My mother always used to emphasise how much more enjoyable travelling becomes when you have an understanding of history. I think this played an important role in nurturing my fascination for information on times long (and not so long) past.
Whilst the UK has been an excellent historical experience, Rome was the first true eye-opener for me. Never before had I been confronted in such a way with relics of another age. Even living almost in the shadow of an 800 year old castle in Edinburgh could do nothing to prepare me for the deeper, longer and more thoroughly impressive shadows cast by 2000 year old cities lying in ruins before me.
'It is true that the Romans stole a lot from the Greeks - especially in philosophy and culture. But this is not to say that they produced cheap imitations of Greek social institutions; the Romans often took Greek ideas and built on them until the result was Roman perfection. This is never more evident than in Roman architecture.'
This is a paraphrased (and Anglicised) version of the opening blurb given by our Italian tour guide whilst we sheltered under one of the many archways of the Colosseum. It was pouring rain, and tourists were busy dodging shady-looking Bengali men chasing them with 'Cheap umbrellas! I give you good deal!'
All that I could think about was the history that lay literally beneath my feet. How many people had sheltered themselves beneath this colossus in the middle of an ancient city? If I could have travelled back in time over 1800 years, who would I have found standing in exactly the same position as I was then? What would they have looked like, what would they have been thinking? Would they have been as awe-struck by this amazing feat of human ingenuity? Would they have known that I would be standing in their place in 1800 years time? Would they have known to be proud of this structural feat?
'Romans tended to appreciate the Greek architecture, but did not appreciate the limitations that it presented. As the Greek structures were limited to square shapes, their height was also severely limited - there is only so much weight that the top of a square can bear. So the Romans invented the arch. The archway distributes the weight far more evenly, and allows for structures as tall and magnificent as this one - still standing proudly in the middle of a city that has changed endlessly around it; still striking awe and wonder in the eyes and minds of each and every person who sees it for the first time.'
After spending five days completely immersed in the enduring beauty left by a civilisation that perished over a thousand years ago, I was left with two thoughts predominating:
After so much time with my mouth gaping, would I still remember how to keep my bottom jaw from dragging along the ground?
After a thousand years, what would be left for our civilisation to be proud of? What have we produced that would last ages beyond us and give future generations as much as what previous civilisations have left for us?
Back in London for Christmas, I began searching for some sort of a sign that our epoch in history would provide an equally enduring mark as the Roman era did. Circling the Gherkin whilst looking for Spitalfield Markets on the East side of the city was as about as inspiring as staring across Circular Quay at the Toaster in Sydney. I was gradually resigning myself to the fact that there won't be much left behind when our time here ends and the next great period in the history of the world begins.
And the more that I thought about it, the less I liked this. I wanted to be a part of an era that I could be proud of. I wanted someone to be standing in my footsteps in 2000 years and wondering who I was, what I was thinking, what I looked like. (Me, me, ME!)
Somehow I doubted that a building like the Montparnasse Tower (which I wish I hadn't seen whilst) in Paris would last a few measly centuries, let alone making it through multiple millennia.
As all hope was about to disolve into complete despondency, I made my first visit to the city of Barcelona and saw my first Gaudi.
Antoni Gaudi's architecture is beyond words.
Only Gaudi managed to assuage my growing fears that my peers would leave nothing behind.
Gaudi was an architect who would push all engineering boundaries in order to live out the inspirations that he saw in nature. His designs not only paid tribute to the natural world in their style, but also attempted to incorporate a philosophy of natural living in their functionality.
For example, sitting under the branching pillars of the Sagrada Familia (Gaudi's unfinished masterpiece - an enormous Gothic cathedral which is still under construction), you get the same feeling of peace and tranquility as you would from sitting under the protective canopy of an ancient forest. I was sitting, effectively, in the middle of a construction site, yet I still found myself wanting to open my eyes wider, sink deeper into the floor, speak in whispers and ingest the very essence of the room. It was truly inspirational.
It is an intense experience.
Not even pictures can do it justice. The only way anyone could possibly come to appreciate one of his designs is to go and stand right in the middle of it and try not to forget to breathe.
Without dwelling too much more on the experience which is (apparently) beyond description (so why do I keep trying to describe it?), I just wanted to briefly return to my mother. The same mother that told me to learn history so that I may better appreciate the nature of the world around me.
For that lesson, I am eternally grateful Mother Dearest. It is because of you that I undertook a quest not just to enjoy the world, but to see it in a light that improved my understanding of it, in a light that showed me not just the ways to enjoy, but also why it is something to be enjoyed.
What I couldn't quite figure out is why it was so important to me that we leave behind buildings or constructions for the history books - why were the places important? Aren't the stories about who we are enough?
By chance I picked up a book along my travels from an amazing bookstore in downtown Seattle. Originally a gift for another, I found it in my suitcase on my return to Edinburgh and, having nothing else to read, decided that I would flick through the first few pages: The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton. In it, I found my answer...
"Belief in the significance of architecture is premised on the notion that we are, for better or for worse, different people in different places - and on the conviction that it is architecture's task to render vivid to us who we might ideally be."
We will be defined in history not just by the stories that we leave behind, but rather by the physical context in which those narratives can be found.
I hope that my story is found in a thousand years buried deep inside a building designed by a genius like Antoni Gaudi.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Re-visions
I've been thinking lately - yes, this may come as a surprise to some of you. And there are some instances whereby I would really like to be able to convert these thoughts into written words, and, more importantly, into some sort of discussion on occasion.
The first obvious place to turn would be to my blog. Oh Internet, with your endless space for mindless musings! At first look your Shores seem clogged with lost souls selling their thoughts for cheap thrills, but then again isn't your coastline of the infinite kind?
It is a bit scary that an infinite coastline can appear to be crowded.
Which made me return to my initial posts, and to my original intentions when beginning this blog. Really, the title says it all: The Adventures of Ham.
This is supposed to be a blog about adventures. The adventures of Ham, to be precise (Ham being a shortened version of Hamish, me). I think this blog needs to see a return not to more adventurous writing, but to more writing about adventures. About travels, about the world, about interesting happenings, places I have been and people that I have seen.
I haven't forgotten that my very reason for travelling was to 'gain some world perspective' - and this blog should still reflect that perspective that I am supposed to be gaining from the above-mentioned adventures. But 'adventures', 'adventure' and 'adventuring' shall remain the focus.
Therefore I am proposing two motions (proposed by me, seconded by myself and passed by I):
1. That I have more adventures, and spend a little more time sharing, in this blog, the adventures that I have already had, and;
2. That I may begin a second blog, which will focus more on the nurturing of perspective. I say 'may', because this motion only makes it a possibility, not a definite.
In line with Motion 1, I hope to begin writing about my initial forays into Europe in a little more detail in the very near future, and share my potential plans for future adventures.
Regarding Motion 2, I will begin experimenting with the idea of taking up more space on the proverbial beaches of the internet. Being an idealist, I need to give careful consideration to whether or not I can muster the effort required to fully utilise this second space. If I can justify it, begin it, and maintain it, then I will include a link to it in a future post on this blog.
So please, stay posted. And please, don't be afraid to leave some feedback!
More adventures to come...
The first obvious place to turn would be to my blog. Oh Internet, with your endless space for mindless musings! At first look your Shores seem clogged with lost souls selling their thoughts for cheap thrills, but then again isn't your coastline of the infinite kind?
It is a bit scary that an infinite coastline can appear to be crowded.
Which made me return to my initial posts, and to my original intentions when beginning this blog. Really, the title says it all: The Adventures of Ham.
This is supposed to be a blog about adventures. The adventures of Ham, to be precise (Ham being a shortened version of Hamish, me). I think this blog needs to see a return not to more adventurous writing, but to more writing about adventures. About travels, about the world, about interesting happenings, places I have been and people that I have seen.
I haven't forgotten that my very reason for travelling was to 'gain some world perspective' - and this blog should still reflect that perspective that I am supposed to be gaining from the above-mentioned adventures. But 'adventures', 'adventure' and 'adventuring' shall remain the focus.
Therefore I am proposing two motions (proposed by me, seconded by myself and passed by I):
1. That I have more adventures, and spend a little more time sharing, in this blog, the adventures that I have already had, and;
2. That I may begin a second blog, which will focus more on the nurturing of perspective. I say 'may', because this motion only makes it a possibility, not a definite.
In line with Motion 1, I hope to begin writing about my initial forays into Europe in a little more detail in the very near future, and share my potential plans for future adventures.
Regarding Motion 2, I will begin experimenting with the idea of taking up more space on the proverbial beaches of the internet. Being an idealist, I need to give careful consideration to whether or not I can muster the effort required to fully utilise this second space. If I can justify it, begin it, and maintain it, then I will include a link to it in a future post on this blog.
So please, stay posted. And please, don't be afraid to leave some feedback!
More adventures to come...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
And a spoonful of sugar.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Take a step to the left...
There is one particular, consistent phenomenon that always, without fail, will inspire road rage in me. Even pedestrian rage in these car-less/bike-less times.
Inconsistency.
I can't stand inconsistent drivers. Or walkers for that matter.
I came to this realisation on a long stretch of road somewhere between Brisbane and Sydney, just after I got my P-plates and was riding on the back of a screaming 250CC sportsbike going just a little bit quicker than I should have been (given that the speed limit for a P-plater is 90km/h).
Not much quicker - I was probably averaging about 95km/h. But I was wanting to get home. I had just spent a wonderful weekend with my darling friend from Queensland in a muddy, soaked tent in Byron Bay at the East Coast Blues Festival. I had a dinner to be at that night, but was still a good few hundred kilometres from the warm shower and the change of clean clothes that I needed before I could take my place at a dinner table in a nice restaurant with my cousins from New York.
I have told this epic many times before, so will spare most details.
I wanted to be going 110km/h. I was going 95km/h because 110km/h would have placed me somewhere in the back seat of the Holden Commodore in front. Anyone who has driven the Pacific Highway north would know that there aren't often overtaking opportunities, especially when you are on a small-engined bike which you're already pushing hard. There just wasn't the power beneath my bum to zip around the car without getting hit by that oncoming semi.
So come the overtaking lane (a welcome sight if ever there was one), I twisted the throttle and watched the needle slowly creep up towards that magic 115km/h mark which would put me past this Commodore and let me cruise at the wonderfully tempting 110.
Deeming that I had enough speed to move out into the lane beside and make my dash for freedom, I checked my mirrors, my blind spot, indicated and went for it.
I was gaining slowly on the Commodore. The needle was at 105. Drew up level at 110km/h. Just a little bit more and I would be far enough in front to claim this road ahead as mine to command!
At 112km/h I noticed something curious. The Commodore was pulling away from me. At 115km/h (at which point my engine was verbally protesting with the vigour of a young child being smacked by an angry parent) the Commodore was clearly in front again. Try as I might, I could not make up those few more metres needed to squeeze in front.
At 118km/h (with not enough riding experience behind me to maintain those speeds on a rattly little ZZR250), I resigned. But don't mistake my resignation for disappointment. I pulled in behind the Commodore, tucked down below my fairing, and congratulated myself on reminding the driver that this was a good road with a speed limit of 110km/h and absolutely no reason not to be doing it. Home was feeling closer already.
As the overtaking lane ended and I made myself comfortable cruising along at the wonderous 11o, my thoughts drifted ahead to the warmth and comfort of home and friends and family. As much as I love being on the back of a motorbike, highway riding is not very inspiring. And the ZZR is not known for its comfort on long, solo journeys with stops only to refuel.
What's this? In my comfort has my hand twisted a little more? Have I edged above 110? Why am I needing to suddenly pull on my brakes and drop back from the boot of the Holden in front?
I checked my speed. 95km/h.
Why?!!?!
Sign post on the side of the road: Next overtaking lane 3km.
I read: Next chance for revenge and a quick trip home 3km.
In 3km time I tried again to zoom past this annoyance. In fact I even took a run up at it, beginning my run a good 300m before the overtaking lane - you need a bit of a headstart when competing with an engine literally 20 times the size of your own.
To no avail. The Commodore sped up to about 125km/h, successfully staying ahead of me, before dropping back to 95km/h once we were back to a one-lane road.
We danced like this another 3 times before the Commodore's empty fuel tank or the driver's need for fast food proved to be my saviour.
In all my attempts I did get close enough on one occasion to see the driver. I don't even think he had registered my existence. He definitely wasn't trying to speed up and cut me off on purpose (you know if someone is driving with ill-intent towards you when you are on a motorcycle). This just furthered my frustration.
He wasn't doing this on purpose. He was just an inconsistent driver. And at the end of our tango, I found myself fuming at being stuck behind this tonne of inconsistency for a 60km stretch of my ride home.
In a similar way I can't stand to be stuck behind people who stagger all over a footpath, following no clear direction, offering inconsistent speeds and then absolutely no warning when they decide to stop in the middle of a crowd.
This is becoming an even more apparent problem in these colder times. Footpaths in Edinburgh can be as slippery as a snake's smooth stomach, especially after a dump of snow overnight. Maneuvering around obstacles is difficult, negotiating the quickest route to work when you are already running 10 minutes late is tricky enough without having to calculate for the errant and erratic movements of aimless wanderers.
To add to it all, I have inherited the Northern tendency to walk with my head down, minimising weather exposure to my all-too-vulnerable neck and chest. And to keep snow out of my eyes. More than once I have looked up to find that the person in front of me has stopped to pull a phone from their pocket, or greet a friend in the middle of a packed, narrow, icy city footpath.
This problem could be easily solved with a set of simple pedestrian rules which encouraged consistent, predictable movement in high-traffic areas at peak times. For example maintaining a constant speed, or checking one's blind spots before stepping suddenly at right angles across three lanes of pedestrian traffic to look in a shopfront window.
I am learning, however, that the world is an extremely inconsistent place.
And that sometimes unpredictability is as intriguing, exciting and thrilling as consistency can be comforting.
That doesn't make it any less frustrating!
Inconsistency.
I can't stand inconsistent drivers. Or walkers for that matter.
I came to this realisation on a long stretch of road somewhere between Brisbane and Sydney, just after I got my P-plates and was riding on the back of a screaming 250CC sportsbike going just a little bit quicker than I should have been (given that the speed limit for a P-plater is 90km/h).
Not much quicker - I was probably averaging about 95km/h. But I was wanting to get home. I had just spent a wonderful weekend with my darling friend from Queensland in a muddy, soaked tent in Byron Bay at the East Coast Blues Festival. I had a dinner to be at that night, but was still a good few hundred kilometres from the warm shower and the change of clean clothes that I needed before I could take my place at a dinner table in a nice restaurant with my cousins from New York.
I have told this epic many times before, so will spare most details.
I wanted to be going 110km/h. I was going 95km/h because 110km/h would have placed me somewhere in the back seat of the Holden Commodore in front. Anyone who has driven the Pacific Highway north would know that there aren't often overtaking opportunities, especially when you are on a small-engined bike which you're already pushing hard. There just wasn't the power beneath my bum to zip around the car without getting hit by that oncoming semi.
So come the overtaking lane (a welcome sight if ever there was one), I twisted the throttle and watched the needle slowly creep up towards that magic 115km/h mark which would put me past this Commodore and let me cruise at the wonderfully tempting 110.
Deeming that I had enough speed to move out into the lane beside and make my dash for freedom, I checked my mirrors, my blind spot, indicated and went for it.
I was gaining slowly on the Commodore. The needle was at 105. Drew up level at 110km/h. Just a little bit more and I would be far enough in front to claim this road ahead as mine to command!
At 112km/h I noticed something curious. The Commodore was pulling away from me. At 115km/h (at which point my engine was verbally protesting with the vigour of a young child being smacked by an angry parent) the Commodore was clearly in front again. Try as I might, I could not make up those few more metres needed to squeeze in front.
At 118km/h (with not enough riding experience behind me to maintain those speeds on a rattly little ZZR250), I resigned. But don't mistake my resignation for disappointment. I pulled in behind the Commodore, tucked down below my fairing, and congratulated myself on reminding the driver that this was a good road with a speed limit of 110km/h and absolutely no reason not to be doing it. Home was feeling closer already.
As the overtaking lane ended and I made myself comfortable cruising along at the wonderous 11o, my thoughts drifted ahead to the warmth and comfort of home and friends and family. As much as I love being on the back of a motorbike, highway riding is not very inspiring. And the ZZR is not known for its comfort on long, solo journeys with stops only to refuel.
What's this? In my comfort has my hand twisted a little more? Have I edged above 110? Why am I needing to suddenly pull on my brakes and drop back from the boot of the Holden in front?
I checked my speed. 95km/h.
Why?!!?!
Sign post on the side of the road: Next overtaking lane 3km.
I read: Next chance for revenge and a quick trip home 3km.
In 3km time I tried again to zoom past this annoyance. In fact I even took a run up at it, beginning my run a good 300m before the overtaking lane - you need a bit of a headstart when competing with an engine literally 20 times the size of your own.
To no avail. The Commodore sped up to about 125km/h, successfully staying ahead of me, before dropping back to 95km/h once we were back to a one-lane road.
We danced like this another 3 times before the Commodore's empty fuel tank or the driver's need for fast food proved to be my saviour.
In all my attempts I did get close enough on one occasion to see the driver. I don't even think he had registered my existence. He definitely wasn't trying to speed up and cut me off on purpose (you know if someone is driving with ill-intent towards you when you are on a motorcycle). This just furthered my frustration.
He wasn't doing this on purpose. He was just an inconsistent driver. And at the end of our tango, I found myself fuming at being stuck behind this tonne of inconsistency for a 60km stretch of my ride home.
In a similar way I can't stand to be stuck behind people who stagger all over a footpath, following no clear direction, offering inconsistent speeds and then absolutely no warning when they decide to stop in the middle of a crowd.
This is becoming an even more apparent problem in these colder times. Footpaths in Edinburgh can be as slippery as a snake's smooth stomach, especially after a dump of snow overnight. Maneuvering around obstacles is difficult, negotiating the quickest route to work when you are already running 10 minutes late is tricky enough without having to calculate for the errant and erratic movements of aimless wanderers.
To add to it all, I have inherited the Northern tendency to walk with my head down, minimising weather exposure to my all-too-vulnerable neck and chest. And to keep snow out of my eyes. More than once I have looked up to find that the person in front of me has stopped to pull a phone from their pocket, or greet a friend in the middle of a packed, narrow, icy city footpath.
This problem could be easily solved with a set of simple pedestrian rules which encouraged consistent, predictable movement in high-traffic areas at peak times. For example maintaining a constant speed, or checking one's blind spots before stepping suddenly at right angles across three lanes of pedestrian traffic to look in a shopfront window.
I am learning, however, that the world is an extremely inconsistent place.
And that sometimes unpredictability is as intriguing, exciting and thrilling as consistency can be comforting.
That doesn't make it any less frustrating!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Genuine all-rounder
"What a start for the young racer Hamish on this cloudy Edinburgh evening! He's been looking strong all season so far, this fresh face to the world of pedestrian racing shows great promise for the future"
"That he does Barry, that he does. Look at his form, weaving a path straight from the start line... I look at him and I think to myself 'There's a man with a mission, there's a man with a mission'"
"I think you could be right there Mick, he's the type of racer that has nothing but the finish line in mind right from the word 'Go!' That being said, conditions are a little tricky this evening..."
"That they are Barry, that they are. Its a cold one tonight in Edinburgh, road surface is a little slippery, yet young Hamish has still opted for the slicks"
"Yes, I'm not sure if that is a move showing youthful recklessness or is it mere naivety...?"
"Well Barry, you know as well as anyone how hard the adjustment can be for a Southerner..."
"Mick, if you're referring to my horrendous first season of snow racing, I suggest you change the-"
"Jeez, look at that bold overtaking manouvre! He's really striding out now, no concerns for the icy conditions! He's got a fine weave on him this boy, a fine weave"
"Let's just watch that back again... The rear foot sliding through on those smooth slicks underfoot as he deftly cuts across with a big leading left. That's bold with a capital B, Mick"
"Bold is right, Barry, but what's this... What's this?! Could it be-?"
"Snow!"
"Oh and its really coming down, Barry, pouring down. Cats and dogs me ol' mum'd say, cats and dogs. I wonder if this is going to force this young racer to have a change of race plan?"
"Ooooh! Well, with the way he's sliding about now heading down this slight rise in the track, I think he might need to review his game strategy. He's still showing some resilience in his face, but Mick if you check the clock, his pace has definitely been affected"
"Understandably so, its really coming down Barry-"
"Yes Mick, you said that, we get it, its snowing"
"Oh! Oh! Big slide! Oh he was lucky to retain his balance on that one, skill had nothing to do with it."
"You're right Mick, this is just recklessness. I know he is inexperienced in the snow, but he is not showing anywhere near enough regard for the conditions out there today. And still persisting with those slicks, surely its time for a change?!"
"Well Barry he's nearing the pits he is, we'll see soon enough if this kid has more brains than balls..."
"I certainly hope he does, for his safety's sake, Mick. This could turn ugly."
"There we go Barry, sure enough, the youngster's pulled himself into the pits for a quick restock of supplies for the rest of the evening."
"Straight into the kitchen for some food supplies for his dinner over at the finish line. Oh and some of his girlfriend's clean washing too. But let's see if he removes the slick leather shoes in favour of something with a little more grip..."
"The shoes are off, but what is that he is reaching for...? I don't believe my eyes... Are those-?"
"Dunlops?! But nobody races on Dunlops! I thought they weren't even available outside Australia?!"
"That is definitely a pair of imported Dunlops, black Dunlop Volleys to be precise. Well this is an unprecedented move from the inexperienced young antipodean, Barry."
"Surely they aren't made from the right materials for this type of race-conditions, Mick. I don't want to pre-empt disaster for this promising racer, but I can't see anyone pulling off a brazen move like this one."
"I don't know about that Barry, I don't know, this boy isn't any fool. You know I hear that Dunlops are quite versatile - shoe of choice for even roof tilers back in Australia."
"You're not trying to tell me that you think this is a smart choice are you, Mick?"
"All I'm saying is that I'm not saying anything just yet, Barry. Not saying anything at all. I'm going to wait this one out and see what happens."
"Well you won't be waiting for long. He's on his way out of the pit lane, down the stairs and back out into the weather to rejoin the race. Let's see how his Dunlops fair in this proper Northern weather."
"I can hear the pessimism in your voice, Barry. But his first few steps are looking ok so far. Look at that, even better than ok... He's upping the pace, Barry, getting quicker and quicker."
"Impossible! I... I-! In my 30 years in pedestrian racing I have never-!"
"Well seeing is believing Barry, seeing is believing. Look at that kid go! I believe I am going to have to go out and find a pair of Dunlop Volleys for myself, I am. Amazing stuff. Amazing shoe!"
"Quite extraordinary indeed Mick. Who would have thought..."
"There we go Barry, sure enough, the youngster's pulled himself into the pits for a quick restock of supplies for the rest of the evening."
"Straight into the kitchen for some food supplies for his dinner over at the finish line. Oh and some of his girlfriend's clean washing too. But let's see if he removes the slick leather shoes in favour of something with a little more grip..."
"The shoes are off, but what is that he is reaching for...? I don't believe my eyes... Are those-?"
"Dunlops?! But nobody races on Dunlops! I thought they weren't even available outside Australia?!"
"That is definitely a pair of imported Dunlops, black Dunlop Volleys to be precise. Well this is an unprecedented move from the inexperienced young antipodean, Barry."
"Surely they aren't made from the right materials for this type of race-conditions, Mick. I don't want to pre-empt disaster for this promising racer, but I can't see anyone pulling off a brazen move like this one."
"I don't know about that Barry, I don't know, this boy isn't any fool. You know I hear that Dunlops are quite versatile - shoe of choice for even roof tilers back in Australia."
"You're not trying to tell me that you think this is a smart choice are you, Mick?"
"All I'm saying is that I'm not saying anything just yet, Barry. Not saying anything at all. I'm going to wait this one out and see what happens."
"Well you won't be waiting for long. He's on his way out of the pit lane, down the stairs and back out into the weather to rejoin the race. Let's see how his Dunlops fair in this proper Northern weather."
"I can hear the pessimism in your voice, Barry. But his first few steps are looking ok so far. Look at that, even better than ok... He's upping the pace, Barry, getting quicker and quicker."
"Impossible! I... I-! In my 30 years in pedestrian racing I have never-!"
"Well seeing is believing Barry, seeing is believing. Look at that kid go! I believe I am going to have to go out and find a pair of Dunlop Volleys for myself, I am. Amazing stuff. Amazing shoe!"
"Quite extraordinary indeed Mick. Who would have thought..."
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