Luche Libre Wrestling

The Reverend, The White Cat, Danger, and The Bucheneer were just a few of the wrestlers performing last night. The Bucheener was a favorite with young women pulling him into the crowd. Security guards had to dive in and rescue him from the girls trying to souvenir a lock of hair or a drop of sweat. The event went for two hours and each fight finished with the crowd favorites making a miraculous comeback. They fought in the ring, around the ring, up the aisles and sometimes even on the laps of people in the front row of the audience. Some of the moves were so fake that we laughed, some were so realistic that we laughed, but the best were the super athletic flips across the ring, through the ropes, spinning and turning in the air to land on the opponent who had previously been thrown out of the ring. Of course we have photographs of ourselves posed next to short, muscular, sweaty men in bizarre masks.

This excursion was especially organised for us by Horaldo, the bar tender. He is a total party animal: a blessing and a curse. He sings at the top of his voice, whoops it up, eats fried grasshoppers like they are peanuts, and is quite mental. When he feels like ramping up the mood he stands on the bar and pours mezcal or tequila straight down the throats of the patrons. (This is compulsory upon return from the wrestling.)

So, it was a really important lesson when he took us to the wrestling. There were 7 of us in the hostel mini-van, and this is the first time we have seen him be serious. The instructions were: "You are going as a group so stay as a group, a man always walks in the back of the group, stay very close together, don't let anyone push in the middle of the group, keep the young girls really close, if a woman has to go to the toilet a man goes with her and waits, when the wrestling has finished come straight outside and into the waiting van without stopping, and don't pay more than 20 pesos for a beer." All of these instructions, even though we were being delivered door to door and having our tickets purchased for us (on the black market). It was good for all the younger travellers to see this, because while he is a wild man, he takes no risks on the street. The stadium we attended was not the main stadium and attracts a rough more authentic crowd, it is off the beaten track of most tourists. As it turned out, we were the only gringos in the audience, but I think we cheered more than anyone else. I would not have wanted to do this without all the support.

So Mexico is over for us today and we have put a tick on the list of all of the things that we wanted to do. Because Mexico City is what it is and we don't speak Spanish, we have pretty much seen a tourisits version of Mexico, but next time...

San Miguel de Allende

Just a short entry because we are back in Mexico City in the Hostel Moneda. Horaldo the crazy man has arrived, and he is trying to organise a trip to the wrestling. This involves rounding up a group of people and then organising a taxi to take us there and pick us up. There is a huge street market outside the hostel. so it is closed to traffic, this means we have to walk up to the corner to meet Ricardo, our taxi driver. Going out at night is dangerous, but the most dangerous part is hailing a taxi on the street. Not even the real risktaking, Spanish speaking men do that. Hailing a taxi on the street means that the statistics about Mexico being the kidnap capital of the world might just come true for you. The story is that the taxi driver picks up the passengers, drives them to where he wants, meets up with his gang and then they and all their possesions become his. Even the last train on the subway is safer than hailing a taxi. Or so it goes. If, on the other hand you know the taxi driver, and have a time and place for pick up, it is okay. The hostel has its own taxi driver and our excursion is with him. All this and we are only going out from 7.30 til 9.30pm, hardly a late night.

We returned from San Miguel de Allende at 4 pm today, and it met every preconception of Mexico, especially in the rustic, quaint, cute, colourful etc range of descriptors. Some of the features are: cobblestone paths, Mexican folk taking their children to school on horseback while wearing white cowboy hats, terracotta pots, mustard yellow walls, silver jewellry, and a laid back attitude. (If you google the name of the town under images you will see what I mean.)
The thing I did not expect was the number of American and Canadian folk who have retired here, and the ease with which we got around. This town of 60,000 was listed in some newpaper as one of the top ten retirement spots in the world, and come they did. The real estate is cheap (with North American money), in winter it is 20 to 25 degrees, and the cost of living is one third to one half of the US. Many people live in this town for half the year, and I can't say as I can blame them. It is the only place in Mexico where I have seen Chinese food, sushi, Italian food, muesli and decent coffee.

Back to Australia soon.

Bullfighting: not so delicious when killed this way

We are really happy and healthy. We are managing the subway quite well and getting around with ease.

We saw the famous Diego Rivera Rockefeller mural recreation today and in front of it was a really interesting guy from Canada. He was a leftist, but I don't know what sort, the only thing I could work out was that he was not a Stalinist. He knew everything about the mural and answered all our questions with relish. It was particularly wonderful to have just come from the Rockefeller Centre and know the context. We also saw a good deal of modern Mexican art. The murals are bigger and better than I can say, and everything is an adventure. I am trying to write quite a bit on the blog, just so I don't start to forget.

All of this and we are really just on the tourist trail. Very, very few people speak English, so it is hard to talk to anyone beyond the tour guide, the people who work at the hostel and other travellers. Much to my surprise, I am developing a bit of Spanish. The little bit of Italian that I have and few words of French are actually working for me. One guy today has been studying Spanish for a while and asked me how long I had been learning Spanish. I felt most flattered. They had a band at the hostel last night and Charles managed to befriend them, but none of them had any English, so it was communication through gesticulation.

This afternoon we hooked up with a two big Aussies (uncle and nephew team) and went to the bull fight. The older guy had spent 5 years travelling the world and spoke a little Spanish. It is really good for us to meet these people and moving around the city with a big bloke or two or three certainly has its comfort. While the bull fight was horrible, it was not quite as horrible as I thought and I managed to keep my eyes open most of the time. But never again. I won't describe it here, because I know that few people would want to know the details. Suffice to say that few people who were raised in this culture think bullfighting is okay. I am happy to eat beef, but not so happy when it is killed in this way.

Horrible as all of this is, the train trip remains the real horror. Terribly disabled, and deformed people pass though each carriage selling junk. Worst was the young guy laying on the seat next to me, not moving, eyes open, chest not going up and down- at least as far as I could tell. Too make matters worse another couple had a chuckle, pointed, then took photos with their mobile phones.

I also met a couple of women from Canada who live 6 months of the year in San Miguel de Allende (where we are going tomorrow) and they reassured us that it is the most wonderful friendly town, so I am feeling good about that decision too.

People are coming and going from Oaxaca and are all reporting that it is safe and wonderful for tourisits. Perhaps not so safe and wonderful for leftisits, workers and teachers though. Still, it is a 6 hour bus trip and I am more than happy to see a different colonial town.

Yesterday we tried to go to a pre-Spanish cafe for dinner because Charles wanted to eat an iguana. (The grasshoppers did not fill him up.) It was closed. Better luck next time. Questionable as to whether they are delicious when fried.

The big day out

In the Plaza de Garibaldi, at night hundreds of mariachis gather. The are in full costume and they all have mariarchi vans. A mariachi band usually has 8/10 members and they meet the tourist steroetype to a T. The idea is that they are for hire. For about $7, they will sing any song you order. We ordered ''Sing and Don't Cry". If you really like them, you negotiate a price and take them back to your place for a party (that is what the mariachi van is for). Not a single one of them speaks a word of English, so the negotiations just for one song were hilarious. We danced and laughed, clapped and had a great time. Then, we noticed that everyone else who paid for songs was most sombre. This did not gel with our experience of Mexicans to date, we have found people very funny and friendly. One woman patron had her arms firmly folded across her chest and she looked deadly serious. Eventually, she and another woman with her started crying. This is when I turned my brain on, and remembered that the name of the song I ordered, and that the point of a lot of the music is to move people to tears with tales of epic, personal tragedy. We felt pretty stupid for singing and dancing, but how were we to know. We managed to talk a big Dutch guy and Aussie girl into coming with us. This was useful because the area is a little dodgy and it was good to have both Charles and the guy with us.

Today was the Xochimilco flower market and a ride down the canal to the islands in the middle of Mexico city. It is another world. We got there early and it was very peaceful. On small boats came shops of the following varieties, a marimba band, a soda hawker, a jewellry hawker, a bar b qued corn seller, and a more. It is a floating market with so many colors, it is almost an offence to the eye.

Next was the Frida Karlo Musuem. It was beatiuful, but when I saw the painting of her amputated foot I cried. Her decorated back braces, crutches, the bed with the mirror and her unfinished painting, still on the easel are all on display.

Lunch was at a terrific market at Cocoyan (the place of the coyote). Mexico has 25 million people and we ran into people who we knew! Lunch was delicious, but I am finding is hard to remember all the names of the food. I had a great hot soup with chicken, pork, lime chilli, herbs, radish and something else.

We then went to Trotsky's house and again with the tears. The photos were so moving, his grave is at this place and the rabbit hutches are still in situ. We saw the bedroom, the kitchen, the study, the bullet holes, the guard towers and all the documents. One woman on the tour knew a great deal of the history and taled to Charles and all the others. I was a bit beyond speech, especially when it came to the bit where they explained what Stalin did to Trotsky's entire extended family.

I needed some relief after this, so when we got back to the hostel we went off to the Plaza San Domingo (where the Spanish inquisition was conducted) and bought a bag of fried crickets with lime. Delicious when fried.

Downtown Mexico (pronounced Me/hi/co)

I wish I could find a way to upload photos. Even the small bedrooms at the hostel have murals of giant flowers.

Today's adventure was a trip to the education dept office. It is all built around a courtyard in colonial style and it is enormous. The building is three stories high and all of the walls facing the courtyards on each floor has a mural. The is more than 1km of murals. Diego Riveria and has helpers produced this. The scale is amazing, and even though I am not so crazy about his particular style, they are effective. They are symbolic as well as literal, but they are easy to decode. Some of the more simple ones depict images such as a strong man with a hammer and sickle lapel pin bringing workers, peasants and soldiers together, others relate to the aztec culture and some are a little more abstract. The whole thing in free and there were very few people walking around looking at the murals. Even Charles said that being forced to study art history was a drag, but he is glad now looking at this and all the museums we saw in New York. Mexico particularly has the feel of art for the people, where as everything in New York emits the sense of art for the privileged.

Today in the Zocolo (central sqare of the town) we saw a break dancing group. The are absolutely professional, well organised and did things with their bodies that should not be possible. Even after seeing contortionists in Circe de Soliel, these street performers still impress. They were thin and young and energetic, I am convinced that they were dislocating limbs at will.

We also went to an artisan market. Most of the stuff was really junk, most of the stuff, except for the food. We ate things that we cannot name and it was wonderful. The only problem is that we wanted to try it all and at a certain point we just had to surrender.

On Monday we have booked to go to San Miguel de Allende on a bus and will just stay one night. I spent last night with a really great couple from Sweden and Charles hung out with a bunch of young assorted folk. All up thet best people we have met have been an Australian couple Dave and Bonnie. Usually when overseas the sensible thing to do is avoid other Aussies but these two are the most well travelled, interesting couple. They both work on luxury boats that sail out of Fort Lauderdale in Florida. All the boats are flagged to countries other than America so they don't need a green card. When they work, they live in cramped conditions and they work very long hours, but they pay no food or rent. Then they get paid, quite well actually, then they collect tips, big tips, sometimes really really big tips. Anyone can do this work, all you need to do is a one week sea safety course and you have the qualification to be a deck hand. Young Aussies are preferred, and there is a dire shortage of crew. They admit that the money is so good, it is hard to leave and do anything else. They have sailed the whole world and have almost enough to buy a hostel at Byron Bay.This is all well before the age of 30.

The thing is they took Charles under their wing and you guessed it have lined all the information and given him their email addresses for any other questions. They have spelt out the dangers and traps to avoid, as well as telling him how to get the right visa. I am not kidding! Charles does not even want to come back home (but he will, if only to save up enough money to return). We have checked it all out on the internet and everything they say is true!

The altitude dizziness has faded, but Charles is tired today. We re feeling quite safe and comfortable. Even when we cannot work out the money and just offer a big denomination note we seem to get back the right change. We managed the subway by ourselves.I know this is not India, but I am still sickened by the poverty, today's horror was a man with no arms or legs on the ground on a piece of cardboard outside a church begging. Heart breaking!

15 minute blog

Hi Colette, great to hear from you!

We are using the computers at the hostel and there is a 15 minute limit if people are waiting. Of course everyone goes out all day then uses the internet in the evening, so there is a queue, and I will just give a few comments. Now the high altitude has kicked in and I have a headache. The hostel scene is good for us. Mainly the people are young, single, world travellers. A whole array of young single adventurous women are here and Charles is managing quite well. They all have great and terrible travel stories.

Today we drove for ages along a freeway, though about 20 kms of non-stop slums to the pyramids. We climbed two of them including the second highest pyramid in the world. The view was spectacular, the pollution was even more spectacular. These people had foresight, they built the pyramids over centuries, they engineered an architectual marvel, they also practised human sacrifice at special alters and sometimes rolled the decapitated bodies down the stairs. We stood on the top of the pyramid and watched people raise their arms to the sky in worship.

I too have found something to worship. At last something that religion has to offer me, something that I can realte to. In the biggest cathedral of the Spanish (built from the ruins of the Aztec temple that they knocked down) they have a series of chapels. One of these chapels is devoted entirely to the worship of chocolate. I too worship chocolate and suggest it to you all as a most fulfilling (or filling at least) devotion.

Apparently 85% of Mexicans are Catholic and 95% are Guadalupans. I knew nothing about the story of the virgin of Guadalpe, but she is the hot ticket in meso-America. We are both staggered at the religious passion, everything revolves around this. The tour took us to the Cathedral of Guadalupe, outside was a street market and at least half the bus was more interested in cruising the market than in the cathedral. It was still interesting though, we watched crippled people gingerly toughing a photograph of the image of the virgin, praying to be cured, the cathedral was packed an apparently almost always is and in the enourmous courtyard outside a Spanish version of Simon and Garfunkles Bridge over Troubled Waters was being playéd.

Diego every where

I will try really hard not to over use superlatives, especially the emply ones like Wow, and Awesome, but it requires a huge effort.
I can't plug my camera in so I will leave the photos for later.

Today was a walking tour, one Swiss woman, then Aussies, Aussies, Aussies. The people we are hanging with are realy interesting. Young footloose travellers, been everywhere, still travelling types. They are savvy and clever and interesting. The hostel is great so far are we are happy to hang out on the bar in the evening. Mexico has really good tequila, and it is really cheap.

We saw so many Diego murals today that my head is spinning. They are huge, much bigger than I imagined and he was much more prolific than I realised. There are ancient ruins right around the corner, but try as I might, I still keep getting my Mayans, mixed up with my Aztecs. We trekked out on the subway to the Anthopology Museum. The Mayan sculpture is vital, lively and towering. I know some folks have been impressed with my managing the NY subway, but Mexico is a different thing altogether. I though I was going to faint. The only saving grace was that if I did I would still be perfectly vertical because that train was so crowded there was no room to breathe, much less fall over.

Lunch was chicken with chocolate sauce. Dinner was grilled chicken from a grill bar. All delicious.

On the streets at about 8pm crowds of people gather to dance. Two drummers start up and large crowds come and do set formation dances. They have red headbands, bells on their ankles and they all know the steps. The dances are really complex. The explanation given to us is that they are practising for a big Aztec festival. The practise every night in the street and then at the festival they dance for two hours straight.

Finally I am getting tired. Mexico is high altitude and we walked all over town. But I don't want to stop. I am only sorry that we don't have a few months the spend here. The streets are busy and so far we have felt very safe.

We are not in Kansas any more

We may not be in Kansas, but we did go to Dallas. Our flight got cancelled and we were rescheduled but got to Mexico anyway.
All of the instructions for my blog are now in Spanish and the @ can only be accessed by pressing alt then 6 then 4 on the number side keyboard. (I have not written this because it is interesting, but because next time I next time I log in I am sure I will forget. )

On the way here we were selected for special security clearance. The secuity people had advanced skills in rudeness and mumbling, so we ended up getting yelled at. We were trying to do as we were told, but it was all a bit too dramatic for me. We had to remove various items of clothing, were frisked and swabbed. I feel so much safer now! When we arrived in Mexico we were asked to "Push the button red". This was a big button in front of us on a post. We had no idea as to the purpose, but it turned out it was a machine that randomly selects people for extra security clearance. This time we did not win the prize.

We have walked around a bit, been out for dinner and settled into our room. It is very basic but cheap enough and the hostel environment is friendly without being full of stupid drunk English tourists.
A few notes

• the colours are great
• the historical centre where we are staying is jaw dropping
  
• the beer is cheap
• news, demonstrations, posters and protests about Oaxaca are everywhere

(For those who do not know the teachers of Oaxaca went on strike earlier this year, this sparked a general strike and occupation of the city. In the end 20 people were killed, dozens injured and many jailed)

I will try to get some photos tomorrow. Right not I am on the roof garden of the hostel. It is beautiful, I have tequila, some salt and lime, and I am into it. Only problem is I can not shake the image of the bedraggled, disabled begger actually crawling on all fours up the flithy street and then there is, the sign on the bar urging patrons to tip because the minimum wage is 50 pesos.

Tomorrow I will provide some photos.

The Brooklyn Bridge

The reason there are so few photos of me on the blog is because Charles refuses to play the part of the tourist and take them. Above is me on the Brooklyn Bridge, and below I am with Naoli out for dinner on Charles' birthday.

The walk across Brooklyn Bridge is fun, maybe not in a real New York winter, but today it was sunny. I look like a real tourist and Charles is trying to look bored. Caren took the photo and showed us around Brooklyn Heights. Because the apartments are bigger, the dogs are also bigger; huge bear animals walk along. Small dogs are allowed everywhere, and if a shopkeeper does not allow, even welcome them the shop will give over the edge to a competitor. Dog friendly banks supply treats and water bowls. It is easy to tell a dog friendly bank because it has a sign "B.O.Y.D.". I wondered if I would be allowed in the bank if I did not have a dog. I have seen fighting, drunk, poorly-educated, starving, begging, freezing humans; but only well behaved, well cared for dogs. I have not even heard one dog bark or growl in the whole time we have been here. Then again, perhaps they are just so grateful to be let out of the crate, that they have become absolutely compliant. Dogs are so revered, that I was tempted to suggest to one of the beggers on the subway that he should give up asking for money to feed his family, and start asking for money to feed his dog.

Not another gallery/exhibition/library

Today it was so hot that people were complaining, and by people I mean me. I made the mistake of taking a coat only to be lumbered with it all day.We had walked around Soho and found the most ridiculous looking place, it looked like a junk heap/garage/op shop, but said it was a gallery. There were bits of metal, old bikes at odd angles, broken bits of fir Christmas trees scattered all over, some geometric graphics and two guys: one perched up on a platform, and the other one on a ladder. They were just hanging out listening to music. The place looked like it should have been condemned in the interests of public health and safety, and nothing was for sale. Given that entry was by donation and the guy at the front suggested a dollar, it was impossible to work out what was going on.

Finally I took Ethel's advice and went to the Tenement Museum. I was beginning to feel that I could not take it: galleries/museums/libraries! But as a glutton I found room for just one more. It was wonderful and horrible. We did a tour called Piecing it Together which focussed on the lives of the workers in the garment industry. I took a shine to the tour guide who stressed the role of immigrants, ethnic diversity and what he called tolerance. What I liked best was the way he kept bringing it into the present. Nobody could leave with the idea that barbaric working conditions are a thing of the past. The flats had just three small rooms, and most flats housed 7-9 people with newly arrived immigrants frequently knocking at the door to be accommodated for a few days, or weeks. Families with only 5 or 6 members would frequently take in a boarder. Some of these apartments not only housed large families, they were transformed into factories in the day. The baby would be put in the crib right next to the coal oven and irons actually made of iron, the young boys might be sent to play on the roof, the young girls would be sat in a corner and with luck some of the kids would either go to school, or if old enough work in the factory/lounge room.
The guide would then go on to explain: current rent $1,800 US per month for an apartment of like size, current wage for an unskilled worker in Chinatown $25,000 US per annum. This means that there would be almost nothing left over after paying the rent. Hence there are small one-bedroom apartments where 6 or more people, usually Chinese immigrants all live. Today, just around the corner.
http://www.tenement.org/
Most of the people on the tour were New Yorkers, and I knew more about the history than they did! So much for "No Child Left Behind", these are adults left behind. They were not stupid people, they just did not know anything about their own history. Maybe they can name all the presidents in order though.

Then there is the train tracks hero.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/07/weekinreview/07buckley.html
to find out more search for "New York" and "subway hero"
Explanation: This guy was on the platform when he saw a young guy (college student it turns out) have an epileptic fit and fall on to the train track. The train was fast approaching and he did not have time to get him up. He jumped down on the track and laid on top of the young man as the train passed over them both.
He had captured us all. He is a night-time construction worker who lives in Harlem and has two really cute kids. One of the things I like best is that fact that the city gave him one year free subway use. Gee thanks! Donald Trump gave him the small change that he could not be bothered bending to pick up ($10,000). And, of course the all-time American prize: a trip to Disneyland. Naoli had a great point which is that New York is all about getting what you can get for yourself. Donald Trump of all people is the very embodiment of walking all over anyone and everyone to get ahead to make another few million that he does not need and probably would not even notice. So the hypocrisy of Trump giving the guy the equivilent to small change is a joke. This for a man who risked his life, whose kids could have grown up fatherless. An-G pointed out the the simple financial cost to the city, had the guy having the epiliptic fit died: the canceled trains on all of that line, the clean up crew, the investigation, the law suits from every body involved and all the witnesses - but don't worry, NYC give him a year's free subway rides.

The city itself applauds you for having money. I walked into Bloomingdale's and the store greeter (yes this is a real job) noticed my accent. He directed me to a special section of the store, a special section for foreign visitors with money to spend (as opposed to foreign visitors like the latino women who walk Central Park with pushers: nannies to the upper east side set.) The store greeter was charming and took it upon himself to ensure I got an 11% discount "because you know you deserve it" he said. Yes, of course I deserve it, but what exactly I might have done to deserve it, other than be mistaken for someone who had enough money to shop in Bloomingdale's, I will never know.

Bookish and not so bookish things

Explanation 1: Re An-G
Naoli is my friend, Ben is her boyfriend. Ben is also a pod-caster, film-maker, video blooger, hip- hop promoter. He has three shows on the web a technology show, a hip hop show (hosted by Fritswa) and a Electronica show (hosted by An-G).

An-G's Electronica show can be found at
http://myspace.com/codedsignal3
This is a photo of An-G and Charles. Looking at An-G's Myspace will give some idea of how dynamic she is.
She is an American: this means that she was born and raised in Colombia, speaks Spanish and English at an amazing rate, (sometimes I think she was doing both at the same time) lives in Connecticut, absolutely dotes on her dogs, is as vivacious as they come and really wants to come to Australia to see the wild life. As can be gathered from the photograph, Charles is managing, but only just.

http://www.nypl.org/research/calendar/exhib/hssl/hsslexhibdesc.cfm?id=430

The rest of the photographs were taken at the New York City Library. Apparently more happens in this library than the filming of Ghostbusters. It has the same feel as the State library in Melbourne. Quiet reading rooms with people who look scholarly, daggy, cool, quirky, pretentious, interesting, or a combination of those qualities. Apart from books and reading rooms there is a shop (where I almost bought a William Shakespeare doll) and exhibitions of posters, books, maps, magazines etc.

The exhibition that I looked at was on Japanese illustrated books. These books were/are not necessarily for children. There were many serious, contemplative images and illustrations that had been don to go with classic tales of heroism and tragedy. I favoured the more lighthearted illustrations.

No child...

Hi to Georgina, Rose and Tamsyn.


Classroom drama
Play set in HS gets an A from teachers

BY CARRIE MELAGODAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER
It's an unlikely way for city teachers to unwind - watching a play about impoverished students struggling to learn in a crumbling Bronx classroom. But night after night, teachers fill the audience at the Barrow Street Theater in Greenwich Village for Nilaja Sun's one-woman show, "No Child ...."
They howl at her depiction of an earnest but clueless new teacher who can't control her class in a fictitious Bronx high school. They snicker at the school's domineering principal. And some weep when a student disappears from class after his brother's murder. "It was astounding. I was tearing up throughout the show," said Darnelle Pierre-Louis, 27, a teacher at Public School 179 in the Bronx and one of about a dozen educators who saw the play on a recent Wednesday night. "So much of it resonated with me." The word-of-mouth popularity of "No Child ...," so strong that theaters in other large cities have shown interest, has attracted Schools Chancellor Joel Klein and other high-ranking education administrators - much to the surpise of the playwright.
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/story/482787p-406388c.html

Even though school is a million miles from my thoughts, I did try to get tickets to see the play "No Child". Suzie (the woman who owns the apartment we are in) told me that at her school, (primary school in Harlem with high quite a few bi-lingual kids: Spanish/English) teachers spend time tutoring their students to colour in B. What this means is that on a multiple choice test with 4 possible answers, those who colour in the bubble for B all the way down the page will get 25% of the answers correct. This, in fact means that the person doing the test knows nothing - nothing at least that is being tested (because there is a one on four chance of being correct on a multiple choice test).
If, however, they do not colour in a bubble for each question, regardless of the answer, then it is possible to score less than 25% and thus the candidate demonstrates that they know less than nothing. So, teachers whose school's funding, professional reputation etc are linked to test results are in a position where it is a good idea to teach kids to colour in B. This all comes from the "No Child Left Behind" policy, whereby testing will show the way in education.

Meanwhile, when I went to pay at the Museum of Natural History the young woman at the cashier asked for a zip code. I told her I was Australian and did not have a zip code. She responded that I had really good English, "almost perfect" in fact. Oh, the sad irony.

The weight of it all

On our second visit to the Museum of Natural History, Charles moved very slowing through the history of time. I, on the other hand find geology and explanations of how matter and time interrelate to be so impossible that I get bored. There are scales that show a person's weight on each planet and the moon. I decided that I should go and live on a planet where I am half my earth weight, or everybody else should go to a planet where they weigh double their earth weight. The museum has gone to a great deal of trouble to explain relative size, but it made my head hurt.

In the evening we cooked dinner at Ben and Naoli's and Ben's friend Fritswa came over. She has just finished her third year at Colombia which is upstate New York (About 3 hours from New York City.) She is a vibrant woman with the world at her feet.

Charles has really got the hang of skating, and has a great time at the Rockefeller Centre. This is in the heart of New York (mid-town), opposite Sacs of 5th Avenue. For admission and skate hire the cost is almost $25 US; hardly an affordable fun family activity. Ben is a terrific skater and has his own skates. By virtue of his skill and personality, he manages to jump the queue (usually about 1 hour wait) and get in for free. Charles tags along and gets in for free as well. If they have any hassles, the manager comes along and lets them in. There is a huge crowd in the lower level skate rink and the giant Rockefeller Christmas tree towers above. All the trees are aflame with fairy lights and the whole front of Sacs has lights in the patterns of snowflakes on the facade. Kids, teenagers, young lovers, tourists, and rich families skate around. Puff Daddy hired the whole rink for his birthday. Somehow he must have forgotten to invite me.

Charles and Ben have a few friends and they play tag. This is really good because (apparently) it improves skill: ducking, twisting, turning etc. Naoli and I watch from the side and yell encouragement and congratulations like soccer mums. The vast majority of the people just totter around and I am particularly entertained by the women in fur coats who have been talked into it by husbands or children. They look so ridiculous; all dressed up, elegant hair styles and matching accessories, but absolutely no grace on the ice. The whole thing smells of privilege and decedance as concords with all of the connotations of the name Rockefeller.

The trip home late at night is another story. On recessed doorfronts, under entrances to stations, on the trains themselves, in lane-ways and no doubt in places I have not seen, people curl up to sleep. Some have sleeping bags, some have shopping trollies, some have a pile of paper for insulation. Apparently a large appliance box from a washing machine or fridge is very useful. I remind myself that this is the cleaned up New York; the poverty has been moved off Manhattan, and this is a very mild winter, so the numbers of people who have frozen to death is relatively low. I know this happens in Melbourne, it just does not happen on this scale and I don't see it often.

Movies, TV shows, films, books and comics all come to life; everything from the Chelsea Hotel to Lou Reed's corner of 125th and Lexington (Waiting for My Man). But best of all is Spiderman. The photograph is of one of the original costumes made for Toby Maguire in the first movie.

Today's adventure was to walk north up to Lasker skate rink in Central Park and to watch a bit of ice-hockey. (This is not to be confused with the Wollman Rink in Central Park at the south end.)This rink is almost in Harlem and for contrast, has no queue, costs about $8 for entry and skate hire, has no fancy lights or carts selling hot chocolate, and has people who can actually skate.

Evolution

At the Museum of Natural History they have an explanation for head butting dinosaurs. It is not a very good explanation, but I will remember it when I am teaching Year 10 boys in future. The displays on anthropology and stuff on human evolution were good, but I am still wondering about how far we have come, especially seeing as Ben and Charles headbutted each other repeatedly while waiting for the elevator last night.
The giant American native totem poles were impressive and the famous whale room (as featured in the new Ben Stiller movie Night at the Museum) was great. It is such a simple and valid idea for a movie, because there is not a person who walks through the museum, sees the enormous dinosaurs and does not imagine what it would be like if they were alive.
Most of the displays are too big or too dark to photograph with a crappy little digital, but I got a shot of Charles next to one of the Easter Island heads. It gives some sense of scale, but this is nothing compared to the huge earthshaking monsters that we saw.
We both liked the shrunken heads in a ghoulish kind of way, and I was taken with some of the African knitted people: whole life-sized knitted people with one or two features exagerated ie a giant belly-button.

I could not resist one more photograph of the little sculptures at the 14th street station. This guy is hanging on to a railing on the underside of some stairs. I think everybody has had a moment like this.
And, because I am discussing evolution and the occasional lack of it; I have included a photograph of the rubbish outside our apartment. Admittedly it is rubbish collection day, so it is all out there, but it seems to take them two days to get rid of it all. The guys in the photograph are just taking the recyclables, the trash will linger so as to give the rats a fair chance to get a feed.

Similarities and differences

We caught the train up to 125th St to have a look at the Apollo theatre. This is a landmark in Harlem. It is where a lot of now famous comedians have got their start and more tragically, it is where Malcolm X was shot. It is a very simple looking place.
We then walked along Fredrick Douglass Boulevard, Martin Luther King Drive and Malcolm Shabazz Ave: all the big names. At Sylvia's, we sat at the bar and ate southern style home food: fried chicken, collard greens, okra gumbo, fried liver, mashed potato and corn bread. Charles had been very keen to taste the cornbread, but it was more like cake than anything else, so after a couple of bites we gave up on that. There was even a guy who looked remarkably like Spike Lee. You will be pleased to know that I restrained myself; but I was for a brief moment in danger of winning the "Greatest Idiot In the Whole World Competition".

There is lots of rubbish piled up on the footpaths (sidewalks in the vernacular). In Harlem the rubbish is piled up, but also floats across the streets and footpaths. There are lots of rats in New York (one even dare to run across my foot, and horror of horror I was wearing my new boots). Because the rubbish in Harlem is somewhat less contained, the rats spread out as well. I nearly stepped on a squashed dead rat of the footpath (thankfully the new boots were not subject to that horror).

One phenomenon that I have just started to get a handle on is the barber shop. Hair is very important in New York. We met a guy who works in Radio Shack who has the most intricate pattern cut into his hair everyweek. It takes 2 hours and is what he does every Friday night. This made little sense till we saw a few barber shops open late into the evening. At the one near where we are staying, the customers and the hairdressers each have a beer, music is on and they seem to spend their time crapping on and looking out the window. They cut really intricate and/or precise designs and the process takes up a good deal of time. The hairdressers/beauty salon we passed in Harlem today must have had 50 women inside, some being braided and beaded, some under those big old fashioned hairdryers, some sitting on the window sill with curlers in their hair, and others just hanging out. It looked like a real scene.

As you can see below Ben and Charles have become twins. Ben imitates Charles and Charles imitates Ben. Naoli and I have to be very careful so that we can tell them apart. To make matters even more confusing, Charles is teaching Ben to play the digeredoo, so soon even this difference will disappear.