The Art of Something Beautiful

Having an espresso in a bustling piazza and watching the world go by is one of the oldest of clichés in the book. Tradition dictates that we go on to discuss how peace and equilibrium can be found in the busiest and most unlikely of places and although many a lost soul’s story starts with this quest, that isn’t how I started my travelling days. My story begins in a rather dingy, unremarkable pub in Cardiff. My friends and I had gone to the pub because it was the day the smoking ban had been introduced and we needed to know what it felt like; an olfactory assault of stale beer and sweat which, as evangelical smokers, we took to be an affront. Only beer could save us so we sank pints and toasted the demise of the tabletop Marlborough packet. Not many good things come from a sentence that starts with a drunken slur of “You know what we should do?” but that is exactly what happened.

The answer to this question started as a trip to Europe but as the pints sank we became more ambitious and added Australia and New Zealand to our plan. If you'd asked me at that point why I wanted to go travelling and what I wanted to achieve, I doubt I could have told you. The hunt for adventure and stories to tell was enough to guide me. In fact, if you had asked at that point about drinking an espresso in a piazza, I probably would have admitted to my desire to watch fabulously stylish Italian women walk past and the roguish Italian men riding Vespas. I was convinced that all of Italy was like something out of a chocolate advertisement. I daresay that in my mind’s eye, the entire scenario included a floppy haired man playing the cello somewhere nearby whilst I drank.

I found Rome to be every bit as romantic, inspiring, passionate, exhilarating and artistic as I dreamt it would be. The Roman Forum drove my imagination insane with sights, sounds and smells and filled my head with a hundred quotes from Shakespeare to Monty Python. The Pantheon immobilised me. I stood with my hand resting on the wall, almost as if I was trying to channel the centuries of violence, pomp and solemn religious fervour. Chocolate advertisements and clichéd stories, however, were surprisingly scant amongst the crowds of bumbagged tourists. They descended in their multitudes upon the Fontana de Trevi and the Spanish Steps, in numbers that made it impossible to achieve that postcard perfect photograph. This is the Italy I saw as the café owner brought me my coffee. She asked if I too was a tourist and I proudly replied that I was travelling with my friend. Her reaction was remarkable; she was positively overjoyed and cooed with delight at my choice to visit her bustling home. She caught my attention by announcing that she would pray to God to protect me as I travelled through Italy. I don’t think a stranger has offered to pray for me before or since and it struck me that Catholicism, so scarce in Cardiff, ran so deeply through the pulsing veins of Rome. I thought about the nuns walking down the streets in Rome attracting reverence and respect, rather than the odd and fearful looks they would draw in my native Cardiff.

My fervent host dutifully furnished me with more coffee as I thought more about the differences between nations. I asked myself what we would do with the Colosseum if it were in England. Would we also use it as a roundabout? Would it replace Swindon's magic roundabout?

I drank many more espressos in cafés and watched as Rome unfurled before me. Not the Rome I was expecting - the street-playing cellists of my dreams were remarkably few - but I think that’s the wonder of travelling. Each country we visit conjures images and expectations and while some of them are met, others reveal themselves to be dreams. I found that taking the time to see a town, city or country for what it is, and not what you expect it to be, can take you by pleasant surprise.

Written by Cate Hopkins

See Cate's full profile here.

Edinburgh Through a Lense

It was a difficult choice this week when it came to choosing the next post for The Great Affairs. We've received some great proposals from so many writers and our own stores are brimming with articles and reflections. So why did I choose to publish a series of photographs? Because sometimes there are just too many words and maybe we just don't need them.

From the camera of Lara S. Williams comes this view of Edinburgh, her new city.

Lindisfarne

Greyfriars Bobby

Nelson's Tower

Greyfriars Graveyard

Divinity College, Edinburgh University

Arthur's Seat

Edinburgh Castle

Culture in Canada

I come from an island of four million. We are famous for our 'craic' and our impressive drinking capabilities. If you haven't guessed yet, I'm talking about Ireland. There I lived my life for eighteen years, knowing only my fellow Irish people, two Canadians and four Polish. I've seen all the sitcoms, English programmes, American comedies - I know that deep down we're all the same and culture is dead. But then I uprooted myself and moved to Toronto, Canada. Two months into my life there I could see how appallingly wrong I was. In just eight weeks I learned more about the world and its inhabitants than in the entire nineteen years I'd spent sheltered in Irish education.

I'm a penniless explorer, so everywhere I venture I must work. In Canada I secured a job as a waitress in an Italian banquet hall and it proved to be pure, brilliant madness. I suspect it was akin to being in a scene from my big fat Greek wedding except the visitors were Portuguese, Italian, Chinese, Russian, Vietnamese and Polish. I was the only Irish person, the only blonde, the only person over 5ft4. One of the female customers asked me if Ireland was beside Russia before nicknaming me 'white girl.' Another complimented me on my good English to which I replied, 'thank you, it's my first language.' I was making some great first impressions.

The perk of the job was discovering how different nationalities approached partying. Portuguese people were crazy, fun and ridiculously skinny for the amount of food and drink they consumed. I worked a wedding where we served a six course meal followed by a seafood buffet, sweet table and an open bar. By god did they have know how to have a good time. An Italian stag party was a similar story; a sit down meal with massive amounts of consumption. Despite these fascinating social occasions it was a Muslim prom which remains etched in my mind.

The cloaked women arrived en masse and I watched mesmerised as they unwrapped themselves from their confines to reveal a parade of coloured, sparkling gowns topped with tiaras and sashes. No men were permitted to enter, only female waiters were allowed and alcohol and meat was banned. I couldn't help feeling sorry for them. Where was the fun, the madness? It was so far away from the customs I'd grown up with that I was tempted to arrogantly assume myself their superior. What happened next had me awe-struck. As I listened to the key speakers belt out their life lessons, common themes arose. Themes such as: do not put yourself in a position to be attacked; cover your curves so you don't attract attention; never be alone with a male that is not a relation. I'd heard all this before but it was from the TV, newspapers, things far away. Never this close, face to face, and my heart plummeted. I thought we were all fundamentally the same. All humans and equals. How could there be such a divide between me and these girls sitting before me?

They were called to prayer twice throughout their celebrations. Each time we quickly covered the dance floor with white sheets as they once again covered themselves from head to toe and kneeled to their God. Much later, the atmosphere changed and groups of girls put on matching outfits and performed beautiful traditional dances. Though the night wore on, their energy never let up. With plastered smiles on their faces they joined hands and spun and weaved across the wooden floor. Just mothers and daughters out on their one night of freedom.

Thankfully for me, Toronto wasn't all work; the place is a rich persons' playground. I spent warm nights out on the town in bars on towering buildings with views of the entire Toronto skyline. Hours were spent chilling with a beer in hand, surrounded by new and incredible people. Or legs dangling over the bow of a sailboat with the water splashing on my pale legs. Other times I canoed around Centre Island, strapped myself into the Behemoth at Canada's Wonderland, licked ice-cream at Niagara Falls and ate popcorn at a baseball game. I even attended their annual Gay Pride Parade.

Canadians in general are quite a conservative bunch but the same cannot be said for their thriving gay community. They were wild. It was like being in one of Botticelli's paintings - a lot of naked people amongst a riot of colour. The annual Parade closes down Toronto's main high streets for one whole day and attracts thousands of tourists to the city. It's unlike anything I've ever seen. Gone were the usual monochrome suits and briefcases, replaced with a chorus of neon clothing and bare skin. People were singing and chanting, sitting on window ledges, trash cans, traffic lights, all cheering at the onslaught of floats parading down the street. Everywhere I turned were stalls spilling from side streets and alleys, all bursting with trendy goods. Speakers knocked out chart music and everyone was blissfully happy. On this one day a year people can freely express their sexuality and not be frowned upon by society or suffer violence and aggression. I was so lucky to get to see such a brilliant example of human nature.

It all makes me wonder why everyone wants to go to the States. Over the border, Canada's got everything they have with a hell of a lot less drama. I may be back in my own world, back to the reality of university life, but I feel different and changed. I no longer cluster around my British and Irish friends but walk willingly into the International community. I want to hear their stories, learn about their culture and travel to their worlds. After all, home will still be there and waiting when I get back.

Written by Orla O Muiri.

Orla's full profile can be found here.