Yesterday, finally, after a break of nearly four years, I returned to the race track. Not for a competitive event, but for a track day. And I learned a little…
The scene has changed. Maybe.
Track days were mostly full of road cars. Lotus Elises were hugely popular, but you’d see a collection of Porsches, various Caterhams and Westfields, and assorted other fast cars. There’d also be quite the gaggle of hot hatches in various states of modification, from bog standard ten year old Golf GTIs through to cars with full roll cages and stiff suspension.
Yesterday it was mostly race cars and track specific motors. There were very few number plates in evidence. There was my own Elise, a Porsche GTS, a couple of Caterhams, and a Honda. Racing or track only cars included Jordan Stilp’s new and seriously rapid Clio Cup racer, an Audi engine Elige (a motorsport bodied Lotus Elise, basically), a swarm of Caterham R300’s from bookarack’s fleet, and a few Ginettas. I soon suspected that the day was more about racers preparing for the upcoming season than about enthusiast drivers who were probably dubious about investing good money on a winter track day that could turn out to be a washout.
But I didn’t mind – the standard of driving was excellent and polite – and when people are skilled you can drive in close quarters without feeling like their cars are about to go off in a random direction.
So about the tyres then?
I don’t change my car much – basically, if it has a setup I’m happy with and that I enjoy then that’s good enough for me. But my old Bridgestones were shot from age and Ollie at Phoenix Motorsports recommended Yokahama Advan Neovas as a road & track friendly alternative. A tyre that can handle rain without trying to kill you. And they’re cheaper too. Given I don’t use the Lotus much and that the Bridgestones were worn out not because the tread had gone, but because they were hard from age, I figured that slightly shorter lived tyres wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
And here’s what happens – suddenly I was having to brake for Roberts from nearly 120mph, just as the car hit the rev limiter in fourth. Last time I went to Donington I was breaking for the old Goddards corner from about 115mph. Given that Roberts has made Starkey’s straight quite a bit shorter that’s a revelation. I was reaching the same sort of speed on the pit straight as well.
The reason was a combination of increased corner speed and superior traction – I could use all the car’s power for a lot more time. I could also carry more speed into corners, so the brakes appeared to have an easier time of it.
On top of that, you get to feel even more lateral G forces. To the degree that the car is becoming quite physical to drive – in Craner Curves at Donington you feel forces that seem out of order for a fairly standard road going car. It makes for a very exciting time if you get it wrong there, as you’re now going a lot faster – another 5mph, exiting the corner at about 110mph in my Elise.
In summary
If you’re looking for a cheap upgrade to make your road oriented track car far faster than seems reasonable, I’d recommended such tyres. Just make sure your suspension setup is capable – fitting sticky tyres to a tall, soft car can lead to a lot more excitement than a mere spin. Being upside down, for example.
Imagine, you arrive at the restaurant. It’s slick, it’s luscious. Wonderful smells assault your nose.
You’re hungry. Very hungry. This is going to be great!
So, you sit down, the waiter comes over. Oddly, he doesn’t hand you a menu. Instead, he decides to tell you what you can eat.
“Tonight, for starters, you can have smoked duck breast with confit duck fritter, orange & shallot dressing.”
“Sounds delicious!” you reply, “What are the other options?”
“I’m sorry sir, that’s the only dish we have for starters.”
“Oh, OK, well, good job it’s tasty! What’s for mains?”
“Roast Duck Breast with spiced plums, shallot puree, spring onions & crispy confit duck,” replies the waiter.
“And?”
“Sir, that’s the only option for you tonight I’m afraid.”
“Bit… heavy on the duck, isn’t it?”
“Sir, you like Duck?”
“Well yes,” you reply, “but twice in one meal is a bit much. Don’t you have anything else?”
“No sir, that’s your only option.”
“Not much of an option. Still, I’m sure it’ll be nice. And what do you do for dessert?”
“Oh sir, naturally we have about twenty desserts you can choose from!” he exclaims, “You can have chocolate mousse, creme brulée, a variety of ice creams…”
You decide to interrupt him and then… realise that it won’t change anything. Your a minority voice – everybody else is offered ten dishes, it’s only you that’s stuck on duck.
And that, my friends, is what many restaurants are like for vegetarians. You get a single cheese based starter, a single cheese based main, and lots and lots of dessert choices. I’d love it if more restaurants got with it and offered a broader range of food. I also think a lot of restaurants could improve their week-night takings by offering healthier food… people who travel a lot for work don’t need to make themselves sick as a result of eating out four or five nights a week.
Image credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/unanoslucror/7314646402/ by Jon Smith on Flickr, CC-BY-SA 2.0
It’s always sad when you decide to get rid of a car that you’ve enjoyed owning. Not because it’s no good, but because your needs have changed. And the biggest problem was that we’re now parents to one growing toddler and another relatively new baby.
Which nearly did my back in. Both the Skoda and the Audi are relatively low cars, and as I have a weak back as it is, this proved too much and I recently found myself barely able to move for a weekend. Not good. I decided it was time to find a taller car.
So, with a heavy heart, I’m selling my 77,000 mile late 2004 Skoda Octavia vRS. As you might expect from me, it’s been well looked after, has a full service history and no expense has been spared in its maintenance. It’s a cracking car with great performance, handling and pretty good refinement.
I’ll let the pictures do the rest of the talking. If you’re interested, drop me a line in the comments below. I’ll be adding a contact number on here shortly once the Telesafe number’s come through.
Price? Just £3100 – a lot of car for little money. I’ll be sad to see it go.
Ok, the riots matter. Especially if you’re unlucky enough to have had to face rioters in your district, near your home, or near your business. In fact, the riots and disturbances are full of tragedy, deaths and ruined lives. They are, frankly, horrible.
And strong action is needed to stop it turning into a joyfull rampage for our criminal underclass.
But what they aren’t is some kind of protest. They’re a laugh. If I didn’t have much to lose I suspect I might even find the thrill of a riot quite an attraction. And in areas where there’s possibly not much to do if you’ve got very little money then I can quite understand the fun, the empowerment of feeling that police won’t stop you when they usually do. Thing is, what nobody seems to be saying is that the number of people involved is tiny.
200/816216 = 0.0245%
Here’s a thing – the number of people kicking off in the Liverpool area has been reported as approximately 200. In reality that means anywhere between 50 and 500. But let’s assume that 200 is correct for now. That’s a whole 0.0245% of the population. Another way of looking at is that that 99.975% of the population in Liverpool didn’t feel compelled to smash anything up or set fire to cars. I daresay the proportions around London are similar.
So actually, society functions well for almost everybody in it. In fact, given that 45,000 18-20 year olds are indicted of a criminal offence in a year (sample from 1999) you can see that even the vast majority of young convicted criminals aren’t interested in rioting. The numbers are so small that you can’t say that this is a problem with a consumerist society, a problem with poverty, or a problem with our culture – the sample size is too small. It’s probably just some yobs getting the upper hand on the police and having some fun.
It’s a Policing Thing, Stupid
You can stop almost all riots. All you need are an awful lot of police who aren’t scared to intimidate and bully their way through trouble. It works. Riots are rare in police states, for example.
So we need to ask if we really want brutal police officers? What about when they’re not dealing with a riot? They’re going to be the ones your son deals with when he gives a bit of cheek to an officer after being told off for cycling on the pavement. They’re going to be the ones potentially wading in too early during an otherwise peaceful protest.
We must come to accept that these occasional moments of unrest are, unless repeated again and again with significant economic damage, a relatively small cost of living in a relatively free society. Just as we mustn’t allow the few terrorists with religious agendas to change how we live, we mustn’t allow the few thugs out there to change the way we deal with protest and the way we run our cities.
Of course, the cost mustn’t be borne by the individuals and businesses affected – if our society is to accept this, it must also ensure that nobody is left harmed or significantly out of pocket by this either. We need to be humane and adult about it all.
What we certainly don’t need is to start pressuring our politicians into making some dumb, knee-jerk changes that will take away our hard won freedoms. Let’s take stock, let’s maybe ask for police to be a little smarter in apprehending the rioters, but let’s not give up and change too much.
One of the most important things that gets forgotten about when running a WP site is that performance is important. We see many sites with page load times way in excess of 2,000ms per page. Often the site just gets progressively slower over time and the change isn’t really noticed. That had happened with mine, though I’d made tweaks in the past to help, I still wasn’t happy.
So I knew that the increasingly sluggish performance of my site was an issue. The crud had built up, and in rebooting I hoped to dramatically improve responsiveness.
And I did:
It’ll be interesting to see the impact of this over time, but I’m pleased with the results so far.
An interesting graph of site performance over the past few years:
As you can see – the performance early last year got particularly bad.
It’s worth noting that I don’t run any caching or CDN on this site – it’s never that busy to be worth the work.
I’m hoping that I can now keep responsiveness down to <700ms average.
One lesson I hope you do take away from this is the importance of continuously monitoring your site’s responsiveness by using a service such as Pingdom.com.
Hello – here’s the refreshed blog. I’ve decided to revert to a more typical blog format, after many months of soul searching on the issue. I previously had a layout based on a framework we used at interconnect/it for a couple of clients
But not only have I opted to switch to a blog layout, I’ve decided to use an off-the-shelf theme. I’m now using Khoi Vinh‘s Basic Maths WordPress theme.
Why?
Well, it’s a lovely theme, for starters. The typography is pretty good. The archives page is brilliant (check it out) and should be the standard bearer for all themes archive pages.
But the real question for many, I suspect, is why I’m not using an interconnect/it designed theme. Well, for starters, interconnect/it hasn’t produced an off-the-shelf theme in years. It’s just not our business. So rather than use a product of ours, we’d have to spend good and valuable time on creating a new theme. And, well, why would we want to do that?
Lots of reasons, actually. I could have a theme coded at the office that really shows off what we can do. But the problem with that is that there’s not much need. My blog is not an important one. It isn’t about WordPress (most WP related content will be on our company site, not my personal one) and it just doesn’t get much traffic.
I run a business. Its purpose is to make money, employ five people, and, with a bit of luck, turn a reasonable profit. Its job is not to service my ego or make me look good. A really good theme costs the equivalent of around £10k-£20k of chargeable time to design, code, test and implement.
Given that we’re turning work away, I thought “why bother?” And decided to go shopping for something.
So What’s It Like?
It’s actually quite weird using somebody else’s theme. I actually tried a few out and here are the things I learned that will hold us in good stead.
Themes don’t do enough to make life easy.
No really, they don’t. One of interconnect/it’s biggest challenges is making sure that WP is as easy to use for clients as possible. This means following standards, but it also means using some little tricks that help out – for example, registering and setting plenty of different image sizes, and setting/over-ruling whatever the media settings say.
Migrating WP content really sucks.
There’s a fundamental flaw with the default WP export/import. If you have inline images, although the importer has the ability to download and attach the image in your new site it won’t change the links. And if you do a search and replace, and your image sizes have changes, your lost. Totally – the img tag will point to a file that doesn’t exist.
So what do you do? Well, usually if I’m moving a site from one server to another, even switching domains, it’s a non-issue. I have my tools. But if you’re starting from fresh and working like an end-user would then you have to go through every single damn post in order to fix the images. Every post with an image in it. That’ll take a while.
If you’re really geeky, you’ll sort it, but it takes time. Way too much time. This kind of stuff needs to be sorted and it’s something we may look into as a contribution to the WP project.
Some Plugins Leave Lots of Crud
The reason for a reboot was that I felt that my site’s DB had been filled up with all sorts of crud. Lots of plugins create tables, leave options, and so on. Surplus tables have little impact, but they clutter the place up. But options, lots and lots of them, do have a minor performance hit, and they add up.
Other plugins leave hooks, don’t deactivate properly and so on. And over the years, I’d been through an awful lot of plugins. The site hadn’t been redone since WP 2.0 had been set up on it. I felt it was getting sluggish.
So… there are beautiful and amazing themes out there, and WP is wonderful, but there are little things that could make life just that bit better. Better migration tools, a better system of managing images within content and their migration, and a better system for activating themes so that image sizes are better handled.
Is it a lot to ask? Well, we’ll see what we can do about that!
In 2000 in the UK, the Freedom of Information Act gave us all the ‘right to know’ what our public bodies were up to. We can ask for information about a huge range of items, and it’s a great idea. Information should, in my view, be as open and transparent as possible.
But there’s a problem.
It’s become easier and easier to make FOI requests, for example using sites like the excellent http://www.whatdotheyknow.com/
I like this. I like efficiency. I like speedy, easy to use systems.
But what I don’t particularly like are some people.
Let me explain. People, in general, tend to be quite nice, harmless, and socially aware. But a significant proportion, perhaps 20%, are best described as spoiled, selfish, mean… you know what I mean. And that’s an awful lot of people. In our population of 60 million or so that means there are 12 million not especially nice folk around. A smaller proportion, perhaps a million, will be genuinely unpleasant*.
So, what happens when a large number of people can easily make requests to the FOI that are, to all intents and purposes, selfish?
This is what happens, each set from just one user:
In each case the requests pertained to commercial information. The diesel misfuelling question is by Nick Panchaud, who a quick bit of googling for the term “Nick Panchaud diesel” reveals him to be commenting around the place promoting the Diesel Key, a device to prevent petrol hoses being inserted into diesel vehicles.
Natalie Davis and Keith Griffiths are harder to track down conclusively due to their more common names, but the requests they make would only really be of interest to commercial organisations, so I’m rolling with it.
What’s happening is that at least some people are making multiple FOI requests for commercial gain. Yet there’s a massive cost behind all this. I decided to do a little bit of FOI requesting myself. My question? How much did Nick Panchaud’s requests cost you to service?
I only asked three public bodies (let’s not build up the costs here!) and two responded ( http://www.whatdotheyknow.com/user/david_coveney ) giving costs of £87.63 and £50. Not much of a sample size, but let’s roll with it – it may be representative. Given that, you can see that to fulfil Mr Panchaud’s research it has cost public bodies as much as £41,900. Money that has come out of tax payer’s pockets.
If we assume similar costs for those other requests I’ve listed above (it may be quite a bit more: http://www.scotland.gov.uk/News/Releases/2010/11/12143737) , we’re looking at potentially another £87,700. So three people with commercial interests have sucked over £100k from our economy.
A Possible Solution
FOI requests are costing the country millions. People like our Nick Panchaud above are not using the FOI system in the spirit in which it was meant to be used. Consequently they are costing us a fortune and we need to find a way, in these difficult times, to slash those costs.
I propose a change to the FOI system that makes all requesters pay a small fee. It doesn’t have to be a lot – perhaps £10 each. That would stop the scurrilous and wasteful requests, whilst still keeping the system open for those with a real purpose for the information they seek. Even commercial researchers. Obviously it should be reviewed in time – it may need to go up, or down, but usually people are economically quite selfish and they’ll consider more carefully the requirement.
I know this post is likely to disappear in the noise and won’t get much traction, but this has been bugging me for a while now and I had to say something!
* On the upside, there’s 600,000+ geniuses (depending how you measure it) floating around, so maybe they balance out. Then again, perhaps 20% of those geniuses are evil geniuses. In which case that’s 120,000 evil geniuses in the country. That’s a lot.
I’ve done Arica > San Pedro before, albeit with a change at Calama. Thing is, I just remembered one of the more annoying bits…
Chile has concerns over various food pests and as a consequence you not only get checked for fruit, cheese etc on boarding the bus, there are also occassional checkpoints. So at 3.30 in the freakin’ morning the lights all come on it’s time to step into the cold.
So here I am, wide awake, irritable, and in full realisation that this bus was designed for a country where the average height is a good two inches (5cm) less than back home. So I’ve got my music on, popped my fleece on and hoping for some sleep. Soon.
I’m staying put while I wait for the headstone to be finished and fitted, and consequently got to see an Arican weekend.
There’s not a lot for me to do in many ways, so yesterday I spent some time going through all of my father’s papers and notebooks. I found evidence of one email address he’d used from five years ago, but it no longer existed. So I returned from the computer and continued… until I found painstakingly detailed notes on how to use Yahoo mail. Including a password.
Bingo!
I felt that if he had e-mail perhaps he’d been in touch with people and I could work out more of his life. I ran down to the computers they have here in the hotel, logged in and… he’d only ever emailed one place – the Department of Work and Pensions. It was all about his pension, along with a couple of emails explaining that they had his address wrong (and which they never seemed to correct!) and that was it. Nothing else, nothing in the sent folder to anyone else. It was a dead end.
Ah well. So I went back to the notes and worked out a fair few things. I’ll note what I’ve learned in full at the bottom of this post, as the whole day taught me things.
The Letters
One of my disappointments was to find no detail of any personal life, anywhere. But I did bring with me all the letters he sent me from 1988 to 1991. These covered his crisis period. I decided to get them in order, photograph each one, for posterity, and then read them one after another.
Ouch. This caused another period of getting down, because I realised some things. I remembered how, in the letters, were statements which were essentially threats to commit suicide. The incredible emotional blackmail. His feeling of injustice over what he thought was some kind of inheritence. In part that my memory hadn’t formed a perfect impression of the order of events (although I wasn’t too far out) and that his crisis had clearly been real enough, but largely because towards the end of the letters he stopped being so demanding and so hard on me. In fact, the very last letter was more about caring for me than himself. He was almost upbeat and looking to the future.
That was the moment. He’d realised what he’d done and he was trying to repair it. Problem is, he was too late. I was still upset at him, and I’d now rejected him completely. At the time I couldn’t forgive him for what he’d done. The letter is in quite a sorry state as I’d crumpled it up ready for the bin, but interestingly it looks like I changed my mind, flattened it out and put it with the rest.
Page one of the last letter.Page two of the last letter.
And so I found myself wondering. Should I have forgiven him sooner? I’d certainly have stood far more of a chance of finding him, and maybe he’d learned. But at the same time I do believe I was still scared of him. I never told him I’d moved, and I never checked again with the neighbour who’d been taking my post in.
I think, to me (and maybe to others) that this is a valuable lesson in the dangers of losing the trust of those closest to you. If you want to get it back a letter isn’t enough. You have to earn it. Really work at it. He could have forged the connections once more, the stupid bugger, but he couldn’t stop me walking away. My own instability at the time meant he had no chance of finding out where I lived…certainly not from South America.
It’s also taught me that communication is everything. Sometimes those around you know little about what you do and what you think. For example, he didn’t really understand the repossession of my grandmother’s house or the intense solitude I felt at the time.
Maybe if I’d simply told him? But I needed to protect myself as well.
I did originally plan to place the letters online in their entirety, but that will have to wait. I saw some things there that could cause real issues for some people and which need to be cleared first. Maybe in the future. But it’s a thin maybe.
At 9pm, after the terror pizza, I headed to the pool hall to meet more of my father’s friends and acquaintances. There was Oliver (or Oscar, my notes aren’t clear on this and I need to check tomorrow) who met him over ten years ago on the La Paz-Arica train. Or Pablo, who’d known him since 1991… from the time of that last letter.
Obviously I had questions. I asked if he’d mentioned family and they only had one mention… a daughter, in Quito, Ecuador, who died in a road traffic accident at the age of about 13. But I couldn’t find any more detail than that. No names, no known addresses, and there’d been nothing in the notes. Back home we suspect he may have been using this as a way of blocking conversation about family, but who can be sure? He gave the story consistently, everyone reported it as the same, but something occurs to me… it’s an old story. If he was reporting this 19 years or so ago, then the age wouldn’t be possible as I’m not aware of him having been to South America prior to around 1983.
So, after all this, and without the help of an interpreter, I only had vague echos of the man. Nothing so firm other than that he was, it seems, generous with friends, selective about his company, and a creature of habit. I sat where he sat, chatted with his friends, enjoyed a beer, and learned to spell ‘jote’, the red wine and Coke mix, correctly.
This all cheered me up. Apart from the odd mentalist (my father did hang around with a diverse group) I found that these friends he had were pleasant, intelligent people with things to share. We drank to my father, I tried to explain the story in as sensitive way as possible, and we laughed and joked.
Anyone who’s experienced the death of someone close to them will know that there is often a lot to do. No exceptions here, plus the added pressure of limited time. However, I’m not entirely unhappy about the time thing… makes me get things done.
Cementaria Parque de Arica
Center stage, as ever!
So, following the funeral I went yesterday to the cemetary to finish off the paper work. The tomb is owned in perpetuity by me, although a typical arrangement, that may seem strange in Europe, is to simply rent a tomb for a number of years. Once that time is up the coffin is disinterred and transferred to a shared grave. I also had to sort out maintenance again, in perpetuity. It’s not a lot each year, but with no easy way of paying fifteen pounds to an account in Chile every now and then I had no option.
I actually saw this happening on my second visit. You could see a clearly subdued couple watching as the coffin was lifted from a tomb, cleaned up, sealed in plastic, then loaded onto a hearse. It was a sad sight.
And it’s all made slightly bizarre by the music that’s piped into the cemetary. If you have a funeral it does seem to be suitably sombre, but at all other times they appear to often play cheerful music for the workers to enjoy.
Piping out the tunes
It’s tricky feeling sombre and respectful when you can hear an Abba song.
Still, at father’s tomb it wasn’t so audible.
I took some photos, walked around, paid my respects, and headed back to town for a meeting with the reverend David Hucker who carried out the bilingual service. He’s clearly a nice man, and initially refused my attempt to pay for the service. It had to be turned into a donation to his church before he’d accept. Given the service included a singer, I was amazed. The kindness of people here doesn’t cease to amaze me. We chatted about why he and his wife came here, my own background and so on. All very pleasant.
Headstones
I felt like I’d taken enough of Joaquin’s time so I decided I’d make the effort to arrange the headstone entirely on my own. With limited Spanish and nothing more than a vague idea of where a stonemason may be, I set off.
Now, this is where you have to admire the Chilean desire for efficiency. The hospital is at one end of a road approximately 1km long. At the other, lies the municipal cemetary (not the one Chris is in). Along this road are numerous funeral directors and various parked hearses, ranging from custom made examples to tired looking old American station wagons. Given this is one of the more important routes to the hospital, I can’t help wonder if it helps reassure incoming patients. Still, it’s efficient.
After some aimless wandering I spotted a suitable stone mason, went inside, and did my best. On Monday morning I’m either getting exactly what I wanted, or a very rough approximation with some crazy typeface. Let’s see. Again, Chilean flexibility and a can-do attitude helped. I explained I wasn’t likely to be around for much longer and that I couldn’t wait the usual week. He made it happen.
The House
It was very dark when I took this picture of the house Chris lived in.
The next job of the day was to visit the house where my father lived. He’d rented a room here for over ten years.
I had a real shock when the first item brought in was his suitcase. It’s the only recognisable item I saw in his belongings – the same cream coloured Samsonite suitcase he’d used throughout much of the eighties. It was a touch battered, but it even still carried a sticker for a hotel in Sluis in the Netherlands (a small, sleepy town once notorious for having the highest density of sex shops in the world) at which I remember him buying me waffles with cream and strawberries each time we visited on his tours.
From there on in it went a little downhill. There was no wallet, no photo album, no sign of his early past in South America. Apart from a couple of postcards from his days in Belgium(!) and his passports going back to the mid-eighties there was nothing. None of my letters to him were there, nor any photos of me or any of his children. I still have to visit another place where he apparently kept some stuff, but mostly I believe they were just things he sold on the market where had a small spot.
The old suitcase
So what did I find out about him?
Looking at his passports he travelled an awful lot up until around 2006 when he broke his hip-bone in a fall during a tussle of some sort. He’d been trading in clothes and, for a while, also appeared to be running some sort of homeopathy service. He was buying significant quantities of remedies from a german supplier in South America whose exact location I’ll be working out shortly. He had three books in his belongings, two of which were on homeopathy, with the other being an encyclopaedia.
The rest was mostly junk. Old lottery tickets, some snacks he sold, a collection of out of date milk cartons, old clothes (though mostly in good condition – looks like he still preferred to be smart!) and a lot of random notes. No notes, however, spoke of feelings, interestingly. There was no journal, no address book even. Just accounts of his work, routes he was taking and so on.
To a twelve year old, this hotel did the best waffles in the world. Ever.
There weren’t any signs of written correspondence with friends anywhere. I did, however, find a printout with what would appear to have been an e-mail address. So I now know that at least sometimes he went online. Maybe he did find me after all but opted to keep quiet? Who knows.
The house itself was relatively clean, with the downstairs occupied by the landlady and her son, and upstairs by various lodgers. But my father didn’t really spend much time there – as had been the case when I knew him, he preferred to be out at bars or selling at the market, using his modest room as merely a place to sleep at night and to store a few things.
And that’s really it, so far. There’s little more evidence.
The Wake
After this it was off to the bars where my father liked to hang out. He had a few acquaintances and friends there. People he would drink and play billiards with whilst arguing about sports, politics and any other subject that caught his attention. It’s fair to say he hadn’t changed much, in many ways.
Myself, Rafael, and a guy whose name is evading me right now. I’m drinking pancho.
So we’d agreed to meet up at the pool hall and have a few drinks and a game of billiards (or pool or whatever it’s called) in his honour.
It was fascinating to sit in the places my father sat, and play the tables he’d have played at. I didn’t get somber. In fact it reminded me that his life, whilst poor, wasn’t terrible. He had friends, and he had things to enjoy. That’s a big part of what we all need. So we drank a little, and I learned the favoured drinks of his friends – one called pancho, which is basically beer and Fanta mixed together, and another called hota which is a mix of wine and, believe it or not, Coca-Cola. Yes, I was surprised by that one too!
Later, as I tried to encourage one particular drunk friend of my father’s to NOT play with my camera, Joaquin told me he’d a call for his mariachi band to play a serenade. “Would you like to come,” he asked.
How could I refuse?
The bar and stools where he often sat
About two hours later I concluded that Chilenos are, essentially, completely mental. But in a nice way :o) They arrive, in their slightly too small costumes, from different directions at the specified address. And they must keep quiet outside and not be discovered. Because nobody expects the mariachi.
At the allotted moment they all pile into the house and the singing starts. The lady whose 50th birthday it was seemed bemused at first, but appeared to enjoy. Her husband, however, was a strong, surly type who looked like someone who made a living from ripping lorry tyres from their rims with his bare hands.
Still, he didn’t kill any of us so I gues it was OK for him.
And then it was off for a burger. I was granted my wish of a vegetarian sandwich, which turned out to be a chip sandwich with salad and avocado in it that tasted suspiciously meaty (cooked on the same griddle, no doubt)… but I had to chuckle at many of them ordering nothing more exciting than a cup of tea with their meal. Which was, of course, served in china, with a saucer. Don’t see that much in English burger bars at 2am in the morning…
A burger and a nice cup of tea at the end of a night out.
It’s now Saturday here and I’ll admit to a slightly lazy day. I got up late, wandered around town, had yet another terrible breakfast (they’re better in Peru, I have to say) and generally felt slightly subdued. The day before had been quite happy, really, and now it was simply about going back to normal. I have no tasks left until Monday, and attempts to find options such as teaching people how to create websites have failed to elicit much interest.
So I’ll go through the small bag of items I took from my father’s place, take some notes, and generally meander today. Don’t expect an exciting post tomorrow! I also have to decide what to do next. I still have two weeks to use up, but no clear leads in other countries. I suspect once I’m finished here it might just be time for a bit of a holiday. I just need to decide – relaxed, or exploratory? Any thoughts?
