MEXICO
There are many places in the world that I would like to visit, but Mexico is not one of them. Well, not just at the moment, at any rate.
The main reason is that it seems to be incredibly violent. On 2 August the country's head of national intelligence said that more than 28,000 people had died in drug-related violence since 2006. Presumably there are other sorts of violence on top of that. Although the drug-fuelled stuff mainly affects bad guys and law-enforcement agents of one kind or another, ordinary citizens can (and do) get caught in the cross-fire. Some of it is also particularly horrific, with beheadings, public hangings from bridges, and the like.
Mexico is the main conduit for the supply of drugs into the United States, For what seems to be a very long time, the U.S. has conducted a "war on drugs", concentrating large amounts of resources in trying to reduce supply, notably in Latin America. However, this doesn't seem to have worked, not least because the street prices of drugs in the U.S. have fallen, which is the opposite of what you would expect. Faced with this unwelcome fact, an increasing number of people have begun to call for the legalisation (or, at least, decriminalisation) of some or all drugs, starting with marijuana. In the same way that prohibition did nothing for the American public's appetite for alcohol, but merely gave control of its production and distribution to criminals, so the same is true of drugs. Better, therefore, for Governments to licence, regulate and tax them, runs the argument.
I have always had some sympathy for this view, not least because I have tried marijuana and it seemed no worse than alcohol (what I didn't like was imbibing it through cigarettes, since I am a non-smoker). However, a more powerful voice than mine has now entered the debate. Shortly after Mexico's current President Felipe Calderon called for a debate on the matter, his predecessor Vicente Fox publicly suggested legalisation. When in office, Mr. Fox felt he had to back down, when faced with President Bush's objections. However, Mr. Bush is now gone, the drugs are still coming, and an awful lot of Mexicans are dying. Perhaps this time, there will be a rethink.
Walter Blotscher
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Monday, 30 August 2010
DANISH CHURCHYARDS
Being a state church, as the Lutheran Church in Denmark is, has its advantages. The church is, in principle, financed by a separate tax (though non-members can opt out of this). But this is never enough, so the state provides a top-up payment. In return, the church carries out certain public functions, such as maintaining the registries of births and deaths in the parish.
One of those public functions is to manage graveyards. In order to fulfil this obligation, most parish churches employ a "graver" (a gravedigger), often on a part-time basis. Since modern Danes tend to die rather intermittently, particularly in rural areas, most of the graver's time is spent not on digging, but on gardening. When allied to a general Danish tendency towards tidiness, the result is spectacularly well-kept churchyards; well-laid out, with upright headstones and neat rows of box hedges along the weedless gravel paths. This is not always the case elsewhere in Europe. I visited my father's grave in England not long ago, and it looked a complete mess. Situated on a hillside, it was overgrown with weeds, prone to flooding and seemingly close to collapse.
It helps, I suppose, that Denmark became Lutheran in 1536. The Protestant reaction against finery in churches - few paintings, an absence of gold and marble, simple vestments - meant that more money was available for practical things such as keeping the roof from leaking and cutting the grass. In Granada recently, we visited the fantastic renaissance cathedral with its museum of gold and silver plate, and rich clothing studded with jewels. They would certainly have reflected the majesty of the Emperor Charles V and inspired awe in the congregation; but perhaps the average Andalucian peasant would, on balance, have preferred a well-tended grave for their loved ones?
Walter Blotscher
Being a state church, as the Lutheran Church in Denmark is, has its advantages. The church is, in principle, financed by a separate tax (though non-members can opt out of this). But this is never enough, so the state provides a top-up payment. In return, the church carries out certain public functions, such as maintaining the registries of births and deaths in the parish.
One of those public functions is to manage graveyards. In order to fulfil this obligation, most parish churches employ a "graver" (a gravedigger), often on a part-time basis. Since modern Danes tend to die rather intermittently, particularly in rural areas, most of the graver's time is spent not on digging, but on gardening. When allied to a general Danish tendency towards tidiness, the result is spectacularly well-kept churchyards; well-laid out, with upright headstones and neat rows of box hedges along the weedless gravel paths. This is not always the case elsewhere in Europe. I visited my father's grave in England not long ago, and it looked a complete mess. Situated on a hillside, it was overgrown with weeds, prone to flooding and seemingly close to collapse.
It helps, I suppose, that Denmark became Lutheran in 1536. The Protestant reaction against finery in churches - few paintings, an absence of gold and marble, simple vestments - meant that more money was available for practical things such as keeping the roof from leaking and cutting the grass. In Granada recently, we visited the fantastic renaissance cathedral with its museum of gold and silver plate, and rich clothing studded with jewels. They would certainly have reflected the majesty of the Emperor Charles V and inspired awe in the congregation; but perhaps the average Andalucian peasant would, on balance, have preferred a well-tended grave for their loved ones?
Walter Blotscher
Sunday, 29 August 2010
THE AUSTRALIAN ELECTION
In my blog on Lene Espersen, I said that there was no such thing as a shoo-in in politics. Julia Gillard should have taken note.
Just over two months ago, Ms Gillard was deputy leader of Australia's ruling Labor Party, and a Government Minister. Worried by falling opinion polls caused by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's decision to abandon a proposed emissions trading scheme, she organised a palace coup that dumped Mr. Rudd and installed her as party leader. From that position she automatically became the country's first woman Prime Minister. Buoyed by the subsequent blip in the polls, she called a snap general election in order to give herself a proper mandate. Facing an opposition led by the unattractive Tony Abbott, and fortified by the knowledge that Australians had not rejected a first-term government since the 1930's, she looked a shoo-in for a second term.
She was not. Lacklustre campaigns by both major blocks, and a flight of voters to the Green Party, have led to a hung Parliament for the first time since 1940. Labor has 72 seats in the 150-seat House of Representatives, the lower house of Parliament, the Liberal/National coalition has 73, the Green Party has one, and there are 4 independents. Since the independents are former opposition members from rural outback communities, you might think that the opposition has the upper hand. However, there are good reasons why they are "former opposition members", so nothing is certain. Negotiations and horse-trading look set to continue for some time.
The last thing Australia needs at the moment is a weak Government. So whoever comes out on top this time round, it is likely that there will be a fresh general election before too long. In the meantime, we should rejoice in the fact that this election produced the country's first ever Aboriginal M.P. in the lower - and more important - house (there have previously been two in the Senate). It was a long time coming, but an important milestone nevertheless.
Walter Blotscher
In my blog on Lene Espersen, I said that there was no such thing as a shoo-in in politics. Julia Gillard should have taken note.
Just over two months ago, Ms Gillard was deputy leader of Australia's ruling Labor Party, and a Government Minister. Worried by falling opinion polls caused by Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's decision to abandon a proposed emissions trading scheme, she organised a palace coup that dumped Mr. Rudd and installed her as party leader. From that position she automatically became the country's first woman Prime Minister. Buoyed by the subsequent blip in the polls, she called a snap general election in order to give herself a proper mandate. Facing an opposition led by the unattractive Tony Abbott, and fortified by the knowledge that Australians had not rejected a first-term government since the 1930's, she looked a shoo-in for a second term.
She was not. Lacklustre campaigns by both major blocks, and a flight of voters to the Green Party, have led to a hung Parliament for the first time since 1940. Labor has 72 seats in the 150-seat House of Representatives, the lower house of Parliament, the Liberal/National coalition has 73, the Green Party has one, and there are 4 independents. Since the independents are former opposition members from rural outback communities, you might think that the opposition has the upper hand. However, there are good reasons why they are "former opposition members", so nothing is certain. Negotiations and horse-trading look set to continue for some time.
The last thing Australia needs at the moment is a weak Government. So whoever comes out on top this time round, it is likely that there will be a fresh general election before too long. In the meantime, we should rejoice in the fact that this election produced the country's first ever Aboriginal M.P. in the lower - and more important - house (there have previously been two in the Senate). It was a long time coming, but an important milestone nevertheless.
Walter Blotscher
Saturday, 28 August 2010
NEIGHBOURS
One of the nice things about living in a rural area is that you get to know your neighbours better. There is, in principle, no reason why it should be different in cities; after all, if physical distance is the criterion, then your neighbour in a block of flats will be much nearer than ours are. However, based on my experience of living in London, I would say that it just doesn't seem to work out that way.
We live on a cul-de-sac off a cul-de-sac, on a tarmac road that turns into a track leading down to the Baltic Sea, about half a mile away. There are four houses on the other side of the road (of which one is a summer house, so the owners are not often there), but ours is the only one on this side. Nobody is closer than 200 metres.
Despite that, we know all of the people in our little cul-de-sac, and most of the people in the bigger cul-de-sac, even though that runs for almost a mile up, and over, and around, the hill. In part, that is because we exchange services. Our neighbour with horses cuts and keeps the grass in our paddock; in return, I can call on him and his tractor to help me pull out tree roots. Another neighbour has chickens, where we buy our eggs. A third is a builder, who lent me one of his small scaffolding systems when I put a new roof on the middle building in return for three bottles of red wine. A fourth has a job driving big machines that make the trenches for sewerage pipes and such like. When we had our optic fibre cable installed, he helpfully brought home one of the machines and dug the connection trench for us from the road to the house; it took about 5 minutes.
Given enough time, we would probably have got to know all of them in due course. However, what really helps the process along is the annual street dinner for the two culs-de-sac, which we hold every August. This year's took place last night up the road, with my wife standing as one of the two co-hosts. 20 people came, which was a pretty good showing. We had great food, and I had a lot of extra strong beer (one neighbour works for the local brewery). It was all very "hyggeligt", as they say in these parts.
The other co-host will be leaving our little society, since he is getting divorced and has had to sell his house, the oldest in our village. But we were able to welcome two newcomers to the area. And on 1 October, the new owners of the house will arrive, fresh from 5 years in Australia. I'll probably get to know them before long.
Walter Blotscher
One of the nice things about living in a rural area is that you get to know your neighbours better. There is, in principle, no reason why it should be different in cities; after all, if physical distance is the criterion, then your neighbour in a block of flats will be much nearer than ours are. However, based on my experience of living in London, I would say that it just doesn't seem to work out that way.
We live on a cul-de-sac off a cul-de-sac, on a tarmac road that turns into a track leading down to the Baltic Sea, about half a mile away. There are four houses on the other side of the road (of which one is a summer house, so the owners are not often there), but ours is the only one on this side. Nobody is closer than 200 metres.
Despite that, we know all of the people in our little cul-de-sac, and most of the people in the bigger cul-de-sac, even though that runs for almost a mile up, and over, and around, the hill. In part, that is because we exchange services. Our neighbour with horses cuts and keeps the grass in our paddock; in return, I can call on him and his tractor to help me pull out tree roots. Another neighbour has chickens, where we buy our eggs. A third is a builder, who lent me one of his small scaffolding systems when I put a new roof on the middle building in return for three bottles of red wine. A fourth has a job driving big machines that make the trenches for sewerage pipes and such like. When we had our optic fibre cable installed, he helpfully brought home one of the machines and dug the connection trench for us from the road to the house; it took about 5 minutes.
Given enough time, we would probably have got to know all of them in due course. However, what really helps the process along is the annual street dinner for the two culs-de-sac, which we hold every August. This year's took place last night up the road, with my wife standing as one of the two co-hosts. 20 people came, which was a pretty good showing. We had great food, and I had a lot of extra strong beer (one neighbour works for the local brewery). It was all very "hyggeligt", as they say in these parts.
The other co-host will be leaving our little society, since he is getting divorced and has had to sell his house, the oldest in our village. But we were able to welcome two newcomers to the area. And on 1 October, the new owners of the house will arrive, fresh from 5 years in Australia. I'll probably get to know them before long.
Walter Blotscher
Friday, 27 August 2010
SILVICULTURE IN AUGUST
It is the time of year for some serious work with a chainsaw. Our house is next to a wood, the first part of which is on our property. The whole wood is a conservation area, which means we are allowed to prune and trim within it, but not to go completely amok. The problem is that the wood itself does not understand words like conservation area, boundary or demarcation, and so steadily advances towards the house in the form of fast-growing sycamore trees.
Hence the need for defence in the form of my trusty Husqvarna. Having put in a brand new chain, I have this week cut the wood back to where it was when we arrived in 2002. Any thin trees or branches are dumped on the compost heap as a way of putting pressure on the Mole Army. Thicker stems (the rule of thumb is wider than a man's arm) are set to one side for future chopping and use in the wood-fired stove. When the ground is fully cleared, I will set up my wife's brand-new wooden washing line contraption, which will make her happy.
Most people around here tend to do their chainsaw work in deepest winter. I do some then as well. But I also tend to have a go in summer, since it is easier to pick out the trees that take the most light, when they are in full bloom.
I like messing around with trees. Cutting away so that the bigger trees get more light and room to grow. Right beside the house is a huge beech tree, which must be more than 300 years old. That's a serious tree.
Walter Blotscher
It is the time of year for some serious work with a chainsaw. Our house is next to a wood, the first part of which is on our property. The whole wood is a conservation area, which means we are allowed to prune and trim within it, but not to go completely amok. The problem is that the wood itself does not understand words like conservation area, boundary or demarcation, and so steadily advances towards the house in the form of fast-growing sycamore trees.
Hence the need for defence in the form of my trusty Husqvarna. Having put in a brand new chain, I have this week cut the wood back to where it was when we arrived in 2002. Any thin trees or branches are dumped on the compost heap as a way of putting pressure on the Mole Army. Thicker stems (the rule of thumb is wider than a man's arm) are set to one side for future chopping and use in the wood-fired stove. When the ground is fully cleared, I will set up my wife's brand-new wooden washing line contraption, which will make her happy.
Most people around here tend to do their chainsaw work in deepest winter. I do some then as well. But I also tend to have a go in summer, since it is easier to pick out the trees that take the most light, when they are in full bloom.
I like messing around with trees. Cutting away so that the bigger trees get more light and room to grow. Right beside the house is a huge beech tree, which must be more than 300 years old. That's a serious tree.
Walter Blotscher
Thursday, 26 August 2010
WHAT WE EAT
I visited an interesting factory the other day. It makes just one product, meat protein, which is then used in a host of other food items. The plant is situated in the middle of nowhere in the north of Denmark, and employs around 70 people. There is only one other factory of its kind in the country.
The protein is made from two inputs; porcine bone meal (i.e. minced up pig bones) and porcine skin. Being Denmark, with lots of piggies, there is ample raw material around. That raw material is then boiled, diced, milled, dried, blended and packed, before being sent off in large bags to sausage makers and their ilk. The building was a mass of pipes, conveyors, hoppers, silos, pumps, washing facilities, grinders, weighing machines and extractors. And hanging over everything was a funny sort of smell, part pig, part disinfectant, part washing-up liquid.
It was, at the same time, both fascinating and repellant. Fascinating because of its size and complexity, repellant as you dimly become aware of one of the things that goes into a large proportion of your food. When I told my 16-year old (and vegetarian) daughter about it, I could see a look of revulsion cross her face. As for me, I think it will be some time before I eat another sausage.
Walter Blotscher
I visited an interesting factory the other day. It makes just one product, meat protein, which is then used in a host of other food items. The plant is situated in the middle of nowhere in the north of Denmark, and employs around 70 people. There is only one other factory of its kind in the country.
The protein is made from two inputs; porcine bone meal (i.e. minced up pig bones) and porcine skin. Being Denmark, with lots of piggies, there is ample raw material around. That raw material is then boiled, diced, milled, dried, blended and packed, before being sent off in large bags to sausage makers and their ilk. The building was a mass of pipes, conveyors, hoppers, silos, pumps, washing facilities, grinders, weighing machines and extractors. And hanging over everything was a funny sort of smell, part pig, part disinfectant, part washing-up liquid.
It was, at the same time, both fascinating and repellant. Fascinating because of its size and complexity, repellant as you dimly become aware of one of the things that goes into a large proportion of your food. When I told my 16-year old (and vegetarian) daughter about it, I could see a look of revulsion cross her face. As for me, I think it will be some time before I eat another sausage.
Walter Blotscher
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
THE TUDORS
There was more of the Tudors on the tele this evening. Cate Blanchett starring in the sequel to Elizabeth, this time as the mature - though still virgin - queen of 1585, the year of the Spanish Armada.
I am not sure that it was historically 100% accurate. But it gave a good introduction to the issues involved; the religious and political rivalry with Spain, the threat from Catholicism, what to do with Mary, Queen of Scots, the difficulties of being an unmarried queen when monarchies require an heir, and the close shave before the Armada is eventually destroyed (mainly through bad weather). Plus the costumes and scenery were great.
As an Englishman in a multinational family, I got a little lump in the throat when we won. It's just a pity we are not as good as the Spanish at football.
Walter Blotscher
There was more of the Tudors on the tele this evening. Cate Blanchett starring in the sequel to Elizabeth, this time as the mature - though still virgin - queen of 1585, the year of the Spanish Armada.
I am not sure that it was historically 100% accurate. But it gave a good introduction to the issues involved; the religious and political rivalry with Spain, the threat from Catholicism, what to do with Mary, Queen of Scots, the difficulties of being an unmarried queen when monarchies require an heir, and the close shave before the Armada is eventually destroyed (mainly through bad weather). Plus the costumes and scenery were great.
As an Englishman in a multinational family, I got a little lump in the throat when we won. It's just a pity we are not as good as the Spanish at football.
Walter Blotscher
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