Narcopolis

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read Jeet Thayil's novel "Narcopolis" (2012), finishing it on the train to Bangalore. It describes the challenge 70s Pakistani powder posed to the notorious Bombay opium dens, which are, consequently, now hard for even the most dodgy of local guides to track down. The narrative drifts around the denizens, and some sections are tangential even to that. There is a plot and a final twist. But, finally, not much matters in a opium den.

Facing the Congo

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read "Facing the Congo" by Jeffrey Tayler (2000), in October 2014, mainly on the Northern Line. It is the story of his trip down the Congo from Kisangani in a local canoe. I was a bit puzzled to find myself halfway through the book without him having stepped in the canoe, but the mystery is solved if you paddle through to the end! He has a taste for the purple sentence, the first of the book being "The squawks of parrots filtered down into the black well of sleep and slowly called me up into the lighter realms of wakefulness", which is all you need to know, really. And there is occasional pontification, concluding: "I had exploited Zaire as a playground on which to solve my own rich-boy existential dilemmas". Well, there are worse ways to exploit Zaire. But it is not all that bad, with some great characters (I would have liked to know more about the "Colonel") and in fact gets quite exciting towards the end!

Mysore Palace, India

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, did visit the Mysore Palace, in Mysore, India, in November 2014. Waiting politely in the queue will not get you a ticket to this palace, one must advance determinedly using the body to block attempts by the Indians to thrust their money through the little hole ahead of you. Fortunately, I had already learned this technique at the railway counter in Pune. Inside the site is quite pleasant, with a fine parade ground. The palace itself is a monstrosity, built by a British architect doubtless laughing at his client's taste. I could not hear the commentary on the portable player I was given due to the extreme number and volume of Indians trooping briskly round, whose chatter echoed around the marble rooms and corridors; the women in saris, and the men dressed like motorcycle mechanics. There was another museum near the elephants round the back for an additional fee, but I, Melachi, gave it a pass.

National Hotel, Pune, India

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did stay at the National Hotel, in Pune, in October 2014, as I arrived late and it was near the station and in the Lonely Planet guide. The building is a tired "colonial mansion" incongruously behind a row of stores, with an aura of the Bates Motel. Inside, I was shown a "garden" cottage behind the mansion, which I rejected due to the Great Man Size Hole in the chicken wire above the door (the only air) and a mattress in an inappropriate condition (600r). I accepted one on the first floor, which was huge, but had no window at all but a small gap above the door. Doubtless there is some Indian Logick to the provision of huge rooms and bathrooms without the provision of air, air conditioning, or windows. I, myself, do not follow it, though with the fan it was still not that hot compared to Bombay. They provided a towel and soap (which is more than I got in most other places). The bed was very hard and the room, as one might expect without a window, very damp. The paint bulged off the walls as though Pollock had been an early resident. There was a TV but I did not try it. In the morning I ordered a breakfast which was delivered after much shouting and lack of napkins.

Late afternoon I, Melachi, sat on the balcony having spent the day walking around the dismal town which at every turn disintegrates into glutinous dual carriageways of course without pavements and contemplated -- with Mr Kingfisher bought from a shop to the left of the entrance at 110r for 660l -- the driving rain, muddy grounds and sick palm trees to the endless hooting of horns from the road, like the cicadas and birds of some tropical rainforest.

artworks in each room 

chest of drawers placed against door

Gokul Restaurant and Bar, Colaba, Mumbai

Not the healthy option

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did dine twice and drink an additional time at the Gokul restaurant in Colaba, behind the Taj Hotel, which I was told was the largest restaurant in Bombay. There are tables at the front and in the back is a large, crowded and very dark 2-floor air conditioned facility with smoking. The food was good, particularly the tandoori chicken, which was sufficiently moist. Rice is a separate dish. The first time I was here I had Kingfisher Premium mild (220r) the second Kingfisher Strong which is about 8% and has a more bitter taste, but not in a nice way so I would recommend the mild, which I later found was cheaper in Goa (about 110r). Of course there was no much point in asking for anything other than Kingfisher. On the TV they played a strange cricket with a white ball and coloured clothes, though at a ground earlier in the day I had seen many hundreds of people dutifully playing in white. In fact, many hotels also showed this coloured cricket, and it might be worth studying if planning an extended stay. The other diners were mainly groups of younger men, not very friendly though quite peaceable.

Tribal museum, Pune

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did visit the Tribal Museum in Pune, India, in October 2014. It is a pleasant collection of tribal artefacts in half a dozen rooms of a non-descript building not far from a railway bridge where dedicated people recycle things. No other tribal people are present. The items themselves are quite similar to African ones (masks, fishing traps, combs), as indeed found in the museum of the Lao people I recently visited in Kisumu, Kenya. There is no information given on the historical context of the tribes (i.e. what is known about their history, who ruled them, how they managed in the colonial and modern periods) other than a map with population numbers (or even if these went up or down). The entrance fee for foreigners is 200r, which, in the grand scheme of things is not too much, but is rather high for this, especially as there was nowhere to get a cup of coffee, although it was raining.

Seashore Hotel in Colaba, Bombay

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did stay at the Seashore Hotel in Colaba, Bombay, in September 2014. It is a great location, if you have to stay in Bombay, just down from the Taj hotel and the Gate of India, though up rather a lot of stairs in extreme heat. The place was very clean; about 20 rooms with 3-4 shared designer sinks and 3-4 wash cubicles each of which  contained a WC, a shower and a urinal, though the number of those requiring all three facilities per session would be rather low, indeed this is the first time I have seen such.  Of the bathroom cubicles in one the flush did not seem to work, and in another one the curious WC-spraying nozzle was disconnected. All three of the flush control panels were not actually present, which caused me some confusion until I ascertained which rod to press to activate the plumbing mechanism.The residents were foreign backpackers, as the locals are not permitted. Often they would sit on the stairs, smoking. Initially I was placed in a cell-like enclosure, without window or AC, of about 4ft by 10ft, though it had a TV which I did not try as I find it difficult to understand new remote control handsets. Indeed, as Nabokov remarks of the individuality of faucets in the facilities of the motels of the United States, so would I remark on the singularity of the remote controls of the televisions of the hotels of the world. Later in the day, prior to my dinner, I was invited to move to a double room with a window, for a discount to 1000r (about £10) which I accepted, and could lie on my bed with an extraordinary view of the oil tankers in Mumbai harbour, and, since this was a previously unknown to myself 9-day festival of the Hindu people, on the pier a hundred metres opposite during the hours of 8-10pm admire a great party of  women very beautifully dressed, and the men, well, not.  Thus I was blessed with very loud Hindi dance music. I will reserve my review of this for elsewhere, but it is a sort of jazz on a Hindi scale and not at all as godawful as one might expect. Yet with the balcony open and the fan whirling in the night it was still so hot and humid that I was even too exhausted to apply the anti-mosquito lotion, resulting in several bites. There was a wifi which generally worked. The proprietor was very friendly and even offered to help change some money for me at a rate he said was better than the banks as there were no fees or commission! He was kind enough to let me leave my bags there after checkout time.  I ate breakfast each of the three mornings of my visit in one of the little restaurants in the street underneath, and picked up bottled water there at 30r for 2L. There was no safe for the valuables (I do not have any except my passport). Would I stay there again? Well, I, Melachi, would probably choose somewhere with AC and a private bathroom and pay a bit more. But for the price-werth traveller wanting a beautiful view, it was excellent.

The Mighty Pentagram

Strumming serpent

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the gig of Serpent Venom, the Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell, and the mighty Pentagram at the Garage, Islington on 7 September 2014.

Serpent Venom played a simple but not uneventful heavy doom of medium tempo. It would perhaps be suitable for the ipod of a zombie going home to its grave-field. If rather a stupid zombie. I would have picked up their album at the back if it had been £15. But it was £20 so I did not. The Admiral are a blues rock three piece who have taken to wearing coloured T-shirts but might otherwise attract those who think Motorhead too cutting-edge. I liked the cover of their album. 

The Mighty Pentagram

The Mighty Pentagram had an almost full house with a singer so young he had not yet his teeth. He addressed us in a confederate patois rarely heard and generally incomprehensible in London, as I understand few inhabitants of those parts hold passports. The music was a southern rock with a few doom elements. It was good to have seen them once but I, Melachi, do not think I would repeat the experience.

Aquamare, Paphos

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being a man of wealth and taste, did stay at the Aquamare Hotel, in Paphos, Cyprus, in July 2014. This is a modern hotel rather than a resort (having no entertainment), the (standard) rooms are a little small but very clean and provided with TV with international channels, safe, hairdryer, kettle and from time to time tea and coffee. Our room looked at the sea, though was quite low and not much could be seen of the sea from the balcony. The next site along the beach is a building site, though no building seemed to have taken place for a long time and it was completely silent. The rooms on the landward side would have been rather noisy with the windows open due to the main road along the back. The hotel is on the beach, which is rocky with some sand, and the loungers in the sitting areas were markedly less closely packed together than in the nearby, more resort-oriented hotels. There were a dozen pleasant restaurants in strip malls within about a kilometer along the main road, mostly costing about €50 for two.  Breakfast was sufficient and could be had on the patio near the pool, but without any variety. Guests were mainly strangely polite Russians, and English. It is about a 2 mile walk to Paphos or there is a bus very 15 mins or so. The gym was well-equipped, and there was working free wifi in the lobby. Beer and burgers in the pool bar were a little expensive, but cheapest beer was €2 a pint at the Crocodile and Pegasus pubs down the road, though without a sea view. Paphos itself seemed to have seen livelier days, with many units and lots being vacant. Well, this was a very pleasant place for a week in the sun by the sea, though perhaps slightly dull for nightlife, or a sense of place.

The Song of Achilles

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read "The Song of Achilles" by Madeline Miller (2011), mainly on the Northern Line, in 2014. It is the story of Achilles as told by his friend Patroclus. It begins a little unpromisingly, and I was reminded of innumerable Victorian school stories about the boys admiring the Captain of the First XI, but with talking horses and sea gods thrown in. The writing is simple, melodic and pleasing, though suffering from a naturally limited range of allusions and expressions. Thus I was aware of a certain lack of depth. However, as the story develops it became more convincing, and I was keen to see what would happen at the end, though finally I suppose it was no great secret.

Petals of Blood

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did read Ngugi wa Thiongo's's book "Petals of Blood" (1977), by the beach in Cyprus in July 2014. It is the story of how an inland village in Kenya becomes part of the international market economy by way of colonialism, through the experiences of the more educated locals. Although both the oppressed and the oppressors are Africans,  parts are strangely reminiscent of the "Grapes of Wrath", and infused with a dreamy, Latin American sensibility. This makes it overlong and repetitive, though much of the writing is quite fine. I did not find the evangelical conversions at the end credible, though to be fair Melachi notes that effective responses to the capitalist system are so far difficult to find.

Download 2014

Smashing

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the Download festival, at Donington Park, June 2014. Lacking obvious headliners and with an endlessly uninspiring line-up of unpromising hard-rock acts, the car parks were not too full though the weather not too bad. Skid Row I thought seemed tired, Twisted Sister not at all tired, charismatic but lacking enough tunes, Pretty Reckless were indeed pretty but not musically terribly reckless. Steel Panther had a big billing but didn't add much to their previous appearance, and will doubtless do the same until sharia. Strangely even some women were wearing their T-shirts, though generally the uglier ones. Status Quo showed biting but pointless groove, and Aerosmith were doubtless jolly good but I only caught a ballad after which I left for home, due to the shortness of life.

Not the hunted

More armour

Huntress was I think the only true soprano and Sharon of Within Temptation could gain some of that aggression and lose a few pounds. Trivium's stage formula was routine and they did not seem quite sure where they were. Anathema looked confused, perhaps with sound problems, but got a few tracks together. On the plus side, there was some smashing full-contact medieval fighting, and I was impressed by Collibus, and will have to look into them some more. A surprise stand-out was Sabaton, the only representative of German bierkeller metal, who had great fun with unprepossessing tunes. Best band I had not heard before was Suicide Silence, with an extraordinarily powerful attack in the main tent providing a focus difficult for the daylight shows on the bigger stages to match, and bringing on at least one serious injury, though, so far as I could tell, no actual suicides. 

Pensive Swedish Master

Opeth began the recovery from the despond of their previous tour, though struggling with the sound coming from the main stage. Oh, what sad times are these when One Direction can drown out even the Swedish Masters. Yet, there is nothing quite like their palpability, having ascended to a breakdown in the flesh, which is never matched on their recordings, though here the lead guitar could have been clearer. 

I shot the devil

The only band with what I would describe as a show and my favourite of the weekend were Behemoth, sounding like Opeth without the quieter bits, transitions, and funny tempo changes. These Polish Blackened Death Metal Titans were so achingly cool I was frightened to take a photo of them. So, I took one of someone else taking a photo of them, and it shall not be Melachi who is damned!

The Wounded Kings

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did attend the gig of The Wounded Kings, Sigiriya and Coltsblood, on Saturday 24 May 2014, at the Black Heart, Camden, London.  Coltsblood played art-distort with big hair, slowly. I quite liked their last piece which introduced a theme and then improvised upon it, as though a ponderous, loud and and blurry jazz. I thought the main tune could have been repeated intermittently, though, as it was difficult to bear it in mind and there was a danger of it degenerating into an assemblage of random chords, after Moss. No red-blooded rocker could possibly object to Sigiriya, playing very solid traditional heavy metal, and they well deserve their coming status as house band, despite the Welshdom.

Those Wounded Kings were fronted by a crone warbling half a dozen notes in splendid dissonance faster and with firmer structures than the Coltsblood (or Jex Thoth) producing a seamless pummellation of awe-inspiring doom such as I had not heard since, well, to be precise, the Electric Wizard gig at the Forum a few years ago. I immediately picked up all their material from the merch stand.* Unfortunately only a few dozen were there to hear them, mainly orthodox Jews.

[*not technically true as there was not any].

IQ: Road of Bones

Perfect frequency I, Melachi ibn Amillar, did attend the IQ album launch gig at the Islington Assembly Halls on 3 May, 2014. The supporting act was a solo guitarist accompanying bars he himself had played moments earlier. I am not entirely sure how this is done, and I hope it does not catch on. Why not just a little Villa-Lobos? IQ themselves played to a deservedly packed house for about 2 hours, mainly the material they had performed at their show in December, and some from the new "Road of Bones", seeming generally a little heavier and with more of a mellotron lead, the title track sounding the best. Peter Nicholls himself was in perfect tune and voice from the first note to the last. I, Melachi, will remark no more on this.

Lord the Provider Joyland Lodge, Mfangano Island, on Lake Victoria

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being of unsound mind and body, did stay at "Lord the Provider Joyland Lodge" on Mfangano Island, on Lake Victoria, Kenya, in February 2014. It is located a few steps from the port of Sena, or, rather, the place where the little boats to Mbita stop. Behind the dining room/lounge, a dozen cells lie around a small courtyard on which goats may graze, at KES 500 (£3) a night including breakfast (egg and chapatis); each with its own facilities, albeit a la turk. There is a net, though I heard only a few mosquitoes. When the main water tank is empty they will give you a large basin of water for ablutions, and the flushing. Water for drinking can be bought. A meal is KES 150 (£1) and not bad for those who like ugale, though portions are on the small side. I can reveal the fish is the best, as one might expect. Service is friendly though the family are rather shy. They have an always-on TV with satellite connection, and one might have joined them in watching, I think, a sequel to "Jurassic Park" (in English). The hotel does not serve beer, but there is a bar across the "road", of a hut of corrugated iron (as are all the buildings in the "town"), where a man serves beer and mobile phone or lottery tickets from a curious cage; a television is there also, itself behind bars, and a rather loud stereo system that will also entertain you in your bed of an evening. I confess I found this bar a little odd and did not imbibe.
Mfangano itself is an agricultural island of myriads of children endlessly walking to and from school, pointing and crying "Mzungu!" (which means, I understand, "O wielder of the white magicks!"), interspersed with occasional sturdy motorcycles. I was interacted with by Emmanuel, seeking support for his orphanage, who showed me the local fishing village. I did not see a single car or truck. But there is, finally, not much to do there, so I sought to leave, which took more than a morning due to the uncertain schedules of the little boats, though I could watch for them from the hotel, sipping colas and listening to the dinosaurs.

"The Beach Africa", Mtwapa, Kenya

I, Melachi ibn Amillar, being a man of wealth and taste, did stay at "the Beach Africa", Mtwapa, Kenya, in February 2014. In my not very humble opinion this place is very beautiful in design and location. It is on a mangrove beach and finely decorated in distressed international backpacker chic. The food is not pricey, and well made and presented, though not very fast to arrive as it actually has to be cooked. The staff and bartender were very helpful and chatty. There are many hangout areas and rather thin cats. The cabins are by the front and without frills or electricity, with the sound of waves when the tide is in, and showers are in a separate shared block with cubicles, though are salty and do not work if there is a power cut. The site is not remote - it is surrounded by normal African residences 25 mins walk East of Mtwapa (so protecting you from the predatory types hanging around the bars), but is rather difficult to find. The cost of a bed in a cabin for two (but in fact otherwise empty) was KES 840. On the other hand, beer is certainly too expensive for a backpacker joint at KES 220. Security is not great, particularly as there was hardly anyone else there. But by far the best of the cheap (and indeed not so cheap) places I stayed at in Kenya, and the only I would like to visit again; and I wish I had found it earlier.