COMPETITION
Trivial travel
Jaspistos
IN COMPE 11 1TON NO. 2022 you were invited to write a travel piece which leaves the reader little wiser about the place visited.
Thirty years ago I could have won this comp with a piece I wrote about an island which I called Erewhemos. I spent a pleas- ant week there with my friends ICasterine, the photographer, and returned to London to find that I had lost the few notes I had jotted down at café tables. The American magazine was paying me the ridiculous rate of half a dollar a word, I was broke, the deadline loomed, even Kasterine's colourful pits failed to galvanise my torpid memory. I sat down and wrote 1,000 words of flannel, concentrating on 'broad effects', cloudscapes, sunsets, etc. The article was accepted, the only editorial query being on the one fact I had managed to retain: that the local white wine, which was to blame for my amnesia, was so delicious that it had once been regularly exported, over thousands of miles, to the court of Catherine of Russia.
The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bonus bottle of The Macallan The Malt Scotch whisky goes to John Phillips for his vivid account of Girsa.
Burnt umber, chrome yellow, the fading blush- purple afterglow — the colours of Girsa tell their own story. And the smells! Charred leather, hot axle-grease, the evasive scent of stypillatun crescens. .
Early morning now, rush-hour. Wheels, wheels, wheels, all turning.
An elderly widow weaves in and out of the throng, her pretty grandchild held firm by the wrist; from her double-knotted scarf I learn she lost her husband in the 'levelling'. I raise my hand; she is gone. A newsvendor cries his wares. Dai6, News!' (I translate). Tied to his stand a mongrel; unexpectedly he stoops and feeds it a miniature doughnut. Very Girsa, very, somehow abroad
Lord Liverpool, asked his views on travel, replied, 'You may send a turnip around the world; it will return a turnip.' He had never been to Girsa. (John Phillips) The crossing was chilly. Because Bathsheba is too nervous to leave on the car-deck and dogs are banned from the carpeted areas, we huddled on the lee side, consuming polystyrene contain- ers of lukewarm coffee. It was raining when we left the ferry, but later the cloud lifted and the sun came out, enabling us to see beautiful, var- ied panoramas. We had a couple of narrow escapes as I was looking around to admire the scenery. This is one of the disadvantages of holi- daying with a non-driver. We toured the whole island: the time this takes depends on how keen you are on stopping at viewpoints. Besides the renowned but expensive local product, the abundant gift shops stock imported souvenirs. The tourist brochures promised a variety of wildlife and we were fortunate to have several interesting sightings, besides the ubiqui- tous rabbits and seagulls. Incidentally, the island has a fairly competent vet. (Alanna Blake) There's a mystery about the Termite Coast, quite apart from the reddy-brown nest hillocks that stretch to the horizon, like theatre-goers in an unequal dash for the bar. It has something to do with the sky, something to do with the sea, and something to do with what my Ubalani guide called mbishisha — the way the palms rus- tle to the ancient rhythm of the Trades. The bananas seem different from other bananas squatter and yellower — while the coconuts, hairily hermetic, are surely never destined for a
shelf at Safeway. Even the animals have caught the prevailing mood. The flop-eared bush dog of a local villager approached, retreated as abrupt- ly, then threaded a careful route among the ter- mitieres, turning every so often to throw us an oddly wise glance. My guide grinned, then tapped the side of his nose. `Zguguliya,' he said triumphantly. A week later I was still trying to
guess what he meant. (Chris Tingley)
Magnifico will forever be associated with its patron saint and the events of 1219 and, although flowers are at a premium for the usual reasons, that name is engraved above the entrance to the church, wherein is celebrated the annual harvest of the highly unusual local Magnificano produce. Last year's contretemps aside, visitors to the 'Piranha' have been unstint- ing in their praise since it was erected in 1873; and a trip to the field beyond the Town Hall, where locals will inevitably beguile the traveller with tales of Chumba, remains obligatory. And don't miss the memorial to Sir Robert Walpole, which will always, of course, excite intense inter- est from those in the know.
No one ever seems to want to leave Magnif- ico, and why should they ? Obviously the `Square' has something to do with it My visit in February was memorable. (Nick Utechin) It was dark when we arrived, but the evening air was full of the most delicious musky scents. Making a note to trace their source, we tumbled into bed and fell exhaustedly asleep.
The next morning we were awoken by the sound of singing — from our maid! This wonder- ful old character, with her comically limited English, caused much muffled merriment during our stay. Her unpronounceable name began with a U, so we simply called her 'You', which she seemed to accept quite happily. Her sister christened '112', of course — had a pony and trap which proved invaluable for fascinating trips here, there, and everywhere. With local produce plentifully available and the climate exactly what you'd expect from the region, it was altogether the kind of holiday whose every detail stays etched in the memory.
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