Feature

Putre, Chile I am so terribly sorry. It is me who is to blame. Hands up, I have been caught red handed. Sorry, Miss, it was me who washed his underwear in the bathroom sink. Clearly, in Chile’s Putre, this was simply not done. I blamed myself, of course, as I knew I should not have mentioned Fawlty Towers, that John Cleese wonder, when checking in to the hotel. Perhaps it was the lofty altitude of 3500 metres and the diplomatic portion of my brain had defunctioned. Perhaps it was simply too[...]

Santiago, Chile How I wish our Maker had given us three arms, or in my case had made me an octopus. I have insufficient hands to complete each task and there is always something undone unless I focus. t was mid-day and I was standing in front of an elevator’s tightly closed polished metallic doors, on the head-spinning 38th floor of a 63-storey Santiago hotel. The doors were scratched and part dented, acting more as a fairground mirror. My body was stumpy, my face deformed, and the flesh of my hands appeared[...]

Somewhere over Cayenne, French Guiana They call it a Dreamliner, do they? Well you could have fooled me. I know it is big, I know it is light and I know it flies extraordinarily high. But believe me, sleep did not come easy on my 14-hour, British Airways flight to Chile. I tried, honest I did, but all that happened was my head began to loll, my tongue flopped sideways and I started to attract bemused looks from passengers nearby. The bloke beside me, somewhere in his early forties, balding, with his[...]

Umm Suqeim, UAE The solution is simple. They should predict my errors, I should not have to try. After all, the manufacturers of modern, high-end technology must by now be aware that idiot doctors at the end of idiotically long days are bound to be exhausted. So knackered, so exhausted, incredibly tired, barely making sense, that the most natural thing in the world is to drop a dictating machine into an undrunk mug of healthcare coffee. Dear me, healthcare coffee, now there is a topic for debate. It was a latte, steaming,[...]

Como, Italy There is something happening in Italy, at least in Como as I sit on my lakeside bench. Around me are the seeds of change. I can feel them, sense them, smell or even hear. The Italy I once knew is slowly vanishing, replaced by a newer version that I can only hope is fit for the transformations lying ahead. Hope is not always reliable. Ask David Cameron at the Brexit referendum. Could it be the nearly 200,000 migrants, mostly economic, who crossed the waters only last year, the 150,000 the[...]

Troyes, France This should be seriously spooky but for some reason it is not. It is early, 6.15 in the morning, the city of Troyes in France, and I am alone. Dawn is brightening the windows and last night’s dinner is still lying heavily in my gut. It is the bread, you see. What is it about French bread? Hot, cold, crisp or crumbly, seeded, smelly or normal, I cannot keep away. The moment breadbasket hits table, the bread does not stand a chance. Within seconds I am shovelling it in, slice[...]