A love poem written in my specially made Send-a-Book-to-Mali mini-book. Written at Wenlock Poetry Festival, by Mark Niel.

What a weekend! The Send a Book t0 Mali stand was seen at two very special  festivals this weekend; The Shrewsbury Children’s Bookfest and the Wenlock Poetry Festival.

A grand old time was spent running the Send a Book to Mali stall in St Alkmund’s Church in Shrewsbury where the Book Swap and free story telling were being held. It was lovely to meet my friend Andrew Fusek Peters as he was about to launch his exciting new novel Ravenwood –  a thrilling adventure set in the tallest trees in the world. The story was snapped up by the publisher who discovered J.K. Rowling and is due to be released in 15 countries. I can’t wait to get my hands on a copy!

A special thanks to Jed and Co who’s enlightened Dads treated them to my handmade mini books, then allowed them to pose with the mini Send a Book to Mali banner.

Gratitude to Wenlock Poetry Festival for having me and giving Send a Book to Mali the opportunity to be seen in the same party along side two Poet Laureates and some of Britain’s best poets! This festival is small and beautiful! 

http://www.wenlockpoetryfestival.org/photos/index.shtml

Thank you’s too, to all those this weekend who stopped and chatted, those who donated money and children’s books and those who such wrote lovely things inspired by the appeal.

Poet, Mark Neil wrote:

Love in different Lands.

I don’t speak your language

We live in different lands

These words are sent with love

Our way of joining hands

Remember you are not alone! 

And from The Poetry Takeway, poet, J.Osborne wrote, and then delightfully and amusingly read aloud to me……

Timbutku.

I have bus travelled through Mali and Burkina Faso many times now. The buses, though often old and ‘well loved’, and frankly very grubby, are a fantastic way of meeting people, and getting around cheaply. They are not fast, nor are they particularly comfortable, but generally they will get there, eventually.

TOP TIPS… Ask the locals which are the best bus companies and catch buses in the morning – the earliest is often the best. Its cooler, and its probably the best condition bus on that day. Book the day before at the bus station, if you can, to ensure a seat. Or turn up very early and buy ticket straight away. Often entrance to the bus is given in order of ticket purchase – someone official will shout out the names on the list and you will have to show them your corresponding ticket number. As soon as you get on, find the best seat you can.

Think about which side the sun will be on most of your journey. Its extremely hot sitting in the direct sun, even if the bus has curtains, so if possible sit the other side.

Look at the condition of the seat, try to find the best you can available. Is it directly behind one permanently reclining? If so avoid it- you wont have any leg room.

Don’t catch a bus too late in the day, as they often breakdown, the delay will possibly mean you will drive at night. Avoid this. Most accidents happen at night.

Hand luggage taken on to the bus you won’t have to pay any extra for. Anything that is put in the hold below or on the roof you probably will. Make sure the person who places it marks both the ticket and the luggage with the same number and knows where you are getting off the bus. They won’t want you to have something on the roof if you are leaving the bus before the end stop.

Take a large chilled bottle of water on the bus with you. Wrap it in a damp cloth – it will stay cooler, longer that way.

If you get over hot any time, pour a little water on the back of your head and neck. It works a treat!  - that tip given by lovely Amasagou Dolo, a very experienced Dogon guide, in Pays Dogon in May, the hottest month. It works, I guarantee. Don’t worry about getting the seat wet, or sitting in a puddle, it will dry off soon enough, and its really nice to be cool for a little while!

Even in January and February (the cool season) I witnessed plenty of local people sweating and complaining that it was very hot on the bus- the main problem is lack of ventilation. To get maximum ventilation, make sure you are sitting right at the front near the usually opened door, or right under a roof vent.  (These seats go first – so be very early) Or you can take your own ventilation - buy lovely and incredibly cheap woven fan – and take one on the bus with you!

It’s obvious but wear cool clothes and not your best, as they will inevitably get dirty and sweaty and you will want to change into something else when you arrive at your destination.

Some guide books say you should wear ankle- length clothes and long sleeves in Mali, but I have not found this to be the case. I generally look at what locals are wearing and follow suit. Western fashion has definately arrived and so it’s acceptable to wear normal summer clothes without offending anyone much. Mali is a very spiritually open and tolerant country, a mixture of Moderate Islam and Animism, which makes for very smiley, happy people on the whole.

Take plenty of small change on the bus with you. At each stop plenty of sellers will climb on and want to sell you all kinds of cold drinks and bagged snacks such as peanuts, oranges, bananas, cakes and sesame seed biscuits- I have tried most things, and never had any ill effects. Even if you dont speak the language, you can catch their eye, smile and point to what you want. If you don’t have the confidence or language to ask how much it is, don’t be afraid of just giving a coin to the seller, nine times out of ten, you will be given change, the thing you are getting really will be cheap, and you won’t get ripped off. If you can’t reach the seller yourself,  someone closer will normally be happy to both ask, give your money, and pass the change back to you. Generally you will get more than you can eat yourself – so do offer it around the bus – its a great way of connecting with people.

If the bus stops – they dont always, but often will around prayer time, then do get off the bus. As soon as it stops, the temperature inside rockets. You will see more of life outside of the bus anyway! Don’t be afraid of the people milling around you, as you step down, they are generally very harmless, and if you aren’t interested they don’t hassle. If you want a tea or a cold drink there is nearly always a vendor near by the stop – look where the other local voyagers are going.

Toilets at bus stations are probably the worst you will find anywhere in Mali, so wear flip flops, and sluice your feet down after you have been. They won’t provide toilet paper, so be prepared to carry your own, or adapt to the local custom and use the wonderful stripey water kettle, and clean off with your left hand. A little travel bottle of hand stelilizer is a good idea occassionally too.

Enjoy your trip to West Africa – It’s a truly wonderful place!

An extraordinary thing happened today. I was pulling up a half filled bucket of water from the well at the studio, and Madou, the guardian of the Atelier I am staying at, bless him, decided to show me how to tip the bucket at the bottom, to get more water (this I already know having drawn water in his absence many, many times!) I gave him the rope and he jerked it, yes the bucket tipped more, and took more water, but with that weight extra he let the rope slip out of his hands and down it fell to the bottom. No rope to pull up the bucket any more.

Now that well is deep, and dark, perhaps 25 feet deep. He looked surprised that I didn’t have the rope in my hand. Hmmm.

Scratching heads time. I started looking at the longest poles in the garden next door. Could I rig up a hook on the end with wire? Nope. Madou shouted to his cousin Yubah who just happened to be watering his garden, to come and help. As he approached, Madou explained and it became very clear that he was going to climb down. I tried talking them out of it, in my moderate to awful French. “The water at the bottom was deep, yes?”. “Yes”. I admitted I was afraid. What if he was to drown at the bottom, would we ever be able to forgive ourselves. “Oh its OK, Yubah is strong, he will do it“. However much I tried to persuade  them not to send him down, I couldn’t win, so I grabbed my camera and all I could do was hope that he would be OK.

Madou, Téy and I watched him climb in and lower himself in to the ‘pitch dark, narrow concrete tube that forms the walls of the well. Somehow he found foot and hand holds and being a strong lad, he got down in next to no time. I have to say I definitely don’t recommend doing this EVER.

I can hardly believe he did it. I was both petrified and fascinated, clicking away. At the bottom he answered to my feeble ca va? Oui. He held himself above the water and fished about for the rope, once caught, emptied the bucket, placed it between his teeth and commenced climbing up again steadily. I could hardly breath, I was so terrified that he’d fall or never get out again. Then there he was, head about to pop up over the brim of the well, smiling. What a relief!

Here in Mali, a normal day doesn’t exist for me, every single one is different, bringing new experiences, new challenges, new ideas. One day may involve many, many layers of actions, of meeting, of senses being used.After a day like that you’re either exhausted or you’re so full, it can be a blur.

Mali has an abundance of things to write about, that’s for sure. As an outside observer it was and is possible, but as I get closer and closer to this country and its lovely, but complex people, there is less room for objectivity. This particular trip has given me a battering of senses and emotions, far more than before, and its taken me a while to unravel it all. I hope you enjoy what I unravel.

Timbuktu

Going to Timbuktu, one of the worlds most famous destinations, is one of the longest, yet most rewarding journeys to make at least once in your life. You can take the slow boat and arrive as tranquil as the beautiful river passage itself. Or go by car. If you travel by road, like i did, from Bamako, it is two long days of driving. Hours and hours of hot jostling and bouncing in 4×4’s at speed, across sandy tracks avoiding families of sleeping donkeys, stray camels, and kamikaze goats. Pretty exhausting, exciting stuff. East of Mopti, as you get closer to Timbuktu, wearing a scarf wrapped around your head and face in true Malian style is essential, to avoid breathing in the fine dust that gets everywhere, even inside the cars.

You can feel you’re hardy when you’ve survived all that, and lived to tell the tale, but the roads are actually safer this side of Mali, ie, east of Mopti there is less traffic and no crazy buses trying to drive each other off the roads. The governments of the world would have you think otherwise – more on that later.

This is my third visit to Timbuktu, an ancient oasis, a town of trading and learning and spirituality. Situated in the edge of the Sahara, the worlds biggest desert, on the trans Saharan trade route. It’s situation, just ten miles from the River Niger gave it an advantage and easy access to river craft which carried the heavy gold from the South and salt that was brought here by camel from the North. The salt trade still exists. Mined in Taoudenni (16-19 days away by camel) and Arouane, (8-9 days) great tablets of salt are lashed onto the sides of camels which are ridden and walked in caravans, (groups), often by night when its so much cooler. Temperatures plummet at sundown here, from searing heat to freezing cold. The desert is extreme.

The Tuareg caravan chefs (leaders) know the land by heart, can detect the changes in texture of sand under the camels foot, can read the landscape like a well loved face. The stars are used to navigate and the moon as a lamp. Not everyone uses camels to get around here, though,  4×4’s are more and more common in the Timbuktu region, mostly Toyota’s.

Once having 15 Islamic schools, a population of 100,000 people, and attracting 20,000 students and scholars from West, North Africa and the Middle East, Timbuktu’s heyday was between 1490-1591 when it was ruled by Mohamed Askia. The Islamic University here was flourishing while Cambridge and Oxford was still in its nappies, so to speak. Timbuktu started to slip into decline in 1591 when the Morrocans took over, but it is still today a town of learning, a town of libraries containing thousands of ancient manuscripts, which are being lovingly copied and restored.

On the face of it, Timbuktu appears a hot dusty place, with a mixture of stone and mud plastered buildings, like the one above, which unusually, has hand prints all over it. Deeply rutted dusty tracks, with the usual Malian debris (plastic bags) wind between the high walls which border the streets. People here dress just as colourfully as elsewhere in Mali, although turbans are more obvious and definitely needed against the sun, dust and wind. Tourists are soon wrapped up in them too.

Scratching beneath this towns façade and spending time here helps you to feel its history and soul.

As usual, the town is not a town with out its people. Friendly, open, honest. Crime doesn’t seem to exist, and trust does. We westerners are always a little guarded, especially around our belongings, but here, things rarely go astray.

I’m staying in Timbuktu at the head office of Timbuktucien, Aly Dicko, who runs one of the best Malian tour companies, Mali Mystery Expeditions. www.malimystereexpeditions.com

Through the support of international partners, he runs his own hotel, Houndé Mali, which means, Mali Soul.  (www.houndemali.com)

I’ve travelled here pre Festival as guest of From Here 2 Timbuktu, a tour company run by a rather unusual Englishman Guy Lankester, who partners with Aly to organise his tours. I can see why. Aly has a great capacity for organising, is so calm, considerate and confident and is so well connected here that one feels anything is possible. I’ve never felt in safer hands and safety here is the topic of the moment.

Many tourists have stayed away from both Mali and the Festival this year because of the potential threat of a terrorist attack/kidnap. At the opening celebration of the Festival, the Minister for Tourism said thank you to the foreigners who have been brave enough to come; brave enough not to listen to their governments.

To walk on the streets of Timbuktu says it all. Smiles, inquisitive looks, greetings from women in doorways, from the groups of men huddled around the tiny braziers brewing pots of sweet green tea and children wanting to shake hands. Kidnap here feels like an extremely remote possibility, like Timbuktu itself. I urge you to visit.

The Festival

A gathering of souls from around the world some of whom come to listen to World Music, some come to meet cultures different from their own. Some come to trade, some come to find a wife.

On my first evening I’m offered 50 camels for my hand in marriage. I turn him down, saying sorry I’ve had a better offer- 200 camels. He is visibly shocked!

Then I’m nearly run down by some Tuaregs posing on their camels. If they had been paid for every picture taken by the westerners, they would be rich.

The wandering traders are selling hard, and its a bit overwhelming at times dealing with them and the heat, as they tend to walk with you until you convince them you really are not interested, which can take a while.

Young boys try to befriend you and then when you think that’s all they wanted, they lay a small cloth on the ground and get out some trinkets to sell.

Genuine friendships are made too, in the most surprising places.

Send A Book to Mali progresses too

A midday break on day two of the Festival with Aly, and driving back into town on the 2 kilometer desert sand track to fetch provisions for the two encampments he’s responsible for and a chance to meet the mayor Aziza Kattara, with Aly stepping in to interpret for me. Aly had re-met Aziza on the plane just days before, so as soon as I mention my book project to him, he considered her the first port of call. We arrive at the Mairie, and she listens to my idea of bringing old, loved (recycled) children’s books to Timbuktu next year. She is interested. We agree to continue to correspond.

She has a project too, she wishes to tell me about, and so I will tell you too. She is creating an Orphanage for the destitute street children of Timbuktu, many of whom are Bela, the poor relations of the Tuareg. She aims to house, feed and educate these extremely poor children and is looking for people internationally who will ‘parent’ these children remotely.  I will post more information when i have it. Aziza has been to Hay on Wye, England. If you haven’t already noticed in my blog, Timbuktu is twinned with the amazing town of books. Oddly I kept bumping into people both young and old who had been to Hay on Wye.

The desert and the Tuaregs

The Festival offers interactions with Tuareg culture and at the moment because the Northern desert is ‘off limits’ to westerners, its one of the only ways to do this. Tuareg music has a healthy dominance here. Our evening are spent joyfully dancing with the many Tuaregs who have come. We are surounded by turbaned men, many of who hide all but their eyes, and women wearing beautiful sparkling shawls over their heads, herding children, who gaze open mouthed at us westerners dancing and smile when we smile back. The music of the Tuareg is lyrical, repetitive and sometimes mournful.

The way to dance to it seems to reflect the slow and graceful movement of the camel, or perhaps the hand waiving performed by men and women describes the undulating sea of sand dunes. Often scarves are waved – the ends are tipped gently into the air. Beautiful.

Tuareg bands, mostly male instrumentalists, and women singers and percussionists, are all seated in an open semi circle on the stage,  in front of which leap fabulous Tuareg Griots, who on their heads, wear wonderful crowns of turquoise and red leather tied around their bronzy indigoed turbans and big billowy Boubous with baggy arab pants beneath. They jump barefoot gracefully from crouching position on the floor of the stage and seem to stay for seconds in the air.

Big name Malian musicians too feature on the programme. Oumou Sangare, Bassekou Kouyaté, Amy Sacko, Habib Koité, Vieux Farke Touré, and local girl, Kaira Harby shortly off on her second American tour in 6 months.

The Tuareg sellers have a big presence here at the Festival. Many have travelled by camel and set up encampements on the site. Guys “Family” from the northern Desert have brought extra tents for us to sleep in and have furnished them with beautiful cushions and other leather ornaments. During the day they leave out silver jewellery, leather covered boxes and knives in the hope that we tourists will buy them.

On day two of the festival our group’s Australian couple have a re avowal of their love for each other. The encampment’s Tuareg Family are involved in drumming, sing

ing, dancing, and bringing in Griots (praise singers/storytellers) and to

generally make an amazing event.

The couple have had clothes specially made in Mopti for themselves and their attendants. All look lovely. We all put our best clothes on too. Flocks of people arrive to wish them well, then Camels arrive and carry them off for a spin around the site. When they are returned both Guy and Aly have major roles to play in the giving away. The couple make vows to each other and are permitted to kiss. Us more sensitive creatures are moved and a small, but tearful group hug is needed.

Then the Australian woman is led off by the Tuareg Women and installed in a tent, until the men can negotiate a reasonable price for her. I watch the women guarding the tent, smoking their tabs of tobacco neat through short metal pipes. Their dark sun-lined skin is permanently tinted with the indigo used to dye the brilliantly reflective bronze blue clothes that they wear. Their bodies slighter, and smaller; more Arabic looking, with higher cheek bones and paler skin, then is often seen in Mali.

A cheeky young boy lifts up the edge of the tent with a stick to peep at the Western woman who is reclining inside and probably wondering what’s going on. The boy and is chased off noisily by the women. Eventually, after a price has been agreed, our friend is reunited with the wedding party.

As a New Year treat I’m visiting the Festival of the Desert in Timbuktu, with my artist friend Anna. Our travel there begins tomorrow. Despite rumours of potential safety problems there, I have been feeling more assured now that ATT, (Amadou Toumani Traore) the President of Mali himself has decided to visit the Festival.

I will be travelling with Guy Lankester of From Here 2 Timbuktu, (who kindly brought five bags of books for me when he drove here overland from the UK) and Aly Dicko, who will put me up at his accommodation in Timbuktu before and after the Festival. During the Thursday-Sunday festival we will all be sleeping in a Tuareg Tent, which has been transported from the north of Mali, to the Festival site. If I get a chance I will update this blog from the festival itself…. we will see if WiFi has reached the edge of Timbuktu!

This year, I collected many English books and was poised to drive them to Mali, West Africa. Sadly there has been an upsurge in instability in both the Western Sahara and Mauritania over past weeks, both countries which I would have driven through, and it’s just too worrying for my family to attempt it. But I am determined to get books out there, which is why I’m asking for help from my friends and readers.

So my problem – how do I get 1000 paperback books to Mali by early December in time to create a temporary sculpture? Then donate them completely unharmed and readable to the local incredibly impoverished library in Ségou.

This is how……

I am asking for a thousand people to each send one old (or new) children’s book, direct to the Gallery, which won’t cost much more than a fiver in total, and probably less.

Happily this appeal is getting a positive and heart warming response.

How can you help?

Please join in, mail an old book (or new) and send the following links to as many of your friends as possible, who may like to send a book to Mali.

http://wrenmillerart.co.uk/index.php/rnd/books/sendbook

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Send-a-Book-to-Mali/108292125907574

The appeal can also be followed via Twitter, on wrenmillerart

Thank you so very much.

Don’t forget the all important address to send books to has been changed in April 2o11 to:

Send a Book to Mali

c/o Mali Mystery Expeditions

BP 103,

Quartier Abaradjou 
Timbuktu 
Mali 
West Africa/Afrique de l’Ouest

What an amazing array of people and cultures there are here, and not always happily sharing the land – there is a bloody history of conquest, domination and revolt. A relatively young state, which uses the slogan, ‘Land of Enchantment’, must be extremely ironic to those who are clearly disenchanted.  Todays New Mexico is a mixture of  Indigenous Americans, Hispanics and Anglos, who arrived here in that order.  I have been both meeting people and looking at architecture from those three cultures. Hispanic villages in the mountains, Indian villages – or Pueblos, both ancient and modern, and the recent, highly fashionable (and very expensive) adobe architecture of Santa Fe. I have hardly seen a common kiln fired house brick for weeks.

Santa Fe city does not allow any new building to be made in materials other than adobe, and they have to be no more that two stories high. This means that the views across town, are completely remarkable compared to most other towns or cities in the US – there are no high rise buildings here at all. This delightful city is human scale, the centre is walkable (very unusual again), the building materials are locally sourced and soft warm terracotta earth walls are everywhere.

I’ve been staying in a very beautiful adobe house owned by Emaho Montoya, a truly generous man of Tewa Indian and Hispanic descent. Based on the traditional circular shape of the Kiva, this house has open spaces and rooms leading from a circular mezzanine above  an open circular well below, which similarly leads to a network of surrounding rooms. The massive pine tree trunk beams that support the ceiling create a solid feel and sturdy structure.  The mud walls are very thick and substantial, creating cool interiors even when the sun blazes outside.

Heading north from Santa Fe, on route 285/84, you are quickly within the Indian Reservations and Pueblos. Here imposing Casino after Casino erupts from beside the road.  These have been build by the Indian Councils to attract money into the Reservations, where there is generally evidence of widespread poverty. Not everyone is poor here, there are exceptions, when for instance  someone has a steady job, perhaps at Los Alamos Research Lab, a short distance away. During my visit to one of the countries top native american sculptors, Nora Noranjo Morse, in Santa Clara Pueblo, she talked about the problems facing her people. The lack of opportunity, the lack of money, the lack of connection with the old ways for the majority of the population. Nora is working hard to re instill a sense of connection to the earth by working with young people on creative gardening projects within her community. The practical side to this is also young people are learning to grow their own food, learning which herbs are medicinal and have been used for centuries here. It would be wrong of me to ignore the sense of injustice that these Indigenous Americans must feel when comparing their lifestyles to those of the Anglo’s generally. Nora is a busy woman, she makes clay sculptures and maquettes of larger cast pieces. She has been working hard on a film which has developed from a commission she won, to make sculptures outside the National Museum of the American Indian, in Washington. The sculptures she  designed used natural materials and building methods – a project in which she collaborated with Bill and Athena Steen (her niece). http://www.nmai.si.edu/alwaysbecoming/AlwaysBecoming.html

The Hispanic villages that i have visited have  included Chimayo, to see the adobe church where the earth is sacred – no literally. Built on a native amercan site where the soils were reputed to have healing properties, people come form all over  the USA to rub themselves with the sacred soil and they sometimes feel better. Rather liek at Lourdes, in France. Visitors can take away a handful if they scoop it from a pit themselves. I did. I plan to incorporate it into a piece of art in the future.

So to another hispanic settlement, Abiqui, which contains one of the homes of Georgia O’Keefe. Off route 84, this village is being carefully kept away from too many tourists, by the O’Keefe Foundation. We were encouraged to rendezvous at the roadside  Abiqui Inn, two miles from the village and were shuttled in for a whistle-stop tour. At $30 per tour, it allows a very limited view of the house and studio, this must also keep people away. It must also make us wonder whether it was worth the $30!

The house itself was a solid old Spanish villa, set in several acres of land, still gardened by the same family who worked for O’Keefe. The house had been restored sympathetically by O’Keefe, with her friend overseeing the work. As we were not allowed to take any photos of the house what so ever, so i cannot show you much of it. I went back to the village after the tour had ended, to get a feel of the village and take photos of it.

Georgia O’Keefe’s Abiqiui residence from the village gate.

What really strikes me looking at this architecture, is the similarity to that of West African buildings.  There is a solidity and grandeur. A relationship with the land on which it sits, almost as if it has grown organically from the soil.

Djénné in Mali and Santa Fe, New Mexico  - which is which?

Zozobra sounds like a Mexican festival, but is relatively young invention. Devised by Will Shuster, (an artist/architect in the 30′s,  who came here to Santa Fe in the hope to be cured of his post World War One induced Tuberculosis)  it provides a spectacle of a 40′ giant animated puppet, called Zozobra – or Old Man Gloom, who is burnt.

He represents negativity, and the burning of him, along with the ‘gloom’ messages left by the crowd, is cathartic for the community. A kind of rebirth, if you will. Very pagan and from the reaction of the crowd, greatly appreciated! Its a simple idea, really, and utterly predictable, but may be that’s what makes this event work so well. Everyone knows exactly what is going to happen. This giant character

towers above the thousands of shrieking onlookers in the park, skull faced, eyes glaring, Zozobra’s moans get increasingly louder. Costumed dancers tease the giant, waving all kinds of fiery torches,  fire fans and Poi at  it. When finally a firework exploded from Zozobras skull and its head catches on fire, the crown really lets rip, and very quickly the giant is ablaze, and falls to the ground.

I caught it all on video, which i will post later to Youtube. What was great about this, for me, was that there were so many people watching, every age, every culture, and a really friendly atmosphere. Everyone but children under 10 had paid 10  to 15 dollars to enter. Announcements made it clear this money goes towards helping children in Santa Fe. This event was the opening of a weekend of the annual Fiesta -a celebration of all the cultures and mixes there of, that make Santa Fe so special.

Tearing ourselves away from Hillsboro reluctantly, we started on a scenic route to Albuquerque, which took us via Gila (pronounced Healer) Hotsprings, (scalding hot water percolates to the surface because of a fault) the Gila cliff dwellings and to Quemado Lake. In Quemado itself we stopped by the Dia Foundation offices and found Claire Harrison, a delightful young British artist, waiting to be picked up and driven to the secret location of the Lightening Field. Some 30 miles from Quemado, it comprises  of 400 tall steel poles, which I thought attracted lightening,  until a conversation in the local cafe , with guys who had worked there, who told me that they rarely get hit, but look very attractive at dawn and dusk. Also there, is a bunk hut, for accomodating six people, each paying around £150 per night. Originally I had planned on seeing this but had decided against, as it was just too exclusive and even if I had visited I would not have been allowed to take photos. Very few people in New Mexico (apart from those who work directly on the site repairing, driving to and fro, etc) seemed to know of its existence at all, yet Europeans art fans fly in as a must see destination. Odd. Perhaps my journeying in this sensitive and beautiful land is making me  more sceptical of such an imposedand unnatural installation.

http://www.diaart.org/sites/main/lightningfield

Right up against the tall border, it produced a kind of fear in me. It brought up feelings of unfairness, arbitrariness of geographical borders. Who decided where it should go? Why do we have to have them? There was the opportunity to cross the border – I could, and return. But that felt too gratuitous an abuse of my incredibly fortunate position. Who’s eyes would be watching me, playing with my privileges, for a few minutes souvenir shopping? Mexico is a place I’ve always wanted to go, and I still hope to, but for longer.

On the roads near the border are so many US Border patrol vehicles. All white, chunky, easy to spot. Marlies and I stop frequently to photograph the border, signs or the land near it. On tiny tracks through the mountains signs tell you there are likely to be illegal immigrants in the area, and not to pick up hitch-hikers.

Bisbee, like something out of a Wild Western movie, was home to an interesting bunch of people, and brief supper stop for us. The road immediately after this town led slap bang through a huge mine, so huge I found it overwhelming. We stopped and took photos. The colour of the ‘water’ at the bottom of the mine, an alarming burnt yellow colour. I could be wrong, but this could have been a toxic chemical concoction left after ‘leaching the tailings‘, a process whereby the rock material that has been discarded after removing the main bulk of mineral is reprocessed with substances such as Cyanide. I bumped into a Hydrologist who works with the EPA  (Environmental protection Agency) and he clarified that the remediation – i.e the clean up was a huge problem, which affects aquifers – underground water.

So to Hillsboro. A place fallen upon by accident, and a place hard to leave. On the way to Kingsboro, the home of Satomi and Tom Lander, (friends of Bill and Athena Steen’s) who are creating Landerland a fabulous space in which to learn eco building and plastering; www.landerland.com. I stopped for a days master class from Satomi, which covered many aspects of the high art of earth plastering. She has learn from a Japanese master plasterer, herself.

Hillsboro is a unashamedly sleepy old mining town and home to many artists and creative people. Its deep in the heart of Cowboy land near the Continental Divide and still really south in the state of New Mexico.