Stormtroopers in Stilettos

A couple of nights ago I had a rather crazy dream. Perhaps the nocturnal subconscious ramblings of a latent showman, I awakened convinced that I had just been on stage with the late Freddie Mercury.

You might scoff at the sight of yours truly in flares and platform shoes (which, by the way, I still deny), but a more sobering thought is that 24 November marks the death of the flamboyant Queen front-man exactly nineteen years ago.

On the back of this poignant milestone and great loss to the music world, 2011 is also cause for celebration as this marks 40 years in the industry for Queen as a band.

Formed in 1971, the influence, talent and glamour contributed by Queen to musical history does not need much further explanation.

QUEEN

Keep Yourself Alive

I have been fortunate enough to see Queen live twice in recent years, albeit with Paul Rodgers of Bad Company and Free fame on lead vocals. Original bassist John Deacon is the other notable absentee - by choice he remains retired from music and very much a recluse to all advances from the outside world with respect to Queen.

Despite the change in personnel, in both shows it was evident that the spirit of Freddie Mercury very much lives and breathes in every live performance of Queen's music. This, after all, is where Freddie did thrive as a musician and as a person.

In March 2005 my sister Lauren and I were privileged enough to see the reformed Queen + Paul Rogers at the Brixton Academy. This was a special moment as it was their very first UK show as a reformed band, falling a couple of weeks after the Nelson Mandela 46664 charity gig at Fancourt in South Africa.

With 4500 tickets available only to the media and Queen Fan Club, the gig was as high in expectation as Freddie's finest falsettos. The electricity in the air that night would surely have powered Brian May's guitar amps for the gig. For those familiar with Brixton Academy, the art deco interior is ornate and warm, with the intimacy of a 1930's cinema theatre. Our standing tickets near the front of the house were as close as one could hope for a show of this magnitude.

A tumultuous roar carried the band onto stage as they launched into the hard rocking Tie Your Mother Down, firmly setting the vibe dial to ten for the rest of the gig. The intimacy of the exchanges between the musicians was indeed something special to witness for any live music fan. The softly-spoken Brian May in many ways the antithesis of rock-hard vocalist Paul Rodgers; one can assume a very similar stage relationship with Mercury.

At a point during the show, all but May disappeared from the stage, leaving the guitarist illuminated in bright white light perched on a stool hugging a 12-string acoustic guitar. May's words at that moment will never leave me. Scanning the crowd for a few moments, his soft tone casually broke the eerie and expectant silence, as he thanked the audience for accepting Queen back onto the live stage. May continued that at this moment he could clearly see the face of every audience member, and was now convinced that “we have done the right thing”.

The flood of emotion running through the Brixton Academy that night was unlike anything I have witnessed in music. The ice-cool May, visibly shaken himself, proceeded to pay tribute to his long-absent friend and fellow musical genius by leading the few thousand before him in a unified acoustic rendition of the Mercury-penned "Love of My Life".

Queen + Paul Rodgers - Brixton Academy 2005

In retrospect my dream makes sense –  in some way with every Queen song we find ourselves on a stage with Freddie Mercury.

We Will Rock You

Queen's appeal to the public is clearly evident in the runaway success of the We Will Rock You musical. Penned as a collaboration between Ben Elton, Brian May and Roger Taylor few will argue the fact that this production is deliberately packaged for mass consumption.

As a result, the hardcore fans lament that this show detracts from the complexity and ground-breaking genius that defined Queen for the better part of two decades.

A rather weak storyline is altogether carried by the music, the aim of which is only to put overweight tourist bums on West End theatre seats. With this in mind, one could just imagine one Freddie Mercury turning in his grave at the thought of Wednesday afternoon matinees in Tottenham Court Road. This is surely not rock n' roll in the grandiose style defining Mercury. This begs the question; does Freddie's spirit live on in this work? This is debatable.

The cynicism aside, and having circumnavigated the globe since it's launch in 2002, the popularity of We Will Rock You shows no sign of letting up as it prepares for yet another tour of the UK and beyond commencing in 2011.

We Are the Champions

The original Queen line-up remains a unique animal. The unassuming calm and stability of bassist John Deacon and drummer Roger Taylor, the rhythm section and engine room of this powerhouse quartet, are in superb juxtaposition to the energised flamboyance of Mercury and layered virtuosity of guitarist Brian May. It just works.

Classically-based, Mercury's compositions are captivating and perfectly complement the driving guitar riffs of May, creating the 'rock opera' that mirrored Queen's style and performances. Anthemic and grand productions have the power to elevate every single audience member into that role on stage Mercury so powerfully executed. A front-man, attacking every song as if it were his last act on earth. In many ways it was.

Brian May's influence over the rock guitar and it's development is unchallenged. A technical maestro and virtuoso, May's sound is unmistakable and his guitar an apparent fifth band member. At the age of 16 May designed a guitar, the now iconic Red Special, which has featured throughout his playing career. According to May, the guitar is made of wood from an 18th century fireplace and has components from a bicycle, a knitting needle and an old motorcycle. This is the measure of the genius.

Mercury & May

Queen's only mistake in the eyes of the prog-rock aficionados can be that they actually did write very catchy tunes. This fact must take nothing away from the quality and complexity of Mercury and May as the primary songwriters. The role of John Deacon in the success of Queen is very much underestimated. A bassist of phenomenal technical ability, Deacon provides the perfect framework for May on lead guitar. Theirs was a true act of mutualism, two individual instrumentalists, perfectly unified, and the key to the luxuriant Queen sound. Deacon's contributions as a songwriter, rhythm guitarist and keyboardist are similarly overlooked. These are all extraordinary musicians.

Queen put intelligence into hard rock. Much like like their progressive forerunners, Pink Floyd, these musicians all boast degreed education, applying these principles and disciplines into their music.

These are four highly educated individuals – Mercury (Art and Design), Deacon (Degree in Electronics), Taylor ( Degree in Biology), and Dr Brian May CBE PhD with an honours degree and doctorate in Astrophysics.

At least they have something to fall back on.

Innuendo

Elvis Presley arrived early enough to claim the title ”King of Rock n' Roll”. It is however Freddie Mercury that lays right to the accolade as the Crown Prince of Performance. This man was, and still is, an enigma in the world of music. In every performance, Mercury never left any doubt as to where attention should be focussed. His voice, his stature, his uninhibited prancing, and his music deserved the glare of attention. In the digital age, where sound and vision is permanently on demand, Freddie Mercury is still in the eyes of the world.

Elvis took the title, but the crown and sceptre belong to Mercury.

Deserving a special mention, one Queen song defines the man - Bohemian Rhapsody. This piece of music is the embodiment of Freddie Mercury. Epic,complex and layered the musical styles morph between classical, jazz, operatic and rock overtones. These elements are alive in this exquisite composition, which today is still as fresh and ground-breaking as the first time it was heard across the airwaves on Kenny Everitt's Capital Radio in 1975.

Bohemian Rhapsody is by many definitions a self-portrait of a man at a crossroads in his life. There is change, and it has been drastic. A part of him is left behind for good, so embarking into a new life, and probably the final phase for Mercury. That said, I am no psychologist or music critic, but in this instance there is probably no need for either.

The headlines, the urban legends, and the scandals relating to Freddie Mercury go hand-in-hand with the character. The truth however, is that none of this is important. Mercury and his very capable vehicle in Queen have truly redefined rock n' roll and its performance.

Today a statue of Freddie Mercury stands beside the calm waters of lake Geneva in Switzerland. This idyllic place is a long way from the tumult and hedonism that so followed Mercury in his earthly existence.

God Save the Queen

A major exhibition celebrating Queen's 40th Anniversary year kicks off in London in early 2011. Aptly titled “Stormtroopers in Stilettos’ this is a comprehensive look into the early stages of Queen’s career.

The exhibit features the first five albums, “Queen”, “Queen II”, “Sheer Heart Attack”, “A Night At The Opera” and “A Day At The Races”. For true Queen fans, this era defines their most ground-breaking and elaborate work, and the basis of the band's longevity.

The exhibition runs at the Truman’s Brewery in London’s East End, opening on 25 February and running through to 12 March.

Next year will also see the start of filming of a major Hollywood production about Queen. Sacha Baron Cohen stars as Freddie Mercury.

Exhibition information: thanks to Purple PR, London

Slovakia : waiting to be discovered

From the archives.... 

Slovakia is benefiting from the continuing surge in low-cost air travel with the country and capital city Bratislava entering the mix of Europe’s most popular weekend playgrounds.

Land-locked in east-central Europe, Slovakia shares its borders with the Czech Republic and Austria, Poland in the north, Hungary in the south and Ukraine in the east. Formerly Czechoslovakia, the Czech and Slovak Republics parted in January 1993 with the bloodless Velvet Revolution and fall of Communism.

Situated on the banks of the famous Danube River, Bratislava is Slovakia’s political, economic and cultural capital. Lying beside Hungary and Austria, it is the only capital to border two countries. The Austrian capital Vienna is only 50km further along the Danube, making these the two closest capital cities in the world.

Like former Soviet controlled cities Prague and Budapest, Bratislava is now proving a cheap and popular tourist destination with a vibrant and emerging culture once locked behind the Iron Curtain. A typically European capital, Bratislava displays a diverse history, rich culture and progressive attitude that has recently seen the country join the European Union.

Bratislava’s cosmopolitan personality and heritage is discovered within the narrow cobbled streets of the historic town centre. The major cultural sites are within walking distance of a town square guarded by the Slovak National Theatre, and numerous churches, museums and classical buildings lining the side streets.

The most visible attraction is Bratislava Castle, towering ominously above the old city. A fortified settlement since Celtic and Roman times, the castle has witnessed all the cultural, political and religious influences the city has endured. Previous rulers represent a diversity of nations, making up the current population of Slovaks, Germans, Hungarians, Czechs and Roma People.
Bratislava’s attractions, bars and eateries all reveal a lively, relaxed and uncomplicated culture.

Beyond its capital, Slovakia offers tourists a cornucopia of activities due to a temperate climate catering for the best in both summer and winter activities. Dominated by the Carpathian Mountains in the north, the area is a Mecca for outdoor enthusiasts. Hiking, mountaineering, spelunking, water sports and skiing are all major attractions.

In winter, Slovaks invade the many ski resorts in the High Tatra Mountains forming the border with Poland. Relatively unknown to traditional European winter sports enthusiasts, the area attracts most of its visitors from Poland, the Czech Republic and CIS states including Russia and Ukraine.

The lack of English-speakers in the region is obvious. A sense of humour and capable sign language are the only way to make any sense in general communication with the locals. Orders at restaurants are trying and humorous with animated finger-pointing and nodding easily turning a vegetarian platter into rabbit stew.

In the heart of the tourist region, Liptovsky Mikulas provides a perfect base from which to explore traditional Slovak culture, architecture, sports and the outdoors. Several Ski slopes, many caves (part of an extensive range across the country), water sports, hiking trails and thermal springs are all found within easy reach of the town. A country still finding its feet economically, there is a healthy mix of old and modern Slovakia.

The main winter resorts near Liptovsky Mikulas are Jasna, and Strebske Pleso, the largest in Slovakia and site of the 1970 Alpine Skiing World Championship. A legacy of communism, resort facilities are not always as state-of-the-art as those of their wealthier neighbours in Austria or Switzerland, but the slopes provide good and popular skiing for all ages and abilities at the height of the season. Ski passes, equipment hire and lessons are all available at a fraction of the usual cost.

Slovakia is steeped in history, with many cultural and architectural sites testament to the past empires that existed in the region through the millennia. A visible legacy is the many castles (almost 200) dotted throughout the country, providing a unique look into life as far back as the eleventh century.

Most noteworthy are Bratislava Castle, and Oravsky Hrad built in 1267. Dominating a rocky outcrop above the Orava River and village of Oravsky Podzamok, the castle is the most complete example of a Slovakian castle and site of the ancient Orava Museum. Oravsky Hrad is perhaps most recognised for the role of its looming towers in Nosferatu, the 1922 film version of Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

In European terms Slovakia is an inexpensive getaway. Food and drink is cheap, with Kolibas, traditional Slovak eating houses, providing outstanding value and great food. Set up by shepherds as places of shelter for travellers, and to sell agricultural products, the Koliba provides a unique insight into Slovak hospitality and tradition through music and food.

Common Slovak dishes include halusky (potato dumplings with sheep’s-milk cheese), sauerkraut soup, fried cheeses and pork. Game meats like boar, rabbit and venison are also popular.

To wash it all down, Slovak beers are regarded among the finest -a given with 12% alcohol content. A large variety of local vodkas and distilled spirits will help to ward off the cold.

Guesthouses are a cheap and cheerful alternative out in the country, also providing a unique insight into the Slovak way of life.

Transport networks within Slovakia are regular and reliable. Tourist buses run between ski resorts and town centres, sometimes at no charge. Car hire is however recommended to take full advantage of all of Slovakia’s interesting sites.

Be aware that cars are left-hand drive and roads are notoriously slippery in icy conditions. Motor insurance is compulsory, as is travel insurance for those risking life and limb on the slopes.

The two major airports are found in Bratislava in the south and Poprad in the north. Due to its proximity, Vienna provides another viable entry route to Bratislava.

A fresh alternative to clichéd European travel, Slovakia provides a world both old and new and insight into a country and culture yet to be truly discovered.

www.slovakiatourism.sk
www.bratislava.sk
www.liptovskymikulas.sk

Published reporter.co.za

Lively Liverpool never walks alone

From the archives...International Beatles Week and Liverpool as the 2008 European Capital of Culture...

UK city gets ready for culture vulture influx in 2008

A city best known for The Beatles and its famous eponymous football club, Liverpool is on the threshold of a renaissance.

Liverpool has been named the European Capital of Culture for 2008, sparking a revival in the fortunes of a city that is earning a world class status through adversity, tragedy, determination and an unfailing Scouse sense of humour.

Once a thriving mercantile and marine centre, Liverpool took its place as Britain’s second most economically significant port. Recent times have however seen Merseyside suffer serious economic hardship due to the demise of a maritime dependence as shipyards and manufacturing industries collapsed, and the advent of sea freight containerisation.

A visible urban regeneration programme sponsored by the European Union is designed to serve 20 million visitors to Liverpool in 2008, and restore a lasting pride in the residents of a city that will see its national and international image improved forever.

Beside the numerous building sites, there already exists a rich heritage of culture, art, music and sport; all waiting to be explored long before the culture-hungry masses descend onto Merseyside in the next eighteen months.
Hard Days Nights

Catapulted from working-class obscurity into the world’s greatest entertainment sensation, The Beatles forever transformed the face of both popular music and their home town Liverpool.

Since 1983, every day and night of one week in August is dedicated to all things Beatles and anything remotely related. Two hundred and fifty thousand fans descend onto Merseyside for conventions, auctions, exhibitions, tours, interviews and an exchange of memories in celebration of modern music’s finest hour.

Over two hundred bands and solo musicians take up every available pub, street corner and park bench spreading the internationally understood language of the music of The Beatles.

The most famous site in Beatles iconography, the legendary Cavern Club, is responsible for spawning the geographically unique Merseybeat movement, and launching the careers of many more great artists including Gene Vincent and The Searchers.

Gerry and the Pacemakers earn particular significance with Liverpudlians due to their genre-defining hit Ferry Across the Mersey, and the poignant anthem You’ll Never Walk Alone which has been adopted into the psyche and terraces of Liverpool Football Club.

Now a Mecca for every Beatles fan, The Cavern Club was once almost lost to progress. Condemned in 1973 and designated as the future site of an underground railway ventilation shaft, fate thankfully stepped in to rescue this culturally significant place from a humiliating demise. After many years spent buried underground, The Cavern Club was resurrected in 1984 to become an integral part of Liverpool’s Beatles experience and live music scene with up to 40 bands taking the stage each week.

When the music stops, and all is quiet, the rumble of the railway below serves as a nostalgic reminder of the enormous power of music.

The Mathew Street Festival

Running concurrently to International Beatles Week, The Mathew Street Festival celebrates the city’s musical heritage and hope over the four days of the UK’s August public holiday weekend.

Situated in the heart of the city, Mathew Street has long served as the nerve centre for Liverpool’s vibrant night life. As expected, a host of pubs, clubs and live music venues take their place beside this street’s most celebrated resident, The Cavern Club. Mathew Street is a continuous buzz of activity as both tourists and locals move between the many venues, enjoying the sounds of buskers and resident bands, and studying the memorabilia and rich musical history on offer.

Liverpool’s musical royalty share the same passion for this festival as those starting out on their quest for the fame and adoration that still greets Merseyside’s greatest sons in The Beatles after four decades.

Europe’s largest free music festival, the 2006 event on Liverpool’s famous Pier Head waterfront included the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, The Lightning Seeds, The Mersey Beats and Gerry and the Pacemakers, ironically performing a few yards from the very Mersey Ferry they have etched into the memories of millions.

Published reporter.coza

Surviving London’s late night blues

From the archives....

Observations of a music journalist

A battleground for thousands of musicians pursuing their dream, London’s bustling music scene similarly provides a fiercely competitive environment for its many music journalists.

Few experiences can match the buzz of a live music gig. For the music journalist, the adrenaline-fuelled backstage vibe accentuates the passion-driven motivation and provides some unique challenges.

Music journalists are viewed with envious eyes in the bright lights of London’s competitive and diverse entertainment industry. Attending gigs, hanging about with the stars and their eclectic entourages, and privy to the rock n’ roll lifestyle is the appeal.

To the casual observer it is a glamorous never-ending party, but in reality there is much to consider in making music journalism a rewarding pastime or career.

Experience is the music journalist’s greatest ally; and none better than that earned by countless late nights and early mornings spent in the dark underbelly of London’s frenetic music scene.

As manners make man, so they make journalists. Avoid the embarrassing “I should be on the guest list” scenario prior to covering a gig, and ensure that you have the necessary permission, whether from promoters, management, the venue, or the artist.

Always identify yourself and who you represent, even if you meet the same people again. This sets those in charge at ease regarding your presence and in the noise of a bar or club, first introductions are easily lost.

Backstage is a guaranteed melee of artists, management, public relations people, promoters and technical crew, often with inflated egos in tow. Know your place; a challenging attitude will make your job even harder.

Entertainment industry folk are notoriously temperamental, and for good reason. This is their livelihood, and there exists inevitable tension when one is judged by the last performance.

Respect their wishes and demands, even if you may not agree. After all, arguing will only get you escorted out by predictably humourless minders and worse, left facing an editor crankier than ever without a story.

If an artist is not forthcoming, do not take it personally. Unless requested to move with them on their rounds, avoid chasing artists around paparazzi-style waving cameras or voice recorders about. Move on to the next opportunity. Experience knows there are many stories lurking in this environment.

Keep backstage interviews short and to the point. Stick to the facts and stay in the heat of the moment. A gig revolves around the present.

Patient determination guarantees you will soon find yourself in one-on-one situations with artists. Remember the task at hand, and realise the human aspect. These people, despite their external persona, have the same hopes, fears and interests as you and your readers. Avoid the absolute obvious questions, and similarly the pointlessly obscure.

A gig is an exclusive relationship between the artist and the audience. Never get between the two. When it comes to photographers, this is the ire of many a musician in performance.

Focus your attention all around. Know what is happening on and off stage. Crowd reactions, body language and off-stage incidents are gold in terms of your story. Many artists have their families and friends backstage making introductions and verbal exchanges a potential cornucopia of information.

When vantage points on stage are permitted, take note of the set-up, and those working around you. A stage is a dangerous place. Stage managers designate specific areas where guests and journalists may stand. Stay there. Electrical cables are evil, and have embarrassed many an incognizant journalist and muso. Unplugging the lead guitarist mid-solo will likely leave you more beaten than a bass drum.

Leave your prejudices and expectations at home. Report the facts and proceedings at hand. These often contradict what has been said or written about an artist. This applies in both a positive and negative sense, so be prepared.

Do your homework. Familiarise yourself with the artist you are covering, and understand their motivations and methods. People can be driven by many factors. Knowing this can be vital to your story.

Take in music at every opportunity. Stay abreast of trends and know who is doing the rounds musically. Do not ignore the thousands of artists paying their dues in dark, smoky, half-empty clubs each night. The “next big thing” is usually discovered by being in the right place at the right time.

Be open-minded. There is little room for those that pigeon-hole music into exclusive genres. Most artists don’t care how you classify their music, but be objective and offer the coverage it deserves.

A press pass is no free lunch; it is a responsibility. Abuse it, and it not only reflects badly on you, but also discredits your fellow professionals.

Artists and management know they need you in terms of PR and exposure, but if you mess up, there are many waiting to take your place.

Effective working relationships with artists and their management teams are built through networking. Covering a gig is often a culmination of weeks and months of work and communication.

Where artist information, interviews and music previews are offered, make use of them. This is the most valuable tool you have to establish firm bonds with artists to prove, that like them, you are committed.

Record companies spend millions promoting artists and expect suitable and timely responses from journalists. Promotional events and copies of albums, singles or DVDs are often a first introduction to new music. Requests for feedback met with professionalism cement lasting relationships with record labels and PR agencies.

A privilege of the job is receiving new music before commercial release. However, this is not a signal to set your CD burner into overdrive and cash in on favours from your mates. Unauthorised distribution is taken seriously by record companies and could give “jailhouse rock” new meaning.

Music is a high-value commodity, and yours is a position of trust. Protect it at all costs.

When approached for opinions, be honest. Stick by your principles; believe in yourself and not the hype. Nobody respects a sycophant.

Candour commands much respect in an industry where public perception is paramount.

Most importantly, never forget that it is all about the music.

Published reporter.co.za

Reclusive Pink Floyd founder member dies

On the death of Syd Barrett in July 2006...

Syd Barrett: Shine On You Crazy Diamond

Pink Floyd founding member Syd Barrett has died, aged 60. Not a member of the group since 1968, Barrett’s spirit lives on in a band and music that has changed the face of rock.

Barrett’s life was one of both celebration and tragedy. A man of phenomenal talent, he left an indelible mark on music, providing the platform from which Pink Floyd would rise to their legendary status.

A student of art and accomplished guitarist and lyricist, born Roger Keith Barrett, Syd first met fellow Pink Floyd members Roger Waters and David Gilmour during their high school years in their hometown Cambridge.

Having penned Pink Floyd’s first hits See Emily Play and Arnold Layne, and most of the debut album, Piper at the Gates of Dawn, the rapid rise to stardom would signal the beginning of a very sad end for Barrett.

The enormous pressures on a young man in the public eye, with an already fragile mind, resulted in ever-increasing erratic behaviour. Barrett’s well-documented intake of recreational drugs, and specifically LSD, would prove to be the undoing of a talent that had not near fulfilled its true potential.

Though many cite Barrett’s drug taking for his downfall, those closest to him believed that this was only a further setback in an ongoing mental breakdown. It has been speculated that he suffered from Asperger Syndrome, a form of autism.

Due to the Barrett’s unpredictable behaviour, the split from Pink Floyd became both a necessity and inevitable conclusion.

Barrett’s final days in the band would see the shell of a man staring into space on stage oblivious to the fact that he was playing through an unplugged guitar and microphone.

Driving to a subsequent gig, Barrett’s three short years in Pink Floyd came to an agonising end as the remaining band members made the simple decision not to pick him up.

Syd Barrett’s post-Floyd days had him steadily withdraw from life and rationality, and disappear into obscurity and legend. Several attempts were made to resurrect the talent that once was, but all failed to live up to the expectation.

Two solo albums, The Madcap Laughs and Barrett were commercial flops, but now enjoy cult status. Syd finally returned to his mother in Cambridge in late 1970 to live life as a virtual recluse until his death on 7 July 2006 as a result of complications due to diabetes.

Over the years journalists and fans made many attempts to coax Barrett back to the memories of his days with Pink Floyd. All failed.

Barrett’s detachment from reality and lack of understanding or interest in his once illustrious past were manifest. Always a subject of curiosity, stolen photos and anecdotes captured Barrett running errands about Cambridge, tending his garden and painting in the basement of the childhood home that was most likely the only place he felt safe for the greater part of his life.

Pink Floyd’s inability to let go of Barrett is clear in Roger Water’s personal lament titled Brain Damage, taken from the Dark Side of the Moon, a classic album questioning time, madness and death. The starkest reference and memory is a haunting fourteen-minute biography, Shine On You Crazy Diamond, during the recording of which in 1975, an overweight Barrett with shaved head and eyebrows mysteriously appeared in London’s Abbey Road studios holding a toothbrush while attempting to brush his teeth by jumping up and down.

A statement on behalf of Pink Floyd said: “The band are naturally very upset and sad to learn of Syd Barrett’s death. Syd was the guiding light of the early band line-up and leaves a legacy which continues to inspire.”

London attacks: Remembering 7 July 2005

From the archives...

Today 7 July 2006 is the first anniversary of the devastating terrorist attack on London that pointlessly claimed 52 innocent lives. As on that bright summer morning a year ago, millions of Londoners boarded their trains and buses exactly as they did on that fateful day that changed so much; and yet so little.

The memories are still vivid. That Thursday morning was like any other. My morning commute from Queens Park to Marylebone first hinted that things were amiss with the flickering of the carriage lights. Held at the platform for several minutes, the train driver mumbled usual apologies that Londoners so grudgingly accept. This selfish intent could not have imagined the horror unfolding two stops down the line and further into the city.

Exiting Marylebone station there was no sign of what would soon take hold of our attention and emotions for the days and weeks to follow. In the office loose conversations made light of a problem with the underground.

A "power surge" had caused an explosion disabling parts of the network. Totally plausible, managers accepted that staff would be coming in late by the calls from those stranded on the underground network. In some parts of the city, some would never make work again.

A typical news junkie, my first port of call was the Sky News website. The news has to be right? The office became animated with an unusually high number of mobile phones springing to life. Working in relative silence, I could not help but notice. My own mobile rang. For some reason I had not turned the phone to silent mode as per usual. The call was from my mother in Botswana.

A concerned voice asked if I had heard the news about the bomb blast in London. "Don’t be ridiculous!” was my first reaction. “It was only a power surge on the underground." I should have known better. Listen to your mother.

A disjointed conversation made realisation that my youngest sister works in Holborn, a block from the site of the bomb blast that ripped through the number 30 bus. One can imagine the fear of a parent at such a time, and thousands of miles away. I reacted like any mature adult. I panicked.

With the mobile phone networks overloaded, and switched off in areas for security reasons, repeated calls from both landline and mobile phone proved fruitless. It was frustrating and scary. All in the office were doing the same. We all had someone to worry about, or someone to let know that we ourselves were all right. I managed to contact my sister. I felt like I had won the lottery.

The extent of the atrocity slowly became clearer. Groups were huddled in front of computers searching the news in disbelief. Animation was replaced by solemnity. Was this really happening? Sadly, we all knew it would. Nothing can however describe the feeling that this was real. Flashbacks of September 11 were common. All can remember exactly where they were on that day.

The mood changed. There was genuine concern. One could feel it and see it on people’s faces. We had to account for everyone as a matter of urgency. Hastily drawn up lists provided a sense of relief as each member of the team was accounted for. A place of business had turned into a place of refuge. This day the individual mattered, not the corporation.

The streets of London in the aftermath were eerie. Bar the wailing of sirens, a normally bustling city was dead quiet. My office block is directly opposite Marylebone Station, a couple of hundred yards from the site of the second bomb blast at Edgware Road. By police instruction Marylebone Station and the surrounding streets were closed off.

Confined to the third floor we viewed proceedings on the street below. The obvious lack of movement was unsettling, made even worse by several ambulances perched on the street corners like vultures. It made one feel ill.

This attack on the innocent is cruel and pointless.

One year later the resolve against terror is greater than ever; yet fear is still a very tangible part of daily life. Iraq, Afghanistan and Palestine still remain quagmires of divisiveness and death; their stability remaining a far-fetched ideal in many eyes.

Questions still remain. How is it that four men, born, raised and educated in Britain could turn on their own so ruthlessly? What motivates such drastic action in a country where social and political representation, and discussion, is within the reach of every individual?

Is the Nirvana that these suicide bombers seek the fuelling of growing division between nations, people and religion?

Communities, religions and governments all have to take a long look inwards, stop pointing fingers and start asking the right questions.

People died at the hands of extremists, in the name of causes these perpetrators have only further marginalised. Terrorists resort to killing the innocent without prejudice because of their self-imposed ignorance, intolerance and depravity. They worship ideals that are intellectually and morally without substance.

Terrorism creates doubt, spreads hatred and mistrust, and ultimately aims to divide. In London, and elsewhere, it will not achieve that final goal.

The IRA held London to ransom, and failed; as did Hitler’s Luftwaffe and V1 rockets in an attempt to break London’s spirit. This new breed of inhumanity is also going to fail.

This year, on July 7, Londoners use the underground as a matter of principal. They are not cowed by an extremism that uses death and destruction to prostitute warped ideals on a free world.

Today I join many who purposefully exit the underground at Edgware Road and King’s Cross, remembering those who were denied the right to do so and continue their lives as normal one year ago.

At noon we gather outside, reclaiming the streets where ambulances once waited, in the knowledge that this is our city and that it is in the greatest adversity that human spirit will always prevail.

Published EP Herald and reporter.co.za

Wight folk can rock!

From the archives...

Isle of Wight Festival 2006: The UK’s Woodstock

A hot summer weekend has placed The Isle of Wight Festival back in its rightful place basking in bright sunshine on the landscape of music iconography.

Held only eight times since 1968, the festival has provided music with many defining and historical moments. Best remembered are the last performance of rock legend Jimmy Hendrix, and the chaos of The Who playing to 600 000 gate-crashing hippies on a late August night in 1970, resulting in the event being shut down for the next three decades.

Revived in 2002 as a one-day event with headliner Robert Plant, the 2006 Isle of Wight Festival, held from 9 to 11 June, emerged as a three day spectacular with headlining acts The Prodigy, Foo Fighters and Coldplay.

Five miles off the southern England mainland, the town of Newport on the Isle of Wight is transformed over a five day period to cater for the needs of an influx of 60 000 music fans, nearly three times the local population. What could be a logistical nightmare is a carefully orchestrated liaison between organisers, local councils and emergency and security services.

For those willing to enjoy the true spirit of a rock festival, joining 30 000 people camping on site for the duration is the experience. With a closest neighbour never further than one or two yards, this is a true test of co-operation, tolerance and best of all, good humour.

The nature of festival camping necessitates the voluntary sacrifice of life’s luxuries like refrigeration, near access to running water or a toilet, or having a shower for a couple of days. No place for a princess, but the makings of priceless anecdotes and many friends from all walks of life.

Kicking off on the Friday evening headlining bands included Goldfrapp with their offering of a highly visual stage act of electro-fused pop, followed by melancholic and androgynously styled power-rockers Placebo.

Another definitive performance of relentless breakbeat from The Prodigy set off an electric vibe across the arena showing why they are a formidable live act and a foremost exponent of electronic music. The standard and tone for the remainder of the weekend was set. An aura of expectation from the thousands of punters enjoying the post-concert bars, discos and funfair well into the early hours was clear.

True to the ethos of the Isle of Wight Festival, Saturday’s line up offered the best of music old and new. Suzanne Vega and The Proclaimers returned the crowd sprawled on the grass basking in the sun back into a unified 80’s sing-along with very appropriate folk-pop.

Next came of the finest of new British indie-rock bands with critically acclaimed Dirty Pretty Things, and a group widely expected to go all the way to the top, Editors, with a great rendition of Talking Heads Road To Nowhere.

Introduced by model Kate Moss, and main supporting act, the ever-controversial and often chameleonesque rockers Primal Scream set up a healthy vibe for the Foo Fighters as highlight of the night. Band leader Mani asking the crowd "Do you have any drugs?", as per the script, played into the hands of controversy.

With expectancy apparent and without disappointment, an ever-smiling Dave Grohl led his Foo Fighters through a most-powerful performance of attitude and musicianship, belting out the hits DOA, In Your Honour and Times Like These to a lively and responsive mass. Grohl again proved beyond doubt why he is considered "the nicest guy in rock" and an enigma in modern music.

Sunday promised to be less intense but equally exhilarating with Coldplay headlining with their only UK performance for 2006. Highlights of the day included veteran prog-rockers Procol Harum with lead singer Gary Brooker who also appeared at the first festival in 1968.

Lou Reed played through a moody set of blues-rock with the distinctive New York drawl and sleazy lyrics that have made him one of rock’s icons and the ire of many a music journalist. Reed’s disrelation to his audience was at most reclusive if not poetic.

Pen-ultimate act Richard Ashcroft returned the Isle of Wight Festival to the politically charged 1970’s lashing out with sentiments on the Iraq war and state of British politics. That aside, the former Verve front-man showed his real talent as a solo singer-songwriter with an emotional delivery of his hits Lucky Man, Drugs Don’t Work and the anthemic Bitter Sweet Symphony.

Coldplay took their place as Festival headliners with the grace and aptitude that makes them one of the biggest bands in the world after only five years and three studio albums. The charm and wit of lead singer Chris Martin is endearing and mirrors intelligence and feeling so obvious in their music.

Critics have been many, but in performance of sublimely crafted songs like The Scientist and the show finale Fix You, there is intimacy, passion and bullish confidence. Avoiding comparison, but as a point, Bono and U2 have worthy contenders as music’s top dogs in Chris Martin and Coldplay.

An after-show adrenaline-high transformed the surrounding campsites into vibrant communities sharing a few drinks, the laughter of painfully cyclic jokes and experiences of the weekend well into the night. Sleep at most was difficult, but then again, the general consensus was that few come to rock festivals to sleep.

Memories are set by the sound of acoustic guitars and improvised percussion scattered far and wide, and groups of total strangers joined together in music spanning three decades. The sounds of Jimmy Hendrix and The Doors filtering from the masses as the sun rises adds a true irony, kindling that founding spirit of the Isle of Wight Festival.

Published reporter.co.za

Days of the local pharmacy could soon be over

Response to restrictive pricing regulations on the Pharmacy profession as proposed by the South African government in 2006. This proposal potentially means the end of the independent retail pharmacy reliant on prescription trade. Thankfully sanity prevailed after much industry lobbying and an amended bill (though still flawed) was passed...

Warning that new regulations could close down chemists and harm health care

New unworkable government pricing regulations threaten the long-term survival of the country’s pharmaceutical services.

The young, the old and the poor will be the victims.

Pharmacists have long been able to represent their profession with pride by the comforting and long-standing internationally adopted adage: “Ask your pharmacist.”

In South Africa, those days may soon be coming to an end for many a pharmacist and patient.

The South African health department is now in the process of a dogged attempt to broker the destruction of this noble and trusted profession with the introduction of new medicine-pricing regulations that are ill-considered and unworkable.

These regulations will guarantee disaster for many of South Africa’s pharmacies, forcing the closure of businesses, the retrenchment of staff and a severe curtailment of pharmaceutical services.

While most strive for a better life for all South Africans, the Health Department seems determined to place the nation’s health prospects on the brink of a slide into third world mediocrity.

Like the traditional family doctor, pharmacists are pillars in the health and social issues affecting their immediate communities. More than any other health professional, the community pharmacist is a convenient and unconditionally trusted first port of call, dealing with both medical and personal issues.

South Africa is a country in desperate need of more pharmacists, especially at community level. Pharmacists are not there simply to dispense medicines, but to advise, educate and most importantly, listen to the concerns of their patients.

The act of listening is what makes this profession most valuable in assessing and addressing the literal and figurative ills of those in their care.

The government is ready to blindly sweep aside a profession that by cold logic should be its greatest ally in health care education and the fight against AIDS and a myriad of chronic diseases.

In typical fashion, these Health Department pricing regulations have only considered the short-term results, where they should be concentrating on the long-term benefits for the health of all South Africans.

The subsequent fallout will see a crippling of pharmaceutical services in the areas where they are needed most.

The provision of adequate medical and pharmaceutical services at the primary care level is vital if South Africa hopes to significantly progress the health of the nation to first world standards.

A damning indictment on government policy sees the vacancy rates for pharmacy posts in both the state and private sectors at around 50% of what it should be.

Pharmacists are undeniably being forced to relinquish their practices, pursue alternate careers and take up employment in the many countries actively courting their services and valuable expertise.

The South Africans needing the community pharmacistmost will end up the real victims in this debacle.

In the rural areas, the most vulnerable are the young, the aged and the poor. These people are destined to limited access to pharmaceutical care with the predictable closure of pharmacies and relocation of pharmacists to areas capable of providing better opportunities.

Considering the farce already clouding the HIV/AIDS issue, South Africa’s leaders and people have to start making careful decisions regarding the health of the nation.

Africa is in a state of chaos; politically, socially and from a health perspective. AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria and chronic diseases such as diabetes and heart disease are changing the face of Southern Africa on a daily basis. Even in the eyes of the blindly patriotic, South Africa is no different.

As a matter of urgency we have to prioritise health care, and those that are able to deliver it effectively.

These new regulations cast a real doubt on effective health-care delivery in the country, and also the future of the many pharmacists finding their profession in a state-sponsored quandary.

It is shameful to see South African pharmacists forced to close not only their businesses as their livelihoods, but bring an end to the community pharmacy that is so much a part of every South African’s life.

From the day we are born, until the day we die, the local pharmacist has always been a part of our daily existence; healing us, advising us, comforting us, laughing with us, and simply understanding us.

The pharmacist is a most valuable asset that no community can afford to be without.

Every first world country is crying out for pharmacists because they know their value in society, especially in the delivery of health-care at the primary level.

The shortage and demand for qualified pharmacists in rapidly developing countries like Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the USA is going to act as a lure more than ever before in light of this Health Department’s attitude to the profession in South Africa.

In all these countries pharmacists are provided with opportunity, additional skills and encouraged to broaden their professional knowledge base. In South Africa we have to do the same as a matter of common sense.

Many scoff at the increasing number of South African pharmacists choosing to accept offers of fast-track migration to the USA and Australia. However, the acid test lies ultimately in the government’s approach to maximising the expectation, utilisation and long-term viability of all the medical professions.

The government refuses at the nation’s expense.

The pharmacy profession is keeping a keen eye on the decisions of the Health Department, as there is still opportunity to make the right choices for the health issues troubling the country.

Get it wrong, and they let down not only this nation, but also its future generations.

Published in The Herald (Port Elizabeth) and news24.com

Aikona! Where’s My Country?

One from the archives....

A Pigment of your Imagination: An abridged history of the New South Africa

Adapt or dye

In 1990 FW De Klerk stepped out of the laager, faced the Groot Krokodil, and crossed the mighty Rubicon. (The “mighty” Rubicon was actually a small stream according to omniscient Google). FW emulates Ceasar’s great leap of faith, changing the face of the country and continent forever. And so the blue African sky crashed down on our heads leaving us all with blackened eyes.

Change is as good as a holiday

Nelson Mandela takes over in 1994 and South Africa has hope; a new Rainbow Nation with a pot of gold. (Platinum would have been better considering the NUM strike and poor rand-dollar exchange rate) Like the fairy tale, Madiba inherits the kingdom, and gets the girls. Sadly for him: the Spice Girls. Suddenly everybody wants a piece of South Africa.

The multinational corporations return to great fanfare, take the old signs out of storage, and continue to exploit us, but now with the world’s blessing. A privileged nation, we can drive boxy Volvos, smoke Marlboro and freely download porn from the internet on the SANDF IBM. Soon we all benefit from luxuries like houses, running water and Trevor Manuel. There goes my holiday.

Hey, where is my president?

The Madiba Road Show retires in 1999, moving from Tuynhuys into the suburbs to live like the New South Africans: in a nice pad in Houghton. Retiring like a true octogenarian, Madiba uses all those presidential Voyager Miles and travels the world attending more rock concerts than Status Quo. (The British rock band. Not the ANC old guard.)

My new president has also gone “tjaila”. Like Indiana Jones, but in an Armani suit, Africa’s new saviour criss-crosses the planet in search of the Holy Grail: peace for all Africans. No need to mention Zimbabwe; diplomacy works best in silence. Or is that without white noise?

Back in five years

While away, Thabo has no worries. Democracy has a way of getting on with itself. Or is that anarchy? As with apartheid, ignoring AIDS and crime long enough will make them go away. While you wait, presidential advice says to have a nutritious meal and please lock your doors.

Don’t panic; Deputy President Phumzile is in charge and well-rested after her Dubai family-holiday and new R15 000 bed. Like Queen Victoria Beckham she can always request that the country close for business temporarily. No disturbances from the little people.

Court Out

Super-stud Jacob “00 Zulu” Zuma fights on in the arms struggle, thwarts evil conspirators and instantly recognises damsels in states of arousal. (Gauteng and KwaZulu-Natal, to name two) Next time he should put the condom over his head. It prevents wetness behind the ears in the shower.

An epitaph to JZ: More time spent in the dock than the Titanic. Reached the bottom faster.

Tony Yengeni, not to be outdone by our well-learned Cabinet, is toyi-toying all the way to top-up his qualifications: at Pollsmoor University. With terrorism like so last regime, the new majors are corruption, fraud and perjury.

Transparency: We see through it

Uncovering political indiscretion and the daily scam (a future morning paper), we always hear three things: “He is racist”, “It was apartheid” or “I saw nothing.” It must be that colour blindness.

“Apartheid is dead.” However, like Lazarus, it can be wilfully resurrected. If your local councillor, MP or Cabinet Minister (or all three) face allegations of inappropriate, dubious or dishonest behaviour (or all three), it is blamed on apartheid.

“Management is racist.” How so? Management was awarded a golden handshake in 1996, bankrupting the nation of much needed rands and not so common sense. Management now lives behind an electric fence in Wilderness guarded by two right-wing Rottweilers and a night-watchman from Soweto-on-Sea.

Identity crisis

So, how can you afford that BMW and townhouse in Rivonia on the meagre salary of a cashier at Home Affairs? Married into money of course: Nigerian mostly. Anyone seen my ID book? You wouldn’t recognise me.

Safety and Security Minister Charles Nquakula says if we whinge about being victims of crime we should leave the country. How? The new Zimbabwean New South Africans have used up all the passports at Home Affairs and no First World country will have us now!

Help, we need a doctor

South Africa has enough healthcare professionals to serve all. My doctor, dentist, pharmacist and vet are all nearby. Proudly South African: all working in Kensington, London. Inconveniently there is no access to a state-sponsored ambulance for a nominal fee to take me to do my monthly grocery shopping.

AIDS has not escaped the name game. Dr Mbeki decrees it is no longer a disease, but a nutritional deficiency. Ja, you should have eaten your samp and beans like Gogo told you.

Pieter-Dirk once said “Give them Kyk!” (Or was that Pieter Willem?) Manto says to give them lemons, garlic and beetroot. The beetroot is for colour. The more colour, the better for you and the country apparently.

The newly empowered sangoma has taken over the lease from your local pharmacist. Four hundred years of ancestral visions cannot be wrong; or was that the side effect of all the Durban Poison?

By the way, the pharmacist has left for Perth because there is still an Afrikaans school there.

Where the hell am I?

A former Old South African living abroad since the New South Africa’s existence is faced with unique problems. Drinking Castle at Zulu’s in Fulham, Plaas Japie is asked his town of origin.

“Pietersburg. And you?” he retorts. “Polokwane” is the reply. Japie looks confused: “Nooit, never been there.”

English-speaking, and in Randburg, I don’t really know my Beyers Naudes from my DF Malans. Consequently I ended up somewhere that used to look like Verwoerdburg. Apparently we do all look the same.

Kaiser Chiefs are on top again, thanks to the inspiration of Lucas Radebe. Now based in Leeds, they have seen their first album go to number one in the UK charts.

I predict a riot.

Published on reporter.co.za and news24.com

Mallorca Cycle Tour III

The first four days of our Mallorca cycle adventure had taken us from Cap de Formentor on the very northern tip of the island, via the Serra de Trumuntana mountain range defining the west coast of the island, down to Puerto Andratx on the southern coast. Four spectaular days behind us, the next route would take us from the reorts of the south via Palma and back home to Alaro in the interior.

Day 5

The ride up the hill out of Puerto Andratx was the hardest of the trip. Hangovers in tow (it was the fault of the last beer, by Rosco's estimation), on top of a lack of proper sleep and a disappointing breakfast, we knew our work was far from over for the first part of this ride.

The Mallorca south-west coast has the most concentrated areas for tourism on the island. Extending from Santa Ponsa through Magaluf, Palmanova, Palma city centre and all around the bay on the Playa de Palma to S'Arenal in the east. Mallorca's tourism is predominantly generated from Germany and the UK, and to a lesser extent from Scandinavia, Holland, etc. Cheap European flights and the lure of the package holiday paradise has resulted in the majority of Mallorca's resorts taking on the culture and characteristics associated with their primary punters. Generally, the resorts south of Palma are largely English, including Palmanova and the notorious Magaluf. Resorts east of Palma along the Playa de Palma are again almost exclusively German, and to a lesser extent Dutch. This adds a particular vibe to the resort towns, and clearly identifies the major cultural group in situ. This again reinforces the mentality that people want to go on holiday to a different country, climate and culture, but still want to live exactly as they do at home!

Potsdam Germany? No, Paguera Mallorca...Oompah band on the roundabout.

The day's intended destination would be Palma, on the way back to Alaro. In cycling terms the ride of about 50km would be fairly flat and easy, and largely a gentle downhill for the final stretch into Palma. The route took us along the coast via Camp de Mar, Port Adriano, Paguera (a German encalve in the midst of Oktoberfest or Fiesta de la Cerveza) and Santa Ponsa. It was also along this stretch that Rosco would have his come-uppance and have a laugh at the expense of yours truly. At Port Adriano, on reaching a cycle crossing along the bike path, I slowed down to a stop and promptly forgot that I needed to click out of at least one pedal. On cue, and in perfectly choreographed slow motion, I keeled over onto the sidewalk in full view of an audience of waiting traffic, pedestrians and the odd jogger. Physically I was fine, with my pride unfortunately signing up for the full force of the damage.

Over a much needed usual breakfast of poached eggs, juice and black coffee, the effects of the previous night finally bade farewell, and a stunning day in terms of weather made an appearance. It was then agreed that we would go and find a beach for a few hours and actually enjoy the fruits of the previous few day's work.


A 9km detour from the main cycle route took us to Portals Vells, another favourite beach, that is, to those that know how to find it. A short distance from the madness of Magaluf, Portals Vells is a gem of a cove well hidden in the rugged coastline. Natural surrounds, large caves in the rock, a protected sandy beach and warm crystal clear waters make Portals Vells a popular spot. In the high season, dozens of yachts and cruisers drop anchor here and enjoy the surrounds, the beach restaurant and perfect snorkelling conditions.

Portals Vells

The road to Portals Vells is essentially a farm track or 'cami' that has been roughly tarred and filled in with concrete. This meant a rattling ride for us, with every joint taking a battering, but the rewards were all too good. Bright warm weather, the warm sea and a lie on the soft sand made for an exceptional couple of hours. It was hard to leave, but we had to get back to Palma, and Alaro before the light faded. The steep hill out of Portals Vells goaded us after a good relax, but this detour made for another highlight of this trip.

An uneventful ride lay ahead as we headed through Magaluf and Palmanova on a dedicated bike track, one of many around Palma designed for cyclist's pleasure and safety. On cue, the smug serenity of the day came to a very profane end as Rosco announced another blow-out. The back tyre had basically given up after the week's riding, and was the likely reason for the number of blow-outs. I watched the traffic roll down the hill while confirming our inventory of five punctured inner-tubes (and no glue fix) as Rosco made his repairs.

A short distance later we found ourselves back on the Paseo Maritimo along Palma’s marina. Exactly a week before, we had been at this very spot for the stag weekend, but now under very different conditions i.e. sweaty and salty, soapless, unshaven and unmoisturised.

Small Rewards...

Also the site of the bike hire shop, Rosco experienced the non-existence of Mallorquine customer service as he attempted to get the back tyre replaced, albeit for only one more day of riding to follow. A short argument later we had a slightly less old and worn tyre on Rosco's bike and much-needed glue for the repair kit.

The sun sinking fast, the next part of the journey would have to be by train, from Palma back home to Alaro. A short 5km sprint took us into Alaro in near darkness, but this did not cast any shadow on the thrill of the previous 5 days. In our minds it was a great achievement and awesome experience of Mallorca's beauty and diversity.

A welcoming committee was laid on in the form of my niece and nephews Neve, Seth and Finn as they greeted us excitedly at the gate. Despite Seth's insistence that if we dared enter, he would “put an octopus on your face”, it would be a happy trade-off as it meant being home for a guaranteed hot shower, soap and much-needed moisturiser on my part!

Castell d'Alaro

Back in Alaro after 5 great days on the bike, our next challenge would be pedal-free and take the form of a hike up to Castell d'Alaro, the ruins of an old Moorish castle overlooking the full length island's interior from the heights of Puig d'Alaro.

Castell d'Alaro

Intending an early start, the weather had other ideas. The rain came down, torrential and continuous through the night and early morning. This would not make great conditions for anything in the outdoors. However, a mid-morning break saw the clouds lift off the mountain tops, and the decision was made to go for it, once again. Rain jackets at the ready we set-off up the hill.

For good reason Castell d'Alaro is one of the island's favourite hiking trails. The 10km return journey officially starts in the village plaza, climbing rapidly over 600m to a final height of 821m above sea level. Despite the first 3km being on a road, the direct route to the castle is by no means easy. Inclines are steep, and once away from the relative comfort of tarmac, the paths are rocky and quite treacherous.

Meeting a short rainstorm on the the way, this would be the last of the bad weather we would encounter for the day. Once at the top, we were treated to the clouds clearing quickly over the mountain in quite spectacular fashion, and the sun carving out excellent views over the island. Although the castle ruins are sparse, the fact they are perched on 200 to 300m sheer cliffs makes for an incredible setting. It is hard to imagine how this castle would have been built half a dozen centuries before with only the aid of dirt tracks and mules. By comparison, repair work recently done on the 'refugi' (centre for hikers accommodation) on a ridge above the castle, could not be completed without the aid of military helicopters lifting the building materials.

The journey down took a different route via a forest service road, leading to the famed Es Verger restaurant. This popular eatery is renowned for it's shoulder of lamb, with both locals and visitors travelling from all corners of the island to experience the pleasure. We were no different - a South African and New Zealander - carnivorous by nature. Rosco does consider himself an aficionado of lamb, so a visit to Es Verger was in-essence compulsory. We were not disappointed with a succulent lamb shoulder complemented by a delicious light local white wine. At the recommendation of a German couple at the adjacent table, dessert came in the form of a rather potent flaming coffee made with Tia Maria, coffee beans and lemon. The drink is delivered alight in a terracotta bowl, with a ladle provided to stir off the burning alcohol, then to be served into small glasses. Legend has it that over the years a few too many of these high-octane coffees has resulted in the odd disaster-filled descent back down the mountainside to Alaro.

Men. The best Gillette Can Get.

A great day on the mountain ended with a with an excellent steak bbq, hosted by friends, a Kiwi couple also resident in Alaro. Compulsory too was a stop-off at my regular pub on the way home for 'Herbes Mallorquines', a local herbal liqueur, and a few smooth single malts, all for medicinal purposes of course.

Day 6

Single malt Scotch whiskey is not a performance enhancer. This we quickly learnt on our last cycling leg, “the Orient Express”, a quick-fire 40km circular route from Alaro via the Orient Valley, Bunyola and Santa Maria.

As expected, the testing steep climb out of Alaro runs between Puig' d'Alaro and Puig d'Alcadana, into a beautiful sun-drenched valley equally appealing to hikers and cyclists. The village of Orient is nestled in the valley, and a popular destination for discerning travellers. The area boasts a few highly regarded restaurants, and several boutique hotels in and around the town.

Scotch on the rocks?

From Orient, the ride would take us along the spine of the valley, snaking into a second tree-lined pass. This would truly be our last experience of the mountains. Once over the pass, the 7km descent into Bunyola brought with it the rain that had threatened us on the third day back in Puerto Alcudia. A wet ride down a mountain insists on total concentration, the occasional slide of the bike's back wheel around the hairpin bends providing a stark reminder. Donning our rain gear in Bunyola, we launched into a very wet and final 20km back to Alaro via the winelands around Santa Maria.

Orient

Home and drenched, we clicked out of the pedals for the final time, truly invigorated by the entire experience.

In retrospect, the challenge and splendour of this Mallorca adventure has only left a distinct craving for more. The reality is that there is still the east of the island to explore, and two more wonderfully unique Balearic Islands in Menorca and Ibiza. Watch this space.

The final word....

Yes Rosco. I deserved that...