Summer paintings. July and August 2013

With a little free time I have managed to produce some new paintings. Sussex Downs is an original composition completed from memory after my trip to the South Coast of England during July.

Making friends in Phnom Penh

Arriving in Cambodia from Vietnam it was clear that this was a nation still recovering from the trauma of its recent past. As we crossed over the Mekong River on a ferry our coach was surrounded by impoverished looking children dressed in rags, begging for food or money. It was something we had not seen at all in Vietnam and reminded us immediately of our travels through India. The coach moved onto the ferry, the ferry made its way steadily over the murky waters of river and looking back we could see the barefooted children disperse, waiting for the next group of westerners to arrive to this increasingly popular tourist destination.



At Tuol Sleng

Phnom Penh was rough and dirty in stark contrast to the relative order and industriousness of Vietnam.  Limbless beggars hobbled along the bustling Preah Sisowath road while gangs of small children hustled for handouts on the dusty streets in the shadow of the still sparkling silver pagoda. Everywhere there were reminders of the dreadful war that had ripped the country apart a mere 30 years before, perhaps the most chilling of which was the site of the Tuol Sleng Concentration Camp. Here in a converted school, 17,000 Cambodians were tortured to death by the Khmer Rouge regime in the late 1970’s.

The Friends restaurant.

Out of this darkness however, glimmers of light could be detected on the streets of the city. One of the most brilliant could be found on a chaotic street beside the National Museum – The Friends restaurant. We came here on a cloudless morning and were immediately struck by the cheery atmosphere of the place. Colourful walls adorned with bright paintings contrasted with the dirt and grime of the street outside. Smartly dressed waiters buzzed from table to table eager to please the mainly western clientele. The food was also impressive. A delicious fusion of western and oriental style dishes, all elegantly presented. Best of all was the dessert, surely the finest lemon meringue pie I have ever tasted!

              

Better still was the idea behind the restaurant. The waiting and kitchen staff were made up of young people from the streets of Phnom Penh. All had been fully trained up at the restaurant and had been given a chance to earn a steady income away from the dangers and temptations of Phnom Penh’s mean streets. By the standards of the food and the quality of the service it was clear that these street children wanted to seize the opportunity with both hands.

At the pizza-eating competition

More than just a restaurant, Friends also set up several social functions for the city’s youth. Out the back we walked in on a summer fete, complete with jugglers, clowns, and in an adjacent hall, a food-eating competition, where several local children chomped away at the pizzas, while hordes of screaming onlookers cheered them on. The atmosphere was joyous and festive, and, we hoped, gave us an insight to what the future of this unfortunate country would look like.

 

 

On the backstreets of Tiruchirappalli.

The start to our visit here was inauspicious. Running the gauntlet of touts from the bus station to the hotel, laden with two weighty suitcases, while dodging mounds of rat-infested waste on the “pavements“ was not a good idea. Then there was the somewhat frosty reception at the check-in desk, where a bewildering half hour debate took place about the integrity of our reservation. The non-functioning air conditioning in the room was the icing on the cake!

               The following morning we opened the curtains and gazed out at the building site across from the car park, wondering about the possibility of catching the next flight out.  But we stayed and a few days later we looked back at the wisdom of this decision for Tiruchrappalli, or Trichy for short, is full of hidden delights.

The Rock

         Later that day we caught a rickety bus into town and ambled through a bustling market in the mid-afternoon heat. As we walked we caught site of the Rock Fort which towered over the town, eagles circling around the temple which sat on the rock’s summit. With its bulbous, ochre flanks the rock seemed to have been made out of plasticine by some giant toddler. Intriguingly the rock itself is said to be one of the oldest on the planet, dating back some 3.8 billion years. We climbed its slopes up to the small shrine at the top and took in some fabulous views of the colourful yet simple houses below which stretched away into surrounding forests and fields of Tamil Nadu.





Children pose for a photo in the backstreets of Trichy

The true attraction of Trichy however was to be found not on the rock but in the warren of streets below. In the shadow of one side of the rock the streets were full of fascinating multi-coloured villas, markets and squares where daily life was played out before us in beguiling detail. By accident more than design we stumbled on this part of town and uncovered its charm. Here we found tiny, peaceful temples; sleepy elephants tied to posts in the back yards of some of the larger houses and squares filled with uniformed children playing happily on their way home from school. Peeking through narrow alleyways invariably gave you an impressive view of the rock framed between colourful houses and the deep blue of the sky above. We also came across quirky remnants of the past, such as a neglected plaque behind a lamppost honouring a visit of the Prince of Wales in 1922.  This was a different India than we had found before, away from the chaotic traffic and crowds of the town centres and tourist hotspots.



The wonderful sweets at Suriya

Back at the other side of the rock fort, we rounded off the day with a Masalla chai at a little cafe thronged with locals.  Suriya was basic in appearance but the tea was out of this world and the sweets made from coconut, almond and milk were truly divine.

On the way back to the hotel we remarked on how glad we were to have decided to stay.  Trichy had got us hooked.  

Un regal per a la Laia!

A present for Laia on the occasion of her 9th birthday!

Beware the bad monk of Mahamuni Pagoda




The serene Buddha at Mahamuni Pagoda

The day started off well enough. A vibrant ride the back of one of those distinctive pale blue tuk-tuks through the mayhem of a Mandalay morning to the Jade market. The sun beat down on us as we strolled around the rows of craftsmen patiently cutting and shaping the pale green stones into all sorts of wonderful creations, the wheels of their machines spinning at incredible speeds.  As we had come to expect in Burma the people here were welcoming and friendly,  beaming smiles never far from the faces of anyone we passed by.
               We were set up for our visit to the Mahamuni Pagoda and looking forward to witnessing the famed statue of the Buddha that it contained. Happily we jumped back in the tuk-tuk and had soon made our way to the grounds of the pagoda. Cameras at the ready, Susanna and I took in the peaceful ambience of the small but beautifully designed complex. Many of the buildings had layered roofs painted with gold leaf, resembling multi-tiered, golden wedding cakes. Other structures were simpler but contained a whole variety of quirky and fascinating relics.

               The Buddha image was the main attraction however. Contained within a huge central shrine, a serene smile on its face, and already surrounded by a large crowd of worshippers, it was a spectacular sight. Facing the statue were many colourfully clothed women with offerings of food and garlands of white flowers. The men meanwhile gathered around the Buddha itself, carefully applying gold leaf over its lap and back.

               Then, as we admired the scene, a monk dressed in flowing maroon robes approached and offered me the chance to take a closer look at the Buddha.

               “If you like, I can take you right up to the central chamber. You can see everything up there!” he exclaimed.

               I jumped at the chance. After all, if you can’t trust a Buddhist monk then who can you trust?

          Soon I was surrounded by the monk and 3 helpers who managed to put on a fetching, checked sarong to cover my pale white legs before approaching the Buddha. The monk led me up to the platform in front of the statue. I felt privileged to be able to see how the worshippers painstakingly applied layer after layer of gold to the statue. The layers had become so thick over the years that in places they seemed like golden snow-drifts.  
 



Susanna mid-tour

Leaving the shrine, the monk then led us on an impromptu tour of the pagoda. He soon had us ringing prayer bells, pouring holy water over the heads of Buddha statuettes, lighting incense sticks and listening to his detailed descriptions of every artefact to be found within the compound. Never once did it dawn on us that this could be anything more than an innocent tour from a good-hearted monk eager to show his home off to two interested foreigners.

Then however, as we finished the tour off at a vast concrete plan of the major Buddhist sites of Asia, the monk suddenly turned to us and said,

“Now I would like a donation of 20,000 kyat for my food and clothes.”

We were both shocked and alarmed by the determined and cold manner in which he asked for it. However, there was no way he would get anything from us as he had never indicated any donation or charge at the start of the “tour”. He had been dishonest and had willingly deceived us, something which we naively found unbelievable from a religious figure such as he.

We both turned away and headed for the exit. This provoked an angry response from the monk who started to push us as we walked, still demanding his money. This continued for at least a minute as we hurriedly passed by the same worshippers we had seen earlier, who looked on impassively, none of whom came to our assistance.

Thankfully the monk decided to give up the pursuit and we were able to hop into another tuk-tuk and head back to the city. It had been a chastening experience and reminded us that not all monks are as golden and pacific as the Buddha of Mahamuni Pagoda.

A taste of Mallorca

As the plane floats gently downwards through the blanket of mist that is covering the island on this chilly spring morning I feel a rush of excitement at the prospect of finally getting to explore Mallorca. My parents had honeymooned here, my wife had worked here on and off for years, most of my friends had holidayed here and yet this was my first time.
               Landing at Palma, we headed into town passing the distinctively colourful windmills that dot the island’s landscape, some appearing brand new others seemingly about to fall apart with the next significant gust of wind. The fog has already lifted revealing a sunny but cold morning. Palma is still sleeping as we creep into our hotel, an old 16^th century palace located right in the heart of the city.
               Nearby we find a small cafe and settle for breakfast.  The place is decorated with huge oil paintings set on walls painted a deep red. Smartly dressed waiters move briskly from table to table and we sink into the extremely comfortable chairs of the cafe.
              Living in Barcelona we are familiar with ensaïmadas but those that we find here are truly something else.  The pastry of this quintessentially Mallorcan food is so light and moist that disappears as soon as you take a bite. It is delicious and sets us up perfectly for the day.   
                  Leaving the city we drive up to the island’s rugged coastline. Here cliffs plummet dramatically into the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean and the roads wind slowly from village to village, usually congested with tourist buses packed with visitors from Germany and the UK. We stop off at Deia and scramble up to the tiny church located at the top of the hill there. It is a peaceful spot, the only noise the gentle clinking of the bells from the goats in the fields below. Enjoying the tranquillity, we spot the final resting place of Robert Graves, the famous English author who made this tiny Mallorcan village his home.  
           Lunch is taken at Fornalutx in a restaurant overlooking the mountains. Here we opt for the suckling pig and frito mallorquin – a rich but tasty mix of fried liver, kidneys, potatoes and pepper.
              We then descend back to the island’s central plain. The drive takes us past village after village of whitewashed walls and the green shuttered windows so typical of the landscape here. The houses picturesquely framed by the bright hues of pink and violet bougainvilleas.
               We stop off at the small town of Petra in the centre of the island and dine at a cavernous restaurant located in an old cellar. The place is full of local families all enjoying a relaxing meal and there is not a single tourist in sight. Again the food is remarkably good.  I choose tumbet which is made up of aubergines, peppers, potatoes and tomatoes fried with garlic and parsley. As with most food here it is extremely rich, but equally tasty.
   
We decide to head for the East coast to finish the day with a relaxing stroll around the beautiful Cala Figueres.  Calas are narrow inlets where the sea’s turquoise waters can reach far into land and this one has to be one of Mallorca best. It is delightful to amble around, listening to the fishermen chat whilst repairing their nets and the water laps up around the brightly coloured boats.  

Heading back to Palma, we discuss what else this many-faceted island could have in store for us tomorrow.

               

Cooking up a treat in magical Udaipur

Early morning at the Sunrise

The lassies were fine, the chapattis were great but it was the pakora that really convinced us. A scrumptious blend of sweet onions, red chillies, courgettes and potatoes, delicately fried in a batter of gram flour.  During our stay in Udaipur, breakfast at the Sunshine rooftop restaurant was a regular treat, setting us up to explore the narrow, winding streets of this enchanting lakeside town, deep in the heart of the blindingly colourful Indian state of Rajasthan.

The restaurant was no five star affair – plastic chairs, with fake marble table tops, propped up on concrete slabs, hastily whitewashed walls, all topped off with a potentially leaky, corrugated iron roof. They couldn’t even offer a view of the lake with its dazzling centrepiece, the beautiful Lake Palace hotel, perched on the Jagat Niwas Island but appearing to float in the midst of the lake’s shimmering waters. No, here it was clearly all about the food.

Yet how did they create such delights in such a rudimentary setting? My wife and I were determined to find out by enrolling on a cooking class with Shashi, the Sunshine’s charming and resourceful cook, who lives directly below the restaurant.  One sunny October afternoon we entered through faded yellow curtains into her living room, following her to an incredibly tiny kitchen where all the restaurants meals were prepared.

The class begins

“Welcome to the engine room!” she exclaimed with a bright smile that illuminated her worn but strikingly expressive face. Then she set off on a real master class in the arts of Indian cooking. A whirl of activity, she was soon producing ingredients from all corners of the cramped space around us. We tried to follow as she instructed us in the tasks of rolling the chapattis, mixing the spices and blending the sauces. As the sweat began to roll down our faces the kitchen slowly filled with unforgettably aromatic smells. Shashi watched and guided our every move, expertly demonstrating the use of a dizzying variety of steel utensils, laughing and joking as she encouraged us to meet her exacting standards.

A couple of hours of toil later and all was complete. We were amazed to have created a meal fit for a Raj. Vegetable pakoras with mint sauce, chapattis filled with tomato and cottage cheese, and all manner of spicy curries were eagerly transported to the dining room and set up on a low wooden table, ready for the feast.

With Shashi, mid-way through the feast

Shashi joined us as did her two sons, and we all tucked into an authentic North Indian  meal as good as any we had ever had, and incredibly, it was all created by Susanna and I, with a little help of course!  Over dinner Shashi told us many stories of her life in Udaipur, explaining how she had managed to establish the regular cooking classes that had become such a big hit with the streams of tourists that pass through town.

The meal over, we exchanged gifts. Shashi was delighted with her colourful Spanish bag while we received a spice tray and a sturdy pestle and mortar. Reluctantly departing, we stepped out into the chaotic streets of Udaipur, reflecting on the warmth of Indian hospitality and looking forward to another unbeatable Sunshine breakfast in the morning!