Monte Alban

It was as though I was in the hand of some immense giant that has been mysteriously slain; and I felt luck to somehow have the privilege to view such an intimate site.

I went to Monte Alban yesterday

The night before I discovered some of the local mezcal with two Italian guys, a French street preforming clown, French Canadian (who acted like a linguistic double adaptor since she could speak Feanch and English), a German couple and some Mexicans, who we seem to have meet in the street and started to have a fiestas with with their car door open, until the cops showed up and moved us on. I woke in the morning and was unsure as to how I got into bed. None the less I was at the ruins by noon and completely taken aback by it.

Imagine a great isolated hill at the junction of three broad valleys; an island rising nearly a thousand feet from the green sea of fertility beneath it. An astonishing situation. But the Zapotecs were not embarrassed by the artistic responsibilities it imposed on them. They levelled the hill-top; laid out two huge rectangular courts;raised pyramidal alters or shrines at the centre, with other, much larger pyramids at ether end; built great flights of steps alternating with smooth slopes of masonry to wall in the courts; ran monumental staircases up the sides of the pyramids and friezes of sculpture round their base. Even today, when the courts are mere fields of rough grass, and the pyramids are buried under an obscuring layer of turf, even today this high place of the Zapotecs remains extraordinarily impressive . . . Monte Alban is the work of men who knew their architectural business consummately well. – Aldous Huxley, ‘Beyond the Mexique Bay’

It was as though I was in the hand of some immense giant that has been mysteriously slain; and I felt luck to somehow have the privilege to view such an intimate site.


Mexico is everything I imagined it to be while holding unexpected surprises. First impressions of Mexico.

Mexico is everything I imagined it to be while holding unexpected surprises. I arrived in Oaxaca (Wa-ha-kah) this afternoon in a daze, after 12 hours in buses/couches, which are the best I’ve ever been in actually, and strolled on into the center looking for my hostel of choice.

It was quite warm and people walked around at the minimum pace that counts as walking. Evey where there where people sitting in the shade mostly sleeping in the upright position. Shoes’shiners sat in there seats reading the newspaper, not to fussed weather they got any business or not (it would seem). Couples spooned on park benches lazily nestling in. I wandered around and was thankful for a hat.

Mexico seems to have an impenetrable stillness about it. I noticed that the hundred and one things that usually stress me out about traveling in a foreign country where I don’t speak the native just didn’t register. I got lost trying to find the hostel but even this didn’t faze me as I couldn’t find a thing to care about.

Internet cafe is shut. No such thing as an all nighter here

A Concentration Camp Day

A day at Dachau, a Concentration Camp.

Suicide in the electrified barbed wire, Dachau 1940

Decaln left to return to Sweden this morning and I had the day to kill so I took it to Dachau, Germanys first concentration camp! Yes it was a crappy day so I thought I would make the best (or worst) of it, and boy did I ever.

Dachau was founded in 1933, the year Adolf took power. It held over 200,000 people with just over 30,000 of those perishing from one thing or another. It was the camp that all the others were modeled on! It wasn’t a death camp however, although it was fitted with a gas chamber near the end of the war (but apparently never used). Boy did I get a creepy feeling when I walked in there (by accident at first as I decided to do the whole thing in reverse and the labels where all on the other side for some reason?).

Gangs of tourists moved though the camp taking pictures of each other posing in front of the various places of atrocities. All putting on a serious face instead of the usual “Hi mom” expression. What strange tourism. It struck me that the memorials that were placed all over the place weren’t as popular as the sites where death and torture occurred. People seemed drawn to them, like the scene of a car accident. Every one wants to look.

I also had a feeling of strange fascination that one gets when you see a celebrity in person. This thing that has been exaggerated and hyped up by the media for most of your life is suddenly in front of you. It became hard to relate to the sentiment of the place as it had become larger than life in my minds eye.

I left wondering weather ether of these emotions, the ‘passer by’ or the ‘dazed fan’, really were helping anything except push a stereo type that Germany and Germans will never live down. I suppose there has to be something to mark the history. It may have been grim but it wasn’t boring.

There were no postcards on sale. Sorry guys.

Ugly UK

There sure are some ugly people in England

There must have been some serious in breading going on in England. I have found some evidence in support of this:

Boy George (again)

Bitches on the mic and the George laying down the tracks.

Young Richy coaxed me to go out last night with a few of the lads and one of Erika’s flat mates Kat. We went just around the corner from where Eir/Richy is staying, The Hoxton Bar. Richy used to work behind the bar and thus half price drinks all night. It happened to be Gay Night at the Hoxron Bar and the next thing I know I’m standing 2 feet from Boy George (who was fat, dressed in Black and had a black top hat. With sequins). He was going to DJ, but not before ’10 minutes with my dad’ did a short number.
'Ten minutes with my dad' flyer

‘10 minutes with my dad’ are a pair of young skimpy chicks with massive blond wigs on, teased to the point that they defy gravity and wearing bikinis and leather jackets and Zoro type eye band masks. The ‘act’ consists of them tearing/wrestling with each other while screaming lyrics, in early Beasty Boys style, about their apparent nymphomania and sexual preference for there fathers. They ended up on the ground in the middle of the crowd with most of the little they had on hanging from them. But I’ve seen them before. YAWN.

Boy George on the other hand was a freak. I saw him when he came out to Australia in the 80’s and I was dumb struck to be close to fame like that. OK he’s looking sad and pathetic but I was fascinated by the spectacle of fame, the idea of it, as I’ve never had much occasion to ogle at it. His DJing wasn’t too bad (I wouldn’t travel for it but it grindy house seem to fit the mood, which was some male stripper flashing it Jon Doe around a bit on the podium) but no he didn’t play any of the old classics so if I was till a fan I’d be disappointed.

Just an average Sunday in Hoxton