Maybe it's Because I'm a Londoner

12 August 2024 marks 19 years since I arrived in London.  It might seem an odd anniversary to note, but it means that I have definitely lived here longer than anywhere else, including my hometown of Las Vegas.  I don't know exactly when my family moved to Vegas, but it wasn't too far from my first birthday, so at most I had 18 and a bit years there.  I've also lived a lot more of my adult life here (19 years) than in America (12 years).

Not that it makes any meaningful difference, but I do notice that I am not fully of the place I left anymore.  In my mind, America is the America of 2005.  Likewise for its cities important to me: New York, Las Vegas, San Francisco.  No matter how often I go back, there's a growing sense of discombobulation as places change and deviate from my memory of them.  I've noticed this with my friends and family as well.  Not that walls have grown up between us or anything like that, but their last two decades of lived experience have not been the same as mine, so our presumptions, perspectives and expectations are not always as aligned anymore.

What it all boils down to is that, for the longest time, I felt like an American living in London, but I don't anymore.  I don't exactly feel British - and certainly not English - but I feel more of here than there.  All part of the immigrant experience, I suppose - at least the white, Anglo one.

I had thought that this milestone would feel a bit more momentous.  But while my years here have made me feel more local, living through the reality of those 19 years dampened the unalloyed joy I once felt.  But it feels like something - and I'd still rather be here than there, especially staring down the barrel of Trump 2.0.  I guess that's all part of living here versus being on vacation.  That feeling can't last forever, and you can either take the rough with the smooth, or you can leave.  Will I be here in 19 years hence?  Let's see.  But I'm not throwing in the towel on London yet.

Cheers,

Shaun

Shaun H. Coley ~ Archway ~ Islington ~ London N19 ~ UK ~ shaunism.blogspot.com

Bremen: die Stadt der Rathäuser

I am enjoying my week+ in Bremen.  I've been here several times before, but on full-family visits.  This time it is just Pops and me.  Lara and I coordinated this visit to overlap with time that her family would be away so that we could minimise the amount of time that Pops would be with a professional carer.  Pops doesn't need active care 24/7, but he needs someone to be generally around to make sure he is alright.  A side effect of this different kind of visit is that I am getting to know the city in the way that I usually would when I travel.  

Lara knows the city, has a car, and is a great cook, so when I am here we are mostly socialising at home, with occasional errands or meals (both usually by car) out at her favourites.  This visit, I have more time and no direction, so I am doing what I normally do: taking transit and exploring areas on foot.  It makes me feel so much more connected to the city.  On the first day I noticed a difference in my perception of Bremen: it's a lot more diverse, and has a lot more going on, than I had realised before.  Lottie also came for a visit and I took her on a tour, which meant connecting the various dots of previous trips together, as I was navigating us around by tram and foot.  It created a new, more joined-up mental map of the city for me, and I quite like it.  It's not Berlin or London or anything like that, but it has more character and breadth than I'd previously supposed.

What's been difficult has been seeing Pops' decline.  It's noticeable.  More forgetful, quicker to dip into repetition.  His facts are getting sloppier (he thinks he lived in Vegas for over 30 years; the "Prophet" of Whitby has become Mother's in one of his go-tos - not sure what he's conflating there), and he's physically slower and smaller.  The worst thing, though, is the vacant look in his eyes.  Sometimes it comes across as confusion or boredom, but many times it's like he's just done.  There's rarely a sparkle there.  Even when he's telling the story about "Mother's" it's like he's looking at some distant point behind me, as if he doesn't even care about the story, he just doesn't know what else to do but tell it.  There have been a few vibrant moments, but it's like he's slipping into a void.  Which I guess, in a way, he is.  I'm thankful that he's not angry, aggressive or (for the most part) paranoid.  But love him or loathe him (who could?!), my dad was always a lively character, and that is now fading along with his memory.

I am so thankful my Dad is here for this phase of his life though.  We've been mostly together, but he's gone out to do his own thing from time to time, because he could.  One, he has old enough knowledge of this city that he can remember how to get to his hideaways and back, but two, there are walkable neighbourhoods and public transport that allow him to have that independence.  He goes to the local bakery, the corner store, Netto, his favourite Irish pub or the library when he needs something, or is just bored and wants to get out of the house.  If he were still in America, he'd be stuck at home, all day, every day, with maybe a weekly visit to the nearest Walmart when the local senior transport was serving his area.  I can't imagine how much more his mind would've atrophied without this level of autonomy and stimulation.

Mit gemischten Gefühlen aus Bremen,

Shaun 

The old and the new on Bremer Marktplatz.

I originally planned a side trip for Pops and me to visit Lottie (and Wuppertal!), but when the reality of his condition set in, I cancelled on the morning.  Amazing Lottie and her husband discussed it and decided that she should come here last minute instead, despite having plans with their three kids and in-laws on the books.  Friends like that do not come into your life often.  Treasure them.

Bremer Roland has been looking over the town square since Joe Biden was born in 1404.  ("The Roland statue at Bremen is the oldest surviving example...the symbol of civic liberty and freedom spread to other cities and has become a symbol of the new Europe." - Wikipedia)

Since I've had more time in Bremen, I am doing one of my favourite city activities and checking out some of the local museums.  First on the list was the Paula Modersohn-Becker Museum.  It's the first museum in the world that was dedicated to the work of a female artist.  Apparently Hitler was not very impressed with it, but I was.

Next up was the Weserburg Museum of Modern Art, a mini-Tate, as it were.  There was some great stuff, but what I really loved was that there was this surprisingly large venue in the middle of the city that had so few visitors*.  For me, there is an occasional connection with a specific piece of work when I visit a museum, but mostly I just love the combined experience of place, people and art.  I've never been to a museum before that had so much on offer and allowed so much time and space to take it in.  I had most galleries to myself for the duration.  No silent ballet around others between viewing the works and reading the descriptions.  No pressure at all to move on from something I was taking in.  I was able to watch the entirety of 'We Are Here!' from Utopia Now (fabulous) without the distracting shuffle of people in and out of the room.

Tomorrow I plan to go to the Kunsthalle, but that will come after the publication of this edition.

*What I also love is that there is sufficient state funding to allow this.

Pops showing a brief moment of vim this evening at Gallo.  He loved that the waiter ("Alberto's man") recognised him and made sure we were looked after.

London?  Berlin?  Bremen?  They've got more in common than I thought.

Winter is (still) here

It's been an awfully long Winter.  And I don't just mean the 900 years of Tory government.  Like 2011-12, 2023-24 has been one of those years where Winter came in early Autumn and is still with us.  I love low, grey weather - I am happiest in a jumper and no sunglasses.  But even this many months of dreary, cold, wet weather is too much.  Will it ever end?

At least politically, it has finally ended.  Britain is basking in the sunlight of hope, if not actual sunlight.  Football might even finally be coming home.  But while I am happy to see the back of the Tories and a change in tone and political leaning, I really don't think life in Britain will be much different at the end of this parliament that at the start.  There will be some good-press stick-it-to-'em tax rises, and there might be a bit more money for the NHS, education and local government, but there is no civic or political will to change the fundamentals of broken Britain.  At best, we will see tinkering in the right direction over the next five years.  But that was the choice we had on 04 July, and we got the best option.  At least we're not in America's shoes.

While we haven't been able to escape the political tempest on these sceptred isles, we did get a break from the meteorological one.  Over Sushil's birthday we had a sunny holiday in Nairobi and Zanzibar.  New places for both of us, a little bit of gritty urban exploration followed by some relaxing downtime on hot, sandy beaches - and an upgrade to business class on the return flight - turned out to be a great break far away from it all.

Fingers crossed that hopeful sunlight manifests itself faster and stronger than anyone thinks.

Cheers,

Shaun

Nairobi is the 'New York of East Africa', a busy, buzzing metropolis full of opportunity and freedom for millions of people from Kenya and beyond.  It's notably in the developing phase of its history, with gleaming skyscrapers next to decrepit piles, and lush, gated residential estates lining potholed roads, but it has the energy of a place on the up.  We were there before the recent protests, though, so not sure if there's a different mood in the air now.

There are entrepreneurs everywhere, including those taking advantage of the TikTok economy.  Good lighting and cameras are expensive, so aspiring influencers can hire them from dozens of teams who line the streets of central Nairobi.

We made it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro!

My brand new sunbrella got to go on its first holiday with us.

First sunset in Zanzibar.

The turtle sanctuary in Zanzibar. Who doesn't love turtles?

One of the commonest things to do in Northern Zanzibar is a boat trip to the 'Maldives of Zanzibar', a gorgeous area of sandbanks and coral.  While it was genuinely beautiful, I was not prepared for the volume of boats that were doing the same exact route to the same exact Instagram hotspots.  When you see the pictures online, it looks like they are in pristine solitude.  What you don't see is that behind them there are 30 other boats full of tourists positioning themselves just so to get the same misleading image.  And we were there in low season, I can't imagine it at the peak.

And then the dolphins - the poor dolphins.  When any were spotted, all 30 boats would speed towards them and encircle them so people could jump into the water to take a snapshot.  They must’ve felt like they were being hunted and been terrified.  It was awful to see and I’m horrified I played any part in it.

Stone Town, the old colonial part of the capital, was more my vibe.  Touristed, yes, but lived-in, walkable and lively.  We opted to take a female-guided walking tour.  Despite the many Western visitors, Zanzibar is conservative and Muslim; female empowerment is low.  Our guide was great, clever and funny, and surprisingly candid about her life and the reality of women on the island.  She's still single because she wants to find a husband who will allow her to work after they are married.  In a sense, and within her paradigm, that is a sort of empowerment.  Ten or so years ago there were no female guides, and now there are more than 20.  Progress can be slow, but progress there is.

Memorial at the former slave market in Zanzibar. Arab slave trade, not European, some are quick to point out. Happening while under a British protectorate, less quick on that bit.

Wishful thinking in Stone Town.

Prison Island never actually hosted any prisoners, it ended up being used for quarantine instead, but is now a sanctuary for giant tortoises.

Final sunset in Zanzibar.

La Marseille merveilleuse

Marseille has an image problem. It has a reputation for crime, decay, hooliganism and radical Islam. Apparently much of that was valid within easy living memory, but cities, like people, change. The Marseille of today, while not bursting with prosperity, is lively and rapidly evolving. EU funds started pouring into the city when it was picked to be the European City of Culture in 2013. The city drastically spruced up its old port, bringing many derelict period buildings back into use, and removed a lot of post-war car-centric infrastructure to return the city centre to the public realm.

There is a noticeable Muslim population, but anyone coming from London wouldn't bat an eyelid, and it's certainly not the califat-sur-mer of the rightwing press. True, we didn't venture deep into the banlieues, and Marseille has some of the poorest districts in France, but there is no sense at all of a city under siege. In fact, it felt like a city on the edge of a boom.  There is a lot of youthful, artistic energy in the streets of Marseille, far from the corporate pressures of the capital, and the Cours Julien has to be one of the hippest neighbourhoods in Europe right now. There is a mix of grandeur and edginess, and layers of history visible on its streets - I liked it immensely. 

As Marseille will find itself in the spotlight as the host of the sailing events in this Summer's Paris Olympics, I expect many others will come to like Marseille immensely in the years ahead. Glad we got a glimpse now.



The streets around the Vieux-Port: scrubbed up, but not sterile.

Le Panier has a distinctly Valparaiso feel to it.

Marseille has some of the loveliest streets you will find anywhere.



Vieux-Port, the heart of the city.



The Nazis demolished most of the old centre of Marseille towards the end of WWII, and while its redevelopment couldn't be said to have been sensitively done by today's standards, it is far from the worst examples in Europe (see: Birmingham, Bristol).



The stunning Mucem (Museum of Civilizations of Europe and the Mediterranean) sits at the mouth of the Vieux-Port.



After WWII, the Vieux-Port was hemmed in by an eight-lane stroad that choked the life out of it. The quaysides are now walkable and filled with commerce, art and people, both frenetic and at rest.



Cours Julien, très branché



We took a tour of La Cité Radieuse, the development that kicked off the brutalist modernist movement.



Sunkissed Marseille is nestled between the sea and the hills - something for everyone.



Haussmann of Paris Boulevard fame played a hand in the design of modern Marseille as well.

Vallon des Auffes - if it were in Porto, you wouldn't be able to see it for all the Instagrammers. Sometimes a questionable reputation is a city's best asset.


Shaun H. Coley ~ Archway ~ Islington ~ London N19 ~ UK ~ shaunism.blogspot.com

Bristol bust

Despite having lived in London for almost 19 years, I had never made it to Bristol, one of the UK's major cities.  It'd been on my radar to visit, especially in recent years.  'London Leavers' porn has become a staple in the post-covid press, and apparently Bristol is the number one destination for Islington leavers (heterosexuals that is; The Gays move to Brighton).  Islington being my first, current and spiritual home in London, it was time to finally see what Bristol was all about.

I know it's hard to get the true measure of a city on a short visit, and I really wanted to like Bristol, but I just could not.  It's portrayed in the media as an artistic and genteel urban outpost, verdant with charming ticky-tacky houses ascending its many hills.  And around the edges, with your back to the centre, it is.  But the heart of the city - and I've lived in Britain long enough that I should have expected this - is a post-war planning blight that would give Birmingham's Queensway a run for its money.  While there is some better new development along the harbourside, and Clifton is as lovely an area as you will find anywhere,  it's just not good enough.  Birmingham is not an aspiration.

That being said, I did get a sense that Bristol was a lot like Melbourne - somewhere that you fall in love with slowly, with hidden joys and nuances that take time to coalesce into an urban personality.  Bristolians love their city and have effusive civic pride, and I fully accept that I was not there long or deep enough to 'get it'.  But I would've hoped that over three days, I'd've at least found an aspect or two that made me want to get to know the city better.  Perhaps I need to go again with a local.  If a local would have me now, that is.

We wound out the holiday weekend with Bath, which is the opposite of Bristol, resplendent in its period architecture (and [mostly] sensitively redeveloped where not), it's an easy city to admire.  I wonder how much soul it has, being as heavily touristed as it is, but for our short time there, it was lovely.

So, the West Country done.  My last outstanding places in the UK are Sheffield and Cornwall.  I'm gonna need a bigger island.

Looking up College Green, away from the city.

Banksy's 'Well-Hung Lover'.

The plinth where, until 2020, a statue of Edward Colston stood.  He now lies in a museum, the only place where these things should be "retained and explained".  Bristol, despite its shortcomings, does seem to be a place of my people (see: Islington leavers).

Non-Banksy Bristol.

Sushil and me in front of the iconic Clifton Suspension Bridge.

Some of the famous colourful houses; less numerous than establishing shots of Bristol would lead you to believe.

Royal Crescent, the Mayfair of Bath.

 

The eponymous Roman baths.  

Two millennia of history meet one millennial.

Bath Cathedral at night.

Living & Giving

Dan used to send out the annual Christmas Rankow family newsletter as a poem.  Sometimes brilliant, sometimes corny, always poignant and a joy to receive.

After he died this Summer, his family were sorting through his things and found a hand-written poem from when he was a young man.  In his absence, and his honour, I wanted to share it on this first Christmas without him.

Living & Giving
By Dan Rankow

Whatever you give away today, or think, or say, or do,

Will multiply about tenfold and then return to you;

It may not come immediately nor from the obvious source,

But the law applies unfailingly, through some invisible force;

Whatever you feel about another, be it love or hate or passion,

Will surely bounce right back at you, in some clear or secret fashion;

If we speak about some person, a word of praise or two,

Soon tens of other people will speak kind words to you;

Our thoughts are broadcasts of the soul, not secrets of the brain,

Kind ones bring us happiness, petty ones untold pain;

Giving works as surely as reflections in a mirror,

With hate you send, hate you will get back, but loving brings love nearer;

Remember as you start this day, and duty clouds your mind,

That kindness comes so quickly back, to those who first are kind;

Let that thought and this one, direct you through each day,

The only things we ever teach, are the things we give away.

Shaun H. Coley ~ Archway ~ Islington ~ London N19 ~ UK

Non magnus annus

2023 has been a tough year.  There's been a lot of good, but it's been a year where I've never quite felt like I've been able to catch my breath.  I started the year with a dying dream, and it's ending with a dying dear friend and cousin.  In the middle, I lost Dan, the massive personality that was the Rankows' patriarch.  My Dad is staying with us currently, which is mostly great, despite the dementia, but three adults, a dog and a cat are a tight squeeze in 500 square feet.  And in one of those 'to top it off' moments, I had to have a tooth pulled this week as it fractured beneath the gumline.  Small fry in the grand scheme, but when you can't catch your breath, it doesn't take much to knock you over.

So I am hoping 2024 will be a better year.  I know it's just an arbitrary turn of the calendar, but the idea of compartmentalising a whole lot of awful in a little temporal box that can never come back is appealing.  I realise that as I, and my circles, age, hard times will be more and more common.  But maybe 2024 will be a little bit kinder.

Tomorrow Pops, Sushil, Mary Keany, Chester and I head to Wales to spend a week in a cabin near Cardigan.  I am looking forward to charm, calm and space.  Other than a lunch on Saturday, nothing is booked.  I'd love a little bit of the Heather Lende life, but I think it takes a whole lot more than a week in the woods to get there.

I hope that the holidays bring you peace and calm and, as much as is possible, a little bit of joy.

Shaun

Sushil and I in one of good times, above Dubrovnik.

Pops at his happiest - watching the Liverpool match in a pub.

Isn't it fabulous?

#family #love

The wisdom of Islington.

Orkney’s bigger on the inside

I'm not exactly sure why, but I've been drawn to the remote North since at least high school.  Perhaps it's the result of growing up in an urban desert, or that universal desire to get away from everything.  I am definitely a city boy, but I feel a kind of comfort when I am up in the hills or up in latitude that I don't anywhere else.  So when Rachel, baking under a heat dome in the American Northeast, suggested a trip to the Scottish islands, I jumped on it.  We looked into the Hebrides, Shetland and Orkney - I was agnostic, they're all on my list - and decided on the latter after checking out all the transport and accommodation options.

We were only there for four days, so the brevity may have kept the novelty at its peak, but I loved it.  Orkney is gorgeous in a way that's impressive and understated at the same time.  The islands are small, but packed with aeons of history, and they are so varied that they feel limitless.  Even if you stood in one place, the weather is constantly changing, so an outlook never stays the same for long; as soon as you glimpse a perfect view, it's already gone.  There's something wonderful about that.

Every day we set out to a new part of the islands, explored, lunched and dined.  One day we took a ferry to the mainland, skirting Orkney's most dramatic island, Hoy.  Each evening was spent at the Ferry Inn with a glass or two of whisky as recommended by our Tasmanian bartender.  Over the days, I felt a slow mental and emotional exhalation, a state of calm that lasted several days into my return to London.

I know that you can infer an inauthentic sense of contentment when you are on holiday, when you aren't the one getting through the daily grind of work and life, however blissful the setting.  But the people of Orkney seemed to be a little bit lighter and happier with their lot in life than most people I've met travelling.  And even now, thinking and writing about Orkney, I feel a little bit of that island zen return.  I hope it always stays with me.

Regards,
Shaun

The coastline of Mainland (the main island of Orkney, despite its name) with the island of Hoy behind.

The first residents of Skara Brae lived in a world before Stonehenge, and even before the Great Pyramids of Egypt.  Buried for millennia, the village is one of the most intact neolithic sites yet discovered.  It was only discovered when one of Orkney's frequent gusty storms eroded away the top of the eponymous hill, revealing the outline of some of the village beneath.

Though the council have removed the sign after growing tired of people stealing it, my arrival to Twatt, Orkney, would not go unrecognised!

Orkney's henge, The Ring of Brodgar.

Who needs a selfie stick when you have a selfie arm?  (At the Stones of Stenness.)

We initially tried to stay in Kirkwall, the capital, but happily the available hotel rooms were too expensive and we ended up in Stromness, a fishing village in the Southwest corner of Mainland.  It's leagues more charming and beautiful, and has a well-engrained artistic community with a surprising number of (permanent and pop-up) galleries and displays for a town of its size and remoteness.

Chief amongst these is the Pier Arts Centre.  From the street, it looks like it is a one-room store conversion, but inside is a surprisingly modern and spacious museum.  The museum was started when Margaret Gardiner bequeathed a collection to Orkney after falling in love with the islands.

One of the Churchill Barriers (now causeways), built to keep German submarines out of Scapa Flow, which served as a major naval base in both World Wars.

 

The incredible Orkney landscape.  I felt at peace there.

"Most of Orkney undulates greenly and gently - apart from the grand, anomalous lump that is the island of Hoy.  The wind is so strong that trees are a rarity throughout the Orkney Islands, and when they do manage to struggle up, they often grow bowed over, as if cowering before the weather.  The uninterrupted sky and the lack of clutter mean that the best views are often composed of horizontal lines, and that you can often see far enough to make out more than one weather system at a time: wisps of rain out to sea, rainbows smuggled behind black clouds, sunlight beaming a godlike finger on a distant house or field."

-Condé Nast Traveller

https://www.cntraveler.com/stories/2010-06-08/orkney-and-shetland-the-edge-of-the-world

One of the coolest things I’ve ever done on holiday. We happened to be there for the annual open day at Ness of Brodgar, a 5,000-year-old active archaeological site that was discovered fairly recently.  After next season’s dig, it’s going to be re-buried, for at least a generation, to protect it while they do analysis on all the data they’ve collected.

Deerness Parish Churchyard

It is said that if you walk on top of the Great Wall of Deerness, your dreams will come true.  And as my dream was to walk on top of the Great Wall of Deerness, my dream did indeed come true.

Shaun H. Coley ~ Archway ~ Islington ~ London N19 ~ UK ~ shaunism.blogspot.co.uk