Friday, 24 July 2015

Mescaleros


* Originally published on Saturday, January 19, 2002 *

July 1979 – July 1981. Two years of hell in the South African Infantry, thanks to PW Botha. National Service they called it....hmmm....I spent my time trying to undermine the system, spending about a year in the Namibian "operational area". My diaries from that era are not easy reading, but provide an insight into how I coped. If you think that at that time I was reading books like the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, "Contact", "Space", "Wuthering Heights" and "The 1001 Nights of Jean Macaque", it's obvious how desperately I was trying to escape.

What I do know is that music was a big part of my coping mechanism. It helped me to escape the reality of where I was and what was going on around me. In those days before the Walkman, I had to beg and borrow portable tape recorders from my more affluent fellow-conscripts, and slink off into dark corners to listen to stuff on my own. No one appreciated my taste in music. After all, I was just a "Fokken Kommunis" and a "Kafferboetie" who listened to "Kaffermusiek".

Some of those memorable artists and groups were Frank Zappa, David Bowie, Marley and Tosh, The Selecter, The Specials, The Jam, Elvis Costello, Joe Jackson, Madness, Blondie, The Sex Pistols, Ian Dury & The Blockheads, The Pretenders and two new bands called Echo & the Bunnymen and U2. One of them that really stood out there was The Clash. Waaaahh! I was absolutely absorbed in their mélange of reggae, rockabilly punk, funk, and even disco. During my last stint on the "Grens" I became one with what I believe was their masterpiece – "Sandiniasta!".

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I now own 4 copies of "Sandiniasta!" – two on CD and two on vinyl (one of the latter never opened as I wanted to preserve it in pristine condition). For 36 tracks on 3 LP’s the band tackled everything in sight, including waltz, gospel, disco, children's ditties, pop, funk, reggae, dub, punk, delicate instrumentals, psychedelic explorations and rock. It blew me away and the lyrics...!! The lyrics!!! The lyrics!!!!

Is the music of grove skin rock
Soaked in the diesel of war boys war?
Blood, black gold and the face of a judge
Is the music calling for a river of blood?

Beat the drums tonight, Alphonso
Spread the news all over the grove
The big meeting has decided
That total war must burn on the grove

Does it mean I should take my machete
To chop my way through the path of life?
Does it mean I should run with the dog pack
Is that the way to be the one to survive?

(extract from "Corner Soul", Sandinista)

The "Sandiniasta!" track "The Call Up" (played in a funeral dirge) really struck a chord up at Mpacha in the Caprivi Strip towards the end of my two years:

Hup two, three, four...

It's up to you not to heed the call-up
'N' you must not act the way you were brought up
Who knows the reasons why you have grown up?
Who knows the plans or why they were drawn up?

It's up to you not to heed the call-up
I don't wanna die!
It's up to you not to heed the call-up
I don't wanna kill!

For he who will die
Is he who will kill

Maybe I wanna see the wheatfields
Over Kiev and down to the sea

All the young people down the ages
They gladly march off to die
Proud city fathers used to watch them
Tears in their eyes

There is a rose that I want to live for
Although, god knows, I may not have met her
There is a dance an' I should be with her
There is a town - unlike any other

It's up to you not to hear the call-up
'N' you must not act the way you were brought up
Who gives you work and why should you do it?
At fifty-five minutes past eleven
There is a rose...

Hup two, three, four...I love the marine corps..

Joe Strummer was a wordsmith of the highest calibre, and I can still repeat just about every word of every song.

The reign of the super powers must be over
So many armies can't free the earth
Soon the rock will roll over
Africa is choking on their Coca Cola

It's a one a way street in a one horse town
One way people starting to brag around
You can laugh, put them down
These one way people gonna blow us down

(extract from "Charlie Don't Surf", "Sandiniasta!")

For the last six months of my army days, and throug much of the seven years of my university career that followed, I carried a photocopy of the lyrics around with me. Sad but true! Actually, a few months ago back in South Africa I found my university work folder...and the lyrics were still there! It was a sad day for me when The Clash threw in the towel in the late 80’s.

Living in London in 1989-90, I was lucky enough to make it to a Joe Strummer concert with my mates Eduard and Mark Murray. Yeee-haa!!! He played a brace of old Clash songs and it was great to see the guru in action..."Earthquake Weather" was a good but undersold album. For me, Strummer then disappeared into obscurity for ten years...until 2000 when I caught him on Jools Holland’s TV show with his new group, The Mescaleros. The live set was OK, but didn’t really impress me at the time.

Fast-forward. Earlier this week I was killing time in the FNAC record store on the Champs Elysee in Paris. It was after midnight and I was aimlessly browsing...and then I heard it! The unmistakable voice, intonation and lyrics...yup...Joe Strummer was being piped through the store’s system, and it was new stuff that I did not know. It took me a while but I eventually found the CD: Joe Strummer & the Mescaleros: "Global A Go-Go". Last night I played it for the first time...and then played it at least five times more, pouring over the full lyric sheet (a-la The Clash). Wow!! What brilliant stuff! The eclectic mix of musical styles is outstanding and the lyrics are as masterful as ever, reflecting the same concerns that have always inspired Strummer’s music. I got to bed close on 04h00 this morning...with a broad smile on my face.

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Advice: get online, spend the US$ 13.99, get the album, settle down with a bottle of whisky and the lyric sheet...and enjoy!! One of the best albums I have listened to in years. Really.

Cheers, MAlfaRK © Saturday, January 19, 2002

P.S. No, I am not earning a commission from Hellcat Records!! ;-)

P.P.S. If you would like to read all of their lyrics, take a look at the excellent "The Clash Song Lyrics by Albums" page.

P.P.P.S. Tragically, Joe Strummer died of a heart attack on December 22, 2002, eleven months after this was written. I hope he got to read it...

Waar Is?


By Gerhard Elmar Schröder
Originally posted on Sunday, June 9, 2002


Ek staan hier hoog op 'n krans en staar uit oor...wat 'n oseaan behoort te wees. My voete staan op...wat 'n sagte groen mos moet wees. My gesig en hare is klam van...wat sagte druppels uit die wind moet wees.

Ek staan...

Liewe Heer waar was jy? Ek het wel gesien daar is bloed aan jou sy. Is ek, was ek of gaan ek? Ek kyk hier in die groot spieël wat die agterkant van my oog vir my hou. Ek sien lag, ek sien ek maak 'n verskil, ek sien...wat de fok sien ek? Ek doen dan dit wat U gesê het ek moet doen…gee.

Shakespear gooi roekeloos sy advies oor liefde: "Jy kan net dit gee wat jy het." Mooi William! Wat as jy so lank als gegee het en skielik is jy leeg! Wat maak jy as dit wat jy gee aan haar waaroor jou lewe gaan, boring is of as 'n depressie in koerantpapier toegedraai word of as manlike wellus verag word of sommer in sinus snot as laf beskryf word. Waar hy, wat vir haar die koning was, sy kleed moet gebruik om die vals saad van skaam eensaamheid van sy grot se vloer af moet afvee? Besef jy dat dit 'n leeg is wat iemand wat gemaklik is met alleen wees oor die vreemde terrein van eensaamheid terg?

Jy klop...en die lag binne hou net aan lag, niemand maak oop nie. Jy skraap die moed van die verworpe koning bymekaar...gryp die trompet wat jou donkertyd uitbassuin...niemand vra iets uit oor die fucked-up deuntjie nie.

Die trompet se liedjie het vae woorde...iets wat dit beskryf wat opgebottel het: Jy tas uit na dit wat heilig is, daardie simbole wat dit wat jy jou lewenstas mee gevul het, wat die NG man beskryf het as 'n eenheid...dit is "walglik" is die snyende opinie, jou hand word 1000 maal weggeklap. Die waslap van verwerping moet hierdie rituele walging wegvee. Die Bybel sê "draai die ander wang"...beteken dit dat dit op almal van toepassing is, selfs vir daai kus wat die eenheid moet verseël?

Die intelektueel verhewenes vee 'n kwas van opvoeding...vrouens ervaar seks meer emosioneel as mans. Ek verdoem hierdie vals profete met die groen brommers en wurms wat dit verdien. Ek is nie 'n vrou nie en dit is nie seks nie. Dit is die seël van die NG man se "eenheid". Hoe kan dit vir 'n uitgerekte agt jaar vassteek en eenvoudig op die yskas geplak word as nog 'n huistakie wat verrig moet word? Is die kinders se oppasser dan belangriker as die fluweel van verkoeling en genesing wat 'n naweek weg kan bring? Is die vroeg huistoe kom, geskenke, boodkappe, oorvluisters, skimpe, drukkies en luister dan alles verkeerd en kritiek?

Was U kruis ook oortrek met antibiotiese splinters en epileptiese drogbeelde? Het U ook nagte wakker gelê omdat dit wat U probeer sê het mense woedend laat wegstorm het?

Ek is stil. Waar de fok gaan ek nou? Waar het ek dan opgefok? Hoe moet ek dan gee, of mis ek die boodskap. Moses het sy boodskap teen die rotse stukkend geslaan. Waar's die rotse? Wat de fok is die boodskap? Wat moet ek stukkend slaan?


Cheers, MAlfaRK on behalf of Gerhard Elmar Schröder ©

Grumpy Old Man on the Music of the 70s


I'm a grumpy old man in my mid-50's and, like many of my friends, have a soft spot for the music of the 70's - my teenage years. We tend to romanticise the era and its music, waxing lyrical on the proto-metal groups (Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and Uriah Heep), the mould-breaking glam rockers (David Bowie, Marc Bolan & T-Rex, Kiss), some of the pompous Prog Rock acts (Focus, Pavlov's Dog, Rick Wakeman, Led Zeppelin), the punk ground-breakers who blew it all away at the end of the decade, in under 2 minutes 59 (The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Ramones, Ian Dury & the Blockheads) and the electronica that came of age in parallel to it all (Kraftwerk, Gary Numan, et. al).

Nice. All good and well. But - fucking hell - it wasn't all good music in the 70's. And being isolated in a pariah state at the arse end of Africa, under draconian international sanctions and with censored, state-controlled radio made it even worse. At the time, I hated the effing-70's. We had no TV, very little international exposure and on the radio, we didn't hear any of the bands I've mentioned above. The politically-approved dross (disguised as music) that we were fed, was abysmal and the only way that I heard about the music scene in the rest of the world was via the large antenna I constructed on the roof of my parent's home to pick up the feint "LM Radio" signal from Mozambique, and the UK music magazines that I encouraged my mother to buy for me, in lieu of a slice of my pocket money.

It was through these publications that I got a peek into what was happening beyond the borders of apartheid, and where I first read about metal, Bowie, Bolan, Slade, Kiss, punk, Marley, Tosh and reggae (although I had no idea how to pronounce the latter as I'd never heard anyone actually speaking the word)!

So just how bad was mainstream music in the 70's? I trip to my local charity shop a couple of weekends ago quickly reminded me of the crap that your average man in the street was listening to back then. For 99 pence I bought an original 1975 pressing of "16 Chart Hits - Volume 19"...purely because I saw that it included Kraftwerk's seminal track "Autobahn".

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So I got the album home and, while cleaning it up, noticed that the disk did not match the sleeve - instead I'd got "Volume 17" with only one vaguely redeeming track, namely BTO's "Rolling on Down the Highway". But surely there must have been at least a few more listenable tracks on the disk?

Dear friends - if you want to remind yourself just how bad Joe Public's music was in the 1970's, dig up one of these old albums. The music was formulaic, insipid, honey‐lipped, mealy‐mouthed crap! Sickening...and it flashed me back to those brown corduroy bell-bottoms that I hated so much! Urrgh - get out of there. Come to think of it, in an era where manufactured boy/girl groups dominate the airwaves, we've probably gone full circle. Utterly depressing, and I look forward to the next Sex Pistols / Nirvana to step up and kick the music industry in the bollocks :-)

Cheers, MAlfaRK ©


Sunday, 9 September 2012

Black Sabbath - Sun City, 1987


Black Sabbath @ Sun City, Bophuthatswana, August 1, 1987

Lineup:

In the 1980's, the UK-based Artists Against Apartheid (AAA) started to focus on the role played by those working in the entertainment industry in propping up apartheid. AAA pushed for the complete cultural isolation of South Africa, including Sun City in the "independent" apartheid homeland of Bophuthatswana. As a consequence, fewer musicians played Sun City in the latter half of the decade, and many of those who previously had done so pledged not to do so again, and thereby had their names removed from the UN black list (e.g. Elton John, Rod Stewart, Dolly Parton and Queen). Those that did perform at Sun City were heavily criticized, especially within the press.
 
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Black Sabbath were banned from a Dutch concert hall in Tilburg when the owner heard that they had played at Sun City in 1987. By 1989, the AAA had essentially ended the steady flow of musicians to South Africa. ("Popular Music Censorship in Africa", Michael Drewett & Martin Cloonan, 2006, p.27)

As politically incorrect as it may have been, I was 26, metal-starved and was at the Black Sabbath concert at Sun City. It was one that I wasn't prepared to miss, and I'm glad that I didn't. What a show...one of my best ever! There were a total of six gigs played in Sun City. Sabbath played on Saturday and Sunday, over the course of three weekends.

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The dates of these gigs were July 25/26, August 1/2 and August 8/9. These photos are from the gig on Saturday, August 1, 1987 and feature the friends who travelled there with me - Schalk Willem Vorster, Andre Carel Smith, his girlfriend of the month and Debra Childs.

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Cameras were strictly prohibited at Sun City (and all patrons were searched before entering the arena), but I managed to smuggle the body of my Pentax ME Super into the venue in my underpants! My girlfriend did the same with the 50mm camera lens. We managed to get right to the front of the stage, and I shot off a roll of 24 frames that magical night. A quarter of a century since the concert, these rare (and copyrighted) images are seeing the light of day for the first time.

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Typical 1987 Set List:

01. Neon Knights
02. Children of the Sea
03. War Pigs
04. Die Young
05. Drum Solo
06. Iron Man
07. Born to Lose
08. Guitar Solo
09. Black Sabbath
10. Glory Ride
11. Heaven & Hell
12. Children of the Grave
13. The Shining
14. Paranoid

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See my full set of photos of Sabbath at Sun City HERE

Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Tenerife 2011

DAY 1: 2011-09-02

So, the "chill-out and de-stress" week in Tenerife started well. I got to bed at 02h00 on Friday morning and rose two hours later for the taxi ride to Luton. The Monarch flight was half full, so we had space to stretch out and sleep.

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The view from the port side of the aircraft on our approach to landing was excellent. At 3,718m (12,195ft) the Pico del Teide is the highest mountain in Spain. Its peak was formed a million years ago inside the crater of a collapsed volcano, the Circo de Canades.

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The final approach to Aeropuerto Tenerife Sur provided a bird's eye view of some stark volcanic vistas, from pyroclastic rock through to this wonderfully austere pumice field.

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At Tenerife airport, it was above 30°C and uncomfortably stifling. We had a rental car reserved with a company called Avia (arranged by our time share people), and could not find them anywhere. The Information desk said that they would be in the arrivals area with a board. So we waited and wondered around looking for them for 90 minutes. Frustrated, I got onto the phone to the UK and was referred to a number in Spain. We eventually tracked down the car in an obscure "meeting point" about three-quarters of a kilometer away. It was then that we realised that we'd lost Debra's brand new Blackberry in the chaos of luggage, trollies, sweat and fatigue.

The car was a Ford Ka, and there was no way that we were going to be able to fit in it with all our luggage. So the guy told me to come with him, and we drove to a secluded gravel patch where he parked his cars, about 5 kilometres away. He literally operated his business from a boot of a car as that's where he kept the keys, documentation and all associated car rental paraphernalia. He gave me a new Renault Clio - bigger, clean, but with an empty tank. It was now over two hours since we had landed and I drove back to the airport, picked up Debs, Karl and luggage, and headed out towards Club La Costa - Paradise. Less than a kilometre later, we spotted a Texaco filling station and pulled over to fill up. The petrol jockey filled the tank - 39 lites at EUR 40.00. The stench of unleaded was overwhelming, and the petrol attendant dropped to the ground and then sprung to his feet, wide-eyed. There was a major leak under the car, and we watched helplessly as 39 litres of fuel gushed from a ruptured fuel line onto the concrete. Jockey tried to get a bucket under the car to catch the juice, but to no avail; it was too tall.

Half a dozen phone calls later (with the petrol attendant explaining the situation in Spanish, as the people I was speaking with had no idea what I was talking about), the car rental man was back, with one of his mates. All of us drove back to the gravel patch, and from the boot of his office, the rental man produced another set of keys, this time for a Seat of some sort or anther. Unfortunately it only had half a tank of juice, but I'd had enough, and wasn't going to make an issue. We loaded up our crap and, three hours after we had landed, finally hit the road for our resort in Los Cristianos on the south coast.

I couldn't find my sat nav, so we navigated old-school with map and directions. We missed one turn-off, but found the place without too much difficulty. At Club La Costa - Paradise, our apartment was not ready. Hoo-boy! Sensing our frustration they found an alternative unit for us. We drove around the back of the resort, eventually found the place and schlepped all our luggage indoors. No air-conditioning. Just ceiling fans. Ouch. Debs had to join a conference call with work colleagues in the US, but she'd lost her Blackberry with all the details. SO I set up an Android tether, connected my Acer netbook to the internet, and she was able to email her colleagues and get the dial-in numbers. We then rigged up my Palm Treo (with headset) in the bathroom, and Debs did her call. That was followed by a handful of calls to the UK to cancel Debs' SIM card and to bar her Blackberry. Finally, time to relax, four and a half hours after landing in Tenerife.

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All Karl wanted to do was swim, So we dragged ourselves down to one of the pools, caught some rays, and turned into raisins and prunes. We couldn't face cooking in our apartment and so so walked into the resort, finding a place called Janice's. Thus far and no further. Incredible - the place was geared to Pom package tourists, and there wasn't a single Spanish dish on the menu. Options included fish & chips with mushy peas, Steak & kidney pie with gravy and other British "delicacies". Charming. Debs had felt sick since the airport, and I felt like shit after the meal. Nevertheless, the litre of sangria went down well and we got back to our apartment, shattered. Soon thereafter Karl kicked his beach ball off of the balcony, and it disappeared into another unit below us in the terraced complex. I went knocking on doors, met some really unfriendly Russians, and gave up my quest to recover the ball.

Debs and Karl went to sleep, and I vegetated in front of the TV, watching a BBC documentary on the role of the Cabinet Office...the highlight of my first day on a sunny Spanish island, off the west coast of Africa. I succumbed to a severe case of sleep at midnight. Long day. Are we having fun yet?

DAY 2: 2011-09-03

We all slept in late and, after a light breakfast, made our way to the main pool complex where Karl spent most of the day in the pool. I found a nice patch of shade, downloaded my photos to my Acer Aspire One netbook and wrote up our experiences of the day before. I also arranges to do two scuba dives on Monday. The first would be a deep dive and the second a dive with turtles. Debs and Karl are going to snorkel with me on the second. Debs attended the Club La Costa briefing session, and won an excursion on the "Submarine Safari". So I guess I know what's on the cards later this week.

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We all took a 90 minute siesta in the afternoon - Debs and Karl catching up on sleep, and me saving photos to my computer, and uploading to Flickr. In the late afternoon we got into the car and drove east on the Autopista Del Sur (TF1) to the town of Candelaria, 45 kilometres away. Its fifty year old basilica dominates the settlement.

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Lining the sea side of the square alongside the basilica are statues of the seven Guanche "menceys", or chiefs, who were in power at the time of the Lugo conquest. Hmmm...poor guys...they didn't have too much to be thankful for when Christianity arrived!

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On the pedestrian street off of basilica square (Calle Obispo Pérez Cáceres), Debs and I drew some cash, Karl and I bought a couple of pocket knives, we squashed a 5c coin into a medallion and I took a few shots of my boy standing at the mural of the Black Madonna that decorated a wall by a vacant lot.

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Back on the square we also found a great little tapas bar, overlooking the sea and the basilica. The local Dorada beer was wonderful, and the selection of tapas dishes that we ordered were most satisfying. Spanish omelet, shrimp, olives, bread, jamon and octopus. Lovely...and Karl flattened a pile of shrimp almost single handedly. A fine meal that I followed with coffee. The bill came to EUR 38.00.

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Before we left Candelaria, we bought three ice creams in cones, and sat on a bench in the square, people watching. We drove back to Los Cristianos, arrived at about 21h30 and grabbed a litre of sangria at the pool side. Back in apartment F802 Debs crashed, and Karl and I watched a B-movie on TV. The six year old got to sleep at about 23h30 and I followed a couple of hours later. Not a bad day, I must say! It's slowly starting to feel like a holiday.

DAY 3: 2011-09-04

The day began at 10h00, on a sour note. Being trial members of Club La Costa, we were obliged to attend a marketing meeting with a sales representative and one of his trainees. He picked us up and drove us to another La Costa resort where we had breakfast, made small talk and we required to view one of their cookie cutter units. We then caught the bus back to their sales office, just off of Club La Costa - Paradise. That's when the "hard sell" began. And we weren't buying! Repetition after painstaking repetition. The superficial attempts to put words in your mouth and get agreement. The leading questions to get you to say what they want you to say. The attacking, regrouping and attacking. The bringing in of more senior associates to sweet-talk the client. Hawk and dove tactics. Whenever I said anything a little controversial, Debs gave me a kick in the shins. But eventually at 13h30, after three and a half hours of torture, she could take it no more and exploded like I've never seen before. She went ballistic with the Scottish sales rep, challenging him to cut to the chase, to tell us the deal they were offering, or we were out of there. The man retreated, conferred with his superiors, came back, sprouted weasel-words and couldn't give us the bottom line, so we called time, told them we clearly made a mistake with our trial membership, and left the sales suite. It was a wonderfully satisfying conclusion to the part of the holiday I was not looking forward to. The walk back to Paradise was a sweet one :-)

The rest of the day was an absolute pleasure, and we experienced a little of what we'd hoped to see in Tenerife. We got into the Seat and drove north-west from Los Cristianos on TF-82 and took a lollipop shaped drive that took in the following places: El Retamal, Santiago del Teide...

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A great view of Mount Teide, the third highest volcano in the world...

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Playa San Marcos at Icod de los Vinos (where we had tapas and beer, and Karl took a dip in the sea)...

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Garachico...

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The Barranco de Masca, a beautiful deep canyon on the road between Garachico and Santiago del Teide...

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Masca and back to Santiago del Teide before the drive back to Los Cristianos...

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The volcanic landscapes and mountain passes were out of this world and I was really envious of all the motorcyclist out there enjoying an exhilarating Sunday ride. Some of the roads - especially the twisty (and newly resurfaced) downhill from Santiago del Teide to San Marcos - were prime Ferrari territory, and I wished I'd had my car here.

The afternoon was good for another reason. I love vintage film cameras, but have not been able to make the time to shoot any of my medium format cameras for a number of years now. But I lugged two of them down to Ternerife on Friday - one of my huge Pentacon Six TL's and my Fujifilm GA645Zi. Today I loaded them up and although a bit rusty, soon got back into the swing of things and shot off three twelve exposure 120 roll-films through the course of the afternoon. It was wonderful to be back in the saddle, to once again experience the thrill and alchemy of tactile, analogue photography. I had a grin from ear to ear! OK - so I was shooting old film-stock that's years beyond its "use by" date, but I had to get rid of the stuff that's been clogging up my fridge at home for the past decade! Let's see how they turn out. Not sure where I'm going to have them developed and scanned...maybe I'll take the films back to South Africa in December and get them done at the Q-Photo Pro-Lab in Pretoria.

Back at La Costa Paradise (at about 20h30), Karl took a swim in the main pool while mommy and daddy slaughtered a liter of fresh Sangria before returning to our apartment with a take-away spaghetti bolognese. Just enough time to download photos and write up the days events before retiring at about 01h00. Big day tomorrow - two scuba dives and snorkeling with Karl and Debs...hopefully seeing turtles.

DAY 4: 2011-09-05

This morning I rose at 07h15, got my act together and was waiting at the reception at 08h20. The dive dudes picked me up and we went down to the Travel Sub scuba diving centre at Puerto Colon. I rented full kit, arranged insurance and was ready for my two dive excursion. My dive partner was a guy by the name of Mark Chandler from Baldock, Hertfordshire, just up the road from St. Albans. Small world. We loaded ourselves and all the scuba gear onto the large, grey Zodiac and took the 20 minute ride to the Playa Paraiso (Paradise Beach) site where we laid anchor. We were soon overboard and and spent the next half an hour enjoying the crystal clear water off of Tenerife.

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The volcanic features continue below the waves and I enjoyed floating through the overhangs, crags and clefts in the lava.

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Very beautiful and very relaxing.

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We maxed out at 24.1 metres, saw soft corals and an array of small reef fish, and had a bottom time of 30 minutes (at the end of which I still had 100 bars of air left in my 12 litre cylinder.

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We got back to Puerto Colon just after 11h00, and at 12h00 I was joined by Debs and Karl who were going to be snorkeling with me in the afternoon.

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The second dive was also about 20 minutes away (at a site called El Puertito) but much closer to shore. After we'd dropped anchor, the scuba divers rolled-off and were followed by Karl and Debs in their snorkel gear. Bottom time was 45 minutes and 16 seconds, the maximum depth was 9 metres, and the visibility was outstanding. Mark Chandler and I spotted two cuttlefish that were either mating or fighting, but it was fascinating nevertheless. I also got to see my first spider crab ever; a pretty but very delicate creature. Highlight of the day was a close encounter with two Green Turtles that lasted at least 20 minutes.

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They clearly knew the dive master, who fed them tidbits of fresh fish, and were all over us. It was my first up close and personal experience with turtles in a quarter of century of diving, and I lapped it up. Our dive leader shot some great digital pictures and a video clip of the whole experience, and they are now proud additions to my photo collection. Debs and Karl also saw the turtles, and the boy seemed to enjoy his first deep water experience. The high speed boat ride was also right up Karl's alley, and his face said it all.

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It was 15h30 by the time we got back to the La Costa - Paradise, and it was as hot as hell! We made our way down to the main pool, grabbed a salad and an ice cold beer, and watched Karl playing with his new friends in the pool. The beer was followed by a large jug of Sangria, and I felt a deep fatigue setting in! Nevertheless, we needed to eat and I could not face the slop the restaurants at Club La Costa served. So we went back to room F802, had a shower and drove down to Puerto Colon here we'd seen a string of restaurants en route to the dive centre earlier in the day.

What a disappointment - every one if these places was geared to "Brits Abroad". Sleazy, grimy, nasty places, frequented by the great unwashed (and tattooed, pierced, lobster-tanned and shaven-headed) serving unacceptably poor food and drink at astronomical prices. But Karl had already fallen asleep in the car on the short drive from our apartment, and so we closed our eyes, chose a place, and grinned and bared it. I can list on one hand the best meals I've had in my life, and can safely say that this was one of the very, very worst. How can you possibly screw up seafood if your restaurant is right on the sea? Not only was the food total crap, but the coffee immediately flashed me back to that "blue stone" chicory toxic brew they served us in the South African Defence Force in the 1970's! Really - it tasted just like military issue, and was that bad. A very sad end to a fairly good day.

Footnote: the late Freddy Mercury of Queen would have been 65 years old today.

DAY 5: 2011-09-06

A very good day. At about 09h00 we drove to El Teide, the highest mountain in Spain (3,718 metres). The road from the coast rises rapidly and then flattens our on a barren plain at about 2,200 metres above sea level. El Teide itself rises from a great hollow in the centre of the island - a caldera that is the remnants of an earlier, much larger volcano of around 4,800 metres. The rocks in the the Parque Nacional de las Canadas del Teide are varied in texture and colour as they come from a series of eruptions at different times. Some lava and ash cooled quickly into jagged formations, while others cooled slowly into smoother, more liquid shapes. Suffice it to say it's a hot, challenging and ruggedly beautiful place to visit. Interestingly enough, El Teide is considered by experts to be still active!

Today I lugged a ton of photographic equipment up the Teleferico (cable car) at El Teide. I had my Pentax SLR, my Casio point-and-shoot, a Sony point-and-shoot, a Kodak HD video camera, my Fujifilm 645 medium format camera, a Pentacon 6x6 medium format camera (and three lenses), a Minolta spot meter and two camera phones!

CIMG6031e

Visitors alight from the cable car at 3,555 metres above sea level, and with three camera bags, blazing sun, razor-sharp volcanic rock and little oxygen, the going was tough! Sadly, in the scramble to get the Pentacon out of its bag, I hooked open the latch for the camera back, and exposed a film or beautiful B&W portraits that I'd taken of Karl earlier in the day. Such is the frustration and loss that sometimes accompanies the magic of film photography. I had to load the camera in the unforgiving sun at about 3,600 metres! Let's see if that one comes out OK! There's just no place to hide in a high altitude desert.

At the top of El Teide we were about 2,000 metres above the clouds, and it was a wonderful opportunity to tech Karl about geography and climate. Also, with all the gear I was carrying, he became my photographic assistant for the day, and did a fine job. I also gave him the Casio, and he took some excellent photographs through the course of the afternoon. Debra did not cope that well with the altitude, and felt nauseous. So she took it easy while Karl and I gallivanted around :-) When he said to me "Daddy, my heart's beating faster", I also jumped on the opportunity to discuss with him the impact of altitude on the body. Yes, a fine day's learning, and the lad slept deeply when we finally got home after dinner.

Following last night's food fiasco, tonight we drove to the coastal settlement of La Caleta where we enjoyed wonderful seafood at the Masia Del Mar (at C/El Muelle No. 3). The Jarra Damm beer was cold and delicious, and hit the spot. Debs and I shared a Paella Marinera that ticked all the boxes, and Karl had the most expensive dish of the night, four langostinos (king prawns). The location - right on the sea - was perfect, the fish tanks kept Karl occupied, the local house wine was more than palatable, and the ambiance was just right. Good dining at last, a hundred Euros well spent, and the cherry on top of a fine day. But, holy Darwin, the sun chewed me up at the top of that volcano! Sleep...with pain killers!

DAY 6: 2011-09-07

First thing in the morning, Karl and I went for a swim in the big pool. The kid really enjoys being in the water and would probably spend the whole day in the pool if we did not drag him away! At about 10h30 we caught the bus to Submarine Safaris at San Miguel. We joined expedition number 4914 on "Sub Fun Cinco", cruising around the waters off of San Miguel at 27 metres. An accompanying scuba diver attracted giant manta rays to the sub, and Karl went into overdrive with excitement! We also saw a relatively rare trumpet fish, and an assortment of reef fish. Costly but great for Karl. Interestingly, the submarine was built in Finland and is registered in Belgium. It is licensed to take passengers down to a whopping 60 metres and without passengers is licensed to dive to 100 metres. So it's not a toy.

In the afternoon we returned to Parque Nacional de las Canadas Del Teide, but this time approached on the C-823 from Los Gigantes (where we failed to spot any whales). This was actually a much more interesting (and quieter) route than the C-821 we took through Barranco del Infierno the day before. The lava flows were astonishing in their scale and brutality and, in parts, the harsh terrain had an unworldly look and feel. This would be a perfect place to test remote vehicles for Martian landings. I shot off one 120 roll-film today and a fair amount of digital at Chinyero (where I collected rock samples), Samara and Las Narices del Teide. Good stuff.

On the road back to Los Cristianos, Karl whipped our butts playing "I spy with my little eye...", and we had a good laugh driving from 2,200 metres back down to sea level. Debra and I celebrated a big anniversary today. Twenty-eight years ago, we went on our first date in Pretoria. We celebrated with king prawns and Cava in our apartment - a fine family evening.

DAY 7: 2011-09-08

Our last full day in Tenerife and Debra and Karl went to Aqualand, Costa Adeje. They were there from 10h00 through 16h00 and , from the photos they came back with, seem to have had a great time. Dolphins, parrots and water-slides - what more could a six year old ask for!

I used the quiet time to do some writing, start packing and to write four postcards to Karl and one to my mom. I also received a call from one of Debs' colleagues saying that we had to get a Police Report from the local police to cover her lost Blackberry. I called the Tourist Police in Madrid, and made a full statement on my wife's behalf, and that was that. All we had to do was go down to our local Police Station, sign the statement and that would be that. Ha! We found the place quite easily, and then had to wait two hours to get the damn document. I had loaded up the Pentacon with Ilford HP5, hoping to catch the soft evening light...and then watched hopelessly as it faded away :-(

Nevertheless, we raced down to Los Abrigos to see the Montana Roja, a volcanic lump that punctuates the bleak acres of arid coast by the airport. It also sports the longest beach in Tenerife, stretching several kilometres around the rock. The light was crap, but the film was loaded, and I shot of 12 shots on the beach. QED.

Next stop was the port of Loss Abrigos where seafood restaurants lined the lane leading down to the water. We found an intimate little place, and enjoyed the last seafood of our trip - sole for Debra, sea bream for me and grilled fish for Karl. We made good time back to Los Cristianos and, back in our unit, Karl crashed almost immediately. Debs and I packed our bags before she retired, and I kicked back and watched some TV. Back to a cold UK tomorrow...

DAY 8: 2011-09-09

Time to go home. We made breakfast, watched the start of the first game of the Rugby World Cup from New Zealand, showered, packed up and vacated F802 by 10h30. We checked out and drove to the Tenerife Sul airport, dropping the car at the spot where we collected it. Check-in at the Monarch desk was seamless, and we sailed through Passport Control without a problem. Although we boarded a little late and were all seated in adjacent rows, the flight was fine and we landed at about 16h20. Our three suitcases were the first out on the conveyor belt, and Mohammed's son was there ten minutes later to whisk us home in his new Benz people carrier. Unpack, cook, relax. Caught the fist episode of season two of Dr. Alice Roberts' "Digging for Britain" - wonderful viewing. It was an OK holiday, but it was great to be back home.

Cheers, MAlfaRK ©


Friday, 26 August 2011

... Give ‘em Air ...


The smokin’ boys
With the chokin’ fish
Give them air
FUCKHEADS
Give them air!

Foot-pump lyin’
Animals dyin’
Give them air
FUCKHEADS
Give them air!!

Wide-eyed torture
Pavement slaughter
Give them air
FUCKHEADS
Give them air!!!

Severing thud
Pavement blood
Give them air
FUCKHEADS
Give them air!!!!

...... But, there’s more than one way to kill a karp ......

Ancient tradition
From the bath to the kitchen
Give them air
FUCKHEADS
Give them air!!!!!

The season’s pet
To eat while wet
Give them air
FUCKHEADS
Give them air !!!!!!

Christmas’ habitual
Murder ritual
Give them air
FUCKHEADS
Give them air!!!!!!!

A Czech deviation
Horrified frustration
Fuck those
AIRHEADS
Fuck them!!!!!!!!

...... I just don’t get it ......

I love the Czech Republic, and Christmas in Prague is something everyone should experience. But it’s not all pretty spires, medieval alleys, snow and mulled wine on the Old Town Square. There’s a Festive Season tradition that’s unique to the region and that never failed to transfix me for the eight years that we lived there. And it has to do with fish!

Raising carp has a long history in the Czech lands. The first written accounts of fish pond construction date back to the 11th century, when monasteries maintained the ponds for raising carp, which was an important food for Lent. These days it’s big business at Christmas time, and the practice is as follow:

  1. Families buy live carp from a street vendor a few days before Christmas. Then there are a couple of options…
  2. Either the new pet is kept in the family bathtub till Christmas Eve, at which time it is slaughtered…
  3. Or the street vendor provides the service for you. This is becoming increasingly popular and the gruesome process takes place on the sidewalk, in full public view. The gutters run red with thick, red carp blood.
  4. The bottom line - Christmas Eve dinner of fried carp, potato salad and fish soup.

I desensitized over the years, and got used to the sight, sound and smell of this process, but it shocked me in December 1995 when I’d only been in the country for two and a half months. I remember watching punters selecting their fish before the hapless creatures were weighed, stunned with a wooden club or mallet and killed with a sharp blade to the spinal cord, before being gutted and handed over to the Christmas shopper in a recycled plastic bag. Sure, that was brutal but, as a carnivore I think outrage is somewhat hypocritical as it’s essentially the same process for all the meat we eat. In most countries we just don’t get to see it on street corners.

What did piss me off was watching the fish in their tubs on the sidewalk, starved of oxygen, frantically gasping and slowly drowning in the hypoxic water. Yes, the majority of vendors had foot-pumps to bubble some air through the water but, as things got busy and the blood and intestines were flying, pumping air to hypoxic fish was forgotten. Hence my appeal “Give ‘em air, fuckheads”!

I had just bought my first digital camera back in the autumn of 2000, and memory cards were small and expensive (8mb – 32mb). Consequently, the three video clips below are short, but will give you a sense of the annual carp slaughter.







Penned (during the deep freeze of the coldest winter in 75 years) between December 20, 1995 and January 5, 1996 at Janovského 36/919, 170 00 Praha 7 - Holešovice, Czech Republic.


Cheers, MAlfaRK ©

Saturday, 4 June 2011

LM in Pretoria


Back in the 70's and 80's, Mr Costa Velonis owned the best Portuguese style seafood restaurant in Pretoria, South Africa.

1987-05-02 Toureiro - LM in Pretoria - Menu 1-4 by anjin-san

It was called "Toureiro - LM in Pretoria", a reference to the former Portuguese colony of Mocambique and its capital, Lourenço Marques (now named Maputo).

1987-05-02 Toureiro - LM in Pretoria - Menu 2-4 by anjin-san

It was world famous north of the Boerewors Curtain, and renowned for its amazing Piri-Piri Chicken Livers (with Portuguese bread) and its prawns.

1987-05-02 Toureiro - LM in Pretoria - Menu 3-4 by anjin-san

In all the years I went there, I think that's all I ate, other than a Portuguese Salad and excessive amounts of alcohol (including litres of Graça, the best-selling white corked wine in South Africa, constantly selling more than 2 million litres per annum).

1987-05-02 Toureiro - LM in Pretoria - Menu 4-4 by anjin-san

Toureiro was at 314 Church Street West in Pretoria West and, over the decades, that part of town deteriorated, succumbed to urban decay and was not the kind of place you'd really want to go drinking late at night! Nevertheless, as students at the University of Pretoria between 1982 and 1988, it served us well as one of the best value for money seafood meals you could find, and the drinks were comparatively cheap. So a group of us went there regularly and indulged in copious consumption. Drink drive enforcement in South Africa was a joke in those days!

1987-05-02 Toureiro - LM in Pretoria - Bill 1+2 by anjin-san

This particular group of five mates and their partners dubbed themselves "HPLK", an acronym that will remain undefined, to protect innocent people involved ;-) It was May 2, 1987 and most of us were working and in the second year of our Masters of Commerce degrees. On this particular evening, one of our ranks had declared "LM in Pretoria" as being too dangerous and/or below his status, and decided not to join us. The other four couples had a great time, racking up a monstrous bill of ZAR213.64. At the exchange rates of the day, that was approximately £37.67 or $58.62 or €44.99 for eight people, wining and dining. But considering that my gross salary at the time was about ZAR450.00 (£79.31 or $123.48 or €94.76), my slice of the tab cost me 12% of my salary!

1987-05-02 Toureiro - LM in Pretoria - Napkin - ec

As cash was scarce, we each paid our share, and made the calculations on the back of a paper napkin, that we duly signed and dated. A nice little memento of our life in LaLa Land, living under the Apartheid regime's State of Emergency. I finished my Masters degree in 1988, graduated in 1989 and left the country later that year. But the good friends remain...as does the Toureiro. Costa Velonis's son, Anthony, has reincarnated it in the leafy surroundings of Pretoria East, spitting distance from we all used to (or in some cases, still) live. It's now called "LM in the East" and still does killer chicken livers and prawns. Although the portions are half what they used to be, and prices are up by almost a factor of ten, I still eat there at least once every trip I make to South Africa. It remains a tangible and sensual link to a time long, long ago when lifelong friendships were forged.

Thank You 11

Also see my folder on Flickr.

Sunday, 19 September 2010

I Ate At McDonald's


Putrid bile, vile heartburn shit.
Oily, greasy tasteless crap.
Insipid, limp-wristed rain-forest destroying cow-pat.
Artery clogging, cholesterol saturated cud.
Cloying, soul destroying, denatured cardboard indigestion.
Silicon coated, Teflon tainted American plastic.
Have a nice day.
Vomit warmed up, spewing forth, choking unable to breathe.
Sandblasted, sanitised French Fries from hell.
Dizzy spells, packaged smell, feel unwell, puke.
Why the fuck did I go back to Mc Donald's?



I wrote this piece at the height of a bitterly cold winter in the Czech Republic. My company did not have company (or pool) cars back then, and I could not afford one, so I had caught a lift (in a Škoda 120) to Brno where I spent the day working at a campus recruiting event. I had only been in the Czech Republic for two months at that stage and the only way for me to get back to Prague was to brave the deep snow in a frozen bus from Brno to Prague. I was a 210km trip back home, it was the worst winter in 75 years, I was feeling pretty miserable and was hungry.

I believe the coach dropped me at the bus terminal at Praha hlavní nádraží (the main railway station) and from there I made my way down Václavské náměstí (Wenceslas Square) where I was going to catch a tram back to my apartment in Prague 7, Holešovice. At the time McDonald's did not have any restaurants in South Africa (where I had relocated from) and I had only tasted my first Big Mac about a month earlier...and it had been a far from pleasant experience. Nevertheless, it was dark, the snow was deep, I was frozen and there was probably very little to eat in my apartment, so I took the convenient way out, and returned to McDonald's for my second attempt at a Big Mac. On the tram home, I scrawled my less than complimentary assessment of the meal on the back of a graduate interview form.

Penned at breakneck speed on December 8, 1995 (in the freezing cold) on Tram 14 to Náměstí Republiky (Republic Square), Prague, Czech Republic.

Cheers, MAlfaRK ©

Saturday, 18 September 2010

Rolling for PW


On Thursday, August 28, 1980 (while nursing a blend of conjunctivitis and flu) I had a major motor accident. At the time I was a conscript serving with the 7th SA Infantry Battalion, had returned from Ondangwa in the South West African "Operational Area" on June 28, and was posted to 7 SAI's base camp in Phalaborwa before returning to "The Border". A very pleasant chap by the name of Johann Grove had just returned to Namibia, and asked me whether I would drive his car home to Johannesburg for him. I agreed and was joined by Ingo Eggers and Jan Viljoen who shared the fuel costs with me. On that fateful Thursday we left Phalaborwa, heading for Pretoria, and my diary picks up the story on the R101:

Pass. On a detour road between Nylstroom and Warmbaths I got blinded by a truck's headlights, misjudged a right-hand corner, drifed, corrected, drifted across the road, hit an irrigation ditch and rolled the Mazda 323, 1300cc four times. Landed on the roof. Three of us OK. Car a total write-off. Lucky to be alive. Hiked home (accident at 06:10 pm).

Panorama-01e-noise

Incredibly, we hitchhiked back to Pretoria in full military "step out" uniform, covered from head to toe in petrol, squashed banannas, mashed avocado pears, lager beer and red Transvaal dust. My neck has never been the same since, and I apologise to Ingo and Jan if they have had any long term side effects. Sadly for me, this was not to be my last accident for the weekend. Two days later, on the night of Saturday, August 30, 1980 I was a passenger in another rolling car on the corner of Crown Avenue and Lawley Street in Waterkloof, Pretoria. But that's another story...

Film-056-0552-03-e

I took these photographs on Monday, September 1, 1980 at the Warmbad Scrap Yard at 1 Industria Road in Warmbaths on my way back to base after an insane weekend. FYI, here's the route of the R101 between Nylstroom and Warmbaths.

Cheers, MAlfaRK ©

The Back of the Moon


The Back of the Moon was one of the best Motocross tracks in South Africa back in the late-70's and early-80's. It was situated in Baviaanspoort, to the north of Pretoria and to the south of the Roodeplaat Dam. Although racing was way beyond my budget, I spent many fine weekends out there with friends who had the wherewithal.

1979-10-13 Back of the Moon Ticket

Apparently I misspent a little bit of my youth there on Saturday, October 13, 1979, just over three months into my two years of compulsory military conscription. My diary for the day reads as follows:

Kohler's in morning. Gary there. To his place. Loaded bikes - 2 x RM 250 and 1 x KTM 250. To "Back of the Moon" MX track. Races: Gary won 1st race and came 2nd in 2nd race. Peter wiped out. Anton 3rd overall. Twelve ales!! Lisa George there. To Peter's. Home. To Fischers ± 20 people there - all to Boogies. Substance abuse. Beer, brandy, Southern Comfort, tequila and rum!! To Monastery Disco at 10:00pm. Everyone there. Took Nikki Ashton home. Zeller, Barker, two others and I to Johannesburg at 11:30pm. To Carlton Centre and Hillbrow. Zeller, Barker and I passed out in cab. To Fischers. Took Zeller and Barker home. Bed at 03:30am.

Those were the days! Phew - I'm exhaused just reading that ;-)

Cheers, MAlfaRK ©