Art needn't be expensive or hidden. After the urban brilliance of Malaga's street art last month, the streets of Agueda. Hope to visit soon. Photos Patricia Almeida and Pedro Nascimento
Monday, July 21, 2014
Alaska calling - not your average travelogue
Anchorage,
beneath the film of off-duty loggers and bewildered tourists, has a heart of
gold (lame).
“Bright as Anchorage in December” a wag
once described past Alaska governor Palin, and truly, Alaska’s capital is as thrilling
as a head cold during the winter months. In summer it’s little better –
disaffected Inuit youth in heavy metal T-shirts sprawl on the Burger King lawns
drinking Coors while mildly confused Japanese pass by in Adidas, seeking the
spirit of Call of the Wild.
Wild however has gone, summer or winter, as
I discovered on a winter trip through the city - its been shot and mounted;
step off the plane and you are confronted by a raging grizzly bear, expertly
stuffed, proclaiming through a speaker in its mouth “Don’t pet me, I bite” in a
Stallone bray, which may win the all-time award for understatement and suggest
a worrying statistic for the caliber of tourist to the state capital.
With two winter days to kill I’d been
advised to check out the earthquake-proof skyscrapers (balancing on a point,
attached to bits of rope), the splendid new mall downtown and Oktoberfest. In
December. In Alaska. 1000 loggers in a downtown church hall, dressed as
Bavarians singing Deutschland Uber Alles
to the melody of Stand By Your Man.
With food enough to feed Bangladesh for a month. I passed by the schadenfruede
as well as the mall and was mulling over the sense in building skyscrapers at
all here when a bass voice interrupted my reverie.
“Looks like Judith on a Saturday night.”
A skyscraper of a man, magnificent in gold
lame and ten-inch heels, indicated the pointy bit at the bottom of the
building.
“Her heels, they’re just like that –
holding up a whole lotta property.”
“Judith?” I asked, trying to appear Lower
48 nonchalant.
“Priest. Judith Priest. At the Blue Moon.
You should come on down. Tonight at ten. Just ask for me hon, Phyllis Stein,
and don’t let that sadass at the door cuss you none. Angie O'Plasty don’t like
foreigners, but she’s harmless. ”
Who could refuse an invitation like that?
The Blue Moon did indeed exist – a surreptitious door and a glowering bouncer
in the less salubrious part of town (there is one). Outside on the pavement a
squat, tottering Pilipino Pam Anderson suggested the global standard as I approached;
“Fauw dolla, love you long time dahlin’, Fi’ dolla, you get big surprise!”
“Surprise is right honey,” said rough Angie
the bouncer, “that ain’t no girl.”
Inside, the drab winter world was
transformed into a drag summer celebration of all things glam. MC Misty Dawn
introduced the family; Junketta Syringe, Suppository Spelling, Devoida Talent, Ming Vase, Summer Clearance, Tam Pon and
my own personal favourite, Rena Failure. But it was Judith who stole the show,
Phyllis was right. In magnificent purple stilettos the leviathan Amazon lead
the oompha band - “ein, swei, zunfen!” - then exchanged condoms for the best
tips on how to trap a logger. Lads from the nearby military base, recognising
their drill sergeant, were as delighted as the aging lesbian motorhome
travellers.
Anchorage in December turned out to be very
bright. Palin would not have approved.
Pieces of Free State
“I come here to escape the shit over there.
It relaxes me. Clean lines, look there, look left. It’s empty, the thin blue
line. I can think clearly.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Go ahead”, she calls from behind clouds of antimacassar and Craven A, “but keep going – daar’s altyd nog ‘n kamer [there’s always another room].”
There really is. The seemingly tiny home turns out to be Kiesler’s Endless House, offering up one more room after
another, each jam packed with paraphernalia.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Look at the junk and it
tells you stories. Which is what our dorps are really all about. Stories told,
but all too often forgotten. I’ve read four good books today. You have to love
South Africa.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
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