owls by the lakeshore

We leave Veracruz after the best coffee I've had in Mexico, served with a milk pouring flourish in a wonderful cafe.  A whole ecosystem lives off the cafe - tobacco and newspaper vendors winding around the table, shoe shiners kneeling at the feet of business men, busking musicians and nurses measuring heart rate while the customer sips their strong coffee.

Driving along the coast and then towards the lake of Catemaco, we see landscape changing from tropical coastal to desert to rich, green swamp with amazing trees dripping with vines. Stopping for lunch by the lake, girls in jeans and trainers walk through the water and fishermen elegantly toss their nets from their boats. It is off peak tourism time so we are the only people in the restaurant besides some musicians drinking tequila. They strike up a song with the lines, directed at Gustavo, 'dont worry, we will find you a new wife, yours is clearly a drunk' as I sipped on my cool beer. Gustavo gives them some money for more tunes...

Along the lake we find our spot for the night, and before darkness falls Gustavo and Maya head out in a kayak. Total lack of health and safety culture here has its benefits as Maya is wedged between Gustavo's legs with a life jacket and off they paddle past the iguanas.

Once Maya is asleep we sit on our balcony and watch an owl sitting on a branch opposite, like we are watching the TV. It is well disguised in the tree and doesnt move for a long time until the head suddenly swivels around, stares straight at us indignant at our presence.

When we wake in the morning rain is drumming on our roof and the path is a stream. We pack and leave, picking up breakfast on our way.

Road trip with a toddler

I am crouching on the floor by the bed, swigging JD and coke in a can, waiting for Maya to fall asleep so I can sneak onto the balcony with Gustavo. This is how travelling with a toddler works. Taking your opportunities as you find them. Suddenly all is quiet and I peep over the cot to a sprawled out toddler. I slowly open the door to the tiny balcony and am hit by a warm blast of tropical Veracruz air and the sound of a marimba-off in the square below.

Our hotel takes 'faded grandeur' to a whole new level and I'm not convinced that the balcony is structurally sound. More whisky and I forget about this as Gustavo and I unravel the multiple stories taking place below us:

Two double bases rest against tall, thick palm trees
A transvestite in high white heels, gorgeous long legs and hair to match, walks away down a cobbled street
The next street along a group of tourists find a bar
Hidden among the trees lovers kiss while birds compete with the musicians
Three calypso musicians in identical red and gold embroidered shirts relax on a bench looking in different directions
A red bus with 'Veracruz' spelt out in neon lights saunters by, closely followed by a policy trck with officers blaclavas and machine guns
On the corner a drive-by marriachi birthday cerenade is taking place, the car window rolled down and a man casually leaning out to hear the music
A drummer rests his ipad on his instument
A pregnant woman in pink leans against her stall overflowing with embroidered clothes and trinkets
A drunk meanders around the square dancing to each musician he stumbles across
A bright red motorbike leans against a whilte marble clocktower
A sudden flurry as a group of children chase a red ball between the evening strollers
A tabacco vendor walks along with his box of cigarettes on his head

We discover later that the Hotel Imperial where we are staying is the oldest functioning (only just) hotel in the Americas. Veracruz a humid, tropical and vibrant stop off. We are on a road trip in search of textiles for my new business. Next stop Chiapas. 

Lucha Libre Life

I experienced an amazing night at the Lucha Libre in Mexico City and it was not at all what I was expecting. As someone with a blind spot for anything related to sport, where any imagery or references tend to swirl into a black hole vortex, I was expecting a lot of sweat and pain and watching through my fingers. It turned out to be an amazingly family-friendly pantomime, with little girls wearing capes of their favourite characters attending with their fathers. Everyone, young and old vied to shout out the worst obsenity with boos and hisses for the rudos (the tough guys, the 'baddies') and wows for the tecnicos (the amazingly athletic, good guys). We were in the rudos crowd which gave great excuse for everyone to hurl out cathartic, friday night, abuse. It kept an amazing balance of comedy and athleticism, the final win being the camp kiss planted on the unwilling lips of one of the rudos. The whole crowd were changing 'beso, beso'.

Here is one of the first masked luchadores who became an iconic folk hero, El Santo.

 

Papel Picado

Early tries at paper cutting with the wonderful Sergio. My efforts a bit scruffier than his but I love the satisfaction of hammering a chisel into the soft paper and seeing an image start to emerge.

La Vida Mexicana

I'm restarting this blog from Mexico, and i hope the colours, the energy, the surrealism might seep through onto the page. We are living in Mexico City for a few months, then heading off for a month of adventures.

Despite this being a stupendously large city, we went out last night and managed to bump into several friends as we drank our way round colonia roma. I've developed an addiction to the taste of mezcal..so my hazy head today makes this a super quick blog..

This week's excitement is a course in the art of papel picado by the amazing Sergio. The traditional mexican craft drapes these colourful banners through streets and homes. I love it, so satisfying seeing the design appear as you hammer the chisel.

howling at the hackney moon

I had my first experience of wassailing, not if you know what this ancient tradition is, in the West Country, but in the heart of Hackney. It was a magical moment.

A few years ago I helped a group of volunteers reclaim a disused corner and turn it into an urban orchard and allotment space. This place has a lot of significance for me - the many saturdays turning turf and mulching, with a slowly evolving landscape of friendly faces, and then last summer pacing around mid labour as instructed by the midwives.

So last weekend Gustavo and I were invited to be the wassailing king and queen in honour of us leaving for Mexico. This involved  drinking cider and apple brandy, banging pots and pans by candle and moonlight to 'banish the spirits and ensure a good harvest', and singing. I loved that this very old ceremony was being evoked in the midst of a very 21st century urban setting. The sun had set and the cool december air, with the perfect sliver of moon, opened a timeless space.

After all the racket, we were standing around drinking and eating and laughing at the silliness, when suddenly Maya picked up a pot and pan and ran away from our huddle into the dark towards the trees banging with all her might and howling at the moon.


I known it is popular for the chattering classes to bemoan the lack of 'community' in the 21st century, particulary in cities. Your community is there for the making. I've had so many moments like this in London, from creating the orchard, to a party in our estate, going to our neighbours christening, gossiping about other neighbours after a shareholders meeting. Yes its a veritable urban Archers over here in Hackney.

As we cycled home all i could hear was a little voice shouting 'moooooon' behind me. 

Grayson Perry and Russell Brand

I totally adore Grayson Perry and now love him even more for his recent Reith Lectures on Art. They are engaging, funny and thought provoking. His main point I agree with, that art should have a certain seriousness - a reflection, interpretation of the world that makes you see things differently.

Seriousness has been out of fashion for a long time but has been creaping back in with the hipsters who get geeky about home brew, baking or crafts. Can we be serious and be funny, without being earnest or flippant? I remember at university realising pretty quickly that cycnicism is the short cut to sounding clever - implying that you're not naive, you've experience the world, you're knowledgeable. Cynicism is healthy but never allowing yourself to get committed to an idea, or serious in its pursuit is the same vein as apathy.

I've been amused to watch the debate around Russell Brand's rant on democracy. It takes me back to working in a left wing think tank nearly a decade ago where i worked in the 'democracy team'. I can just imagine them all now clammering to get him booked to speak at their next seminars and conferences. My job was to help research ways in which to improve voter turnout and a lack of engagement in politics. It was a lot of fun. I only realised what a great job it was when i left -i had been surrounded by lots of young, cool, super clever and engaged people - and was paid to research and think about ways to make the world a better place! Awesome.

Yet I came from a generation that was least engaged in politics. I didnt even think about it at university, until we had one impassioned lecture from our philosophy lecturer. He went off message, scrapped his planned talk about wittgenstein and instead explained why he was angry, how little he was paid, how he felt he wasnt giving us the education we deserved and that we were now paying for (the first year to have to pay for it) but mostly he was angry on our behalf.

'Why arent you protesting? Why are you not demanding a better deal?' He couldnt understand our apathy. He had become politicised at at uni during thacherism. It was part of his youth culture and now his identity.

After that lecture, we wandered off to get a coffee and talked it over. I remember us all nodding our head, 'yeah he's cool, he's so right, we should do something'. What did we do? Started planning our night out, headed out, got wasted, listeded to good tunes, forgot all about it. We were anaethetised by a stable economy and cheap drugs.

Going to work at a thinktank was part of my effort to re-engage with the world, to try to do something that would 'make a difference', contribute in some way, having spent too many years after graduation drifting around the music scene trying to figure our my place.

Low voter turnout was a big concern in think tank world. So to hear Russell Brand say that we should all not vote, and encourage a 'revolution' instead, brought back all those months spent agonising over how to get younger generations to vote.  The problem is, no matter how disappointed you are with the three main parties, the alternative seems worse - what would a revolution usher in? And do people in the UK in 2013 really want a revolution? Not really. They just don't want to be screwed over by self serving politicians. There is no doubt we are lucky to have our democracy. So making it better is where our focus should be. And actually perhaps the first thing we should do is encourage people that we like and respect to become politicians rather than put them off by dismissing them all. Spoil the ballot paper or engage in civil disobedience. These are actions that will bring about change. But thats' definitely a nuanced not so cool message as waving a flag saying revolution.Which is why i think that while Russell Brand might genuinely be pissed off at politicians, rightly so, he doesn't really want to engage in solutions. It feels more like a Che Guevara pose in front of a photographer - a good look for 2013 and to impress his new political girlfriend.

Some very interesting research has shown the impact that non violent civil resistance can have. A government cannot sustain its rule if more than 3.5% of the population mobilised against it. We are massively lucky to be living in a country that while may be governed by some very unlikable identikit men in suits, is not a ruthless dictator or violent regime. We have a system of government that works when its citizens engage in the process and demand better. This is a privilege and to turn away from that especially when affluent feels a little spoilt .