, but I know I am really becoming to love Scotland. Ahh haa haa, even got a scottish battalion flag as a prize!!

And I'll leave tick five to your vivid imagination.

How Now Brown Cow

I touched down in Glasgow on my way back to London to visit fun-bomb Jane, my old flatmate from Wellington in ’03. She is hosting a very very large birthday party over the weekend. Arriving in Glasgow from Paris on Ryan Air was an assault on the senses. First I was confronted by a new coat of lilac paint on the wooden wall at Prestwick Airport’s tin-shack terminal, and the smell of old fish’n chips batter looming in the arrival lounge. As I boarded the train into town, the goosebumps on my skin tells me that summer in Scotland involves a warm jacket, woolly hat and a raincoat.

The Scottish country side is hilly, green, lush and dotted with wild flowers and familiar farm animals. It reminds me of how much of New Zealand’s wild had been converted by the British settlers to look like home. Hearing English (well, some sort of highland version of it) and walking on the left side of the road again tells me that I am back in a more familiar world, but I am still some how extremely excited about getting to know this bunch of distant mad cousins tucked away at the other end of the world.

Glasgow is brown. The streets are lined with old stone industrial era flats and old Medieval chateaus with bits of oxidized copper and sprawling moss reminiscing moldy gingerbread houses that’s been sitting at the back of nana’s cupboard since xmas 92. In the subway, dark brown sludge sits beneath the train tracks reminding commuters of the wet weather outside. The theme of brown continues onto the foundation on the faces of some of the lasses on Buchanan Street, this time with a shade of orange, not unlike members of the once popular Japanese Ganguro movement, only seven years too late. The town's favourite drink, buckfast, is a nasty caffeine infested goo that is also of a brown complexion - I was told that if you visit the Ned (ie. Chavs but they are a level worse and beat up people) area of Gorbals, you would often find smashed buckfast bottles and bloodstains on the ground. And I hear too, that a Scotsman named Brown recently became the new PM

oh,and this is the famous portion of brown haggis I ate on the afternoon I arrived - it was like a power ball - after I ate it I didn't feel hungry at all for 24 hours. Breakfast of a champion!!

The best thing about Glasgow is definitely the people. Maybe cold climates just breeds warm people. These folks are the friendliest I have ever met in Europe so far, its almost like back home where strangers would greet you with a smile on the street. I would simply be just looking on my map in the middle of the road and almost definitely some one would stop by and ask me if I needed help. The service in the pubs and shops are always fantastic and they would crack a joke on you the second you meet.

Priceless #45

Homemade packed lunch - 2.50 Euros
Metro ticket - 1 Euro
Spot on the park bench - free
Sponsors hat - free
Sponsors stickers - free
Sponsors drink bottle - free
'Been there done there got the t-shirt' T-shirt - 12 Euros
Front row seat to the Tour de France finale at the shores of the Seine - absolutely priceless

Still Lost in Paris

It feels a little contrived that I gave Nice a really bad review and am about to give Paris a completely flying one. Perhaps I am looking for something to compensate for my misfortunes and disappointments, or that France is just one of those places that can bowl you up and down with their unpredictable nature, depending on the weather, the time of the month, or who serves you coffee. Or it could be just how I honestly feel about the contrast of my experiences in the fast train track in the last short week.

Paris is blowing me away with a seductive charm and tantilising sensual pleasures I’ve experienced no where else before. Comparatively, Berlin has a very ground breaking masculine energy about it and an in-your-face assertiveness. Paris has a gentle flowing femininity, so sure of itself in its ease that it doesn’t need to try to be cool. It purely defines it. At the same time it doesn’t loose the quirky, cheeky and fun elements of French humour and wit. A sense of post-human abandonment seem to take over the way of life here. Form is in preference of function, decadence comes before economy, style before comfort, attitude before efficiency, raunch before sterility, boldness before minimising… There is simply nothing to conform to, and the result is a whole world of continuous creativity and bright busy compositions of pretty things and people.

As I walked downstairs from the apartment into the buzzing street with hundreds of odd characters passing by, I realized that what I’ve been doing wrong in the past 27 years is simply not being in Paris.

The Parisian Apartment

I am again simply a lucky girl. I am crashing with Kathryn and Braedon who has rented a small apartment here for a month. The spot is just perfect, right in the middle of the Marais neighbourhood. Its ten minutes walk across to the Island to Notre Dame, the Left Bank, and a couple of stations from Louvre and Champ Elysee. Its concentrated with cafes, bars, bakeries, quirky interior and fashion boutiques and small old gardens.

While also being the central queer area, you can sit in the neighbourhood sipping an espresso while watching the world and his boyfriend and their lap dog go by in the maddest edgiest fashion possible. Don’t under-estimate these little puppies, they are vicious. I witnessed one, no more than the size of a kitten terrorise two little girls by chasing them out of a gelato shop. The personal activities of the neighbours become some what of an ongoing radio theatre show too. You can hear triple orgasms ringing through the atrium. And contrary to my preconceptions of French people, the locals have been extremely friendly and helpful. Despite looking extremely scruffy in my backpackers gear, I don’t feel that I am particularly excluded or snobbed just cos I am a foreigner.

I absolutely love strolling around the fancy boutiques, bookshops and galleries in the Left Bank, pricy eateries in the Latin Quarter, and the dreamy parks around town where many gardenless city dwellers read and sunbathe. Just taking in the atmosphere and watching interesting scenarios unfold is fascinating and entertaining. For two evenings now I finish the day off by snuggling up to tourists and locals alike to book readings at the Shakespeare and Co. bookshop which holds nightly recitals by their up and coming writers about to publish. There is something I can’t explain about this place that is so captivating.

Let me eat cake (& snails)

It must be a deliberate attempt to insult Marie Antoinette that now Parisians are all cake connesoires. Here are just some of the sweet little gems displayed in the shop windows.

Other culinary exploits included the famous escargot - snails in pesto near St Michaels. I was actually slightly disappointed that it tasted a bit bland. Honestly I thought it was going to be DELICIOUS, but it was a bit "oh well". Never mind better luck next time. In general It was a great night out with Kathryn (fabulous translations, otherwise I would have got some cricket bats in gravy or something like that), Braedon, Jeremy & Anna (who came down from London for the weekend). We had a fab time hanging out in the line to the Eiffle Tower apart from having the beer confiscated...

Rollerblading Paris

I thank my random parents for getting me into crazy sports like spring-board diving and roller skating as a child. My sister, third cousin and I formed a family relay team and took bronze in a speed skating tournament in Taipei for the Happy Angels Roller Skating Club’s 86-87 season.

But that was before the age of rollerblades. Remember those skates with two wheels in front and two behind and you tie them to your shoes and can be expanded in case Dad wants to wear them too? Yep. Those were the days. I am now extremely envious the carefree Parisians on their quick blades whizzing about on the street cutting through traffic and tourists, and have decided to hire my own for a bit of a spin.

Just short of killing myself by plunging into traffic near Bastille, I made it to the beach (as in, temporary sand and traffic closure on the river front for two months) in one piece only having to take the blades off once.

As I was just getting the hang of it, some (hot) guy sitting at the side of the palage yelled out instructions at me like ‘straighten your legs’ and ‘don’t stick your butt out so much’ in an inheritantly bossy French way. He turned out to be the rollerblading coach of free lessons for beginners offered as part of the Paris Beach program. He invited me back to the next lesson for his beginners and I enjoyed an hour of rollerblade tips and hanging out with cute six year olds (they call me ‘madame’) doing loops of obstacle courses on the pavement. Yes it was amusing for all and I had a total blast.

Speaking of kiddies, the other thing I noticed about France is that its very child friendly. There seemed to be heaps of child friendly things going on here, like fun parks, holiday programs, toy shops, children’s music & theatre, not to mention Euro Disneyland just a stonethrow away.

Other touristy things I managed to get up to were:
- The Verseille palace and gardens – sensational, worth a side trip checking it out
- Montemare area – the heavenly Sacre Coeur church, Mouline Rouge club, and the Erotic Art Museum – amusing, particularly the ethnic sexology collection, but in general badly curated and just a kinky joint.
- Amelie’s Café – as in the one featured in the film. It was quaint and characterful like in the movie, and the famous toilet had some interesting quips on the back of the doors, but the service was the WORST I’ve encountered in Paris (France, for that matter) so far, and over-priced. But to the fair the coffee was pretty fantastic and the napkins and the sugar sachets did dance on the table just for me.

And finally caugh up with Johanna who was my flatmate last year ;-)

- this is us at the cafe downstairs

City of Lost Children (&Marbles): Images of Paris

Marseille Meets the Eye

Anna is a cool Italian woman my age that I met on the train from Nepoli to Rome. She works as a community radio announcer in Madrid and is fluent in four languages. She is a huge fan of Marseille, having lived there previously and recommended a list of things I should do in Marseille. I promised I'd report back on my progress.

Dear Anna

Thanks so much for the brilliant suggestions for stuff to do in Marseille, I had a fabulous time poking around and completely regret that I only had one day there.

The Chateau D’If was jus one of the most awesome and fulfilling things I’ve done so far on my trip. The Count of Monte Cristo (translated into Chinese) was one of the first ‘serious’ novels I attempted at Primary school, so taking the boat out and checking out the place has been a dream of mine for about twenty years. The boat ride itself was amazing, the brilliant views of the harbour as we pulled out of the thousands of fishing boats and yachts, the crisp ocean and rugged terrains of the mainland was magnificent and I’d recommend it for anyone even if they are not a Monte Cristo fan. Yep it did look spooky towering in that ocean even in bright day light, and I had not realized how close it was to Marseille. Mademoiselle Mercedes must have been gutted to find out that her loverboy Edmund had only been a stonethrow away from her all those years that she’d thought he’d employed a drastic method to get away from marrying her. And they must have also cleaned the place up and opened more ‘windows’ in the fort, because the place did not resemble for one moment the dark, wet, claustrophobic rat infested warren in Duma’s book, even though I’m sure he was very colourful or even exaggerative with his words. Its interesting in Europe that many former sites of trauma are often sterilized and monumented to distance visitors from being too close to the actual confrontations. These places are reinterpreted into spaces for leisure and entertainment, rather than a more vivid documentary of past events. As tourists we are there to be reminded of the traumas, but in actual fact sheltered by the passing of time and the removal of certain objects reminding us of human presence, as though it is important to know that the past is the past and we are ready to move on. True, practical, but also escapist. As if the struggles of yesteryear has been totally won, and every woman and man is free today and every where. The context of the space has changed from a place of suffering to a place of amusement. The experience becomes surreal, and at the end of the day, entertainment rather than like watching animals in a zoo rather than sympathise with the way in which they are incarcerated.

The weather in port today was gorgeous, not stinking hot and coupled with a gentle flowing air, just like a light duvet in an early morning siesta. Marseille resembled Copenhagen in a way, the grand buildings on either side and the yachts packed on the edges of the wharf. The cute old fishing boats were still there at the centre pier doing the rounds for morning fish market when I arrived. Since we were discussing politics the other day, you might also be interested in the overfishing problem in the Mediterranean. I think by far the hardest social issue here is balancing local and traditional livelihoods with the ever increasing global demand for more (sea)food and the globalizations of environmental exploitation. How will the environment ever cope with this continuous onslaught for more and more and more?

Many people have told me that Marseille is very crusty and dangerous (‘full of Africans’ was one descriptions) , but quite the contrary I thought it was very attractive and clean, especially compared to Napoli. The only thing near ‘crust’ I bumped into were the faeces coloured abandoned 60s era small factories on the rim of the Panier (old town). I thought the rest of the centre and the port looked very scrubbed up.

I loved the Cour Ju area, it was just fascinating looking at the eclectic collection of food and bits and bobs you can get from different ethic shops and stalls. The sites and sounds reminded me very much of Morocco’s huge souqs. Because of the bold way that immigrants of all kinds have lived their lives here in Marseille for thousands of years, I find the streets just that tad more colourful and exciting.
I don’t understand why people automatically brand anywhere with African or Middle Eastern immigrants ‘rough’. (I mean, just look inside some middle class suburbs anywhere in the world and people would be amused to see the violence that are not spoken about). Its not only a huge generalization but it ignores the cultural blending so beneficial to any society’s further development. The things that are keeping many immigrants poor is prejudice, alienation, discrimination in things like education and employment that continues a cyclical pattern of unemployment, and drug and alcohol abuse as a direct result from the hardship they face. Its not just France or Italy, its everywhere. Its time people put away those ridiculous walls between themselves and others that they aren’t familiar with or get on with, rather than just the fear of ‘the other’.

Now the crazy Pastis Ricardo drink you said I simply must try… I made the mistake of getting into it too early in the afternoon, it definitely is a night drink. You were trying to murder me weren’t you? The waiter handed it to me and urged me to blend it down with water, and even after that it felt like meths evaporating on my tongue. The flavour was very very spicy, if not exhilarating. Aniseed is definitely one of those acquired tastes I just don’t see myself acquiring… So for the first time in my life I’ve actually left a fresh serving of alcohol unfinished. The Frenchies must have thought I was a total wimp!! Later I found out that Pastis is actually a later version of absinth. Great.

Marseille just oozed culture and history, its amazing to know that it was in fact the first ever settled French village back in 600 AD, and the maritime and military history its had over the years just made it so much more fascinating as a place to visit. It is to me the first French enigma I knew as an outsider. I really wished I had more time hanging out in Marseille, especially when you mentioned how wonderful the night life is like here particularly in the summer. Oh well, there’s so much I still want to do both in France and Italy so looks like I’ll have to pencil it in for the next trip (touch wood).

I hope you are having lots of fun in Madrid and hopefully we’ll catch up in person very very soon.

xx WaWa



--> If someone had a shop like this in NZ they'd be dragged out and shot. Well, only if we actually had guns...