DANTEmag - N.4

Issue - December/January 2012

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DANTE FOR THE RENAISSANCE IN US

The only international magazine with an Italian soul

Cima da Conegliano: the poet of landscape Which Way the Syrian Revolution?

C.S.R. Hypocritical Window-Dressing or Brave New Corporate World?

Mongolia.

A Journey to the Land of Ghengis Khan .

Overture q q q q Laura Pausini Lorem ipsum dolorem An Unassuming Superstar

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JORDAN

An Incredible Journey

Explore Lawrence of Arabias’ Deserts of Wadi Rum – Discover Madaba, the City of Mosaics Relax in amazing Movenpick Hotels – Enjoy the coral filled seas of The Red Sea Fly with Royal Jordanian – Experience the lowest point on Earth at the Dead Sea Touch the Culture at The ancient Roman city of Jarash.

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21/06/2011 15:56:59

index MISSION STATEMENT

BY THE EDITORS Dante and Beatrice p. 8

Food for thought! p. 10

DIVINA COMMEDIA AROUND THE WORLD. p.16

ART.

Cima da Conegliano: The Poet of Landscape p. 20 The Alchemy of Emma Sergeant p. 26

LITERATURE

Of All Sad Words of Tongue or Pen... p. 32

MUSIC

It’s All Going On, All the Time p. 38

DESIGN AND ARCHITECTURE

Connecting Light and Landscape to Living Space p. 42 Finding the Rhythm of Nature in the Heart of the City p. 50

COVER

Laura Pausini An Unassuming Superstar p. 58

POLITICS

Which Way the Syrian Revolution? p. 68 The Forgotten Victims of Conflict p. 72 The Feeling of Being German p. 80

BUSINESS

Nigeria through new eyes p. 88 Japanese Porn the True Tale p. 96 Hypocritical Window-Dressing or Brave New Corporate World? p. 102

Window of the soul Healing in the Land of Voudou p. 108

TRAVEL The Enduring - and Endangered - Beauty of Xochimilco p. 116 Fiction Made Me Do It! A Journey to the Land of Ghengis Khan p. 126 health The Balancing Act p. 132 FOOD Herb Spring p. 138

COLUMNS Nonno Panda tales Siezus Lazius Fortius p. 144 Leviathan p. 146

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MISSION STATEMENT BY THE EDITORS

T

From the outset we pledged that Dante would address the issues of our time in an uncompromising way. We took pains to clarify that we were a cultural and current affairs magazine, never a lifestyle publication, even when we consider some of the finer things in life. After all, La Dolce Vita is culture too. And, of course, we like being on your coffee tables, but we’d shudder at the thought of being merely decorative. Dante is about ideas. Don’t let our aesthetic fool you.

We recognise the world is beautiful, but we never shy away from the fact that the planet is also a tough neighbourhood. We promised to engage with the human condition, not merely to observe it and to speak out when it is clear that one must.

Our business is journalism. Our business is humanism. Our business is to take a stand. It is not for nothing that our namesake is one of the pillars of the Renaissance. We regard Dante’s mission as a critical one, because we take to heart the adage that journalism is the rough draft of history. We live in a momentous, page-turning period in history and so our obligation is clear. We uphold journalistic excellence. We strive to seek the truth. We recoil from extremism and intolerance. We happily fight against the closing of the mind and we condemn barbarism wherever it shows its visage. And if we repudiate zealots, we reject the constant equivocation of good and evil, the relativism that judges an act of savagery intolerable in one place but acceptable in another.

The deliberate killing of unarmed civilians by military or security forces, state or non-state actors, is a war crime and a crime against humanity. This includes so called “collateral damage,” one of the most revolting euphemisms ever devised, one that calculates acceptable levels of innocent life taken in pursuit of strategic or political goals. Whether the deaths are in Homs, Gaza, Tel Aviv, Baghdad, the Hindu Kush, the Nuba Mountains,

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the jungles of the Democratic Republic of Congo or the streets of Mogadishu, they are all to be mourned and the violence condemned. So we at Dante, while acknowledging the legitimate right to self-defence reaffirm our belief in peace and non-violent conflict resolution.

We are just as unyielding on the point that terrorism is terrorism, whether it is perpetrated by a nation state, a rogue individual or radicalised militant groups on the fringes of society. Thus we decry the barbarism of a deranged American soldier gunning down Afghan Muslim children as much as we decry the barbarism of a self-professed adherent of Al Qaida shooting down French-Jewish children and French soldiers of North African and Afro-Caribbean descent. We also argue that the shooting of an innocent African American teenager for merely being black as he walked home from buying some candy at a shop, was also an act of terror. In all three cases, what we witnessed were executions born of prejudice, the very expression of terror.

No single human culture, ethnic, ideological or religious grouping has a monopoly on brutality and hatred or capacity for bloodshed. It also holds true that no single people is supremely above another in piety, goodness, and innocence. Strip our cultural and linguistic differences away and human beings tend to behave as human beings do, occupying that grey territory where most of us live, as capable of compassion as of cruelty, of courage as of cowardice, of noble conduct or base.

But in our fear of otherness, we find it easier to oversimplify, to ridicule, to stereotype, to label and ghettoise, especially when scapegoats are needed. Incumbent French President Nicolas Sarkozy, in a transparent and pathetic attempt to steal some of the thunder from Marie Le Pen’s Neo-Fascist Front Nationale, has bluntly stated that France has too many immigrants.

Rather rich that, coming from the descendant of Hungarian Jews and about as well thought-out or logical a declaration as Iranian President Mahmoud Ahamadinejad’s insistence that no homosexuality exists in his country. Nor should we overlook the brazen misogyny, Puritanism, and racism spewing forth from the neo-conservative shock jocks polluting American airwaves in an election year, where the toxic babble has become so thick one needs hip waders to stride through the muck.

As spring is upon us, it seems appropriate to hope for a new beginning, for spring to serve as a metaphor not only for a Middle East in rebellion, striving for a new future, but the whole of humanity. But we know that true, profound change is never achieved overnight; rather it is a long, slow and often painful evolution. Nonetheless, we can only greet the new season with enthusiasm in the belief that the strongest and best human instincts reside in our very diversity, our potential for unity across sectarian, ethnic, cultural and sexual divides, an enduring devotion to fairness and justice, and a universal desire for peace. We’d argue that these things collectively amount to intelligence. And so we reiterate that Dante stands firmly against stupidity, and we thank you for your thoughtful support.

Dante and Beatrice (Alias the editors) DANTEmag n.4

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Food for thought!

by Massimo Gava

A

“Arbitrium tu, dea, floris habe�... Saepe ego digestos volui numerare colores, nec potui: numero copia maior erat.

Ovidio Fasti. V 210 DANTEmag n.4

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“Goddess take charge of the flowers.” Often I wanted to count the colours but I couldn’t because the profusion was beyond counting.

Ovidio Fasti. V 210

N

No painting better depicts springtime than Sandro Botticelli’s Primavera, also called Allegory of Spring, painted in 1482.

painting overall, the flowers in the picture certainly represent love and joy. He includes about five hundred varieties, of which 240 are not flowering and 60-70 are only cereal grasses or sedges.

About 138 of the 190 flowering plants have been roughly identified, while 38 varieties remain dubious, and 19 unrecognisable.

The painting, counterintuitively, should be viewed from right to left. It portrays Zephirus, the biting wind of March, who kidnaps and possesses the nymph Chloris. He later marries her and transforms her into the goddess of spring, eternal bearer of life, scattering roses on the ground. Venus presides over the garden – an orange grove – accompanied by the Graces, at whom Cupid takes aim.

They bear jewels in the colours of the Medici family, while the figure of Mercury (sometimes interpreted to be Mars) holds aloft his caduceus to keep the garden safe from threatening clouds.

Cypress and yew trees form the background to the garden while a crown of myrtle creates a halo around Venus’s head. There are citrus trees full of both flowers and fruit with leaves reminiscent of wild trees but without the thorns. Botticelli also depicts the fruit from the garden of the Hesperides, the bitter oranges sacred to Venus that recall the sorrow of love, epitomised by the marriage between Juno and Jupiter. He also includes the fruit associated with the Medici family in their coat of arms. As the plant Venus has chosen to adorn herself with as she is born out of the sea, the myrtle symbolises the love and desire that are so inextricably linked with this goddess.

The painting’s origins are unclear; some historians claim it was commissioned by Lorenzo de Medici or by Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de Medici, at a later date. The painting is for the most part inspired by a poem of Ovid’s that describes the arrival of spring.

Whatever the truth of its origins and inspiration, it was in the collection of Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de Medici from 1499, and since 1919 it has hung in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence.

In this feast of flowers, we wanted to come up with our own celebration of spring by taking a look at poems written from different ages and in different languages, just to provide another sound picture as to how people around the world have reacted to this feeling of renewal in nature that we call spring. Let’s hope that these verses, in whatever language you choose, can do for you what Ovid’s poem once did for Botticelli.

Despite the many different meanings attributed to Botticelli’s DANTEmag n.4

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De colores Spanish Version

English Version

Y por eso los grandes amores De muchos colores me gustan a mí.

Y por eso los grandes amores De muchos colores me gustan a mí.

And that is why I love The great loves of many colours And that is why I love The great loves of many colours.

De colores, de colores Brillantes y finos se viste la aurora.

De colores, de colores Son los mil reflejos que el sol atesora.

De colores, de colores Se viste el diamante que vemos lucir.

In colours, in colours Brilliant and delicate is dressed the dawn.

In colours, in colours Are the thousand gleams the sun treasures.

In colours, in colours Is dressed the diamond we see shining.

Y por eso los grandes amores De muchos colores me gustan a mí.

Y por eso los grandes amores De muchos colores me gustan a mí.

And that is why I love The great loves of many colours.

And that is why I love The great loves of many colours.

Canta el gallo, canta el gallo Con el quiri, quiri, quiri, quiri, quiri.

La gallina, la gallina Con el cara, cara, cara, cara, cara.

Los pollitos, los pollitos Con el pío, pío, pío, pío, pí.

The rooster sings, the rooster sings With a cock-a-doodle, cock-a-doodle-doo.

The hen, the hen With a cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck.

The chicks, the chicks With a cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep.

Y por eso los grandes amores De muchos colores me gustan a mí.

Y por eso los grandes amores De muchos colores me gustan a mí.

And that is why I love The great loves of many colours.

And that is why I love The great loves of many coluors.

Jubilosos, jubilosos Vivamos en gracia puesto que se puede.

Saciaremos, saciaremos La sed ardorosa del Rey que no muere.

Jubilosos, jubilosos Llevemos a Cristo un alma y mil más.

Joyous, joyous Let us live in grace since we can.

Let us quench, let us quench The burning thirst of the King who does not die.

Joyous, joyous Let us bring to Christ a soul and thousand more.

Difundiendo la luz que ilumina La gracia divina del gran ideal.

Difundiendo la luz que ilumina La gracia divina del gran ideal.

Spreading the light that illuminates The divine grace from the great ideal.

Spreading the light that illuminates The divine grace from the great ideal.

De colores, de colores Se visten los campos en la primavera.

De colores, de colores Son los pajaritos que vienen de afuera.

De colores, de colores Es el arco iris que vemos lucir.

In colours, in colours The fields are dressed in the spring.

In colours, in colours Are the little birds that come from outside.

In colours, in colours Is the rainbow that we see shining.

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Le Muguet

Maurice Careme

Cloches naïves du muguet, Carillonnez ! car voici Mai !

O you innocent lily of the valley bells Ring out! For May is here!

Sous une averse de lumière, Les arbres chantent au verger, Et les graines du potager Sortent en riant de la terre.

In a shower of light The trees in the orchard sing out And the seeds burst merrily Up out of the earth

Carillonnez! car voici Mai! Cloches naïves du muguet!

Ring out! For May is here!

O you innocent lily of the valley bells

Les yeux brillants, l’âme légère, Les fillettes s’en vont au bois Rejoindre les fées qui, déjà, Dansent en rond sur la bruyère.

Bright-eyed. spirits light The little girls run to the woods To join the fairies, already Dancing round in the heather

Carillonnez ! car voici Mai !

Cloches naïves du muguet !

Ring out! For May is here!

O you innocent lily of the valley bells

Sumer is Icumen In Middle English

Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu!

Groweth sed and bloweth med And springth the wde nu, Sing cuccu!

Awe bleteth after lomb, Lhouth after calue cu.

Bulluc sterteth, bucke uerteth, Murie sing cuccu!

Cuccu, cuccu, wel singes thu cuccu; Ne swik thu nauer nu.

Chorus: Sing cuccu nu. Sing cuccu.

Sing cuccu. Sing cuccu nu!

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Translated by Philip Rham

Summer Has Arrived Modern English

Summer has arrived, Loudly sing, Cuckoo!

The seed grows and the meadow blooms And the wood it springs anew, Sing, Cuckoo!

The ewe bleats after lamb The cow lows after calf.

The bullock stamps, the stag farts, Merrily sing, Cuckoo!

Cuckoo, cuckoo, well you sing, cuckoo; Don’t ever you stop now, Sing cuckoo now. Sing, Cuckoo.

Sing Cuckoo. Sing cuckoo now!

Che dice la pioggerellina di marzo?

Che dice la pioggerellina Di marzo, che picchia argentina Sui tegoli vecchi Del tetto, sui bruscoli secchi Dell’orto, sul fico e sul moro Ornati di gèmmule d’oro?

Passata è l’uggiosa invernata, Passata, passata!

Di fuor dalla nuvola nera, Di fuor dalla nuvola bigia Che in cielo si pigia, Domani uscira’ Primavera Guernita di gemme e di gale, Di lucido sole, Di fresche viole, Di primule rosse, di battiti d’ale, Di nidi, Di gridi, Di rondini ed anche Di stelle di mandorlo, bianche......

Che dice la pioggerellina di marzo, che picchia argentina sui tegoli vecchi del tetto, sui bruscoli secchi dell’orto, sul fico e sul moro Ornati di gèmmule d’oro?

Ciò canta, ciò dice: E il cuor che l’ascolta è felice.

Angiolo Silvio Novaro

What is it telling us, That lovely gentle rain of March When it patters down and silvers The old roof tiles, the dry dusty Orchard, the fig and mulberry tree Adorned with little buds of gold?

Irksome winter is over Over and done with!

Out with those black clouds Out with them, so grim and grey, That hang on in the sky, Tomorrow Spring will burst out Decked with buds and finery With brilliant sun With fresh violets With red primroses.with beating Wings. With nests, With shouts, With swallows and also With white almond starry blossom…

What is it telling us That lovely gentle rain of March When it patters down and silvers The old roof tiles, the dry dusty Orchard, the fig and mulberry tree Adorned with little buds of gold?

That’s what it sings and tells us: And happy the heart that hears translated. Philip Rham

Memleket İsterim

Tahit Sitki Taranci

Memleket İsterim

I Want a Country

Memleket isterim Gök mavi, dal yeşil, tarla sarı olsun; Kuşların çiçeklerin diyarı olsun.

I want a country let the sky be blue, the bough green, the cornfield yellow

Memleket isterim Ne başta dert, ne gönülde hasret olsun; Kardeş kavgasına bir nihayet olsun.

let it be a land of birds and flowers let there be no pain in the head, no yearning in the heart let there be an end to brothers’ quarrels

Memleket isterim Ne zengin fakir, ne sen ben farkı olsun; Kış günü herkesin evi barkı olsun.

I want a country let there be no rich and poor, no you and me on winter days let everyone have house and home

Memleket isterim Yaşamak, sevmek gibi gönülden olsun; Olursa bir şikayet ölümden olsun.

I want a country let living be like loving fromthe heart if there must be complaint, let it be of death translated by Bernard Lewis DANTEmag n.4

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comedy THE DIVINE Around the World

Half along our life’s path. Lost in a dark wood.

Unable to find the right way….

PARADISO Dear Beatrice… called MRK003 was found CANTO I Jo Swindon, Liberal Democrat to kill pancreatic cancer cells MP, has welcomed the decision when mixed with gemcitabine, a chemotherapy drug. of the advertising standard Professor David Tuveson, the authorities banning the advert author of the study, said they of l’Oreal Revititalift Repair have discovered why these 10 anti-ageing moisturiser two drugs together set off a explaining that the images of domino effect of molecular Oscar winner Rachel Weisz activity that switches off cell “misleadingly exaggerated” survival processes and destroys the performance of the product. Last year L’Oreal adverts pancreatic cancer cells. The process blocks the cancer cell featuring Julia Roberts and and prevents nutrients from Christy Turlington were also getting to tumours. The trial banned for being misleading. will test whether this might be Miss Swindon, who is cama new treatment approach for paigning against the use of unrealistic images of beauty in patients with pancreatic cancer, advertising, said that the beauty said Duncan Jodrell, professor and advertising industries need of cancer therapeutics at the to stop ripping off consumers university. The discovery could with dishonest images. She said result in more effective treatments for the disease. Panthere was sound medical evicreatic cancer is the fifth most dence that fake images cause psychological harm. Maybe now common cause of cancer death in Britain. we can all go back to growing old gracefully

CANTO II

Cambridge University, UK. An experimental medicine DANTEmag n.4

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CANTO III

Russian and South Korean scientists signed a deal on joint research intended to recre-

ate a woolly mammoth, an animal which last walked the earth some 10,000 years ago.

The deal was signed by Vasily Vasiliev, Vice Rector of NorthEastern Federal University of the Sakha Republic, and controversial cloning pioneer Hwang Woo-Suk of South Korea’s Sooam Biotech Research Foundation.

Stem cell scientists are setting their sights on the extinct woolly mammoth, after global warming thawed Siberia’s permafrost and uncovered the remains of one of the animals.

Sooam said it would launch research this year if the Russian university can ship the remains. The Beijing Genomics Institute will also take part in the project.The South Korean foundation said it would transfer technology to the Russian university, which has already been involved in joint research with Japanese scientists to bring a mammoth to life.

“The first and hardest mission is to restore mammoth cells,” says another Sooam researcher, Hwang In-Sung. His colleagues would join Russian scientists in trying to find well-preserved

tissue with undamaged genes.

By replacing the nuclei of egg cells from an elephant with those taken from the mammoth’s somatic cells, embryos with mammoth DNA could be produced and emplanted in elephant wombs for delivery, he said.

Sooam will use an Indian elephant for its somatic cell nucleus transfer. Somatic cells are body cells, such as those of internal organs, skin, bones and blood.

South Korean experts have previously cloned animals including a cow, a cat, dogs, a pig and a wolf.

O Beatrice, let’s hope this excercise succeeds so we can also bring back some historic leaders because the world is badly in need of them...

Purgatorio INFERNO Virgil what can be said of The Marie Antoinettes of the West...

Californians can be affected.

As justification for its decision, the ABA said that California has added the colouring to its list of carcinogens with no evidence that it causes cancer in humans, noting the fact that the listing was based on a single study in lab mice and rats.

CANTO I I think they are right; California who claim consumer spenshould have waited for the results of ding is the main driver of the economy when speculators and a proper study done on humans… oil companies rob consumers CANTO III of their money. The inevitable Once associated with the result is a reduction in ecopsychaedelic counter culture of nomic activity thanks to their the 60s, magic mushrooms narspeculation at the pump. The Consumer Federation of Ame- row, rather than expand, your rica has found that in the Uni- mind. The active ingredient – psilocybin – restricts blood ted States speculation inflates flow in connector “hubs” that oil prices by $30 a barrel and raises household gasoline costs support communication between neurons and that usually to a record $3,000 per household. Even President Obama control perception and thought processes. Volunteers injected managed to acknowledge this with the compound reported when he said that oil compaseeing patterns, experiencing nies have had it easy for too long. Oh, man! I can smell the unusual sensations, and having an altered sense of space and scent of an election in the air, time. “These effects correlate so ...let’s give them cake. with decrease in oxygen and blood in the hubs that normalCANTO II ly speed information across the ...a California law that rules brain”, said researchers from soft drinks containing a certain level of carcinogens must Imperial College London. In another study they found the bear a cancer warning label. reduced brain activity caused Therefore Coca Cola and Pepsi, instead of carrying that by psilocybin can help people experience memories more label, decided to make chanvividly, suggesting it could be ges to the caramel colouring used in psychotherapy. Profesin their drinks. The American sor David Nutt, lead author of Beverage Association (ABA), both papers, said, “These hubs which represents the wider constrain our experience of industry, said that its member companies will continue to use the world and keep it orderly.

We now know that deactivating caramel colouring in certain products, but that adjustments these regions leads to a state in which the world is experienced would be made to meet California’s new standards. I guess strangely. it doesn’t matter for the rest of the American people. Only

CANTO I

It seems that the traditional practice of a doctor breaking health news to a patient in person is long gone. Many patients in the UK are told they have cancer over the phone rather than in a face-to-face meeting. Steve Coupe, founder of Cancer Relief UK, was outraged. “It is a scandal that many cancer patients are being given the diagnosis in this way.

We have had many calls from families who were upset about this.” Well, doctors are not what they used to be. They have budgets to respond to. I guess this is another way to help the NHS save money by reducing the number of patients cos a few might jump out of the window.

CANTO II

And now something that hits us close to home: Apparently there is a group of reseachers and professionals called Gherush 92 that consults with the Social Economic Council at the UN and that develops projects for education on human rights and conflict resolution. The group has claimed that the original Divine Comedy contains homophobic, antisemitic and anti-Islamic content and should be presented to students filtered or with explanations in certain Cantos of the epic poem. Gosh, now we finally understand why the UN is in such a state and cannot seem to help in conflict situations around the world. Let’s hope they are not going to take a look at some religious literature -otherwise God knows what will happen!

CANTO III

“I leave Goldman Sachs after 12 years because I can honestly

say that the environment now is as toxic and destructive as I have ever seen it,” said Greg Smith, who resigned as an executive director and head of the firm’s United States’ equity derivatives business in Europe, the Middle East and Africa.

He claimed, in a recent New York Times op-ed piece, that he no longer sees any trace of the culture that has made him proud to work for the firm for many years. We know of the bank’s involvment with helping Greece to qualify to join the euro when it was not ready to, and how some European countries solved their political problems by putting former Goldman Sachs staff in charge.

But somebody has to question the “noble” motive behind this hasty letter. “I knew it was time to leave,” Smith writes, “when I realised I could no longer look students in the eye and tell them what a great place this was to work.” Oh, boy! I guess it’s better late than never, but how much money did you get from your bonuses so far, considering you have worked for this firm for twelve years, and waited to get your last one in January before being “enlightened” with divine intervention? How much of that money has gone to charities? Because that’s the only way to redeem your toxic money and, of course, your soul…

To what other terraces of doom and pain, dear Virgil, will you accompany me... next time...

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ART

The Flight to Egypt with St. John the Baptist and Lucia, Lisbon, Calouste Gulbenkian Museum Photo: Catarina Gomes Ferreira DANTEmag n.4

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ART

Cima da Conegliano:

The Poet of Landscape

By Aldo Ghirardello

Like postcards from the past, an extraordinary exhibition in Paris of the works of Giovanni Battista Cima da Conegliano reveals the landscapes of 15th and 16th century Italy to modern eyes..

I

“If you leave Venice and travel for about two hours on the train – maybe the fast Saturday evening service, full of students and workers – you get to the borders of the Veneto region and then, like a cinema fade, you come into the Friuli region.

The landscape doesn’t seem to have changed that much, but if you are astute you can sniff something different on the air. On the Livenza, you no longer see the countryside you recognise from the paintings of Palma the Elder and of Cima. The mountains have given way, in the north, to streaks of gravel scree and the black of woods, barely perceptible against the great veil of cloud.

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ART there are initially only plateaus and sky; then you notice the water ditches getting more frequent and the rows of mulberry trees becoming thicker, elder tree copses, sorghum fields on the bordering land. The houses are no longer so rose-coloured, their front yards swept clean, as if for some party, their barns with the rigid and compact hay bulging through the supports.

But it’s especially the smells, streaming into the now emptied train compartment, that are so different; the smell of a land of romances, of a region on the margins.”

Thus Pasolini describes with extraordinary sensitivity that place where the Veneto mutates into Friuli. It is no coincidence that he mentions the paintings of Di Palma and Cima, two of the artists who were so much concerned with nature, with light, and with landscape. This well-known passage, taken from A Land of Storms and Primroses, belies the same intimate acquaintance with the places and the landscape that we see in the meticulous and sensitive eye and paintbrush of the master painter from Conegliano. Cima was given the title “Poet of the Lndscape” on the occasion of the exhibition his home town dedicated to him in Palazzo Sarcinelli in 2010.

This venture exhibited over forty works and was produced and organised

by Artematica, curated by Giovanni Carlo Frederico Valli, who was aided and abetted by a committee of experts that included the foremost academ-

ics from Italy and abroad: Peter Humfrey, David Alan Brown, Mauro Lucco and Mario Ceriana. The works were loaned from public art institutions such as the National Gallery of London, the National Gallery in Washington, DC, St. Petersburg’s Hermitage, and Le Gallerie dell’Accademia of Venice.

The exhibition’s aim was to reconstruct the artistic life and works of Cima, one of the major interpreters of figurative art, who bridged the 15th and 16th centuries. It also sought to demonstrate that he was an equal protagonist, not just a follower, whose genius was of the calibre of Giovanni Bellini and Giorgione di Castelfranco.

Don’t worry if you let this magnificent exhibition slip you by. You’ll be able to savour it in Paris at Le Musee du Luxembourg, from April 5th to July 15th under the title, Cima, Maitre de la Renaissance Venetienne. www.museeduluxembourg.com/flash/mecenat/cima/index.htm But who was this Cima da Conegliano and, in particular, what is his place within a period of art, more often than not associated with the Veneto school at the end of the 15th century? The facts of his life are rather sketchy, due to the dearth of surviving documents. There are some significant blanks, such as his exact date of birth. It is assumed to be between 1459 and 1460, based on an entry in the Conegliano tax records of 1473, where we can make out a certain Joannes Cimator, very probably 14 years old since

Madonna and Child, Bologna, Pinacoteca Nazionale

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Madonna and Child, Petit Palais, Musée des Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris © Petit Palais / Roger-Viollet

it was from that age, according to Veneto law of the time, that a person had to start paying his own taxes. The artist, who left us with a plethora of signatures but not a similar number of dates, does not consequently give much help to art historians. This vague chronology also poses a problem as to his training. Tradition has it (notably Vasari) that he was trained by Bellini, whereas modern critics place him in a much more strictly local tradition.

We have some evidence of his stay in Vicenza to paint an altar-piece for St Bartolomeo church – a confident signature and date “Joannes Baptista de Conegliano fecit 1489 a di primo marzo (“Painted by Giovanni Battista de Conegliano in 1489 on the first day of March) – where we also have evidence of his contact with Montagna. This was also the year he moved permanently to Venice in order to open his workshop there and begin his successful career.

Cima’s refined classical style was distilled out of a melting pot, frequently on the face of it insoluble, of mutual influences. He used what he learned from Bellini, with their shared feeling for nature. He absorbed from Lombardo that volumetric purity of his figures. The kind of “theme and variations”

seen in the crystal clarity of his altarpiece works were a distillation of Antonello da Messina’s style, taking in on the way Alvise Vivarini.

This is indeed compensation enough for the paucity of documentary evidence, leaving us as it does to the joy of appreciating these works, which are of such high quality and whose power has not diminished over the course of the years.

Whatever his training might have been – which encompassed, as we have mentioned, a variety of influences – we come up against a painter who paid enormous attention to nature and landscape, so much so that some locations he painted are still identifiable in the geography of today.

On a par with his numerous depictions of saints and madonnas, where he adopted the forms of the period into a polarity which veers from touching pathos to enquiring psychology, we are also left with landscapes that represent the real magic of his painting. As Giovanni C.F. Villa explains in the catalogue for the 2010 exhibition, “His art represents a real communion with his natural environment, which is so intense and inseparable that DANTEmag n.4

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ART The Doubting Saint Thomas Venezia, Gallerie dell’Accademia

also set his own taste for the reliable and frequently conventional forms of devotional art. The years between 1494 and 1515 saw him working mostly in the part of the city bordering the lagoon, in the San Luca quarter, where he was to marry twice and father eight children.

it arouses a quasi-metaphorical sensual experience in us, akin to breathing in fresh air, the fragrance of flowers, the aromas of greenery, the smell of the earth – a taste of truth. His cultural world is immense, refined, cosmopolitan, all existing in one unique city – Venice across the 15th and 16th centuries – that was indeed the art capital of Europe. And that’s not all. The man from Conegliano, thanks to the richness of his patrons, the prestige of his workshop and the abundance of his commissions, was one of the leading lights in this city, where painting at the same time we find Bellini, the Vivarinis, Carpaccio and Giorgione.”

The Venice of this period saw the existence of workshops that were working to a very high, if not the highest, quality and which were responding to a knowledgeable religious and middle-class patronage that would bring artistic and financial success to the master painter from Conegliano. However, it DANTEmag n.4

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Giovanni C.F. Villa explains: “In the 1490’s, it is Cima, along with Giovanni Bellini, who became the great inventor of Italian skies and landscape. He painted them with a poetry capable of spanning centuries and therefore they are still relevant today, with their valleys and stone formations contrasted against the intense depictions of dawn and sunsets that forge man and nature into an indissoluble unity. He it was who paved the way for Giorgione, Titian and the substantial period of the Venetian 16th century.”

The decade of the 1490’s produced a plethora of magnificent examples of Cima’s work: The Madonna of the Oranges where “the delicate light filtering through the fresh green of the pristine leaves bedews the noble and solid saintly figures” (Bocazzi); The Madonna and Child of London, finished, according to Humfrey, shortly after the one in Genoa in 1496, which remains the most beloved and repeated formal type on his well-known devotional theme; Il San Sebastiano, on a more political theme, from the San

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Rocco church in Mestre where, drawing on Lombardi, the most exquisite nude figure soars up “like an ivory tower into the skies above”(Longhi); the San Girolamo of London, which is also a prototype for a series of variations on the theme of the relationship between the figure and its landscape; The Blessed Conversation of Parma, where, by his clever use of light blending the figures into the shadows, a mood of melancholy emerges, alongside a structural harmony that recalls Bellini.

These were the most productive years of his output and it saw him working for short periods in Emilia Romagna, moving between Parma, Bologna and Carpi, attending to the numerous commissions for altar-pieces he had there.

After 1515, in which the art world witnessed the early death of Giorgione after having fallen under the spell of his unmistakeable style, and while Bellini’s work was revitalising his language with Il Festino degli Dei, and the sensual colours of Titian triumphed with his Assunta dei Frari, Cima was tirelessly reproducing these gentle and sublime formulas of his.

The last documentary evidence we have for him is in 1516 in Conegliano, when he submitted his tax returns. He died sometime between October 2nd 1517 and November 1518, dates which have been estimated based on his last two known certified documents.

Translated by Philip Rham

St. Elena, Washington, National Gallery of Art, Samuel H. Kress Collection, 1961.9.12 DANTEmag n.4

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The Alchemy of Emma Sergeant Emma Sergeant, one of England’s best-known portraitists and figurative artists, burst into prominence in 1981 as a 21-year old student at the Slade School of Fine Art in London. That year she won the National Portrait Gallery Portrait Prize.

The award included a commission from the gallery to paint a well-known figure - she painted two: Lord David Cecil and Lord Olivier. Bee Van Zuylen interviewed Sergeant at her studio in Chelsea. photos Hugh Kelly.

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While she first became known as a portraitist, Emma Sergeant’s art has evolved since then into what she herself has described as “an alchemical form.” She has painted in various media, depicting a diverse array of subjects. These range from the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, Sumerian gods and the ancient world, representations of contemporary life, to the intrinsic bond between humans and animals, including her latest fascination: evocative paintings of horses.

Emma divides her time between Chelsea, where she lives with her Ernesto Neto and Poland where husband, biographer and historian Adam Zamoyski, the two of them are building a new home.

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Emma, art today , where is it at, in your opinion?

Art’s a tricky business now because figurative art has come back in. So much money has gone into conceptual art, it’s very difficult to say that show is over because a lot of public money has gone into it. It’s not endurable.

I’ll be very fascinated to see what’s around to show for this moment, these last 20 years, and what we’ll be seeing in 200 years in the museums to represent this era. What’s around now is Left Bank stuff. It’s very Rive Gauche, and that’s great. It’s jolly, but it’s ephemeral. It’s got about as much of a life span as a dress. You wear it till you’re sick of it and you chuck it.

And where’s the market for art right now?

I think it’s quite an interesting moment in art right now, because what you have is all the wonderful old-fashioned galleries in Bond Street, Cork Street, New Bond Street.

They’ve lost their way as far as I can see.

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They’re not getting the off-street trade they used to when people went out for lunch and then dropped into a gallery or two and maybe buy something.

They took that for granted. And what I’ve noticed now, is that the very rich in this country are people with decorators. They do the buying, and they are the secondary agents.

What about the training for up-and-coming artists these days? …I had amazing teachers, and I feel the young don’t have the luxury of the teachers I had. They are not taught to draw, there are not even people around, even if you want to learn to draw. Charles Gibbered and Sagimans later at Camberwell - I know what’s in my generation, a few, a handful to teach the entire country! They do still have very good teaching though, if you go to somewhere like St. Paul’s or any good public school.

People or animals, which gives you the more satisfaction when doing a portrait? ...My old friend Tomasz Starzewski opened up a decorating shop on Pimlico Road. He offered to do a show for me as he had got me horse commissions in the past, and I am very keen on doing

ART horse art. Although I love doing portraits, right now I love doing animals, because with them, in a way, you don’t have the psychological fallout. They wear their souls on their sleeves, or on their hooves, as it were!

Peeling away at a human being is a complex business, sometimes you feel that you’ve put your fingers into a festering wound. I never know what I’m going to find in a human being. I do warn people that I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but I’ll find it!

You know what’s happening. I don’t. I tell them that if they are on Prozac or going through a divorce it’s going to show ...

Sometimes you can find incredible harmony in people - in the most unexpected, severe, plain-featured people, suddenly there is an enormous amount of light. So I can only assume that it’s a soul business; it’s a great portrait when it’s the meeting of two people, not just an observation.

I love the tightrope aspect of it. It’s a balance between letting go and observation.

How did you get into painting horses specifically?

When I started drawing horses it was only for practice for drawing people – like life-drawing classes, like doing scales. I started in Sussex at a friend’s yard where I used to play polo, and after riding I would draw my two horses that were extremely tired and very cooperative.

I would sneak around because I was so embarrassed that others at the yard would see me and think: but she’s a portrait painter, isn’t she?. Then they’d see me do a rubbish drawing of a horse. But one of the grooms came up

and looked at my drawing and knew instantly which horse it was. She said, “You’ve really got his character.” I grew in confidence then.

What’s the process in getting that perfect horse portrait?

I started doing larger and larger drawings. It was fascinating working with animals because they know before I know when the picture is going wrong, and they stop cooperating. With an animal there seems to be a vibration coming out of me. I mentally haven’t accepted that the picture has gone wrong. I haven’t stepped back or checked the composition, and I carry on working and getting faintly frustrated, feeling the picture going dead. And meanwhile the animal is turning his back to me, and I think et en plus ,this wretched creature is not cooperating!. So I step back in a rage and see that I’ve started the picture in the wrong place.

I usually get someone to hold them and I have to be quick. I do a huge drawing or painting in 40 minutes max if you have the right ground – oil on gesso for instance. Sometimes the background is the hardest. The horse can take 40 minutes, and then working out the highlights and the right colour can take me three or four months. And then I find that I could’ve just opened a catalogue and looked at the background of Whistlejack green behind Stubb’s horse.

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ART I was including drawings and paintings of horses at my exhibitions at the Fine Art Society. Then I did two shows with horses, and Tomasz was getting me so many commissions. It’s the sort of work I love to do and I love drawing them from life, getting on with it, it’s all very immediate. You get so much more from the experience. I can’t understand anyone who draws from photographs! It’s inspiring working with Tomasz in his new shop. His whole presentation and ideas are inspiring and it’s all very modern looking. He has introduced me to new ideas: the paper I work on, the way we float the picture. It’s an experiment which is taking me down a new route. A client might want me to use sanguine, or another client asks me to use gold leaf, and I think why not? I’m happy to be asked to do different media. It’s interesting. I did a triptych on gold leaf (I had never done that before) of two rearing horses on long vertical panels. I did waste time getting it right -

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there were too many legs! I had to change it and start sculpting it, a bit like the Elgin Marbles. I suddenly realised it had a sculptural quality as I threw a lot of paint at it which is really the way I wanted my paintwork to go. I don’t see myself as a traditional painter like Sargent, I’m not a liquid painter like he is, I’m far more a linear painter, and after masses of chaos I find the form and - well, we all have our language.

You’re actually quite a romantic painter, aren’t you?

Yes, you’re right, I am! . But, strangely, I’ve suddenly bizarrely gone biblical! It must come from spending all this time in Poland…. Catholicism is coming to me! I am always looking for inspiration in a narrative, because I feel you have to cast your characters. I start the picture before I find what it’s about, so as I’m trying to work out my composition and my cast of characters. I become aware of the story, then I give it its title, and it falls into place and characters come and go. You hang on to them and you think they look exquisite and perfectly painted, then you realise the entire composition is being held back by the thing you were hanging on to! Then the character goes and he’s sort of condensed into something else. I feel it’s a very strange way of working . . ..

ART

Where do you spend most of your time these days?

I am now spending about six months of the year in Poland where my husband comes from. We’ve been looking for a property. It’s been difficult to find the right land. You no longer have big estates. It’s mainly government owned, and it was all lost with Communism. And now it’s wonderful to see that the Poles are going back to building with wood, and stone, as that architecture was all lost.

Is there anything specifically Polish that inspires you?

Yes, I am actually going to be doing some oil sketches of trees, lovely beech trees there in Poland, using copper, wood, not bronze. I would’ve loved to sculpt, but now I think I’m too old to be a sculptor. It’s too hard on the bones. But I’m very keen on texture and depth, and glazing. My idea of glazing is just throwing a lot of turps at the picture and thinning it out! I find if I use a lot of paint it usually means it’s going wrong.

What are your plans for the future?

I’d like now to do small collections with occasionally the unveiling of a big piece. The only big exhibition I’d be interested in would be a retrospective exhibition, because I’ve been exhibiting since, well, I won the National Gallery National Portrait prize in 1981. It was a drawing I did from my imagination, which I did at art school, and it won, much to my surprise and everyone else’s! That picture only took me a year and a half! Whereas the one I just gave Tomasz, I took four years over. So it’s not like I’m speeding up

with age! I’ve done a lot of other work while doing it, but I couldn’t resolve it, and like all the best pictures, it resolved itself. Sometimes if I feel it’s not going to work then I just turn it upside down and start again. My greatest work has often been when I’ve turned it upside down and started again and it’s been done in seconds.

I don’t want to paint to deadlines anymore. I don’t walk outside my world. I love what I do, not to be under pressure. I only want to do good art and that takes time. I don’t have time and I don’t like what’s going on in the art world.

As far as I can see there are a lot of frightened people creating images and not art. And there’s far too much money floating around...

Who, out of the current crop of painters, do you admire right now?

Who do I admire now out there? I guess I would kill for an Auerbach drawing; he’s a fabulous draftsman. I love Emily Young, her sculptures, great stone heads of angels, which I adore. I could have a dozen of hers. Nick Johnson is an extraordinary carver. We have a piece of his, a lurcher made of wood.

Can you tell Dantemag readers what the next Emma Sergeant work will be about?

My new theme is called Herod Hears the News, so I went off to draw some lions. I want him to be an old lion who’s waiting for a younger one to come and take his territory. But that’s another story!

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LITERATURE

Of All Sad Words of Tongue or Pen...

Those saddest words of all are explored from both sides in Lionel Shriver’s novel “The Post-Birthday World”. Our reviewer finds you can’t really escape what might have been.

By Elisabeth Molnar

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It is human nature to wonder about the road not taken. Imagination forms part of the very essence of our species. It is one of the greatest delights and one of the greatest afflictions of the human condition.

In The Post-Birthday World, Lionel Shriver explores the eternal, unanswerable of what might have happened if...? She (for it is a she) writes a peculiar story about choices and their consequences. The format is simple and unique: early in the book, the story divides into two parallel universes where a different choice is made at a pivotal moment in the life of the main protagonist.

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Key events are mirrored in each universe to highlight the differences in outcomes, making this not so much a “butterfly effect” story as a deep, psychological exploration of the seemingly insignificant moments that comprise the patchwork of a human life.

Irina is a beautiful Russian-American woman in her early forties. She lives in London with her dependable, highly intelligent, emotionally vulnerable, but rather passionless American boyfriend, Lawrence.

Every year they take their friend Ramsey, a famous snooker player, out to dinner on his birthday. On one occasion, Lawrence is unable to attend, but encourages Irina – who is strangely disconcerted by the other man’s presence – to do so alone. At the end of the evening, Irina is presented with both the desire and the opportunity to kiss Ramsey. This is the crux, and the book splits at the end of this chapter.

Needless to say, Ramsey is the polar opposite of Lawrence - spontaneous, passionate, demonstrative, but flighty and immature. Shriver lays out the choice which has been plaguing women since the beginning: passion or stability? At some point in life, more or less everyone will have had to make this decision. There is rarely any resolution to the uncomfortable results of either outcome. If one chooses stability, there will always be the little voice that questions what might have happened if one had chosen otherwise. If one chooses passion, the compatibility between the new partners is uncertain, once the relationship passes beyond the immediate flare of attraction. In both cases, there will be a mental comparison to the alternative, an ever-present tally marking up the unaccountable. What was once a relationship becomes a constant game of numbers.

This authenticity is the strength of Shriver’s novel. With ruthless candour, she catalogues all the natural reactions of a woman who has had to make just such a decision. It would be easy to write a solid, popular book with half the acidity, making it much easier to stomach. But The Post-Birthday World is relentlessly realistic, right down to the little, unpleasant personality DANTEmag n.4

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quirks of each of the characters. Shriver does not write to please. Hardly anybody in her books is an entirely likeable character, including Irina herself, which makes it difficult to establish a personal affinity with her. The over-analytical style is uncomfortable, whether in its familiarity for those who are similarly afflicted, or in its unfamiliarity for those who have little time for that sort of emotional nitpicking. And The Post-Birthday World, although it seems on the surface to be the perfect fantasy material, pervades the reader with the same sense of dissatisfaction that Irina feels as we oscillate between her two lives. This is not a chick-lit book: it is far too prickly for that.

Shriver is better known for her shocking booknow-film We Need To Talk About Kevin, a horrible yet fascinating exploration of motherhood without love and the creation of a Columbine-style murderer, with all the emotionally ravaging detail one might expect. Shriver follows a certain trend in her books, taking a long, clear-eyed look at the difficult questions which are often glossed over by less daring writers. Her insight into psychology is unsettling in its acuity, and she wields a sharp vocabulary with a beautifully neat turn of phrase. Unfortunately, these strengths are coupled with a tendency to overstress her characters with torments that cut a little too close to the bone. While it is true that novels do not have to be comfortable, there is a point when a book ceases to be enjoyable due to the relentless emotional battering. We Need To Talk About Kevin strays dangerously close to being guilty of this. Shriver’s earlier Double Fault, the story of the slow, inescapable destruction of a relationship between two tennis players due to the pathological competitiveness of one of them, falls squarely behind the base-line and becomes simply and straightforwardly depressing.

This raises an interesting question. Are Shriver’s other books part of this trend of dismal realism? Does her writing fulfill some kind of need to re-experience these emotions? The sets of feelings explored in each book are not entirely dissimilar, and the styles are deeply introspective and highly

LITERATURE

analytical of the characters’ motivations. How much of the author’s own personality and desires are expressed – consciously or unconsciously – in her books? It’s an unanswerable question, based on purest speculation, except for the niggle in Shriver’s recent Guardian article (21/10/2011), where she gave her (positive) opinion of the film adaptation of We Need To Talk About Kevin.

About a third of this review is devoted to the film and its success, while the other two-thirds starts like this: “For some weeks now, I’ve been tortured by a parallel shadow universe” and launches into a grisly account of what might have happened if the producers had ruined the film in the worst possible way. Clearly the idea of alternate realities is a particular favourite of hers, and the dark tone is a common factor in all four pieces of writing. Is the written word a safe place for Shriver to express the dark impulses innate to each of us? (That is not to say that Shriver’s writing is all the same. Her column in the Guardian is informed, thought-provoking, and accomplished journalism.) It seems not entirely dissimilar to the savage glee with which one writes an abusive email to one’s boss, saves it in the Drafts folder, and then starts again in the morning. Fun, exciting, satisfying, and ultimately cathartic – just as The PostBirthday World is, in the end.

The ancient Greeks used to watch tragedies (and later, comedies) performed in the theatre during the Dionysia festival in Athens. The purpose was manifold: ritual, recreational, social, and emotionally cathartic. Aristotle wrote of catharsis as being an essential component of tragic theatre, and suggested that a good tragedy would make people experience the emotions for themselves in a controlled environment, presumably enabling them to lead better, healthier lives. (Plato proposed something similar, though if he had had his way, there would be no room in society for theatre, poetry, or fiction, and I would not be writing this article.) Certainly we sometimes go to see films with a similar intention: we watch horror films to experience the fear and then the release at the end when we remember that it was not real. We watch sad films to cry, venting emotion that may not necessarily find an outlet in day-to-day life. While the Greeks did not have novels

in the same way that we do today (partly because of the laborious and time-consuming process of copying them by hand), we often use books to a similar purpose: to laugh, to cry, to identify with the characters and experience their emotions - who did not shed a tear at the end of The Time Traveller’s Wife? It would not be unreasonable, then, to imagine that the act of writing the book might trigger a more complex version of the same effect.

In this sense, the structure of The Post-Birthday World proves to be a strength. The parallel universes allow the writer (and the reader, naturally) to explore not one but two sets of emotions, and the interplay between the two sides creates a further third layer of experience – making the book almost literally more than the sum of its parts. It is not that events in each universe influence each other; rather, the third layer is created purely in the experience of the reader as one appreciates the similarities and differences between the two timelines.

The double-reality format gives the reader a deeper understanding of Irina, who is thrust into two experiments in the same novel. We witness not one but two outcomes, a rare and privileged position. The events that follow her fateful decision are forced through the filter of Irina’s perceptions and prejudices. One could easily become irritated by the sheer humanity of Irina’s responses. While the novel is written in the third person, the selfanalysis shows clearly Irina’s own thought processes, making the reader a curious hybrid of external and internal observer. Would the novel perhaps be more accessible if written at a slightly larger distance from Irina? My instinct would be to say no. We can see ourselves in this relentless churn of self-awareness, and that is what makes this story so striking. In a way, what Irina actually does is irrelevant. It is the nature of the choice, the agonising and self-doubt, and the way in which her thoughts and feelings change.

In true human fashion, Irina’s mind elides the dissatisfactions she might have experienced with the absent partner, and magnifies the defects of the one she is with – even more so in the universe where she remains with her partner and eschews infidelity. This reaction seems irrational and completely consistent with human behaviour. We always idealise the road-notDANTEmag n.4

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Three scenes from the movie “We Need to Talk About Kevin”

taken and devalue what we already have. It is the nature of desire. People regret things that they have not done more than they regret things that they have done. In spite of this, Irina’s dissatisfaction is not entirely the product of fantasy. Lawrence treats her a great deal worse than Ramsey does in the other universe, which smacks of tweaking the character in order to fit the structure of the story. The “punch-line” of the novel – Lawrence’s infidelity in the world in which Irina was faithful – seems like an authorial sleight of hand. We fume through the chapters of that universe, outraged by Lawrence’s increasingly cavalier and loveless attitude with a kind of savage enjoyment at such a clear object for our annoyance. But then why make Lawrence so pleasant in the other world? This inconsistency is the only fault I can find with an enjoyable, frustrating, passionate story. I am perfectly willing to accept it for the sake of its beautiful symmetry.

We see a microcosmic version of this balance in Shriver’s written style.

Complex thoughts are encapsulated, not glibly but with elegance. The prose is fluid and well-paced, with much explanation, but without feeling heavy or overwrought. Shriver writes clearly, and with an unfettered emotional honesty. Her well-crafted sentences make the shames of mundane infidelity, the joys of forbidden love, and the raptures of a tempestuous marriage to leap fully formed into the imagination. By itself, the story is not quite rich enough to fill a novel, regardless of how clever the format or well-formed the characters. It is the language which turns this simple concept into a thing of beauty, and draws us from page to page.

There is no question what the message of the book is, which is mirrored in a minor key by a clever play-within-a-play children’s story, written by Irina herself. At the end of the novel, it is clear which universe is the “right” one.

Ultimately, for all the dissatisfactions in each world, for all the doubts and frustrations, this is a story about opportunities, about choices. It tells us that while we can never know for sure which is the right course of action, we must choose, for better or for worse. It’s not all the same which universe of possibilities becomes the reality. Tragedy may or may not strike at any moment, and stagnation is death. Live. Be bold.

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MUSIC

It’s All Going On, All the Time The legendary Manhattan music scene may be dead or gentrified beyond recognition, but that doesn’t mean that New York City isn’t still a great live music town. You just need to head across the river to Brooklyn, where the indie music scene is alive and well. Dean Rispler takes us on a tour.

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MUSIC Manhattan skyline with Brooklyn Bridge

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Welcome to New York City! Well, welcome virtually for those of you who don’t already live here. Let me give you an extremely short and very biased history: NYC used to completely rule. It still kinda does, but parts of it that used to be really fun (otherwise known as “dangerous” to those of you who are squares) are really not fun anymore. The birthplace of the East Coast “Temple of Punk Rock,” CBGBs – home to the Ramones, Television, Blondie, Richard Hell & The Voidoids, Talking Heads and countless others – has been closed since 2008. CB’s is now a John Varvatos clothing and accessories store. (If you’re into “accessories,” then you should probably stop reading this article now). Other great clubs in Manhattan – Coney Island High, Continental, Brownies, etc. – have either disappeared or stopped showing live music altogether. Yes. The squares have won Manhattan. It’s really not cool anymore. It’s becoming what I don’t like to call a “rich man’s town.” Unfortunately a lot of these rich men are actually frat boy yuppies and their tanning crème-obsessed, vapid girlfriends.

Luckily there’s Brooklyn. Just across the river you can find a bunch of thriving live music venues. Some are legitimate bars; others are sort of DIY venues that you may see one month and then either they move or crumble to the ground. Either way, Brooklyn’s somewhat cheaper rent and reputation as centre of the current indie rock universe allows for an overflow of bands and artists.

Let’s talk about a few kick-ass music innovators with legitimate street cred, shall we?

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MUSIC The Naked Heroes is a two-piece featuring George Michael Jackson (guitar, vocals) and Merica Lee (drums)

Below, Cudzoo & The Faggettes: Erin (E-Bomb) McCarson Jess (J-Train) Bartley Mamrie (Mame-Town) Hart

The Naked Heroes

What? Another two-piece band? Yes, I know it seems trendy, but The Naked Heroes don’t really know what trendy even means.

This hard-rockin’, ass-shakin’ boogie rock duo is as down-toearth as they come. All they want to do is give 110% in both their live and recorded performances. And as far as the live experience goes, guitarist and lead vocalist, George Michael Jackson, never lets the audience forget that they are present for a real concert experience. He is not afraid to jump into the crowd and make them dance and sing along. He assumes the mantle of a righteous southern US preacher whose only purpose is to save your soul and make you believe in the redeeming powers of rock and roll. Drummer Merica Lee will bring her drums right into the audience to make sure that the attendees are personally involved.

Combine all this with a very healthy dose of ZZ-Top-meetsBlack-Sabbath-meets-Suzy-Quatro-inspired noise and you really can’t lose.

Cudzoo & The Faggettes

Yes, the name is spelled correctly. Well, at least it’s how they spell it. Cudzoo & The Faggettes is not so much a band as it is the “complete experience.” Cudzoo is three lovely ladies up front, who sing and dance and are known for exchanging some very snarky remarks with their adoring crowds. They are backed up by a very well-dressed trio of guitar, bass and drums known as The Faggettes. Together they have created the most infectious 60’s girl group-inspired melodies and harmonies that will most likely never leave your brain. The best part is that their lyrical content is over-the-top, hardcore, triple-x rated. The band is obsessed with a vocabulary that would make your mother hunt for a bar of soap to wash your mouth out with, not neglecting patter about rhino (aka “roofies”), dating homosexuals by mistake and much more. The live show, not unlike a glitter-encrusted, high school prom fantasy, can best be described as The Rocky Horror Picture DANTEmag n.4

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Show as done by The Ronettes. I am telling you right now that if you don’t like Cudzoo & The Faggettes, you most likely have no sense of humour and totally suck at life. Oh, and if you’re squeamish and/or offended by the band’s name, just remember to take into account that a large percentage of their fans are gay.

They take no offence because they know it’s all fabulous.

MUSIC

MiniBoone

MiniBoone

Warning! Nerd Alert! Beards, glasses, corduroys, etc! That may sound like a huge majority of Williamsburg hipsters, but they are for real. Take the name for instance. MiniBoone is taken from MiniBooNE, which is an experiment at Fermilab designed to observe neutrino oscillations. (That last sentence is taken directly from my favourite source, Wikipedia. Thank you!). That’s where they are coming from, and their songs are just as smart. Think herky-jerky angular guitars a la Devo and Talking Heads with snippets of Queen, Fleetwood Mac, and a little early Andrew W.K. thrown in for good measure. Combine all that goodness with absolutely explosive live performances and you got yourself a really great band. They were a big hit at last year’s giant Bonnaroo Festival in Tennessee and are definitely poised for world domination. Let’s hope these young weirdo beardos keep it going.

Brooklyn’s Metal Renaissance

I never saw it coming. I really thought that metal was pretty much dead here in NYC. It has basically been sleeping for years.

I know that metal has made a big comeback across the country, but I honestly thought that hipster indie rock scum would’ve kept metal in our fine city under wraps. But here we are smack dab in the middle of 2012 with an absolute surplus of great metal bands. And in addition we have an amazingly strong black metal scene going here. With bands such as Negative Plane (perfectly described by legendary Weakling/Dispirit guitar mangler, John

Gossard, as “occult surf metal”), Villains (featuring ex-Hemlock/My Dying Light members), and Black Anvil (with members of the beloved NYC band, Kill Your Idols), the once ultra-tiny black metal crowd has grown tremendously. Include all that with the much-hyped Liturgy and Krallice (both play great but are constantly called hipsters or posers by a lot of the hardcore black metal fans) and you actually have tapped into a whole new audience of people coming out to shows – including a lot who were never previously into extreme or black metal.

Do you like your stuff a little noisier? Check out Tombs. They are a perfect mix of the Unsane style wall-of-guitars meets elements of blackened death metal. Weirder still is Tournament. They are a free-form metal band that’s reminiscent of Voivod doing Pink Floyd songs: a sort of extreme psychaedelic metal - definitely interesting.

Looking to slow it down? Disma (featuring Citizen’s Arrest vocalist, Daryl Kahan) is possibly the best doom metal band in the U.S. now. Deliberate, dirty, and heavy as all hell.

There’s a lot more, almost too much to remember, but living here in the city that still never sleeps I will tell you this: as much as New Yorkers LOVE to complain, the city is fertile ground for a progressive music scene. Only here can you uncover a stash of awesome music in every genre, all going on, all the time.

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN

Connecting light and landscape to living spaces

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By Neil Geraghty

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Developed in the mid-20th century in the playground of the rich and famous, Desert Modernism is experiencing a resurgence of interest. Its sleek, clean angularity and fusion of the natural with the architectural make it a foil of sorts for the complexity and confusion of modern life.

H

High on a hillside above Palm Springs, a strange ritual is being played out. Amongst the giant pink boulders, spiky agaves and pungent creosote bushes, fifty or so architecture aficionados wearing baby blue protective bootees stand patiently in a queue. Many have flown in from the bitter North American East Coast winter and are squinting in the fierce Californian sunshine.

A hushed sense of reverence hangs in the air, intensified by the distant warbling of mysterious desert birds. The object of this almost religious-seeming pilgrimage is the Edris House, which has opened its doors for Palm Springs Modernism Week. The streamlined house is a classic example of Desert Modernism, designed by the acclaimed Palm Springs architect E. Stewart Williams in 1954. The gently tilting roof juts out into the surreal desert landscape and seems to float effortlessly on expansive glass windows. Inside, the rich wood panelling and rough stone walls infuse a surprisingly homely ambience to the open-plan living spaces. This is modern architecture at its most appealing.

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In the living room a group of visitors crowds around the current owner, J.P. Roberts, and hangs on his every word. Roberts describes the slender steel pillars which are cleverly hidden within the window frames and which support the free standing roof, allowing for dramatic floor-to-ceiling glass walls.

“It’s a nightmare when the wind picks up”, he complains, describing the scary creaking and rattling of the earthquake-proof structure.

By the looks on their admiring faces the visitors could put up with this minor design hiccough if they were lucky enough to live here.

A husband and wife from Chicago gaze wistfully out into the garden where a swimming pool looks out over the shimmering Coachella Valley, flanked by the snow-dusted San Jacinto Mountains.

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it out of my front yard back home”, the husband quips to his wife.

Like most visitors to Palm Springs, the Chicago couple had fallen in love with the Coachella Valley’s sublime winter microclimate. This was one of the key ingredients in the development of Desert Modernism. In the 1920s, Hollywood’s silver screen legends discovered Palm Springs subtropical charms, and it quickly become one of the most fashionable watering holes in the US. During the ensuing building boom, the perennially popular Spanish colonial style was adopted and even today parts of downtown Palm Springs resemble the quiet backwaters of Oaxaca.

However, a new generation of architects, inspired by the European Bauhaus and De Stijl movements, were rapidly coming up through the ranks of American architecture and in Palm Springs they found both the money and inspiration to develop their style. By the 1930s, Palm Springs had become

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Tramway Gas Station

Hollywood’s playground and the casual outdoor lifestyle lent itself perfectly to the angular simplicity, open plan and seamless fusion of indoor and outdoor living spaces that became the hallmarks of Desert Modernism.

From the 1940s to the 1960s the style reached a peak of creativity as Hollywood stars and business moguls commissioned architects to design the ultimate in sleek contemporary living. As the 1950s progressed, the newly affluent middle classes wanted a slice of this hedonistic Californian lifestyle and pared-down versions of these millionaire dream homes were built in their thousands throughout the US. Today, Desert Modernism conjures up all the optimism of post-war America, and in a country wracked by self doubt, Americans can’t get enough of this nostalgic feel-good factor.

Palm Springs, from the martini pool parties hosted in hip new hotels to the curvaceous 1950s furniture on display in North Canyon Drive’s fabulous interior design boutiques. However, for true architecture connoisseurs, the best time of year to explore Palm Springs’ unrivalled collection of Desert Modernism architecture is during Modernism Week, a 10-day festival held each February that celebrates all aspects of modern architecture and interior design. Palm Springs is a town bursting with civic pride, and during the festival, private homeowners, the Palm Springs Art Museum and myriad heritage organizations come together to showcase the best of Desert Modernism.

Eighty volunteers in bright orange T-shirts help coordinate events. When remote, iconic homes such as the Edris House are open to the public, they offer a welcome beacon to visitors getting lost crawling around the suburbs in their convertibles.

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The Edris House is located in Little Tuscany, one of Palm Springs’ most rewarding neighborhoods for discovering mid-century modernist masterpieces. A building that is instantly recognisable from coffee table architecture books is the Kaufmann House, designed by the Austrian-born architect Richard Neutra in 1946. Edgar Kaufmann, a department store tycoon from Pittsburgh, had a deep interest in modern architecture and was a great lover of the outdoors. In the 1930s he commissioned the grand old man of modern American architecture, Frank Lloyd Wright, to build a country retreat in Fallingwater near Pittsburgh. The resulting structure of stark concrete slabs tumbling down a waterfall is now one of America’s best loved National Historic Landmarks. But for his new Palm Springs residence, Kaufmann wanted something altogether lighter – a retreat where he could feel at one with the beautiful desert terrain. In Neutra he found the ideal man to visualise his dream home. In one of his essays the architect wrote: “Our organic well-being is dependent on a wholesome, salubrious environment. Therefore exacting attention has to be paid to our intricate, sensory DANTEmag n.4

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world”.

The Kaufmann House seems literally to hover over the desert floor. Ashlar curtain walls and a vertical chimney seem to morph out of the boulderstrewn landscape while sliding glass reinforced by aluminum fins allows the desert sunshine to flood into the open-plan rooms.

From certain angles, the Kaufmann House resembles a ship gliding on the hillside, but further along the Palm Canyon Valley, the iconic Frey House 2 seems to disappear completely into the mountainside. The Swiss-born architect Albert Frey is perhaps the most revered of all the Desert Modernist architects. In 1928, the young Frey worked briefly at Le Corbusier’s practice in Paris and became lifelong friends of this great pioneer of modern architecture. Later in the year he moved to the United States and worked on such seminal projects as the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Frey first Visited Palm Springs in 1934 and was immediately spellbound by the desert’s beauty. He moved here permanently in 1939. In the post war building boom he designed many of Palm Springs best-loved buildings, ranging from

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Frey House

Kauffman House

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN hospitals to churches. However it was the humble Tramway Gas Station just outside the town that became Frey’s most celebrated landmark. Now the Palm Springs Visitors Centre, its soaring parabolic canopy framed by desert palms is one of the essential photo stops for anybody making a road trip around California.

When it came to designing his own home in 1963, Frey chose a secluded spot on the mountainside and spent a whole year studying the sun’s seasonal trajectory to ensure that the roof overhang allowed maximum sunlight in the Desert Modernist home Twin Palms

Swiss Miss Architecture

Frey House interior

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN winter whilst keeping the house cool in the summer. The entire structure is built around a giant natural boulder which acts as a dramatic counterfoil to the simple glass, steel, and aluminium frame. Inside, the surfaces and furnishings reflect the colours of the surrounding desert. Polished concrete floors are tinted rose brown to echo the hues of the nearby rocks. Bright yellow curtains match the daisy-like flowers of brittlebush shrubs, while the Formica tables and cabinets are an intense Californian sky blue. One of the most endearing features is a hollowed out stone by the swimming pool which Frey would fill with water and watch lizards come to drink. The effect of this house is almost atavistic in nature, and this is the key element in the resurgence of Desert Modernism. In an increasingly complicated world, Desert Modernism reconnects modern living with light and landscape, and the result is timelessly beautiful architecture.

Swiss Miss Style Home

Frey House

Kaufmann House

Fact Box: The 8th Palm Springs Desert Modernism Festival takes place from February 14-24, 2013. Visit www.modernismweek.com for more information.

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Finding the Rhythm of Nature in

the Heart of the City

By Lucia de Nardi Nature grows spontaneously in the most unexpected places in city landscapes: in the cracks on streets and pavements, in between the supports of railings, in splits in the concrete structures that hold up road and railway bridges.

We can draw inspiration from such scenes of our day-to-day lives, and from the hardy plants that grow in seemingly unforgiving environments of steel and concrete.

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W

We are all surrounded by surfaces (horizontal and vertical) that are potential gardens - even if we’re just talking about a terrace, a balcony or a window sill. If you live in a big city, your balcony is often the only private link you have with nature and the outdoors. It doesn’t matter if the space available to you is small and doesn’t remotely suggest a garden. Even small balconies can easily be transformed into a pleasant and sweet-smelling setting for nature’s story – you just need to be creative and ingenious!

The first step towards successfully realising a green terrace or balcony is to carefully calculate the weather conditions there whether your balcony is exposed to the sun or in the shade; if it’s windy or damp, and so on. This is vital information in helping you choose plants that will thrive in your specific conditions.

One approach is to mix things up – strawberries with petunias, courgettes with geraniums, etc. – and create a kitchen/flower garden. It accentuates the obvious attractiveness of the flowers and leaves of certain combinations of fruits and vegetable, contrasting and complementing them with flowers. The perennials like artichokes and asparagus and the bulb vegetables like garlic and onions can also give an additional magical feel to your kitchen/flower garden with their decorative and eye-catching flowers.

Growing a mini market garden on your balcony is more than just a fashion statement; it is fast becoming a simple solution to our desire to eat and grow natural and untreated food. And add to that, you get that great feeling of satisfaction, when you taste the fresh fruit and vegetables you’ve just picked and it’s nothing like anything you could ever get from the food you buy in supermarkets and shops When choosing growing containers, the rule is basically to just go with your imagination! The only thing your container MUST

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ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN have is a hole in the bottom for the excess water to drain off after watering. If you can get hold of those wooden trays they use to sell fruit in, all you need to do is to line them with a piece of material (either natural or artificial is fine - like wire mesh screen, moss, or even a plastic bag with holes cut in for drainage) to hold the earth. You could also possibly use those large cans they sell tinned tomatoes in, and thereby do your bit for clever recycling.

You can also buy an OrtoUrbano (City Kitchen Garden) box, available on the internet, that is especially designed for use on even the smallest of terraces. It’s the brainchild of the OrtiUrbani (City Kitchen Gardens) project, that started in Barcelona in 2003. The project’s aim is to encourage more people to grow their own vegetables and fruit in cities. The OrtoUrbano is basically a rectangular container resting on four legs with casters (so very easy to move around). It’s made of galvanised steel that is all weather-resistant. Visit www.ortiurbani.it for more information or to order your own.

Once you’re prepared your container, fill it with a good quality potting compost. Don’t take earth from anywhere outside as it contains very few nutrients and is not porous enough. Plant your seeds, and let nature take its course.

But what, you ask, if my plants are attacked by insects? Unfortunately, to get really clean and healthy produce, you can’t, of course, use harmful pesticides. Since you don’t want to give the fruits of your labours to the bugs, you must get rid of them organically. Ladybird beetles and their larvae are tireless predators of aphids, those so-called “headlice of plants” that can easily

Vegetable garden on the terrace: - wallup - pallet - shoe holder

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Vegetable garden in a box:

ARCHITECTURE AND DESIGN infest everything, especially your lettuces.

Your garden on the horizontal can easily be reconfigured on the vertical, if you want to squeeze the maximum out of every square metre. You can create a wall of green, a vertical garden that rests on a supporting modular structure, which is very light and based on the principles of hydroponics. This system, as well as having undeniable aesthetic qualities, presents several considerable advantages, first and foremost being its energy-saving value. In the summer, the outer walls of buildings overheat, raising the inside temperature. Consequently you tend to use more air-conditioning, triggering higher and costlier energy consumption. The presence of your green wall significantly reduces the heat of the outer walls, bringing indoor ambient temperatures down potentially as low as 15 degrees C. As the basic theory of these vertical gardens is simplicity itself, why not have a go at setting one up? Let’s pinch an idea from Fern Richardson, a US gardening expert, who has devised one for a balcony using for her supporting framework a wooden pallet - a packing unit used for transporting any kind of material or produce. These can often be found thrown away outside supermarkets, etc. You will need two bags of potting compost, about sixteen or so flowering annuals, a roll of fabric, a staple gun and sand paper.

After you’ve sanded down the wood, staple enough fabric to cover the back and underside of the pallet. Lay the pallet down on the covered side and then fill it with the potting compost. Once you’ve done that, all you have to do is plant your seedlings in the

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gaps left by the slats of the pallet. Richardson suggests you leave the pallet flat for a time while the plants take root. Then you can turn it on its side and stand it up against a wall. And there you have it, the result is really very pleasing indeed. More detailed instructions can be found on Richardson’s website, here: http:// lifeonthebalcony.com/how-to-turn-a-pallet-into-a-garden/ Another very efficient and practical solution that doesn’t involve a huge amount of work is to reuse an old shoe storage unit with pockets, hang it from some hooks and then fill the pockets with compost and then plant your plants! Of course, remember to put in a little hole in the pockets to let the water drain out.

An Italian company from Brescia, COAR, has come up with “WALL UP”, a modular system for growing flowers. It has a basic aluminium structure which is attached to the wall, and to which you can add more sections as desired. Visit www.wallup.it and have a look.

The modular system allows your green wall to follow the contours of your space and can even be adapted to curved surfaces.

One of its interesting advantages is you can efficiently water and fertilise individual plants, maintaining uniform water levels and avoiding dehydrated areas at the top and excessive moisture at the bottom. This circular flow guarantees good recycling of water with very little environmental damage; the fertiliser-enriched water thus ensures the vital elements are in place for the proper

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growth and survival of your plants.

Of course, these are all small-space ideas. But if you want vertical gardening writ large, you can have that too. You can create a so-called “Eat-House”, a whole house you can eat! The idea originated in the Netherlands and is a prototype for houses that can produce all the fruit and vegetables its occupants need. It was devised by three Dutch architects, Marijke Bruinsman, Marjan van Capelle and Arjen de Groof, who unveiled it at the Garden Festival of Appeltern in 2010.

The house is clad in a steel structure, completely fitted out with wooden trays, filled with potting compost where vegetables and fruit like strawberries, blackberries and raspberries can be cultivated. The roof and the walls are literally covered with vegetation and it looks like some corner of a wood all in flower. This “traygarden” lasts all through the summer. When the plants have matured and have been harvested, the trays are removed and the steel structure is dismantled. At the moment it’s only in prototype but with some slight modifications, it could easily become a permanent dwelling place capable of mirroring the changing seasons.

If going whole-house is not your style, you can still have an outside garden inside by opting for a plant that is extraordinary in its amazing adaptability. It’s called Tillandsia, an airborne species that has no conventional roots and so uses its leaves for that function, surviving by extracting from the air and moisture all the

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The ‘Eat-House’

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nutrients it needs. It grows into shapes and forms that are very beautiful and elaborate. All you need is a bit of inventiveness to create some imaginative designs. Play at being a landscape artist in your own home! Plus there is the undoubted advantage of improving the micro-environment you live in.

Or let yourself be inspired by the fantastical world of String Gardens, invented by Dutch artist Fedor van der Valk, and create an imaginative garden hanging in mid-air in your house or on your terrace. For this very unique way of arranging plants, Van der Valk drew his inspiration from Japanese art. The plants, instead of sitting in pots, are contained within a ball of moss, soil and grass. The ball in turn is held in place by a strong nylon webbing. The web is suspended from the ceiling by long strings.

They can be watered in the air by nebuliser sprays, or taken down and soaked in a bucket, drained, and re-hung. You can grow anything from annual bulbs to small fruit trees with this method. It really is a powerful and thought-provoking concept: on the one hand, you feel you’re looking at something ethereal and impalpable, and on the other you feel an almost child-like wonder at seeing something so unusual and fascinating – a handful of plants floating in space. The power of art is indeed its ability to subvert the norms and make us change the way we look at things.

A green surface in the city, either on the horizontal or the vertical, contributes to reducing the pockets of concentrated heat that cities produce, where most of solar energy is radiated back out as heat. Green surfaces only reflect back 20% of solar energy whereas 80% is absorbed through photosynthesis. Studies show that 150 square metres of greenery has the ability, via this process, to produce the amount of oxygen necessary to sustain a full-grown adult human. Plants not only increase oxygen levels, they also improve air quality by reducing smog as they absorb suspended dust particles.

A wide-ranging approach to greening urban spaces can improve living conditions in many urban environments. This is true from a health perspective (both public and personal) but also quite decisively from an aesthetic perspective. Green spaces found in surprising nooks and crannies throughout our heavily designed and sometimes aggressively linear urban environments can have the effect of softening the sharp edges, and bringing a feeling of relief from the intense pace and overwhelming scale. Green spaces scattered throughout an urban setting bring us back to the natural and the human.

So let our kitchen/flower gardens fill with unalloyed joy the terraces and balconies of our great cities! These corners of nature will help us rediscover the ancient rhythms of life and reconnect us with the stages our food goes through before it finally lands on our tables.

Translated by Philip Rham

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COVER

Over the years, Massimo Gava has encountered Laura Pausini at various moments in her career.

As she’s evolved from a young girl singing pop tunes to a worldwide singing star, he’s been won over by her depth and breadth as an actress, as well as her uncompromising integrity, both personal and artistic. He traces the career trajectory of “La Pausini.”

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Laura Pausini

An Unassuming Superstar

I

It was one of those cold evenings in New York City and the snow on the ground had announced the beginning of winter. I had just returned to my hotel room looking forward to a calm evening after walking all day in the cold, when my travelling companion stormed into the room.

“You’ll never guess who’s in town!”

“Who?” I asked thinking of another friend of ours.

“Laura!”

“Laura who?” I replied, suspecting his enthusiasm was related to an old girlfriend of his.

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“Laura who?!!?” Marcello cried, as if he thought I suddenly had dementia.

“Laura Pausini, who else? She’s releasing her first English album here in the US. We’ve got to go!”

“Does she still sing?” I said sarcastically, as I had no intention of leaving the room in that cold, not even if Janis Joplin was back from the dead and touring.

“Of course she does! She’s greater than ever!” My friend and I obviously had quite different tastes in music. And I was adamant I did not want to go out, much less to see an Italian singer whose songs I only vaguely remembered.

I knew she had won the San Remo song contest (which the Eurovision contest is based on) almost a decade earlier in 1993, with a song about a teenager who looks longingly at the empty desk beside her in school where her boyfriend Marco used to sit. The song is a lament for Marco who’d moved away when his father had got a job in another town. That song, “La Solitudine” (“Loneliness”), became a teenage anthem and it was aired so much on radio and TV it was impossible to avoid it. I have to admit though, sometimes I found myself singing along to the catchy tune – Chissa se tu mi penserai.. (“I wonder if you’ll be thinking of me. .”) – but it was just not my cup of tea. Besides which, the singer was a rather plain, shy 18-year old girl from Solarolo, a small provincial town in the Emilia Romagna region.

She seemed destined to become nothing more than a one-hit wonder.

This raised Marcello’s patriotic ire. To arms! Stressing our duty as Italians, Marcello persuaded me to leave my cosy room and go and support her.

Once inside the venue, we waited quite a bit before she finally came on stage, at around 1:30 a.m. - obviously the organisers wanted to have a full house.

The lights dimmed and Laura Pausini was announced. To my surprise, I saw a woman in leather trousers and a corset bounce onto the stage, grab the microphone and shout to the audience in perfect English. –“Hey New York City! I’m Laura Pausini. I come from Italy and I am here to introduce you to my new CD From the Inside!”

My jaw dropped. I caught sight of my over-excited friend, who had started dancing along to the up-tempo track. “I can’t pretend anymore cos …”, Laura sang, and I felt almost embarassed for her as the audience looked totally unimpressed. There were some South American folks that seemed vaguely interested but were a bit shy as they saw how the New York locals were not particularly blown away.

I was not sure about this rock leather version of Laura even if the outfit was by the king, Giorgio Armani. What had happened to her naïve, sweet and shy look? I guess it had all been thrown out. God, I thought, she’s got guts to take on an audience of Americans who are used to a totally different sound.

It struck me that being a singer was not all fun and glamour after all. Perhaps to Americans, she came from this “obscure” country, Italy. I shuddered to think that my friend and I were the only two native Italians there to support her! The up-tempo number “Surrender” warmed up the audience, however, and then she did some numbers in Italian as Marcello sang along in the crowd. Her voice sounded good and at the end, after a set of five songs, she reprised “Surrender.” During the number she gave away some promo copies DANTEmag n.4

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of her CD and T-shirts to the audience, who at that point finally were beginning to dance along. He had to fight his way, but Marcello – being taller than the rest – managed to get a few of the freebies. “Surrender” later reached number one on the US dance and club charts ahead of artists like Madonna, Whitney Houston, and Justin Timberlake.

A few years after that night in New York, I went on a working trip to South America. We started in Chile and continued on to Argentina, Colombia, and Brazil, and ending up in Venezuela and Mexico. The leitmotif in all these countries was this song that was hammering away on the radio: “Volvere Junto a Ti” (“I’ll Come Back to Be With You”). It was impossible to escape that romantic melody with its beautiful voice. Really, I must get that CD I kept saying, but I didn’t know who the singer was. Towards the end of the trip I decided that, instead of flying back immediately to London, I would go to Cuba, rent a car and visit Trinidad, the old Cuban capital, now a UNESCO World Heritage site.

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It was an enchanting place. I liked it so much I decided to stay for a few days more and instead of going to another hotel, I checked into a casa particular, the Cuban equivalent of a B&B. It was managed by a lovely old couple in their seventies. Their children had left home and to supplement their state pension, they offered this service in their big house. They essentially adopted me. The lady – Titty was her name – brought me coffee every morning and prepared the best breakfast you could possibly imagine, everything made from papayas.

In their house, that song –Volvere junto a ti – was always playing in the background. Titty and her husband Juan were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary that year. He told me that he would never have made it through a serious illness, if it hadn’t been for the love of his wife. Titty, looking back at him, replied she would never have made it through life without his love and then she started singing Volvere junto a ti, just to tease him. They were

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quite a couple and you could really feel their love everywhere. Titty seemed to adore the song, as I would catch her singing it as she did the washing up in the kitchen or doing some gardening. I might have put down the song’s omnipresence to the aura in Juan and Titty’s house, but it also reverberated around Trinidad’s main square and followed me on the radio everywhere I went.

Still, my focus at the time was on Cuban music and I took every opportunity to shop in any town square I visited during my trip. It felt like I was the guy from the Buena Vista Social Club. I don’t know how many CDs I bought but, in collecting the superb local music, both old and new, I never availed myself of the chance to search out the song and singer that had so charmed my hosts in Trinidad.

On my way back to London, I had a four hour stop-over in Sao Paulo airport in Brazil and once again, in the airline lounge I was parked in, I heard the song come on. I said to myself, “I guess this is it. I’ve got to get it.” I asked the lady at the reception desk where I could find a CD store in the airport and she pointed me in the right direction. But even then, I didn’t know the singer’s name, so I had to sing the tune in the shop, much to the amusement of the shop assistant, who went and found me the CD. “Are you sure it’s her?” I asked, when he showed me. I could not believe it – maybe she’d done a cover, I thought. But the guy smiled at me and said, “Pretty sure, sir. That’s the one and only Laura Pausini. I also got you her first “Greatest Hits” with all her other songs, in case you’re interested.”

Needless to say, I got them all. She sounded so different in Spanish to me.

Then I discovered she also sang in Portuguese and French! Her number “Cuando se ama” with Gilberto Gil, an institution in Brazilian music, was absolutely amazing. And her list of duets goes on forever. It includes Michael

Buble, Celine Dion, and the late Luciano Pavarotti, to whom she dedicated her second Grammy award. She now has four under her belt. She’s also contributed to soundtracks like the song “One More Time” from the film Message in a Bottle with Kevin Costner and Robin Wright; and “The Power of One” from Pokemon 2000. The shy girl from Solarolo had made waves around the world, selling more than 70 million CDs world wide and captivating audiences everywhere since that US debut.

Back in London, my friend Marcello had another surprise for me – two tickets for Laura’s first concert at the Apollo Hammersmith. This time I was more easily persuaded. My reluctance diminished by the day as my curiosity about this artist grew.

I was completely won over on seeing the show. Laura, live on stage, was beautiful. She had a sophisticated, high-tech back projection that changed to match the mood of her numbers, but that was almost beside the point.

Her voice was exactly as you heard it on the CDs. I’ve been to many live performances here in London and I often have been disappointed because the singer’s voice suffers by comparison to the CD recordings. What is even more irritating, critics do not seem to care, almost as if they forget that concerts are about the singing, and not about all the often-confusing and distracting “production” surrounding it. But I put it down to a clash of cultures.

Maybe Italians, with their tradition of opera, like to hear, as well as a good melody, meaningful lyrics and a strong voice.

Laura is the definition of this musical approach. She sang beautifully all the way through, mixing her old hits with more recent tracks from her new album. She was on stage for almost two and a half hours, talking to her global audience in their own languages. It was simply amazing to see the variety of her fans reacting to her. The quality of her voice seemed to be enhanced as she moved with agility from one language to another.

“Amiche per l’Abruzzo concert”, left, Carmen Consoli, Elisa, Fiorella Mannoia, Laura Puasini, Giorgia.

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How could I have failed to appreciate such a beautiful and unique artist? And here I was thinking I knew so much about music! Was I a victim of the grass-is-always-greener syndrome, unable able to see what was in my own front yard?

I suppose my excuse is that living in another country does not make it particularly easy for me to stay up-to-date with what’s going on in my own country, but since the Apollo concert I have learned my lesson. While back in Italy I even got my niece hooked on the Pausini phenomenon.

She now keeps me up to date with the latest news about Laura. She even started to learn Spanish because she heard me singing along to the Spanish version of “Tra te e il mare”. one of my favourite hits of Laura’s. She stayed up all night (without her mother knowing) because she wanted to listen to the radio broadcast of the massive “Amiche per L’Abruzzo” concert that Laura organised a few years ago, bringing together 43 Italian female artists to raise funds in aid of the people of Abruzzo, who had been hit by a terrible earthquake.

When I got to ask Laura herself, how she had managed to get the performers to set aside all those personal rivalries you always get in that very competitive environment, she admitted it had been one of the most difficult projects of her life but also one that had given her the most satisfaction because, “to see the San Siro pitch,

where normally only Milan football teams play, packed with 60,000 people singing along was the best present our fans could ever have given us.”

They managed to raise 2,947,916 euros and last January they opened a new wing at Abruzzo’s Coppito University.

But Laura is not unused to new challenges and I asked her whether she had found it more difficult to sing in front of Pope John Paul II or Barbra Streisand. She described the emotion of singing for the Pope as “a life-time experience. He was a man of extraordinary charisma and it was a real honour for me”, even if sometimes she admits to not feeling fully in tune with Catholic policy on certain Laura with issues. I know she is referring here mainly to the Gianna Nannini Catholic Church’s attitude towards homosexuality. She has been quite outspoken about it, in fact.

“I think God is Love,” she says. “I was taught to respect everybody. That’s the kind of God I believe in.”

As for performing for Barbra, she said, “When I was invited to sing at her birthday party, it was the greatest accolade, to be recognised by one of the biggest singing legends. I will never forget that day.” She also adds she’ll never forget when Pavarotti invited her to sing with him on Pavarotti and Friends. “I miss him so much,” she says. “He was a very humble man despite his fame.” She dedicated her Grammy award for her album Io Canto to him. Io canto is a collection of covers of her favourite songs from different Italian singers.

Laura with Luciano Pavarotti

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COVER “I’ve been so lucky in my life”, she tells me. “I’m doing a job that’s beyond my wildest dreams.” The girl from Solarolo had only wanted to sing in a piano bar just to be near her father, who went around Italy performing with his group. Now she sings in front of thousands of fans every night.

Laura kicked off her new Inedito world tour on December 22, 2011 in Milan. The tour came after two-year break when she spent some needed down-time at home, enjoying the simple things of life with her family, and even catching up with some of her old school friends. She didn’t neglect her music and her fans, however, and now she ‘s back and ready to give her best as usual. “I want my fans to consider me as their friend and I’d like to think I can be a good role model for them.”

The show has been sold out everywhere and she’s had to add some extra dates. As for the team behind the show, Laura chose as director Marco Balish, who’ll be the executive producer for the Rio Olympics in 2016; as set designer, Mark Fisher, who has worked for Cirque du Soleil, Pink Floyd and U2 and as lighting designer, Patrick Woodroffe who has worked for the Rolling Stones, Depeche Mode and on the unfinished Michael Jackson show “This is It!” As for what Laura’s wearing on stage, that’s Italian sosphistaction at its best. Roberto Cavalli, who designed her costumes, said, “I have always admired her passion and the strength of her voice. She’s just like my style: energetic, positive and vibrant.”

Together with Andrea Bocelli (with whom she duetted with in “Vivere”), she is the top-selling Italian artist, with more than 70 million CDs sold worldwide. Artists such as Phil Collins and Madonna have written numbers for her. Tim Rice wrote the English lyrics for her first hit “La Solitudine” and on her last album before Inedito, she sang a duet with James Blunt on “La Primavera in Anticipo” (“You are My Early Spring”) which she won her fourth Grammy in 2009 for.

However, despite all these accomplishments, she is still practically unknown to the wider British audience. Of course, she doesn’t make for good tabloid material. She doesn’t come from a broken family. She hasn’t been forced to donate to charity the fee she got for giving a private concert to the son of a disgraced dictator, and she hasn’t been beaten up by any of her boyfriends.

Nor has she been claiming to be a reformed drug addict or been seen drunk coming out of a party. There is absolutely no scandal attached to her. But what is abundantly clear is she doesn’t need PR stunts to boost her record

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sales - her CDs sell in the millions, despite her not being constantly in the public eye.

How does that come about? A critic friend of mine suggested a possible answer when she said the UK has just started to discover Pausini as part of a new melodic revival that swept the Grammys recently in Los Angeles with Adele. About time I’d say! In a world facing serious challenges, and in view of the recent losses to the world of music, it has seemed only artists that are six feet under have been able to reverse the music industry’s falling sales.

Music must be able to reach people on all levels. An ethical and truthful role model that can cut across generation gaps and nationalities is a sign that audiences are getting tired of the “bad girl” style and want a more authentic, less preciously self-conscious approach.

Laura fits this bill extremely well, not only because she is an amazing performer, but because she has worked hard to reach her fans everywhere and in their own language. She is also always ready to help whenever a good cause needs her support. She has been involved in numerous charity projects involving children around the world. She even received a letter from Kofi Annan, the former UN Secretary General, thanking her for her contributions to UN-sponsored aid initiatives. These projects are not something she does with a lot of surrounding publicity. Her feeling is that actions speak louder than words.

For all her success, Laura insists she is still the same Emilia Romagna girl who’s just managed to make her impossible dream come true. It’s easy to believe her. When you talk to her, it is clear she has not lost that genuine, almost innocent sense of reality. Her dream is still the same as it always was, she tells me – to sing. In the beginning, she wanted to do it so she could follow her father, now it is her father who’s following her around the world!

Whenever she can, she invites him to sing with her on stage and the feeling, she assures me, has not changed a bit. “La Pausini”, as she is commonly referred to by Italians, has an authentic and real story – that of an unassuming singer who has grown into an unassuming superstar.

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Laura ends her European tour the 22nd of May at the Royal Albert Hall - London Uk. For other dates, check www.laurapausini.com.

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Which Way the Syrian Revolution?

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When ruthless violence is the last and only trump card of a brutal dictatorship, its longevity is limited. The iron fist is soon rendered impotent, if the will to resist it is greater than the horror it imposes. Thus it is not a question of if, but rather of when Bashar al Assad’s murderous regime will fall. The Syrian Army, security forces, and loyalist militias have, to date, killed more than ten thousand of their fellow citizens, and this is a conservative estimate. But quite clearly the death toll has not remotely dampened the call for liberation. On the contrary, each new victim of government repression seems to steel the Syrian resistance even further. “The Upper God” Bashar’s days are surely numbered. Whether he or his patrons in Moscow and Teheran grasp that yet is another matter.

But so many questions abound when we regard Syria’s blood-soaked struggle for freedom. Little seems certain apart from the likelihood of al Assad’s fall, sooner or later. The one constant is the fluidity, and in many regards the opacity, of the situation. What shape will change bring? How will it come about? Who will emerge as the true standard bearers of the Syrian Revolution? What will neighbouring powers with vested interests do after the fall of al Assad’s Alawite led regime? Will the revolution radicalise? Will there be a pogrom of the Alawites by the Sunni majority? Will the conflict spill over? Who speaks for the Syrian uprising?

Many different resistance organisations and would-be governments-inexile purporting to represent the Syrian people have emerged, making grandiose statements about unity, only to then bicker amongst themselves and inevitably splinter again into new factions. It almost borders on comic opera, were the situation on the ground not so grim.

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Beginning in Tunisia in late 2010 and spreading across the region in the following months, the extraordinary events of the Arab uprisings unfolded across the region in 2011 as the world watched, breathless. Dictators were either overthrown or acquiesced when their populations finally reared up and roared. While many of those countries have moved through a conflictive stage and on to the work of reorganising their societies, Syria, in particular, remains locked in a destructive and bloody fratricidal struggle with the ruling regime of Bashar al Assad. The outcome of that punishing conflict carries implications not only for the future of Syria, but is key for the entire Middle East. Chris Kline examines the haunting questions surrounding the uprising there.

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Bashar al-Assad

No central unifying figure or political organisation has come forward to lead the Syrian Revolution in a cohesive way. And yet the uprising has lost none of its momentum. It is impossible to deny the impact of what could be labelled “people power”: the cumulative and ongoing effect of spontaneous, grassroots resistance of every variety to al Assad’s regime, across the spectrum of Syrian society. Rather than one dissident captain leading rebellion, Syria has many.

Increasingly, however, in the context of armed resistance the spotlight is squarely on the Free Syrian Army, mostly still composed of disaffected members of the armed forces and perhaps numbering some 30,000 – though even its numerical strength is difficult to confirm and new volunteers flock to it every day. Even its very title is misleading; the FSA implies a cohesive, unified, disciplined guerrilla army under some sort of central command, sharing a common doctrine and clear strategic mission. But the FSA is not Tito’s Partisans, General Giap’s Viet Minh or Mao’s Red Army.

It is not an army in any sense at all. The FSA is an umbrella term for a host of loosely organised, poorly trained, severely under-equipped, uncoordinated guerrilla bands scattered in enclaves in a state of open insurrection across the country where the uprising has become a de facto civil war.

The FSA in Qseir or Idlib is not the same as Homs or Deraa or in the pockets of rebellion springing up in Damascus itself. A common thread is that the FSA is sorely lacking in weaponry and can only muster small arms and insufficient numbers of rocket launchers. In order to make up the shortfall (and having studied the lessons of Iraq and Afghanistan), the FSA has begun to adopt the Improvised Explosive Device or IED. This merely underscores the David-and-Goliath nature of the struggle against the might of a conventional military groaning with Russian firepower.

Still, despite the reverses it has suffered, the FSA seems here to stay. That it was able to launch a suicide mission in the heart of Damascus and engage in a brisk firefight literally on the street where two of al Assad’s most DANTEmag n.4

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senior security chiefs live is a sign of its daring, its growing capabilities and proof that the regime is not inviolate in its inner sanctum. That the FSA has also focused its efforts in attacking “clean” targets by storming headquarters and barracks of the security services, bringing war to the torturers and secret policemen of the regime brings them legitimacy, though emerging stories of summary executions carried out by the FSA detracts from this hope of ethical conduct in insurgent warfare.

As to who might be arming the FSA, speculation abounds that, covertly, the US, France, Israel, Saudi Arabia and Qatar have all had a hand. In the absence of proof, it’s difficult to point the finger. In another sense, though, it hardly matters. As with all insurgencies struggling against poor odds, arms supplies for the FSA are a question of practical necessity. Weapons are gladly accepted from friends, the black market, or the devil, and the provenance of arms during the fight seldom determines the loyalty of those who used them when the shooting stops. We need only consider Vietnam going to war with its Chinese benefactor only a few years after the fall of Saigon or the Taliban biting the US and Pakistani hands that once fed it. Indeed let’s not even forget that Al Qaida, in its most embryonic form, is in a large part a Western construct. The FSA will get its guns somehow and Syrians will do what Syrians want when the revolution is won, not what outside forces dictate or wish.

And who makes up the FSA in its sectarian character? On the whole the FSA is composed of moderate to conservative Sunni Muslims and its ranks so far do not seem to contain members of the sizable, Christian, Kurdish or Palestinian minorities. Among them are returned jihadists from the battlefields of Iraq, other homegrown adherents of the most extreme Salafi and Wahabbi Islamist camps, and a handful of foreign fighters with equally radical ideologies. But on the whole these make up a tiny minority. The bulk of the FSA are ordinary Sunnis, and outside of the armed resistance there are many Syrians championing the birth of a non-sectarian civil democracy, still calling for a peaceful resolution of the conflict, and advocating non-violent dissent.

But if the bloodshed continues on the same scale or worse, in a country where the tradition of vendetta is entrenched in the culture, there are no secure guarantees that the uprising will not radicalise, nor that the wholesale slaughter of the Alawites will not ensue.

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militants of Hezbollah, long under the patronage of both Damascus and Teheran? Up to now, Iran, while having provided logistical and organisational support to help al Assad better mastermind his crackdown, have stopped short of sending troops. But would that remain the case if al Assad’s overthrow seemed imminent? Even Turkey, which has strongly condemned the atrocities of the Syrian regime, is anxious over the fate of the Syrian Alawites, lest it spark unrest amongst its own considerable Alawite minority. The possibility of a larger Shia vs Sunni conflagration across the whole of the Middle East, is just one of the looming spectres of an ever more disintegrated Syria.

And there are yet more complexities. Early signs that the considerable Kurdish minority within Syria could demand greater autonomy in a post-Assad reality, will displease Turkey and Iran equally, as both nations contend with large, restive Kurdish minorities. Turkey has fought a bloody

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counter insurgency against Kurdish PKK guerrillas within its own borders since 1984. Moreover, the semi-autonomous Kurdish enclave in nearby Northern Iraq has long provoked Turkish ire. A greater measure of Kurdish empowerment, anything that brings the possibility of a true, independent Kurdistan to the fore, could readily trigger Turkish military intervention, even if that is a very remote possibility now. To be sure nobody in the Western alliance, after the fiasco of Iraq, the imminent retreat from Afghanistan and the uncertain result of intervention in Libya, has any stomach for military action in Syria (though of course, this reluctance is no guarantee of Syria remaining solely a Syrian problem).

On the diplomatic front, that al Assad has ostensibly accepted a UNbrokered peace proposal should not – if one can judge by history – be any cause for celebration. It should also be self-evident that a proposal in which al Assad remains in power is unfathomable to those who are uncompromisingly devoted to his downfall and are dying in the process of achieving it. One Middle East expert, speaking anonymously, who has studied the uprising since its outset, including clandestinely within Syria, stated bluntly: “You can’t negotiate with murderers and liars.”

Also speaking on condition of anonymity, another long-time Syria watcher contends: “From Colin Powell to John Kerry, through French diplomats and now to Kofi Annan, there is a legacy of Western diplomats returning from Damascus empty-handed. The Syrian regime has no history of delivering on its promises. The regime instead has a policy of using negotiations as a diversion while it continues to implement the policies it wants.”

So al Assad, playing the humane, paternal, benevolent leader of the Syrian people, visits Homs after his army has flattened it and offers hollow pledges of cosmetic political reform while the slaughter of his own people continues unabated. On the surface, it would seem that the one thing the UN has truly achieved in Syria is an ongoing series of meaningless press conferences. The Syrian debacle goes on. The human cost of Syria’s freedom will stay high with much more killing and suffering to follow. The ultimate downfall of the dictatorship is almost certain. The true face of the aftermath of revolution is uncertain and the pathway to peace is fraught with multiple dangers. Syria’s future is not yet cast in stone, but the story is still being daily written in blood.

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The forgotten victims of conflict

By Joseph Mayton

When the tide of war washes over a country, the world’s attention focuses on the drama of battle, the sweep of geopolitical manoeuvres, the showy posturing of politicians who claim to seek peace. But the real, long-term impact of war can be found in the wounded minds and hearts of the children left in its wake. If we truly seek peace, we would do well to turn our attention to them.

In them we may have created the wars to come.

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CAIRO—It is early morning in Egypt’s capital and the sun is only beginning to peek over the satellite dishes strewn across the rooftops of the massive urban sprawl that is Cairo. The cries from the adjacent room are biting. Mahmoud Gaber moves to the door, props his head to one side and listens. Inside, the cries of a young boy are heard, the unmistakeable whimpering of a 7-year-old boy.

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POLITCS “This happens almost everyday,” Gaber confides, pouring tea into our cups as he points to two framed pictures hanging on the wall. “That is Ahmed in the other room, and that is Mahmoud, my first son.”

His looks at the ground. Words do not come. He waits, wiping a few tears that have formed. He has the eyes of a man who does not sleep much.

Mahmoud continues slowly, telling of the day his son Mahmoud was shot and killed by Egyptian police.

“He was out on the street, going to get food,” Mahmoud continues, recounting that horrific day, January 31, 2011. It was at the height of the Egyptian uprising that eventually ousted former President Hosni Mubarak. “We were all watching him from the balcony,” Mahmoud says, motioning me over to the small balcony which is barely large enough for two people to stand on.

“Ahmed was watching that day and I came just as I heard the gun shots.

When I got to the balcony, Ahmed was shaking. When I looked down to the street below, I saw Mahmoud on the ground. He was bleeding. I ran to him, but it was too late. He was dead. Shot by Mubarak,” he ends angrily.

As he is explaining that fateful day, young Ahmed emerges from his room, asking for something to drink. He moves slowly to the one bathroom down the small hall, still lined with images of Mahmoud.

“Ahmed struggles with the violence he saw during the uprising and seeing his brother shot and killed right in front of him. I have taken him to a doctor, but it is too expensive for us to have the treatment, so we watch over him daily and hope he will get better,” the father says.

Ahmed returns to the room, turns on the small television set and watches the Arabic cartoons that are part of his daily routine before school. He is a small boy, but otherwise outwardly normal. He jokes about Spongebob Squarepants and laughs at a few of the jokes. His father says this is a good day, better than yesterday.

“He just cried and tried to hit me and his mother over and over, demanding that Mahmoud come and play with him. It is sad to watch, but I know a few other families going through similar experiences. We don’t know what to do,” Mahmoud adds.

In Egypt, where approximately 1,000 people were killed in the 18 days of uprising in January and February 2011, the psychological effects of murders carried out by the Egyptian police are still present, their wounds still open and affecting many people on a daily basis.

Unfortunately, there is little the Gaber family and others are able to do to assist their loved ones through the troubling aftermath of dealing with a family member’s death. The current government has allocated funds for families of those who were killed during the uprising, but as Mahmoud says, “it’s

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POLITCS barely enough to survive on a daily basis. And then there is Ahmed; what are we supposed to do with him? He needs help.”

Going to therapy in Egypt is a tricky endeavour. Social norms still posit that seeing a therapist is akin to telling the world you have a problem, much as it was in the United States decades ago. For Egyptians, the stigma surrounding psychiatry remains strong, and many families stay away out of a sense of honour.

Noha Bassiouny is a Cairo-based psychologist. She sees patients on a daily basis for a full range of ailments, “but most of them are simply depressed,” she says. A middle-aged woman who graduated from UCLA and has been working in the field for over two decades, Bassiouny feels the uprising and subsequent violence has left a scar on Egyptian and Arab societies as a whole. There need to be outlets for families to grieve and move past what they witnessed and what they experienced, she argues.

“Look at all the children in this country, in Tunisia and Libya and elsewhere.

I wonder what is going to happen to them and how are they going to deal with the trauma that they witnessed and what they are feeling?” she asks, putting her cup of coffee on the table and moving to the window, pointing down at the street below.

There, on Mohamed Mahmoud Street in central Cairo, a massive white stone wall remains erected in the middle of the road, forcing both vehicles and pedestrians to find alternative routes. Bassiouny sees the walls being built by the military as a symbol of the barriers facing Egyptians.

“We always want things to be stable, but the way Egyptians and Arabs for so long have dealt with these matters in the mind is to put up barriers and create a way of thinking that avoids dealing with the problems. This causes an inability to function and understand that the problems we have are normal,” she continues. “Children like Ahmed need to be able to come to a doctor and talk about what is happening in their mind and what they are thinking.

If they don’t, it will be a struggle that will affect everyone around them and continue to create problems for the children and the families.”

She is optimistic that change can happen, but it will take more effort by Egyptians and those in other conflict-affected areas to overcome the stigma of seeking therapy and admitting they are not well. “If they can do this, I see a bright future going forward for the Arab world.”

It is not just Egypt that struggles with conflict-related trauma. In Tunisia, Gaza, Lebanon and elsewhere, families struggle to understand what has happened and deal with these issues.

Lebanon 2006 With nothing left of his home, Wael looks on without as much as a glance at

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his neighbours passing by. It is late August 2006 in the city of Tyre in southern Lebanon, where an Israeli bombing campaign has left more than one thousand dead and tens of thousands of others homeless. The 10-year-old boy’s home has been destroyed in one of Israel’s many attacks, but at first glance the boy seems unfazed. Wael gets up and walks over to where a group of men are standing, arguing. Their faces wrinkle with frustration and deep anger at the devastating effects of war.

“I want to grow up and be a resistance fighter in Hezbollah and kill Jews and Americans,” the little boy tells them. Wael is angry, scared and determined to have his revenge.

Fast forward three years. Wael’s tone has quietened somewhat, but the images of war and death continue to rack his mind.

“I see my friends and family all the time. The image of their bodies lying dead on the ground is still with me and I don’t know what to do,” he admitted in a phone conversation.

Wael’s story is one that can be taken to Gaza, to Afghanistan and across the war-torn regions of the world.

Children are suffering.

“Children are the first victims in any conflict and this was no different here in Lebanon,” said Dr. Ali Eid, a child psychologist in Beirut who worked extensively with children in the south during and after the war.

Eid believes that it is through children that the true impact of war is understood. He argues that because in Lebanon there has been a huge surge of support for Hezbollah among children who had their homes bombed, the prospects of another war have not been erased, even three years later.

“When children become the victims, their entire world is thrown aside. They don’t know how to deal with who they are. No longer can they simply go and play. Where is there to play when their homes are gone and their friends are dead?” Eid continues.

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groups in the country, the majority of those killed were women and children. Almost one million Lebanese were displaced by the Israeli bombings.

Dan Halutz, Lieutenant General and Chief of Staff in charge of the Israeli attack on Lebanon said at the time that the “war would turn back the clock on Lebanon 20 years.”

In a sense Israel has achieved this goal. Over 500 children were killed in the course of the war, leaving part of a generation dead. Among the Shiite populations in Lebanon, especially in the south, it is difficult to find anyone who doesn’t know someone who was killed or wounded by the war.

“These kids will grow up believing that Israel is the enemy and that the Jewish state must be destroyed. They will look around and ask, ‘Where is my friend I used to play with?’ and they will realise that their friends are dead,” Eid added.

As thousands returned to their homes - or what was left of them - in the autumn of 2006, children turned to their parents and asked where their homes had gone.

“I want to tell my boy the truth, but I fear that he will grow up to hate Israelis and that is not right,” Rawwad Youssif said in Sidon as he was taking his family back to their village near Tyre.

Today, Lebanon is fraught with uncertainty and upheaval. Reconstruction continues and both Hezbollah and the government have promised over and over that economic assistance will be readily available to those who need it. But what Youssif and others believe is truly needed is the healing of the younger generation.

“I think it is time we sat down with our children and talked to them about the importance of peace,” Youssif said.

Peace is a tough question in a country starkly divided by beliefs.

“I always tell people that here in Beirut people put on a face. When they speak, they tell people what they want to hear, not what really is on their mind,” said Nazir Ghanem, Project Officer at the Forum for Development, Culture and Dialogue.

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“But in the privacy of their homes, they talk to their families about how much they don’t like this group or that group in the country,” he continued.

Lebanon has witnessed a war almost every five years since 1975, leaving much of the population in constant state of fear. The lack of trust that exists between one group and another resonates within a child’s psyche, Eid points out. He believes that all the wars Lebanon has experienced have led to a culture of violence and hate.

“We need to re-educate our children so they don’t keep thinking of the images of war and death. We need to grow into a country that puts life first,” he continued. “If we don’t do this our future generations will join resistance groups and continue to fight Israel, America, and ourselves.”

This will surely prove a difficult task. Wael, the young boy who saw his house destroyed by an Israeli bomb, goes to sleep every night with those images of death fresh in his mind.

“I wake up and I run to my mummy and I don’t know why I keep seeing my friends. They are all dead,” he says. “I just want to go out and play.”

“If children aren’t able to play and live in happiness, it is difficult to see a future free of violence and destruction,” Eid fears.

“We are a Mediterranean country and that means that we love our families and cherish those around us,” says Ghanem. “But if our children are constantly in a state of fear of going out, or even being at home, they will grow up with the fear that leads to violence and hate.”

Healing the Youth Other parts of the region - Gaza, Iraq, Afghanistan - have been hit hard by violence. And the effects on the children are evident at every turn. Columbia Professor Michael Wessels has been working in countries struggling to cope with the aftermath of violence. He believes there is much that can be achieved for the better.

Wessels, who has worked in a number of post-war societies, including Gaza and Afghanistan, says that identifying those in need is the most important first step toward implementing a strategy to help children cope with what they have witnessed.

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“Not all children need therapy, and in many contexts, Western style therapy is very inappropriate. Particularly unhelpful is individual psychotherapy,” he says.

“Most conflicts occur in collectivist societies where people place the good of the group above that of themselves. To do individual therapy or other helping stigmatises them and makes their situation worse.”

He says that a lot of outside observers tend to believe that the major sources of distress are the attacks and death witnessed. “Yet, when you actually talk with children, they say their biggest issues are insecurity, lack of education, overcrowding (particularly in refugee camps), not having a job, etc. Social interventions are needed to address these.”

As a psychologist on the ground, Wessels says that throughout his work, he has noticed that all societies and cultures have “indigenous supports that may be more appropriate, effective, and sustainable than outsider therapies.”

He points to Angola, a country teeming with former child soldiers. “Formerly recruited children said they needed to be treated by a local healer who could ritually cleanse them of their impurity,” he says. Wessel points out that these methods may appear odd in the face of traditional Western psychotherapy. “But such rituals are often very important for regaining social acceptance in rural areas of sub-Saharan Africa.”

Violence creates more violent societies One of the detrimental changes in societies struggling to cope with a violent past is how it tends to create a present culture of violence. Wessels, who has seen this first hand, says that if too little attention is given to supporting “war-affected young people, there is a danger they will turn to violence and crime to meet their basic needs.”

Recent United Nations reports indicate that children who are not given proper treatment will more than likely grow up to perpetuate violent patterns themselves. One UNICEF official, who asked to remain anonymous due to the security restrictions at his current location, said that he has seen this, first hand, in Kashmir, Gaza, Sudan, Afghanistan and other war-torn regions.

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“If these people do not receive proper attention, often professional help, they grow up to think violence is okay, or at least a means to solve problems,” he said. “So it is important to look at what can be done.”

Wessels agrees, arguing that support must range from “family tracing and reintegration, family mediation, adult mentoring, catch-up education, vocational training, income generation, spiritual cleansing where appropriate, child protection and youth peace building.”

One of the difficulties of addressing much of this is the narrow approach by a number of Western psychologists, who believe their methods are suitable for non-Western traditions.

“Counselling or other Western approaches may be needed, but only for a small percentage. As I said, indigenous approaches may be more appropriate,” Wessels continues.

A generation haunted by violence In Al Arish, Egypt, some 30 minutes from the Gaza border, children are quick to turn their heads at the sound of a loud bang. That’s thanks to Egypt’s close proximity to Israel’s bombing campaign aimed at Hamas in December 2008 and January 2009. Bombs landed inside the Egyptian border, targeting the growing number of smugglers’ tunnels linking Egypt to Gaza.

Ahmed, an 8-year-old boy remembers the first night. The bombings grew so loud he had to put his head under three pillows.

“I heard a crashing sound. It felt like somebody was shaking our house. When I looked out I heard the big boom when the bomb hit the ground. I was so scared,” he recounts. “Now, when I hear something on the street, or in the air, I get scared even more because I don’t want it to happen again.”

The boy understands the reason for his fear, but still feels he has no control over whether the bombs will start again. “I don’t know what to do. My mum and dad tell me it’s okay, we are safe, but I don’t believe them. Not after what happened. I had to hide under my blankets and pillows to get away.”

A number of local non-governmental organizations in Egypt are helping to address the psychological impact of the recent war in Gaza on children like Ahmed. He says the doctors are helping him understand his fear and insecurity, but as with children from Afghanistan to Angola, the violence continues to haunt him, even if the war has ended.

“I just want to go play and have fun with my friends. I like football so it is hard to play when I hear those noises. But I know I can get better,” he adds.

Time will tell if the healing powers of the youth in the world will manifest themselves, or if the violence brought on by siege and war will forever determine their future.

Ahmed’s father, Mohamed, believes in peace and what he calls the “goodness of people.” He wants the international community to address these issues “before more children, in much worse situations than my boy, are forced to be put through this kind of violence.

“I already see him getting angrier more often. He yells and pushes more than before the war and the bombings. We are all very worried about him and about our brothers and sisters in Gaza.”

A new generation of trauma Back in Cairo, one year on from revolution, the struggle for the Gaber family continues. Young Ahmed has good days and bad days, but the sound of tear gas and gun shots, common in the country this past autumn and winter, leave the child squirming. His father, Mahmoud, says that Egypt must move to a new future, have a new revolution. “Young kids like Ahmed have been through enough, but little has changed.”

He says Ahmed has been given some money by a wealthy family friend to attend a new grassroots initiative started by community members to help the younger generation cope with the stress of what they have witnessed.

“I just hope it is enough to deal with what he has felt. I know we all face struggles over the violence, so we’ll see in the near future what comes of this country,” he adds.

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The Feeling of Being German The rising generation in Germany is now as much as four generations removed from the Nazi era. Their parents were born after the war, their grandparents were still young during the war. Today’s young Germans arguably identify as Europeans as no generation before them has. Yet the legacy of National Socialism continues to weigh on their consciousness. Antonia Bruns ruminates on this and the possibility of a new, positive, 21st-century German pride.

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Opera in Frankfurt

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The question comes unexpectedly. My friends and I are sitting in one of those rustic student bars in the old town of Santiago de Compostela, drinking tinto de verano with oily patatas bravas and trying to have a conversation in a room full of chatting students. This is when my Portuguese friend Inês asks me: “What does it mean to you to be German?” I almost choked on my hot potato. Later I reflected that this was an answer of sorts: I was too surprised by the question. I never had thought about it seriously before.

For me, it was a matter of simple fact that I’d grown up in Germany, that I had a German passport - but that was about it. I looked around the tapas-and-wine-glass-covered table to the rest of our international student group. Esteve from Gerona, for instance. When he talks about his home, I can hear his pride in being Catalan in every sentence. My friend Elodie from Lyon is clearly French - and not only because she tells us that she DANTEmag n.4

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is missing her beloved pain au chocolat every morning. And there is Inês’ portuguese soul feeling at home only in Lisbon. So what about me? “Je viens d’Allemagne,” I introduce myself in France. “Soy de Alemania,” I explain in Spain, “Sono di Germania,” I learn to say in my Italian language course.

And I greet other Germans with “Ich komme auch aus Deutschland.” But couldn’t I say as easily that I’m from Norway or from Switzerland or from Croatia in the same way? It would probably sound more natural, and there wouldn’t be this almost apologetic undertone while saying “I’m from Germany” (and often thinking: “Sorry, I can’t help it”). Why is that so?

Finally swallowing my (still too hot) potato, I think about the reasons for the strange distance I feel toward my home country. Could it be my education?

Let’s have a closer look at it. After World War II (I knew I would have to mention it - which strikes me as significant), the Germans couldn’t be proud of their country anymore. While other nations had the right to criticise, to accuse, the Germans kept silent. The traumatic experience of National Socialism runs too deep and is passed on from generation to generation.

As a pupil in primary school, I learned about World War II over the course of several years of history lessons. We organised exchange projects with a Polish school and visited concentration camps. I have to admit I was so filled up with horrible videos, books and contemporary witness reports that at some point, I couldn’t hear the word “Holocaust” anymore. Even so, the uncomfortable feeling of being born in a country which had perpetrated this horror remained.

It is a kind of birth heritage. I mean, strictly speaking, when all this happened, my grandparents were younger than I am now. Yes, I can try to understand. I can learn from the past. I can try to make sure that fascism and nationalism will never gain power again. But I can’t feel guilty for something neither my parents nor my grandparents are responsible for.

Nevertheless, the ghost of the German past still haunts people. During a student exchange with a French school, for instance, my class was received with homemade posters on the topic “What comes to my mind when I think about Germany?” The majority of them showed painted swastikas. How can I develop a normal, healthy national pride under these circumstances? How can I learn to feel good about my German nationality when a Korean taxi driver greets me with “Heil Hitler?” (No, it is not funny to make such jokes in front of German people - this might be one reason Germans are stereotyped as humourless.) When I think of Spain, my first idea isn’t the Franco era, and when I meet a Chinese person, I don’t automatically think of the Mao regime. If this war-era view of Germany still persists, as it appears to me it does, how can it mean something to me to be German, something that I can embrace with pride?

I sip at my tinto de verano and remember the FIFA World Cup 2006 in Germany. My experiences in other countries, as well as my training to not to be proud of my home country, impacted me to such an extent that I really felt queasy every time the German team played, and thousands of fans DANTEmag n.4

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waved the German flag out of their car windows. The well-studied dangers of nationalism automatically came to my mind. On reflection I realised that the sign of support for the German team was in fact an act of liberation - a turning point for a new, positive German identification. Nevertheless, it still feels weird to imagine German flags in every front garden, as with Danish flags in Denmark, greeting people passing by; or like the star-spangled banner, present in every classroom in US schools. In today’s Germany, flag waving only goes with football championships.

But wouldn’t there be reasons to euphorically wave the German flag even between World Cup tournaments? What about reunification in 1990? Or the deep heritage of high culture in Germany with, just as one example, its unparalleled orchestra landscape of 133 professional symphony and chamber orchestras? Or Germany’s important role in the European Union (more on that later), its inner stability in times of economic and financial crisis?

And yet even after considering all this, the sentence “I’m proud to be a German” sounds uncomfortable to my ears. Neither am I very happy when I meet other Germans in a foreign country. I have to admit that sometimes, I want to deny my origins, so as not to be just another one of these travelmad Germans found all over the world. How should I feel then when I apparently have a problem with my “German-ness”? Should I think of myself as European? It is natural for me to go to a French boulangerie and ask for a “sandwich” when I want to have a baguette with toppings. I love to dance and sing to folk music in Galician bars. The languages I speak have become part of me and are not “foreign” anymore. Am I perhaps a cosmopolitan because I host people from all around the world, am able to feel at home even on the other side of the planet, and have Canadians and Australians among my facebook friends? Maybe.

Opening of Oktoberfest

On the other hand, I can’t ignore my origins. I love listening to German Christmas songs and finding chocolate-filled boots on St. Nicholas’ Day. No, I simply can’t come late to meetings and make others wait, even if that means that I have to wait for them for half an hour. And, yes, I like Apfelschorle (to brush up on your German: that’s apple juice mixed with acidulated mineral water) and Kassler mit Sauerkraut (smoked pork chop with sauerkraut), though, interestingly, I had to live a year in a foreign country to discover it. Before I went to live abroad, it was normal for me to listen to The Three Investigators radio plays with my brothers, to drive on toll-free highways without speed limit, and to have the choice of three orchestras at university. Could it be that – even if I might not be especially proud of my German nationality – I feel really good with my German culture and traditions? The longer I travel through Europe, the more I live with other cultures, the more I actually feel German. Which doesn’t, however, mean I like drinking beer or would ever wear a dirndl.

One day I might develop a normal German national pride, without the burden of historical anxieties, and manage to fully identify with my home country as Inês does with Portugal. Suddenly I become aware that she’s still DANTEmag n.4

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The Berlin Philharmonic Concert Hall

waiting for my conclusion. “Well”, I start, noticing at the same time that there is no more wine in my glass, “when I have a look at our international student group, at the way our generation copes naturally with our globalised world, I wonder whether the strong bond to a certain nation is still necessary. As far as I’m concerned, I feel like more of a European than I do part of a specific country. Maybe that’s kind of a modern phenomenon, an answer to recent processes in Europe and the world.”

image had finally shifted from the sinner to the saviour of Europe, and this could be more than just a simple German ego booster. Here again the fear of growing nationalism stirs, provoked by crude phrases like “Now Europe is speaking German,” from CDU parliamentary group leader Volker Kauder (not very well framed, if I’m allowed to criticise), and by the news of the latest neo-Nazi scandal in Zwickau. No wonder some Europeans look suspiciously at Germany.

I lean back and watch the stocky waiter bringing tapas to the table next to us. But Inês doesn’t let up. “So,” she presses, “even if you’re not especially proud of your national identity, don’t you think that the situation of Germany in the economic crisis stirs nationalistic feelings?” That Portuguese girl apparently likes hard questions.

But the nascent fear of German nationalistic tendencies is quite far-fetched in my opinion. First, I don’t feel much social resentment. People in Germany are still not affected by the crisis in their daily lives when compared to other European countries. The social welfare state seems to work more or less, and the German economy is running confidently. Roughly speaking, for most Germans I know, the economic crisis is still something passing in the news, a matter of politicians, not a real threat yet. My government scholarship, for instance, was increased last year. In contrast, the European grant for my master’s programme was cancelled. Second, the Germans, in my

I have to admit that, yes, it is possible that the reserved attitude of many Germans toward their home country could change because of the new leading role Germany is taking in Europe at the moment. It is as if Germany’s DANTEmag n.4

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Great St. Martin Church, Cologne

Inside Reichstag building.

observation, do not make knee-jerk denunciations of government spending and financial aid as a disproportionate burden. It might be because of its history that Germany feels obliged to show solidarity with European partners, as it received help from others after the war as well. As long as government spending doesn’t impair the German standard of living, the act of sending money to Greece saves one’s conscience, a bit like donating to charities at Christmas.

Of course, Germany can’t compensate for its European neighbours and overlook waste and corruption forever. And sooner or later, the crisis will reach German front doors as well. That’s when we should look at the common feeling of the Germans again. I’m sure that they won’t accept a 20-30% reduction in living standards due to redistribution of income in Europe. There will be some who develop nationalistic tendencies and want to blame someone, be it Italy or Portugal or Greece or Ireland. But I’m convinced that this will be less than would be the case in other countries. For the moment, the Germans are just starting to worry about where they will

end up. Real estate prices are exploding and, I am also asking: What about the money I put aside? Do I have to plan a world trip right now before the euro loses half of its value? What about my European Master’s degree? Will it be worthless in a couple of years?

The secure feeling I still have when I walk around the streets in Germany dissipates completely when I look at my future in Europe as a whole. I am not assured that the feeling of a European identity of my generation did really arrive in the European Union. It appears that rather the idea of a united Europe exists as long as everything works out well and breaks apart when it comes to national interests. At any rate, the crisis will show if Europe is able to act in concert and think as Pan-Europeans, or if the “European mind” is just an empty shell.

Inês wants to order more tinto de verano and patatas bravas now. I’m definitely in.

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“Walking through the doors of Grand Café & Rooms in Plettenberg Bay for the very first time reminds me of my worldly travels. The ‘Grand Dame’ immediately captures an emotion within”.

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his is how Suzette Main, the proprietor of Grand Café, Rooms & Beach felt just over seven years ago when she first ventured into the Grand.

Through the award winning ‘Grand Dame’s ‘ Indian wooden doors, guests enter a world of discreet escapism where a sense of decadence and worldly charm reflects upon its setting over one of Africa’s most beautiful marine bays. Suzette then took the vision of the brand to Camps Bay; the “Miami Mile” of Cape Town, establishing the ‘Shameless Showgirl,’ Grand Café & Room, overlooking a magnificent beach as a grand new destination for ocean side dining in Cape Town. Crimson red roses adorn the tables and copper topped bars, aged candlesticks set the tone; while polished glassware and white crockery decorated with the Grand angel wings, showcase trusted and classic signature dishes.

Grand Room accommodates two guests in true Grand style with 24 hour butler service, concierge, private access, designated parking & probably one of the largest ‘mini bars’ in the world. It offers our signature style King size bed with fine Italian linen from the Hall Collection, an en suite bathroom with a double slipper copper bath and shower and a bespoke vinothèque. Grand Room is also perfect for hosting private dinners and parties.

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Her Grand concept where boho-chic meets retro-romance fit for the worldly traveller, a new trendsetting Grand Café & Beach, the only one of its kind in Africa, was created in late 2009 in Granger Bay, Cape Town, close to the V&A Waterfront and silhouetted by the World Cup 2010 Stadium.

At Grand Café & Beach, the ‘Beach Boy’ exterior of the old warehouse has been retained while a sun-deck and beach area have been extended to the water’s edge; offering a new lifestyle destination for any international and local traveller. During construction, all efforts were taken to ensure that a green approach was maintained, including sustainable timber used in the outside deck, use of textured eco‐friendly paint, enhancement of the original building’s look & feel and even using environmentally sound beach sand.

“What defines the Grand philosophy for me is where grand-chic meets retro-romance fit for the worldly traveller & diner. Revelling in the triumph of authenticity, the Grand has grasped the notion that: no-one knows how much love can be held by humankind”.

“It is an eclectic collection of boho–chic nuances that encourage a free spirited attitude to Café life – a romantic fusion of French and African flair with eccentricity and honesty.”

Africa A grand Rose by any other name - 'Boadicea' A new name in lifestyle shopping !

The name 'Boadicea' was inspired by the mighty Boadicea, a woman of great power and passion – an Empress warrior. The Grand Gallery Boadicea is a lifestyle concept within the Café and Beach brand conceived by two inspiring women, Suzette Main and Jane Lello.

Friends and business partners, both passionate and energetic; Suzette and Jane have embarked on creating a Grand Gallery Boadicea, an extension of the Grand brand, which is an expression of their collective passions for beautiful objects and art sourced throughout their worldly travels.

The theme of the Gallery stems from the Café & Beach concept of a resort feel with a splash of indulgence, while the eye catching merchandise tantalises the diner. Stock purchased in South Africa and abroad rotates with demand, offering a selection of beautiful items available to the Grand Gallery Boadicea.

GRAND CAFÉ & ROOMS: PLETTENBERG BAY concierge@GrandAfrica.co.za TEL: +27 (0) 44 533 3301 GRAND CAFÉ & ROOM: CAMPS BAY CAPE TOWN reservations@GrandAfrica.co.za TEL: +27 (0) 21 438 4253 GRAND CAFÉ & BEACH: GRANGER BAY CAPE TOWN beach@GrandAfrica.co.za TEL: +27 (0) 21 425 0551 SMS: +27 (0) 72 586 2052 GRAND GALLERY BOADICEA: GRANGER BAY CAPE TOWN info@GrandGallery.co.za TEL: +27 (0) 21 425 0164 WWW.GRANDAFRICA.CO.ZA

From an exclusively Grand branded Bath & Body collection to an assortment of French styled soaps and community handmade key rings, to silver candelabras, there is something for all.

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Nigeria through new eyes

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BUSINESS Lagos city aerial view

Admit it - most of what you know about Nigeria may have come from that email you got offering you big money if you’d just let a Nigerian politician park his millions in your bank account for a while. If so, what Nigel Parsons recounts might surprise you. Nigeria, it seems, has been quietly booming for some time now.

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Nigeria’s reputation precedes it: rampant violence, endemic corruption, internet fraud, extremes of wealth and poverty, and an HIV crisis out of control are among some of the images that seem to surface when Africa’s most populous nation is talked about. The country definitely has an image problem.

Turn the lens around, however, and look through it from the other way - from Nigeria itself - and this image becomes distorted and out-of-date.

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Nollywood Studios

As soon as you step off the airplane at Lagos’ Murtala Mohammed International Airport in Lagos (named after a military ruler assassinated in 1976) the vibrancy of this sprawling city hits you as much as the heat and humidity.

Some of the recent history of the airport itself could almost serve as an analogy for that of the wider city. As recently as 2000, the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration was warning that Lagos airport security did not meet minimum standards. Passengers were subject to harassment by criminal gangs both inside and outside the terminal buildings, and aircraft taxi-ing on the runways were being hijacked and their cargo offloaded.

Then a shoot-to-kill policy was introduced following democratic elections in 1999. The violence dropped, the airport buildings were improved, baggage beltways were repaired, and today it is no better, but no worse, than any number of international airports across the developing world. It feels safe, not threatening, the people relaxed and smiling – even if you wouldn’t be DANTEmag n.4

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advised to get into a taxi with a driver you don’t know.

Lagos itself is a vast, sprawling city of around 17 million people, with more arriving every day, drawn like metal filings to the magnet of the Southwest’s booming economy and bright lights.

Just like in any city this size, there are some places you go, and some you don’t, especially at night. Most of us wouldn’t wander around waiting to get mugged in somewhere like unlit tower blocks and the back streets of London. or the gloomy banlieues of Paris, or some of the seedier suburbs of Naples.

But elsewhere, streets lined with fashionable boutiques thrum to the beat of naija, as Nigerians from the acknowledged capital of African hiphop indulge their favourite pastime. In the ex-pat havens of Ikoyi and Victoria Island, young upwardly mobile professionals from Nigeria’s burgeoning middle

class relax in trendy cafes and restaurants. On the more recently reclaimed island of Lekki, row upon row of neat, new family homes stand as proof of the prosperity to be had, as orderly children in immaculate uniforms make their way to school.

From here, gazing back at the unelected, banker/French/German-sponsored governments sprouting up along the shores of Southern Europe, Nigeria can look pretty rosy.

While Presidents Merkel and Sarkhozy grapple with bankrupt states, ratings agencies, and re-writing the rules of the EU, Nigeria’s President Goodluck Jonathan, winner of the popular vote last April in elections widely seen as generally fair and violence-free, is living up to his name. He has presided over a period of unprecedented economic growth. Finance Minister Olusegun Aganga has predicted double-digit growth of 12% per annum in early 2012 – outdoing even the new Asian giants of China and India.

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Economic reforms over the past decade have put Nigeria’s economy back on track. It now trails only South Africa in the sub-Saharan continent and is poised to take pole position on current performance. Countries like China, India, Turkey, France, Germany and the U.K. are among those falling all over themselves in the rush to get a slice of the action.

It’s not just the oil – Nigeria accounts for only a little over 3% of world production, pumping out just over 2 million barrels a day. The country also boasts well-developed financial, legal, communications and entertainment sectors. The “Nollywood” movie industry astonishingly churns out more than two thousand films a year in a USD $500-million-a-year business which means there’s always something new to see in the Lagos cinemas.

More statistics: in the past ten years GDP per capita is estimated to have grown from USD $1,500 per year to something closer to USD $3,500 today, while the number of mobile phone users has risen to 90 million, around 65% of the population.

There’s a mood that things are moving in the right direction. This is reflected in the energetic optimism of the new middle classes – their numbers further boosted by a growing influx of “returnees,” ex-patriot Nigerians from among the world-wide diaspora, coming back to the homeland to take advantage of the business opportunities.

But there are some dark clouds. Half of Nigeria’s estimated 160 million people still live in crushing poverty, while a population explosion means high economic growth rates are going to be needed for some time to come. The United Nations predicts Nigeria’s population to hit around 400 million by DANTEmag n.4

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2050.

And while Nigeria has been slowly creeping up the global corruption league table – now ranked only joint 143rd worst on the list out of 182 – most Nigerians betray a weary resignation to corruption continuing in all areas of life, especially public life. Vast energy revenues have simply disappeared, leaving in their wake crumbling roads choked with traffic, vehicles belching

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Central Bank

National Theatre - Lagos

out the lowest octane fumes you can find. The road and rail infrastructures simply can’t cope. Fresh water is in short supply, while Lagos suffers daily blackouts, making back-up generators essential household items. At the edge of the city, the power supply just stops. Anti-corruption campaigns and initiatives are a constant theme of government, but no one is holding their breath and expecting the problem to disappear over night.

The pervasive corruption played a major part in the general strike of January of this year, which brought the country to a standstill for a week. Whoever President Jonathan was listening to when he abolished fuel subsidies on January 1, it was the wrong people.

Fuel subsidies exist in Nigeria because only one of the country’s five oil refineries is working – and that one, only partially. So the oil pumped out of the Delta region at huge environmental and human cost (oil companies behave in Nigeria in a manner that would never be tolerated in Europe) is then

exported for refining, and re-imported, in the process becoming unaffordable for most people – hence the need for a subsidy. And bear in mind, petrol in Nigeria is not just for your car. It’s also for the generator that is necessary to keep your house lights, television, fridge, etc. working because someone has stolen all the infrastructure money which the oil should have paid for.

On top of that, the country re-imports much more refined fuel than it needs. The (subsidised) excess is then smuggled across the border to Ghana and elsewhere, and sold at a huge profit. More corruption. The removal of the fuel subsidy would have killed this business overnight, but President Jonathan misjudged the rage that an overnight doubling of fuel prices would provoke in his people. It wasn’t just about the money, although the economic knock-on was crippling enough. It was also a venting of the massive public frustration with the way they know they are being cheated, day in, day out.

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BUSINESS The strike ended after a week, in a messy compromise that was more a testimony to the fact the most Nigerians wanted to move on, work and improve their lot, than spend their lives on strike. But the root problem has just been temporarily swept under the carpet; it hasn’t been solved. The public anger at the gross unfairness of Nigerian society is still there and will undoubtedly re-surface at some point.

High crime levels also persist, with international drug smuggling and cyber crimes posing particular problems, along with a murder rate that is still significantly higher than that of the United States. It’s with good reason that most visitors remain apprehensive about personal security.

For example, the Lagos newspaper, Punch, reported in November 2011 the case of a shaken British citizen, Khomeini Bhukari, who said he’d been relieved of 200,000 naira (about USD $1,250) and a Breitling watch by two policemen in a park in the capital Abuja after dark. A regular visitor to Nigeria, Mr Bhukari said he’d noted the officers’ names and reported them, but the police found no record of their names on staff rolls. Mr Bhukari declared himself “appalled” at the lack of security, even if you have to wonder what he was doing wandering around after dark with that kind of money, wearing

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But compare that to the Nigerian student, Akinola Olufeni, found dead in South Moscow the same month, his body mutilated and with multiple stab wounds, but his wallet and papers untouched. You also have to wonder about the motive of such a murder in a country plagued by nationalist groups. Russia might have been dubbed “Nigeria with snow,” but this kind of thing is most definitely not a merely Nigerian phenomenon.

Possibly the darkest clouds of all, though, are the activities of the resurgent Islamist group Boko Haram in Nigeria’s hot, poor north. In their boldest attack yet, last August, a suicide car-bomber detonated 150 kg of plastic explosive at U.N. House in the capital, Abuja. Twenty-four people died and 115 were wounded, nearly all Nigerians. In November, a bomb in the city of Damaturu killed at least 67 people. Over Christmas, churches filled with worshippers at the holiest time of the Christian year were bombed with horrific results.

Native Igbo people (overwhelmingly Christian) from the Southeast are fleeing the North en masse again after random Boko Haram attacks on church-

es, businesses and homes, 45 years after massacres of Igbo communities in the north led to the Biafran war of independence. That war saw an estimated one million people die. Yoruba spokesmen from the Southeast have warned Boko Haram against bringing violence to “Yorubaland,” threatening severe retaliation in the event of any attacks. The spectre of ethnic tensions spilling over into violence is never far from the Nigerian psyche.

The military is working hard to contain an increasingly sophisticated insurgency, but there is little evidence that President Jonathan is doing enough to simultaneously tackle the Islamists’ main grievances of underdevelopment and corruption, meaning there is no end in sight to Boko Haram’s attacks.

The concern is that a full-blown Islamist insurgency could yet derail Africa’s newest economic powerhouse, just as it is getting up steam again and struggling to emerge from poverty and conflict. But if the government can deliver economic reform, especially in the north, as well as military containment, Nigerians will have every reason to stay optimistic that they will remain on course to be not only the continent’s most populous nation, but also its richest.

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Japanese Porn the True Tale The Japanese produce more pornography than any other nation in the world. Why? Eszter Gafalvi takes us through the intricate maze of Japan’s elaborate sexuality.

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To the average westerner the word ‘pornography’ conjures up thoughts of DVDs with a limited range of titles, perhaps involving cheerleaders, plumbers, milfs, and other relatively pedestrian subject matter. It means pay-per-view. It means surfing the internet and entrusting one’s credit card number to the hopefully tender mercies of a website that promises DIRTY GIRLS - XXX JUST 18 - SLUTS R US. That’s not to say that western culture doesn’t have its fetishes, its twists and turns: there is a market for BDSM, foot fetishism, scarification, age play, and so on... but nothing to rival the range of subgenres being generated by Japan’s porn makers.

Video is certainly no longer the only medium through which porn can be experienced. It has evolved to a point where it cannot be characterised as the simple, passive viewing of still or moving pictures. Pornography, especially in Japan, can mean anything from erotic computer games to buying used panties, clothing, and even bodily fluids from underage schoolgirls (a practice outlawed only in 2004 – now only over-18s are permitted to sell their used underwear). Mike, a graduate of Asian and Global Studies from University of California, Santa Barbara, tells me ‘These jobs are considered part time things when you are young to get extra spending money and saving up for a wedding... For some, it’s a way to make money and gain the independence to move out of their parents’ houses.’ So the porn industry has created a new layer of business interaction above and beyond the simple sale of DVDs. Indeed, it’s a much-debated argument as to whether the Japanese have in fact coupled pornography with their love of mechanisation to produce a vending machine to dispense the underwear. According to myth-debunking site snopes.com, a very few still exist after used-clothing regulations prompted their removal in Japan, while some bloggers vehemently argue that they have never existed at all. The battle rages on. But even if this machine doesn’t exist, it says a lot about the western perception of the Japanese that such a thing is entirely believable. ‘It’s like being on another planet,’ says Gary, a British computer engineer formerly based in Japan. ‘Once you’ve spent a week there, you can enjoy yourself, but there’s a while when you’re getting used to it.’

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The Japanese are stereotyped for, among other things, schoolgirl obsessions, bukkake, hentai, and its infamous tentacle rape. As with so many stereotypes, there seems to be more than just a grain of truth here. It certainly can’t be said that these ideas are restricted to Japan (of all the wisdom that Britney Spears has imparted to us over the course of her career, one gem is surely the most important – schoolgirls are hot), but the Japanese take the trophy for their level of commitment.

Hentai, animated pornography now known and distributed all over the world, is one of the most prolific subgenres. The development of hentai has grown in parallel to the popularity of manga, a favourite diversion of the Japanese. Even leaving aside its pornographic kissing-cousin, the reading of manga is extremely widespread, especially as a form of relaxation during or after the work day. It seems only natural that it would evolve into a pornographic medium. Hentai, invented in the ’80s by graphic artist Toshio Maeda, allows for any flight of fancy to take shape and, unlike most western porn, often has a coherent plot-line. Once again, art and sex combine (to a lesser or greater extent, of course – not everyone is a Coppola or a Kubrick) and form a new type of stimulation. In addition to its flexibility, hentai offered a convenient way to get around the obscenity laws, since tentacles and other phallic objects aren’t covered by the regulations.

So what makes Japanese pornography unique? The answer must lie in its creative nature. Though it’s true that in other parts of the world there are examples of creative and extreme porn, in Japan they’re popular enough to have become mainstream. Dojinshi, for instance, refers to the pornographic imitation of an existing fictional work, such as a film or comic book series.

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To some degree, this is universal: slash fiction is all over the internet, but generally only on an amateur level. It’s the Japanese who have turned it into its own art form. Another very Japanese twist on the erotic is nyotaimori, which refers to the eating of food from a woman’s naked body – a rare and highly refined practice. This can’t really be called pornography, but displays the typical Japanese characteristic of inextricably mingling eroticism and art.

So does shibari, a highly stylised form of rope bondage. Both nyotaimori and shibari are so ritualised and artistic that the erotic element almost seems incidental, even abstract, yet it’s impossible to deny that the acts of tying up a naked girl or eating sushi from bare skin are always going to be erotic.

Why is Japanese pornography so diverse, and why is there so much of it? It may seem a facile answer, but the main demographic for pornography is the adult male, and the professional lives of men in Japan are highly regimented and pressurised. The outlet of porn serves two purposes: to break out of the rigid structures of the workplace, and to relieve stress. Rather fictional tentacle porn than a real workplace massacre with a shotgun, I always say.

Much of the ‘standard fare’ in Japanese pornography could be connected to this. True, it is a great cliché, but the schoolgirl fantasy is exactly the sort of thing that might appeal to an individual with a regimented, intensive occupation – youth, inexperience, and a clear submissive role all point to an undemanding erotic dialogue. ‘Broken dolls’, the rape of helpless, hospitalised girls, is even more so – total control of a sexual situation to counterbalance a work life where one feels powerless. Another equally understandable reaction to a pressured job, ‘baby play’, a renowned Japanese pornographic subgenre, speaks to the opposite inclination: giving up control and allowing

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someone else to take a nurturing role.

And in typical Japanese line-blurring, genre-bending fashion, virtual dating manages to straddle, so to speak, several stereotypes at once. This form of porn is shot from the POV of the viewer and involves being taken on a date, and often much more. It provides a non-interactive, electronically available scenario, perfect for someone who doesn’t have the time or energy to expend effort on a real date, the outcome of which would moreover be uncertain. The first-person viewpoint piques a similar erotic interest as online role-playing or x-rated computer games: it’s an easy, realistic first person scenario to which the average male can easily relate.

Virtual Date, a pornographic DVD starring Jessica Miyaki, combines the standard Japanese schoolgirl look with the ‘intimacy’ of a first-person perspective. However, the effect is somewhat diminished due to the fact that censorship laws in Japan forbid the graphic display of genitalia. All images must be strategically pixellated (no, that’s not a form of sexual favour granted by a generous pixie). Because we can’t see the ‘good stuff,’ we have to get our kicks some other way. New fantasies must be dreamt up to replace the graphic images. It seems likely that a good deal of the diversity of Japanese pornography stems from this censorship. But times are changing, and illegal graphic films and images are being exported and put on the internet, where the content can’t be monitored. Even so, the sexualisation of unlikely scenarios and objects remains a constant.

YouTube is rife with odd videos. The content isn’t explicit, but the intent is almost certainly sexual. Human vacuum-packing is one bizarre twist: a fullyclothed girl in school clothing is encased in a sealed rubber pouch with one

hole over her mouth for breathing, and the air is slowly sucked out of the pouch until she is totally pressurised. I can only imagine that this video was not made for the participant to enjoy the effects of being so enclosed, as in a bondage scene, but for the viewer. It taps into the popular obsession with girls in helpless situations: a perfectly preserved, passive doll - and, once again, the schoolgirl fascination.

Is it healthy, this level of pornographic exposure? Everyone has an opinion on the subject. Pornography is a classically divisive issue (it’s a common axiom that one should never talk about religion or politics at the dinner table, so let’s add porn to the conversational blacklist). I was once horrified to hear a moderately successful actress link pornography directly to crime: ‘All criminals watch pornography,’ said she, authoritatively.

Well, actually, most people do – so she is technically not far from the truth!

It’s extremely tempting for the moralising masses to say that pornography causes crime, but Japan is a wide-scale example that this simply isn’t the case.

While the production of pornography has increased dramatically in the last thirty years, a 1999 study of pornography, rape and sex crimes showed that the number of sex crimes had gone down, not up. This doesn’t necessarily mean that people watch porn and rape less, but it’s clear that at the very least, pornography isn’t a usual cause of sexual violence. Let’s compare this with, say, Utah, one of the most conservative states in America, where even some of the most mainstream films are censored. Last year, the Internet Crimes Against Children task force reported that the number of child sex crimes in that state had nearly doubled in two years. Hardly a stunning success story. Maybe we could all take a lesson from the Japanese and accept DANTEmag n.4

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that to think is not to do, that people shouldn’t be held accountable for their fantasies.

The other side of this coin, though, is more tarnished.

While it is true that the number of sex crimes has gone down, one key difference between Japan and western countries is that the sex laws are quite different. Section 175 of the Japanese criminal code, the section that deals with obscenity, has been enforced much more rigorously.

Nevertheless, academics such as Makoto Ibusuki describe the law as outdated and ‘vague.’ Not only that, but laws regarding underage people have been much laxer until recently, meaning that children have been in danger of being exploited by pornographers. While sale and distribution of child pornography are illegal, to own it is not.

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Has the number of sex crimes really gone down, or is it just that some crimes have been slipping through the legal cracks? A question nearly impossible to answer, simply because of the hazy nature of the law. Even where laws have been put in place to protect young people against exploitation, they don’t necessarily do so particularly effectively. For example, although it’s now illegal to purchase used underwear from anyone under 18, there are some reports that schoolgirls have turned to supplementing their incomes by allowing men to sniff their underwear directly - hardly an improvement.

Sex and the law will always be a complicated issue. Laws should be in place to protect the innocent, and at the same time restrict people’s freedom as little as possible. But as a small media hurricane surrounds footage of a man having sex with an innocent squid, just remember... sometimes tentacle rape can go both ways.

MEAN SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Travel

Mark Powell Bespoke Tailoring 2 Marshall Street, London www.markpowellbespoke.co.uk

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Hypocritical Window-Dressing or Brave New Corporate World?

The idea that business should be responsible for its social and environmental impacts has engendered a lot of resistance over the years. But as with workplace safety and workers’ compensation in the last century, we are gradually coming to a place where doing business with no thought to ecological or human consequences will be, well, unthinkable. Marc Forget explains DANTEmag n.4

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A short time after the term “corporate social responsibility” (CSR) first emerged in the late 1960s, the concept quickly became the target of scorn and sharp criticism among hard-line free enterprise thinkers. In a 1970 article in The New York Times Magazine, economist and Nobel laureate Milton Friedman referred to CSR as “hypocritical window-dressing.”

Nevertheless, CSR has come a long way since then, and it has evolved into something the originators of the concept probably could not have imagined back in 1970. That is not to say that CSR in its current guise is without its detractors - there are still many. But their criticism is generally specific and highly focused, and few now question the basic idea that business should act responsibly toward the physical and social environments in which it operates.

Despite the fact that the fundamental concept of CSR is seldom disputed, there are wide-ranging and often diverging opinions on the subject. Next

to the political and economic ideologies we espouse, the most important factor influencing how we perceive CSR may be the physical, geographical and economic perspective from which we view the corporate world. We will tend to think differently of CSR whether we are a CEO under pressure to reduce current year expenditures or a peasant in a developing country whose land and livelihood are threatened by industrial development or a young outdoor enthusiast concerned about environmental degradation or a stock market investor focused on short-term returns or another investor who analyses long-term risk management in companies.

With such diverse understandings, needs, and ideals among various stakeholders, does the future of CSR lie in “window-dressing” and “greenwashing,” or in bringing about a truly “greener” and more equitable world? A look at the evolution of workplace safety in the 20th century may give us some valuable clues.

Recently, while looking at photographs of the 1930-31 construction of the Empire State Building, I was struck by the almost complete absence of safety equipment at the site. In Lewis Wickes Hine’s photographs, the construction workers are shown standing on steel beams over 300 metres above street level without any guard rails, safety nets or personal fall arrest systems such as body harnesses and ropes. Items of basic personal protecDANTEmag n.4

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tive equipment such as hard hats and goggles are also noticeably absent.

The only protective equipment visible in the photos consists of the gloves worn by most workers. At that time the industry estimate for construction fatalities on skyscrapers was one death per floor, although only between 5 and 14 workers died (the number varies depending on the source) during the construction of the 102-floor Empire State Building. That fact seems nothing short of miraculous when looking at Hine’s photographs.

The egregious lack of workplace safety one observes in these historical photos is unimaginable in developed countries today. But in 1930 the safety of construction workers was not the employer’s responsibility. Things have changed much since then. The cost of workplace safety is now as much an integral part of doing business as is the payment of wages. It is unavoidable and no longer even put into question. However, the mainstreaming of workplace safety into modern business practice was slow and difficult. For a

and predictable, while for workers the advantage was greater and more certain benefits. However, it still took many years for companies to become genuinely committed to workplace safety. When they finally did, it was the result of a sharp rise in accident costs (even with workers’ compensation systems in place) and the adoption of legislation that broadened employers’ liability. In other words, business became concerned with safety when it started making economic sense to do so—when implementing measures to reduce workplace accidents and deaths became a better financial proposition than paying the increasingly high compensation costs.

This last fact is very telling, and an important one to keep in mind as we turn our attention back to CSR. Two very important differences between workplace safety and CSR are worth noting here: workplace safety affects a company’s employees and their families, and legally it is a local issue under the jurisdiction of a provincial,

long time companies refused to accept any responsibility for the health and safety of their workers, claiming that, as some prominent economists have expressed, business is responsible only to its shareholders, and therefore should solely be focused on increasing its profits.

A number of factors early in the 20th century contributed to eventually making safety the unquestioned business concern it is today in the developed world. Arguably the most important factor was the adoption of workers’ compensation laws beginning late in the 19th century. Following Germany’s lead, other governments in Europe, North America and Australasia passed laws which guaranteed automatic financial compensation for all workplace injuries at a pre-determined and fixed rate. This system was welcomed by business and workers alike. For companies the shared costs were more stable

state, or national government where the workplace is situated. CSR, on the other hand, seeks to address issues that affect people who may not have any direct relationship with the company, and focuses on aspects of a company’s activities which, more often than not, take place in many different countries, each with its own distinct and specific laws and regulations. (This last was an important factor in the emergence of CSR, which, not surprisingly, happened at a time when many multinational corporations were formed).

Just as the idea of a government-mandated workers’ compensation system may have been ahead of the curve in 1900, so was the idea of CSR in 1970.

Somehow the world has a way of catching up with these maverick ideas, and, as was the case with workplace safety, it may be the increasing cost of not practicing CSR that eventually convinces companies to assume their

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responsibilities on social and environmental issues.

A few cases that recently made the news underline this point. In June of this year the Peruvian government revoked a decree granting approval to a Canadian company for mining silver at Santa Ana, near lake Titicaca, after a highway linking Peru and Bolivia was shut down for 21 days by protesters, and after some 5,000 protesters descended on Puno, the provincial capital, to demand an end to the mining project. Four months earlier, an Ecuadorian court held Chevron liable for almost $18 billion for oil spills that Texaco (since merged with Chevron) failed to clean up in the 1970s. In June 2010, BP agreed to set up a $20 billion fund for damage claims from its huge Gulf of Mexico oil spill, and suspended dividend payments to its shareholders.

As one would expect, Chevron is appealing the Ecuadorian court’s decision, and the Canadian mining company stated it will sue the Peruvian govern-

ment. However, successful appeals and lawsuits cannot obliterate the impact of these types of cases. The legal costs alone can be sizeable, and so can damage to reputation. In the end companies still often end up paying huge sums in settlements.

CSR aims to avoid these types of problems by prescribing such practices as the obtainment of free, prior and informed consent from affected populations, and the conducting of full environmental and social impact assessments (the results of which must be disclosed to the public) prior to project development. As the above cases and so many others demonstrate, CSR can and should be an important part of a company’s effective risk management system.

The newsworthy cases may make the economic benefits of CSR obvious, but what has greatly accelerated the adoption of CSR policies and mechanisms in recent years is the fact they are likely to be required for project financing. At present there are 72 financial institutions in 27 countries that have adopted the Equator Principles (EPs), a risk management framework for determining, assessing and managing environmental and social risk in project financing. These 72 institutions currently cover over 70 percent of all international project financing in emerging markets. The EPs are largely based on the International Finance Corporation’s Policy and Performance Standards on Social and Environmental Sustainability (IFC is the private sector arm of the World Bank Group). The IFC Standards and the EPs contain clear requirements for implementation and outcomes, and require clients to fully integrate social and environmental risks management systems into their overall operations and business model. Compliance with the Standards and EPs is assessed regularly, and failure to comply may be considered an event of default and can result in disinvestment by the financial institution.

In the past twelve years a number of other international instruments with goals similar to the EPs and the IFC’s Performance Standards have emerged.

They were developed by the UN, multinational corporations, governments, and NGO’s.

Will these efforts reduce environmental destruction and human rights violations resulting from business activities? If workplace safety is any indication, they will. After business embraced workplace safety, the rate of fatal occupational injuries fell dramatically. In both the USA and the EU it has dropped by well over 40% since 1980. These are substantial results, not mere window-dressing, and we should expect the same type of changes following the widespread implementation of CSR practices in business.

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1 Piccadilly Arcade , London W1J 9EN tel +44 (0) 207 493 1975 Fax + 44 (0) 20 7 4938410 london@santamarianovella.co.uk www.santamarianovella.co.uk DANTEmag n.4

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Window of the soul

Healing in the Land of Voudou With a history of political chaos, military oppression, economic turmoil, disease and natural disasters, Haiti, poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, seems mired in misery. An estimated 300,000 people perished in the catastrophic quake of January 12, 2010. which measured 7.2 on the Richter scale. Here in the land of Voudou, the real and the surreal meet and are often indistinguishable. But the small beginnings of hope and healing can also be found amidst the rubble.

Liane Thompson recounts both the horror and the humanity she found there.

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It was January 2010 and I was in mourning, crying tears over the death of my life. My marriage had collapsed. I was devastated, and angry: at my ex for his abuses and infidelities, and at myself for not leaving him. A child of divorce myself, the fear of passing divorce-related trauma on to my children kept me from destroying our home, so I stayed and became a shell of a person.

My 23-year old daughter Tia finally asked me, “Mom, are you going to wait til you’re 60 to leave him?’” My answer was “No!’ but I had no plan. Then my dear friend Chris, who had recently passed through the dark tunnel of divorce himself, suggested, “Why not go to Haiti? The Israelis are sending aid. You could go with them and cover the earthquake.”

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His idea made sense. As a video journalist, I had covered world events before, and I had to admit, work was exactly what I needed. I had a destination now, but still no plan for getting from Israel (where we had relocated to

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be near my ex’s mother, a Holocaust survivor) and Haiti. I made a few calls and a humanitarian group agreed to take me along if I paid my own way. I had no idea from where I would get the money, but I told them to book my ticket anyway.

She got quickly back on the line. “OK, I just spoke to Daniel and he’ll give you the money. Consider it a mitzvah,” said Miriam.

My mind was racing. Where would I get the needed cash? Then out of the blue, I got a phone call from Miriam, a fellow American, who had spoken of her divorce during our first meeting months before. Immediately I told her my situation and how desperate I was to go to Haiti. Putting me on hold, Miriam phoned a diamond dealer friend who she thought might support my escape.

“No worries, neither are the Haitians,” laughed Miriam.

“Really? But I’m not Jewish.” I replied.

With Daniel’s help I was soon flying to Haiti. The seats and aisles of the plane were filled with rescue workers from around the globe. Relief workers from Italy, Ireland, France and Israel gathered to discuss their latest disaster experiences and anticipate the catastrophe ahead. I was embedded with Israeli Flying Aid (IFA), a relief organization founded and directed by Gal

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Lousky, an experienced humanitarian. For the past 15 years, Lousky has travelled the globe bringing relief to victims of natural disasters and war zones.

In Haiti, she planned to provide shelter, food and medical assistance to the country’s orphans.

We landed in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic and travelled from there to Haiti. It was dark when our three-vehicle convoy finally hit the outskirts of Port-au-Prince after a dangerous ten-hour drive. The IFA volunteers I travelled with were trained medical clowns from Dream Doctors - soulful specialists dedicating their lives to easing pain. They’d joined IFA to help the children of Haiti cope psychologically with the catastrophe they’d experienced. I would spend much of my journey filming Hamutal Ende, one of the medical clowns, with whom I shared a tent. The two other clowns that volunteered had worked disasters before, but Haiti was the first time out for Hamutal, and a challenging place to go green.

We drove to the Israeli Defence Forces’ Home Front Command field hospital which would be our temporary base camp until we hooked up with an orphanage to work with. The impressive, MASH-like compound specialised in children, women in labour and the elderly. Security directed our threevan convoy through the complex and we stopped near the mess hall where prayers were underway. It was Friday evening and Sabbat dinner was just beginning. But instead of going inside, I grabbed my camera and followed Dudi Barashi, one of the medical clowns already walking toward the patient tents.

Inside a pediatric tent, small children with various earthquake-related injuries were resting in cots; Dudi went to work very quietly. Chimes from his music box filled the room replacing cries from the cast-clad children. Bubbles DANTEmag n.4

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floated through the air bringing smiles to the faces of those kept awake from discomfort or fear. A grateful look appeared in the eyes of the few parents that sat nearby as they watched Dudi’s clown magic work miracles.

We had managed to escape the worst of the immediate aftermath, arriving days after rescue teams had already saved those they could and cleared away most they could not. By then, the stench of death had replaced cries for life; survivors gathered near collapsed buildings chanting, dancing and wailing, lamenting for family members who remained buried beneath the rubble.

Jocelyn, our Haitian guide, had come from the countryside to Port-au-Prince in search of work. He knew one of the many rescue teams or humanitarian organisations would need a translator and Jocelyn spoke fluent English, Spanish, French and the local language, Creole. He was focused, assertive and smart, the kind of guy that got things done even in helter-skelter Haiti.

Yet Jocelyn always stopped to help others as if on his own mission.

On the afternoon of January 12th, Jocelyn was driving his scooter to work, having just kissed his wife and small daughter goodbye, when fierce trembling caused him to spin out of control. The bike crashed to the ground and Jocelyn hit the pavement head first. Dizzy and disoriented, Jocelyn returned to his house to find it completely demolished, his wife and child dead inside.

Jocelyn drove his scooter, now his only possession, to Port-au-Prince and ended up at the IDF field hospital the night we arrived. Initially, he didn’t speak about his loss or the pain he was surely suffering. In fact, in the days that followed, Jocelyn worked non-stop, with a smile, as if the quake had spared him from personal tragedy.

Jocelyn led the IFA volunteers through the capital in search of an orphan-

age to repair. Scores of earthquake victims lay on the pavement under sun protection tarpaulins in makeshift clinics on the city streets. Our red-nosed, happy-faced clowns ducked under the barrier tape and headed toward the children. I followed, filming as they sang and administered their own form of medication: a dose of humour. Clown treatment worked wonders as many of the quake victims, young and old responded with smiles. Soon every medical facility in Port-au-Prince wanted their own set of Dream Doctor clowns.

The nuns of The Orphanage of Our Glorious Saviour, a Catholic orphanage that housed thirty girls before the calamity, were suspicious when we arrived at dusk later that day. A week before the quake, “relatives” had taken four older girls away for a family visit, but they’d never returned. The nuns suspected that the girls were taken as slaves, a serious problem that existed in Haiti before and grew extensively after the earthquake. Gal told the nuns we wanted to help the orphanage, and we had no plans to take any child anywhere. Then we saw Samira.

Three-year old Samira was severely malnourished and looked only one.

None of the children had eaten in days. They were starving, like many of the 8.7 million Haitians. Before we arrived, the nuns were even considering sending the girls away, thinking their chance of survival was better on the street. Samira looked as if she were on the verge of death and needed to go to hospital straight away, but the still-cautious nuns objected. Only after Gal warned that Samira might not survive the night, did the nuns agree, insisting that one of the sisters accompany the child.

When we arrived at the IDF field hospital, the paediatrician wanted to send Samira to the US Naval Ship Comfort, a Navy hospital ship anchored off the coast of Haiti, but Gal refused. She had promised the nuns she would

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look after the child. After much debate, the paediatrician acceded; for almost the entire night Gal sat cot-side, holding Samira’s tiny hand.

Samira remained at the field hospital for days recuperating, while Gal, Hamutal and others from the IFA group returned to the orphanage bringing food, mattresses, blankets, and more, compliments of the IDF medical team and Israel Orange, the cellular company financing Gal’s IFA endeavour in Haiti. Since the quake, the children had been sleeping across the street on the ground outside, even though the orphanage was intact. They were too afraid - like most Haitians - to sleep indoors, fearing another earthquake.

Gal had a plan: acquire the empty lot adjacent to the orphanage, clear away the debris, and construct a large wooden structure in which all the girls could sleep peacefully. A concrete wall would protect the girls from strangers and the street. With so many Haitians starving, crime was escalating and Gal wanted to make certain the orphans, and the six-month supply of food she just bought, would be safe. In typical Israeli fashion, a security guard was enlisted.

We were driving to the market to buy construction supplies and recruit workers when Jocelyn, Ariel and I heard a dreadful scream. Ariel looked back and saw a young woman fall to the ground. Immediately, Jocelyn slammed on the breaks and we all jumped out. Twenty-two year old Milan was lying on the pavement, blood gushing out her leg. Seconds before, a man had approached Milan asking for money. When she refused, he hacked her with a machete, hitting a main artery.

Quickly, we put Milan in the van and headed to the closest hospital, one operated by the Americans. Milan wavered in and out of consciousness on the drive and when we arrived she barely had a pulse. Entering the emergency tent, I broke into med-speak: “Twenty-two year old female, penetrating DANTEmag n.4

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trauma, machete to the leg, possible femoral artery damage, unresponsive for about three minutes.” The doctors immediately went to work, looking peculiarly at me as I recited Milan’s information as I filmed. When one of the physicians asked me to put away the camera, the surgeon in command responded, “It’s OK, I know her, she’s from Trauma: Life in the ER.” I glanced up and recognised him from a hospital once featured on the show.

Thanks to my many years producing Trauma, a medical reality series, I pretty much had carte blanche at the University of Miami’s airport field hospital, where doctors and nurses, who loved the hit show, allowed me complete access. I reconnected with old acquaintances. Being recognised as a competent person was like getting a shot of dopamine. I was starting to feel like my old strong self again.

Later that night, while smoking a cigarette outside the orphanage walls, Jocelyn and I heard drums beating in the distance. We followed the sound which led us to some fifty Haitians wearing long robes, walking in a circle, chanting with arms stretched out high. Jocelyn said they were praying and thanking God for the earthquake; they believed God had caused such devastation in order to turn the world’s eyes on Haiti. Global attention, along DANTEmag n.4

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Milan on the way to hospital

with international aid, was his way of offering the locals a chance at a better future. (It is true that the international community would pledge some $5.3 billion to help Haiti, but almost two years after the quake, the country remains a shambles, still plagued with poverty, corruption and disease.) I interviewed the head priest who told me to hold onto my soul. Then he gave us a brief tour of his destroyed worship hall. Afterward, Jocelyn and I walked back to the orphanage; the worshippers followed us, single file, whispering the entire way. For the first time since arriving in Haiti, I felt danger, not from the people themselves, but rather from spirits in the air.

God’s-Planet Ministries was run by Grant Rimback, a Tennessee welder turned preacher who managed an orphanage of 150 children on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince. By the second day after the quake, Grant had converted his old bread truck to haul victims. It became one of the few “ambulances” on the road saving lives. For days, Grant drove non-stop without sleep, taking survivors to any location able to offer care. As the foreign medical teams arrived pitching tent hospitals, Grant and his rescue rides, complete with a comforting southern drawl, were known to all. He truly was a saint.

I spent the next three days with Grant transporting victims between hospitals and clinics, and taking the lucky ones home. By day, we drove throughout the countryside, mostly where rescue workers had not yet been. One afternoon, we went to Mt. Cabrit, or Goat Mountain, to view the amazingly beautiful valley below, and the tent city growing in the distance. At the rock mine on the mountain top, the earthquake had caused an avalanche of gravel burying seven workers, one inside his tractor, without a trace.

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The next day was Sunday, the Lord’s day of rest, which meant a God’sPlanet sermon was on the morning agenda. I crawled out of my tent to the soft sound of hymns echoing from the orphanage church a few yards away.

I grabbed my camera and entered the still intact building just in time to film Grant asking “our Lord Jesus Christ” to help heal the victims of the quake.

Then the choir rose to praise God, swaying and singing glorious songs of unconditional love. I cried.

Laughter shortly followed, as Jocelyn, Ariel, and Hamutal, clad in her clown apparel, arrived with fun, games and teddy bears for all Grant’s children.

Again, Gal brought joy, and moreover, she had also organized a truck-load of food for the orphans of God’s-Planet. We escorted Grant to GOAL, the Irish humanitarian organization donating the food, and said goodbye. Then Jocelyn, Ariel, Hamutal and I returned to the Orphanage of Our Glorious Saviour.

The place had changed in the few days I was away. A fence separated the yard from the street in the neighboring field, where a large wooden tent structure stood instead of debris. Inside, mattresses covered the floor and balloons hung from the plastic ceiling, in preparation for the good-bye party soon to follow. The water tank had been replenished and the sewage removed from the outhouse. In the main hall, boxes of medical supplies were stacked next to the Bibles, and an IDF physician examined the girls while nurses administered vaccinations nearby. A generator, provided by one of Grant’s visiting missionary groups, supplied electricity. Not only had the place changed, but the girls had changed too; in their eyes there was hope and even happiness.

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Window of the soul

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The next day the IFA group would be leaving Haiti and the sisters had splurged on an evening meal of rice with pork. After dinner, I said goodbye to Jocelyn, our guide, and we wept. For the first time, he talked to me about the death of his wife and daughter and how, if it weren’t for work, he would’ve collapsed long ago. He hated to see us go, knowing the pain from his loss could no longer be avoided. I made him promise to get help, treatment for PTSD. I told Jocelyn my own story and the events that had brought me to Haiti. Jocelyn and I hugged tightly, as if accepting all that remained was the memory of our lost family.

fornia, wanting to hear all about my Haitian adventure. Chris once served as a church music director, but now he provided internet concerts and had been giving morale-boosting performances for the crew aboard the USNS Comfort, the hospital ship anchored off the coast of Haiti.

I told him about my trip and when I mentioned Milan, Chris shrieked, “Hey, I know about the lady hacked by a machete. A nurse from the ship told me they brought her in.” He continued, “She almost died. You saved her life.” Recalling all my post-earthquake experiences in the Voudou nation, I replied, “Haiti saved my life.”

When I returned home after ten days away, I opened the door to a babysitter. I spent the next four days alone with my children, processing my trip via my script. Late one night, I swore I heard a female voice singing a Haitian song. I thought of Milan, wondering about her fate, and about the priest, and holding onto my soul. When my ex returned, I insisted he move out.

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IFA volunteers entertain the children and staff at the Orphanage of Our Glorious Saviour

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STYLE IS NOT A STATEMENT. IT’S WHO YOU ARE.

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The Enduring and Endangered - Beauty of Xochimilco Dating back to before Aztec times, By Caroline Udall

the once-extensive canal system of Xochimilco endures as a quiet refuge in the midst of frenetic Mexico City.

Now just a fragment of its former range, Xochimilco clings to life. In many ways it is emblematic of the wider struggle of Mexico to balance its rich history with its complex and challenging present and its fragile – but hopeful – future.

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I

It is the bleak midwinter.

Well, somewhere it is. In Mexico City, though, sumer is icumen in - and it’s icumen a bit unseasonably even for here. It’s warm, edging toward hot outside. The sky is robin’s-egg blue and the air (for the moment) is blessedly free of smog. It’s perfect weather to visit Xochimilco - the famous “floating gardens of Mexico City.”

My friends Rosa and Eduardo have been patiently carting me everywhere for a week now, and I was particularly looking forward to this outing, since Eduardo has contacts – insiders, even – at Xochimilco. But the night before we’re to go, their son, seven-year-old Lalo, is felled by a cold and confined to bed. Rosa insists we go ahead, however. If we don’t, there won’t be another chance before I have to return to the frozen wastes of the North.

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So leaving Lalo (in mourning) and Rosa (in attendance) behind, Eduardo and I set out on this gorgeous Sunday morning heading south on the Periferico – the great ring road that traces a meandering loop around the sprawling city. As he deftly navigates the infamous Mexico City traffic, Eduardo gives me a running commentary on the city of his birth.

“To me, it’s a miraculous city,” he says, by way of summary.

Miraculous? How so?

“Because it works! There are some 21 or 22 million of us! Just the fact that it functions on a daily basis is a miracle. It’s not always pretty or perfect, but we make it work. The city keeps on going no matter what.”

Xochimilco is nothing if not an expression of this simple fact of life in Mexico City, as we shall see.

We pull off the Periferico and head east, eventually finding our destination by the simple expedient of following the many signs that say “Xochimilco.”

There are nine landings - called embarcaderos – where anyone can hire a trajinera, the wide, flat-bottomed canoes that are poled about the canals by remeros – Xochimilco’s gondoliers. We pull right up to Embarcadero Fernando Celada, which sits hard by the busy Avenida Guadalupe I. Ramirez in Barrio San Juan en Xochimilco. In ten steps, we’re off the road and inside the embarcadero, where Eduardo’s friend and former student, Clemente Zaldivar, is waiting to greet us. Down a short, steep flight of steps, and the sounds of traffic have already receded.

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It’s early and nearly all of the trajineras are docked. The Frida, Clemente’s family trajinera, is crammed in the middle of a scrum of other crafts.

But like any true chilango Clemente is unfazed by the crowds. He jumps down from the steps onto the nearest trajinera and begins hopping from one boat to the next until he reaches Frida. Eduardo and I do our best to follow.

Having arrived on board with only a few wobbly moments, we take a seat as Clemente begins shouldering the Frida out into the open canals. He muscles empty boats to one side with his pole, or leans into them with his back and shoulders. A few remeros that are up and about lend him a hand when it becomes strategically necessary. It’s all done with a cheerful absence of any fuss whatsoever. Within minutes we break free of the crush and are away.

It’s as if we’ve passed into another world. The canals are still relatively empty. The water, which looks (and unfortunately is) quite dirty, doesn’t have the stench you might associate with somewhat stagnant, polluted canal water. The mature trees, abundance of wildlife, and teeming plant life soon fill up the space that the city noise and traffic have vacated.

This is deceptive, of course, as Xochimilco sits in the middle of one of the most densely populated areas on the planet. While I see abundant signs of human habitation – everything from bridges, to elegant mansions, to improvised shacks, to swanky-looking rowing clubs – they all have the feeling of being in an isolated area. We see them unfold in a very stately procession; they spring out as we come around corners, or peep over the tops of walls, or are glimpsed through a grove of trees. On the water, you feel as if you’re in a bustling little village. Pull back a bit, though, and it’s a different story. Recently, I found the section of canal we’d travelled on Google Earth. From above, you can see that only a thin veneer of green edges the canals. Behind it, the city encroaches. The tranquil waterways are like green shards shot through teeming working class neighbourhoods.

Xochimilco jostles cheek-by-jowl with the modern urban beast in an uneasy co-existence. By many measures, the beast is winning.

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MEAN SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Travel The word Xochimilco is Nahuatl for “fields of flowers.” The fields in question are the artificial islands, called chinampas, built for cultivation in the shallow waters of the lakes on which Mexico City is built. They are often called “floating gardens,” but this is a misnomer. The islands do not float. Chinampas are constructed by staking out an area on the shallow lakebed and lining it with wattle or mesh. This framework is filled with sludge and mud from the lakebed itself, eventually building a small island rising slightly above the level of the water. Trees are planted along the edges to stabilise the borders. The original canals – often the width of only one canoe – ran between these islands and the farmers would trawl them in trajineras as they tended the crops.

The Aztecs are often credited with developing this system, but in fact they co-opted it. It predates them by at least 1000 years. Groups living in the Valley of Mexico developed the system into one of the most productive farming methods ever known. A chinampa could produce as many as seven crops in a season, and irrigation was unnecessary as water seeped into the soil bed from the lake itself.

Still, on a Sunday at the canal with Eduardo, Xochimilco seems like a thriving village market, a nature preserve, and a party all rolled into one.

At eye-level, while the problems are in evidence if you know what to look for, the place seems vital. In one direction, you can see a weeded-up canal that ends abruptly in a tiny cluster of ad hoc homes. But in the other you also see canoes (the kind more familiar to American eyes) full of harvested flowers, ready for market; skinny kids launching beat-up trajineras from ramshackle docks; egrets, ducks, and other, more exotic wildlife flitting DANTEmag n.4

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Xochimilco was a large chinampa area that the Aztecs took over and expanded through military conquest. They also built them ringing their capital of Tenochtitlán. Only a small percentage of the Aztec population was engaged in food production when Cortés arrived. The chinampas fed the empire.

The Spaniards, of course, put a stop to all this when they conquered the Aztecs and set about draining the lakes. Only a small belt of the original extent of the system has survived, but it has been surprisingly resilient over the centuries. In fact, a main canal for transport of goods that went into the centre of Mexico City itself survived into the 20th century.

But the degradation of the canal system has only accelerated as Mexico City has exploded in size over the last century. Xochimilco, which had been an independent entity, was brought into the capital as a borough in the 1920s. In the 1950s, the springs that fed the lake were co-opted (again!) for drinking water for the thirsty metropolis. Most of the water in the

here and there amongst the human traffic. There are trajineras loaded with rugs, blankets, and other goods to sell. Vendors ply the waters selling all kinds of food and drinks – popcorn, candy, soda, and more substantial, traditional fare.

In fact, says Clemente, we’re out looking for one of these vendors in particular. Doña Mari, he says, has been selling her excellent food on the canals for decades. Family members (these days, it’s her grandsons) pole her trajinera up and down the canals while she cooks at a stove on the boat

MEAN SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Travel canals now is treated water (not potable because of bacteria and heavy metals) pumped back into the canals. It cannot keep up with the rapidly dropping water table, however, and the canals are slowly drying up, or in some cases being actively filled in.

3.

Add a burgeoning population, with illegal settlements springing up in protected ecological areas as well as the tourist areas, plus invasive plants and wildlife that choke canals and push out native flora and fauna, and the threat to the remaining system has become critical.

Xochimilco was named a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1987 in an effort to protect it. So far it hasn’t helped much. Mexico City’s environmental secretary, Maria Teresa Delgado, was quoted in the Washington Post recently as saying that the solutions to saving the canals are well-known, but that the paucity of funds and the proliferation of responsible agencies, with poor bureaucratic coordination between them have combined to frustrate conservation efforts.

– all to your order. Clemente’s told Doña Mari that we’ll be on the water this morning. She’s said just to come find her; she’ll be out cooking. He’s keeping an eye peeled, he tells us. Meanwhile, we keep wandering.

We emerge from a long, narrow canal into a huge open area that Clemente explains is called the Laguna del Toro. Six or seven different canals feed into this open area, which has an island just slightly off-centre in the middle. It’s one of a number of such lagoons still extant in Xochimilco, all of which are used for various cultural and community purposes. In the DANTEmag n.4

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Laguna del Toro, for example, every evening from October 15-November 15, for the Day of the Dead, a theatrical representation of the legend of La Llorona is performed on a chinampa. Clemente describes it sweeping one arm around, to encompass the large open space.

“Just imagine,” he says, “this whole area, wall-to-wall trajineras. You can walk across the lagoon and back on them. The chinampa is the stage, the theatre is the lagoon, and the seats are the trajineras.” The association of canoe owners also celebrates a mass on the island in the lagoon every December 12 on the feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe, which is one of the most important days on the Mexican calendar.

Clemente glowingly describes it: “All the around the lagoon we make a pilgrimage in the trajineras. In the lead canoes, they carry images of the Virgin adorned with flowers.

They’re accompanied by mariachis, trios, musical groups . . . and behind them come all the rest of us – the trajinera owners, families, and friends.” These are unique Xochimilco traditions, part of the separate history and identity of the barrio.

Xochimilco boat-owners. “Not just anybody can come in here and start poling a trajinera,” he smiles.

For instance, at Embarcadero Francisco Celada, there is a group of about 40 owners who own up to four canoes each. Spaces are passed down in families. When Clemente’s grandmother died, his father took over the space at the embarcadero and continues running the business.

Remeros, he adds, can be from anywhere, are often just hired hands.

Owners must belong to these recognised families.

We’ve moved back into the canals as Clemente tells his story, and suddenly he interrupts himself. He’s spotted Doña Mari. We pull up alongside and rope the two trajineras together.

Doña Mari sits at her large grill with a cooking fire blazing merrily beneath it, smoke pouring out into the morning air. She favours us with a slow smile, and passes a laminated menu over. Eduardo and I choose from the menu and chat with her and her grandson as she cooks us up our order.

Just then, some mariachis float by.

Clemente himself and his family are part of that unique culture.

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I am not making this up.

MEAN SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Travel Garifuna

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Mariachis are common on the canals, and they’ll stop and play on demand.

When he spots them, Clemente delightedly gestures them over, and they tie up to Frida on the opposite side. They also have a menu with a list of their prices. I choose a song and they obligingly belt it out. Eduardo, gallantly, pays the fiddler for me.

production is fairly industrialised, using artificial fertilisers and pesticides – two substances that are inimical to the life of the canal system. The area of Cuemanco, boasts ecological preserves where farmers are attempting to revive the system, growing food crops as well as flowers, and using the traditional methods of irrigation, fertilisation, and chinampa maintenance.

It just about makes my morning perfect. We sit back and listen to the mariachis while Doña Mari’s savoury food sizzles on the grill. I feel as though I’m sitting in the middle of a veritable sandwich of mexicanismo. I have a hard time not tearing up. It better than I could have imagined.

These attempts to work them as in ancient times are a ray of hope in the dark picture for Xochimilco. Aside from everything else, if the chinampas aren’t maintained, they will dry up completely. This in and of itself will be an ecological disaster for Mexico City. Dust Bowl-type conditions could result, and in fact this has happened in the city’s past when the Spaniards were draining the lakes.

We finish our food (delicious!), thank the mariachis (excellente!), and start making our way back to the landing. We go back a different way that takes us down an empty canal running between what are obviously very old, disused chinampas. It’s beautiful – the canal is lined with tall, stately trees.

But the chinampa itself is overgrown. It’s also clearly still fertile land. I ask Clemente if any of the chinampas are under cultivation. He shrugs and says no, not really. There are some that still cultivate flowers, but not really anything else.

He’s right as far the as parts of Xochimilco in the barrio of Nativitas.

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We’re getting close to the embarcadero and the canals crowded now with the usual Sunday-morning revellers. We glide beneath lilies that look like something out of Rivera, and shove back through the scrum to the landing. We take our leave of Clemente and Frida, and plunge into the neverceasing chaos of the city. The morning already seems somewhat dreamlike.

But it has been, in many ways, an experience of the essence of Mexico.

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Mediterranean escape

extensive resort facilities.

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Fiction Made Me Do It! A Journey to the Land of Ghengis Khan The world can seem tired, worn-out, all too predictable. There are no fresh, undiscovered vistas, or so it seems. But Crishanti Jayawardene finds that all things old can be new again when seen through the vistas of the mind and heart.

From the vision of a poet to the heart of a reader, renewal can be found in the world

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I

In 1878, Robert Louis Stevenson undertook a twelve-day adventure to the impoverished region of Cévennes in south central France. He immortalised his journey, a year later, in Travels With a Donkey in the Cévennes. In 1974, Bruce Chatwin described Stevenson’s work as the “prototype of the incompetent undergraduate voyage.” Stevenson, he added, was “the forerunner of countless middle-class children who litter the world’s beaches, or comfort themselves with anachronistic pursuits and worn-out religions.” (“The Road to the Isles”, Times Literary Supplement, October 25, 1974) This may be unjust, but given the calibre of Chatwin’s own contribution, it is hardly surprising. Yet he concedes, more generously, that notwithstanding his “incompetence,” Stevenson belongs, “in spirit, to a long line of literary vagabonds” such as Walt Whitman, Rimbaud and Hart Crane.

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When I embarked on a month-long trip to Mongolia in September 2008, I had elected for the Border Trilogy by the American novelist, Cormac McCarthy, as my own literary prototype. Heir to Faulkner, and a recluse for a considerable part of his literary career, McCarthy’s work largely elides contemporaneity. His landscapes are filled with gypsies, bandits, cowboys, Indians, wolves, and of course, lording over it all, horses. It also lends itself superbly to the cinematic eye, so it is no surprise that Hollywood should have ultimately latched on to him.

More importantly, however, McCarthy’s often sparse imagery ignites and comes into its own in the wake of a certain momentum, a specific notion of time that underwrites the fiction itself. Like any great literary work that imposes its own rhythm, his narrative unapologetically commands the concentration of slowness from the reader – to grasp things in the measure afforded by the unfolding landscape and the things that populate it. It is the DANTEmag n.4

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kind of slowness found outside of city time, such that any trace of haste or busyness is put aside without further ado. And of course, this slowness is an allowance, grounded in history, within which is implicit a quiet reverence for a certain manner of living.

It was McCarthy’s vision that lit my imagination and drove me to seek its physical equivalent in a reality that still had room for such a possibility. I decided on Mongolia, with Chatwin’s “nomadic alternative” in mind, even if I had a feeling that, there too, it must have existed as an increasingly endangered alternative.

As expected, a journey brings with it a host of disillusionments and unanticipated surprises that fiction does not account for, so that the final journey happens in the compromised gap between the fictional blueprint and the reality of the experience.

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The reality started in Khatgal, on the shore of Lake Khovsgol, not too far from the Siberian border, where the mountains peak at 2000 metres above sea level. Naturally, there was no question of using a vehicle; I had to be ushered into this new time by that most ancient and noblest of creatures, which also happened to be the very symbol of the country, the horse.

To get a sense of just how complex and important the horse is in Mongolian culture, just sample anything from Mongolia’s throat singing repertoire. A large number of songs have salacious titles like “My Horse and I Under the Tree,” “ My Horse by the River at Night,” “Riding My Horse” and so on and so forth. It seems it is the horse that, for better or worse, bears the brunt and treacle of romance here.

Mongol horses today are of a breed that date back to the times of Genghis Khan in the 13th century. They roam shoeless, and are endowed with short legs and a large head. The one assigned to me was chestnut brown, with very bad teeth; his crowning glory was a thick, perfectly trimmed, cherry blond mane.

He was intemperate, willful, competitive, whimsical and distinctly certain of where he stood in the chain of command. And, oh, utterly ravishing! Among other offences, he kicked me in the shin, collapsed and remained unmoving on the ground for a whole hour, pleading tiredness presumably,threw me off the saddle in the middle of a forest, and then again in a river, when the near-zero temperature made wetness a rather brutal inconvenience, to say the least. But overall he quickened and stole my heart.

Strangely, this horse was temperamentally very similar to our guide – a bony, virtually toothless man in his DANTEmag n.4

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mid-thirties with dark skin made leathery by the sun. Most Mongolians are renowned for their patience, but this one was of a distinctly impatient disposition. And the further we ventured, the more it dawned on me how personality traits you forgive and think charming in a beast, you find decidedly less seductive in man.

The problem was of course, myself. Our guide made me very conscious of this. My mind, advancing well ahead of my body, was seething with visions of riding for days on end through the enchanted wilderness. I yearned to be swallowed up by the elements. I wanted to establish a tactile kinship with sun, winds, sleet, rain, the ground pulling out from under my horse’s hooves. At this time of the year, in higher ground especially, it is common to cross four seasons in the span of a single day, while the temperature at night often drops below zero. It was not unusual to wake up and find the inner lining of my tent covered in ice. All this came to pass, and for the most part, it was magical.

As I had anticipated, small gestures were magnified and became events as you gradually fell in step with the unique synchronicity created by horse, land, and the elements. With the dying light, we would search for a suitable spot to camp. We would pitch our tents, fill our bottles with water from a lake or a river, and collect wood for the fire. By nightfall, we would sit around the fire to eat and warm our limbs.

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It is said that people who travel often forget to factor themselves in when they envisage their destination from a distance. This was brought home to me largely through envy of the stamina, agility and economy of our guide, and the graceful hardiness of the hunters we met on our way. Like the Mongol throat singers who wield their voices to accommodate the landscapes they extol, these men seemed to fuse effortlessly with their environment; their horses too were like an extension of their bodies.

Here I stood, however, by way of contrast – a coddled, fragile, Western specimen completely inimical to the very fantasy I harboured. And as pointless as it was, I resented my weakness and my clumsiness. This was the inherited resistance of the body: neuraesthenic and used to too much comfort back home. By the time I pulled myself out of my cocoon and began to acclimatise, it was time to leave.

What would Chatwin have made of my journey? By his own yardstick, he would have dismissed it instantly as so much trite “incompetence.“ But in my defence, I would say that I was goaded by no grand ambition, except perhaps to break my body in and serve it a world that is closer to certain thrilling, archaic rhythms in oneself – rhythms I do not believe we have entirely out-grown yet.

In a New York Times article, (“Poetry Made Me Do It”, New York Times, October 27, 2011) from which I plundered part of my title, Jeff Gordinier

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relates how he travelled all the way to a tiny, unknown island in the Hebrides after reading the poem “Luing” by the Scottish poet, Don Paterson. At the summit of his journey, the poet’s words enter him. “One morning/ you hover on the threshold, knowing for certain/ the first touch of the light will finish you.” Who would not cross an ocean to have those very words reverberate through oneself, at the very spot where they would find their closest geographical equivalent?

The world may hold no great surprises as it once did, no stains of darkness cover the planet, and globalisation has turned otherness into coy tourist bait. But if a single line of poetry can touch you that deeply and sustain rapture, then all efforts made at its behest seem legitimate and good. That means something.

easily. By the third book in McCarthy’s trilogy, Cities of the Plain, the world of the cowboys is on the brink of extinction. Is fiction to be the last, living repository of a way of being and of relating that we have forsaken?

I read “the horses stepped archly among the shadows that fell over the road. “ (All the Pretty Horses) Sadness aside, as I lingered there, I loved knowing that in some small, private, unassuming way, you could do right by words and by the very earth we live on. Here I salute you, Mr. McCarthy.

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The Balancing Act

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We are what we eat!

Depending on your last meal this statement may or may not elicit feelings of fear or anxiety.

Even the person with the most draconian nutritional habits occasionally ingests foods that are not optimal for health. When you acknowledge that your body is actually made up of what you ingest, it is a sobering realisation - our choices affect our health in a very absolute and structural way.

By Elisa T. Keena

Many things contribute to the initiation of disease. One of our body’s innate responses to invaders such as bacteria, infections, stress, wounds, and/or damaged cells is inflammation. It can be acute, lasting 10-14 days (a cold, appendicitis or the like) or chronic, lasting weeks, months or years.

It is characterised by swelling, redness, heat and pain. Imagine the redness and swelling when you cut your finger. This same process is continuously going on in different parts of your body when you are in a state of chronic, low-grade stress. The system doesn’t turn off. There is a growing body of literature that links inflammation to cardiovascular disease, asthma, arthritis, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, autism and cancer. Chronic inflammation is also found in the obese.

We can’t change our genetics – although, sometimes, we might want to - but we can adopt habits that BALANCE our intake of foods, exercise, and our reactions to stress.

There are many ways we can change our nutritional intake to combat the effects of inflammation, but we will concentrate on….

The Skinny on Fats

The fats we ingest can play an important part in the functioning of our immune system and relieving chronic inflammation. Fats are made up of fatty acids linked together. These fatty acids are used to make hormones and as fuel for energy. They are also the building blocks of the outside membranes of all the cells in your body. Think of a cell membrane as a plastic storage bag that holds soup. If you eat a lot of meat, butter and cheese (all saturated fats) your cell membrane (the plastic bag) will be made up of saturated fats.

If you eat a lot of greens and salmon your cells will be made up of polyunsaturated fats – specifically omega-3 fatty acids.

The Science Behind the Balance of Fats

You not only have to be aware of the amount of fat you eat, but also the type of fat you eat. Your diet should be about 25-30 percent fat. On a 2000-calorie-a-day one that would be about 66 grammes (fat are 9 calories per gramme) in the ratio of 1:2:1- Saturated, Monounsaturated, Polyunsaturated.

In addition, the type of polyunsaturated fats you choose can affect your health either by decreasing or preventing the initiation or progression of chronic low-grade inflammation.

B

Busy schedules, stress, and limited amounts of time interfere with our best intentions and decrease our ability to plan, cook, buy and consume locally grown, free-range, and organic foods.

These factors stop us from exercising, from taking care of ourselves, sleeping enough, relaxing. Add in a love life and family and you can feel like you will spontaneously combust!

Our hectic lifestyles and food choices may or may not cause disease (that’s beyond the scope of this article). But if there is a predisposition to a given condition, the choices we make can attenuate or exacerbate progression of a disease.

Prostaglandins, and Leucotrienes are chemical messengers in the body - think fed-ex tracking - that play a role in inflammation both acute and chronic. They can cause contraction or relaxation of veins, arteries, and muscles in your body; they affect blood clotting, inflammatory messengers, and calcium and hormone regulation and they can induce fever. The fats you eat ultimately get broken down and create prostaglandins and leucotrienes among other things.

For simplicity’s sake, think of it as two systems. The Arachadonic Acid (AA) and the Eicopentaenoic system (EPA). When we eat polyunsaturated fats they are digested and result in one of these fatty acids. The AA system comes from omega-6 fats (vegetables oils, grains, cereals). These cause an increase in the production of prostaglandins and other chemical messengers that increase the process of inflammation. The EPA system from omega-3 polyunsaturated fats creates a system that reduces inflammation and its caustic effects on the body. Omega-3 polyunsaturated fats also help clear the body of the toxic chemicals that increase inflammation. They are an allround good choice.

So, why is there a big fuss all of a sudden?

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MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO - health All these contain more omega-6 fatty acids.

Historically, we’ve had a 1:1 ratio of omega-6 to omega-3 fats naturally in our diet through the foods that were available for us to eat. We need both pro-inflammatory and anti-inflammatory responses to maintain health. But over the past few decades there has been a change in our farming, cooking and eating styles. Animals that were once fed in grass pastures have been fed on grains. Chickens, cattle, even fish used to contain the same amount of omega-3 fats as deer, buffalo, or wild turkey. People are eating more meat, more processed foods, baked goods or using vegetable oils in cooking.

TYPE OF FAT

For example: Free range meat ~4 % of total fat from omega-3 Grain-fed farmed – none Wild trout: a 7:1 ratio of omega-3 to omega-6 Farm raised trout: a 2:1 ratio of omega-3 to omega-6

NAME ON LABELS

Saturated: Steric, - “All the links between the fatty acids are taken“ Palmitic Myristic - Solid at room Temperature

Monounsaturated: - 1 of the links between the fatty acids is free - Neutral Fat - Liquid at room temperature

EPalitoeic Oleic

ACTION

- Cholesterol - Atherosclerosis - Immunity

- HDL - LDL - Triglycerides

FOOD SOURCES Butter Cream Fatty Meats Red Meats Coconut oil Palm Oil Baked goods and pastries Olive oil Olives Canola oil Avocado Almonds Cashews Hazelnuts Rapeseed oil Nuts

Polyunsaturated: - More than one of the links between the fatty acids are free - Liquid at room temperature

Omega 6

Omega 3

Trans fat: Liquid polyunsaturated and made saturated in the lab Avoid at all costs DANTEmag n.4

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Aracadonic Linoleic

- Inflammation - immune function in large amounts - clotting of blood

Sunflower Safflower Sesame Corn Breads Cereals Grains

Eicosapentaenoic ( EPA) Docosahexanoec (DHA) Alpha Linolenic

- HDL - Circulation - High insulin - Depression - Inflammation - Asthma symptoms - Allergies Improves skin, psoriasis Arthritis Can slow effects of aging process

Oily fish Salmon Sardines Lean red meat Pecans Green leafy vegetable Canola oil Omega three eggs/ or free range eggs not grain fed.

Chemically made

- Immunity - Obesity - Cardiac disease

Margarine Processed Baked foods Prepared foods

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It’s a waterfall effect – throw one stone in the water and the ripples continue.

We all know we should eat less fat, use olive oil, and add avocados to our diet – common sense. Depending on how much stress we are experiencing, or if we have any chronic issues, employing these subtle differences in the choice of fats can have an enormous effect on our health. The jury is out on the exact amount of omega-3 to omega-6 fats your body requires, but it is somewhere between a 1:2 to a 1:4 ratio. Remember, in healthy people this can maximise immune function, and prevent sickness or disease. Imagine having clearer skin, fewer allergies, less painful joints! In people with chronic illness it may relieve some symptoms. We must consume all types of fats to function and stay healthy. It takes balancing at a different level,

Take Aways:

• Consume fats in a 1:2:1 ratio – saturated/ monounsaturated/ polyunsaturated fats.

• Limit saturated fats (anything solid at room temperature) but do not elimi-

nate them.

• Eat certified free-range meats and eggs, if you eat meat, to increase omega-3 intake.

• Eat certified organic free-range cheese.

• Add flax or hemp seeds to yogurt, salads, and vegetables.

• Make vegetables 60 % of your meal.

• Use olive oil to cook or on salads.

• Snack on olives or nuts.

• Eat fish two to three times a week (salmon, mackerel, herring, anchovies) • You can even use flax seed oil or olive oil on your skin as a moisturiser!

Stress- The Silent Enemy:

You miss your flight, the kids are sick, your parents are getting older. A close friend dies, the traffic is horrible, you couldn’t sleep, you’ve lost your job. The stock market crashed! The stock market crashed! Again! The future is unknown, your lover didn’t call, and your spouse isn’t paying attention to you. You have no time! STRESS! When these kinds of stressful situations happen the brain sends messengers to the body to mobilise it’s energy store (that is, fats) to prepare for fight DANTEmag n.4

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or flight. Run away from that woolly mammoth or tiger that is chasing you, or be ready to turn and fight it. The system has a green light to go. Unfortunately, in our societies we often don’t fight or flee. We just sit. The body’s response to stress is the same whether we lose our keys (my personal stressor, since I do it a few times a day!) or that tiger is chasing us. Same physiological response - blood pressure increases, muscles tense, pupils dilate, the body begins to sweat and tremble, and the face pales. Blood moves to the centre of the body and leaves the arms tingling. The fats the body is mobilising are the same fats we have just discussed. As your body breaks these fats down for energy you either have more of the fats that increase inflammation or that decrease it!

Basically, the hypothalamus (the general of the army) tells the pituitary, adrenals, and pancreas (three glands in our body that control metabolism) to secrete epinephrine (up to 10 times normal), cortisol (the stress hormone), insulin, and glucagon. It also tells the pituitary gland to release hormones which send out messengers to the thyroid and adrenal cortex (which control metabolism and blood flow). Cortisol and its compatriots, the mineralocorticoids, are responsible for the long-term effects of stress. These stress hormones only last a few minutes, so the body keeps releasing them. When there is no action from the body, the brain perceives that there is still a stress and continues the reaction. These glands are responsible for emotions, sleep, hunger, and body temperature. They control the kidney, heart, stomach, and blood vessels. The body then experiences sleep disorders, irritability, appetite abnormalities, tension headaches, backaches, accidents, depression, lip biting, gastrointestinal disorders, teeth grinding, and substance abuse!

Sound familiar?

The good news is that the reaction and the belief of the person experiencing the stressor determines the nature of the stress and its effects on the body. So here are a few tips on balancing it out: The Balance: Many eastern traditions, such as acupuncture, Ayurveda, Thai body masDANTEmag n.4

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sage and martial arts believe that disease is a result of blocked areas in the body of Prana, Chi, or Ki - all of which are various terms for what is simply our life force. When you release these blockages and reestablish the flow of energy, the body is restored to health. Even Western medicine is increasing its trust in mind-body connections such as pranayama, meditation, acupuncture, and yoga. All are ways to manipulate and improve the relationship between the mind and the body.

Exercise: One way to dissipate those hormones that lead to chronic inflammation from stress is to MOVE YOUR BODY. Not such an original thought!

• Cardiac workouts such as walking fast, running, kettle bell, or biking can go a long way towards diminishing the effects of stress. After all, our body is expending the energy it has mobilised to fight that “tiger.”

• Yoga also assists in decreasing the body’s response to stress – whether it’s power, hatha, or restorative. Yoga moves all the muscles in the body and massages the inner organs. It stretches the fascia (connective tissue that runs through the body) and opens the joints. Many believe that the fasciae hold a cumulative stress quota – so that by releasing them you release all the old wounds from physical, mental or emotional traumas. Yoga helps open up the body’s energy centres so that air, blood and prana can return to their normal flow. Yoga poses balance the nervous system, allowing the body to be less

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reactive to stress and decreasing anxiety. They also decrease the hormones that are secreted in a chronic stress reaction. Here are some poses that may help relax the system: • It’s great to start with a series of Sun Salutations A + B. This is a cardiac sequence which begins to loosen the muscles, works every muscle, massages inner organs, and warms the body up. It creates endorphins, which are responsible for feelings of relaxation and well being • Gentle inversions such as Forward Fold help to increase blood flow, and stimulate the glands that control metabolism and immunity – those same ones that are exhausted by long term stress and inflammation.

• Grounding poses such as Tree or Tad Asana/Mountain Pose make you feel strong and build inner strength.

• Child’s pose or Sava Sana (Corpse Pose – maybe you should try it before stress makes you a real one?) are the ultimate in relaxation.

• Gentle twists, backbends such as cobra, bridge or side bending.

Joint Mobility/ Functional Exercises: These exercises keep the joints loose and in working order. They include such positions as: a small lunge where your thigh and calf are in a 90 degree angle ,while picking a weight up off the floor; or squatting down, placing your hands on the floor, leaning into them and then using your core to stand up. This also primes the body to react to falls.

Breathing-Prananyama It has been found that slowing and extending exhalation during breathing slows the heat rate and switches the nervous system from the stress response – fight or flight – to the relaxation response (decreasing cortisol and epinephrine levels). So when we bring our attention to our breath, we reduce the effects of stress.

Alternate Nostril Breathing is a great way to either energize or relax the body. First, place your first finger and your thumb on the upper part of the nostrils slighting pinching off the airway passage. Then following these steps:

• Step 1: Release the left nostril and inhale through the right nostril.

• Step 2: At the top of the inhale, close the left nostril.

• Step 3: If you would like, hold the breath for a few counts.

• Step 4: Exhale through the right nostril.

• Step 5: Repeat.

Usually, breathing through the right nostril energises the body and breathing through the left nostril relaxes the body. You can practise this breathing exercise everyday or use it when you are under stress, or when you want to go to sleep. People might look at you funny – or not. It’s pretty popular now to use Pranayama.

Intention: Thousands of years ago Patanjali wrote the Yoga Sutras. It is amazing how this great sage’s advice is still pertinent. He states in the second series of his sutras - I paraphrase: “When disturbed by negative thoughts think of positive ones! Remove yourself from a negative environment until you feel stronger. Think and consider before you fixate on this stress, negative thought or action. What will be the results if you focus on this negative situation? Before anyone else is effected you will feel sick. Your blood will boil. You will be exhausted. When you are stressed out think of a loved one, a pet, a child, or a beautiful sunrise. The sunrise never disappoints; it shows up everyday and sheds its light on much beauty in the world. Take time to notice it.”

Contemplate Yourself: If you are very disciplined and structured (representing yang or Shiva energy) perhaps you need to loosen up and enjoy life a little. Go on a picnic, turn off the cell phone, smell a flower, dance under the moonlight! If you are walking around with your head in the clouds, an extremely creative, impulsive, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type (yin or Shakti energy), maybe you need to make a list, stick to the schedule, wake up at the same time each day. Either way, take into account your strengths and weaknesses and try to balance them out.

After all... life is too short not to enjoy it!.

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Herb Spring Winter is on the wane, the sun is lingering longer and you can almost feel your body making vitamin D again. The earth is waking up and chef to celebrities Marco Pernini talks readers through some ancient culinary traditions of spring: cooking with fresh springtime herbs and that time-honoured symbol of vernal fertility: the egg.

A

Although the specific definition of spring varies according to local climates, cultures and customs, it’s generally safe to say that it is the time of year when we see nature renewing itself. Daylight hours increase progressively through the season and everyone shares in the process of regeneration - we begin to feel reborn.

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4

5.

1.

2.

While the word is metaphorically used to refer to events that have literally happened in spring, it can also be used as a general marker for any event that sees regeneration and rebirth in our cultures and institutions: Prague Spring and, more recently, Arab Spring.

But the physical explanation is, of course, that the axis of the earth starts to tilt towards the sun. The rising temperatures mean the winter snows begin to melt, the air warms and the ground thaws. And then the phenomenon of new growth in nature takes place and among this proliferation, there are a large variety of delicious herbs that surface.

I remember going with my mum for a walk in the countryside around our house and picking fresh herbs in the fields there. They brought a taste of spring to the food we cooked.

Now, one of those wild herbs still found in Umbria is called mentuccia. It’s my favourite. I love it because it’s so versatile - mentuccia can be used in pizza and pasta sauces, stews and even with meat.

Here are some other herbs and plants you can find in any open field and you may not realise you can use in your cooking:

1. Dandelion

(Taraxacum officinale) It is undoubtedly the most popular plant on tables during spring. It’s found almost everywhere. Cooked alone or in combination with other leaf plants, DANTEmag n.4

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3.

perhaps with diced pancetta or bacon, dandelion can be an excellent sidedish. Just pick it when it’s young, otherwise if it has started to flower it’s already past it and has an extremely bitter taste.

2. Wild Hops (Humulus lupulus)

Used since the Middle Ages in the making of beer, in spring time its shoots are easy to pick, mostly climbing on fences or near running water. You can use it in a classic omelette, risotto, or even on its own, topped with a knob of butter. It tastes similar to asparagus.

3. Valerian (Lettuce Locust)

This plant is also known as “lamb’s lettuce” because the time it appears in fields coincides with lambing time. This kind of wild grass has always been widely used in the kitchen, either raw in salads or cooked with other herbs or vegetables. Today you can also find it at your local supermarket, as it is easy to grow commercially. But for me, wild valerian or lamb’s lettuce tastes much better. Try it and you will taste the difference.

4. Nettle (Urtica Diotica)

Almost universally hated, for its annoying sting when it comes into contact with your skin, nettles have always been considered a resource in peasant

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culture. In addition to them being used in the kitchen - together with other herbs or to make green gnocchi – the local peasants have made medicines and clothing from nettles since the Bronze Age. It is also, like the dandelion, an excellent purifying agent that can help rid your system of all the toxins you’ve built up over the winter.

5. Poppy (Papaver rhoeas)

The new, fresh poppy seedlings that sprout in the fields in spring are also good to eat as cooked vegetables. In fact, together with the dandelion, poppies are the most popular plants in the kitchen. Fresh poppy shoots can be cooked together with other herbs or alone as a vegetable.

6. Holly

(Ruscus aculeatus) Holly shoots grow at the base of the plant itself and have a slightly bitter taste. They are well-known for the risotto you can make with them, or you can eat them with hard-boiled eggs, as you do with asparagus.

Mentioning eggs brings me onto the next section! Many festival traditions are linked to the coming of spring. In pagan times, for instance, fertility was represented by Persephone, the daughter of Demeter, returning from the underworld to her mother, having spent time with Hades, the god of those regions. The stories and customs of ancient cultures have synthesised over the years, but they all have a common denominator: they celebrate a new

beginning, a new awakening, a resurrection of life after the darkness of the winter.

That is why Easter is the most celebrated religious event. Our modern age has mixed up this meaning of fertility by celebrating Easter with chocolate eggs, as spring is, of course, the season when birds lay their eggs.

But, in many parts of the world, real eggs are still used in Easter celebrations. A most popular tradition is for children to lovingly decorate hardboiled eggs, which are hidden in the garden or round the house and then on Easter Sunday, they go “Easter Egg Hunting” Talking of eggs, what also comes to mind to me as a chef is the typical Italian frittata, which can be made in a variety of ways. In addition to using all the wild herbs and plants I’ve listed above, I like mine to be thicker than the normal frittata adding potatoes to make sure it looks like a Spanish tortilla and my recipe gives you a chance to add a variety of ingredients to make it tastier, like adding Parmesan cheese and ham. If you have any left over, you can reuse it the next day cold in a sandwich, or in a salad.

And so I leave you with my very own recipe for the Italian Frittata I once cooked for the superstar tenor José Carreras, who pleased me when he told me after, “You make tortilla better than a Spaniard.”

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INGREDIENTS:

• • • • •

8 large potatoes, peeled and cut up 9 eggs 1 small handful of mentuccia, chopped 1 small handful of chives, chopped Salt and pepper

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MEAN SANA IN CORPORE SANO - Food METHOD: In a non-stick frying pan, heat some vegetable oil and fry the potatoes, turning them from time to time until they are crispy and slightly brown - I like to add a little salt at this point. Once cooked, remove the potatoes and drain on kitchen paper, keeping the oil In a bowl, beat the eggs, adding the herbs, and season with salt and pepper. Add the potatoes and mix well.

Return the frying pan you used with its oil to the heat. When the oil is hot again, add the egg-potato mixture, turning with a wooden spoon for the first few minutes, so that it cooks through.

Then reduce the heat and let it cook on one side. Using a lid, turn the frittata over and cook the other side until it is set. I like to leave it a bit soft in the middle, but you can cook it longer if you prefer.

Slice the frittata and serve hot or cold.

Delicious!

Happy spring to all Dantemag readers !!!

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O

NonnoPanda TALES

One day lost in the dark wood, unable to find the right way. . . .

...I happened to stumble across my friend Virgil. He has always been a strange character. He claimed to have written many poems and books, but as I can’t read myself I just have to take his word for it.

What I like about him is that he is always ready to take me on an epic journey--whether that means going places physically or simply in his imagination.

“Nonno Panda do you feel spring coming on?” he asked me as he approached me.

“Well, I can see the days are getting longer,” I replied, “but I’m not sure about the temperature. The winter seems to be hanging around a bit longer this year. Even the snowdrops haven’t come through yet.”

“My dear friend, you’re getting too old in your soul. That’s not good! Spring is the rebirth of nature, a feeling of opening up to new things. You’ve got to get out of the woods sometimes and see what’s out there. Come with me and I’ll show you the effect spring is having on other animals like you.”

Siezus Lazius Fortius

Virgil told me this open green field had seen many gatherings for all kinds of things, from a concert performed by the Lupus Rock band - which the Wolves gave in honour of their new cubs – to the annual convention for the Geese when they organised a fashion parade to show off their new plumage.

How extraordinary, I thought. And all this has been going on practically under my nose. I should definitely get out of the woods more often. Apparently, the latter event always culminates in the election of “Miss Goose of the Year”, a very prestigious award indeed. And every Mother Goose with nubile young daughters attends, swelling with pride and hoping to see her dream come true for her daughter - one which, more often than not, she had failed to realise for herself.

Virgil told me there has been some controversy about the fact that the contestants seemed to get thinner and thinner every year.

“I know the reason,” I told him. “Winters are getting longer. I can see the effect it’s having on my shape. I’ve almost used all the fat I’d built up during the summer. And that’s not good! I look all wrinkly.”

But Virgil laughed, replying that was not what the matter with the geese was.

“They do it on purpose so they can show off their plumage to better effect.

I could not even begin to imagine what they looked like under all those feathers. Not a pretty sight, I thought.

Nothing wrong with letting somebody else taking the lead, I thought, so I went along with him.

We walked for a bit till we left the shadows of the trees behind, and clear space opened up in front of us. The snowdrops were right there, and the first yellow primroses looked like a ray of sunshine against all that white.

But the ganders do not seem to care much about that. In fact, the riots that happen every year– when all those males turned up, hoping to take the winner and her princesses – have become almost as traditional as the contests themselves. The resulting deaths are accepted as an inevitable fact of life.

Spring was definitely coming. It was all there in front of me .

I guess winning a trophy is more important than anything else. Ah! The rag-

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ing hormones of driven youth. I suppose it was all so long ago for me that I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.

Not all the cultural events that have taken place here have been as lighthearted as that one. Sports too have been taken seriously here. The motto of the games is in a strange and forgotten language: Seizius, Lazius, Fortius.

While no-one quite knows what it means, it sounded very grand to me, especially when Virgil pronounced it properly.

The strengths and the abilities of each species are pitted against each other, in the hope of this possibly resulting in new and exciting evolutionary trends. Sadly, nothing ground-breaking has been seen for years as Virgil confirmed. The Cheetahs continue to hold the land speed record; the Kangaroos always win the jumping – though the Fleas give them a good run for their money! The Monkeys are unbeatable at pole vaulting. The swimming medals, however, are often shared between the Dolphins and the Sea Lions from amongst the mammals.

Disputes in sport are common, especially if a sponsor gets involved and they are settled by the FAG – Federation for Animal Games, whose decisions are always accepted by the competitors in the end, though not always with good grace.

A particularly popular sport is the famous spitting contest between the Llamas – those unashamed salivators – and the Cobras. It must be said, though, the Cobras have an unfair advantage; unfair, that is, in the eyes of the umpires - literally - as their spit is, of course, highly poisonous. The honour of having to judge this contest is not eagerly sought after .

It is, in fact, the high risks the umpires run that attracts the huge crowds, as you can well imagine. But the contest is becoming increasingly rarer as the years go by because the traditional umpires have been dying out and there

are no volunteers to replace them. FAG claims it is tackling this problem, and their delays have managed to string things out for years. In fact, it may ultimately be a politically-correct way to end the controversy by so-called natural causes, namely the lack of umpires.

Other events, like calculating exactly how long something lasts, are the exclusive domain of the Sloths, those undisputed kings of the time trials. It always feels like nobody can ever go as slowly as they can. In fact, Sloths takes a whole day to reach the top of a tree and climb down again. The Monkeys, the usual denizens of those high branches, can translate each stage of the journey into the appropriate time-span for anyone that’s interested.

“Tree branches, one hour,” a helpful monkey might shout out, to the intense annoyance of the Sloths,who would prefer an uninterrupted stroll.

“Here we are dear Nonno Panda,” said Virgil. “I hope, now that you’ve seen all this, I’ve convinced you you should be in a better mood.”

I did not think I was in any kind of a mood at all, but I did not have time to reply, as Virgil then launched into reciting something that sounded like one of his poems..

“When daisies pied, and violets blue, And cookoo-buds of yellow hue, When turtles tread, and rock and daws…”

He gestured at me, getting carried away in his poetic train of thought Ah! The mood of spring, I sighed as I watched him fade into the distance, with the sound of his verses ringing out. I decided to stay back and ponder on all the activities my fellow animals had indulged in .

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Leviathan

By Chris Kline

J

The Rise of a New Czar

So Vladimir Putin is once more Russia’s president. Despite substantive evidence of systematic fraud in the national election and vocal protests by a brave minority of ordinary citizens and journalists, it is seemingly the result most Russians hoped for. Putin was the man they wanted. It doesn’t speak well of the Russian masses that, on the whole, he is embraced on his return to the Kremlin.

Instead it leaves the Russian people open to criticism, indeed to stereotypes that somehow they are inherently servile, a people unready for true democracy, who care more for authoritarian rule. So long as there are sufficient potatoes, borscht, pickles and vodka on the table, it makes no matter who the boss is in Moscow. This is an awful, hateful collective character assassination.

It suggests that in their heart of hearts, despite the undisputed creative, artistic and intellectual genius of a longstanding Russian intelligentsia, which has given much to the cultural patrimony of the world, despite a large middle class, Russians are still mostly, boorish, semi-cultured, slavish serfs inept at independent thought. It implies that they need to be led with a stick, dictated to, kept in their place.

The easy conclusion seems to be that Russians neither deserve, nor want nor can engage with democracy properly. Throw in an enduring penchant for corruption, racism, anti-Semitism, sexism, alcoholism, criminality and domestic violence as collective anti-virtues and the massacre of the national identity is complete. Of course, it’s too extreme a judgment to even remotely contemplate seriously. But why is Putin so well loved at home despite his vocal, courageous (and too few) detractors?

Rather than heralding a new era in evolving Russian democracy, Putin’s return with intentions to abrogate the Russian Constitution in order to enable an evolving dictatorship with the trappings of democracy marks the beginning of a new draconian era. Arguably this is a continuation of a virtually unbroken, centuries-old tradition of Russian authoritarianism – be it Czarist, Soviet or post-Soviet.

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The vast proportion of the top slots in the whole of Russia’s public or private sector are held by those who, like Putin himself, are former members of the security services, whether from the Cold-War-era KGB or its successor agency the FSB. If we further factor in the elastic nature of the Russian judiciary, the complete absence of freedom of expression, the muzzling of the press, the routine abuse of human and civil rights, not to mention a genocidal war and equally brutal occupation in Chechnya, it becomes very difficult to interpret modern Russia as anything other than a police state.

It is true that an economic boom sparked by Russia’s vast petroleum wealth, has resurrected the financial wealth of the state. But just as in the immediate post-Soviet era when the collapse of communism gave rise to legions of robber barons and overnight billionaires, the cronyism in place then is as much in evidence now. The wealth does not trickle down nor is it evenly distributed. It rests, rather, in the hands of an elite, composed of government officials, the nouveau riche and organised crime - all rather feudal really.

Then there’s the question of Russian foreign policy. In most respects it’s little different from that of the Soviet era. Russia is still in bed with the most notorious dictatorships and authoritarian regimes – from Belarus, to Syria and Sudan. The Kremlin’s hostility to NATO is barely disguised, as are Moscow’s intentions to rebuild its sphere of influence in what was formerly Soviet Central Asia – Russia’s “near abroad” since time immemorial.

So where is the new Russia? Is there such a thing as a new Putin? It may be some time yet before Mother Russia dons truly new clothes. Plus ça change….

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