I sometimes read the tabloid press. Not because I enjoy doing so, but because I like to see what the enemy is doing. Tabloid journalism in the UK is the single biggest contributor to ignorance and naïveté amongst the average Briton, especially when it comes to the world at large.
FRONT PAGE NEWS:
SOME STAR HAS ANOTHER STAR'S BABY
SECOND PAGE NEWS:
VITRIOLIC RUBBISH ON ANYTHING WHICH WILL MAKE THIS PAPER SELL
THIRD PAGE NEWS:
NONE - JUST A NAKED LADY AND SOME SEXIST RHETORIC ABOUT HER
FOURTH TO TWELFTH PAGE NEWS:
9-PAGE FEATURE ON HOW YOU CAN IMPROVE YOUR SEX LIFE BY LISTENING TO FARM ANIMALS INTERSPERSED WITH SHORT ARTICLES ON FUNNY OR WEIRD TRIVIA
Thirteenth page news:
There's a war on in Iraq and Chirac is no longer President of France PLUS BIG ADVERT FOR PLASTIC SURGERY
FOURTEENTH TO TWENTY-FIFTH PAGE NEWS:
WHAT THE RICH, FAMOUS AND PERVERTED HAVE BEEN UP TO RECENTLY
blablabla, adverts, insurance cons, schemes to rip off old people, holiday ads, horoscopes, recipes, useless gadgets, telephone sex for sale, etc. etc.
SIXTIETH TO BACK PAGE NEWS:
SPORT, GAMBLING, RUMOURS OF BIG MONEY FOOTBALL TRANSFERS
The type of "person" who reads the tabloid press is the same one who would spend a decadent amount of money voting in TV reality shows but would find it hard to name his/her local Member of Parliament, and would have little idea as to what policies they have.
OK, I admit, this type of person exists all over Europe, but on a far greater extent in the UK. You just need to take a five-minute walk down the High Streets of Orpington, Gravesend or Chatham to realise how widespread they have become. So when I was reading several articles and forums, not only from the tabloid press, concerning this weekend's crucial European Summit and treaty, I was horrified to see how naïve people are on this matter, and how fearful they are of anything non-British.
"Sold to Europe!"
"Bliar has tied us to a European superstate" (note spelling of PM's name)
"Let's get out before it's too late!"
"No to any undemocratic treaty"
and the list goes on.
In order to see what kind of journalism breeds this lack of understanding and mind-boggling isolationism, you only need to look at a tabloid newspaper's website.
One article which made me embarrassed to be British was this one:
http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2007280672,00.html
And I decided to write the editor an email:
Dear Mr Pascoe-Watson,
Having read your article comparing Tony Blair to either Napoleon or Wellington, I find it hard to digest that Thatcherite jingoism can still have a place in 21st century Europe.
Times have moved on now.
The world is forming into power blocs of allies, including Europe, looking after each other's interests and assuring the UK of a higher profile and a louder voice at the world table.
Mr Blair did not sign up to the Charter of Fundamental Rights because it gets in the way of his draconian clampdown on British people's legal status. It means that all the historically retarded readers of the tabloids have encouraged Mr Blair to make the UK the most spied upon Orwellian nation on Earth, and you think it is a good thing, simply because this piece of legislation was not made solely by a British politician.
Let us face matters: you would prefer an independent British police state to a European law protecting your rights to be innocent BEFORE proven guilty, unlike the recent unilateral UK Home Office decision to detain people for long periods even if they may be innocent.
The Empire is long past. English-speaking countries are no better allies, not least the US, who made the UK pay every penny back for the Second World War, and still anti-Europeans harp on about how strong allies we are. Wake up little England, and smell the coffee.
If British anti-Europeans don't like the feeling of being in Europe because they feel the rules are being made elsewhere, just remember one thing: fighting your corner as a member who is taken seriously is better than skulking around on the periphery where nobody wants to notice you.
The only other leader who had any objections to the procedings this weekend was Mr Kaczynski of Poland - and just ask any educated Pole what they think of him.
The only reasons why Brits are universally disliked is firstly on evidence in the tourist resorts of Ibiza, Torremolinos and Corfu, and secondly on the political stage where the contributors to forums and blogs are right now vilifying any European project, whether it be for our benefit or not. And upon viewing their appalling spelling and grammar it is no wonder: they do not seem to take in basic linguistic rules, so they'll read and agree with every acidic demagogical syllable so artfully paraphrased in the negative to suit their small, monolingual worlds they wish to wallow in.
It is sad when a once-mighty nation has more voters in the Big Brother final than in the general election. It just shows you how little people really care about what is good for them.
Still, I admire your journalistic guile! Do you really believe what you write, though?
Yours Sincerely,
Raymond Goslitski
God, I needed that. I feel so much better now.
If the European Union has one failing though, it is that it has not promoted itself in the right way. It has good ideas, some excellent in fact. But it hides its light under a bushel. It doesn't seem to let people know why it can be a force for good, and what it has done to make our European continent a good place to live in. And that is where the battle against the hardline Euro-sceptics can be won.
Saturday 23 June 2007
Friday 22 June 2007
Sorry Mr Solvay, you don't have a qualification
Funny old world we're living in currently. You need a diploma for everything. Want to work in a call centre? No degree in languages? Sorry, no room. Got a talent for making clothes but no piece of paper to prove it? Better do it as a hobby. Good at art? Don't bother if you've not been tutored by Rembrandt's grandson's wife's daughter-in-law from her second marriage. Road sweeper? Not if you haven't been to community college. When you look through the jobseekers' websites these days it's really depressing. People can't do anything without the right papers.
It makes you wonder - my father left school at a very young age and went to work in the print business: Daily Express, of all places, where he was typesetter. That means he put together the pages of the newspaper using his hands, picking out the letters from the selection of metallic blocks in the Gutenberg days before computers put an end to it all. He designed the front page too. He couldn't do it these days - you need to go to journalist school and learn all the software they use. Fair enough, but it's not rocket science. I know sixteen-year-olds who could pick up the skill in an afternoon. But no - you need to PROVE you can by coming out with at least four years at university.
If Ernest Solvay, the father of Belgium, born in 1838, had been around in this age, he would never have got out of the factory floor. Despite not finishing university due to illness, he developed the ammonia-soda process (later the Solvay Process) for the manufacture of soda ash. That's sodium carbonate in solid form to you and me. He worked in his father's chemical factory until 21, and four years later opened his own factory in the Walloon industrial belt, second only to England's regions of mass production. He went on to open up plants in the UK, the US, Germany, Austria, and at this moment in time there are 80 plants worldwide. The Solvay business is even now listed on Euronext in Brussels.
He became rich through patenting his products, which, very reminiscent of Bill Gates or Warren Buffet, he used for philanthropic purposes. One of his pet projects was the establishment of the "Institut des Sciences Sociales" (ISS) in 1894. He also set up the International Institutes for Physics and Chemistry. In 1903, he founded the Solvay Business School, now a part of the Free University of Brussels (VUB or ULB). Eight years later, he started several high-ranking conferences which bore his name. Marie Curie, Max Planck, New Zealand's Ernest Rutherford and even a young Albert Einstein attended. He was elected to the Belgian Senate twice, and was in the cabinet in his later years.
Can you imagine that happening today? Except for the kids of the élite, that is never going to happen any more in the Europe being created for us today. If you're good enough, if you have a talent, if you're someone with a dream but don't need to be re-educated, why bother? Cut out the middle bit and get on with it now. For example, the British Council in Brussels does not hire staff to train professionals in the English language without the CELTA qualification or equivalent. I and many of my colleagues have degrees in language, as much as 20 years' experience, and work within the highest authority in the European Union, but that is not enough. To work for them we need that piece of scrap paper with the right words on it to prove we paid a thousand euro for their course. THEN we'll be let in.
But to be frank, many of the very best language trainers don't even have degrees; they are good enough because their enthusiasm and down-to-earth ways carry them much further to satisfying their clients or students than most CELTA-qualified people, because those with the papers are a lot more complacent - they think they've got it, because they're "qualified". I don't see the British Council ever winning the right to give courses in the European Institutions, with thousands of students in the classes per year, if they persist with their Old English Gentlemen's Club mentality. And long may it stay that way. We don't need snobs in the New Europe.
We still need, though, to tackle those who persist in the need for qualifications to do certain jobs where diplomas are unnecessary. Over half of all Belgians are doing jobs below their level of education. Many admin workers are frustrated because they worked their socks off to end up making photocopies for their boss. Job ads for simple positions ask for so much in someone's capabilities and job experience that I wonder if they actually find someone. Or if the job is real; not a phantom advertisement to make competitors curious, or jealous.
Let us go back to Ernest Solvay, who despite his ideas of French linguistic supremacy and class separation, also was the first to offer his employees work contracts to include time off and an early form of social welfare, unheard of at the time. He single-handedly saved Belgium from disintegration after the First World War. We are losing out on people of his magnitude through blindly pursuing the policy of suffocation of the undiploma'd. And by keeping SME employment taxes high, but that's another matter.
The Solvay Process:
1. CaCO3 -> CaO + CO2 The calcium is heated to get CO2
2. 2NaCl + 2CO2 +2NH3 +2H2O -> 2NaHCO3 + 2NH4Cl
3. 2NaHCO3 -> Na2CO3 + H2O + CO2
The ammonium can be recuperated by doing the following:
2NH4Cl + CaO -> 2NH3 + CaCl2 + H2O
This process uses almost no ammonium, and the leftover is CaCl2, Calcium Chloride.
But unfortunately, we can't accept this as fact any more because Mr Solvay didn't have the correct qualifications.
It makes you wonder - my father left school at a very young age and went to work in the print business: Daily Express, of all places, where he was typesetter. That means he put together the pages of the newspaper using his hands, picking out the letters from the selection of metallic blocks in the Gutenberg days before computers put an end to it all. He designed the front page too. He couldn't do it these days - you need to go to journalist school and learn all the software they use. Fair enough, but it's not rocket science. I know sixteen-year-olds who could pick up the skill in an afternoon. But no - you need to PROVE you can by coming out with at least four years at university.
If Ernest Solvay, the father of Belgium, born in 1838, had been around in this age, he would never have got out of the factory floor. Despite not finishing university due to illness, he developed the ammonia-soda process (later the Solvay Process) for the manufacture of soda ash. That's sodium carbonate in solid form to you and me. He worked in his father's chemical factory until 21, and four years later opened his own factory in the Walloon industrial belt, second only to England's regions of mass production. He went on to open up plants in the UK, the US, Germany, Austria, and at this moment in time there are 80 plants worldwide. The Solvay business is even now listed on Euronext in Brussels.
He became rich through patenting his products, which, very reminiscent of Bill Gates or Warren Buffet, he used for philanthropic purposes. One of his pet projects was the establishment of the "Institut des Sciences Sociales" (ISS) in 1894. He also set up the International Institutes for Physics and Chemistry. In 1903, he founded the Solvay Business School, now a part of the Free University of Brussels (VUB or ULB). Eight years later, he started several high-ranking conferences which bore his name. Marie Curie, Max Planck, New Zealand's Ernest Rutherford and even a young Albert Einstein attended. He was elected to the Belgian Senate twice, and was in the cabinet in his later years.
Can you imagine that happening today? Except for the kids of the élite, that is never going to happen any more in the Europe being created for us today. If you're good enough, if you have a talent, if you're someone with a dream but don't need to be re-educated, why bother? Cut out the middle bit and get on with it now. For example, the British Council in Brussels does not hire staff to train professionals in the English language without the CELTA qualification or equivalent. I and many of my colleagues have degrees in language, as much as 20 years' experience, and work within the highest authority in the European Union, but that is not enough. To work for them we need that piece of scrap paper with the right words on it to prove we paid a thousand euro for their course. THEN we'll be let in.
But to be frank, many of the very best language trainers don't even have degrees; they are good enough because their enthusiasm and down-to-earth ways carry them much further to satisfying their clients or students than most CELTA-qualified people, because those with the papers are a lot more complacent - they think they've got it, because they're "qualified". I don't see the British Council ever winning the right to give courses in the European Institutions, with thousands of students in the classes per year, if they persist with their Old English Gentlemen's Club mentality. And long may it stay that way. We don't need snobs in the New Europe.
We still need, though, to tackle those who persist in the need for qualifications to do certain jobs where diplomas are unnecessary. Over half of all Belgians are doing jobs below their level of education. Many admin workers are frustrated because they worked their socks off to end up making photocopies for their boss. Job ads for simple positions ask for so much in someone's capabilities and job experience that I wonder if they actually find someone. Or if the job is real; not a phantom advertisement to make competitors curious, or jealous.
Let us go back to Ernest Solvay, who despite his ideas of French linguistic supremacy and class separation, also was the first to offer his employees work contracts to include time off and an early form of social welfare, unheard of at the time. He single-handedly saved Belgium from disintegration after the First World War. We are losing out on people of his magnitude through blindly pursuing the policy of suffocation of the undiploma'd. And by keeping SME employment taxes high, but that's another matter.
The Solvay Process:
1. CaCO3 -> CaO + CO2 The calcium is heated to get CO2
2. 2NaCl + 2CO2 +2NH3 +2H2O -> 2NaHCO3 + 2NH4Cl
3. 2NaHCO3 -> Na2CO3 + H2O + CO2
The ammonium can be recuperated by doing the following:
2NH4Cl + CaO -> 2NH3 + CaCl2 + H2O
This process uses almost no ammonium, and the leftover is CaCl2, Calcium Chloride.
But unfortunately, we can't accept this as fact any more because Mr Solvay didn't have the correct qualifications.
Tuesday 19 June 2007
Tony Blair 1997-2007: an alternative view
At the end of this week, the United Kingdom will have a new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown. Many people think of Prime Minister Blair as the beneficiary of Thatcherite policies, the PM who benefited most from the Thatcher Revolution, and they would be right. If the Iron Lady had not swept aside all dissenting voices, negated protesters' actions and been so one-track minded to plough through with her reforms, the UK would still be a country run by the traditionalists, the big spenders and the quasi-welfare state would now be taking more tax off us than we earn. As it happens, that might not have been such a bad thing. If you look around at all the countries at the top of the quality of life league, they are all big tax and spenders. Further down the list you find countries such as the US and the UK, who are more in the business of making you pay for what you want, while sympathising with, yet neglecting the needs, of those below the poverty line.
This was what Mrs Thatcher and Presidents Reagan and Bush (Snr) advocated way back in the eighties. They wanted to free-up the world market to make things more flexible, make it easier to hire hard-working, ambitious people and fire the job-for-life comfortable no-gooders. However, their high-yield strategy has some unwelcome side-effects: the sale of anything and everything to pay off national debts and increase buyer power, thus forcing employees to succumb to working for foreign bosses and getting used to their way of working, ending national rules and regulations on working hours, rights and leave, emphasising competition, productivity and client importance.
The result? While some things have been going very well (telephony, energy, to name two), others have paid high prices for their introduction to the free market (public transport, cars). Enterprises which for decades were British (Rolls Royce, British Steel, British Gas) now found themselves in the hands of venture capitalists and free marketeers whose only objective is to get a higher year-on-year profit. We never truly understood just how far we had gone until Mittal and Tata, Indian companies, made their entry into the European markets, and China made moves to establish itself as a new world economic superpower.
Other, more sinister side-effects were also turning up: workers were free to come and go, outsourced companies could have their contracts torn up at any time, and products became more flimsy as enterprises tried to make higher profits.
We have also been slowly de-patriotised. I mean by this that as enterprises buy foreign companies, like for example if Mercedes-Benz were bought by the Spanish or Renault became Estonian, our own national sense of who we are is being eroded and undermined. We hark back to our traditions, like the Queen's Birthday or the FA Cup Final (sponsored by a German company) but our roots are being pulled up by mergers and acquisitions from outside. Coupled with that is migration and freedom of movement Europe-wide. A brilliant idea, but one which needs tracking, because whilst a cosmopolitan Europe is to be applauded, it could have negative consequences resulting in a public outcry to repatriate workers whom they claim have stolen their jobs.
In amongst all this, Tony Blair, the Labour Prime Minister, who had to pander to the new rulers in their executive suites while staying true to his socialist roots. If we compare modern British socialism to that in France, it is quite easy to say that Tony Blair had a lot more in common with Nicolas Sarkozy, Angela Merkel and Silvio Berlusconi than he ever did with Lionel Jospin's socialists. But this makes him the only leader in the world who can cross the frontiers of ideology, persuading leaders that just because you are from the Christian Democrats or the Socialists, there is no need to adopt everything your party ideology dictates. The outcome has been quite interesting. Tony Blair's Third Way has muddied the waters of European politics, making it quite acceptable to mix and match policy to either European norms or to make your laws more competitive.
This Blairite Europe he has created means that in effect all the big decisions are made at the Council of Ministers in Brussels, the 27 leaders taking decisions affecting us all Europe-wide, making it binding and most importantly totally inconsequential which party is in power at national level. Without realising it, Europeans are in a superstate whether they like it or not, because the crux of the matter is Tony Blair and his allies have laid down an agenda which will have far-reaching consequences in future European matters. I am of course not talking about public services (unless they have been subjected to market forces), but the economic and labour sectors have definitely been taken over Europe-wide, and Tony Blair had the largest hand.
The newspapers yesterday said that he might be a future European President when the constitution (or the treaty) is ratified, removing the 6-month rotating presidency from national governments and creating one post at the top. Will he be elected? Who knows? I doubt it. Yet another reason for the tabloid press to moan at undemocratic European ways. I, for one, would have mixed feelings about this as although it is a logical step, it makes it more difficult for governments to make their views known, and would be yet another muddying of the waters.
This was what Mrs Thatcher and Presidents Reagan and Bush (Snr) advocated way back in the eighties. They wanted to free-up the world market to make things more flexible, make it easier to hire hard-working, ambitious people and fire the job-for-life comfortable no-gooders. However, their high-yield strategy has some unwelcome side-effects: the sale of anything and everything to pay off national debts and increase buyer power, thus forcing employees to succumb to working for foreign bosses and getting used to their way of working, ending national rules and regulations on working hours, rights and leave, emphasising competition, productivity and client importance.
The result? While some things have been going very well (telephony, energy, to name two), others have paid high prices for their introduction to the free market (public transport, cars). Enterprises which for decades were British (Rolls Royce, British Steel, British Gas) now found themselves in the hands of venture capitalists and free marketeers whose only objective is to get a higher year-on-year profit. We never truly understood just how far we had gone until Mittal and Tata, Indian companies, made their entry into the European markets, and China made moves to establish itself as a new world economic superpower.
Other, more sinister side-effects were also turning up: workers were free to come and go, outsourced companies could have their contracts torn up at any time, and products became more flimsy as enterprises tried to make higher profits.
We have also been slowly de-patriotised. I mean by this that as enterprises buy foreign companies, like for example if Mercedes-Benz were bought by the Spanish or Renault became Estonian, our own national sense of who we are is being eroded and undermined. We hark back to our traditions, like the Queen's Birthday or the FA Cup Final (sponsored by a German company) but our roots are being pulled up by mergers and acquisitions from outside. Coupled with that is migration and freedom of movement Europe-wide. A brilliant idea, but one which needs tracking, because whilst a cosmopolitan Europe is to be applauded, it could have negative consequences resulting in a public outcry to repatriate workers whom they claim have stolen their jobs.
In amongst all this, Tony Blair, the Labour Prime Minister, who had to pander to the new rulers in their executive suites while staying true to his socialist roots. If we compare modern British socialism to that in France, it is quite easy to say that Tony Blair had a lot more in common with Nicolas Sarkozy, Angela Merkel and Silvio Berlusconi than he ever did with Lionel Jospin's socialists. But this makes him the only leader in the world who can cross the frontiers of ideology, persuading leaders that just because you are from the Christian Democrats or the Socialists, there is no need to adopt everything your party ideology dictates. The outcome has been quite interesting. Tony Blair's Third Way has muddied the waters of European politics, making it quite acceptable to mix and match policy to either European norms or to make your laws more competitive.
This Blairite Europe he has created means that in effect all the big decisions are made at the Council of Ministers in Brussels, the 27 leaders taking decisions affecting us all Europe-wide, making it binding and most importantly totally inconsequential which party is in power at national level. Without realising it, Europeans are in a superstate whether they like it or not, because the crux of the matter is Tony Blair and his allies have laid down an agenda which will have far-reaching consequences in future European matters. I am of course not talking about public services (unless they have been subjected to market forces), but the economic and labour sectors have definitely been taken over Europe-wide, and Tony Blair had the largest hand.
The newspapers yesterday said that he might be a future European President when the constitution (or the treaty) is ratified, removing the 6-month rotating presidency from national governments and creating one post at the top. Will he be elected? Who knows? I doubt it. Yet another reason for the tabloid press to moan at undemocratic European ways. I, for one, would have mixed feelings about this as although it is a logical step, it makes it more difficult for governments to make their views known, and would be yet another muddying of the waters.
Sunday 17 June 2007
The pursuit of happiness is based on lies
Hey everyone, get yourself a new car - you'll feel so much better! You can't afford it? No problem, we'll fix you up with our financial adviser who will talk of the various ways you can own your very own car without paying for it in one lump sum! The interest is higher than a bank account but it's lower than a mortgage and at the end we'll only make about 10% profit on you.
Or why don't you go on a holiday? Take yourself to Sicily, Barbados, Amsterdam or even Cannes for a couple of weeks. Go on - you can do it! Yes you can! Bah, don't worry about money - we'll sell you a deal unbeatable anywhere else! Too much time off in one go? Worry about that afterwards! What you need is a holiday, my friend!
Have you got the TV everyone else has? No? your model too old? Well then: come to our superstore and we'll sell you one that not only everyone else doesn't have, they won't have it for several years! And we'll make sure you've got TV in digital as well! Yes, digital TV is the future - no, it's the present too, and you should be in on it. If you're not, you must still be watching the pictures in analogue, and that's so nineties. We're all watching the TV on plasma these days, where you can watch the stars without pixels!
Have you got a supermarket fidelity card? If not, you may be missing out on deals you surely should be part of - you can get 10 cents off every bottle of ketchup you buy after your fourth purchase! You could be getting ads sent to you telling you about our deals year-round! You could be the winner of our fidelity card lottery! A winner every day! Umbrellas, toasters, freezer foods, ready-made meals, fizzy drinks and so much more to be won! We guarantee you'll be so much more contented with our bargains than any other superstore in the land! Collect our tokens to save up to 50 euro per year!
Is your house insured against fire? And theft, adverse weather conditions, children, bad workmanship or vandals? If not, call us to arrange a free estimation. We'll send along a highly qualified expert to tell you what could happen to you if you don't! We have all kinds of deals available to homeowners and renters alike and we guarantee money back if nothing happens to you! But we'll keep your place safe - we'll also advise you on how to reduce your insurance bills by purchasing alarms, roof protection, shutters and vandal-proof paint! We promise you'll feel the safest person in your neighbourhood!
Oh please, shut up!
Can I buy happiness? Nope. Can I buy health? No. As long as I've got a roof over my head and food on the table, none of the other stuff should matter.
Oh but it does. You wouldn't believe the amount of adult people I make contact with who are fascinated by all the latest technology, all the best deals and who religiously save up all the tokens for the supermarkets, even going to a different supermarket to get a cheaper deal on one item of food than another. I have contact with individuals who don't fail to tell me about where they bought their new suit, sunglasses or mobile phone. Does it really matter? I have one I like - is it important how much it cost and where it came from?
I'd rather have my happiness than a new gadget. But even then, I find it hard not to conform. I have a lot of bills each month, mainly household, but even then certain bills I get are rather useless, to say the least. But I have to pay them because we're all tricked into thinking that we need them.
Recently I've lambasted bad parenting, attacked public transport, gone crazy over bad mannered kids, so before you think I'm exaggerating by turning my anger on the consumer market, I'll shut up now and go and watch the US Grand Prix on my super-deluxe, home cinema complex with digital surround sound and a million colours.
I'm lying of course - it's a TV with a remote control. Do I need anything else to watch TV? You tell me!
Or why don't you go on a holiday? Take yourself to Sicily, Barbados, Amsterdam or even Cannes for a couple of weeks. Go on - you can do it! Yes you can! Bah, don't worry about money - we'll sell you a deal unbeatable anywhere else! Too much time off in one go? Worry about that afterwards! What you need is a holiday, my friend!
Have you got the TV everyone else has? No? your model too old? Well then: come to our superstore and we'll sell you one that not only everyone else doesn't have, they won't have it for several years! And we'll make sure you've got TV in digital as well! Yes, digital TV is the future - no, it's the present too, and you should be in on it. If you're not, you must still be watching the pictures in analogue, and that's so nineties. We're all watching the TV on plasma these days, where you can watch the stars without pixels!
Have you got a supermarket fidelity card? If not, you may be missing out on deals you surely should be part of - you can get 10 cents off every bottle of ketchup you buy after your fourth purchase! You could be getting ads sent to you telling you about our deals year-round! You could be the winner of our fidelity card lottery! A winner every day! Umbrellas, toasters, freezer foods, ready-made meals, fizzy drinks and so much more to be won! We guarantee you'll be so much more contented with our bargains than any other superstore in the land! Collect our tokens to save up to 50 euro per year!
Is your house insured against fire? And theft, adverse weather conditions, children, bad workmanship or vandals? If not, call us to arrange a free estimation. We'll send along a highly qualified expert to tell you what could happen to you if you don't! We have all kinds of deals available to homeowners and renters alike and we guarantee money back if nothing happens to you! But we'll keep your place safe - we'll also advise you on how to reduce your insurance bills by purchasing alarms, roof protection, shutters and vandal-proof paint! We promise you'll feel the safest person in your neighbourhood!
Oh please, shut up!
Can I buy happiness? Nope. Can I buy health? No. As long as I've got a roof over my head and food on the table, none of the other stuff should matter.
Oh but it does. You wouldn't believe the amount of adult people I make contact with who are fascinated by all the latest technology, all the best deals and who religiously save up all the tokens for the supermarkets, even going to a different supermarket to get a cheaper deal on one item of food than another. I have contact with individuals who don't fail to tell me about where they bought their new suit, sunglasses or mobile phone. Does it really matter? I have one I like - is it important how much it cost and where it came from?
I'd rather have my happiness than a new gadget. But even then, I find it hard not to conform. I have a lot of bills each month, mainly household, but even then certain bills I get are rather useless, to say the least. But I have to pay them because we're all tricked into thinking that we need them.
Recently I've lambasted bad parenting, attacked public transport, gone crazy over bad mannered kids, so before you think I'm exaggerating by turning my anger on the consumer market, I'll shut up now and go and watch the US Grand Prix on my super-deluxe, home cinema complex with digital surround sound and a million colours.
I'm lying of course - it's a TV with a remote control. Do I need anything else to watch TV? You tell me!
Friday 15 June 2007
What the average European is thinking - a translation
Europeans are becoming noticeably more receptive to all kinds of strange behaviour as though it is perfectly normal. They are being sanitised and uncontroversialised, making them reactive - but not proactive - when faced with idiots, thugs, snobs, hardline bosses, hard-selling advertising companies, draconian government legislation and even fashion and trends. They are being indoctrinated that it is not their place to make a scene, fight back, stand up for their rights, just say "no" or even complain to the right person.
I therefore wanted to provide you with a small translation of some of the things people say - what they think is in italic:
Boss: Would you mind spending a few more hours at work to finish off this important task? I'll then have a few more hours at the golf course
Slaveworker: Not at all. I am a replaceable commodity now so I should stay even though I'll have to cancel my free evening without the kids and pay from my own pocket to keep the babysitter there. Free time is not my place.
A group of hooligans get on the bus, playing loud music from a stereo and have a mock fight on the back seats, disrupting the other passengers.
Decent passenger 1: Let's just carry on as normal. Smile at them even, so they don't attack me. I'm afraid of them, but it's not my place to confront them.
Decent passenger 2: Don't even look at them. I'd love to knock their heads together but I daren't because it's not my place.
Decent passenger 1: I wonder what the parents did so wrong. I'd never let my boys get like that. They go out on Fridays, come back drunk early on Monday morning, but they've never been in trouble with the police.
Decent passenger 2: Your boys are really nice. Who is she kidding? They're going places. Yep, the places where the alcohol is cheap. They'd never mix with this group of losers. No, because they're more civilised than yours, but I daren't say anything because it's not my place.
Decent passenger 1: You would tell me if you knew something, wouldn't you? She knows something.
Decent passenger 2: Yes, yes. It's not my place.
TV news reporter: The government has just imposed a law forbidding citizens from walking on the left side of the pavement, resulting in a 20 euro fine if caught.
Average European viewer: That's terrible. I'm going to protest. No I'm not, because I'll have to miss a day off work. And I might go on a black list. No, it's not my place.
TV talent competition presenter: Please vote for the one you want to hear singing next week on the show and if there are enough of you gormless starstruck individuals, I can get a big fat bonus and get out of this sad place and get a real TV job!
Average European viewer: Number 5, Xandra Xadbitsch gets my vote! I don't know why I do this because it's rather sad but otherwise I'll look stupid in front of my friends if I tell them I didn't vote. And for a euro fifty - terrible price! But I'll not make a fus, it's not my place.
Street salesperson: Would you like to buy this totally useless piece of junk fluffy toy for all the poor children in the mental home for my boss's garage extension?
Average European shopper: I don't have any change. I don't really want it.
Street salesperson: Don't worry, I have change of fifty. Just don't ask how I got it selling fluffy toys.
Average European shopper: Oh that's OK then. Damn, fooled again! But I daren't say no, because I don't like to be unpopular. It's not my place.
A person drops litter on the street not too far from a rubbish bin.
Average European 1: Disgraceful! Did you see that? I'd like to tell them to pick it up.
Average European 2: Yes, right next to the bin. I'd also like to tell them to pick it up.
Average European 1: I'll tell them to pick it up.
Average European 2: No don't, it's not our place!
In all of these scenarios, we'd like to do or say something. But nobody dares. Because they think it's not their place. Or they don't feel empowered enough. Or they're worried nobody would support them if things turned nasty. This is how far we've come. The greatest civilisation on the planet, the most civil rights, the most freedom, the most equitable laws, and yet we are allowing the violent, the more influential, the louder, the richer, the less principled, to run amok. These groups and individuals from the dark side of society are ruining it for the rest of us. And governments find cheap, short-term remedies without heading for the preventative measures which start at basic school, at home and at the Annual General Meeting to tackle the disintegration of society.
People moan at the lack of manners shown by some young people but they don't do anything to sort it out. They're too scared. So when I took on a group of thugs last month making noise on a tram and drinking cheap alcohol, I ended up as the bad guy. "They're just young people enjoying themselves" said one fellow passenger. Others seemed to agree. With an attitude like that, I'd hate to think what the children of tomorrow are going to be like. Except this evening, when I got a compliment from the tram driver for removing a bottle of cheap alcohol from a 16-year-old and threw it, and him, from the tram, after he and his friends started pouring it over each other.
People hate heartless bosses, they don't want to upset them. To the extent that they'll drop their principles, keep quiet and not look up from the computer. So when one particularly nasty head of unit from another service but same building recently accused me of an unspeakable act of political sacrilege, instead of fearfully admitting it and getting the boot, I looked him square in the eye and accused him of corruption. He has recently retired - strangely enough at roughly the same time as a scandal encircled his department. He was not even suspected, but I'm sure he's up to his bald, flat head in it. I left the department that same week and now have a much nicer place to work.
Why do people conform? Why are they afraid of standing out from the crowd? Why do people allow louder, more assertive individuals to walk all over them? Because we're all unsure of support. And if others aren't doing it, why should we?
So I say, stand up to the tyrants, don't be bullied. Don't sit there and complain. Even if you're afraid of repercussions, take some anonymous action! Don't just complain and be done with it, make your voice count!
If you know someone who is corrupt, report them. If you experience disruption on public transport, write to the transport company or ombudsman. If someone is rude to you, tell them. If we do this collectively, our voices will be heard. I'm sure that little shyster playing the loud music on the bus whose speakers you rip off and throw on the floor will think twice before doing it again. Re-educate people before it becomes the norm.
I therefore wanted to provide you with a small translation of some of the things people say - what they think is in italic:
Boss: Would you mind spending a few more hours at work to finish off this important task? I'll then have a few more hours at the golf course
Slaveworker: Not at all. I am a replaceable commodity now so I should stay even though I'll have to cancel my free evening without the kids and pay from my own pocket to keep the babysitter there. Free time is not my place.
A group of hooligans get on the bus, playing loud music from a stereo and have a mock fight on the back seats, disrupting the other passengers.
Decent passenger 1: Let's just carry on as normal. Smile at them even, so they don't attack me. I'm afraid of them, but it's not my place to confront them.
Decent passenger 2: Don't even look at them. I'd love to knock their heads together but I daren't because it's not my place.
Decent passenger 1: I wonder what the parents did so wrong. I'd never let my boys get like that. They go out on Fridays, come back drunk early on Monday morning, but they've never been in trouble with the police.
Decent passenger 2: Your boys are really nice. Who is she kidding? They're going places. Yep, the places where the alcohol is cheap. They'd never mix with this group of losers. No, because they're more civilised than yours, but I daren't say anything because it's not my place.
Decent passenger 1: You would tell me if you knew something, wouldn't you? She knows something.
Decent passenger 2: Yes, yes. It's not my place.
TV news reporter: The government has just imposed a law forbidding citizens from walking on the left side of the pavement, resulting in a 20 euro fine if caught.
Average European viewer: That's terrible. I'm going to protest. No I'm not, because I'll have to miss a day off work. And I might go on a black list. No, it's not my place.
TV talent competition presenter: Please vote for the one you want to hear singing next week on the show and if there are enough of you gormless starstruck individuals, I can get a big fat bonus and get out of this sad place and get a real TV job!
Average European viewer: Number 5, Xandra Xadbitsch gets my vote! I don't know why I do this because it's rather sad but otherwise I'll look stupid in front of my friends if I tell them I didn't vote. And for a euro fifty - terrible price! But I'll not make a fus, it's not my place.
Street salesperson: Would you like to buy this totally useless piece of junk fluffy toy for all the poor children in the mental home for my boss's garage extension?
Average European shopper: I don't have any change. I don't really want it.
Street salesperson: Don't worry, I have change of fifty. Just don't ask how I got it selling fluffy toys.
Average European shopper: Oh that's OK then. Damn, fooled again! But I daren't say no, because I don't like to be unpopular. It's not my place.
A person drops litter on the street not too far from a rubbish bin.
Average European 1: Disgraceful! Did you see that? I'd like to tell them to pick it up.
Average European 2: Yes, right next to the bin. I'd also like to tell them to pick it up.
Average European 1: I'll tell them to pick it up.
Average European 2: No don't, it's not our place!
In all of these scenarios, we'd like to do or say something. But nobody dares. Because they think it's not their place. Or they don't feel empowered enough. Or they're worried nobody would support them if things turned nasty. This is how far we've come. The greatest civilisation on the planet, the most civil rights, the most freedom, the most equitable laws, and yet we are allowing the violent, the more influential, the louder, the richer, the less principled, to run amok. These groups and individuals from the dark side of society are ruining it for the rest of us. And governments find cheap, short-term remedies without heading for the preventative measures which start at basic school, at home and at the Annual General Meeting to tackle the disintegration of society.
People moan at the lack of manners shown by some young people but they don't do anything to sort it out. They're too scared. So when I took on a group of thugs last month making noise on a tram and drinking cheap alcohol, I ended up as the bad guy. "They're just young people enjoying themselves" said one fellow passenger. Others seemed to agree. With an attitude like that, I'd hate to think what the children of tomorrow are going to be like. Except this evening, when I got a compliment from the tram driver for removing a bottle of cheap alcohol from a 16-year-old and threw it, and him, from the tram, after he and his friends started pouring it over each other.
People hate heartless bosses, they don't want to upset them. To the extent that they'll drop their principles, keep quiet and not look up from the computer. So when one particularly nasty head of unit from another service but same building recently accused me of an unspeakable act of political sacrilege, instead of fearfully admitting it and getting the boot, I looked him square in the eye and accused him of corruption. He has recently retired - strangely enough at roughly the same time as a scandal encircled his department. He was not even suspected, but I'm sure he's up to his bald, flat head in it. I left the department that same week and now have a much nicer place to work.
Why do people conform? Why are they afraid of standing out from the crowd? Why do people allow louder, more assertive individuals to walk all over them? Because we're all unsure of support. And if others aren't doing it, why should we?
So I say, stand up to the tyrants, don't be bullied. Don't sit there and complain. Even if you're afraid of repercussions, take some anonymous action! Don't just complain and be done with it, make your voice count!
If you know someone who is corrupt, report them. If you experience disruption on public transport, write to the transport company or ombudsman. If someone is rude to you, tell them. If we do this collectively, our voices will be heard. I'm sure that little shyster playing the loud music on the bus whose speakers you rip off and throw on the floor will think twice before doing it again. Re-educate people before it becomes the norm.
Monday 11 June 2007
Travelling is good for you: Prague in 1991
I have been a habitual traveller to Prague since 1991 and since then, I have never looked for a new country to travel to. I used to teach English there every year in what is called the Southern Town, or Jizni Mesto. This area was built by the Communists and looks comparible to a surrealistic, H.G.Wells-like district where the houses are all grouped together like a pile of supermarket boxes that have been scattered over the floor. This is by far not a reasonable example to lead by in explaining the shape of Prague. This city has virtually remained intact since its construction. Its name in Czech means "Threshold", and was the result of a combination of villages, the oldest being Brevnov to the east of where the centre is.
When I arrived for the first time, through coincidence, I went by hitch-hiking from Dunkirk. Normally I needed to get a train to Oostende and one of those old ricketty communist period buses to Prague. You know the kind - where to turn on the air conditioning, you ask your neighbour if he minds opening the slide window. I was very lucky to find two Germans on the boat who would drive me to Dresden, before I took a train. The whole journey cost me £10. At Holesovice Station in the North, I took one look at the surroundings and thought about taking the next train to Budapest. I was, though, there on a mission. A Czech girl, Renata, whom I was madly in love with, ordered me to give an important message to her fiancé, a Palestinian called Farid. Renata was at that time an Au Pair and well-loved expert at ironing in our house as well as every other one in the neighbourhood. It was then that the easiness of travelling around this city was not as simple as I imagined at first glance. It seemed that I had been commandeered by a taxi driver who virtually begged me to let him take me to my destination: Holland Street, No.23. I had arrived there 7 hours earlier than planned, and so it was early morning.
My hostess, a Czech lady with sunken eyes from being woken up by a bell that would fit perfectly on a French Police car, invited me in. She knew Renata from England where they both worked in the same castle as general slaves to the Indian masters. She offered me a drink, but I declined due to all the rumours of people who had heard rumours from the people who had heard rumours about the state of the drinks (I was the only one who actually went there to find out for myself). After breakfast, I went to visit Farid, the Palestinian whose girl I wanted to run away with. I had only seen him on a photo and when I was given directions to his house, including a cable car, I was starting to wonder about this place. I took Tram 22 to Ujezd and then a cable car. When I fumbled with my ticket, and worked out that I should not hand it to the unsociable guard who thought I was German but insisted on talking Czech, I climbed into the "Lanovka". By the top, I was speechless. On the left was the Hradcany, on the right the Vyšehrad and in front of me, the most exquisite museum of architecture anywhere in the world. Having found Farid in the halls of residence where he lived, I almost started to cry. I wanted to hate him, he wanted me to stay in his room as guest of honour - for the whole month. We had so much fun together with the other Arabs that I forgot very quickly about my vendetta for the love of Renata. In Prague, I was told, there are three women to every man. In the evening, we were invited to a disco. Never in my life had I been ill through an adrenaline attack. When they sobered me up with a litre of Prazdroj, now one of the beers I will always treasure, they told me this was the usual look of Czech women - simply outstanding to the point of fainting.
The next day, I discovered the place where I should have been born. Farid personally took me to every place of interest there was (He was an architecture student at the Technical University so I was in good hands). I had discovered a great and lasting friendship from my curiosity about Renata's love life. During the next month, I had seen every building in Prague, knew its history, and how to get to it. I blended into the Czech crowd like a sugar crystal into hot water.
After two weeks, though, I fell out of that category for a split second. It was my birthday, and I was invited out by another Palestinian and his girlfriend. In the restaurant was a waitress, Lucie, who took my heart. She spoke only Czech, but my own ability in the language allowed us to have a slight understanding. She also spoke a smattering of German which made it easier. She asked me for English lessons, and I asked her for a date. The following morning, we met at the National Theatre. While I waited for her to turn up, a Polish money changer came wandering up to me and asked me to change with him. I, with the sly grin of someone metamorphosing from an astute businessman to a destitute tinpot beggar, said yes, and he conjured up a hundred crowns and three notes amounting to sixty Polish zlotys, about 0.001p. Despite showing me the lovely money, he somehow managed to switch it in his hand so I was left with bugger all. My mood changed instantly three times in eight minutes, for Lucie, the girl who could pass for Claudia Schiffer's more beautiful younger sister, swanned around the corner and saw me with worry all over my face. I looked like a pleading fawn when I finished telling her the story and she immediately bought me a drink in a cafe around the corner. I felt so ridiculous.
The next two weeks seemed to last for ages. I met Chuck, an Australian author living in California. His story was more desperate than mine. Chuck was travelling around Europe with two women. He and I became friends immediately and when he left to go by train to Vienna with them, we knew we would not see each other again.... until six hours later when I met him in the car park looking decidedly shaken. He told me what happened: they boarded the train with their passports and visas when there were five minutes to go. The women asked him to buy a bottle of water from the shop, and the train decided to leave four minutes earlier. All he had in the world were his clothes, an alcoholics anonymous contact card and 200 crowns. After three days, and hours of phoning every embassy and foreign ministry involved, as far and wide as the USA, Australia and Austria, we located his luggage and visas: in a locker in Vienna Hauptbahnhof. Where were the women? In Vienna? No. We discovered that they were visiting friends in Paris, with the ticket to get his things out. Then, we phoned his brother in Australia to send him some cash through American Express. When we went the next morning to collect it, the cashier ended the hope and excitement of sending me on an all expenses paid mission to Paris and Vienna by saying: "Passport, please." What was even more ironic, was that he had some more luggage in a locker in Pilsen, and the only way to get that out was with a ticket tucked inside his jacket pocket next to his visa in Vienna. Prague is exciting, and you can just about travel around it without paying, but do not fall for tricks and do not hope for too much from the people in the street: they have this uncanny ability to hit you around the face without touching you. After that, while walking around the city, we saw an Indian restaurant - the only one in Prague at that time. Chuck murmured, "ooh, it reminds me of home."
For the next week and a half, I was completely broke, to the extent that I succumbed to leaving my political non-alignment and temporarily joined the ranks of raw capitalism. I decided to show the rather naïve Czechs what it really was. I noticed they were the most lethargic people of any nation I had ever met. For instance, in London or Paris, people rush about on the Metropolitan railways as if they were heading for the last train out of hell. And if a train comes into a station, everybody surges forward like it was Saturday afternoon at the Kop in Liverpool stadium. Not in Prague. On the Prague Metro, if a train was coming in, they would keep standing on the moving escalator until they arrive at the bottom and then they would run, all missing the train together. Anyway, back to the point. Chuck and I were in deep need of some money. So, at the hostel where Farid lived, we decided to ask the manager of the small bar if we could take over the food department. All they had to offer was hranolky (or two teaspoons of plain, thin, tasteless sticks doing impersonations of potato chips) with Párek (a grilled piece of unrecognisable meat in the shape of a mutilated sausage). I said to them that we would be able to cook some other, less unappetising meals for the hungry traveller. Chuck and I put together our last money, 100 crowns, and proceeded to the slop shop (it was called this by the English Native speakers as it contained the ugliest foods (and cashiers) available on this planet.
That day, our plan to earn money took a vast step up. We bought some pasta, some eggs and some milk. We used Farid's herbs and his dishes, and so, having taken the food out to the bar, we sat and ate it there and then. That was the plan... Because shortly after a passing group of five Catalan people virtually got on their knees to ask us to cook some more for them. They gave us some money and we cooked them something. After that, a whole flood of customers barraged their way into our restaurant. The Czechs stood by as if they had never noticed this going on before. It was virtually incomprehensible to them, and yet, they were becoming more capitalistic than the capitalists. Václav Klaus, the Prime Minister, at one time, even told the British government how it should operate itself (actually, any nation has better methods than the British government of the late 80s and early 90s). Even the people were becoming thieves. I suppose they could not believe us because our capitalism was honest, a hard afternoon's graft. The Czechs were only used to the idea of ripping the foreigners off and running away with as much money as they could. In the centre of Prague, prices were sometimes five times higher than just 100 metres outside the centre. Chuck and I earned a reasonable wage which allowed me to get a ticket home in time for college.
I decided to leave Prague on the next bus, with an extra £20 that I borrowed from David Vaughan, the husband of Renata's best friend. During the course of the next few months, Prague was in my mind day after day. It was even more special than any other place I had visited. I met a lady, Eva Poncova, who promised to find me a job. I thought it would be highly impossible that I would get one, and promptly forgot about it. In June of the next year, it was my mother who telephoned me to tell me that I had to work all week to earn some money, as I had been offered a job the week after in Prague. I hastily arrived in my city, where a lady, Drahomira Kolarova, whose name was kinder, or rather less sadistic than her character, said I was to stay with a spooky lady who neither she nor I had met. The next morning, I was to start work at eight and finish at one. I would repeat this for two weeks, where at the end, my salary, lower than the other teachers as I was unqualified, would be given to me.
I reluctantly fell out of bed at half past seven and found myself perched up against the door at the school where Mrs Kolárová was counting how many seconds late I was. She went berserk when I had the gall to say "Good Morning", and smile. She eyed me up the passage and into the classroom. I quickly closed the door to her and taught the class. During the break, I invited some of the class to the pub, called "Stodola". In particular, a German lady called Grit, a boy called Honza and the cutest girl I had ever laid my eyes on, Dana. Very quickly, we started to eye each other up in the class, highly unprofessional. Then one afternoon, after a mammoth drinking session at "Stodola", it all fell into place. When Drahomira Devil Woman found out, I think her body hair must have fallen out. All day, she mulled around like she was scouring the floor for it.
She hated my teaching methods, as I never used text books because I hardly ever benefited from them when I was a pupil, never gave homework as it made the subjects I was studying become boring, and my class without doubt had the largest attendence of all of the twenty-odd classes. What's more, every member of my class passed the tests set (except one, but she was a dropout). I was also the only teacher to receive a present from the whole class at the end of the fortnight. This proved to me that I should never listen to another teacher's advice about how to teach a language. I now had enough evidence of my own to prove it. When I asked the class on the last day how old they thought I was, I had a response of 24, 25, 22, 31 and 27. There was a large wave of shock when it was revealed that I was 19. I realised I had achieved something that not many other people of my age had done or were likely to do.
Grit, the German lady with a laugh like a drainpipe, and the best humour for miles around, asked me to live at her house. I could eat, drink, have the spare bed, and take hot showers when I wanted, as long as I taught her daughter English. She would even pay me 100 crowns per hour for the privilege. I obliged, and moved in immediately, as the place I stayed in before with this other woman, contained a truant daughter with a penchant for drugs and nocturnal violence. She had a good brain, but never used it. She was offered a free place in Mensa, but turned it down to go and get herself a tattoo (which her mother discovered on Christmas Day of that year). Then, she would wait up for me to come home, so it would be unreasonable of me to come back at three in the morning. I therefore decided to stay at Farid's house when I was late. Nevertheless, Grit and her angry daughter with the care of a mother deer yet the spitefulness of a jealous buck let me stay there. We had wine on the balcony on barmy nights and beer when I asked. Grit looked after me like her own son. I did not show the full gratefulness I should have. The clique from the leftovers of the class was so intensely close that we all had nicknames. All in all, we used to hang around Stodola. Then came the fateful day when Dana went to the countryside. She went every year with her parents to this little village called Castrov, near Kamenice nad Lipou in south Bohemia. I stayed in Prague moping. She would not be back for another month. Therefore, I had to stay and eye up other girls in night clubs with Farid and his gang.
My pittance lasted three months, whereas in the UK it would have lasted a round at the pub and a packet of peanuts. And in those three months most of my basic university of life education was gained. The Czech Republic, or Czechoslovakia as it was then, is not the same place as it was in those wild days before they became just like any old Europeans, but Prague is still the place I visit most, still the only place I feel at home, still the place I leave in tears each time, and yet I will never live there. I have an apartment there in the suburbs but it will be forever my pied à terre because I would never quit my beautiful job here in Belgium.
If you are visiting Prague, take a look at the selection of photos I made:
http://www.goslitski.net/template.cfm?action=prague
and if you want some advice on what to see and do, feel free to contact me.
When I arrived for the first time, through coincidence, I went by hitch-hiking from Dunkirk. Normally I needed to get a train to Oostende and one of those old ricketty communist period buses to Prague. You know the kind - where to turn on the air conditioning, you ask your neighbour if he minds opening the slide window. I was very lucky to find two Germans on the boat who would drive me to Dresden, before I took a train. The whole journey cost me £10. At Holesovice Station in the North, I took one look at the surroundings and thought about taking the next train to Budapest. I was, though, there on a mission. A Czech girl, Renata, whom I was madly in love with, ordered me to give an important message to her fiancé, a Palestinian called Farid. Renata was at that time an Au Pair and well-loved expert at ironing in our house as well as every other one in the neighbourhood. It was then that the easiness of travelling around this city was not as simple as I imagined at first glance. It seemed that I had been commandeered by a taxi driver who virtually begged me to let him take me to my destination: Holland Street, No.23. I had arrived there 7 hours earlier than planned, and so it was early morning.
My hostess, a Czech lady with sunken eyes from being woken up by a bell that would fit perfectly on a French Police car, invited me in. She knew Renata from England where they both worked in the same castle as general slaves to the Indian masters. She offered me a drink, but I declined due to all the rumours of people who had heard rumours from the people who had heard rumours about the state of the drinks (I was the only one who actually went there to find out for myself). After breakfast, I went to visit Farid, the Palestinian whose girl I wanted to run away with. I had only seen him on a photo and when I was given directions to his house, including a cable car, I was starting to wonder about this place. I took Tram 22 to Ujezd and then a cable car. When I fumbled with my ticket, and worked out that I should not hand it to the unsociable guard who thought I was German but insisted on talking Czech, I climbed into the "Lanovka". By the top, I was speechless. On the left was the Hradcany, on the right the Vyšehrad and in front of me, the most exquisite museum of architecture anywhere in the world. Having found Farid in the halls of residence where he lived, I almost started to cry. I wanted to hate him, he wanted me to stay in his room as guest of honour - for the whole month. We had so much fun together with the other Arabs that I forgot very quickly about my vendetta for the love of Renata. In Prague, I was told, there are three women to every man. In the evening, we were invited to a disco. Never in my life had I been ill through an adrenaline attack. When they sobered me up with a litre of Prazdroj, now one of the beers I will always treasure, they told me this was the usual look of Czech women - simply outstanding to the point of fainting.
The next day, I discovered the place where I should have been born. Farid personally took me to every place of interest there was (He was an architecture student at the Technical University so I was in good hands). I had discovered a great and lasting friendship from my curiosity about Renata's love life. During the next month, I had seen every building in Prague, knew its history, and how to get to it. I blended into the Czech crowd like a sugar crystal into hot water.
After two weeks, though, I fell out of that category for a split second. It was my birthday, and I was invited out by another Palestinian and his girlfriend. In the restaurant was a waitress, Lucie, who took my heart. She spoke only Czech, but my own ability in the language allowed us to have a slight understanding. She also spoke a smattering of German which made it easier. She asked me for English lessons, and I asked her for a date. The following morning, we met at the National Theatre. While I waited for her to turn up, a Polish money changer came wandering up to me and asked me to change with him. I, with the sly grin of someone metamorphosing from an astute businessman to a destitute tinpot beggar, said yes, and he conjured up a hundred crowns and three notes amounting to sixty Polish zlotys, about 0.001p. Despite showing me the lovely money, he somehow managed to switch it in his hand so I was left with bugger all. My mood changed instantly three times in eight minutes, for Lucie, the girl who could pass for Claudia Schiffer's more beautiful younger sister, swanned around the corner and saw me with worry all over my face. I looked like a pleading fawn when I finished telling her the story and she immediately bought me a drink in a cafe around the corner. I felt so ridiculous.
The next two weeks seemed to last for ages. I met Chuck, an Australian author living in California. His story was more desperate than mine. Chuck was travelling around Europe with two women. He and I became friends immediately and when he left to go by train to Vienna with them, we knew we would not see each other again.... until six hours later when I met him in the car park looking decidedly shaken. He told me what happened: they boarded the train with their passports and visas when there were five minutes to go. The women asked him to buy a bottle of water from the shop, and the train decided to leave four minutes earlier. All he had in the world were his clothes, an alcoholics anonymous contact card and 200 crowns. After three days, and hours of phoning every embassy and foreign ministry involved, as far and wide as the USA, Australia and Austria, we located his luggage and visas: in a locker in Vienna Hauptbahnhof. Where were the women? In Vienna? No. We discovered that they were visiting friends in Paris, with the ticket to get his things out. Then, we phoned his brother in Australia to send him some cash through American Express. When we went the next morning to collect it, the cashier ended the hope and excitement of sending me on an all expenses paid mission to Paris and Vienna by saying: "Passport, please." What was even more ironic, was that he had some more luggage in a locker in Pilsen, and the only way to get that out was with a ticket tucked inside his jacket pocket next to his visa in Vienna. Prague is exciting, and you can just about travel around it without paying, but do not fall for tricks and do not hope for too much from the people in the street: they have this uncanny ability to hit you around the face without touching you. After that, while walking around the city, we saw an Indian restaurant - the only one in Prague at that time. Chuck murmured, "ooh, it reminds me of home."
For the next week and a half, I was completely broke, to the extent that I succumbed to leaving my political non-alignment and temporarily joined the ranks of raw capitalism. I decided to show the rather naïve Czechs what it really was. I noticed they were the most lethargic people of any nation I had ever met. For instance, in London or Paris, people rush about on the Metropolitan railways as if they were heading for the last train out of hell. And if a train comes into a station, everybody surges forward like it was Saturday afternoon at the Kop in Liverpool stadium. Not in Prague. On the Prague Metro, if a train was coming in, they would keep standing on the moving escalator until they arrive at the bottom and then they would run, all missing the train together. Anyway, back to the point. Chuck and I were in deep need of some money. So, at the hostel where Farid lived, we decided to ask the manager of the small bar if we could take over the food department. All they had to offer was hranolky (or two teaspoons of plain, thin, tasteless sticks doing impersonations of potato chips) with Párek (a grilled piece of unrecognisable meat in the shape of a mutilated sausage). I said to them that we would be able to cook some other, less unappetising meals for the hungry traveller. Chuck and I put together our last money, 100 crowns, and proceeded to the slop shop (it was called this by the English Native speakers as it contained the ugliest foods (and cashiers) available on this planet.
That day, our plan to earn money took a vast step up. We bought some pasta, some eggs and some milk. We used Farid's herbs and his dishes, and so, having taken the food out to the bar, we sat and ate it there and then. That was the plan... Because shortly after a passing group of five Catalan people virtually got on their knees to ask us to cook some more for them. They gave us some money and we cooked them something. After that, a whole flood of customers barraged their way into our restaurant. The Czechs stood by as if they had never noticed this going on before. It was virtually incomprehensible to them, and yet, they were becoming more capitalistic than the capitalists. Václav Klaus, the Prime Minister, at one time, even told the British government how it should operate itself (actually, any nation has better methods than the British government of the late 80s and early 90s). Even the people were becoming thieves. I suppose they could not believe us because our capitalism was honest, a hard afternoon's graft. The Czechs were only used to the idea of ripping the foreigners off and running away with as much money as they could. In the centre of Prague, prices were sometimes five times higher than just 100 metres outside the centre. Chuck and I earned a reasonable wage which allowed me to get a ticket home in time for college.
I decided to leave Prague on the next bus, with an extra £20 that I borrowed from David Vaughan, the husband of Renata's best friend. During the course of the next few months, Prague was in my mind day after day. It was even more special than any other place I had visited. I met a lady, Eva Poncova, who promised to find me a job. I thought it would be highly impossible that I would get one, and promptly forgot about it. In June of the next year, it was my mother who telephoned me to tell me that I had to work all week to earn some money, as I had been offered a job the week after in Prague. I hastily arrived in my city, where a lady, Drahomira Kolarova, whose name was kinder, or rather less sadistic than her character, said I was to stay with a spooky lady who neither she nor I had met. The next morning, I was to start work at eight and finish at one. I would repeat this for two weeks, where at the end, my salary, lower than the other teachers as I was unqualified, would be given to me.
I reluctantly fell out of bed at half past seven and found myself perched up against the door at the school where Mrs Kolárová was counting how many seconds late I was. She went berserk when I had the gall to say "Good Morning", and smile. She eyed me up the passage and into the classroom. I quickly closed the door to her and taught the class. During the break, I invited some of the class to the pub, called "Stodola". In particular, a German lady called Grit, a boy called Honza and the cutest girl I had ever laid my eyes on, Dana. Very quickly, we started to eye each other up in the class, highly unprofessional. Then one afternoon, after a mammoth drinking session at "Stodola", it all fell into place. When Drahomira Devil Woman found out, I think her body hair must have fallen out. All day, she mulled around like she was scouring the floor for it.
She hated my teaching methods, as I never used text books because I hardly ever benefited from them when I was a pupil, never gave homework as it made the subjects I was studying become boring, and my class without doubt had the largest attendence of all of the twenty-odd classes. What's more, every member of my class passed the tests set (except one, but she was a dropout). I was also the only teacher to receive a present from the whole class at the end of the fortnight. This proved to me that I should never listen to another teacher's advice about how to teach a language. I now had enough evidence of my own to prove it. When I asked the class on the last day how old they thought I was, I had a response of 24, 25, 22, 31 and 27. There was a large wave of shock when it was revealed that I was 19. I realised I had achieved something that not many other people of my age had done or were likely to do.
Grit, the German lady with a laugh like a drainpipe, and the best humour for miles around, asked me to live at her house. I could eat, drink, have the spare bed, and take hot showers when I wanted, as long as I taught her daughter English. She would even pay me 100 crowns per hour for the privilege. I obliged, and moved in immediately, as the place I stayed in before with this other woman, contained a truant daughter with a penchant for drugs and nocturnal violence. She had a good brain, but never used it. She was offered a free place in Mensa, but turned it down to go and get herself a tattoo (which her mother discovered on Christmas Day of that year). Then, she would wait up for me to come home, so it would be unreasonable of me to come back at three in the morning. I therefore decided to stay at Farid's house when I was late. Nevertheless, Grit and her angry daughter with the care of a mother deer yet the spitefulness of a jealous buck let me stay there. We had wine on the balcony on barmy nights and beer when I asked. Grit looked after me like her own son. I did not show the full gratefulness I should have. The clique from the leftovers of the class was so intensely close that we all had nicknames. All in all, we used to hang around Stodola. Then came the fateful day when Dana went to the countryside. She went every year with her parents to this little village called Castrov, near Kamenice nad Lipou in south Bohemia. I stayed in Prague moping. She would not be back for another month. Therefore, I had to stay and eye up other girls in night clubs with Farid and his gang.
My pittance lasted three months, whereas in the UK it would have lasted a round at the pub and a packet of peanuts. And in those three months most of my basic university of life education was gained. The Czech Republic, or Czechoslovakia as it was then, is not the same place as it was in those wild days before they became just like any old Europeans, but Prague is still the place I visit most, still the only place I feel at home, still the place I leave in tears each time, and yet I will never live there. I have an apartment there in the suburbs but it will be forever my pied à terre because I would never quit my beautiful job here in Belgium.
If you are visiting Prague, take a look at the selection of photos I made:
http://www.goslitski.net/template.cfm?action=prague
and if you want some advice on what to see and do, feel free to contact me.
Saturday 9 June 2007
Travelling is good for you: Germany
Apparently France is the most visited country on the planet, although I'd bet that a third or even more of all visitors are on their way somewhere else, like Spain or Italy. For this reason, Germany is the country everyone likes to drive through on their way somewhere else - everyone knows Germany because of its terrifyingly sprawling Autobahn network. Until recently though not everyone stopped there except for a cup of coffee or a fillup of petrol in one of the enormous variety of stopoff points. This has been noticed by the German authorities - so much so, a few weeks ago, I passed an Autobahnkirche, yes, a motorway church. This undeserved treatment of Germany's free-to-use Autobahns means most people see the country at 190 km/h. Until recently. For two reasons:
The first reason is that the average speed going east-to-west or west-to-east has decreased in recent times due to the amount of new traffic on the roads. The recent admission of Poland to the EU has had a detrimental effect on Germany's once high-speed road system. You see, the Poles just don't get the idea of motorways - they have so few in Poland that it's not really their fault, but they just can't grasp the fast-middle-slow lane mentality. Driving on the main thoroughfare from Belgium to Berlin is a hazardous prospect and I've done this trip three times recently. God, it was scary. The driver of the vehicle I was in on those three occasions was faultless, but what do you expect from an ex-German Air Force helicopter pilot? However, I had no faith in any of the other cars around me. I frequently squeezed the door grip, tightened my legs and pushed my feet into the floor as if subliminally braking, not that it would have helped much...
It wasn't so much the speed of the other drivers, but their lack of it, combined with their sudden urges to shift to another lane, including the "fast" lane. It's high time the east-west motorways had minimum speed signs placed above the lanes or on the road surface. In Polish. That's at least better than the alternative - tolls. These would only mean the cars would find alternative ways of getting to and from home, possibly causing national routes to be clogged at certain intervals, and punishing the local drivers, who correctly put a brick on the accelerator pedal and drive at speeds Americans can only have wet dreams about.
The other reason why not all visitors see Germany at 190km/h is much more positive. Since the World Cup in Germany in the summer of 2006, foreign visitors have decided no longer to whizz through the land to reach their destination before nightfall or daybreak. People are actually visiting and they're doing it in bigger and bigger numbers. Germany is, and has always been, a tourist-friendly country. Germans are, contrary to all myths, enormously welcoming, very sociable, fairly well-educated and highly humorous people. Their land is so rich in history and nature, their cities beautifully looked after, and their villages more active than most Belgian towns.
A couple of weeks ago, I took a group of my students from China on a cruise up the river Rhine. As the group had mainly ideas of urban Europe, with trips to Barcelona, Paris, Amsterdam, Rome and London high on their agendas, I wanted to show them somewhere which I believe to be the essential Europe, the Europe we all read about in our fairy tales, the folkloric Europe we often dream of but never enter. Germany is that land, but we just never admit it. I'm sure, when you see films like Shrek, with all that delightful scenery, the castles and valleys, the open plains and heathland, you will find it there between Aachen and Görlitz, Oberstdorf and Flensburg.
You just can't go wrong in Germany. And since the summers started getting hotter, many more Germans themselves are holidaying in their own country. Let's take a trip to some of the places you can go:
Rhine boat trip
The Köln-Düsseldorfer boat company (http://www.k-d.de) provides the largest fleet of boats on the Rhine. You can sail from Cologne to Bonn to Remagen to Koblenz to Boppard to St Goar to Bacharach to Bingen and finally to Mainz, a trip of a couple of hours on the train, in 12 hours, and fill up a whole photo memory card with all the sights on the way. Koblenz is a good place to stop - some delightful views, a lively atmosphere and plenty of romantic walks. St Goar and St Goarshausen sit on opposite banks of the river, joined by a ro-ro car ferry no bigger than two tennis courts. The walking possibilities are endless.
Black Forest - Schwarzwald
If you should go to the Black Forest, the immense tree-covered area of land which takes up most of the state of Baden-Württemberg, you should head to Freiburg and surrounding area. The city has everything the adventurous traveller should need: mountains to climb or to visit on a lift (try the Schauinsland - http://www.schauinsland.de/ - a restaurant awaits you at the top! Or you can go round the Feldberg, 1493 metres high, or even drive over the Kandel, 1242 metres high); it has romantic villages and routes, for example the Cuckoo Clock Way, where the largest cuckoo clock in the world - the size of a house - stands in the village of Triberg and waits until the pterodactyl dressed as a cuckoo pops out every half hour. Let us not forget what the Black Forest is famous for - its gâteau. If you want to try the BFG made with the most love, please go to Café Schuler (http://www.cafe-schuler.com/) where you can also stay the night in breathtaking scenery and noiseless luxury for 80 euro full board. Another good reason to go there is your mobile phone doesn't pick up a signal. Bliss. I don't visit the place often enough but I have the fondest memories.
The Alps
Just south and east of the Black Forest the resplendent roundedness of the mountains becomes more jagged, as the Alps force their way into the clouds. Here, you can visit any number of places, but the pick would be Neuschwanstein, the crazy castle of King Ludwig II, (http://www.neuschwanstein.com/english/index.htm), the colourful ruler who invited Richard Wagner to write music there. Another less well-known place is the Breitachklamm, a gorge carved by a rapid river (http://www.breitachklamm.de/) which you can walk very close to, along its overhanging gangways and footbridges.
Munich
This city is just unique. But what makes it unique is the oneness to nature of its inhabitants. So much so, that in the Englischer Garten, the English Garden for all those who require a translation, right in the middle of Munich, you would never believe that you were even within the city boundaries of one of Europe's great urban centres. Another trait of it is the nakedness of the people roaming around there. Students and pensioners alike, everyone is just wearing a smile and nothing else. In fact, when I was there, I got stared at for being clothed. So I also joined the locals in their ritualistic closeness to nature. Later, when I got to the tram stop, the doors were just about to close as a man carrying only his rucksack jumped on. He had either left his clothes at home or he was in a hurry to get the tram so went without dressing. Either way, nobody even seemed to notice.
Dresden
Passing through the scenic towns of Regensburg, Bamberg, Bayreuth and Nürnberg, we reach the cultural city of Dresden, the place where people care so much about their city, they are arguing over where to place a new bridge so that it doesn't spoil the unique riverside promenades. In fact the inhabitants' love of their city runs so deep, they even rebuilt the Frauenkirche, http://www.frauenkirche.de/, an exquisite building destroyed in the savage allied bombings, based on original drawings. They also rebuilt their Opera House, which went the same way as the Frauenkirche. The twin city of Dresden is Coventry in the UK. Coventry is an ultra-square functional urban area with enormous grey beercrates called office blocks and Jenga-style towers with drying clothes hanging off them where people actually live, whereas Dresden was lovingly restored, even down to the cobblestones on the roads and the gargoyles on the public buildings.
Brandenburg
This German state surrounds Berlin completely and is full of little gems, for example Potsdam, the royal city of Germany. Every major royal nation has something like this: St Petersburg has Petergof, France has Versailles, England has Hampton Court and Windsor Castle, Spain has El Escorial. But what makes Potsdam extraordinary is its size and variety. To give you some idea, click here: http://www.potsdam.de/cms/ziel/26670/EN/
Werder is another interesting town to visit - there's not much point being there for more than a day, but the fact it lies in the middle of the river is worth a look. And it too is famous for ketchup far better than H*i*z and fruit wines, the like of which if it doesn't turn your teeth dark will surely make the tongue behind crave more. But be careful - it is notoriously deceiving. You think you're not drunk then after a few glasses, you get up to offer your round and your legs disagree on the route you need to take to the counter.
I'm not going to describe every other place you need to go to, but here is a list of places no less deserving of a visit:
Berlin (of course) - http://www.goslitski.net/template.cfm?action=berlin
Hamburg
Aachen
Leipzig
Hannover and Braunschweig
Münster and the Porta Westfalica
Schwerin and the Baltic coast
Wuppertal and the overhead light railway
Heidelberg
Baden-Baden
Bah, the list goes on and on and on...
So forget about the hideous Torremolinos (Coventry-On-Sea), the expensive Venice, the overrated Corfu, and spend a peaceful, or adventurous, or romantic, or historic, or cultural, or exciting time in the quintessential European country we should grow to appreciate, Germany.
The first reason is that the average speed going east-to-west or west-to-east has decreased in recent times due to the amount of new traffic on the roads. The recent admission of Poland to the EU has had a detrimental effect on Germany's once high-speed road system. You see, the Poles just don't get the idea of motorways - they have so few in Poland that it's not really their fault, but they just can't grasp the fast-middle-slow lane mentality. Driving on the main thoroughfare from Belgium to Berlin is a hazardous prospect and I've done this trip three times recently. God, it was scary. The driver of the vehicle I was in on those three occasions was faultless, but what do you expect from an ex-German Air Force helicopter pilot? However, I had no faith in any of the other cars around me. I frequently squeezed the door grip, tightened my legs and pushed my feet into the floor as if subliminally braking, not that it would have helped much...
It wasn't so much the speed of the other drivers, but their lack of it, combined with their sudden urges to shift to another lane, including the "fast" lane. It's high time the east-west motorways had minimum speed signs placed above the lanes or on the road surface. In Polish. That's at least better than the alternative - tolls. These would only mean the cars would find alternative ways of getting to and from home, possibly causing national routes to be clogged at certain intervals, and punishing the local drivers, who correctly put a brick on the accelerator pedal and drive at speeds Americans can only have wet dreams about.
The other reason why not all visitors see Germany at 190km/h is much more positive. Since the World Cup in Germany in the summer of 2006, foreign visitors have decided no longer to whizz through the land to reach their destination before nightfall or daybreak. People are actually visiting and they're doing it in bigger and bigger numbers. Germany is, and has always been, a tourist-friendly country. Germans are, contrary to all myths, enormously welcoming, very sociable, fairly well-educated and highly humorous people. Their land is so rich in history and nature, their cities beautifully looked after, and their villages more active than most Belgian towns.
A couple of weeks ago, I took a group of my students from China on a cruise up the river Rhine. As the group had mainly ideas of urban Europe, with trips to Barcelona, Paris, Amsterdam, Rome and London high on their agendas, I wanted to show them somewhere which I believe to be the essential Europe, the Europe we all read about in our fairy tales, the folkloric Europe we often dream of but never enter. Germany is that land, but we just never admit it. I'm sure, when you see films like Shrek, with all that delightful scenery, the castles and valleys, the open plains and heathland, you will find it there between Aachen and Görlitz, Oberstdorf and Flensburg.
You just can't go wrong in Germany. And since the summers started getting hotter, many more Germans themselves are holidaying in their own country. Let's take a trip to some of the places you can go:
Rhine boat trip
The Köln-Düsseldorfer boat company (http://www.k-d.de) provides the largest fleet of boats on the Rhine. You can sail from Cologne to Bonn to Remagen to Koblenz to Boppard to St Goar to Bacharach to Bingen and finally to Mainz, a trip of a couple of hours on the train, in 12 hours, and fill up a whole photo memory card with all the sights on the way. Koblenz is a good place to stop - some delightful views, a lively atmosphere and plenty of romantic walks. St Goar and St Goarshausen sit on opposite banks of the river, joined by a ro-ro car ferry no bigger than two tennis courts. The walking possibilities are endless.
Black Forest - Schwarzwald
If you should go to the Black Forest, the immense tree-covered area of land which takes up most of the state of Baden-Württemberg, you should head to Freiburg and surrounding area. The city has everything the adventurous traveller should need: mountains to climb or to visit on a lift (try the Schauinsland - http://www.schauinsland.de/ - a restaurant awaits you at the top! Or you can go round the Feldberg, 1493 metres high, or even drive over the Kandel, 1242 metres high); it has romantic villages and routes, for example the Cuckoo Clock Way, where the largest cuckoo clock in the world - the size of a house - stands in the village of Triberg and waits until the pterodactyl dressed as a cuckoo pops out every half hour. Let us not forget what the Black Forest is famous for - its gâteau. If you want to try the BFG made with the most love, please go to Café Schuler (http://www.cafe-schuler.com/) where you can also stay the night in breathtaking scenery and noiseless luxury for 80 euro full board. Another good reason to go there is your mobile phone doesn't pick up a signal. Bliss. I don't visit the place often enough but I have the fondest memories.
The Alps
Just south and east of the Black Forest the resplendent roundedness of the mountains becomes more jagged, as the Alps force their way into the clouds. Here, you can visit any number of places, but the pick would be Neuschwanstein, the crazy castle of King Ludwig II, (http://www.neuschwanstein.com/english/index.htm), the colourful ruler who invited Richard Wagner to write music there. Another less well-known place is the Breitachklamm, a gorge carved by a rapid river (http://www.breitachklamm.de/) which you can walk very close to, along its overhanging gangways and footbridges.
Munich
This city is just unique. But what makes it unique is the oneness to nature of its inhabitants. So much so, that in the Englischer Garten, the English Garden for all those who require a translation, right in the middle of Munich, you would never believe that you were even within the city boundaries of one of Europe's great urban centres. Another trait of it is the nakedness of the people roaming around there. Students and pensioners alike, everyone is just wearing a smile and nothing else. In fact, when I was there, I got stared at for being clothed. So I also joined the locals in their ritualistic closeness to nature. Later, when I got to the tram stop, the doors were just about to close as a man carrying only his rucksack jumped on. He had either left his clothes at home or he was in a hurry to get the tram so went without dressing. Either way, nobody even seemed to notice.
Dresden
Passing through the scenic towns of Regensburg, Bamberg, Bayreuth and Nürnberg, we reach the cultural city of Dresden, the place where people care so much about their city, they are arguing over where to place a new bridge so that it doesn't spoil the unique riverside promenades. In fact the inhabitants' love of their city runs so deep, they even rebuilt the Frauenkirche, http://www.frauenkirche.de/, an exquisite building destroyed in the savage allied bombings, based on original drawings. They also rebuilt their Opera House, which went the same way as the Frauenkirche. The twin city of Dresden is Coventry in the UK. Coventry is an ultra-square functional urban area with enormous grey beercrates called office blocks and Jenga-style towers with drying clothes hanging off them where people actually live, whereas Dresden was lovingly restored, even down to the cobblestones on the roads and the gargoyles on the public buildings.
Brandenburg
This German state surrounds Berlin completely and is full of little gems, for example Potsdam, the royal city of Germany. Every major royal nation has something like this: St Petersburg has Petergof, France has Versailles, England has Hampton Court and Windsor Castle, Spain has El Escorial. But what makes Potsdam extraordinary is its size and variety. To give you some idea, click here: http://www.potsdam.de/cms/ziel/26670/EN/
Werder is another interesting town to visit - there's not much point being there for more than a day, but the fact it lies in the middle of the river is worth a look. And it too is famous for ketchup far better than H*i*z and fruit wines, the like of which if it doesn't turn your teeth dark will surely make the tongue behind crave more. But be careful - it is notoriously deceiving. You think you're not drunk then after a few glasses, you get up to offer your round and your legs disagree on the route you need to take to the counter.
I'm not going to describe every other place you need to go to, but here is a list of places no less deserving of a visit:
Berlin (of course) - http://www.goslitski.net/template.cfm?action=berlin
Hamburg
Aachen
Leipzig
Hannover and Braunschweig
Münster and the Porta Westfalica
Schwerin and the Baltic coast
Wuppertal and the overhead light railway
Heidelberg
Baden-Baden
Bah, the list goes on and on and on...
So forget about the hideous Torremolinos (Coventry-On-Sea), the expensive Venice, the overrated Corfu, and spend a peaceful, or adventurous, or romantic, or historic, or cultural, or exciting time in the quintessential European country we should grow to appreciate, Germany.
Sunday 3 June 2007
Creationists are afraid of the truth
It seems some people need reminding of our planet's history. National Geographic has recently featured religious stories, obviously to please the wacko sector of the US Bible Belt, now extending its ruthless claws into Europe. Although I have to give it credit: the series exploring Bible stories tries on one hand to lay out creationists' theories in an even-handed manner and then brings on a specialist to add some realism to the debate, some of them driving a combine harvester through the whole senseless mess Bible theorists wish to regard as fact.
First on the agenda is the idea that we were all created in 6 days with the Creator resting on the seventh. Now far be it from me to knock a man when he's down, but if it takes several thousand strong individuals half a decade to build Beijing's Olympic Stadium, I can't see how one "creator" can landscape Earth in a three-hundredth of that time period. I mean, where did he keep all the test tubes and fertilizer? And on top of that, let us not forget that "God" would have had to do a lot of digging, irrigation and channeling.
Now let us turn to the evidence:
Article 1: The Flood
These Bible-bashers like to bang on about their beloved flood, the one Noah was supposed to have built an Ark so big it was able to fit all the animals of the world in it. How did Noah manage not only to build a boat which takes people these days with 21st century technology a couple of years to make, but also to go out catching the creatures, classifying them and stopping them from eating each other? Oh yes, and writing wasn't invented then, so he'd have had to either have a bloody good memory or be the pioneering artist of his time. Imagine what a guy Noah would have been! Actually, I'm just picturing the job ad...
Article 2: Adam and Eve
So these two were our originators, eh? How did Cain and Abel reproduce? Two men, brothers, wow - medical science was advanced then! No, in all seriousness, the Bible does say that God had created other beings by then, including other women. Otherwise we wouldn't have stayed for long in His own image: we'd have had deformities from day one.
Article 3: The Creation
Despite the overwhelming evidence categorised by Charles Darwin in his Theory of Evolution, and the research done by serious scientists who believe in spending valuable University money on realistic projects, the Bible scholars tell us that only one book has all the evidence in it to prove how we arrived on Earth - a book written by dozens of people into many languages, some of which have since died out, translated dozens of times from the original, and whose original purpose was to be a rulebook, a guide and a kind of answerer of all the questions local people were asking at the time. What do kids ask parents at some stage? "How did we get here?" I'm sure it's not a recent development.
Article 4: The Commandments
The early parts of the Bible were written originally to keep people under control and to make sure they didn't do things which, even then, were seen by the leaders as barbaric. And so, Moses set out the Ten Commandments. I can't disagree with them either, although sometimes my neighbour's wife is hard to resist... The whole idea was to establish the first law and order. That's what Leviticus is. It is a good legal base. The Bible is simply an all-in-one guide book, setting up rules, defining boundaries of good behaviour, pointing out what the truth was to people back then. What we must not see it as is something we should strictly adhere to today.
For example, it declares the pig as unclean and unfit for consumption. Then, yes, when it contained an extreme viral strain of ringworm and some other toxic diseases. Nowadays it is as edible as lamb, chicken and beef. So why do fundamental Christians still see the need to tell us they're the guardians of truth? Are they so afraid of being proven wrong by the mountain of evidence to the contrary of their own delusions that they need to be even more vehement?
Summing Up:
I should add that in order to be a good debator, you have to admit to some failings or flaws, and while I succumb to the Bible's superiority in all areas of morality, even providing clarity to the lives of people who can't make up their own minds, stability to those who are living turbulent times, and happines to some who have gone through periods of darkness, I still believe the whole concept of adherence to a document thousands of years old requires a supernatural effort of willpower and blind faith, which I for one cannot comprehend.
First on the agenda is the idea that we were all created in 6 days with the Creator resting on the seventh. Now far be it from me to knock a man when he's down, but if it takes several thousand strong individuals half a decade to build Beijing's Olympic Stadium, I can't see how one "creator" can landscape Earth in a three-hundredth of that time period. I mean, where did he keep all the test tubes and fertilizer? And on top of that, let us not forget that "God" would have had to do a lot of digging, irrigation and channeling.
Now let us turn to the evidence:
Article 1: The Flood
These Bible-bashers like to bang on about their beloved flood, the one Noah was supposed to have built an Ark so big it was able to fit all the animals of the world in it. How did Noah manage not only to build a boat which takes people these days with 21st century technology a couple of years to make, but also to go out catching the creatures, classifying them and stopping them from eating each other? Oh yes, and writing wasn't invented then, so he'd have had to either have a bloody good memory or be the pioneering artist of his time. Imagine what a guy Noah would have been! Actually, I'm just picturing the job ad...
Article 2: Adam and Eve
So these two were our originators, eh? How did Cain and Abel reproduce? Two men, brothers, wow - medical science was advanced then! No, in all seriousness, the Bible does say that God had created other beings by then, including other women. Otherwise we wouldn't have stayed for long in His own image: we'd have had deformities from day one.
Article 3: The Creation
Despite the overwhelming evidence categorised by Charles Darwin in his Theory of Evolution, and the research done by serious scientists who believe in spending valuable University money on realistic projects, the Bible scholars tell us that only one book has all the evidence in it to prove how we arrived on Earth - a book written by dozens of people into many languages, some of which have since died out, translated dozens of times from the original, and whose original purpose was to be a rulebook, a guide and a kind of answerer of all the questions local people were asking at the time. What do kids ask parents at some stage? "How did we get here?" I'm sure it's not a recent development.
Article 4: The Commandments
The early parts of the Bible were written originally to keep people under control and to make sure they didn't do things which, even then, were seen by the leaders as barbaric. And so, Moses set out the Ten Commandments. I can't disagree with them either, although sometimes my neighbour's wife is hard to resist... The whole idea was to establish the first law and order. That's what Leviticus is. It is a good legal base. The Bible is simply an all-in-one guide book, setting up rules, defining boundaries of good behaviour, pointing out what the truth was to people back then. What we must not see it as is something we should strictly adhere to today.
For example, it declares the pig as unclean and unfit for consumption. Then, yes, when it contained an extreme viral strain of ringworm and some other toxic diseases. Nowadays it is as edible as lamb, chicken and beef. So why do fundamental Christians still see the need to tell us they're the guardians of truth? Are they so afraid of being proven wrong by the mountain of evidence to the contrary of their own delusions that they need to be even more vehement?
Summing Up:
I should add that in order to be a good debator, you have to admit to some failings or flaws, and while I succumb to the Bible's superiority in all areas of morality, even providing clarity to the lives of people who can't make up their own minds, stability to those who are living turbulent times, and happines to some who have gone through periods of darkness, I still believe the whole concept of adherence to a document thousands of years old requires a supernatural effort of willpower and blind faith, which I for one cannot comprehend.
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