Trendy But Casual

Granite City (Note: not the one in Illinois)

We're just back from Aberdeen, where we went (for two days) because we can get cheap train tickets throughout Scotland this month. Aberdeen is the Granite City, and granite has an austere beauty, though T. Middy felt the city's architecture was "sort of like concrete" and "a bit too matchy-matchy". Between the granite and the November gloom, most of our photos look as though they're in black-and-white, with a spot of hand-colouring.

The following represent some of our rambles on Saturday around the City Centre - Union Terrace; Golden Square (not golden at all); Union Street (ready for the Christmas light switch-on); cobbled Castlegate with the old Mercat Cross and requisite anti-British sentiment; the lane we ducked down to visit the excellent Peacock Visual Arts Centre; and parts of Old Aberdeen - the fifteenth-century King's College, and St Machar's Cathedral. A wedding was going on in the cathedral when we arrived - hence the flowers up on the altar. Almost all the men at the wedding were wearing kilts.

 

We also walked down to the busy working harbour. Aberdeen is a huge oil industry base, servicing more than a hundred rigs perched in the North Sea. And we went to see the great Lewis Chessmen exhibition at the City Art Gallery. The chess pieces originated (probably) in twelfth-century Norway, carved from walrus tusks and whale teeth. It was particularly interesting to learn so much about the Kingdom of the Isles, which included Lewis, because its Norse kings ruled from the Isle of Man, possibly T. Middy's ancestral home. ("So now I'm a Viking," he announced, secretly pleased.)

One thing also not pictured: we caught a bus from the city centre up to Old Aberdeen. En route, a woman sitting behind us walked up the aisle to talk to the bus driver, and then returned to her seat. "He's not going the right way," she told us. She was right: we were on the wrong road. The bus then seemed to be taking a right, but no - it was actually making a U-turn. This was quite a feat in a double-decker bus, and it involved the bus a) mounting the pavement and b) narrowly missing hitting the traffic lights. I don't think I've ever been in a bus that performed a U-turn before. It drove back to a major roundabout and, this time, took the correct road.

It was chilly up there, unsurprisingly: the latitude of Aberdeen is north of Moscow. Snow was expected, a taxi driver told us, though this piece of information seems to be a requisite piece of taxi-driver banter all over Scotland. We first heard that line in Glasgow in early October. Snow is always expected, and we could see it on not-so-distant mountains when we caught the train home on Sunday.

When we emerged from Kelvinbridge subway station that afternoon, Glasgow seemed incredibly colourful by comparison with Aberdeen - trees along the Kelvin still autumnal, the sandstones of the tenements a rusty gold. We dropped off our bags and walked back into the city to wander about with the c. two million people who throng Buchanan Street every Sunday. I was excited because yesterday was the turn-on-the-Christmas-lights day in Glasgow, but watching the dramatic turning-on in George Square was a forbidden pleasure. Ticket-holders only! The streets leading to the square were barricaded, in case any non-ticketed citizen tried sneaking in and seeing the Krankies for free. This is what it looked like, apparently. An outside ice rink will open in George Square soon, for the season.

The lights on Buchanan Street were on, at least. This photo was taken c 4:30 in the afternoon, so you can see that my claims of Glasgow looking colourful rather than gloomy are greatly exaggerated.

Snow really IS coming, according to the weather man on Radio Four just now - mainly in the east, which is exactly where we're headed on Friday. We'll be visiting friends and family, going to York for the Christmas market and Newcastle for football. It's TM's birthday this week. Our celebrations begin on Wednesday, when we go to see Alan Bennett's The Habit of Art. It may be dark in Scotland, but there's plenty to do.

 

Stories

Some of my stories were broadcast on Radio New Zealand this week, though I forgot to mention it to anyone but my sister. Next week, however, more will be broadcast, if anyone has time to listen. All go out at 10:45 AM on National. Monday and Tuesday: Mon Desir. Wednesday: Bright. Thursday: Many Mansions. Friday: The Argyle. All these stories are from my collection, Forbidden Cities.

I like the way the Radio NZ site refers to me as "Paul Morris." My first-ever story publication was Bright back in 2000, and I was listed as Paul Morris on one of the pages. It's quite hard to be the Oprah of New Zealand when people keep changing my gender.

Also on the RNZ web site: the engineer is named as Darryl Stack. I went to primary school with someone called Darryl Stack. Surely they are related? We West Aucklanders get around.

Tomorrow T. MIddy and I head off to Aberdeen, because Glasgow is not cold enough. I'm taking my computer, so maybe I'll have time on the train to write a post about my ongoing battles with various British people in positions of influence (radio, newspaper, book publishing) about American geography. In the meantime, here is some cutting social commentary from T. Middy - after a morning spent listening to BBC Radio Four.

TM: I don't like Women's Year.

PM: It's Women's HOUR.

TM: But it feels like Women's Year. That's why I don't like it. When is Men's Hour?

Edinburgh. Rugby. We win.

This Saturday, November 13, T. Middy and I went to Edinburgh on the train to see the All Blacks SMASH Scotland at Murrayfield. (TM: "I'll support Scotland in every sport except rugby." I, however, still cannot forgive Scottish soccer for anti-NZ comments made by the Scotland manager during the 1982 World Cup, so both soccer and rugby are on my non-support list. On will-support list: curling.)

There was slight sport-related chaos in Glasgow on Saturday, involving fluorescent-vested police in the subway, queuing systems at Queen Street station, and a ban on alcohol sales on trains between Glasgow and Edinburgh that afternoon. Rangers were playing too that day, so the subways were crowded. Most of the Rangers supporters were wearing poppies.

It was a cold, clear day in Edinburgh. Already Christmas, according to Coca-Cola.

We strolled George Street and had a late lunch at an Italian restaurant, which used butter pats to express its divided sporting loyalties.

Along with everyone French-speaking in Edinburgh, we caught a bus to Murrayfield and then walked the last leg.

We had brilliant seats in the West Stand, surrounded by Scottish fans - many in kilts, some in Viking horns, one in a blue-and-white bodysuit (sensibly warm) and some in a popular ginger wig/tartan cap get-up that TM has threatened to buy. When I sang the NZ national anthem, I couldn't hear another voice joining in, though I could see a scattering of other NZ supporters nearby. Including this NZ supporter, who claims he couldn't join in because he only knows the first two lines.

The pre-show was a fantastic pipe band, displayed here swirling onto the pitch in out-of-focus artiness, then the anthems, then the haka (also slightly out of focus, because I was over-excited), partly drowned out by the whistles and jeers of Scottish fans. They weren't quite so vocal as the match progressed. I wonder why? Could it be because Scotland only scored once (a penalty) while the All Blacks converted seven tries?

At half-time, T. MIddy asked me about the "half-time show." He's used to America. Cheerleaders, mascots, a band; maybe even Ashlee Simpson. At Murrayfield, we had something much better - a sing-song to a souped-up, blasted-out version of"The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond."

More than 50,000 fans were there at Murrayfield. I've never attended such a big international sporting event. The only other All Blacks test we've seen live was against France in Wellington, where the capacity is more like 35,000. I'd like to say this was the biggest sporting event of any kind I've attended, but unfortunately I've sat through an endless LSU game at Tiger Stadium in Baton Rouge (capacity: 92,000) - the longest, hottest day of my life.

We got tickets for Murrayfield, by the way, at the urging of my father, who went there to see the All Blacks play Scotland in January, 1964. That game was a draw. Scotland has played New Zealand twenty-eight times over the past 105 years. The All Blacks have drawn twice (in 1964 and 1983) and won all the rest.

Highlights: watching the amazing Sonny Bill Williams. Catching up with my boyfriend Richie McCaw. Seeing Dan Carter in full-length. The last time I saw him, he was a life-size paper fold-out acquired, via a milk promotion, by my niece.

Some final rugby links, which many of you may have seen. The first is the All Blacks showing off in an ad for Sky and the second is a parody of that video by the Brumbies.

Kia kaha, Scotland. If you play England, I'll support you.

 

 

 

 

 

Blog update

In a sudden burst of energy this week (possibly attributable to my discovery of the delicious Belgian Chocolate Cornflake Square at Starbucks), I've revamped bits of this blog.

The 'Buy My Books' section now includes links to Amazon in the US and in the UK, where you (i.e. my gentle readers) can buy copies of my YA novel, RUINED. I'm not sure why it's available in the UK when it's not officially published here yet, but the books offered appear to be more or less the real thing.

The rest of my books - three novels, a short story collection, and The Penguin Book of Contemporary New Zealand Short Stories - are not available through Amazon, because they are published by Penguin New Zealand. (Warning to younger readers: these are for older readers, and I don't mean people who are 12 with a reading age of 14.) You can order these books from a number of book shops in New Zealand, and I have links in the BMB section to three of them. Overseas readers: the NZ$ exchange rate is always in your favor.

If you are a reader and want to write to me, send me a message at this blog or send a letter to me care of my agent, Richard Abate at 3Arts in New York. If you click on ABOUT at the top of the righthand column, you'll find his address. Sometimes I get mail via Scholastic and sometimes via the New Zealand Book Council, but I suspect the latter's patience, at least, is wearing thin.

At some point I need to get a real web site, created by a professional, but (as they say in the old Speight's commercial) no hurry.

Liverpool

T. Middy and I recently spent a couple of days in Liverpool. It's changed a great deal since my last visit, c. 1992, when I was working at Polygram and either a) attending a Dmitri Hvorostovsky summer performance at an outdoor venue, during which I (ever underdressed) froze to death, even though DM insisted I take his scarf; or b) taking DJ Gary Davies up on the train to be interviewed by Richard and Judy on This Morning. Ah, my professional glory days.

Liverpool is brilliant these days. We stayed at Base2Stay - a renovated warehouse in a very central location, which (we were told) was well dodgy a few years ago. Even now the view is of a semi-derelict building across the street. I like derelict buildings.

 

We went to one of the shows in the Biennial in this boarded-up building, abandoned in the 1980s. It's the Scandinavian Hotel, backing onto the 'Europleasure' building (on the right of the photo below). The film we watched, Touch and Go, shows people throwing stones through the building's windows.

 

And after that we needed a drink.

We were there during the week, so couldn't see Liverpool FC play, though we did manage to find their shop. It is, we discovered, the best place to buy Liverpool FC towels, duvet covers, curtains, cups, stickers, clothes, shot glasses, ashtrays and lunchboxes. We spent most of our time doing every conceivable touristy thing, especially if it had some Beatles connection - though we didn't have time to go out for dinner with Pete Best's mother, possibly one of the many ways to spend our money on a Beatles-related activity. (One of the guided tours actually costs 95 pounds a person, which is about $1000 in a normal currency.) We were also prevented from taking a ferry cross the Mersey, now an expensive "river cruise", because it was full. We had to content ourselves with driving in a tunnel UNDER the Mersey the next day, which is practically the same thing, and (even with the motorway toll) a lot cheaper.

Here is TM at the original entrance to the Cavern.

We also went a couple of times to the Jacaranda, once run by the Beatles' first manager, Alan Williams, with murals downstairs allegedly painted by John Lennon and Stu Sutcliffe when they were art students. Despite my job-induced aversion to live music, we really enjoyed the open mike ("give them a world-famous Jacaranda welcome") night - basically a sing-song. Sing-songs are exempt from my live music moratorium, especially if the songs include "Wonderwall" and "A Day in the Life" and "Pinball Wizard." The crowd there was mostly good-natured students who kept offering us seats, because apparently we are old.

Here we are, being old in the ferris wheel. After you've gone around four times, and taken lots of pictures, and discussed how the people on the "river cruise" will be suffering now the weather's closing in, you're reduced to taking pictures of yourselves.

And maybe you'll take one more shot of the view:

The other highlight of the ferris wheel, for me, was the 80s music playing while we were waiting to get on, including the German version of "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco. ("Er war ein Superstar/Er war so populär".) TM may beg to differ on this, but this is because he doesn't know all the words to "Keep Feeling Fascination" by the Human League, and is therefore at a social/cultural disadvantage.

Most of the time we walked around, because there's so much to see.

The two restaurants where we ate were excellent: Lunya and Alma De Cuba. The latter was one of the most spectacular restaurants I've ever seen - in a (deconsecrated) church built in the 1780s. This picture gives just a hint of how beautiful it is:

We were sad to leave. We plan to go back some time in the new year, hopefully to see a football match, and possibly hang out with Fernando Torres.

[T. Middy has just read this through, and says he would spell open mike "open mic". He also says he would not necessarily choose to hang out with F. Torres. Whatever.]

Addendum: the photo taken by TM on his phone downstairs inside the Jacaranda, with the alleged Lennon/Sutcliffe mural:

Katrina Revisited

For those of you who've wandered in (on?) and feel confused by all the Katrina posts: these were all originally posted on another blog, Babies Are Fireproof, which is no longer open to the public. I wanted to save the content here somehow, and this seemed the easiest way. I've added some pictures to the return-to-NOLA posts.

Reading through them again five years later has been awful, I have to say. I'm also conscious of the gaps. There were so many things I didn't write about. We managed to have our annual Christmas party, in the brief window in December when we had electricity and gas, and people who came said visiting our neighborhood was like driving into the countryside, everything dark apart from our little porch light glowing in the distance. On Christmas Day itself, when we no longer had gas, we walked around the corner to Sarah Doerries' house to take a shower. We wore our dressing gowns and carried towels. We were standing on her steps chatting when the Salvation Army van drove past, and someone shouted up to ask if we wanted a cooked Christmas dinner. We'd already bought all our Christmas food, so we drove around to Richelle and William's house to cook it, eat it, and wash the dishes. (They were still away.) The kindness of friends, the kindness of strangers - this is what the months after the flood were all about.

A stolen, washed-out BMW sat crashed in our street until January. I was almost sad to see it go.

There were lots of other drowned cars around our neighborhood, especially in the neutral ground of Claiborne, where people had parked in the hope of keeping their vehicles dry. And some vehicles were just washed up there, of course.

 

In the background you can see the flayed roof of the Superdome. Strange to think of how quickly such a demonized landmark was rehabilitated. (In May 2006, I was there for the Tulane graduation ceremony.)

Some places were closed for business; others were open, sort of:

Some places - like the new Bruno's on Maple Street - had fallen down.

All over town, people were throwing their things away.

This is what the front half of our downstairs looked like:

 

And this is all we could salvage from down there - a few of Tom's scout things, and some of the wedding silver. Note the Lysol spray. We were spraying everything then, including ourselves.

 

Happy days. So, an update. It's five years later, and there's a new president (much better); Louisiana has a new mayor (also much better) and a new governor (even worse). I was wrong about Nagin: after he was re-elected he checked out.

As discussed in earlier posts, It took more than three months to get electricity in our place and almost four to get regular gas service. We didn't have a land line for eight months. The streetcar wasn't running the length of St Charles Avenue until the end of 2007. We spent the last of our food stamps on food for Christmas dinner 2005.

When we left New Orleans, in August of this year, Cartier was still our mailman. Russell still owns Arcadian Books. Some people we knew ended up leaving NOLA after Katrina, including Richelle and William. Becky stayed, of course. Just before Katrina, we put up a gazebo in her garden; the hurricane blew it away. Two summers later we put up another gazebo, and that got blown away as well. Too many of her family now live in Alexandria, Louisiana.

We're still very good friends with Rodney and Paige in Marksville, and we've been back up there many times. For five years after the storm we worked for John Ed and Tiffany Laborde selling crawfish bread at Jazzfest. We haven't been back to the Frog Festival in Rayne, or to the Shrimp and Petroleum Festival in Morgan City, but there's always next year ...

 

 

Katrina Revisited: Nine Months Later (6/17/06)

This is not a recovered post, but some photos taken on June 17, 2006, almost nine months after Hurricane Katrina. My nephew was visiting and we drove around the city. These pictures were taken in the Lower Ninth Ward. Nine months later, remember.

 

 

 

 

Katrina Revisited: Still (12/9/05)

[Original post: December 9, 2005]

We're back in New Orleans, living among the rubble and trailers, driving along streets still lined with junk and debris, passing military vehicles, or trucks laden with ladders and wood. It's a (re)construction zone in which many things are still not working (including numerous stop lights and street lights). The street car track is still a dumping ground, decorated with handmade signs announcing businesses that have opened or moved, or advertising mold removal/building services/electrical inspection.

 

 

The first few days back were quite depressing, because we had no electricity, gas or phone service in our place. We've been camping out in the spare room at a friend's house, but after more than three months of relying on the tremendous hospitality and patience of other people, we're eager to get home - like everyone else, pretty much. (And at least we live somewhere that's still standing.) The mood in the city ranges from optimistic to defiant to disbelieving to angry to despairing. People with somewhere to work and somewhere to live, even if those places are new to them or temporary, are trying their best to get back to normal, though it's not clear here what normal is anymore.

There are numerous ironies and irritations to keep us busy: receiving a disconnection notice from MCI, for example, because we haven't paid our bill since the hurricane. We've had no phone service since then, either, but a call to MCI (from somone else's phone) to remind them of this fact was necessary, complete with more than half an hour on hold. We now have a firm commitment - wait for it - that we'll have phone service again by February 28, 2006, at 8 PM. This is good news, because I was hoping to make a call at 9 PM that evening. Thanks, Bell South! Thanks for your stellar customer service, MCI!*

Entergy had also sent us a bill for estimated gas and electricity usage over the last three months. You'd think that this estimate might read ZERO, considering we've had no gas or electricity in this time. But no - it's about $60. It's amazing how much energy you can use when nothing is connected and your neighborhood is in total darkness. So, of course, this meant more time on someone else's phone, calling Entergy to ask them to stop sending bills and start sending trucks. The good news: our gas was turned on this Wednesday, after I agreed to get to the house at 7 am and wait, in the cold and gloom, for someone to show up. He did, at 9 AM (bless him). I've never been so happy to see the burners on the stove light up. And, after more hectoring phone calls and the very welcome intervention of the Entergy gas worker ("Y'all haven't had power since the storm? All they need to do is flick that switch up there"), our electricity returned on Thursday.

Now our house is a little beacon of light in a trashed, still-empty neighborhood. We're moving back today, and hopefully will get a new fridge tomorrow. During the day, workers tear out the insides of houses nearby; at night, the only lights shine from a couple of FEMA trailers parked outside houses and from our little porch. The two schools by us - McMain and Ursuline - are supposed to open in the new year, but until then the only sounds are hammers, drills, and the crash of wood landing on piles in the street. Cartier, our mailman, visits every day. He lost his house, but is rebuilding - he'll be able to move back in the summer. He evacuated to Alabama and then Houston, and right now he's staying with his sister in Algiers.

There's bad news from Tulane. Of course, the local media is fixated on cuts in sports programs rather than the more drastic academic and administrative changes. I still have a job, it seems, and those of us still employed will be allowed back into our offices soon. Somewhere to use the phone, at least.

My six weeks in New Zealand seem very dream-like right now. Just before I left, Hibiscus Coast was optioned by a film company. Or was it? I'm not sure of anything anymore.

 

 *Our gas went off again on Christmas Eve, which meant we couldn't wash or cook. We did not get phone service back until April 2006.

Katrina Revisited: New Zealand (10/25/05)

[Original post: October 25, 2005]

We're in Auckland right now (my home town) enjoying the spring weather and, of course, getting the obligatory return-to-Auckland cold.

Tonight is the launch party for Hibiscus Coast (at Starkwhite Gallery, 510 Karangahape Road, in case anyone is passing), so I'm in a state of ridiculous anxiety, mainly about the catering arrangements. The theme is apparently confused pan-Asian, so we have Indian and Japanese food, with Chinese decorations.

We heard from Paul, our landlord in New Orleans, the other day: still no electricity or gas at our place. The neighborhood is very quiet, he says, and it seems few people are trying to move back completely right now. Maple Street Books* is open for business again (TM talked to Rhoda yesterday) but customers are still scarce.

I'm sorry we didn't make it back up to Iowa City before we flew out to New Zealand: we left earlier than planned. We're coming back to the US at the end of November.

The book is doing well here so far, and I have been boring my fellow New Zealanders to death talking about myself in various media outlets. Those of you who know me well will realize what a hardship this is for all concerned.

 

*Maple Street Books was TM's employer at the time. He ended up going back to New Orleans in late November, a week before I returned, because he needed to start work (and start getting paid) again. Our house was uninhabitable, so he stayed at the empty home of some friends, Richelle and William.

Katrina Revisited: I Spent Your Money (10/4/05)

[Original post: October 4, 2005]

I thought those of you who sent Target gift cards might want to know how the money was spent. (Don’t worry: I have not decked myself out in head-to-toe Isaac Mizrahi, accessorized with blue-handled Michael Graves kitchen implements.)

Yesterday we drove to the Garan shelter in Marksville to find out what was needed this week, but the shelter had closed the day before. Shelters are consolidating right now, so the evacuees still living there have been dispatched to nearby faux-metropolis Alexandria. Most are staying in the Riverfront Center, which faces the giant levee of the Red River. This is a conference facility that housed 425 evacuees on Sunday; the number went down on Monday as some people moved out, with another 150 new arrivals expected that night. The Red Cross volunteers told us that as more shelters close, they expect to reach their capacity of 850 pretty soon.

It’s a better environment that Garan – i.e. not a factory – but people are still sleeping in a communal room filled with cots and borrowed belongings. The mealtime schedule, posted on a piece of cardboard, includes a special early breakfast for school children. Most people there look bored, or stunned, or simply exhausted. I’ve felt anxious and grumpy enough this month staying at Slowness. If I had to sleep every night in a huge room full of strangers, using communal bathrooms, told when I can eat, standing in line whenever I need to get diapers or tampons or toilet paper, and checked in and out of the building by the National Guard, I’d be more than miserable. Many of these evacuees will not be able to go home for months. Many have nothing to go home to.

For the Garan shelter, we bought five giant bottles of laundry detergent for use in the sole communal washing machine, and one hundred towels.

For the Alexandria shelter, after talking yesterday to the young Red Cross people at the front desk, we bought: a DVD player, a microwave oven, two basketballs, two footballs, two (Halloween-themed) play balls, two long jump ropes, a pump, ten extension cords, four big packs of AA batteries, five towels and, with the leftover money, two big packs of Halloween candy.

As you can tell by the second shopping list, boredom is a major factor there, especially for kids.

All of these things were appreciated so much at the shelters: everything will be put to good use. The volunteer who took the towels from us was nearly skipping with happiness, because that was a dire need at Garan. I’m really, really grateful to those of you who sent Target cards. Thank you so much.