A CONFERENCE DINNER

“I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.  I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live.” - George Bernard Shaw

It was the last day of my conference today and this evening we had the closing ceremony and the conference dinner. The conference and the dinner were held at the Crown Promenade Hotel at its Conference Centre in Southbank, very close to the City centre. It has been a relatively good conference with plenty of opportunity to network, some good speakers and workshops and a very good conference dinner!

This evening we were greeted in the foyer of the venue with drinks, both soft and alcoholic, and allowed plenty of time for opportunities to network. We then entered the main conference venue that had been set up for the dinner. Round tables of about a dozen people were set out within the main hall and a jazz band provided live music. The lighting was low but adequate and once again as we moved to our tables there was more opportunity to get to know other attendees and renew acquaintances.

The food was very good to excellent and the menu had as follows:

Entrée
Seafood tower with quick seared tuna, crab salad, prawns, tomato salsa and avocado with smoked salmon and saffron dressing.
Bread rolls with butter.

Main Course
Herb baked lamb and red wine braised lamb shoulder on coriander risotto with red wine jus. Seasonal vegetables including baby carrots, broccolini, beans and mangetout peas.

Dessert
Warm apple tarte Tatin with cinnamon ice cream and calvados crème anglaise.

There was a selection of alcoholic drinks including Crown Reserve Sparkling, Reserve Chardonnay and Reserve Shiraz. Heineken, Hahn Premium light and a selection of soft drinks completed the offerings.

I thoroughly enjoyed the meal and barring the relatively slow service, we were looked after very well by the service staff. It was a very good evening and a fitting ending to a very good conference.

MORIBUND

“Death never takes the wise man by surprise; He is always ready to go.” - Jean de La Fontaine

A friend has been admitted to hospital with severe back-pain and suspected secondary cancer. This has caused a great deal of distress not only for his family, but also for his friends and acquaintances as he is a wonderful person, loyal, kind and considerate. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed, helpless, rather distressed and anxious instead of being his normal cheerful and happy self was very upsetting. In such situations, one always tries to put on an optimistic look on one’s face, say hope-filled things, tries to put a positive spin on everything, however, while one may evince a smile in the face of the sufferers, the dark look stays deep in their eyes.

Once we face the prospect of death as something that will happen to us – not to the person next door; once we are confronted with the concept of our own mortality in the immediate future – not next year, not next decade; once we think of the short time we have left; the world changes dramatically. We change drastically. Think about it: What would you do if you were certain that Monday fortnight you would be dead? Certain, mind you! Different people will react differently, surely, but one thing is for sure, the majority of people would react and would change the way they deal with situations, interact with people, carry out the routine tasks associated with their every day existence. The importance of what one does would be questioned, values would be reprioritised.

When we are young we think we are immortal, as we grow older we start to think of death as a possibility, however remote it may be. One is encouraged in Western societies to push the thought of death as far as possible from one’s mind. The consumer society of the forever young and beautiful with lots of disposable income has no room for death. One cannot sell many consumer goods to the moribund or to people who contemplate death as the inevitable end. We have sanitised death and have made it secret to the point of it being considered obscene. We no longer go to “funerals” we got to a “celebration of the dear departed’s life”. We do not speak of people “dying” we speak of them “passing over”. We do not view the dead body, do not have wakes any more, but rather ring for the ambulance and relinquish the earthly remains to the care of the undertaker who will make the dead body magically vanish into a shiny casket, carefully and safely sealed away.

In many cases, the job of the mortician has also expanded to incorporate the role normally played by the clergy. As more and more people lean towards agnosticism or atheism, the last rites, the requiem mass or burial service are replaced by social gatherings where the life of the person is remembered or celebrated. It is as though even in the face of death, we are even then refusing to acknowledge it and look backward to life.

Death is the ultimate adventure, the inevitable ending, that which gives meaning to life. Acknowledgement of death is an integral part of being human. Abolishing the fear of death liberates us to live life fully and more meaningfully. Seeing death as part of life makes us value life more and have more respect for it. Grieving openly, mourning, wailing, crying, beating one’s chest when a loved has died is part of the natural process of coping with death as a concept and makes us ready for our own death. Death in our life has to be an accessible, visceral and immediate process that we must immerse ourselves in. Coping with death around us in an emotional and direct way robs it of its terror. And for goodness’ sake, call a spade a spade. When I surrender to death I die, I do not pass away or over or cross the great divide, or slip away, I die!

moribund |ˈmôrəˌbənd; ˈmär-| adjective
• (Of a person): At the point of death.
• (Of a thing): In terminal decline; lacking vitality or vigour: The moribund commercial property market.
DERIVATIVES
moribundity |ˌmôrəˈbəndətē; ˌmär-| noun
ORIGIN early 18th century: From Latin moribundus, from mori ‘to die.’

LEAVE-TAKING

“There is no substitute for the comfort supplied by the utterly taken-for granted relationship.” - Iris Murdoch

I am attending a national conference here in Melbourne for three days and so far, it’s been very good. Today’s session has been a workshop on effective leadership through changes in organisational culture. “Culture” is an interesting term especially when it applies to an organisation, however, more and more people are realising that this intangible concept is colouring people’s perception of the business and may influence positively or negatively the whole way in which the organisation operates. It was good to validate many of the things that I am doing as a leader in our organisation and mainly through a common sense approach, it turns out that I am trying to influence our culture in a positive way.

I had some bad news from an old colleague of mine today. He and his wife are breaking up, agreed to a mutual separation, then a quick divorce. “Irreconcilable differences” was the reason he gave, but there were deeper and perennial issues… Odd, as to me they always seemed the perfect couple, ostensibly in love, well-suited to each other, he handsome, she beautiful. But I was only a casual observer, an outsider.

Leave-Taking

Once the decision’s made,
You should leave.
No dilly-dallying,
No second chances,
No qualms,
No discussions.

It’s hard, I know, to pack;
A suitcase full of loneliness
Is a heavy burden to lift.
A note of goodbye,
Best left unwritten
Bitter words best left unspoken.

The memories, both good and bad,
Will hound you anyway;
So don’t bother to burn letters,
Tear up photographs,
Erase phone numbers,
Or give up on common friends.

When you leave,
The air will still bear traces
Of your perfume long after your departure.
On the mattress an indelible trace
Of your body shape will remain;
The dog will keep on expecting you home from work.

Once you’re gone,
The space you leave behind
Suddenly more substantial
Than your physical presence of years,
Your absence, suddenly, a stronger reminder
Of your existence.

And in the empty house,
I’ll mourn your leave-taking,
Inviting to the wake, your lack.

POMPEII

“Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

On this day in 79 AD, Vesuvius erupted and buried the twin towns of Herculaneum and Pompeii, near the Bay of Naples. The luxury-loving Romans of these two towns were accustomed to the periodic earthquakes, rumblings and plumes of smoke from the top of the great Vesuvius volcano. There are records before 79 AD that describe minor eruptions and earthquake damage. Unlike past occasions, on August 24th 79 AD, Vesuvius erupted with dramatic intensity and amazing ferocity, belching forth smoke, lava and ash. The ash storm destroyed the two cities completely, killing thousands who failed to escape in time, killing thousands and burying the two cities beneath mounds of ash and pumice. This colossal volcanic explosion was 100,000 times more powerful than the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

The Roman writer, Pliny the Younger, was in the region when Vesuvius erupted and fortunately he survived, leaving a full account of that terrible day. Pliny recorded that the ash storm lasted some 18 hours. He writes that Mount Vesuvius shook with a huge earthquake, the mountain’s top split open and a monstrous cloud raced upward, looking like an immense pine tree. The inhabitants of Pompeii were showered with ash, stones, and pumice. A river of hot mud would bury the city of Herculaneum. Reading the letter where Pliny describes the eruption of the volcano, the destruction of the cities and the death of his uncle, Pliny the Elder, makes fascinating but also very poignant reading. It can be accessed here.

Pompeii was buried 3 metres deep, while Herculaneum was buried under 23 metres of ash and mud. The ash preserved and protected these vibrant cities against the elements and plunder, until future archaeologists unearthed this snapshot in time. Only small fractions of the two cities have been excavated, Herculaneum especially being almost all still underground, this being because of the modern city that has been built on top of it. One of the highlights of a trip to Italy is a visit to Pompeii and Herculaneum and the museum of Naples. Until one sees the sites with one’s own eyes and looks at the artifacts recovered is not aware of the amazing finds and the extremely good state of preservation of the buildings and objects of everyday life.

One of the most chilling exhibits is the plaster casts of the bodies of the people that died in the eruption. As the ash covered them and it hardened over the centuries, a cast of their body was left behind. When wet plaster was introduced into the cavity, the shape of the body was captured, revealing its death throes. The outer casing was subsequently removed and one can look at the grim shapes of death centuries old. Both humans and animals have been preserved in this way in various attitudes that suggest an unpleasant death.

Intermittent eruptions since 79 AD were followed by a period of frequent long-term explosive and effusive eruptions beginning in 1631 and lasting until 1944. The 1631 eruption was the largest since 79 AD and produced devastating pyroclastic flows that reached as far as the coast and caused great destruction. Many towns are located on the volcano’s flanks, and today two million people live in the immediate vicinity of Mount Vesuvius, in an area all potentially affected by any future eruption of Vesuvius.

Two excellent novels that are set at the time of the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 AD are the classic “The Last Days of Pompeii” by Baron Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1834. This was a very popular novel in its time and once very widely read. It is now neglected, probably because of its “old-fashioned” flavour. I read it first when quite young and then re-read it with pleasure a few years ago, after I had visited Pompeii. The second is the more recent (2003) “Pompeii”, by Robert Harris, which is a retelling of the fateful Mt. Vesuvius eruption from the perspective of an ancient aqueduct engineer. It is a well-researched modern thriller set in August A.D. 79 in Campania, where Pompeii is located. Robert Harris tells the story of corruption, politics, love, Roman superstition, slavery, and engineering, all set against the power of Mt. Vesuvius, mixing fictional with historical characters.

The painting above is "The Last Day of Pompeii" (1833) by Russian Karl Bryullov (1799-1852).

MOVIE MONDAY - THE ISLAND

“God never made his work for man to mend.” - John Dryden

Sometimes you start watching a movie and believe it will be exactly like what the sleeve notes make it out to be, but once you keep on watching you can be surprised - pleasantly or unpleasantly. We watched a film at the weekend and it was a pleasant surprise we had, as we expected it to be a typical action thriller, but this one had a little bit of a twist to it and it tackled some interesting ethical issues also. The film was the 2005 Michael Bay dystopian fantasy “The Island”.

Lincoln Six-Echo (Ewan McGregor) and Jordan Two Delta (Scarlett Johansseon) are residents of a dystopian, contained and carefully controlled facility (the “dome”) in the year 2019. They are imprisoned in a sterile and crowded, totalitarian society, protected from a massive contamination that has rendered the rest of the planet uninhabitable. All but a paradisiacal island where some lucky chosen few dome residents are drawn by lot to be relocated to. Like all his peers, Lincoln hopes to win the lottery and go to the “The Island”. Lincoln begins to investigate his environment and through his friendship with one of the technical support people of the “dome” he discovers that all is not as it seems. Jordan wins the lottery but Lincoln convinces her that the island is a hell not a paradise and together Lincoln and Jordan make a daring escape. They are relentlessly pursued by the security forces of the “dome” that once housed them and the two escapees take part in a race for their lives to literally meet their makers.

Although the film is a an action thriller and a science fiction fantasy, its basic theme is familiar enough and disturbingly realistic in the present time where advances in biotechnology underline the possibility of the chilling plot of the film. The film raises enough issues to be a good choice for much discussion in a bioethics class. What makes us human? How much do we value life? What does it mean to be an individual? How far can we go with biotechnology? Is human embryo research justified? To what length are we prepared to go to save the life of a loved one? To save our own life? What is the ‘God Complex’?

There are multiple underlying philosophical, moral and ethical questions posed by the film, but it still can be enjoyed as a mindless action thrills-and-spills dick-flick. Let me rephrase that: The film can be enjoyed at various levels and different viewers will relate to the film at different depths. We started watching it and believed it would be a fantasy/science fiction action movie, but after we finished watching it we launched into a heated debate about the ethical questions I mentioned above. Others may not.

The two leads are likeable enough and do a good job with their characters and the way that these develop through the film. The sets and special effects are well done and the action sequences well orchestrated. Sure enough there some little holes in the script and there is an element of the “unexplained” in some parts of the film, however, overall it was an enjoyable film and one which could make one think and question and debate. I’ve tried to not give away much of the plot just in case you wish to view it yourself.

ART SUNDAY - MYTHOLOGY AND PAINTING

“It is because Humanity has never known where it was going that it has been able to find its way.” – Oscar Wilde

Mythological painting re-entered Western art with the revival of ancient Greek and Roman myths that took place in the Renaissance. Artists suddenly found themselves amongst a treasure trove of new subjects, which kept them busy from the 15th to the 19th centuries. The illustrations of these mythological subjects provided an opportunity for depicting archetypes and situations that could be adapted to particular requirements and satisfy art patrons in a variety of ways. At the same time, the themes demanded a certain adventurous style and an experimentation that led to the great revolutions of artistic expression seen through art history.

The intellectual and social conditions that enabled classical mythology to become such a vital force in European art for about 300 years drastically changed in the early 19th century with widespread industrialism and urbanisation and the rise of the middle classes. Today, the world of classical Greek and Roman deities, heroes and historical personages is one which the person in the street has only a vague familiarity with. The illustration of allegories and complex symbolic principles, imaginative personifications of forces of nature and forgotten myths seems to be even more alien to modern sensibilities than it was in the 19th century. I can hardly imagine Paris Hilton contemplating Boticelli’s “Calumny of Apelles” and immediately being aware of the allegoric significance of the figures illustrated. Most people would view Rubens’ “Judgment of Paris” and all they would register would be three corpulent women baring all in front of a young man.

Western painting developed under the sponsorship of the Church, its purpose to illustrate the stories of the New Testament. But by the midpoint of the Italian Renaissance (about 1482) artists began to turn to painting the things which Christianity had kept secret, above all the legends and stories of the pagan world. Botticelli’s “Primavera” was the first great anti-Christian painting in Western art.

The stories of the Olympian gods, their loves and adventures were invented by the ancient Greeks. The Greeks also invented philosophy and science, so why did such a logical and sensible people cling to their improbable myths? Maybe it was because the myths explained better than science what it meant to be a human being… Homer, Hesiod, and later the Romans Virgil and Ovid (who appropriated the Greek gods), told the mythical stories in marvellous poems which still move readers. A myth is a story that serves a purpose: To explain the origins of something, to justify something, or to serve as a warning or an example or a symbol. Such a story is usually easy to understand, involving strong and simple emotions and clear and basic relationships. But myths illustrate special stories, not just any story. The great myths illustrate and explain to each generation something about the order of the world and the relationships between gods and humans. They also serve as the examples of human excellence.

As Christianity established itself as the state religion of Rome (both in West and East) in the 4th century AD, belief in the existence of the Greek gods was lost. Christian and Barbarian forces destroyed most of the visible great art depicting these gods. For almost a thousand years the stories of the pagan gods were banished from the public mind. It was during the Renaissance that patrons like the Medici and their circle of humanist scholars began to rediscover the legacy of Greece and Rome.

Many ancient writings about the gods survived, especially the books of Homer, Hesiod, Virgil and Ovid, almost no original Greek sculpture or any Greek painting (with the exception of vase painting) was there to be seen, hence no readily available visual evidence of these gods. Venus’s portrait waited for a thousand years for Botticelli to paint again.  The “Birth of Venus” shows Venus’s nude body in all its tantalizing innocence. Nevertheless forbidden territory for a painter at the time. Venus was reborn in Italy and sent shockwaves throughout aristocratic Europe.

Mythology thus became a justification for Renaissance and Post-Renaissance artists to paint with a new freedom and boldness denied them by Christianity. The explicit moral commandments of Christianity, above all, humility meant that important human emotions and attitudes could hardly be glorified in properly Christian terms. Since Europe had by no means renounced the values of pagan nobility - honour, pride, vengeance, self-assertion, magnanimity - these values found a haven in the representation of classical antiquity. Humanism celebrated human values and concerns. The ancient gods with all of their human attributes and failings stressed the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasising common human needs, and allowed humans to seek solely rational ways of solving human problems. This revival of Greek and Roman learning was seen as complementing rather than conflicting with religion and it was allowed to flourish by the Roman popes, as they themselves were products of the aristocracy and nobility that engendered the humanist Renaissance.

The painting above is Titian’s “Danaë” hanging in Museo di Capodimonte of Naples. This work, was begun in Venice in 1544 and completed in Rome in 1545-46 for Cardinal Alessandro Farnese. It enjoyed great success, even if Michelangelo lamented the fact that the composition was based on color rather than line (disegno) when he saw it; he admired the manner and color and acknowledged Titian's skill for copying life (controffare il vivo). The legend illustrates one of Zeus’s illicit love affairs with Danaë. She was the daughter of Acrisius, king of Argos. An oracle foretold that she would bear a son who would kill her father. Attempting to evade this, Acrisius imprisoned her, but Zeus visited her in the form of a shower of gold and she conceived Perseus, who killed Acrisius by accident.

Titian provided his patron, Cardinal Farnese with a legitimate excuse for contemplating a female nude form. It was an illustration of the inevitability of fate and the submission to divine will, while at the same time allowing the exposure of the beauties of a nubile young woman for the enjoyment of the Cardinal…

ELECTION DAY BLUES

“In order to become the master, the politician poses as the servant.” - Charles de Gaulle

It’s our Federal Election day here in Australia today and we got our voting over and done with early in the morning. Just as well, as later in the day it was very busy in all of the polling places and the traffic in the city was particularly heavy. The main contenders of course are extremely nervous as this poll is on a knife edge, with the possibility of a hung parliament. The Greens are becoming a growing force in our politics and perhaps this may be a good thing as the two major parties have become mirror images of one another.

I need something soothing and gentle tonight: Erik Satie’s Gymnopédie No 1 for piano, which in this version is orchestrated and strikes the right chord…

ON A DIET FOR FOOD FRIDAY!

“Sin is sweet in the mouth and bitter in digestion. It lies hard on the stomach.” – Henry Ward Beecher

I am on a diet. Well not really a diet, I am just a little bit more careful about what I am eating, or rather even more importantly, how much I am eating. Since our return from Vietnam I have lost 2.5 kilos. It’s been simple really, cutting back on some things that are not necessary, reducing the intake of fats, not drinking alcohol (not that I drank all that much before, but between having none and having a glass with a meal is a reduction!). No chocolate, but still having a lolly or two every now and then. Not having ice cream or cream, but enjoying real milk in my coffee. Having chicken, but boiled; not fried, nor roasted. Enjoying lots of fresh salads, home made bread – one slice or two, not buttered. No margarine, rather olive oil and only a little of it. Fruit for lunch, but only one or two pieces and only fresh, seasonal fruit.

It is important to watch the quantity of what we eat first, and then the type of food and how it’s cooked. My grandfather used to say, “Eat whatever you like, but only a little of it. Whenever you have a meal, eat enough to satisfy your hunger, but leave your stomach unloaded. If it were imperative that you eat again immediately after having completed a meal, you should be able to do so without discomfort…” Wise words which he abided by. He lived a healthy, happy life and was fit until he died in his early nineties.

A “diet” can be a good culinary experience and one may still enjoy one’s meals. Once the appropriate weight has been reached, one can start including some of the more “sinful” foods one avoided, but in greatly reduced quantities. This helps to maintain the desired weight and also of course one is not a “spoil-sport” at dinner parties or restaurants. One may then eat anything and everything, but only in small portions. My mother has been doing this all her life and she has always been slim, trim and healthy.

Exercise, of course, is the other side of good nutrition when trying to lose weight. Once again moderate exercise: Walking not running; swimming not jogging; light weight lifting till one is fatigued rather than increasing the weights lifted more and more; sensible warm-ups and stretching rather than launching into a gym workout immediately; dancing and even having sex rather than doing pushups! Exercise like that becomes an enjoyable routine that alters metabolism and is gentle on the body, while having its beneficial effects.

Unfortunately, the older one gets, the harder it is to lose weight if one has put it on and the harder it is to maintain good form. It’s easier to opt for quick meal solutions and to become addicted to nutritiously harmful routine meals. Many older people can also try to do good by taking vitamins, minerals and other nutritious supplements, but these instead of helping can sometimes even do great harm. Nutritional supplements can interact adversely with medications, some older people can overdose on vitamins with dire effects, and such people can be misled into thinking that if they take supplements they needn’t look after their diet properly. Malnutrition can still happen if one is taking lots of vitamins and minerals but not eating right!

THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

“For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous. Bricks to all greenhouses!  Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant!” - Edward Abbey

The scarlet pimpernel, Anagallis arvensis, is the birthday flower for today.  The generic name is derived from the Greek anagelas, “mirth”. Pliny describes taking this plant internally in order to dispel gloom.  It is often described as the “cheerful pimpernel”, but this may relate also to its use as a weather oracle: The blooms close up when bad weather is nigh. The flower symbolises faithfulness, childhood, change and an assignation.  Astrologically, it is a solar plant. The blue variant of the plant, the blue pimpernel Anagallis arvensis (ssp caerulea) has striking blue flowers and symbolises nostalgia.

Most people are familiar with (if they have not read) the classic novel “The Scarlet Pimpernel” (1905) by the Baroness Emmuska Orczy, who then proceeded to write ten sequels [“I Will Repay” (1906), “Elusive Pimpernel” (1908), “Eldorado” (1913), “Lord Tony’s Wife” (1917), “League of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1919), “Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1922), “Sir Percy Hits Back” (1927), “Adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1929), “Way of the Scarlet Pimpernel” (1933), “Sir Percy Leads the Band” (1936) and “Mam’zelle Guillotine” (1940)]. A full online text (and summary) of the novel can be found here.

The original novel was based on a play by Orczy, and it was inevitable that the novel then engendered several movies, a Broadway musical and a TV series, as well as several parodies! The Mecca for Pimpernel fans is Blakeney Manor, the fanciful original home of the English noble whose alias the Pimpernel was.

The first movie of the novel was the silent film “The Scarlet Pimpernel” (1917) directed by Richard Stanton and starring Dustin Farnum. Harold Young’s 1934 classic “The Scarlet Pimpernel” is good fun, with a spirited performance by Leslie Howard. The UK 1999 TV series starring Richard E. Grant  was highly praised and was popular with the public.

As far as the plot is concerned, it takes place at the time of the height French Revolution. The name of one man was a curse on the lips of the new regime and a prayer on the lips of the aristocrats who had fallen from grace: The Scarlet Pimpernel, so-called from the flower with which he signed his messages. A master of disguise, unsurpassed swordsman, and superlatively quick-witted strategist, he masterminded the rescuing of countless condemned prisoners before they could lose their heads to the guillotine, ably assisted by the League of the Pimpernel, a band of devoted followers (many of whom were young English noblemen). Though the French, personified by their sadistic agent Chauvelin, sought to unmask and capture the Pimpernel, he continued to evade their best efforts.

The Scarlet Pimpernel was the alias of Sir Percy Blakeney, one of the richest men in England, seen by his peers as a fool, a brainless fop married in a loveless relationship to Marguerite. This was of course just what Percy wanted people to think, as he and his loving wife, herself one of the “most clever women in Europe” continued to run rings round their opponents. The novel is thinly veiled propaganda for monarchy as a political system, however, it is just made entertaining and adventuresome, a perfect vehicle for advancing the cause of royalists.

royalist |ˈroiəlist| noun
A person who supports the principle of monarchy or a particular monarchy.
• A supporter of the king against Parliament in the English Civil War.
• A supporter of the British during the American Revolution; a Tory.
adjective
Giving support to the monarchy : the paper claims to be royalist.
• (in the English Civil War) supporting the king against Parliament : the royalist army.
DERIVATIVES
Royalism |-ˌizəm| noun
ORIGIN late Middle English: From Old French roial, from Latin regalis ‘regal.’

WHEN THE RAINS CAME

“I beg you take courage; the brave soul can mend even disaster.” - Catherine II

I cannot but continue to think of the Pakistani drama still being enacted in the flooded wastes that the once fertile fields have become. I ruminate upon the disaster and the new calamities still ahead for millions of people and cannot but be moved to help in any way I can. Even the writing of a poem can touch a reader and perhaps generate sympathy in a person who is fatigued by the continuous reports of disaster and woe the world over…

When the Rains Came

When the rains came, they blessed the fields;
The thirsty earth drank deeply, gratefully,
And the dormant seeds swelled in their coats
Like content, fat children awaiting puberty
To turn their puppy fat into elegant tallness.

The rains came and stayed.
The dry land was flooded.
Wheat fields turned into rice paddies
And all fat seeds were drowned; rotting in the sodden soil.

The rains fell and the spate was unleashed;
Gentle rivulets became torrents,
Rushing forth uprooting violently all in their path.

The rains came and came and came,
Their blessing converted to a curse.
The water of life in its surfeit carrying death:

Dead bodies of people wrapped in liquid winding sheets;
Uprooted trees now like floating seaweed in the deluge;
Animal carcases bobbing in the swollen rivers;
Countless flotsam, silent testimony to millions of ruined lives.

Mother, you suffer, weeping for your lost children!
Father, your livelihood is bleak destruction, ruination!
Brother, your sister is missing: Drowned? Saved? Hungry? Cold?
Sister, your tears another flood; another wretchedness
That adds to the watery devastation of your once beautiful homeland…

PAKISTAN

“He who gives when he is asked has waited too long.” - Sunshine Magazine

The news that keeps coming out of Pakistan is mind-numbing. The extent of the humanitarian and environmental disaster there is of amazingly tragic proportions. Even while away I was keeping up with the news on BBC World on TV and since getting back I have been following the relief effort with concern. Last week the World Bank estimated that the floods destroyed crops worth around $1 billion. Pakistani estimates place this figure to at least double that. About 17 million acres of agricultural land have been submerged, and more than 100,000 animals have perished. This is a severe economic burden for the country, where about a quarter of the economy and nearly a half of its workforce depend on agriculture.

The floods, the worst in Pakistan’s history, have affected at least 14 million people with over 1,600 fatalities. No doubt the death toll is bound to rise in the wake of even more downpours, further flooding and the terrible wave of concomitant infectious disease epidemics. Cholera, dysentery, typhoid, paratyphoid, hepatitis and other diseases will cause much distress and even more tragedy in a country that has already suffered enormous losses. The pictures that accompany the news reports are heart-rending and even the most hardened amongst us, used to daily reports of fatalities, tragedies, terrorism and natural disasters, cannot but be moved.

Anger amongst the survivors is mounting with reports of inadequate aid provision, hunger, lack of clean water and shelter. Unfortunately, the appeals for help from Pakistan although loud and clear are unheeded by many. Various agencies that are usually involved in international appeals and aid are struggling to attract funds for the millions of Pakistani flood victims. The international aid effort has been meagre because the country suffers from an “image deficit”. I find this the most distasteful and inhuman characterisation of a woeful response. To have approximately 20 million people affected directly and indirectly, the great majority of them poor and innocent, with aid being withheld because of fears it will go to the hands of the Taliban is quite monstrous.

The victims are farmers, mothers, children. Poor agricultural workers that struggle to survive in the best of circumstances and often, they themselves are victims of the Taliban. The media so often paints Pakistan in dark colours, that public opinion links it immediately to terrorism and corruption. By extension, through some weird logic the victims are not as innocent as others. The UN is struggling to obtain $A515 million to provide emergency aid to six million victims of the country ravaged by heavy flooding. According to the latest update of funding pledges, the international community has transferred $A166 million (32%) of the total needed by the UN since the appeal was launched last week. Yesterday, the World Bank agreed to provide a $A1.01 billion loan to Pakistan following a request from Islamabad. No doubt a hefty interest will be charged…

What a marvellous civilisation we have evolved into! This is the 21st century informed by centuries of history, enriched by experience, wealthy beyond the dreams of most empires of the past, more informed, more educated, more able to be compassionate and just and charitable and humane… And yet we turn off our noble sentiments and withhold our sympathy, deny our aid to a stricken groups simply because the country they live in has a “bad image”. It’s like denying giving the starving elderly beggar a dollar because he might spend it unwisely, or lose it. We have become so civilised, so refined, so sensitive and so politically correct that we have lost our humanity…

Please donate to the Pakistan appeal in any of these sites here:

http://www.unrefugees.org.au/emergencies/?gclid=CJ_Duu-TwKMCFQXObgodhg2AzQ

http://www.worldvision.com.au/Issues/Emergencies/Current_Emergencies/Pakistan_Floods.aspx

http://www.msf.org.au/

http://www.actionaid.org.au/emergencies-and-conflict/pakistan-floods.html

https://www.oxfam.org.uk/donate/pakistan-swat/index.php

http://www.worldvision.org/

http://www.mercycorps.org/

THE STONE FLOWER

“Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression.” - Isaac Bashevis Singer

For this Movie Monday I will tell you about a film I have not seen… Rather odd I know to review a film that I have not seen, but there you go. I’ll tell you about it and once I watch it I’ll tell you again about what my impressions were.

I was speaking to my parents at the weekend and as we were talking we spoke about some good films that we had seen. They told me about a film that they had seen when young and which they had never forgotten. I had heard about this wonderful film before and they always spoke very highly of it. The conversation ended with the observation: “Well, no use talking about it now, it’s highly unlikely that it can be found to watch now – how will you get hold of a Soviet film of the forties, which everyone has forgotten about?”

Well, that comment got me searching the web and knowing only its title (in translation) I was finally able to not only find which film it was, but all sorts of other interesting history about it. The trip through the cyberalleys ended up with me finding a DVD of it for sale on Amazon. Of course I ordered it, and I shall give the DVD to my parents as a gift (after I watch it of course!).

The film is Alexandr Ptushko’s 1946 fantasy film “The Stone Flower” (Каменный цветок, Kamennyy tsvetok). It was the Soviet Union’s first colour film shot on AgfaColor negative film seized in Germany by Russian troops, and was entered into the 1946 Cannes Film Festival. Apparently the colours of this film were beautifully pastel, the cinematography exceptional and the subject matter based on an old Russian fairy tale.

I looked for the film on IMDB and found it there with several reviews that speak of memories of this film that cannot be forgotten. It seems that whoever saw this film was very impressed by it and was struck by its beauty. All of this of course has made me extremely curious to see it and can hardly wait until the DVD arrives in the post so I can watch it and make up my mind!

The whole story of “The Stone Flower” can be found here as retold by Kathleen Jenks. I wonder if any of my readers has seen this film and what they thought of it?

ART SUNDAY - LAUTREC

“It is with our passions as it is with fire and water; they are good servants, but bad masters.” - Roger L'Estrange

Toulouse Lautrec for Art Sunday today, and in fact one of his most famous works: “At Le Moulin Rouge”, the notorious cabaret in Montmartre where Lautrec was often found associating with the demimonde and its citizens of the night.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was born on November 24th, 1864, in Albi, France. He was  the son and heir of Comte Alphonse-Charles de Toulouse and last in line of an aristocratic family that dated back a thousand years. Henri’s father was rich, handsome, and eccentric. His mother was overly devoted to her only living child, Henri, who was weak and often sick. By the time he was 10 he had begun to draw and paint.

At 12 young Toulouse-Lautrec broke his left leg and at 14 his right leg. The bones failed to heal properly, and his legs stopped growing. He reached young adulthood with a body trunk of normal size but with abnormally short legs. He was only 1.5 meters tall. Deprived of the kind of life that a normal body would have permitted, Toulouse-Lautrec lived wholly for his art. He stayed in the Montmartre section of Paris, the center of the cabaret entertainment and bohemian life that he loved to paint. Circuses, dance halls and nightclubs, racetracks. He observed all of these spectacles and he worked feverishly to set them down on canvas or made into lithographs.

Toulouse-Lautrec was very much a part of all this activity. He would sit at a crowded nightclub table, laughing and drinking, and at the same time he would make swift sketches. The next morning in his studio he would expand the sketches into bright-coloured paintings. In order to become a part of the Montmartre life, as well as to protect himself against the crowd's ridicule of his appearance, Lautrec began to drink heavily. In the 1890s the drinking started to affect his health. He was confined to a sanatorium and to his mother’s care at home, but he could not stay away from alcohol. Lautrec died on September 9th 1901, at the family chateau of Malrome. Since then his paintings and posters, particularly the Moulin Rouge group, have been in great demand and bring high prices at auctions and art sales.

The painting above epitomizes Lautrec’s life: In the background is La Goulue, the Moulin Rouge’s reigning dance star, who is adjusting her red hair while the dwarfish Toulouse-Lautrec and his tall cousin, Gabriel Tapié de Céléreyan, walk toward the left. The glum assembly of characters seated around the table includes writer Édouard Dujardin, entertainer La Macarona, photographer Paul Sescau, winemaker Maurice Guibert and another redhead, most likely entertainer Jane Avril. The woman with the green face illuminated with artificial light is May Milton, another popular dancer of the day.

SONG SATURDAY - VITAS FROM RUSSIA

“Home is not where you live but where they understand you.” - Christian Morgenstern

A nice restful day today… Then a wonderful evening at home, with dinner for two, candlelight, music, flowers… All the while the wind was howling outside and the cold, wet streets reflected the lights. We laughed and we kissed, oblivious of the winter night outside…

Here is an upbeat song from Russia, sung by Vitas. It is a song about coming home from foreign lands, a song about the welcoming shores of Russia, made all the more wonderful by the spring sunshine and the gorgeous scenery of the video, shot in the Ukraine not far from Kiev.



Illustration is the Swallow’s Nest Castle in Yalta, overlooking the Black Sea.

VARIOUS FEARS

“Many of our fears are tissue-paper-thin, and a single courageous step would carry us clear through them.” - Brendan Francis Behan

It is “Black Friday” today, a dismal day in many people’s books, but depending on one’s cultural background and superstitious nature, the day could be bad, good or indifferent. In Greek, Romanian, Spanish and Latin American culture it is Tuesday the 13th that is an ominous day, not Friday the 13th. Some people consider the number 13 as very lucky, rather than unlucky. The ancient Egyptians and the Chinese both considered 13 as a lucky number. Cultures with lunar calendars and 13 months don’t associate 13 with anything sinister. However, in the USA, in some buildings the 13th floor is apparently skipped, going from 12 to 14 and some hotels will not have a room 13! In some cities a 13th Avenue does not exist, once again 12th skipping to 14th Avenue. It was rumored in the 18th Century that thirteen people sitting down to a meal together presaged that one of them would die within the year, something which is still maintained by some.

This triskaidekaphobia (irrational fear of the number 13) and paraskevetriskaidekaphobia (irrational fear of Friday the 13th) is long entrenched in the Western, Christian tradition and is long associated with the 13 people attending the Last Supper, with Judas Iscariot being the unlucky 13th person. Another dinner with 13 unlucky guests was in Norse mythology, where Loki, the Norse god of evil, started a riot when he gate-crashed a banquet at Valhalla attended by 12 gods. Witches that clearly oppose themselves to a Christian superstition, have groups of 13 known as covens.

As well as Friday the 13th, today is also International Left Handers’ Day. This reminds me of another irrational fear – sinistrophobia (fear of left side, left handedness). It was established by UNESCO in 1984 at the initiative of the British Left-handers’ Club. Left-handers account between 7% and 10% of the world’s population. Many great people were left-handers, among them Alexander the Great, Aristotle, Cesar, Napoleon, Bismarck, Mozart, Rachmaninoff, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Einstein and Leo Tolstoy (However, some infamous people were also left-handers, e.g. Jack the Ripper!)

For many centuries left-handers have been thwarted, ostracised, constrained and forced to adapt to a right-handed world. Although nowadays most left-handers are not forced to use their right hand, they still have to cope with the inconvenience of using implements, tools, devices and accessories that are designed for right-handers. If a left-handed option is available it is usually more expensive and not readily available.

The third irrational fear I will refer to is xenositiophobia, quite apt for our Food Friday! Xenositiophobia is an irrational fear of foreign food… Fortunately in most Western countries, this is a fear that we see less of as we are exposed to a wide variety of foreign cuisines more and more frequently in the West. We are very fortunate here in Melbourne as we are extremely cosmopolitan and there hundreds if not thousands of restaurants that offer a variety of international cuisines at a standard that often exceeds that of many restaurants in their original countries!

RAMADAN

“There shall be no compulsion in religion.” – Qur’an 2:236; "The Cow”

Our Muslim students are observing Ramadan presently. I chanced upon some of them making their way to the prayer room and they were talking about Ramadan. Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic Lunar Calendar, which began yesterday. Every day during this month, Muslims around the world spend the daylight hours in a complete fast. It is a time they see as a chance to purify their soul, refocus attention on God, and practice self-sacrifice. Ramadan is much more than just not eating and drinking, it is seen as a great opportunity to rediscover one’s spirituality and come closer to God.

Muslims are called upon to use this month to re-evaluate their lives according to the laws set down by the Qur’an. One is to make peace with those who have wronged one, strengthen ties with family and friends, do away with bad habits. It is one’s chance to clean up one’s life, one’s thoughts, and feelings. The Arabic word for “fasting” (sawm) literally means “to refrain, and this implies not only refraining from food and drink, but also from evil actions, thoughts, and words.

During Ramadan, every part of the body must be actively restrained. The tongue must be stopped from talking idly, backbiting and gossip. The eyes must refrain from looking at unlawful things. The hand must not touch or take anything that does not belong to it. The ears must stop listening to obscene words or idle chatter. The feet must not go to sinful places. In such a way, every part of the body observes the fast or restraint. Food and drink are consumed during the night, but once again restraint should be practiced and no feasting should be undertaken.

Fasting is not merely physical but rather the total commitment of the person’s body and soul to the spirit of the fast or restraint. Ramadan is a time to practice self-restraint; a time to cleanse the body and soul from impurities and re-focus one’s self on the worship of God. Ramadan is the month God chose in which to reveal the final scripture – The Qur’an. It is believed that one of the greatest ways a Muslim honours the Qur’an is by reading it. Many of the pious Muslims of the past would close all books and focus on reading the Qur’an only this month. A Muslim should strive to read the Qur’an in Arabic at least once during this month. The Qur’an consists of approximately 604 pages. This means a person can read the entire Qur’an by the last day of Ramadan from cover to cover by simply reading 4 pages after every prayer.

At the end of Ramadan, the Muslims celebrate with a great feast, Eid ul Fitr. Eid is an Arabic word meaning “festivity”, while Fiṭr means “to break fast”; and so the holiday symbolises the breaking of the fasting period. Eid ul-Fitr lasts for three days of celebration (or more, depending on the country).

Koran |kəˈrän; kô-; ˈkôrän| (also Qur'an or Quran) noun
The Islamic sacred book, believed to be the word of God as dictated to Muhammad by the archangel Gabriel and written down in Arabic. The Koran consists of 114 units of varying lengths, known as suras; the first sura is said as part of the ritual prayer. These touch upon all aspects of human existence, including matters of doctrine, social organisation, and legislation.
DERIVATIVES
Koranic |-ˈränik| adjective
ORIGIN from Arabic ḳur'ān ‘recitation,’ from ḳara'a ‘read, recite.’

AS THE SEASONS CHANGE I RETURN HOME

“There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.” - Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

We came home to a wet, grey and cold Melbourne. Winter is still around and even if we thought that we had escaped it somewhat with this trip to tropical climes. Arriving here this morning was reminder enough that we still have some of the worst ahead. Nevertheless, as we went shopping today for some groceries, we saw big bunches of daffodils out for sale. This was underlined by the changes in our garden: The primulas have started to bloom and the polyanthuses, cinerarias and the bulbs are all starting to show colour. Though it is winter, spring is just around the corner.

For Poetry Wednesday today, a poem for the changing seasons and for our homecoming.

As the Seasons Change I Return Home

A welcoming sight on one’s return home:
The spring flowers planted months ago
Beginning to burgeon forth and bloom.

A welcoming sound on one’s return home:
The windchimes playing a chord of greeting
As winter wind still blows, but with less ferocity.

A welcoming smell on one’s return home:
The linen cupboard reeking of lavender, plucked last summer
And enclosing within it sunlit, warm memories.

A welcoming taste on one’s return home:
Home cooking with sun-dried garden herbs,
Fresh lettuce, radishes, spring onions from the winter garden.

A welcoming touch on one’s return home:
Your fingers in my hand, your warmth against mine,
Your tender kiss on my naked flesh, making me tremble…

FLYING HOME...

“Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.” - Charles Dickens

Travelling home today, from Hanoi to Melbourne, with one transit stop in Ho Chi Minh City. As is the case with such travels, the tiring to-ing and fro-ing from one means of transport to another, the interminable security checks, the long haul flights make one wonder if it has all been worth it. At the time of the highest inconvenience, one is tempted to say “no, it’s not worth it, never again…” However, once the brou-ha-ha is over and only the good memories of the trip remain, one gets the old wanderlust returning once again.

On Thursday I go back to work, so Wednesday will be my buffer day to recover and prepare myself for the onslaught.

THE 'HANOI HILTON'

“You can kill ten of my men for every one I kill of yours, but even at those odds, you will lose and I will win.” – Ho Chi Minh

We visited the Hòa Lò Prison today, referred to as the 'Maison Centrale' by the French. It was called the 'Hanoi Hilton' by US GIs, many of whom did time here during the Vietnam War. Once it was a massive French-built prison accommodating over two thousand prisoners at its peak. The prison built in 1886 was quite small initially, holding around 400 prisoners. It was expanded in 1913 to hold 600 but actually in reality it packed in more normally anywhere between 700 to 895 prisoners in 1916. However, during the 2nd World War it held 2000 prisoners both international and ethnic prisoners, especially South Vietnamese (see more of my photos here).

Prisoners were held either in solitary confinement or in dormitories where they would be shackled together on a raised platform bed, which sloped downwards at the foot. Diseases such as dysentery and malaria were rife among the prisoners along with little medical attention given if at all. An almond tree in the prison courtyard provided remedies in the form of wood, bark, flowers and fruits for these ailments.

The prison became notorious as the temporary home of large numbers of captured enemy soldiers and airmen, mostly American. The American prisoners of war were held in a separate wing apart from the other prisoners. The first American prisoner of war was an airman called Everett Alvarez. Many prisoners died through torture or illnesses before the Vietnamese were able to execute them. The Vietnamese denied any torture took place citing the American prisoners themselves have nicknamed the prison the Hanoi Hilton as the accommodation was as comfortable as a hotel. Prisoners were not granted any civil rights as required by the Geneva convention, but as Vietnam had never signed up to it they claimed it didn’t apply to them.

The ways they tortured the prisoners were numerous. Sleep deprivation, beatings water torture, whipping and slapping, bones broken and teeth knocked out. The Vietnamese were trying to get the prisoners to make statements saying they were being well-treated and that the American invasion was wrong. Food was in short supply and what food they were given was often contaminated with faeces both animal and human. Methods of execution included the guillotine, which was used in the prison and is still there preserved to this day. Both men and women were held in the prison but were segregated.

During the 1990s, virtually all the area was demolished to make way for a modern tower block of apartments and high rise offices called the Hanoi Towers. On the south-east corner of the site, the entrance lobby and a few of the cells have been retained as a small museum. Looking at the remnants of the prison from the opposite side of the road, the building is dwarfed to insignificance by its huge neighbour, making it difficult to imagine its gruesome history. It is well-maintained and has been elevated to a shrine for political prisoners kept here during Vietnam’s struggle for independence. The prison contains several interesting exhibits, including the heavily-used guillotine that was the centrepiece of the French judicial system in Vietnam, and is well worth a visit. The signs describing each of the exhibits are couched in a language that is rather heavy-handedly propagandist, but nevertheless, one becomes acutely aware of the hardship and inhuman conditions of incarceration here.

A 1987 film written and directed by Lionel Chetwynd, “The Hanoi Hilton” tells the story of the suffering, torture, and brutal treatment the American P.O.W.s had to deal with daily while in the Hoa Lo Prison. The film focusses on the resistance the prisoners gave to their captors and the strong bonds formed by the Americans during their captivity.

On the way to the prison we visited the “Ambassador’s Pagoda” (Chùa Quán Sứ). This temple has its origins in the 15th century when a hall was built to welcome ambassadors who came to visit the king. A pagoda was built in the 17th century next to the hall, which has since been called the Ambassador’s Pagoda. The hall was destroyed in a blaze, but the pagoda survived. Nowadays this is one of the most active pagodas in Hanoi, and since 1958 it is the headquarters for the Vietnam Unified Buddhist Association, a major Buddhist learning and research centre, with the largest Buddhist library in any temple in Vietnam. Dozens of young monks reside in the complex and study in its classrooms. Inside of the temple are many finely carved statues, some dating back to the 15th century.

When we visited we saw many young monks and nuns praying in the temple and many faithful were making offerings of incense, fruit and paper money to both the images of the gods, as well as to their ancestors. The air was heavy with the smell of burning paper and even the incense was a heavy, cloying, unpleasant smell. Many little old ladies in the courtyard were selling matches, candles, prayer books and offerings. The temple was quite a large one and more full of life than most of the other temples we visited.

Tomorrow we fly back home. The trip was short, but we packed much in and enjoyed it quite a lot. However, it is great to be going back home as the heat, dirt, noise, overcrowding and congestion has been quite an experience.

ART SUNDAY IN HANOI

“A sincere artist is not one who makes a faithful attempt to put on to canvas what is in front of him, but one who tries to create something which is, in itself, a living thing.” - William Dobell

Today we visited the Chùa Trấn Quốc (Tran Quoc Pagoda), the Chùa Quan Thánh temple, the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, the Army Museum, the Hanoi Flagpost and the Hang Be market. It was a tiring day owing to the heat and the queuing up for an hour and a half, to get into the mausoleum, which was by the far the most exhausting. Nevertheless, once again, we really enjoyed what we saw and the history, culture and local colour we absorbed was immense.

Firstly, Chùa Trấn Quốc sits on an islet linked by a bridge to the causeway between two lakes Hồ Tây and Trúc Bạch. It was founded in 545 AD during the Lý Dynasty. It was moved from the Hồng Hà's left bank (Red River) to its current location in the early 17th century. In the gardens stands a Bồ Đề (Bodhi) tree that is easily recognizable from its heart-shaped leaves, taken from a cutting of the original tree, under which Buddha sat and achieved enlightenment in India. The island and pagoda provide a beautiful backdrop, particularly when viewed at sunset. The characteristic pagoda associated with the temple is a Hanoi landmark and corresponds with most Westerners’ ideas about what a pagoda should look like…

We then visited a second temple, the Chùa Quan Thánh beyond the two lakes, just across the causeway. According to legend, this temple existed in the south of the To Lich River in the period of Cao Bien, a proconsul of the Chinese Tang Dynasty who built the citadel of Dai La (around 866). After King Ly Thai To established the capital (1010), the Temple was moved to the north-west of the capital. It is one of the “Thang Long tu tran” – four famous sacred temples honouring the Gods who guard at four main directions (East - West - South - North) of the ancient Thang Long Citadel. The Temple is dedicated to Saint Huyen Thien Tran Vu who guarded and administered the north of the country. That is why it is also known as the Tran Vu Temple. The Temple has a majestic three-door entrance, which was built on large stones with a bell tower on its top. Inside it is very ornate and decorated with gilded carved wood, statuary, has many altars and incense burners. In the courtyard of the temple there was a martial arts lesson going on, so we stopped and admired the young men and women who were practicing the ritualistic moves.

We then proceeded to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where a few nasty surprises awaited us. First, was the huge expanse of lawn criss-crossed by intersecting stone paths to the east of the Mausoleum. We attempted to walk across the path and were interrupted by loud cries of some soldiers who stood guard around the square. They motioned us off with gestures and more cries and when we approached them we could not make ourselves understood as they spoken not a single word of English. They motioned us to the south and after a couple of kilometers we finally came to the entrance of the Mausoleum, past a huge queue of people waiting to get in. At the entrance came second surprise number two: The entrance was closed firmly and the guards around (who once again spoke no English) motioned us away. Some of the locals were able to get in, but others who also tried were rudely dismissed. No English signs were around. We were rather hot and bothered and very disappointed.

Fortunately, I spied a couple – he Vietnamese, she a westerner, who were conversing with one of the locals. I enquired gently as to why the doors were closed and whether we would be able to get in. It was explained to us that because it was so crowded the gates had closed early and that we would not be able to get in. I thanked them and rather disappointed we lingered around looking sourly at the interior. I was surprised when our acquaintances came back to us and asked us to follow them. We did and going through a shop right next to the fenced off area, we were able to walk through the back door into the enclosure and the car parking area where the tourist buses were stopped. Thus entering by hook and crook we were able to join the queue of the hundreds and hundreds of people waiting their turn to enter the mausoleum.

It was hot, crowded and we were only amongst the very few westerners amongst the locals. We went through three security checks, relinquished our camera and finally we were waiting on the final stretch to enter the monolithic and highly unattractive, but nevertheless imposing, Russian-designed Mausoleum. Guards everywhere goose-stepped and showed off their guns, in order to intimidate and further build up the sense of awe of the pullulating masses. We managed to end up inside and after climbing a couple of flights of stairs we made our way through the murky and dimly lit cool chambers to the inner sanctum where the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh lay in repose as though asleep. It was brightly lit and as we were shuffled along by guards, we saw the wax-like remains of the man whose last request before his death was “cremate me” – unheeded, of course…

We went out and walking through the manicured gardens came to the “One-Pillar Pagoda” (Chua Mot Cot). The characteristic thick central pillar on which this small pagoda is built, is said to represent the stem of a lotus flower, symbolising purity. The metaphor is made stronger by the square pond in which the pillar stands. Around the pagoda there is another small temple in which is a nice Buddha image, some gardens and a small monastery. It is well worth visiting this site as it is verdant with large shady trees and provides a cool refuge for the people who queued to see the Mausoleum.

The Ho Chi Minh Museum is a large modern building immediately next to the Mausoleum and is dedicated to the great revolutionary and statesman who went on to become first the Prime Minister and then the President of North Vietnam. The common people of Vietnam are indebted to him for what he has done for their country and as a mark of their gratitude the museum was dedicated to him. The Museum in preserves everything memorable related to the great revolutionary. It consists of five extensive floors and was inaugurated on 2nd September, 1990, celebrating the 100th birthday anniversary of Vietnam’s great President.

The museum has an extensive collection of military orders, mementos, photographs of the Communist Party’s achievements, the great August and October revolutions, the country’s fight against Fascism and the imperialist power and the world movement led by Ho Chi Minh. The Top floor has a beautiful centerpiece which is a gargantuan gold lotus flower, which also shelters smaller exhibits related to Ho Chi Minh’s political activities. One can make one’s way from the “Past” section to the “Future” section by following the symbols made in the shape of labyrinthine murals. The National Liberation Movements are symbolised by a "volcano", bright red in color and surrounded by national totems. The Museum is another example of Soviet architecture and so the visitor has the opportunity to take in both the exhibits and structure.

We then walked to the Museum of Military History, (as the full name of the Army museum is), located in the south-west corner of the Hanoi Citadel. A large assortment of military paraphernalia clutters up the front gardens, overlooked by a large statue of Lenin, glaring from the other side of the road. The main exhibition covers events during the war against the French colonists from the 1930 uprising to the victory at Dien Bien Phu in 1954. The American War is described in a separate exhibition stall. There is a strong pro-Vietnam propaganda element of course, but there are rare photographs and video images of Ho Chi Minh, the legendary General Giap, the battle of Dien Bien Phu and the Ho Chi Minh Trail that makes a visit an unmissable experience for military history buffs as well as those simply interested in seeing the Vietnamese side of the conflict. A guide is essential to assist with language and contextual interpretation.

Right next door is the bonus of visiting the Cot Co Watch Tower. Apart from being of considerable interest as one of the few remains of Emperor Gia Long’s mighty edifice, the view from the top includes the whole Citadel area and its surroundings (unfortunately it was closed when we visited).

We then proceeded to the heart of the Old Quarter again and did some shopping around the Hang Be market area. A few souvenirs and gew-gaws for people back home. Nothing major and certainly nothing that we really saw and greatly admired or wished to buy for ourselves.

Now to conclude Art Sunday, a reference to the Fine Arts Gallery that we visited a couple of days ago. The enormous, fine colonial mansion that houses the museum was given an oriental-style roof when it ceased to be a residence. Nevertheless, the effect is pleasing and well-suited to what is after all, a gallery of Vietnamese art. The various collections are quite eclectic – inevitably, the Soviet inspired social realism school is well represented but is by no means dominant. Among the many reproductions, there are some fine originals. Particularly noteworthy are a delightful collection of folk art, and a good range of modern art including some excellent water colours and innovative contemporary work.

Unfortunately, the artworks that have been executed in lacquer have not stood the test of time and have discoloured very badly. The museum does not appear to be well curated, nor are the art works well looked after. We were horrified to see some of the guards sitting down and knitting, or dressing their hair or plucking their eyebrows or generally being very uninterested in their job or the visitors. There were several pieces that we liked and above is one of them, Nguyễn văn Cuông’s (born 1962) “A Fleeting Memory”, a quite large (103x157 cm) and colourful woodcut made in 1997. The artist was born in Hanoi in 1962 and graduated from Hanoi Fine Art College in 1989. Since 1990, his work has been exhibited many times in Vietman as well as in the United States, the United Kingdom, Taiwan, Japan and Norway.

Most famous are his woodcuts with succinct, symbolic motifs, strangely brilliant colours and a loose but haphazard plot. Cuông’s works of art appear modern but still display traditional roots. Cuông achieves his moods through a careful choice of colours, lines and textures, describing each scene carefully with strong reds and yellows, greys, browns and blues. Cuông invites us into a world where the rhythms of the everyday are the bonds which bind each of us together.