TAKE THAT! symbol of tyranny

Italy has not been kind to me, filled with hangovers, people who pinched my car keys and the wasted day or two to get everything back on track. So when the opportunity presented it’s self to vent my frustrations at a symbol of Italian rule, I Took it!
Ivrea, Turin province, Italy. The festival of the oranges is centred around one thing, the orange battles. In the closest thing to hate week i have yet discovered, people pack the tiny squares of Ivrea ready for a fight. Decked out in ‘team’ colours which include the ravens, daemons, jokers, and my favourite the Brigade of the Orange Death (skull and crossbones for a symbol). As so you wait with throngs of orange holding masses an uneasy tension and a ruckus nature surround all.Suddenly a Cry starts up as the hated symbols of power and authority ride in to the square, decked in armour with helmets, riding in a chariot drawn by warhorses. The despotic carts throw oranges at the people, but the people fight back! Soon the cart is surrounded by a hundred unarmoured but fiercely fighting citizens. Oranges are flying from everywhere and smacking against stones, heads, and bodies in an avalanche of orange. A few blood oranges hit with violent effect sending sprays of red to match the orange madness. Eventually the hated symbols of power flea the square to jubilant shoats from the crowds of fee men. There are about 20 carts that make this long procession though the 10 or so squares. An orange is not quite the weapon of death you may be thinking of, in theory it is a round weighty projectile that is easy to throw accurately. In practice at range it quickly loses its potency and with more power, say point blank, it breaks sending streams of orange juice flying. A hit in the jacket is little more than uncomfortable, and a hit in the face is like a girls punch, by no means pleasant but not going to do any serious harm. Of course you can cry Swiss, neutrality, and wear a red cap meaning you won’t be targeted and you can’t trow oranges. You can also cower behind nets, or sissy string, stung from the buildings allowing you to get close in (take some nice photos), or just rest up between battles, without fear of oranges. By the end of the day the streets are thick with oranges and you are more likely to do yourself harm by slipping on the soft mess than by stray orange fire, the men and women of the fight are exhausted from battle and retire for some communal drinking.

Rage against Switzerland

The biggest thing wrong with Switzerland is that there is nothing wrong with it. Ok it’s expensive but hey, it’s only money, at least it’s not pretentious. Take the students for example, rebellious drunken louts right? No, they have a beautiful campus that like the rest of Switzerland is pristinely clean and well versed in almost all subjects. When things get to the swiss do they take up arms? (remember that by law EVERY Swiss man has an assault-rifle at home and they have to pass a yearly shooting test) no, they just go skiing for the weekend, or hiking, or have a cheese fondue. Ok you think, politics, someone has lots of power and makes trouble for people, right? Wrong again, they have 7 presidents who are voted in and then oversee the government, reaching decisions by consensus... The Swiss may not be great decision makers but they have a quality life, rich with history and low in hate.

I was sitting at the Cabaret Voltaire, the art hangout of avent-grad and dadist painters of the day (from here started that slippery slope that led to all that post-modernistic abstractive-expressionistic nonsense that we all hate, blame these bastards [not that I don’t like Dali, Picasso and the rest of them]). So I sit sipping my beer and gorging myself on the free cheese. So many types of cheese, hard soft white goat, you name it they had 5 of each. Listening to the student band do quite a good jazz number, and discussing such politics with a few well spoken swiss (speaking not just swiss-german, German & English and most of them spoke French as well)

Of course i did not waste all my time sipping wine and eating cheese, looking at Chagall windows. The Mt. Titlis Ski resort was very enjoyable, even if I was a little sore afterwards. Biggest titlis i ever did see, at a whopping 3229m more than 2km vertical is skilifted. Nice!

Descent into madness 3, The Madening – Lucern Carnival

The whole affair revolved around marching bands that would march though the streets and into a square and play music to the masses then march around somewhere else and drink while other bands played there. This goes on pretty much all day. What they lacked talent or coordination they more than made up with in raw drunken enthusiasm. The raw energy (and perhaps the massive quantities of alcohol) meant that everyone joined in jumping around or swaying along. The happy mood is truly infections. There is a Large parade around midday but the biggest fun is the after party which clogs every street square and building.
The music is varied and fun, but it is harder than spicks and specks to guess what the song is as the 30 trumpets, 5 tubas, 4 drum-kits, and several large drums pound merrily into the dancers overwhelming the brain with the command to bomp along... I did recognised Alice cooper and Meatloaf amongst others.

The first time you see a giant chicken playing the tuba you think it’s kind of weird... but then you see a large collection of fish-men with Gatling gun you only wonder where they keep the alcohol. I do have to admit that every time I bumped into a squadron of the French foreign legion, the Spanish soldiers, or the incredibly drunk ‘English police’ (all talking swiss-german) I had the compulsion to hide my drink and look nonchalant. But the truly amassing thing was the vast range of things people dress up as, of course the always popular vampires and pirates where there, and a lot of gumibears, but there were a lot of unusual people goblins, golf balls, spacemen, angry vegetables, sea creatures, frogs, artists, Disney characters like Mickey (and you can be sure they are drunk - just like at Disneyworld), dogs, gods, angry man with giant head, and SO SO much more.

It was about the time when i was dancing with four dwarves, two knights, and a fish, to the sounds of a brass band (of 39 Mario and Luigis including 4 tubas, some big bass drums and one squeaking penguin) playing Livin' la Vida Loca, that two thoughts struck me. (1) – no matter how nice a body you may have a 3 foot beard is not a good look on a chick. (2) – This is probably one of those moments i will long remember, and remember fondly.

Ok so maybe I have been sugar-coating my blog just a little. Let me give you an insight into a day in the life of...

I wake at 3am because the annoying Russian hostel roommate comes home and drunkenly stumbles home clattering into things everywhere and fumbling with the light switch. This wouldn’t be so bad if I had not got back an hour earlier and am now wide awake again. He settles in and begin snoring loudly within 10min. I insert my noise cancelling headphones in frustration and play some soothing classical music.. too soothing it won’t drown out his snoring, I throw my shoe to the floor 30cm from his head which stops the snoring for a moment. 2min later it starts up again with renewed vigour and i switch to some Debussy and eventually drift off again. The next morning i collect my stuff and head off on the train to Baden, a sleepy thermal springs town – just the place to relax and unwind from busy Basel. Thanks to the efficient rail network this works problem free. I arrive and walk out to the map of Baden, I have already booked a night in a charming little B&B near one of the sulphur springs. I stare at the map unable to reconcile it with the one in my head or to find the right street. Ok, I think, I have this one covered – whipping out my GPS and feeding in the info... no such street?? Huh. Ok, this time i whip out the laptop and look at the reservation.. yep... Ohhh hang on Baden AUSTRIA? I’m in (quick glance at the flags above me) yep Switzerland. BUGGER! Ok, phone roams well with good international rates no worries ring them up and cancel, so far so good – still in control. Whip out my next technological marvel... eReader with lonely planet Switzerland on board.. hostel reads “one of the best locations in Switzerland” Ok, lucked out.. off I go. 2km downhill i get to the hostel and it looks nice but this is spoilt by the sign that reads “Closed till 12.3.11” Grrr ok what else does this town have to offer? I head back to the centre of town, may as well look at the sights on the way... pack starting to get heavy. It Starts to Rain, not too heavy. I look around but can only find places in excess of 300 Dollars, while i could be convinced to spend 300 on a night it would have to be something MUCH better than the sort of dilapidated places I’m staring at. Next, past a castle ruins... may as well look at them – Damn there are a lot of stairs, 20kg my ass must have at least 35 kg by now. It starts to rain properly now. Funny it was supposed to snow, is that good or bad? Back to the train station, consult phone, Wifi... and it’s free. Brilliant! Page won’t display on phone. That’s ok I have the laptop. Log in check on line... nothing. Ok, maybe i will go to Zurich a day early,
Look for a place there. Everything booked, cheapest place 70 Euros with bad reviews. By this time my indomitable strength of spirit is starting to look dominable after all. The other thing wearing thin is my battery on the laptop. Ok, i will ring up the place I’m going to in Zurich... not open till 3pm. Next... Next... Next...... Ok, Switzerland is expensive and full so what if I go back to Germany I’m not that far from the boarder, and yes train tickets are cheap what about accom... Battery Critical, shutdown. Fuck! Ok I’m at the train stain.. I’ll take the first reasonable train... It goes to Zurich. Watch IT crowd on the way on my phone, in a partially sucessfull attempt to lift my mood. Store my gear in a locker at Zürich HB, ready for a long escapade. First check the hostel (the only one open in town) even though the internet said no vacancy. Turns out they have room, sweet. Do some sightseeing on the way to the train station. Grab my gear pick up some supplies.
Now I am back in the hostel, a glass of French wine (or two), a Block of Swiss cheese (Pilgerkäse) and an hour of Civilisation V. Much better than sitting around in a sticky puddle anyway. Breath, relax, winge to people on the internet. I am at Peace. Let’s see what tomorrow holds.

Decent into madness, 2

After watching a performance of Gogol’s classic “Diary of a madman” I have seen at least one precession of around 5,00 ‘Narran’ (loosely translated as Loonies) taking to the streets, dressing up, covering people in confetti straw and other mess. This i expect to see more of when i make it down to swizerland.

Meanwhile watching the cold figures huddled in jackets scuffle around the city streets, shuffle into markets, and subconsciously brush snow off the flanks of their jackets as they idly chat, ignoring the steam venting from mouth and nose like a dragon of old. Mix in a snowy fairytale landscape to complete the surreal look of this strange land.

I also discovered the works of Jonas Burger a Berlin based artist who actually did some good stuff in a modern style but with talent. Expressive fluoro colour paint bleeds from emotive and provocative figures.

I spent a week with my family in Germany which was great. Relaxing and comfortable with fun nights out or in.

Europe with speed

Rio de Jainero, Madrid, Berlin and London in a week... Starting to feel like a contiki trip. Some of the world’s greatest museums and art galleries, check; drunken nights with tourists surrounded by locals, check; crummy hostels, check; eating at places that advertise ‘authentic food’, check; photographing historic sites (e.g. castles) while hangover, check; yep I’m 19 again.


But i have re-discovered my love of Europe, despite the cold, especially the food and the drink. In Spain the tapas bars, in England the pies and ale (also haggis not bad in Scotland), and in Germany... yum! so much it needs its own post.

Getting out of London I realised how much i do like England at least the idea of England. The little pubs with men in tweed jackets (presumably returned from a fox hunt) and the yorksiremen/women who are so polite as to apologise repeatedly for looking like a ‘twat’ when they spill their own drink onto the floor “so terribly sorry!” or the students of oxford proclaiming “I’m off to play the Graand piaAnoo”. Upon spotting, or rather hearing, two Americans talking loudly outside Christ college refectory I had a strong urge to walk up to them and say “Madam! I demand you leave this commonwealth immediately, you have profaned the English language quite enough with your vulgar pronunciation. Your garrulous nature is spoiling this good, clean, British air!” But alas, i too was from the colonies and instead did the British thing and walked away with stiff upper lip, all the way to the nearest alehouse. And it does one good to see that pun’s are still alive and well in Europe, in Edinburgh I chanced across a shop named “Thistle do nicely”.

Madrid

So much i could talk about one of my favourite cities in the world (No3) Madrid, the buildings, history, nightlife, food, the great parks - Instead I will focus on just one the Sofia. . It is housed in a towering palace of art that looks like it’s back is being invaded by a spaceship al a independence day. A mind-blowing collection of some of my favourites like Dali, Picasso, Miro, Domínguez, and many other 1900 era painters that make one wonder what the temporary exhibits will hold.
And wonder i did...


Included was a display of strange boxes (in hindsight cupboard shaped) behind one was a passage.. I snuck stealthily into the pitch black room which was bare-brick and vaulted ceilings holding fans, which remained me of underground at work, unlike work after a few moments shapes emerged from the darkness and then i could see something a small white thing in the corner, I got close and realised it was a motion sensor alarm. I returned to the ante-chamber and leaned conspiratorially toward the guard and asked him whether this was art, he smiled politely and said yes. I mused “and people pay for this?” (though due to my limited Spanish I said this in) English to a once again mute guard who shrugged through understanding or not. And before i wondered back to the main galleries as I read the manifesto of MIROSŁAW BALKA’s work “Like the other elements in this charged installation the wardrobe, too, may be read in diverse ways. For the artist, it brings to mind the closet used by Anne Frank’s family to conceal the secret place in which they hid from Nazi sympathizers” to me it seems like a day at work what does that say?


Later i walked into a blank gallery with only spaces for artwork to be hung, an i nodded self-assuredly to the blank wall thinking, “ah ha a statement about that the space in which art is exhibited is itself art, a quintessential message about emptiness which...” at this point my thoughts were interrupted by a sign which said “gallery closed for refurbishment to re-open march 2010”... woops!

I could give many more examples of this sort of thing but i prefer not to, when this gallery holds so many great works, dwell on the decline of art. Suffice it to say that in my opinion after the height of early-cubism and impressionist avent-grad styling’s we descended (in madness) to the sort of post modernist abstract expressionist crap that wastes our time money and art-materials. What was it after 1930s that made artistic talent fade like phantoms in a fishbowl. I’m not sure if that makes any sense but i have had not enough sleep and too much art for my own good.

As an afterthought I would feel more confident in my view of late modernism if my sentiment wasn’t shared by Hitler and Stalin – but then maybe there is a little of that in all of us... seriously? Red square on white?? Dripping paint on a canvas? Painting with a blindfold on while on crack? We pay for this??