Category Archives: Out and about

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Not just castles in the air . . .

A short break
My wife Steph and I have just returned from a short holiday in central Portugal, staying with my eldest brother Martin and his wife in their beautiful home in central Portugal. I had visited Portugal only once before – in July 2003 – and then just to Lisbon. So Steph and I were looking forward to exploring the Ribatejo, and specifically the geographical sub-region of the Medio Tejo. And it did not disappoint! Just click on the photos below to open a larger image or link to web albums of the places we visited.

Five rivers and five Templar castles define the Medio Tejo, and we saw some of them, across a landscape of rolling hills that are not very high at all. Everywhere is covered in pine trees and cork oaks – as well as commercial eucalyptus plantings – and, unfortunately, subject to periodic wildfires during the hot summer months.

In fact, there had been a spate of fires just a week or so before we travelled to Portugal, and we saw many areas close to Tomar that had been burnt through. The fires even crept up to the boundary wall and fence of my brother’s house, and singed a couple of trees in the garden. Fortunately there was no other damage – just a lot of soot and ash to cope with for several weeks. Others close by were not so lucky.

Tomar
Tomar is about 140 km northeast of Lisbon, connected by an excellent network of motorways, mostly empty except closer to Lisbon.


Dominating the Tomar skyline is the Convento de Cristo and castle, built by the Templar knights in the 12th century. In fact, Tomar was founded by D. Gualdim Pais after evicting the Moors – a sequence of events that is encountered at most if not all of the Templar castles that are found in several towns in the Medio Tejo. Tomar was the headquarters of the Order of the Knights Templar. The Templar castles are mostly in a very good state of repair. It seems that they were not ravaged by internal conflicts such as those that affected most of the castles in England and Wales, for example.

While a walk along the castles walls – with amazing views over the old town of Tomar – is possible, the keep and other castle buildings are closed to visitors. But adjacent to, and surrounded on three sides by the castle walls, is the Convento de Cristo (a monastery) itself, a magnificent series of buildings, arches and cloisters.

Among the most inspiring of the decorative stonework is the Claustro de Santa Bárbara window on the west wall of the monastery church. From the various roof terraces are impressive views into the different cloisters, and of course the ubiquitous arched passageways. Particularly impressive are a couple of seemingly ‘floating’ stone spiral staircases leading to one of the roof terraces.

Looking over towards the old town of Tomar, the monks’ gardens are adjacent to the monastery itself, and beyond the castle walls to the west is the Mata Nacional de Sete Montes, once upon a time the hunting grounds of the Templar knights, but now a 37 ha garden and forested area freely accessible to the public.

At the gates to the garden there is an impressive statue of Henry the Navigator (the Infante Henrique), once the governor of the Order of Christ (Portuguese successor to the Order of the Knights Templar in the 15th century), and considered to be the patron of the age of Portuguese exploration.

Water was supplied to the monastery and castle over the Aqueduto de Pegões, constructed in the early 16th century, and comprising – at its highest point – 180 double arches, and stretching more than 7 km into the countryside to the northwest of Tomar.

Below the castle, the old town of Tomar nestles lazily against the hill on which the castle and monastery were built. From the Rio Nabão (that separates the old town from the new) a network of cobbled streets meets in the main square, the Praça da Republica, with its town hall, Igreja de São João Baptista and, facing the main entrance of the church in the center of the square, a statue of Gualdim Pais.

An old bridge – named after King Manuel I – crosses the Nabão, linking the old and new towns. On a small island in the river is the Parque de Mouchão, with a large traditional water wheel at the entrance across a small bridge. The wheel has traditional pots on its rotating rim to capture the water.

New Tomar is much larger than the old town, and a weekly market is held along the banks of the river, where all manner of goods are sold: fruits, vegetables and flowers; meat; live animals, including rabbits, songbirds, ducks, chickens, geese, and even peacocks; tools and gardening implements; household pots and pans, and impressive copper stills; and a wide range of clothes and shoes.

Further afield
We had the opportunity of visiting two more Templar castles: at Ourém, some 27 km to the northwest of Tomar; and at Almourol on an island in the middle of the Rio Tejo, near Vila Nova de Barquinha, about 23 km due south of Tomar.

The castle at Ourém was constructed on the top of a hill, and is approached up a very steep road;  at the top there is a wonderful 360° panorama, for at least 50 km on the day of our visit.

A village of white rendered houses and narrow winding streets clings to the hillside below the castle, with a small main square and church. By coincidence it was the twelfth anniversary when a local baker had been severely burned in an accident, and not expected to survive. He apparently had a ‘vision’ of the 14th century general and Carmelite friar Nuno Álvares Pereira, and his subsequent ‘miraculous’ recovery was enough for Pope Benedict XVI to canonize the friar in April 2009. Just a few kilometers across the valley to the southwest lies the village of Fátima, site of the ‘apparition’ in 1917 to three local children by the Virgin Mary.

One of the interesting features of the twin towers of Ourém castle are the red tiles incorporated into the stonework.

Link to Ourem castle and village web album

On another day we visited the castle at Almourol. If you asked a young child to draw a castle, then this one would be just as you might imagine. Built on a small island in the middle of the Tejo, there are impressive castellated walls and tower, silhouetted against the skyline. Under normal circumstances, access to the island and castle is only possible by a small boat, but on the day we visited the river level was so low that it would have been possible to hop across the rocks on to the island. This is not, however, permitted! After all, the boatman has the concession and has to make a livelihood.

Apart from these excursions, we enjoyed wonderful hospitality. Even on the less sunny days we enjoyed a dip in their pool, and a glass or three of excellent (and exceptionally cheap – by UK standards at least) of vinho tinto or vinho verde.

All too soon our 10-day holiday was over, and we were on the easyJet flight back to London-Luton from Lisbon. Needless to say, the weather on arrival at Luton – wet, windy and cool – was a bit of a shock to the system, and a world away from that we had enjoyed in Tomar. So while most tourists tend to head to the Algarve and points south, the Ribatejo region is well worth a visit and, I guess, is less busy for much of the year, except every four years when Tomar celebrates its Festa dos Tabuleiros (the next one is in 2015).

 

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Charles Paget Wade – collector extraordinaire

Snowshill. A small Gloucestershire village, nestling under the lip of the Cotswolds north-facing escarpment, with stunning views from Broadway Tower (close by) over the Vale of Evesham immediately to the north, the Malvern Hills to the west, the hills of South Wales to the southwest, and on a clear day (like when we visited just a couple of days ago) for more than 50 miles northwest to the hills of Shropshire, due north to Cannock Chase in Staffordshire, and the skyline of Birmingham creeping over the distant horizon beyond Warwickshire to the northeast. What a glorious part of this green and pleasant land we call England.

The village is home to Snowshill Manor and Garden, gifted to the National Trust in 1951 by its rather eccentric owner, painter-craftsman, and poet, Charles Paget Wade (1883-1956).

An architect by training, and having wealth derived from the family’s sugar plantations in the Caribbean island of St Kitts, Wade purchased Snowshill Manor in 1919 and used it to house his growing – and exceedingly eclectic – collections of craft work, furniture, paintings, and almost anything he considered beautiful.

There has been a manor house at Snowshill for centuries, but the oldest parts of the manor today date from the early years of the 16th century. In the 1920s he began to lay out the gardens in the Arts and Crafts Style, and today these are a delight of understatement: walled ‘rooms’ in the soft Cotswold limestone, broad sloping banks, intimate spaces.

Wade himself lived in a small house in the garden known as the Priest’s House – a rather rudimentary accommodation that he redesigned, installed ‘modern’ plumbing, and filled the house with even more collectibles.

The manor was turned over to his ever-increasing collection that he had begun to assemble as a small boy. His collection is full of extraordinary beautiful objects: oriental furniture, as well as English pieces; suits of armor from the English medieval period, the English Civil Wars of the 1640s, and Japanese samurai armor; many paintings and religious artifacts; bicycles; spinning wheels; and models and toys, among many other things.

Our visit to Snowshill Manor was a slight disappointment – I had expected rather more extensive gardens to wander through. Nevertheless, just seeing what Wade had accumulated through a lifetime of collecting was truly amazing. The collections at Calke Abbey that we saw recently are the efforts of one family. The Snowshill Manor collection of more than 20,000 items is the passion of just one man – Charles Paget Wade.

Just click on the photos below to open web albums.

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Ancient woodland . . . and medieval lifestyle

Amid the hills and steep valleys of northeast Herefordshire lies the Brockhampton Estate, comprising some 1700 acres of farmland (with Hereford cattle and Ryeland sheep), woodland, and orchards (especially damsons – Prunus domestica) just a couple of miles east of the small town of Bromyard, and about 11 miles almost due west of Worcester.

The estate was gifted to the National Trust in 1946, and there are now miles of woodland and park trails to wander and stunning views over the Worcestershire, Herefordshire, and Shropshire countryside.

The weather was glorious yesterday, so we took the opportunity of getting to know the Brockhampton Estate (only about 30 miles from where we live), and view the magnificent 14th century moated manor house at Lower Brockhampton.

Approaching the manor house there is an imposing Gatehouse that was restored in recent years. In fact the house has gone through several phases of remodelling and refurbishment throughout its history.

And although the family moved out of the house towards the end of the 18th century (and built an imposing house overlooking the estate – the 100 year lease is apparently up for sale at £3 million!), the manor became a farm and has been lived in ever since. In fact one of the National Trust staff occupies the rear part of the manor.

There are also the ruins of a Norman chapel just to the side of the manor house.

The main features of the manor are the impressive beamed hall, the minstrel gallery, bedroom and study. Downstairs there is a parlor. These are the parts of the house open to the public.

The garden was filled with color, particularly dahlias – not exactly a ‘medieval’ blossom, since these were introduced into England (from their native Mexico via Spain, apparently) at the end of the 18th century or early 19th (I’ve seen 1803 or 1804 as specific dates cited).

Behind the house and across the moat is a large damson orchard. Because of the season this year, the damson harvest is running late, and the amount of fruit we observed on the trees did not seem abundant – probably due to poor pollination earlier in the year. It’s apparently been a very poor year for apples, pears, and plums among other fruit because of the very wet weather we have experienced. This part of the UK (in Herefordshire and Worcestershire) is famous for its apples and pears and other soft fruit.

As the autumn draws in, the swallows and house martins were beginning to gather and feed up their growing fledglings. I haven’t seen so many congregating in one spot for a long time.

In the woodland there are six estate walks ranging from 1 mile to over 3.5 miles. Given the recent wet weather it was very boggy underfoot in some parts on the 3.5 mile Oak Walk that we took (the longest), but on a warm sunny day like yesterday it was a delight to walk through the trees and experience the cool breeze of an ancient English woodland – full of enormous oak and beech tress, some pines, and a few ash.

What a magnificent sight. And just occasionally, as the woodland canopy opened up, views over the countryside to the hills beyond. All in all, Brockhampton Estate was a most enjoyable visit, and certainly one worth returning to at another season.

Click here for more photos.

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Indiana Me . . . temples in the jungle

Over my career, I was very fortunate to be able to combine business trips with short visits to some of the world’s iconic heritage sites, or take time out for a quick vacation in the region without having to fly half way round the world.

When we lived in Peru, I visited Machu Picchu a couple of times; almost anywhere you travel in Peru you are immersed in archaeology. In Central America we had the opportunity to visit the pyramids of Tikal in Guatemala (and I hope to post photos from here once I have digitized the slides), and also those at Teotihuacan, just north of Mexico City. But one of the most impressive sites must surely be the huge temple complex at Angkor Wat in Cambodia. And we had the chance to visit there in December 2000.

On flights from Bangkok to Manila I have often overflown Angkor Wat, and even from 30,000 feet its extent looks truly impressive (even if there is also evidence over the whole countryside of the intense bombing that Cambodia suffered over several decades of war).

Angkor Wat is located in northwest Cambodia, near the town of Siem Reap, and near the Tonlé Sap, a huge seasonally flooded lake that acts as an overflow for the Mekong River during its flooding.

While we refer to Angkor Wat as a ‘site’, there are in fact many temples and other complexes covering a large area, apparently about 200 square kilometers. The beauty of the stone carvings, the iconic stone faces pointing in four directions, and the wonder of the forest reclaiming the various temples all add to the mystery of Angkor.

I’m not going to attempt to describe in detail what Angkor Wat has to offer, but a visit there has to last more than just one day. We stayed there for three nights, and although we were able to many of the sites and temples, there are plenty more mysteries to uncover, hidden by the jungle that has reclaimed its dominance over the area.

Some of the temple complexes, like the Angkor Wat site itself and Bayon are large with many beautiful buildings to explore, others are much smaller, comprising just a couple of buildings or so. Just click on these photos to open web albums (scanned images rather than original digital photos).

Angkor Wat

Bayon

When we visited, it was possible to move freely around all the sites, look inside the temples, climb the towers – and really explore. While it was quite busy in some sites, we did manage to get away from the bulk of the tourists. But the increasing number of visitors to Angkor Wat is now giving rise to concerns, as this recent story on the BBC website discusses.

Settlements at Angkor Wat stretch back thousands of years, but much of what we see today was constructed from about the 11-12th centuries onwards, reaching its peak a couple of centuries later. I’ve read estimates of more than 1 million people were involved in building the temples. And for an ex-rice scientist like myself, that begs the question about the extent and productivity of rice agriculture that was required to keep this huge population fed.

In addition to the Angkor Wat and Bayon sites, these are the other sites you can ‘visit’:

Let me finish with a quote from the Introduction in Dawn Rooney’s guidebook to Angkor Wat [1]: The temples startle with their splendour and perfection, but beyond the emotions they evoke lie complex microcosms of a universe steeped in cosmology. While a thorough understanding may be out of reach for many, the monuments’ profound beauty touches everyone . . . 

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[1] Rooney, D (1997). Angkor – an Introduction to the Temples. Passport Books, Lincolnwood (Chicago), Illinois 60646-1975.
ISBN: 0-8442-4766-9

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A state of decline . . . repair, not restore

A few days ago, with a fair to promising weather forecast (it actually turned out much brighter and warmer than expected) we made another of our National Trust visits – this time to Calke Abbey, near the village of Ticknall which lies just to the southeast of Derby (of Rolls Royce aeroengines fame), in the English Midlands.

Calke Abbey (incidentally there was never an abbey there, although there had been an Augustinian priory in the vicinity from the 13th century) is a country house, rebuilt between 1701 and 1704 – amid several hundred acres of farm and park land (including a deer park) – by Sir John Harpur, the 4th baronet. His impressive memorial was built in St Giles Church on the Calke Abbey estate.

The original estate was purchased by the 1st baronet in 1622, and remained in the Harpur family until 1985. Sir John Harpur married a daughter of Lord Crewe, and at some date thereafter the family name was changed to Crewe, and then Harpur Crewe. The last baronet died in the early 20s, and the estate passed to a grandson, Charles Jenney – who changed his name to Harpur Crewe. When he died in 1981, the estate was faced with crippling death duties, and like so many ‘stately homes’ it began to deteriorate because the family could no longer afford its upkeep. In 1985 ownership passed to the National Trust. And what a treasure trove the Trust encountered!

It seems the Harpur Crewes were mildly eccentric, didn’t have electricity installed in the house until 1962, and almost never threw anything away – they were great hoarders. So when the National Trust came to inventory the house and its contents, they found a property that consisted entirely of its original contents. Whole rooms, such as the dining room, were furnished just as they had been originally completed in the 18th century.

Normally the National Trust acquires various items and displays them in its different properties according to the period or aspect they want to emphasise. But not so with Calke Abbey – nothing has been brought in. Although extensive roof repairs had to be carried out, there has been remarkably little water damage in the house. Even when the house was occupied, different wings were abandoned after the Second World War, and essentially left to their own devices and deteriorate (these had the feel perhaps of Miss Havisham’s house in Great Expectations by Victorian author and one of the world’s greatest novelists, Charles Dickens).

In the case of Calke Abbey, the National Trust took the decision to repair the fabric of the building (to reduce further deterioration) but not to renovate. So it’s quite fascinating to move through the house and see those parts which continued to be occupied, and those which had been shut up for decades.

In the entrance hall and lobby there is a number of stuffed heads of longhorn cattle that were once farmed on the estate. In fact, the house is full of stuffed heads of deer – they are everywhere – and throughout the house there are dozens of glass cases of stuffed birds, mainly of British origin, but also fine examples from around the world. It’s a taxidermist’s paradise.

In the caricature room the walls are covered with 18th century cartoons relating to politics and society at that time.

The main staircase is very impressive, and is made from oak and yew.

But it’s in the dining room, the breakfast room, and the saloon that the glory of Calke Abbey comes to the fore. The original plasterwork is still intact and speaks volumes for the quality of the craftsmanship of the 18th century.

The bedroom of Sir Vauncey Harpur Crewe remains apparently much as it was when he abandoned it for another when he was married in 1876.

On the National Trust website, it’s possible to take a virtual tour of Calke Abbey, which certainly gives you a feel for the house and its contents. I have also posted a web album where you can see many more photos from inside the house and the park and gardens.

A short distance from the house stands St Giles Church, and there is a beautiful stained glass window above the altar that was installed by Sir George Crewe who died in 1844.

There is a formal garden, and a walled kitchen garden (that was formally much larger) in addition to the farm and parkland. And two very interesting features are the tunnels that connect the gardens with the house, and one from the wine cellars in the house to the brew house, alongside the stable yard. This tunnel weaves for about 100 m, and allowed domestic staff to pass from the house to the brew house without being seen!

Calke Abbey was certainly more than I had expected, and is a fascinating insight to 18th and 19th century living.

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Just a late summer morning walk . . .

After a couple of weeks of mostly excellent weather while the London 2012 Olympics were taking place, it has been quite iffy since then, and we’ve even had some torrential downpours from slow-moving storms. We’re back to the Jet Stream hovering just south of the country allowing North Atlantic weather systems to blow in and give us quite unseasonable weather.

But today has been different. Although it’s been breezy at times, we’ve had a bright sunny morning, and quite warm, thanks to a weak ridge of high pressure shown in the map above.

Not having had chance to get out and about for my (almost) daily walk recently, I relished the opportunity today of walking along the local Worcester and Birmingham Canal. Whatever the weather, it’s a great walk – from just a mile or so, to upwards of a dozen or more, to and from where we often park the car. In both directions (north and south) one eventually comes to tunnels, and the towpath then winds it way up and over to join the canal on the other end of the tunnels.

Today, Steph and I just made a short walk of about three miles, from Whitford Bridge (just near the Queen’s Head pub), to one of the local access roads, Upper Gambolds Lane.

Just after we started our walk we saw four buzzards flying over head (photo courtesy of Barry Boswell), seeking the thermals and wheeling ever upwards until we could hardly make them out. But even though they were hard to see we could hear them mewling to each other. (Just a few days ago I’d seen four other buzzards quite close to the centre of Bromsgrove, calling to each other, and displaying the tumbling flight which is one of their characteristics.)

At first we were rather surprised that there were so few other folks out walking, and the canal traffic itself was also quiet even though it’s a Bank Holiday weekend here in the UK. However, we finally came across about five narrowboats that were following each other up the Tardebigge flight of 30 locks, one after the other.

On a walk like today it gives me chance to hone some of my digital photographic skills. I’m finally getting to grips with my Nikon DSLR. Here are just a few of the photos I took this morning.

Even though the flowers are dying off there’s the glory of developing fruits and seed heads. There was definitely a whiff of autumn in the air today. The nights are drawing in quite rapidly, and it won’t be too long, I guess, before we get the early morning mists developing over the waters of the canal. And eventually those first frosty mornings, with a weak sun forcing its rays through the mist. It’s definitely a canal for all seasons.

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Among the green hills . . .

Powis Castle. A jewel among the rolling hills of mid-Wales just south of Welshpool, on the border with the English county of Shropshire, some 80 miles by road from my home in Bromsgrove.

The original fortress was built around 1200, but over several hundred years it was extensively rebuilt and remodelled, reaching its zenith in the late 17th century under the Stuarts and into the 18th century. While many castles in Wales were built by the Normans post conquest to keep the Welsh under control, Powis Castle was built and retained by a local family, the Herberts, who accumulated power and were given titles under various monarchs, especially the Stuart monarchs Charles II and James II.

The Herberts fought on the Royalist side in the English Civil War, and the castle was eventually occupied by Cromwell’s Parliamentary forces. The Herberts were Catholic, and the then Lord Powis went into exile with James II in 1689, although his lands and estate were returned in about 1725.

Built on a craggy rock, the castle and gardens owe much to 17th century investment, with formal gardens laid out on a series of very steep terraces cascading down from the house to a large lawn and formal garden that was once a vegetable and fruit garden.

All around are quite large, sculptured yew trees that were planted in the 1680s. Originally they were allowed to grow ‘naturally’ but in the 19th century the change in horticultural taste was for a more formal look.

The terraces are full of colour, and the garden staff have taken great care to label many of the plants.

In the 18th century, one of the Herbert daughters married the son of Clive of India, and the castle houses a large collection of Clive memorabilia. While the National Trust owns and manages the buildings and gardens, it does not own many of the furnishings. As a consequence photography is not permitted inside the castle, so the only photos I have to show are external views of the castle and round the gardens.

The weather was fantastic, and we thoroughly enjoyed our visit to Powis.

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More rabbit than Sainsbury’s

I’m not a great sports fan, on the whole. But, from time-to-time, I do enjoy watching some. Cricket is a particular favorite. And recent GB successes in cycling and rowing have caught my attention.

With the Olympics upon us, there’s a plethora of sports to watch, although I’m not able (easily) to access all 26 channels. The TV coverage on the BBC has been quite good, and I’d rate it higher were it not for the commentators and pundits and their incessant chatter. Alongside each professional commentator it seems that there now has to be an expert – even if they have little or no TV commentating experience.

. . . coz you wont stop talkin,
why dont you give it a rest?,
you got more rabbit than Sainsburys . . .

It seems that the current policy at the BBC is to fill every second with commentary – whether it’s needed or not. In the men’s cycle road race last Saturday, Chris Boardman (the expert – well, he did win a gold medal in Barcelona at the 1992 Olympic Games) was rabbiting on throughout, constantly repeating himself, and surmising what the riders would do. It was worse during the men’s 10m synchronized diving competition on Monday. After each dive a slow motion (and ultra slow motion) repeat was shown. And each time the ‘expert’ had to remind us that the judges didn’t see this – they made their (subjective) decisions in real time. Slo-mo showed up the discrepancies between the divers in great detail.

Frankly, today’s presenters and pundits could take a leaf out of the books of cricket and golf commentators – famous for their minimalist and witty comments. Even commentating on cricket on the radio commentators like the late Brian Johnston or John Arlott never assaulted our audio senses with incessant chatter; likewise Peter Alliss in golf.

But in this hi-tech and fast-moving age it seems that the pace of commentating has to match the speed of the action, instead of letting the magic of the images speak for themselves.

And in case you are wondering about the meaning of ‘more rabbit than Sainsbury’s, just click here, and hear Cockney duo Chas & Dave in the song that made this phrase famous.

 

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Warwickshire country retreats . . .

In the lead up to the Olympics, summer finally arrived last week. It was bright and sunny, hot even, and so welcome after all the wet weather we’ve had for so many weeks.

So we decided to make a couple of National Trust visits, to a couple of country houses about 30 miles as the crow flies to the southeast of Bromsgrove. And they were two very different properties.

Upton House lies close to the village of Edghill, site of the first pitched battle of English Civil War in October 1642. An original house was built on the site towards the end of the 17th century, but the estate was acquired by William Samuel, the 2nd Viscount Bearsted, whose father had founded the Shell oil company. With his private fortune, the house was extensively remodelled as a country retreat (it was never intended as a permanent home) and as a location for his collection of paintings and priceless ceramics.

The house, garden and art collection was donated to the National Trust in 1948. The gardens are not large by country house standards, but beautifully complement the style of the house, with landscaping to the south.

Here’s a link to a web album.

The other house we visited, Farnborough Hall, lies only about 7 miles almost due east from Upton House (just follow the map over the M40 to the northeast). But in this instance, Farnborough Hall is essentially the same house that was built by the Holbech family who acquired the estate in 1684.

And although partially open to the public twice a week during certain months through the National Trust, the house is still occupied by the Holbech family. There’s a nice collection of artefacts collected during the Grand Tour.

The gardens are small, but there’s a fine grassy avenue, about a mile in length, leading to an obelisk (raised in the early 18th century) overlooking the valley below Edghill.

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Being British . . .

I’m British.

I’m British – from England. Not Wales, Scotland, or Northern Ireland (although half my genes are Irish in origin, whatever that means in strictly genetic terms). Nevertheless British. And it will be sad day, I believe, if the Scots decide to terminate the Acts of Union (1707) and go their own way. Unity in diversity, I say. And let’s celebrate the diversity that defines this country of mine.

But what does it mean to be British? I started thinking about this the other day as I was watching the hearing of the House of Commons Treasury Select Committee on the LIBOR scandal which has so far embroiled international bank Barclays.

Up before the Committee was former CEO, Mr Robert Edward “Bob” Diamond, Jr. – an American. Throughout the hearing Diamond responded to each member of the committee by their first name, and also referred to third parties not present by their first names as well. The MPs assiduously called him ‘ Mr Diamond’, often icily.

There was quite a furore the next day in the press – Diamond’s assumption of familiarity was not only seen as a faux pas on his part (and his advisers), but also extremely discourteous in what was a rather formal situation. But to cap it all, it’s just not the British way – to use someone’s first name without being invited to do so. I have to say it irks me when I receive a cold call and the person on the end of the phone – who’s trying to sell me something, and who I don’t know from Adam – addresses me as ‘Michael’.

Nevertheless I think we are becoming a little more relaxed about this whole issue in our day-to-day relationships. I remember reading some years ago a short newspaper piece on this very topic, in which the author decried the American custom of using first names from the outset – at least for the first 30 minutes! Having worked abroad for most of my working life, using first names is something which I grew to be comfortable with.

Foreigners often are baffled by we British, as this recent article in The Guardian indicates. In the late 1990s, when I was contemplating a career move, I asked my staff in the Genetic Resources Center at IRRI to assess my strengths and weaknesses (which they did quite openly). One of my colleagues, a French population geneticist stated ‘British’ as one of my strengths. On the other hand, my main weakness was ‘Very British’! I’m still not quite sure what he meant.

So what makes me British? Is it an obsession with the weather (although we could be forgiven for this right now, given the appalling weather we’ve had since April)? Or is it the self-deprecating humour, a nostalgia for an imperial past, or our high culinary standards such as fish and chips. Maybe it’s the appreciation of warm beer. On the positive side is our sense of fair play, not winning at any costs (play the game and play it well!), our ability to queue, and cricket, of course (although this does not hold the same status in Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland as it does in England).

I like to think that the English, Welsh, Scots, and Northern Irish are all British – in their own ways. I appreciate our ‘national’ differences within a single nation, and that we will be competing as one in the Olympic Games – although I still don’t understand why we are Team GB instead of Team UK. The Commonwealth Games are another thing, however, as is football when nationalism comes to the fore. But those are among the idiosyncracies of proudly being British.

Incidentally, I just attempted (on 8 July 2012) the practice UK Citizenship Test, and scored only 58% (14 correct out of 24). When will someone be along to confiscate my passport? I have to say that many of the questions had very little to do with what it means to be British. And I guess many other native-born Britons would fail the test, as it stands. When faced with choices of say ’10 million, 11, 12 or 13 million’ as the number of under-16s, for me it was a random choice. Not sure what knowing this actual statistic has to do with me being a bona fide British citizen.

The Home Secretary, Teresa May, has announced recently that the test will be revised to include questions of more relevance – information about the rich history and culture of these isles. I just tried out the ‘test’ on The Guardian website and scored 87% – the two I got wrong were random choices – I really did know the answers to the others.

It’s all part of the ‘performance’ culture that grows by the day, which seems to be an obsession these days.

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The Minnesota Riviera . . .

Minnesota Riviera? Yes, you could call it that. With its beaches, bays and secluded coves, its headlands and cliffs, along Lake Superior’s North Shore, not to mention its summer temperatures in the 80s and 90s at times (let’s forget about those sub-zero winter extremes), it’s as attractive and warm as the south of France.

Minnesota has about 150 miles of coast along Lake Superior, a body of water vast enough to appear like the ocean itself. Indeed the lake statistics are impressive. It is the largest freshwater lake in the world – by surface area, at 31,700 sq. miles, and the third largest in terms of volume. The maximum depth is 1,332 feet, and its surface is about 600 feet above sea level. At over 160 miles across, it experiences some severe storms in winter, with waves regularly reaching 20 feet, and 30 foot waves not uncommon. But more of that later.

We just returned from a two week vacation in Minnesota – the principal purpose was to visit our daughter Hannah, husband Michael, and two grandchildren: Callum (22 months) and Zoë Isobel (just 4 weeks when we arrived!)

And we took advantage of our visit to travel north and visit Duluth, the most westerly port on the Great Lakes, as well as the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW) along the Gunflint Trail just south of the international border with Canada (Ontario). This is the route of our trip.

Duluth is the fourth city of Minnesota in terms of population. At one time there were passenger services connecting Minnesota with the Atlantic Ocean. Now the port is a major conduit for coal and iron ore. Part of the old port area – Canal Park – has been transformed into a tourist attraction, with the conversion of some of the old warehouses into hotels and shopping venues. There’s also a large aquarium featuring the biology of Lake Superior. One of the Great Lakes steamers, the William A. Irvin, is permanently moored (just behind our hotel in fact) and converted to a museum. Here are some more photos of the Canal Park area.

One of the the main landmarks is the entrance canal to the harbor under the Aerial Bridge. The main span is at road level, and is lifted to varying heights depending on the size of the ship wishing to pass through. During our walk-about, we saw the bridge lifted twice: the first time for a pleasure cruiser offering a tour of the harbor and Duluth Bay, and secondly for an ore freighter, the Hon. James L. Oberstar (of the Interlake Steamship Co.) – very impressive. Here’s the freighter approaching the bridge and signalling its intention to pass through, and given the all-clear from the bridge operator.

And this photo just shows how high the bridge can be raised to let the biggest ships through.

The evening of our stay we decided to eat in the steakhouse attached to our hotel. It was offering a free appetizer per table and free drinks (it was happy hour). For the appetizer we chose local Minnesota (and Wisconsin) speciality – you’d hardly call it a delicacy: cheese curds. Actually these are pieces of cheese (usually Cheddar or Monterrey Jack), coated in batter, and deep fried! One plate for the two of us was plenty. I wonder how much that contributed to my cholesterol levels?

[In September 2010, we enjoyed the Minnesota State Fair (reported to be the biggest in the country) and attended a broadcast of A Prairie Home Companion. Raconteur Garrison Keillor and Californian singer-songwriter Sara Watkins sang a duet about State Fair food – especially deep fried cheese, during the broadcast on 4 September 2010. Deep fried cheese was very much in evidence as we wandered around the Fair.]

We hit the road early the next day, heading north. Highway I-35 ends just north of Duluth, and is replaced by scenic highway US 61. Between Duluth and Two Harbors there is an expressway, but the old road (still an excellent surface) meanders alongside the lake, with some stunning views.

We didn’t stop in Two Harbors but headed for our first destination: Gooseberry Falls State Park.

Just beside the road, the falls drop in five cataracts to a meandering river that empties into Lake Superior at Agate Beach. We took the 20 minute walk down the falls to Agate Beach, but didn’t find any agate. In any case removal of any stones is prohibited.

Just a little further north from Gooseberry Falls, and southwest of Silver Bay stands Split Rock Lighthouse, which opened in 1910. Its construction was prompted by a major storm a few years earlier after a ship came to grief on the rocky shore. In fact there’s a whole network of lighthouses around Lake Superior. Split Rock Lighthouse was decommissioned in 1969 once radar (and now GPS) was used for navigation. It remains an iconic site standing 100 feet above the lake, and attracts thousands and thousands of visitors each year – but thankfully not on the day we visited.

Next stop on our journey was the Temperance River Gorge and State Park, just south of Tofte. While the falls themselves were attractive, what we liked best was the small cove where the river meets the lake – very beautiful.

Our travels ended in Grand Marais, a small town (and harbor, mainly for pleasure craft) about 50 miles south of the border with Canada, where we spent two nights. This was an excellent base to explore the Gunflint Trail and Superior National Forest in the BWCAW.

The Gunflint Trail is paved, and extends some 57 miles inland. At the top end of the Trail lies Gunflint Lake, with the international border bisecting the lake. This was the closest, at about half a mile, that we came to Canada on this trip. The BWCAW is a myriad of forest roads, and there are many resorts and eating places along its length, where camping and all manner of field activities and sports are permitted. Off the beaten track the only access is on foot or by canoe. Beware of bears! Unfortunately we didn’t see any large animals apart from a few deer.

We hoped to see moose at a well-known site with an observation platform, and black bears as well (that had been featured on a major BBC TV broadcast from this area over several weeks in the month prior to our visit) – but none showed. We did see millions of trees. At the top of the trail it seems there had been a major fire in past years, and the vegetation is still recovering.

One of the disappointments was the limited access to lakeside views along the trail. We did leave the paved road on the return journey, heading off down the Arrowhead Trail, and joining US 61 at Hovland, about 20 miles north of Grand Marais.

We thoroughly enjoyed our trip to the Minnesota Riviera and, as with our trip to Arizona and New Mexico in 2011, we saw relatively few tourists. Indeed, along the Gunflint Trail it often seemed as though we had the whole BWCAW to ourselves. This is definitely a region of the USA that I would recommend anyone to visit. Until you have seen it for yourself, it’s hard to imagine the vast extent of Lake Superior. Of course, we saw the area at its best – blue skies, nice warm temperatures. There was a great diversity of wild flowers – especially the bluebonnets, a wild lupin species along the roadside (although not all were blue as we saw some white and pink specimens). On the trip south back to the Twin Cities, we decided to cross over into Wisconsin since we’d experienced some delays on I-35 due to road works and a contraflow. Around Two Harbors we ran into heavy downpours and thunderstorms which stayed with us all the way back to St Paul. A week later (in fact on the night of our homeward flight from MSP) there was a major storm that hit the Duluth area, dumping 5-7 inches of rain in just a few hours. Needless to say there was considerable disruption and damage to roads. We were very lucky to have avoided that.

If you get the chance, do make a visit to the Minnesota Riviera – you won’t regret it.

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Eating out for breakfast – a great American tradition

Over the past 35 years I’ve visited the United States on many occasions, and traveled through 21 of the 50 states.

It never ceases to amaze me what a wonderfully diverse country the US is – geographically, ethnically, socially, and politically. I can’t deny that there are regions of the US where I feel more comfortable than others. But everywhere (well, almost everywhere) folks have been courteous and welcoming – I think it must be the British accent.

On a recent trip to northern Minnesota, which took us (temporarily) into Wisconsin on the way back to St Paul, the waitress in the diner where we stopped for lunch (an excellent grilled ham and cheese sandwich and fries, plus soda) in Frederic asked where I was from. When I told her ‘England’, she replied ‘I thought so. I could listen to your accent all day long.’

And one of the aspects of American life I have come to enjoy very much is the ‘tradition’ of going out to eat breakfast – and a whole host of diners has developed nationwide. Getting out of bed on a Sunday morning, and first of all deciding which diner to visit. Then there’s the anticipation of a full breakfast: eggs, bacon or sausage, hash browns, and a myriad of choices of bread for toast. Or will it be a stack of pancakes, with exquisite maple syrup (the real deal – not some concoction that we buy over here in the UK, which has a hint of maple added as flavoring), or maybe the french toast, inch-thick slices of course, dusted with powdered sugar. As one sits down to make a choice, the server immediately pours a cup of steaming, freshly-brewed coffee. Heaven!

In the Twin Cities (that’s Minneapolis-St Paul, Minnesota to non-residents), I’ve dined at three breakfast venues, all excellent, and different in their own ways.

I’m most familiar with the Grandview Grill, on the corner of Grand and Fairview Avenues, just down the street from Macalester College from where Hannah and Michael graduated (also alma mater to Kofi Annan). We had breakfast there just a couple of weeks ago. The pancakes were delicious. It was a Saturday – we decided to go then since the following day was Father’s Day and we knew the place would be heaving. Accommodating a toddler and a small baby on a quieter morning was better for us and other clients.

Along Selby Avenue, at the junction with Dale, is the New Louisiana Cafe. Also a great venue for a filling breakfast. Seems it’s owned by the same people who run the Grandview Grill – if logos are anything to go by.

In downtown Minneapolis is Hell’s Kitchen, a rather eclectic venue that seems (from the photos posted on its site) also to have undergone some transformations from what I remember.

At one time the walls were covered with paintings by British cartoonist Ralph Steadman. On the two or three occasions I’ve had breakfast there, we had to wait quite some time for a table – it’s a popular venue. In December 2007, when we visited Hannah and Michael, we had a long and rather cold wait in the lobby. The outside temperature was well below zero – we’d just flown in from the Philippines. The breakfast more than made up for the wait.

Why do I like this breakfast-out approach? Well, it’s just not done here in the UK, and for us visitors to the US, it is just one big treat.

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My favorite weather is bird-chirping weather (Loire Hartwould) – all year round

Bird watching is a hobby of mine – although I’m not as active by any means as I was years ago growing up in the Staffordshire Moorlands, or when I was working in Costa Rica in the 1970s. I’ve never been a ‘twitcher’ however.

Costa Rica is a bird watcher’s paradise. In Turrialba where I used to live, it was not uncommon to see 40 or more different species just in our garden – humming birds, parrots, and toucans, and a range of migrants between North and South America. One Christmas Day (1979 I think it was) I took part in a bird count for the Audubon Society, and a group of us counted all the species we could (and approximate numbers per species) over a six  hour period in the Turrialba valley. We managed over 100 species between us, and my birding partner and I saw over 60! When I moved to the Philippines in 1991 I was hoping for a repeat of Costa Rica – the Philippines has a reported rich avian fauna. How disappointed I was over 19 years. Although we lived on the slopes of dormant volcano Mt Makiling, about 65 km south of Manila, which still had some virgin rainforest, in a gated community with many mature native trees (planted in the early 1960s) we actually saw very few different species in our garden, maybe fewer than ten over the entire time we were there. Indeed, one of my friends and former colleagues who grew up in Zimbabwe and is a much keener bird watcher than me told me that bird watching in the Philippines was ‘hard work’.

I now live on the east side of Bromsgrove, a small(ish) town in the northeast of Worcestershire, in the English Midlands. It only takes a few minutes, and I can be walking down country lanes, enjoying the tranquility of local farmland as well as the beauty of the towpath along the Worcester and Birmingham Canal that’s just over two miles from home. And it has been intersting to note and watch the various birds that visit our garden and surrounding houses on a regular basis, and the occasional surprise. So here is a brief account of what we see on a regular basis, and those additional visitors. I’m going to update this post as necessary when we see new species, or I want to comment on those species already recorded.

With permission I am including beautiful photographs taken by Northamptonshire amateur photographer Barry Boswell. Just click on a thumbnail to view a larger image.

I’ve also made links for each species to the web site of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) where you can find more information and even audio of each species’ song, and also BBC Radio 4’s Tweet of the Day.

Residents (which we see often in the garden)

Blackbird
One of the commonest birds in the UK, and very frequent in our garden. It’s not unusual for us to see three or four pairs in the garden at the same time, with males vying for females, and fighting among themselves. Also, there’s nothing quite like the song of the blackbird to raise your spirits. During August 2012 we’ve seen up to eight or nine individuals in the garden at the same time – mostly juveniles. We wonder if they are from the same nest. Certainly they are very active.


House Sparrow

A noisy little bird, now not as common as it once was. We have a small colony of perhaps half a dozen pairs that regularly come into the garden, but I’m not sure where they nest. Often thought as a rather drab bird, but just look at the plumage on an enlarged image.

Robin
The iconic British bird – a feisty creature. We seem to have a very healthy population of robins in the vicinity, and I often hear them singing ‘against’ one another. Although they are regular visitors to the garden, we often go several weeks without seeing any, and then they are back again.

Dunnock
Also known as the hedge sparrow, I think the dunnock is an underrated species. On a closer look, it has a nice plumage, with grey around the head and neck turning to brown on its back and wings. It’s very active in the undergrowth. We have a couple that regularly feed in the garden.

Great Tit
The largest of the four species of tit that regularly feed in the garden. In recent weeks (April-May 2012) we’ve seen two or three each day.

Blue tit
One of the ‘cheeky’ birds, blue tits are not as common or frequent visitors now than they were in the past. But small flocks – families – pass through from time-to-time.

Coal tit
There are a couple of individuals that regularly visit the seed feeder, and were especially frequent visitors during the coldest months of winter.

Long-tailed tit
The delightful little bird has made something of a comeback around here, and we see small flocks of six to ten individuals much more frequently than we did just a few years ago. The plumage is that delicate cinnamon pink, contrasting so well with the black and white. Barry Boswell’s photo is beautiful.

Wood pigeon
In some ways, the wood pigeon is one of the most regular visitors to the garden, and hardly a day goes by without up to six individuals spending some time feeding or looking for suitable nesting materials, such as thin twigs. Although they are more common in open country, the woodpigeon seems to be one of those species that has made the successful transition to suburban life. They regularly nest and raise young in the gardens roundabout, although they are often attacked by magpies. Although we consider them a ‘pest’ in the garden, they are quite a handsome species. At the end of August 2012, a couple of wood pigeons are making a half-hearted attempt at nesting in our Himalayan birch tree.

Magpie
The local vandals – but seem to be a highly intelligent species. There’s no mistaking the iridescent black and white plumage and long tail. Magpies have increased in number over the past decade, and we regularly see a couple of pairs or more seeking out ‘opportunities’. I do wonder if the increase in the magpie population (and some other larger birds such as woodpigeons and jackdaws) has negatively impacted on the populations of smaller birds.

Jackdaw
This is quite a stunning member of the crow family, with its grey nape. We have noticed an increase in numbers just over the past few months. Not sure where they are nesting. It was nice to see them a week ago in quarry conditions on the coast near Craster in Northumberland. They certainly looked in their element there.

Carrion crow
This is another species that we now see on a regular basis.

Occasional visitors (these drop by from time-to-time, or with the seasons such as winter visitors)

Redwing
This is a winter visitor that suddenly appears out of nowhere, stays with us for the coldest months, and disappears as quickly as it came. We usually see it in flocks of a dozen or so individuals. Sitting at the top of a tree in sunlight, its russet red flanks are very noticeable. A handsome thrush.

Fieldfare
Normally a species of open countryside around here, we had a couple of individuals visit us on one day this past winter. Just like the redwing it has very typical plumage – also a handsome species.

Song thrush
There was a time, more than a decade ago, when song thrushes were very common in the garden. Now we hardly ever see any. In fact, even in the vicinity, I can’t remember when I last saw a song thrush. The population must be in quite a decline around here.

Blackcap
The appearance of a male blackcap several times over the past winter months was indeed a great surprise. At first I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but the black head feathers were so typical of this species. On one occasion I was able to get a good (and long) look at one individual, sitting on an open branch not far from the living room window – and I had my binoculars to hand. There was no mistaking its identity – and a most welcome addition to the list of species seen in our garden.

Great spotted woodpecker
We’ve seen this woodpecker on just two occasions over the past few months, visiting and pecking away at our Himalayan birch. On the first occasion it was my wife who was lucky enough to spy it land at the top of the tree. On the second occasion I had a great view, since I was already upstairs somewhat looking into the tree from above. The woodpecker stayed there for about five minutes, so there was enough time to retrieve my binoculars. A pleasant surprise.

Grey Heron
Our neighborhood has a ‘resident’ heron, that we see circling overhead – at quite a low level – rather frequently. It even comes in to land on a neighboring roof – quite a silhouette against the sky. We’re sure it’s scouting for fish in all the gardens. On one occasion I was watching the breakfast news early one morning when it landed in the garden and began to strut towards the fishpond. I remained still for a few moments, but as I reached for my binoculars it must have seen my movement, and with great beats of its wings, it was up and away. My wife is quite concerned it will re-visit our garden for its dinner one day when we are not around.


Update 17 October 2013: it’s four days since we encountered a heron in the garden after returning from our weekly supermarket shop. It seems likely that it breakfasted on our goldfish because we’ve not seen any swimming around since.

Collared dove

About a decade collared doves were quite numerous nearby, and we’d regularly see a couple of pairs or so in the garden. Then they went away – maybe displaced by the much larger wood pigeon. Anyway, I’m pleased to say that they have returned, and only today, I have seen an individual in the garden about half a dozen times. A beautiful delicate bird, and I wish we saw them more often than the rather dominant wood pigeon.

Starling
Although starlings are seen in huge flocks in some parts of the UK, we have noticed a decline in those coming into the garden or even in the vicinity. Once upon a time we’d have a flock of 20-30 individuals descend and carry out some lawn aeration for me in the late afternoon. So it’s quite a special occasion these days when one drops by.

Goldfinch
It’s a real delight to see goldfinches in the garden. It must be one of the most brightly plumaged species on the British list. After seeing so many spectacular species in the Tropics it’s wonderful to see this brightly colored species. And although not a very common visitor, it does appear a little more regularly when certain foods are more available (such as thistle-like plants gone to seed); but it’s quite common in the vicinity and I do see goldfinches quite often when I’m out walking.

Greenfinch
This species was once quite common in our garden, but has seriously declined in recent years. I believe that it has been affected by a disease nationwide.

Bullfinch
I’m sure bullfinches must be much more common to the south of Bromsgrove, in the Worcestershire fruit-growing areas. We get the occasional individual through, but I’ve not seen them commonly in the vicinity either. It has very striking plumage.

Chaffinch
Once among the most common species in the UK, we now see chaffinches only occasionally in the garden, although in the vicinity they do appear to be more common.

Wren
The second smallest bird – and rather secretive. We get individuals from time-to-time. A delightful species to see, and what a wonderful song.

Pied wagtail
This species has such a striking plumage, and its wagtail gait is so typical.

Sparrowhawk
A sudden swoop across the garden often leaves me wondering if the ‘resident’ sparrowhawk has flown by. Sometimes it does come into the garden, and it’s most impressive to see it attack and capture prey on the ground. Wonderful to have such a species on our garden list.

In the vicinity

Buzzard

We often see  buzzards flying overhead, often at quite a low level, looking for thermals as they circle and rise with the warming air. It seems we have quite a healthy population of buzzards in this neck of the woods. Hardly a walk goes by without me seeing buzzards, and recently I saw four individuals wheeling and tumbling high in the sky, and really quite close to the center of Bromsgrove.

Swallow
A ubiquitous and common summer visitor, although never landing on our property. But we do see them flying overhead, or gathering in groups along the overhead wires as they prepare for their autumn migration south.

Swift
In the height of summer I sometimes think we see more swifts than swallows.

Mallard
When a new housing development was put up a few years ago on farmland just to the north of where we live, the developers did leave a pond, which is now home to a small population of mallards (and moorhens). Recently a group of mallards has been flying over and landing on neighboring roofs (I’ve not seen them on ours yet). It’s quite strange to see ducks walking up and down a roof where we would normally see woodpigeons, jackdaws or gulls.

Blackheaded gull
There’s quite a large population of these gulls around the town, although they do congregate in several areas. Recently they have moved on to our community, and making a nuisance of themselves. I also wonder if their presence is having an effect on other species.

Waxwing
Until the 2010-2011 winter I had never seen a waxwing. One day in February I was out on my daily walk, about 1½ miles from home, when I saw a couple birds in a shrub about 15 feet in front of me. I knew at once they were waxwings – they’re very hard to confuse with any other species. And then I realised there were about 50 or more individuals in a tree. A great pity I didn’t have my binoculars with me, but I did stop and watch them for about ten minutes, and even without binoculars I had a great view.

 

So this is the current list of species from my Bromsgrove garden and near vicinity. I intend using this post as the basis for continuing recording additional species, and commenting on any special observations.

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Anilao: jewel in the Philippines diving crown

I never imagined for one minute when I moved to the Philippines in 1991 that I’d ever take up scuba diving. I’ve never been one for water sports, or lazing about on the beach either. But that changed not long after Steph, Hannah and Philippa arrived in the Philippines, and we decided to see what the beach had to offer. This is how it happened.

Our first beach trip was to Puerto Galera (at the bottom of the map below) in February 1992, taking the ferry from Batangas City.


We went there with IRRI entomologist Jim Litzinger and his family, and a couple of other IRRI staff at that time (Jim left IRRI during 1992). Much as I enjoyed walking along the beach, taking the odd dip every now and then, I’d never even considered snorkeling (something I hadn’t actually tried before). Well, I borrowed a mask and snorkel, and some fins, and off I went for my first attempt at snorkeling. Not being a very competent swimmer (I almost drowned when I was about 10 – my elder brother Ed had to dive into the river and drag me out), I found it quite a challenge to relax and breathe through the snorkel – it just didn’t feel right. However, I persevered, and after about 30 minutes I was beginning to get the hang of it, and the wealth of marine life that opened up to me in the shallows of a coral garden was just stunning. “That’s it” I thought, “something to keep me occupied if and when we come to the beach again.” Just to add, we never did go back to Puerto Galera. Instead, we discovered Anilao.

Arthur’s Place in Anilao
A few weeks after our Mindoro trip, another IRRI colleague, Jean-Claude Prot (a French nematologist), suggested we try a resort in Anilao – Arthur’s Place [1]- about 95 km south of Los Baños, at the tip of the Mabini Pensinsula, to the west of Batangas City.

Arthur’s Place was opened in the 1980s by local divemaster Arturo Abrigonda and his wife Lita. 

Sadly, Arthur died in September 2002, but Lita has kept the business going – and has expanded it significantly in terms of rooms and other facilities. And of course the resort is a haven for divers who come from all over the world, although most are actually based in the Philippines. It rapidly became a focal point for IRRI staff wanting a weekend away at the beach.

In 1992, the paved road did not reach Anilao, and even along the main roads between Calamba and Batangas the journey was quite slow due to the volume of traffic on a single carriageway highway – mainly jeepneys and tricycles. Between Anilao itself and Arthur’s Place there was just a mud road, essentially impassable except for a few vehicles. So we used to drive to Anilao, and then take an outrigger boat, known locally as a banca, sent by the resort to pick us up. Quite often we’d set off from Los Baños after 5 pm once work was over on a Friday afternoon, and Hannah and Philippa had arrived back from school in Manila. Taking the banca in the darkness was always enjoyable on a calm and moonlit night, but if squally could be quite unpleasant. After a couple of years I became increasingly uncomfortable driving at night, so we’d get up early on the Saturday morning and head off to Anilao before the traffic became too heavy. With the opening of better highways over the past decade, that by-passed most of the towns on the old highway where most traffic congestion occurred, the journey from Los Baños to Arthur’s Place could be made in 90 minutes or less on a good day. Over the years the road from Anilao to Arthur’s Place was widened and eventually paved, and a road down the hill to the beach was constructed. Before this road to the beach was opened we had to park at the top and walk down – I can’t remember the number of steps, fine on the way down, somewhat more taxing on the way up. Fortunately there was always a helping hand from the resort staff to carry all our dive gear in crates. Take a look at the video below to see how things have improved on the 15 minute drive from Arthur’s Place to Anilao.

Unless there were no vacancies at Arthur’s Place, that’s where we spent our Anilao beach weekends over the next 18 years, trying to get away once a month, about eight times a year. Most often the resort would be full of other guests, but just occasionally we would essentially have the resort to ourselves – time for chilling out with a good book, a backlog of the Guardian Weekly, and some great music on my iPod.

In 2010, I was honored to be invited by Lita’s daughter Joanne and her fiancé Rhonson to be a principal sponsor (or ninong) at their January wedding. And Steph and I were the only non-Filipinos at the wedding and reception, held at the resort – and there must have been more than 200 people at the reception.

Learning to dive
As I said earlier, in my wildest dreams I never expected to learn to become a PADI Open Water Diver, but that’s what I achieved in March 1993. Hannah had received her NAUI certification the previous year (I was too busy during 1992 at the time when she took the course), and Philippa received her PADI certification in 1995.

Diving was THE hobby among IRRI staff in the early to mid-1990s, and several courses were organized to train groups of budding divers.

Instructors would come down from Manila to give the theory classes over a week, we’d take the confined water training in the IRRI pool, and then head off to the beach the next weekend for the open water training sessions.

We were fortunate to have an excellent dive instructor, Ramon E (Boy) Siojo, assisted by Mario Elumba. I’ve lost contact with Boy Siojo, but I ran into Mario several times while diving, and am still in contact through Facebook [2]. Our dive group included IRRI physiologist Tim Setter and his son, Crissan Zeigler, Jane Guy, Michael Goon Jr, and Art and Victor Gomez.

With Crissan Zeigler after completing one of the open water certification dives at Anilao.

Our open water training session was held over the weekend of 13-14 March 1993, in Anilao. Everything went well, and for one of our training sessions, the instructors took us to Layag-Layag, a banca ride across the channel from the Mabini peninsular (check the dive site map below). What an experience – I knew then that diving was for me! On the trip back to the mainland, we rescued passengers from a large banca that started to sink – men, women and children in the water, even babies. I was facing towards the bow of our banca, and one of the instructors was sat facing me, looking over the stern. I suddenly saw his jaw drop, and he screamed for the boat to stop. We turned round, as did the other banca in our group and we headed back for the rescue, with dive instructors donning their scuba equipment again. After all the passengers were safe, we began to tow the stricken banca back to its port, but the engine fell through the boat’s bottom and sank. By the time we arrived back at Bethlehem, and were greeted by the villagers – silent and stunned; you’d have thought half the passengers had drowned. But they were on their way to a wedding across the channel, and had lost everything.

I received my PADI certification on 17 March 1993, and the rest is history. I completed all my 356 dives from 1993 until 2010 (my last dive was on 14 March 2010) in the Anilao area. In the early days I would dive with Arthur, but when he became ill, he hired Lito Bonquin as the resident divemaster at Arthur’s Place. I made most of my dives with Lito, but there was a two year period 2002-2004 when Clare O’Nolan (wife of IRRI’s IT manager Paul O’Nolan) was my regular dive buddy. Judy Baker, a teacher at the International School Manila (ISM) was also a regular dive buddy.

Anilao dive sites
Anilao is a biodiversity hotspot, especially for soft corals, and is reported to be one of the most diverse marine sites in the Philippines. There are about 40 dive sites within easy reach of Arthur’s Place, the furthest being only a 30 minute or so banca ride away.

Most sites were relatively easy to dive, especially when you had a good divemaster like Lito to show you the ropes. Visibility was mostly fair to good, occasionally excellent with more than 100 feet. Some sites like Bahura, Beatrice and Mainit Point could be quite challenging if the tide was running – strong currents. But my favorite sites were Kirby’s Rock and Twin Rocks. Kirby’s was a 15 minute banca ride straight across the channel from Arthur’s Place. It was a site I got to know extremely well, and I must have dived there over 50 times, and each time was different, in terms of conditions, and what we saw. At Kirby’s there are two rocks, one of which (to the west) mostly peaks above the surface, depending on the tide). It drops steeply to about 75 feet, where there is an overhang; the ocean floor then slopes away north to deep water.

To the east (shown on the left in the dive plan drawing above) is another rock, with its tip at about 55 feet, and base at 125 feet. On most of our dives we’d explore the first rock before crossing to the second, spending about five minutes at 125 feet, and then slowly ascending round and over the rock before making our way back to Kirby’s and the banca. I’ve dived to 140 feet here. As I gained experience I was able to make a deep dive yet have enough air to spend more than 60 minutes underwater. In the video below, I was able to dive only to 95 feet because of the limitations on the housing for my Canon Powershot S40 camera (which permitted only 30 second video clips); you can see the other divers dropping well below 100 feet at the second rock. Kirby’s Rock was a Sunday morning dive, and we aimed to be in the water before 7 am if possible – often when there was calm water and no current. Returning to Arthur’s Place for a breakfast of toast, bacon and fried eggs, and coffee was always a delight!

Another favorite was Twin Rocks, which just got better and better over the years. When we first went to Anilao in 1992 there were few resorts, and the local fishermen were still practising dynamite fishing, causing untold damage to the reefs. But as the tourist trade developed and more resorts were opened, then the reefs began to recover and fish return. Now, Twin Rocks is a marine sanctuary where you regular see giant clams, batfish, a huge school of jacks, barracuda, and cuttlefish among others.

Anilao is not visited by many pelargics, although tuna and barracuda are quite frequent. Whale sharks are seen occasionally, and dolphins come through from time to time; sea turtles are regular visitors. White-tip reef sharks are quite common at Bahura (up to 2 m in length), but the one creature that always made me feel uncomfortable was the giant triggerfish, which can be extremely aggressive. On one dive with Lito and two teachers from ISM at Bahura, we hadn’t noticed one particular critter, about 1 m, in the vicinity. Lito had handed me a shell, and turning around, there was this fish about two meters in front of him – decidely pissed off. It chased him up to the surface (about 60 feet – apologies for the mix of metric and feet in this post; I learnt to dive in feet!), and not having success, came back after me and the other two. We were crouching behind some rocks and eventually it swam off. These fish can inflict serious bites, and afterwards we always gave them a wide berth if possible.

In all my dives there were few incidents that I look back on as being difficult. On one dive that I was leading at Kirby’s with two Americans, as we descended and reached about 90 feet, my regulator went into free flow (it had been serviced just a couple of weeks previously!). I took it from my mouth, and gave it a bash – something that would often correct this sort of problem. Well, I reached for my spare, and before I knew it, it had the same problem. So there I was at 90 feet, losing air by the second. I alerted my dive buddies and indicated we had to surface. I slowly ascended – it took about 90 seconds – just breathing into the air bubbles streaming from the mouthpiece. I had no air left in my tank once we surfaced. But I walked away from the dive – a success.

Here are some photos I took at various dive sites at Anilao:

When I retired from IRRI and left the Philippines, I sold much of my dive equipment, although I kept my mask and fins. Whether I shall dive again, I have no idea – it was great fun while I had opportunity. But it’s now a case of ‘been there, done that’. I have no plans (or desire) to dive in the cold waters around the UK. I look back on all those years of visits to Anilao with great affection – and I still miss my trips there. We were always made most welcome at Arthur’s Place by Lita and her staff, and left to our own devices. I always returned home from a weekend away at Anilao with my batteries recharged. I’m sure most of the folks who stay there have the same experience.

Here is an album of photos of Arthur’s Place and underwater images as well; just click on the image below to open.

[2] On 4 January 2020, Mario posted this photo of him with Boy Siojo:

Divemasters Boy Siojo (L) and Mario Elumba (R).

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The cave dwellers of south Staffordshire

The weather was glorious – again – today. In fact, it’s more like early summer than the end of March (although the forecast is for low temperatures once again this weekend).

So we took the opportunity to make another National Trust property visit, and this time headed off northwest from Bromsgrove to Kinver Edge in south Staffordshire, only about 16 miles away.

Kinver Edge is a red sandstone escarpment where, in centuries past, there was a small community of residents who carved homes from the soft sandstone. The cave dwellings, known as the Holy Austin Rock Houses, were occupied until the 1930s, after which they fell into disrepair. There are records of occupation in the 1700s, but it’s believed that the caves were occupied much earlier than that.

The climb to the top of Kinver Edge is quite fierce, and the slopes are very steep indeed. But the view from the top is worth it, looking out over Staffordshire (and Wolverhampton and Dudley) to the north, Shropshire to the west, Worcestershire and Warwickshire to the east, and south towards Worcester, the Malvern Hills, and Severn Estuary beyond. It was a little hazy today but nevertheless we had some good views.

Click here to view a web album.

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Perú – país precioso

I can’t remember why I had always wanted to visit Peru. All I know is that since I was a small boy, Peru had held a big fascination for me. I used to spend time leafing through an atlas, and spending most time looking at the maps of South America, especially Peru. And I promised myself (in the way that you do when you’re small, and can’t see how it would ever happen) that one day I would visit Peru.

Just a few months after I had begun my graduate studies at the University of Birmingham in October 1973, my head of department, Professor Jack Hawkes, returned from a 2-month trip to Bolivia to collect wild potatoes, and had spent time in Lima with Dr Richard Sawyer who became the first Director General of the International Potato Center (CIP) in October 1971. He was looking for someone to work at CIP for one year from September 1971 to look after a large collection of native Peruvian potato varieties while a young Peruvian took his MSc degree at Birmingham.

To cut a long story short, I didn’t go in 1971, but landed in Lima at the beginning of January 1973 after a long and gruelling flight on B.O.A.C. from London via Antigua (in the Caribbean), Caracas, and Bogotá.

Until I was able to rent an apartment, I stayed in the Pensión Beech (a boarding house) in San Isidro for about three weeks. Arriving at night, I was driven through the darkness to the pensión and hadn’t a clue where I was or where I was going. The following morning I woke to a bright summer’s day, and was amazed at the beauty of Lima gardens, particularly the stunning bougainvilleas that seemed to be growing everywhere, as well as bright red poinsettia shrubs (small trees actually), a plant I had only ever seen growing as a pot plant!

Eventually, I found a one bedroom apartment in the center of Miraflores, next to the Todos supermarket (I wonder if it’s still there?), and then, once my wife had joined me in July 1973 (we were married in the Municipalidad de Miraflores in October 1973) we rented a 12th floor apartment on Av. Larco near the corner with Av. Benavides (there was an ice cream parlor on the ground floor – 20 Sabores). But the 12th floor is not ideal place to be when an earthquake struck, as they did with increasing regularity after the massive quake of October 1974 (measured at 8.1 on the Richter scale at La Molina where I was working, and lasting for more than 2 minutes).

Peru is a country of amazing contrasts. Just click here to view a web album of photos I took during 1973.

First there is the geography: the long coastal desert stretching north from Lima to the border with Ecuador, and south to Chile where it merges with the Atacama Desert. It hardly ever rains on the coast, but the sea mists that are prevalent during the months of July-September do provide sufficient moisture in some parts (lomas) to develop quite a rich flora. The Andes mountains take your breath away with their magnificence. The foothills begin just a few kilometers from the coast, and the mountains rise to their highest point in Huascarán (6,768 m), the fourth highest mountain in the western hemisphere.

And to the east of the Andes is the selva, the vast plain of tropical rainforest, dissected by huge rivers, flowing north towards the River Amazon, and, thousands of kilometers later, eastwards to the Atlantic Ocean.

Second, Peru is a country of cultural diversity and a rich archaeology. Everyone has heard of the Lost City of the Incas, Machu Picchu, ‘discovered’ by Yale professor Hiram Bingham in 1911. But throughout the country there are many sites that demonstrate the long cultural development of different groups, especially along the coast oases where rivers flowing westwards from the Andes brought life-giving water to the coastal desert. And there is also considerable evidence for the range of plants and animals that these peoples domesticated: the potato, beans, cotton, peanut, and llamas to name but a few. Fortunately this rich history has been preserved and Lima boasts some of the best museums in the world.

From north to south, different peoples wear different dress. In Cajamarca, the typical dress is a tall straw hat and a russet-colored poncho. In central Peru, the women wear hats like the one shown in the photo on the right. The south of Peru, around Cuzco and Puno is more traditional still.

Peru is also a country of great handicrafts – from the leather goods made  in Lima, to the carved gourds or mate burilado, clay figures of farmers or religious effigies, to a wealth of brightly colored textiles.

Lastly on this short celebration of Peru, I have to mention some of my favorite food – and I’ve learned that in recent years Lima has become one of the top gourmet capitals of the world. If I had to mention just a couple of dishes they would be ceviche (fish marinated in lime juice and hot chili peppers, and served with sweet potato) and papa a la huancaina, made from sliced yellow potatoes, and boiled eggs, and covered with a spicy sauce.

And one of the great ways of serving food is the pachamanca. Of course, all washed down with a good Peruvian beer – Cusqueña, Arequipeña, or Pilsen Callao (my favorite). But I have to mention my favorite drink: pisco sour. Whoever invented that deserves a medal! The only drink better than a pisco sour is a second one.

I was privileged to live in Peru for three years, and have visited there many times since. My work took me all over the country to collect native varieties of potatoes, and to carry out field studies on how farmers adopt and use different varieties. I never lost the excitement of arriving in Lima and waiting to get out into the wild country.

Lima is an enormous city now. It’s been more than a decade since I was last there. In 1973 it seemed there was hardly enough water for a population of about 1.5 million if my memory serves me well. The latest data indicate that Lima now has a population in excess of 9.3 million. I’m told the traffic situation is horrendous.

Certainly the road network around the country has improved – much of my time was spent on dirt roads, hugging the sides of mountains, with precipices up to 1000 m. Not the sort of place to take your eyes off the road.

Given the opportunity I would go back to Peru tomorrow. Although I have seen a good deal of the country, there’s still more to see. I traveled by road, by air, on foot, and on horseback. I slept in schools and a post office, and been eaten up by fleas in a hotel in northern Peru. But I enjoyed (almost) every minute – the friendliness and friendship of Peruvians, and the wonderful paisajes (landscapes), and its illustrious history.

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Spring is sprung . . .

My wife and I are members of the National Trust, and this allows us to visit a whole range of historic houses and gardens that the organization maintains. This is a great reason for getting out-and-about – but only if the weather is good.

Well, yesterday, we really did begin to feel as if winter was finally over. After a bit of a disappointing start, the day did brighten, and most of the clouds blocking the sun did disperse. It actually began to feel warm in the sun, even though there was a cold breeze.

And we headed for Baddesley Clinton, a moated house from the 15th century, owned and occupied for over 500 years by the Ferrers family.


They were Catholics at a time in English history when it was not a wise choice – when Elizabeth I and James I were on the throne. The house has three priestholes. Click on the photograph above to view a web album.

The grounds are not extensive, but with the spring flowers (particularly the daffodils, in full bloom – and more yet to flower) they were attractive. No doubt the estate was much bigger in times past.

Today, the weather is even better, and promises a fine weekend – almost BBQ weather. The long, dark days of winter are behind us, the clocks move forward 1 hour tomorrow night, and summer is fast approaching.

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Kit Carson: he led the way . . .

Early in 2011, Steph and I began to plan our next visit to Minnesota to visit daughter Hannah, husband Michael, and grandson Callum, scheduled for May when Callum would be around nine months, and almost at the crawling stage.

I suggested that we should take the opportunity of being in the US to fulfil one of our long-held ambitions, namely to visit the Grand Canyon. Well, as chance would have it, I’d been reading a biography of 19th century frontiersman and Indian agent and fighter, Kit Carson. And I discovered that much of his life had been spent in northern Arizona and north-west New Mexico. This got me thinking. Why not combine a visit to the Grand Canyon to a number of the sites mentioned in the book I’d been reading? And so we planned an itinerary that would take in the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, the Canyon de Chelly (pronounced shay), the Petrified Forest National Park and the Painted Desert in Arizona, and the mountains of north-west New Mexico, including the Rio Grande gorge, and the mountains near Los Alamos, where the first atomic bomb was assembled. During our trip we visited Carson’s grave in Taos, NM.

 Click on the images below to view various web albums.

After spending a few days chez Foldes in St Paul, we flew to Phoenix, AZ and drove up to Flagstaff via the Sedona Valley. This was our first introduction to canyon country, red buttes and all. After an overnight stop in Flagstaff (where it began to snow!), we headed north via the Sunset Crater National Park and Wupatki National Monument (a series of Pueblo Indian settlements in the desert) to reach the Grand Canyon.

Words cannot describe the awesome spectacle as you gaze over the canyon for the first time at Desert View (just after entering the Grand Canyon National Park).

We spent a couple of nights at Grand Canyon Village, in very comfortable motel-style accommodation. Since it was the beginning of May (and even though the various hotels/motels were full), the area was not heaving with tourists. On the second full day there, we took the bus on the crater rim route to the west, getting down after a couple of stops, and walking a few kilometres along the rim – literally just a meter or so from a sheer drop to the canyon floor below. Not for the faint-hearted! Now I’m haven’t got the best of heads for heights, and at one viewpoint, with sheer drops on three sides, and just a narrow neck of path to walk along, my legs went to jelly. And since it was also rather windy, I began to doubt whether I could overcome my feeling of helplessness, and actually make it to the end, and look over and around. I sat down, and told myself not to be so silly, that having come all this distance, it would be silly to let a little vertigo get in the way of enjoying some spectacular vistas. It took about 10 minutes, but eventually I made my way gingerly to the guard rail, and after that, I had little difficulty in standing on the edge. For much of the crater rim walk, there were no safety rails, and so I just concentrated on looking ahead at the path, and not over the lip.

Too soon our Grand Canyon visit was over, and we headed east and north to Monument Valley, which straddles the Arizona-Utah state line, and which was used by film director John Ford on several occasions as the location for films such as Stagecoach, The Searchers, and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, all starring John Wayne. Monument Valley is iconic mesa and butte country, owned by the Navajo Nation. We were able to drive through the valley, and saw very few other cars. We had been advised to get to the valley as early as possible because of potential tourist congestion, but that just wasn’t a problem for us. Maybe a few weeks later, once the grade schools were on vacation, the situation would have been very different. But in mid-May and throughout our whole trip, we saw very few tourists.

Our next stop was the Canyon de Chelly National Monument that bisects a range of mountains in the north-east of Arizona.


Canyon de Chelly is a magical and mystical place, and although the canyon itself is not as deep or wide, Steph and I actually preferred this to the Grand Canyon. It was much more intimate, so-to-speak, and still occupied and farmed by the Navajo. At a number of places throughout the canyon there are ancient ruins of settlements. There were fantastic viewpoints at several sites on the north and south sides of the canyon, and spectacular views of Spider Rock. Canyon de Chelly was the site of several massacres of the Navajo in past centuries – by the Spanish, and later in the 19th century, by the US government. The sides of the canyon are sheer, often dropping 1,000 feet straight down to the canyon floor. Had I not read the Carson biography I would never have dreamt of visiting Canyon de Chelly, which was certainly for me the highlight of the vacation.

We drove south to the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest National Park. The Painted Desert has to be seen to be believed – I’ve never seen horizontal sedimentary layers like these, all banded in different colours.

We then headed north-east, and into New Mexico. Time was pushing on, and although we passed close by, were were unable to visit Shiprock or the Four Corners (where Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico meet).

Heading over the mountains in north-west New Mexico, we dropped down to the Rio Grande and Taos, and then headed south towards Albuquerque, and up into the Valles Caldera. Quite often we saw road signs indicating possible congestion on the road ahead, but in all our 1,200 miles over eight days we never encountered any hold-ups. In fact sometimes we drove for an hour or more without seeing another vehicle.

All too soon our holiday in the southwest was over and we flew back to St Paul to enjoy several more days with Callum.

Here is our route in two maps:

  • Phoenix – Flagstaff – Grand Canyon – Monument Valley – Canyon de Chelly (route)
  • Chinle – Petrified Forest – Farmington – Taos – Los Alamos – Albuquerque (route)
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They’re changing the guard at Buckingham Palace . . .

A letter in the mail – The Queen’s New Year’s Honours
On a bright, sunny day last November (my birthday, actually) I was outside cleaning the car, when the postman passed by. He handed me several envelopes and my immediate reaction was that this was another load of the usual junk mail. So you can imagine my surprise when I came across one that seemed rather official looking. And I was even more surprised when I read what it had to say – that I had been nominated to become an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, or OBE, for services to international food science. Well, I was gob-smacked, quite emotional really. I rushed inside to tell Steph – who was equally stunned, and we set to ponder how on earth this had come about. I did some Google detective work, and was able to find out a little more about the nomination process, and how successful nominees are chosen. But beyond that, I had no idea. Subsequently (in early January 2012), there was a press release from the British Embassy in the Philippines. There is some more information about the British honours system on the BBC website.

And then began six weeks of purgatory – nominees are sworn to secrecy until the honours list is published officially in The London Gazette, scheduled for 31 December! Anyway, on the 31st I came down for breakfast, and went to the website to see my name in print. And I couldn’t find it! I began to wonder if I had ticked the right box when I sent the form back. But then I found it (page N24) – under the Diplomatic Service and Overseas list. And looking down the list, it was then that I discovered that my good friend and former colleague at IRRI, John Sheehy, had also been made an OBE. A great day for IRRI!

Going to the Palace – next steps
Not long after the New Year, I received a package of information from the Central Chancery of the Orders of Knighthood, with the date of the investiture: 29 February. I applied for tickets – for Steph, daughter Philippa, and my closest colleague in the DPPC at IRRI, Corinta Guerta.

Not long afterwards, the tickets arrived in the mail.

Corinta arrived to the UK on 26 February, and after her meeting at DfID in London on the Monday morning, came up to Bromsgrove to spend a couple of nights with us, and to join us for the investiture. We agreed to meet Philippa in London.

One other issue for me was what to wear: morning dress (top hat and tails) or lounge suit (and even which tie to choose).* I finally settled on my lounge suit and pink tie.

Investiture day
It was an early start on the 29th: up at 5 am, and off to Solihull to catch the 7:41 am Chiltern Railways service from Solihull (about 25 minutes from Bromsgrove by car) to London Marylebone. The train eventually was very crowded, with some passengers standing all the way from Banbury to London; but we had good seats. We met up with Philippa at Marylebone, had a quick cup of coffee, and then took a taxi to the Palace.

Security was extremely tight, and we had to show photo IDs and our tickets for access. It’s quite some feeling walking through the gates of the Palace (made in Bromsgrove), past the guards, and through into the inner quadrangle. At the main entrance, under a glass canopy, our tickets were again checked, and we headed inside. What a spectacle: guardsmen in their metal breastplates and equerries in morning suits; everyone was very polite and friendly. After a quick comfort stop, Steph, Philippa, and Corinta headed for the Ballroom, and I headed off in another direction to meet the other honours recipients. The recipients of knighthoods and CBEs were together in one room, the OBEs and MBEs in another. Mineral water and juices were provided – in bottles with The Queen’s crest, and little goblets with EIIR engraved (not to be left on a mantelpiece next to a priceless ceramic vase). We waited in a long gallery full of the most incredible pieces of art – goodness knows what their value was.

One of the Officers on Duty gave a briefing about the ceremony, that it would be held by HRH The Prince of Wales (not HM The Queen, much to my initial disappointment). It began precisely at 11 am, and the first batch of recipients was called away. I was in the second batch. Click on the image below to read the investiture program.

I guess I must have been called to receive my OBE at around 11:15; and afterwards the recipients returned to the back of the ballroom and took their seats to watch the rest of the proceedings. Immediately after the presentation, the insignia was removed and placed in a special case.

I was intrigued to see that the insignia was made by a company based in Bromsgrove, the Worcestershire Medal Service Ltd.

The medals are actually manufactured at a site in Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter, but the head office is a small shop on one of my daily walk routes!

Anyway, to get back to the ceremony. Each batch of recipients crossed the ballroom at the rear, to enter a corridor on the other side. And it was from there that each recipient was called forward, to wait beside one of the Officers on Duty, and then move forward again as the surname was announced (and the reason for the honour). Turning towards HRH, men gave a small bow from the neck and women a curtsy. The insignia was pinned on, and a few words exchanged.

Receiving my medal from HRH The Prince of Wales (screenshot from The British Monarch website)

HRH asked if I was still working in the Philippines – he had been well briefed, and then we spoke briefly about different varieties of rice. Then, after some words of thanks from HRH and a warm handshake that was it – my moment of glory all over, and I exited through a door on the opposite side from where I had entered. The ballroom itself was quite dimly lit, from several huge chandeliers. On the video footage I have seen, and on the close circuit TV that was broadcast to waiting recipients, the ballroom look very bright indeed.

Considering the number of honours recipients and that HRH spoke to each person individually, the investiture was over just after 12 noon. Then we were able to meet up with our guests. Steph, Philippa, and Corinta had found seats at the back of the ballroom. We then made our way outside for picture taking.

Here are just a few, but click on the image immediately below and a web album of the best photographs will open.

Unfortunately we were not able to stay long in London, since Corinta was due to fly back to the Philippines from Birmingham Airport (BHX) at 8:30 pm. So, once we had taken all the photographs we wanted, I hailed a taxi (much easier outside the Palace than I had envisaged) and we set off for Marylebone and the train. We had a quick bite to eat at the station, and our train to Solihull departed at 2:37 pm, arriving in Solihull on time just after 4 pm. Corinta had plenty of time to get changed, complete some last minute packing, and even enjoy a cup of tea and some home-made Victoria sponge before heading off to BHX in an Emirates Airlines limo.

Reflections
Originally we thought about driving to London for the investiture. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. I would have been stupid to have attempted this trip by car, even though we could have parked right inside Buckingham Palace. On the afternoon of 29 February there were serious traffic incidents on one of the main motorways (M40) into London that we would have used, and there were holdups for several hours. So instead of an anticipated stressed journey by car, we let the train take the strain.

As Steph and I reflected on the day over dinner and a cup of tea that same evening, it was quite surreal to think we had been inside Buckingham Palace just a few hours before. But what a privilege it was, and what a fantastic honour to have received in recognition of the work I did in agricultural research, especially the conservation and use of crop genetic resources.

My former staff in the International Rice Genebank at IRRI sent me this photo – a very thoughtful touch.

Warrant of Appointment
On 22 May I received my Warrant of Appointment as an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. This is printed on parchment, has an embossed Seal of the Order in the top left corner, and measures 11.5 x 16.5 inches approx.

* Over the past year since I first posted this story, lots of other recipients of awards have also worried about what to wear to an investiture, and their web searches have often led to my blog. I hope my advice has been useful. I know in at least one case that it has been, since there are a couple of comments to that effect.

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The (new) Age of Steam

Like many boys growing up, I had a fascination with steam locomotives – and although I’m not a fanatic by any stretch of the imagination, it always gladdens the heart to see one of these beautiful machines in full flight. Sadly, on the various heritage railways that have sprung up all over the UK there is a speed limit of only 25 mph. Nevertheless, a visit to one of these railways is an enjoyable day out.

Near my home in Worcestershire, the Severn Valley Railway is a full-size standard-gauge railway line running regular steam-hauled passenger trains for the benefit of visitors and enthusiasts alike between Kidderminster in Worcestershire and Bridgnorth in Shropshire, a distance of 16 miles.

In the summer of 2008, we made a second visit.