Crazy From the Heat - Dubai 2014

Life in the street takes on a different intensity than the uptown areas, here the traffic is slow, there is a constant stream of people walking, milling around, buying, selling. This area of city is absolutely alive! the road arrives into Bastikiya, the old part of Dubai, situated along the creek. Historic buildings are restored and are enjoying a new lease of life as heritage hotels, restaurants, one of which has a camel standing outside, a stuffed one admittedly, next to a chalkboard sign advertising healthy camel burgers. Wandering through the narrow streets, punctuated with wind towers on the corners of blocks, it is easy to see that Masdar City, although distinctly modern has its roots in the historic Arabian city. In a courtyard, another camel, happily alive and resting on the ground, well groomed and in traditional dress, as though ready to head off on an expedition across the desert, I wonder if he knows his friend has been converted into burgers. 

Across the road, past the iron railings of the rulers court, and there is the creek, the old port made famous to the international audience by Michael Palin on his TV series ‘Around the World in 80 Days’. Slightly less busy with working dhows now, well they are working, but earning their living in a different way, many are floating restaurants, others are what is termed pleasure craft, taking groups of tourists around the Creek. A boat trip is a great way to view the city, a pink jellyfish pulsates near the surface as the boat heads out from the jetty, and heads upstream on past the Dhows that are floating restaurants, heavy timber built vessels, varnished, with windows set into what would have been the cargo hold, then a kind of verandah created on the deck.  The creek is actually quite a wide waterway, probably akin to the River Thames as it passes through Central London, although here the south bank and north back are reversed, South being the Jumeirah side is a park, with the palaces, and the quayside is lined with palm trees, North being the Sharjah side, which has a far more of a working feel, concrete blocks tell of a city largely developed in the 1970s following the formation of the UAE. Glass towers form the later additions, and compared with Dubai these are relatively small scale, in the order of 20 - 30 storeys. Above the blocks and towers the flight path into Dubai International Airport is drawn by a constant stream of planes descending and eventually disappearing beneath the blocky skyline. 

As the boat takes a leisurely cruise, the sun begins to set creating silhouettes of the towers around the business district, Burj Khalifa now completely visible for the first time today, glimpsed between passing the dhows, and once again Big Ben, or rather its replica tower, the name Big Ben actually refers to the Bell within the clock tower of the Palace of Westminster, better known as the Houses of Parliament. But here it is a prominent silhouette on the Dubai skyline. At the Creekside Park, cable cars transport visitors over the treetops, giving them a view of the private yachts moored along private pontoons. Passing beneath the highway, the boat can go no further, as the creek is crossed by a floating bridge that blocks the way and the creek becomes more of a shallow lake. Traversing the North side of the creek gives a different perspective, the layering of the city becomes apparent, boats against trees, against 1970s blocks with their roof mounted neon signs, against the 2000s glass towers against the setting sun. A working dhow passes by with the sound of its thumper diesel engine carrying across the waves, along with the splashing of a constant jet of water that is used to cool it.

The sun glints off the glass facades of the blocks, and the skyline on both sides starts to form dramatic silhouettes against the yellow sky, blocks, signs, minarets, giant golf balls. The water is absolutely alive, water taxis dart across the creek, whilst others take groups of visitors on tours, filming the entire experience on iPads, others plugged in to their phone trying very hard not to notice life going on around them.  Heading downstream images from Calvino’s Invisible Cities form in the mind, only the gondolas are dhows, and this is no longer a working waterfront, more of a museum waterfront. Cormorants roost on the top of red pilings. The names on some of the hotels tell a story of a different time before this young nation was formed, the George Hotel a clear example. 

Back on dry land and wandering through the souk on the museum waterfront, vendors selling trinkets to tourists, silks, watches and the standard issue T shirt thats says ‘I love Dubai’. The narrow streets go the Souk are enclosed by a roof supported on timber pointed arches, associated with a completely different architecture in Europe. On the quayside more of the restaurant and hotels in the restored buildings, along with museums, galleries and a ‘Traditional Architecture House’ new interventions besides the block paving, are tented shade structures, playgrounds and street lighting, and occasionally Burj Khalifa appears in the distance, a reminder of how much Dubai has transformed from its origins in a fishing village on the creek.

The full story is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble published by Xlibris - Do We Need ARCHITECTS?

No crocodiles but we do have sharks - Bangkok 2004

The drive from the airport to the centre of Bangkok, is via an elevated motorway, lined with billboards, billboards and more billboards, the sky is a light grey, heavy with moisture, not rain but humidity, which added to the grey of the concrete, the grey/silver of cars and minibuses gives the sense of entering a very grey city, up in the distance in the haze the blocks also appear grey. 

Then when the taxi turns off the motorway, colour is everywhere! City taxis in red, blue, green, yellow...usually in combinations. Tuk tuks, that I have become so accustomed to in Colombo are everywhere, usually painted blue with elaborate designs worked into them. The sound not so much a tuk tuk, because they have all been converted to run on methanol as opposed to two stroke oil, and the locals call them ‘boom booms’ on account of the deeper engine sound. Buses look like US army jeeps, because that is what they are, or at least were, now converted into buses, chrome front grille, wheels, and blue bodywork with  designs similar to that of the tuk tuks. 

Streets are very busy and very clean, lined with trees, and Buddha Statues, sometimes in a glass case, standing guard on the entrance to shopping centres. 

Overhead the metro system, concrete legs carry the trains above the traffic, sometimes to two levels, and a constant stream of people efficiently negotiate the network of stairs, bridges and walkways to be able to get to them without having to contend with the eight lanes of traffic below. The trains, completely obscured by advertising, glide along effortlessly over the slow moving traffic.

Heading into Silom District, the street scene takes on a ‘Blade Runner’ feel as buildings lining the street are buried beneath an array of air conditioning units, signs, and cables, that are everywhere strung between buildings across the side streets. White tower blocks pop up from behind the street edge, hotels, and residential towers, some with colourful balconies as though to try to brighten up the grey sky. 

Along the street edge the pavement is shaded, protected by a green fabric sheet, that obscures any views of the traffic, market stalls line the way, with vendors selling anything with a designer name on, expertly crafted locally and sold for a fraction of the price. A turn to the left and the whole scene is magnified in a huge hot indoor market, stalls arranged so tightly that there is barely any room to walk between them, this place is huge, crumbling brick walls, corrugated asbestos sheet and very dirty roof lights resting on rusted iron trusses, and support columns barely visible behind all the market stalls, selling a rich variety of fruit, vegetables, spices, chillies...carcasses hang on meat hooks whilst below water can be seen gurgling below a cast iron grating in the ground giving off a slightly pungent smell suggesting that it is not rainwater. The concrete floor off the market is damp, is that humidity, or does the drain back up every now and again? Difficult to tell, all the while trading continues regardless. 

From the 11th storey window of the hotel the city seems absolutely alive, the sounds of car horns, tuk tuks, and buses is muffled as the windows don't open in this air conditioned block. the sun makes its first appearance of the day, just a brief appearance as it drops beneath the cloud to cast silhouettes against the blocks. No towers in the park here, just towers planted on top of the historic fabric. Pockets of historic fabric are visible here and there, densely packed enclaves of timber framed, timber clad houses and shops with clay tiled roofs, threaded in among the trees, next to a forty something storey block. White towers, glass towers, some tall, others not so tall march across the urban plane as the tide of progress threatens to engulf the old city.

The next morning, met in the hotel lobby by a very enthusiastic tour guide it is off to the Golden Temple, with a compulsory visit to what I can only describe as a tourist trap. Outside identical minibuses line up, and groups of tourists are escorted into a kind of jewellery store, a women’s pearl market, with a side room where the men are deposited to drink Singha beer whilst the women make up their mind if they are going to buy anything. All around this octagonal space are aquariums or is it aquaria? No larger than what somebody who likes to keep tropical fish would have it their home, located behind the counters above the process of hard selling that is going on. In the aquaria, are angel fish, brightly coloured residents of coral reefs, and sharks! No word of a lie, two baby sharks about eighteen inches long, frantically trying to find a way out of a fish tank that can be no more than four feet long and two wide/deep. Maybe it is to remind the men that are patiently waiting, trying not to drink to much beer before lunchtime, that at least they can get out eventually. 

Every visit to a place of interest is combined with somewhere that is geared to relieving tourists of their newly changed currency. Floating village combined with orchid farm. Heading out of the city Khlong Latmayom Floating Market we cross the river...and our tour guidetells us that there used to be crocodiles living in the river but now it is too polluted.  The highway abruptly ends, concrete and tarmac become red dirt track, roadside cafes and car showrooms give way to coconut groves and paddy fields, to arrive at a red dirt parking lot with a neat line of minibuses, to board a boat, a long narrow boat like gondola with an old car engine and a long shaft with a propeller to make it work as a marine engine. 

Zooming along the waterways we pass dwellings that are erected on the river, permanent dwellings, concrete base resting above the water on piles that are driven down through the river bed. There are the local population washing clothes, pots, pans cleaning their teeth in the water, the same water that we were previously told is too polluted for crocodiles.

At the market, as the name suggests the produce is sold from boats, the usual market produce fruit, spices, along with the obvious ‘stuff’ to sell to tourists, T shirts and souvenirs to tell you that you have been there.  A brief visit to a floating restaurant, and it is back on the speed gondola past the houses, to the minibus. The journey back to the city involves a snake farm, just what we are expected to do with them I don’t know, stir fry one for dinner perhaps, take one home and keep it as a pet maybe, and finally a wood carving studio. All around the studio among the life size carvings of elephants, try fitting one of those in your suitcase, local people, men and women are seated on the floor carving tableaus depicting scenes usually comprising elephants and jungle, carved in integrate detail, using nothing but their legs to hold the carving steady whilst they work on them. 

Back into the city, the first of many visits to the tailor shop in the shopping centre at the base of the hotel and all too quickly it is the taxi journey back to the airport, colours disappear and it is back to grey cars, grey sky and grey towers silhouetted against the afternoon sun, that is somewhere above the clouds.

Schizophenia of the New Street Complex - Birmingham 2001

As the title suggests this is about mental illness, but not in the traditional sense, but what else to you call it when a significant chunk of city has no relationship with the rest of the city? This is a site that exhibits multiple personalities as it is trying to be in no particular order: railway station, 3 car parks, office block, shopping centre and housing development simulteneously. 

The relationship with the city, or lack of it is best demonstrated at the edges, or interfaces. The New Street interface which is closest to the activities of the city centre. is actually the podium containing the Pallasades a shopping centre. Any glimpses of the site from New Street are of the blank concrete wall of shopping centre, which practically obscures any routes from the station to any of the main spaces of the city centre. Ladywood House is an office block that sits uncomfortably on top of the podium, which is similarly divorced from the life of the city. The entrance to the offices is crammed between two retail units at street level, where shop-fronts loom out of the shadows as the deep concrete plinth is propped up over the street sitting on a run of thick concrete columns. 

A long ramp crosses the front of the megastructure providing service access to the shopping centre by means of storage units being situated directly above the retail units. The ramp also provides access to the car parks that exist on different levels of the structure resembling a derelict industrial facility. The plane in front of the car park ramp is taken up by the new footbridge, where discoloured glass and white steel turrets sit on the platforms, with white steel and translucent polycarbonate panelled bridge spanning between them, all blackened by the constant onslaught of diesel exhaust smoke. The Navigation Street/Stephenson Place edge, comprises car park entrance ramps, barriers and surveillance cameras, a spiral pedestrian ramp connects the street level to an elevated walkway along the back of the shopping centre above. Although much of the tangle is invisible from the nearest edges of the station, as the whole scene is also hidden from view by a two metre high concrete wall lining the back of the pavement to Navigation Street, and Hill Street.

The second interface is the one that buts up against Hill Street and Station Street. Here much of the site is obscured from view behind the ever present two-metre high wall. This serves to make a one sided street, as the wall turns along Station Street, an opening forms entrances to the car parks and the base of the ramp that cuts across the front of the building. Bridges fl y across the rear access road named ‘Queens Drive’ after the street that used to run through the full length of the Station. One linking the Pallasades with a stair tower that permits access to the bus station that sits beneath the Bull Ring Centre. The second bridge links the corner of the Pallasades to the surviving concrete block of the 1960’s Bull Ring Centre. The Queens Drive forms the taxi route to the main entrance of the station and what sounds like a prestigious address for the residents of Stephenson Tower, which sits on top of the parcel depot, forming what passes for social housing. 

At the third Interface, with the new Bull Ring is made up of series of holes in the urban fabric surrounded by the ubiquitous two metre wall constituting landscape which is punctuated by surface level car parking and Birmingham’s infamous one way system of access roads. The Pallasades flies out over the short stay car park and station entrance with its deep concrete plinth sitting on columns making for another dark entrance. Not exactly the way you want to arrive in to the UK's second city.

The Rush - Birmingham 2001

Scene 1 - The Ramp

" WOULD ALL MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC, FOR THEIR OWN
SAFETY, KEEP TO THE LEFT SIDE, WHEN MOVING ALONG THIS RAMP!"

Says the electronic voice that issues from speakers that are suspended
above the seething mass of people that make up the living surface of the ramp.
The ramp provides the setting of numerous collisions as programs of shopping
and travelling co-exist in the same place, in that the shopper suddenly finds more
people to avoid as they walk up New Street. Conversely, the traveller is suddenly
confronted with a moving wall of people, as they reach the base of the ramp. On
the ramp itself, the flow of those travellers merges with the flow of shoppers,
moving up in to the Pallasades, causing friction as the 'rush' to catch trains
'collides' with the slow amble of the browsing shopper.

Scene 2 - McDonalds
A white line drawn down the centre of the ramp tries to order some of the
chaotic flow. In order to assist this, signs and electronic voices constantly remind
pedestrians to keep left. Half way up (or down, depending on your direction of
travel) Mc Donald's happens! What seems like hundreds of people spill out, laden
with flimsy 'Coke' cups, and 'Big Mac and Fries' in brown paper bags. Whilst others
stand in the doorway eating or talking on mobile phones, all interfering with the
hoards of people who seem to be constantly moving up the ramp. On exiting
McDonalds, it is bad luck if you actually want to go down the ramp!

Scene 3 - The Pallasades

After recovering from the McDonald's incident the stampede encounters
smaller incidents as activity at shop-fronts interrupt it.
At the top of the ramp two large overhead signs welcome you to the
Pallasades shopping centre, well, one actually as the soign to the left hand side is
obscured by the concrete canopy that projects out over the ramp Predominantly.
'Woolworths' dominates the left-hand side of the tunnel which is the entrance to the
Pallasades. with women standing outside with kids in Prams as their friends are
inside. On the opposite side it 'Newlook' with its extension over the high level
walkway, situated at the head of a stairway, linking the shopping centre with
Stephenson Place below. The head of the stair forms a flashpoint as people stand
and wait to get a clear space to be able to move down, at the same time as an
almost constant onslaught of people climbing up to avoid having to contend with
the ramp. More groups of young people stand guard on the entrance chatting to
their friends on mobile phones, blocking the path for those who want to go inside.
The Newt is a pub that has its entrance on the ramp although the pub is situated
on the lower level. The ramp entrance merely takes you down two flights of stairs
to get to the entrance lobby.

Scene 4 - In search of New Street station

At the end of the tunnel, the ceiling height rises to a double height space,
where on the ground the chaotic crossing of peoples’ paths breeds more collisions,
near misses, stopping, changing direction, annoyance and frustration! The
constantly moving mass of people in the shopping centre makes railway station is
difficult to find, although there is an overhead clock above the crossroads with
some small signs pointing to different parts of the centre. New Street Station is
identified as being straight on although from this point there is no indication of
anything resembling the station. Following the flow of people being deflected from
one corner to another they negotiate their way around the shop units that block
their path to the void.

Scene 5 - The escalators.

The void in the heart of the scheme is occupied by a bank of escalators
and stairs, forming the link with the railway station below. The top of the escalator
finds people arriving from the railway station, laden with bags and suitcases,
stopping dead, trying to recognise anything that constitutes a sign of a way out.
Much to the aggravation of the ones who do know where they are going, who have
to almost climb over them. Ironically on the opposite side if the escalator void is an
open café which does permit long views to the void from the shopping centre.

Scene 6 The concourse.

The ride down the escalator causes a similar series of events, as people
race down the escalator suddenly to be confronted with seething a mass of people.
Some standing mesmerised by the destination boards as they try to find where to
catch their train. Some distribute promotional goods, some generally mill around.
Others moving from person to person telling the same elaborate story of how they
are homeless and how they need your spare change; all blocking the way for those
who want to get from the city to the train and vice versa. Around to the left and just
behind of the base of the escalator, is the entrance for those arriving by car or taxi,
with the constant stream of 'Black-Cabs' dropping off and picking up. To the left in
front are the ticket counters with the general air of anxiety as people try to get
through the interminable queue to buy their ticket and still be able to catch their
train in time.

On Architectural Education: The journey continues

Following on from my previous post on my journey through Architectural education from leaving school in 1987 to graduating with RIBA Part III in 2001, this is about what happens after. I remember being asked by my Director in the practice that I was working at the time, the day that I qualified, and was awarded the Diploma in Professional Studies in Architecture, the exemption from the holy grail of qualifications RIBA Part III, what makes you different today to yesterday? My answer: today I am an Architect, yesterday I was an Architectural Assistant, I have a licence to practice. However in the context of working within a practice, at that moment in time, it made absolutely no difference to what I was doing on the project to the day before. The difference within the practice moving forward is that I could be charged out at a higher rate than before, and have the recognition when facing clients, that I was now an Architect. When newly qualified in 2001, the skill set was complete...right? Over the past seven years I had worked on everything from developing Analytical tools, Design skills, Technical knowledge, Communication Skills and knowledge of Planning Law, Project Management, Business Development.

Fast forward to 2014, the title Architect is the subject of some debate, whether it be about the misuse of the title within the profession, or the hijacking of the title in its entirety by the IT industry, usually with the prefix Enterprise, Solutions, or any number of IT related titles, or whether it is about feeling undervalued by clients based on the perception that nobody understands what an Architect does. For example, project management, part of the administrative function of being an Architect, is undertaken by construction professionals from any number of backgrounds, from plumbing to quantity surveying, I have worked with some extremely good project managers, I have also worked with a number that have made me think I could do a far better job myself. In some cases I have found myself actually doing the project management work whist someone else has the title.

There are also titles that pigeonhole us: Concept Architect, Technical Architect, Project Architect, Site Architect, Consultant Architect, Chief Architect, Principal Architect, Senior Architect, Junior Architect, Lead Architect...and so on, it seems that the title Architect is not enough to describe what we do. In my career to date since qualification my titles have varied: Project Architect, Associate, Project Manager, Senior Architect, Lead Designer, Chief Architect...I have also moved out of the sphere of the UK based practice, although I had been working for an international practice in the UK, the practice of Architecture was under UK law and in the English language.

Things became interesting when opportunities to stay practicing Architecture during the economic crisis, took me to the place I least expected to be...Saudi Arabia. The first inkling that things were going to be a little different was when I attended the Visa interview in London, I took all my certificates and ARB registration documents with me and was asked what is my highest level qualification. I replied that my highest academic level is a Masters Degree which does not qualify me to practice architecture. OK, we'll take the MA, it is going to the Saudi Embassy, they will not understand the difference, but will recognise the highest level. I deferred to their judgement. Sure enough when the Visa came through it was not for an Architect at all, but for Project Engineer. Now, I know a bit about structures and services, I might even know a tiny bit about mechanics, but would never consider myself an engineer. A brief conversation with my recruitment consultant, revealed that in Arabic there is no word for Architect, the closest being Mohindas which means Engineer.

Sure enough when immersed in the working environment in Saudi Arabia, it appears that all senior construction professionals are addressed with the prefix 'Engineer', which makes things most confusing. The next difference being how an Architect from the UK differs from say India or the Phillipines, hence the titles, Senior and Junior are selected based not on experience but where in the world you qualified. So I came to Saudi as a Project Engineer on the visa, a Senior Architect on the payroll, and assuming the title Lead Designer in the office.

The journey continues, the learning never stops.

Pelican Crossing - Colombo 2010

Away from the traffic is a road that is less heavily used, and forms a complete loop around Beira lake, it is difficult to walk anywhere in Colombo without being accompanied by a self-appointed tour guide who appears out of nowhere the moment you step on to the street, and offers you his life story as well as pointing out things that you can already see. The waterfront to the lake is practically non-existent, looking every part like a once elegant Victorian promenade long forgotten and neglected, where vegetation has taken over in places. The surface of the water along the former promenade is made up of floating plastic bags and debris derived from packaging. Kittens play in a shady corner, whilst pelicans cruise up and down on the surface of the lake, as the sun begins to set forming a dramatic profile of the skyline as the towers along the Galle Road are silhouetted against the evening sky.  In the centre of the lake, Seema Malaka, the Lake temple designed by Geoffrey Bawa, Sri Lanka’s best known architect, and founder of the movement known as tropical modernism. Here the modern temple designed in the 1970s takes on a timeless quality in its serene setting.

I am told that following independence in 1948, much of the British contributions to the city and indeed country have not been maintained.  Here the formerly gentrified areas surrounding the lake bear the signs of long term neglect; trees grow out of the walls of the white rendered buildings resembling the hotels that make up the sea front at Brighton, long abandoned by the gentry. A walk across the busier of the roads, a once grand tree lined boulevard, to Gangaramaya Temple, built in the 1800s, completely surrounded by trees, the air filled with the heady scent of lotus flowers and burning incense, it is easy to forget that you are in the centre of Colombo,  the sound of the tuk tuks and car horns, fades into the background, a sense of calm permeates as the senses, as they are completely occupied taking in the sight of all the intricate carvings in a deep dark wood, my tour guide tells me I can take photos, but it feels disrespectful to do so inside the temple. Outside, numerous Buddha statues, all bearing an orange sash seated in meditation, each next to their own dagoba as though in a class. Overhead, hundreds of flags flutter in the evening breeze, whilst in the courtyard a baby elephant chomps on some palm fronds for her evening meal.

Back out into the deluge of tuk tuks, car horns, dust and fumes, the sun has disappeared below the horizon, leaving a fading orange glow as twilight approaches. Walking once again along the fragments of the broken promenade, a suspension bridge leading to another island in the lake is fenced off, saying that the authorities have absolutely no intention of allowing anyone to get to the island shown as Childrens' Park on Google Earth, or ride in one of the swan boats moored there. The ever present pelican follows, looking very much like a creature from an ancient age of the Earth. The route along the north part of the waterfront is blocked off, so the walking route deviates across a car park to one of the office blocks and through a small gate into the street that belongs to another world. Gone are the signs of Victoria’s Empire, the street is barely wide enough to drive a tuk tuk down, which of course is precisely is what drives down there moving slowly through a stream of local people walking barefoot along this incredibly busy street, in a densely packed quarter of the city known as Slave Island, maybe not all the signs of Victoria have gone.  Curious, friendly faces peer out of shops and houses, evening meals are being prepared giving the air a very appetizing aroma of a myriad of different varieties of curry. The walk inevitable finds once again the road and the traffic, a level crossing with gates that look like they have not changed since 1948, announces the presence of Slave Island Railway Station, an active station looking very much like the ones that did not survive Beeching in the UK. 

The route joins the Galle road and return to Victorian Splendor, the Galle Face Hotel looking every part as though it has been transplanted from Brighton, the green, the promenade evoke memories of growing up by the seaside in the UK. Here the semi-permanent beach cabins of Paignton are replaced by tricycle rickshaws, ‘Walls’ Ice cream, takes its place among a myriad of local snacks, egg hoppers, devilled cashew nuts, sodas available from temporary stands formed by the tricycles. It is a very busy place, the air alive with the sound of the excited exchanges of Sinhalese conversation. The pier, a concrete platform that extends no more than thirty metres into the Indian Ocean, but people still walk out to the end to get a closer view of the sea, begging the question was this once a longer pier that has been destroyed? Or is it one that was intended to be longer and abandoned for some reason?

Blade Runner - Colombo 2004

The protective clothing worn by the motorcyclist usually comprises protective boots in flip flops format, protective jacket in short sleeve shirt format, and helmet well in helmet format, for the rider at least. Moving through the traffic, following the biker, Colombo life takes on a vibrancy that is infectious. The biker pulls off to the left to talk to his friends standing by the side of the street, the street is completely occupied by motorbike shops, you can buy a bike or any amount of spares to keep your bike going, whilst others are fixing and tinkering to do just that. Continuing among the flow of more bikes and tuk tuks, some turn off to the left into an environment that is simply alive with humanity, the buildings are invisible, the road surface is alive with tuk tuks, motorbikes, people walking and cycling, all in slow motion, some making a very defined flow through the space, others stopping to talk to others in the dark spaces just off the street, where it looks like you can buy absolutely anything from fresh fruit to light bulbs. In the street itself, people sit on chairs outside their shops, others seem to be selling from tricycle rickshaws and hand carts. Nobody can move at any more than a slow walking pace through this heart of the city, this is Main Street this is where it seems all of the life of Colombo is concentrated into one space, its heartbeat defined by the exchange and interplay of locals, goods and conversation.

Above, a crazy framework of steel fixed to the face of the buildings supports all manner of illuminated signs, although not illuminated as it is mid-morning, but making a brightly coloured collage against the intense blue sky, it seems that each sign stretching vertically up the face of the building is competing for position, stretching either further out over the street, or reaching higher up the building face. Many of the signs are in Sinhalese, others in English, with some familiar names that have disappeared from the British high street, Lipton, Singer... In between the building signs, streetlights compete for position, although with all the illuminated signs, I am not sure they are really necessary. Windows peer out from the cluttered facades, every now and then a pediment or a moulding is visible giving a hint of another city beneath that was built long before the advent of neon.  The tops of the parapets are adorned with signs as are the fascias above the dark spaces of the shops on the street, at night this must be awash with neon and fluorescent light. An air conditioning unit fixed on steel brackets sits precariously above the shopfront fascia, humming away pushing hot air out into the already hot and humid environment, to keep somebody cool whilst working in their office buried under the collage.

The Bradbury, or is it? In fact there are colonial buildings everywhere slotted in amongst the living fabric of buying, selling and tuk tuks. A deep red block with subtle changes in ornament, from one 'Bradbury' to the next defines one as a church, another as a mosque, whilst at the end of the row the bo tree (also known as weeping fig) grows through a clay tiled roof, and the pristine white render walls surround a garden and a pristine white Dagoba defining the Buddhist temple. The old Colombo port, the source of much of Sri Lanka’s wealth, through trading gems and tea could easily be Liverpool in the height of summer, with its grand warehouse and port offices buildings, similarly many in a state of decline as the transport of goods has moved away from shipping in small vessels to massive container ships or air freight. It is easy to imagine the rain pouring through the roof at night during the monsoon season completing the illusion that J.F. Sebastian lives in a block to himself.

Clouds of steam issue from a group of low rise buildings along with the smell of soap and wet fabrics, hundreds of shirts hang on lines in the yard outside, while sheets are laid out on the ground drying in the heat of the day at Colombo’s outdoor laundry, tended by numerous diligent workers. There is not a single area of street where people don’t walk, and in some cases that is also the railway, they simply step aside when the train comes, the commuter train, like the buses in my previous post ‘Poetry in Slow Motion’ is invariably overcrowded, with people standing in the open doors hanging on to the handrails as the train picks its way through the city. Embedded in the dense urban fabric a dazzling array of carved figures reflecting the intense sunlight, on the towers of the Hindu temple, add to the already intense colour of street life in this cultural melting pot of a city. The colours are tangible not only in the visual but in the smells, aromas of fresh fruit combine with spices in the ongoing preparation of and rice and curry that makes up the daily diet of much of the population.