Back when I was a humble backpacker, scribbling my way through South America, I earned some empanada money by writing for Christian Aid’s Pressureworks website.

Two months ago, a few thousand thermal-clad tourists were trapped at Aguas Calientes (translation: Hot waters – yes, they were stuck in hot water) due to landslids around Macchu Picchu. The tourists had to be airlifted out of the town, as the train line was out of action as a result.

The same company runs the train to and from Macchu Picchu, the access to the site itself and the biggest hotel at the site, which is, of course, Peru’s biggest tourist attraction by some distance. That company is the Orient Express Company. Nice little monopoly if you can get it.

While I was over there I wrote about how said train company cancelled a train to Aguas Calientes on the day we happened to be there. The locals of a neighbouring town planned to use the train to take their protest to Macchu Picchu that day. Their protest concerned a road project that was halted inexplicably, which would have linked their town to Macchu Picchu. Doing so would have allowed the town compete with Aguas Calientes as an alternate route on the Inca trail, and would have broken the monopoly of the Orient Express company on travel to and from Peru’s biggest tourist draw. But rather than have noisy protest about their monopoly on their doorstep, they used their monopoly to stop the protest from getting to their doorstep. Convenient.

The only way out of Santa Teresa and across the river when we were there was a precarious bucket-on-a-high-wire affair. Or, in the case of landslide, by helicopter. It would be glib to say this was karma in action, when the livelihoods of so many in the valleys around Macchu Picchu rely on the tourist dollar.

The article is here (in jpeg format, until I can OCR the sucker). The pic is my own, by the way. Just to prove that I was there to witness the fact that there were people waiting to get on that train that never came.

“What the hell do you know about fashion?”

That’s a fair question, asked by my uncle on Sunday as he was reading my bit in the SBP on African Fashion Weekend, which hits Dublin on April 2,3 and 4.

Personally, yeah, I’m no mannequin. I actually had to apologise to the stylish Stha Ngwenya (pictured right, the organiser of African Fashion Week) for my appearance on the day we met. I have to do that a lot, actually, particularly when I’m on a motorbike and dressed to suit. Fashion is like fancy dress to me. It’s something that I don’t really do that often, but I’m aware that it’s there and that I find an effort. My girlfriend is more concerned with it, and much better at it than I am.

But I’m always interested in anything African, and particularly any positive African stories, having done a thesis on the lack of them in the Irish media.

And this is a good one.

And on the day, I hope to be near the catwalk, wearing the one tailored shirt that I own, applauding in a genteel fashion. As one does, when one’s involved in fashion. Dahling.

Sunday Business Post, March 21, 2010

Continental Shift

There’s a famous Granta magazine article about writings on Africa that, unsurprisingly, says little about haute couture.

In mocking tones, it details all the stereotypes one should hit when describing anything African. The only reference to fashion states: ‘‘If you must include an African, make sure you get one in Masai or Zulu or Dogon dress.” [Read more →]