Chicagoan quirks

Yes, that's right, that word exists.  It means belonging to Chicago.  It has been 10 days since I flew into The Windy City for a 2.5 week working visit at the mothership office of SOM.  Before I forget, "windy" has nothing to do with the weather condition (otherwise why would the Chicagoans have invented the skyscraper?); in reality, there are stronger political currents than actual wind gusts, but no need to go into it here, but it had to be said!

Back to my trip.  It came about after 2 weeks of continued travel: first Malta for "election weekend", then Poland for a conference, followed by a day trip to Madrid for a workshop and finally Chicago!  It is not my first time, for I came for a few days back in December, but this was going to be a longer stay!

Besides all the logistics (bringing sufficient clothing, lodging in a Marriot Residence Inn and such), there are some things I am noticing in this wonderful city which are different from London, or any other city for that matter.  There is no specific order or logic to these; they are just thoughts that come to mind as I write.

First things first: the Chicagoans.  They are really nice people.  Warm, friendly and way more talkative than, say, Londoners.  People actually speak on trains and on the street.  For instance, I was walking down Adams Street to the office when a bloke stopped me, "Excuse me, sir, your bag is open."  It indeed was (albeit by 5cm, or shall I say 2"!) but it was a nice gesture, right?

What I still struggle with in the US is the concept of tax.  You read off a price on the shelf or on the menu and then you are charged tax.  You never really know how much the final cost of an item is!  I give up now and do not have any money ready but wait until I actually am told what to pay.

The language: I still find it strange that such a big country as the US never bothered to get a language of its own; they speak English.  Well, American English.  And it is very different!  Lift is elevator.  Ground floor is first floor.  Roof is said "ruf" and most people say "no problem" instead of "you're welcome" after a "thank you".  However in most cases there are no difficulties there, so cannot complain.

Food is generally more pricey than in the UK, at least for me as a visitor here.  $15 for a Pret a Manger lunch is a bit too much for my taste.  Talking about taste: I think food is way too salty for my taste and expats from Europe in the office have confirmed this.  I am not a fan of salt in food, so it is probably twice as noticeable for me!

One thing was rather confusing for me.  I found out on my first day here that the underground (or, subway in American-speak) is organised by colour.  So you have the red line, brown, blue, pink and so on.  Then I started to hear and read about the "L" line.  Strange, I thought, for I did not see any letters.  I checked on the map.  Only colours.  Curiouser and curiouser.  Then, whilst visiting an exhibition at the Chicago Architecture Centre, I learned that "L" stands for "El" i.e. "Elevated", after the raised train lines that run through Downtown.  How was I supposed to make that connection on my own, I do not know!

The city itself is beautiful: of course, there are all the classic SOM buildings and other tall buildings, about which I have been reading since the early noughties.  Going atop the John Hancock Tower (I was up the Sears - sorry, Willis - Tower in December) was a great experience.  But besides the skyscrapers: the river, the lake, the parks, the clean streets and pavements (or sidewalks - I missed that one earlier).  And the beautiful summer weather is much more appealing; the last time I was here, it was 27 degrees Fahrenheit and now it is 27 degrees Celcius! Maybe not today, though; it is rather foggy and drizzly but this was a perfect excuse to visit the Chicago Art Institute (the equivalent of the Met in NYC or the National Gallery combined with Tate Modern in London).

Another week to go and then I fly back to London but one thing is sure: I will definitely visit this wonderful city once more!  Maybe not alone next time round...

Roma Eterna

I do tend to have a fairly good memory of my childhood, even early parts of it; this includes the time in August 1990 when my parents took me to a trip to Italy from grand Rome to the Tuscan beauty that is Florence and the one-of-a-kind Venice, with some other stops in between.  It may well have been the trip which sealed my fate in the architectural profession.  In my naïvety, I believed that, thanks to that trip of almost a full 3 decades ago, I "knew" Rome and indeed I had vivid visions of it, not least getting lost in the Vatican, in a remake of sorts, of Luke Chapter 2, albeit just for a good number of hours rather than 3 days.  We decided some weeks ago to revisit Rome (Marianna had been thrice to the city and, although more recent than me, her last trip was in 2001).  

Let me get straight to the point: I did not know Rome and now that I went and came back, I daresay it is the most beautiful city in the world.  It is really and truly the eternal city; to partially quote Venerable Bede (a quote which, incidentally, I remember from the 1990 guidebook my father had, and still has, of the city): when Rome falls, the world shall fall.

I now believe that Rome is the most beautiful city in the world.  It breathes history, culture, beauty.  If the Italian phrase ciao bella was coined for a purpose, it was to describe the Italian capital.  Every corner is a photo opportunity, every street is adorned with palazzi, every corner and angle is Baroque, par excellence.  

It was magical to walk, quite literally, in the shadow of Bernini, Borromini, Michelangelo and see their works in the flesh as it were, after 3 good years of architectural history of many years ago and having seen and read only sketches and drawings and essays in Bannister and Pevsner and Vasari describing the masterpieces that made and defined the beauty of the Renaissance, Mannerism and Baroque.  

Every visitor to Rome must have a crash course in architecture prior to landing.  How can you visit the churches, basilicas, piazze and ruins of Imperial Rome without knowing what the architectural orders are, how a dome works, what a pendentive is, why those at the Vatican are trapezoidal in form and not the usual pointed triangular ones?
  
I always found fascination in how a race as sophisticated, intelligent and refined as the Romans, who dined and drank well, built impeccable structures lasting 2000 years and counting, could then be as savage and barbaric as what they were: feeding men to lions for entertainment, nailing supposed criminals to trees and murdering inhabitants of whichever land they deemed to belong to them.  I now extend fascination at how contradictory it was for them to establish new cities in new lands on strict linear grids - with a decumanus maximus and cardo maximus to define it - but then their own capital laid out in a rather haphazard way?  How ironic is it that all their settlements were centered on a river, but the Tiber is now only a sidelined attraction?  Having said that, the ample fountains make up for this apparent loss of water in the urban fabric.

These last few days, I ticked off an endless list of masterpieces that I have longed to visit for a good 20 years since the first classes of history.  Not just the Sistine and the Gesù and the Bramantes but lesser knowns like hidden Berninis, the Accademia di San Luca, San Carlino alle Quattro Fontane and the Sant'Ivo and even 1 or 2 Melchiore Gafas.

Which brings me to Malta: it crossed my mind whilst walking around the cobbled and wobbly deserted streets leading from Hadrian's Temple to the Pantheon after a rainy day that Rome is the only place as beautiful or more beautiful than Valletta, where every building, simply, is architecture and not construction.  But then I had another epiphany when strolling past Castel Sant'Angelo of Laparelli who himself masterminded Valletta: it is the latter that emulates Rome.  The best Italian artists formed and defined Valletta from the original war machine that Laparelli built to the Baroque stage that Buonamici, Carapecchia and others transformed to what it largely remains today.  The original Roman grid, lacking in Rome, is perfected in Valletta and the latter has the added bonus that all its streets lead to the sea.  And Valletta has no outskirts.  No Greater Rome, as it were, where graffiti and utilitarian buildings dominate the streeyscape.  Valletta has a clear start and end, inside and outside.  Beautiful and not, with apologies to Il-Furjana, of course.  Perhaps it is truly the case that Rome is a reflection of Valletta's perfection in this sense?

The food?  Many pizze romane later (and carciofi alla giudia and trippe and coda alla vaccinara and spaghetti cacio e pepe and so on...did I mention carbonara?), I can safely state that during our 4 day visit, we were very well fed.

Back to the future now. 
 
Since 1990, I have re-visited Venice 4 times and have not changed my view that it is the most unique city in the world.  

I have now been to Rome again and, well, you get the point.  

Florence, anyone?

Man is a complex animal

With apologies to Aristotle, of course.

Yes, we may be social, even though sometimes some people tend to be anything but social, with eyes glued to the shiny screens in their hands, more often than not hooked into what is going on in - ironically - their social media following.

We may also be political, but sometimes what seem as massive failures of democracy worldwide similarly cast shadows into how beneficial the 'political' tag is to mankind.

What I think is true is that man is, more than anything else, a complex animal.  And increasingly becoming so.

Take what I do for a living.  I am concurrently working on 3 projects: 1 office building covering some 25,000m² and 2 residential developments (1 covering over 200,000m² including 3 towers and the other a single tower creating some 75,000m²).

Whenever I fill in my weekly time sheets, I am increasingly amazed at the sheer number of hours I put into each of these projects, and I am one member of fairly large design and construction teams across many disciplines, firms, offices and countries!

I ask: is it really required?  Do we need to spend thousands of man-hours and hundreds of thousands of pounds (or Euros or whatever currency it may be) to create houses?  Mankind has been living in some form of sheltered spaces for millennia.  The basic requirements have not changed since the Neanderthals: all we need is a space to feed, fornicate and eventually sleep.  Why then all the complexity and 'fighting' and arguing over millimetric discrepancies or differences?  What distinguishes today's (or tomorrow's) homes from those of yesteryear?  I was about to say "except that those of the past were more beautiful" but beauty is subjective and I happen to work with extremely talented people who can indeed create beautiful buildings.  Beautiful but complex.

And then the offices.  Why all the effort, time and money to design and build a structure which is typically used for only 33% of the time, to be left empty for the rest of the time (to occupy the houses for remaining 67% but sleep for 50% of that time, but that is another argument)?  And what more, creating workspaces which are sedentary, leading to disease and unhealthy lifestyles.  Why has the workspace become a desk and a screen?  What was happening a mere 50 years ago?  People did not go to work?  What was happening 1000 years ago?  Did people not work?

I think we need to step back from the complexity of the modern age and go back to basics.  And stop creating massive buildings which are used only Monday-Friday, 9am-5pm and to remain empty for the rest of the time and then in parallel another suite of equally massive and intricate buildings for evening and night use only (and potentially weekends, unless people are away and/or out at the weekend, and rightly so).

By some twist of fate, I am listening to some Beatles playlist and Lennon's "Imagine" found its way in it; am I a dreamer, too?  I do hope I am not the only one.  Alas, I am just a simple structural engineer and what I am suggesting shakes the fundamentals not only of architecture and urbanism but probably of society at large.

Dream on.  Aerosmith, anyone?

What I did whilst awake in the city that never sleeps

I cannot say that I am a traveller - time and money do not permit - and neither can I say that I have travelled extensively, albeit I visited practically every European country and even ventured into North and South Africa.  However, one big continent had been calling for quite some time and Easter 2018 proved to be a good opportunity to visit the country that has lured Europeans since 1492 (some argue even before that) and what better place to start if not the Big Apple?

NYC has always been a fantasy city for me.  From those scenes in the first 'grown-up' movie I recall seeing in the mid 1980s i.e. "King Kong" (the 1976 de Laurentiis version, i.e.) where Kong scaled the Twin Towers instead of the Empire State Building in the 1933 version.  Or being the fabled home of the Ninja Turtles during my early 1990s obsession with the heroes in a half shell.  Or as the setting of "Home Alone 2" around the same time.  And the countless movies featuring the city streets, Central Park and the yellow taxis.  And later, as my love for buildings developed, as the home of some of the world's tallest and iconic buildings: the Empire, the Chrysler, Hearst, Seagram, Guggenheim and more.

Living in London gives wonderful opportunities to travel to virtually everywhere in the world and we decided without much difficulty to book a ticket to NYC during the Easter week.  The trip started with a surprise upgrade to 'premium' economy on the outbound afternoon flight.  We landed at JFK in the evening and immediately set off to our hotel at Canal Street in SoHo or South of Houston - I soon found out the Americans are obsessed with acronyms.  I also noticed that American WCs operate in slightly different ways than European ones; this was never really highlighted in the movies!

As much as we are told not to judge books by their cover, I think that one can safely judge a new place by first impressions.  It was immediately obvious that NYC does not invest heavily into its infrastructure as much as, say, London does.  The subway was consistently dirty, trains are vintage by almost any standard and signage is not entirely foolproof.  Same for pavements, streets and the urban environment in general.  I guess my expectation was that NYC is to America what London is to Europe, but I was mistaken on this count.

What I was not mistaken was that NYC is the king (or queen?) of the high-rise.  Yet, I never felt like I was walking in canyons or alleys.  The classic sights - an inspiration for almost 2 decades - were, quite literally, highlights.  We were lucky to have clear sunny daytime views from Top of the Rock and splendid night views of the lit gridiron city streets from the top of the Empire. 

While history in the European sense of the word is virtually non-existent, the museums were another big tick in the "satisfied" box.  Besides the Prado, I must say that I have been to the main European top galleries and museums and the Met and MoMa now sit amongst my greatest hits, even if compared with the bounty of London's freebies they do come at a considerable fee, albeit worth every penny.  Sorry, cent.

Food: great choices, as expected in a very cosmopolitan place.  Great dumplings, ramen, burgers and Katz's pastrami of course.  The 15-20% tip came as a big surprise, even after a decade of 12.5% UK "discretionary" service charges. 

The biggest surprise (and I was positively impressed by it) was the New Yorkers themselves.  Not that I had a "bad" impression of Americans; I do work for an American firm after all and my boss(es) are indeed American.  However, the level of friendliness, willingness to help and good manners, almost verging on shyness, were something I did not expect from a nation which is widely considered to be the world's ruling one.  Comparing again to London, certainly there is much more warmth in the Big Apple!

One week went by quickly, even if the days were jam-packed from morning to night, averaging some 20km of walking every day and soon we rode away from Manhattan to JFK, to fly back to London and luckily arriving with no signs of jet-lag whatsoever.

My verdict: a visit to NYC is a must but in my view it is not a city for living.  It is generally quite expensive (but probably OK with US salaries), hectic and tending towards filthy in some areas.  If nature or Swiss precision is your thing, then probably it is a risky destination, but if the skyscraper is what turns you on, then in it you will find a slice of Nirvana.  Having said that, I am not surprised that, besides Frankie's label as the city with perpetual insomnia, there is yet to be a Samuel Johnson style "tired of London, tired of life" equivalent for NYC, for London is still in my view the greatest city in the world.  And hence this blog will remain "The streets of London".

London - 10 years later

22nd September 2007: one way AirMalta flight to London Heathrow, ready to embark on a 1 year M.Sc. course in structural engineering.  22nd September 2017: London Overground train to Shoreditch High Street, ready to conclude a week of head scratching whilst working on a brand new tower in the City.

Who would have said?

So many events occurred since then.  Olympics.  Jubilee.  Brexit.  Terrorism.  Various home moves.  Various job moves.  A few extra kilos.  A little less hair.

It is indeed a city which never bores you.  A city booming with people and work, despite all the Brexit-ish odds.  A city where everyone can be whatever s/he wishes to be (which alas has had its fair share of calamities, too; some people opted to form part of the senseless Daesh).

However, as I am now caught in this commuting routine (ironically I only started commuting 2 years ago), I dare say that London or rather Londoners, in all their apparent individualistic glory, can really be put in several boxes - very unprofessionally from an anthropological point of view - based on what they...wear.  Specifically, the kind of bag they wear.  Or how their bag-wearing habits evolved over the last decade.  Surreal, but (probably) true.  So here it is.

a. The Pliage
Virtually all female Londoners nowadays don this certain Longchamp bag by the name of Le Pliage (I was not familiar at all with this, but am now after some simple market research).  The sheer commonness of this bag and its apparent 'cheap' appearance initially made me think that this was the sort of item you would redeem with your Nectar points or so, only to discover (to my horror) that this goes for a full £75!

b. The MK/LV/D&G etc.
Whilst not a new phenomenon, then there are the other kind of women who sport the 3 (or perhaps even 4) figure designer bags with initials of their designers who simply wear these items simply to state: yes, I can afford £784.99 for a handbag to put my soiled trainers in and change to Prada stilettos once I get to the office.  Mind you, so do I, but I would rather go on a nice holiday, thank you very much.

c. The Herschel or Fjallraven Kanken
The new trend for guys is, apparently, the schoolboy look: rucksack on the back, with both straps on, please note.  It verges on the hilarious watching the City types in suits complete with black polished shoes and pre-teen boys (and girls) sporting virtually identical bag typologies.  Except that, while schoolboys stick to conventional Adidas or Nike or even more modest Slazenger models, the choice for grown-ups is limited to Herschel or Fjallraven Kanken (which I always manage to read as Kraken, especially during my morning commute when I am less than half awake).

d. Bonus item: The headphones
Not strictly a bag, but there is an item which was not around 10 years ago.  Back in late 2007, when the iPhone and iPod etc. were still infants, people would, say, simply sit on the train staring or reading...until everyone started walking around wearing headphones.  Everyone suddenly developed this strong urge to constantly listen to something (except words with fellow people through meaningful conversation).  To add insult to injury, some of the latest headphone models are so ridiculously and unnecessarily large that probably their users need to have a bag just to store them away.  I mean, seriously, do you really need to listen to some crap podcast with £300 Bose noise-cancelling technology worthy of Abbey Road?  I daresay, do you really need to listen to anything at all?  What freaks me out the most are the (Apple?) wireless headphones which make their users look...never mind.

Cynical and/or negative, I hear you say?  Perhaps just want to take the piss out of the 200 odd other passengers on the train, but probably yes a tad pessimistic.  But bear with me, it is almost winter after all!

Adventures in South Africa

I have just completed the longest commute, if you will, of my life: I left my hotel in Cape Town yesterday at 2.30pm (London time) and opened the flat door just under 2 hours ago at 6.30pm (again London time).  In between: a 9 hour flight from Cape Town to Dubai, a 4.5 hour stopover and a 7 hour flight to London Heathrow.  I practically did the same (naturally in reverse) only 6 days ago,  In between: a 6 day adventure in the Western Cape area of South Africa - my first trip in the southern hemisphere (which was a welcome break from the London cold) and the first long flight(s) I have ever taken.  And a few other 'firsts'.

One of the perks associated with work in academia is the rather consistent opportunities to attend researcher conferences.  In my mind, these are nothing more than glorified tourist propaganda exercises organised by the learned for their fellow peers worldwide, invariably always held in tourist magnets and close to the height of summer, which in the case of South Africa is November.  And this was the venue for the 2016 fib conference, at which Dr. Micallef II was to present a research paper.  After much deliberation, I finally decided to go along, only on a different (indirect) flight which however was £400 less than my wife's at £600, quite a bargain I must say, given that AirMalta flights at £300 or more are not uncommon, but that is another story.

And so the day came: all the summer clothes unearthed from hibernation and with a few trips planned and scheduled, we ventured to Cape Town, the place about which I had read since I was a very young child: the fateful tip of the world where explorers or merchants dreaded to go around due to its infamous weather.  But not this time of the year, or so we hoped.

It was my first time on an Airbus A380 and I was blown away (so to speak).  I am always fascinated at how a big object such as a plane can fly, but this was another level of bestiality.  The Emirates experience, complete with WiFi whilst 10km up in the air and some 2500 movies to choose from and proper meals with proper cutlery, proved to be beyond my expectations for 'economy' class (what do the business class get then, I wonder?).  Stopping at Dubai (again my first time in the UAE), confirmed my suspicions that this place was all about money; not quite streets paved in gold but not too far, for the airport is a continuous feast of marble and stainless steel, 120 person lifts, triple height internal waterfalls and sheer massiveness.  Time passed quickly and I was on my final leg to Africa.

It was hot and sunny, right from the start.  Promising.  I was met by the chauffeur and after exchanging some rand, made my way to the hotel at the V&A (that is Alfred and not his father Albert) Waterfront.  My first impression was positive: excellent road surfaces and signs, neat buildings (bar the few shanty towns along the highway), lively and very clean streets.  It was almost hard to believe this was Africa.  I noted a few highrises - obviously dwarfed by the 1085m tall Table Mountain - but these seemed old as if the city 'stopped' developing in the 1970s, but I could also note a few towercranes dotting the skyline.  And obviously the relatively new 2010 World Cup stadium close to the hotel and the Waterfront itself.  The city seemed buzzing with life.

I met my wife, who had arrived beforehand safe and sound, and ventured off to the V&A.  It felt very much the UK, a Portsmouth or Brighton if you like, only warmer and with a very un-flat backdrop.  A lunch of seafood ushered me into the Capetonian cuisine and the evening closed off with a conference reception.

On Monday morning, we made a trip to the city centre, in particular the District Six Museum and the guided tour by an ex-resident.  In my ignorance of non-obvious world history, I was not aware of the full atrocity of the apartheid, such as the forced removal of people in this area of Cape Town.  The most shocking aspect of this was not clearing the area for the sake of some national project or rebuilding programme, which are often met with resistance (similar to what happened in some slum areas in Malta in the past, for instance) but this was simply left undeveloped; the aim was solely getting rid of the people because of their skin colour.  Another startling fact was that non-whites were only granted the right to vote in 1994, which is terribly recent.  On a lighter note, the other highlight of the day was a short cruise around the harbour, where we spotted a couple of sunbathing seals!

Tuesday was another 'cultural' day, starting off with a visit to the 2010 football stadium, which design I found very appealing.  The sunny morning soon became cloudy if not chilly and this was not a good sign, given we had to take a ferry to hop over to Robben Island, 10 km away (on the way, we were lucky to spot a few surfacing whales and dolphins).  The tiny island hosts a maximum security prison with minuscule cells one of which hosted Nelson Mandela for 18 years, the highlight of the island really, alongside a small colony of African penguins.  The day was concluded by an excellent meal: the conference banquet.  In this case, a culinary feast of African dishes, including springbok and ostrich meat, naturally both 'firsts', and all washed down with excellent South Africa wine.

Wednesday was practically all devoted to the conference (my wife's presentation was great, as always) and the late afternoon spent exploring some of the Art Deco gems in the city centre.  Unfortunately, in the evening some intestinal issues started to crop up, which alas lasted, more or less, for the rest of the stay...the discomfort was definitely offset by a full 1 hour body massage for us both!

Then on Thursday, with a little help from Imodium, we managed to venture out of Cape Town to the winelands of Franschhoek, or French Corner.  It was like a journey back in time, where the world was still untouched by man except for the basic exploitation of natural produce, in this case the grape.  The vineyards and their spectacular settings took away some of the discomfort but unfortunately could not be as adventurous in the tasting as I wished to!

By Friday, I was feeling a bit better, but poor Marianna had her turn now.  Nonetheless, we set off for a peninsula tour all the way down the Atlantic coast to the Cape of Good Hope and Cape Point, via Camp and Hout Bays and the Seal Island (no need to explain its name!) and then Boulders Beach along False Bay where the highlight was certainly the big colony of African penguins.  It was at first unusual to associate penguins with Africa, but who wouldn't want to stay basking away in the African sun rather than the Antarctic icy wind?  A stop at the beautiful Kirstenbosch Gardens concluded the day tour.

Saturday was my last day but before leaving I could not not visit the Cape's most famous permanent resident: Table Mountain.  The cable car ride, albeit 2.5 minutes short, was scary to say the least but once at the top, it was worth every second of fear.  The sun was scorching hot and by early afternoon I had to stay in the shade on the hop-on-hop-off bus for my arms looked like a Maltese flag!  And it was time to leave Cape Town and Africa.

The biggest resource of all that I could see in South Africa, certainly in Cape Town, was not the vast expanses of land but the people.  Every single person we met, locals I mean, were extremely gentle and cordial and at the same time funny and friendly.  This country, almost literally at the end of the world, proved that Africa has so much to offer and my final thought, or rhetoric question, is: why do Africans bother coming to Europe?  I think we should be going there instead, for it is very much an unknown paradise and the Mother City is its gateway.

Speaking of mothers: now it is time to sleep for tomorrow is back to work and this is going to be the mother of all Mondays!

Trumped!

It is becoming a sort of trend for me to write about worthy events one week after they actually happen.  In this case, there is a sort of valid reason: I am at home - sick - and hence had a good opportunity to catch up on what has been going on lately.

Last Wednesday, the 'GMT' part of the world woke up to the news that the President-elect of the U.S.A. is Mr. Donald Trump, in direct contrast to what the polls (and all the world, really) predicted and expected.  Since then, there has been uproar in the media everywhere: protests in the States, posts on Facebook predicting the end of the world, doom and gloom all over the place.  And Trump is not even in the Oval Office yet.

I still cannot really understand why all this fuss.  Elections in the democratic world are held all the time, certainly every 5 years in most countries (or 4 in the case of the U.S.A.) and, like every other competition, there is a winner and a loser.  Some, generally close to or just above 50% of the people, "win", and the rest "lose".  Why are people protesting now that Trump and not Clinton won?  Is it not the whole idea of the democratic process that election results are to be respected?  Or is it now the case that when a result does not match the popular expectation, the result is null or will not be accepted?  After all, voting is done by the people and for the people.  The people get what they choose and what they want.  Otherwise, it is the whole way of exercising democracy that needs to be revised, and not only these isolated cases of when people 'do not like' a result.

The same was with the Brexit vote a few months ago - the predictions were that the "Stay" will win, and so did I hope and vote for, too, but the results proved that Mr. Cameron's bluff to hold a referendum had been called by the British and now Brexit is on the cards.  From my point of view, the Brexit result truly saddened me, more than anything else.  I have been a voter in Malta and the U.K. for a number of years and sometimes I "won" and sometimes "lost".  But never was I really sad whenever I lost, except now in the Brexit vote.  But this is not about Brexit here...so back to Trump I shall go.

Trump won because the people voted for him.  There is widespread talk that those who voted for Trump were the uneducated and the like, which is ironic since such an idea is generating a sort of elitist division between the educated (the infamous "Establishment" being talked about?) and the not.  Democracy was born in Ancient Greece, where the right to vote was somewhat exclusive to the learned - in that case, the philosophers - and this was believed to guarantee that the 'best' choice would be made on who would then lead the demos, the people.  Society has come a long way since then and voting rights have been extended to everyone, irrespective of wealth, education and gender (and rightly so).  This could have worked when political propaganda was limited to sensible debates, the spoken word, genuine manifestos, ideological principles of Left, Right and all in between and so on and so forth.  However, it seems that this is no longer working in our age, where debates are mere shows, great speeches have been reduced to Tweets, what a person or party stands for is heavily diluted and often skewed by personal opinions in the social media and the concept of ideology is completely gone.  I think that the whole notion of democracy or at least how it is exercised needs serious revision.  How?  I obviously do not know.  Or actually, the desiderata in the mind of the 21st century citizen would be a government per person.  Individualism is the religion of the day.  I, me and myself.  Or a number of parallel governments to which one can belong and not to the other.  How is this allegiance maintained and not switch daily from one government to another?  I don't know, either.  Perhaps I am talking gibberish, given I am sick.

What struck me the most in this whole Trump issue was that during the campaign and prior to the election results, virtually everyone was anti Trump: leaders, Prime Ministers and the like.  Now, these very same people and sending messages of congratulations and wishes of collaboration with the new President.  I never witnessed such hypocrisy before and this was very disappointing although in a way I was not surprised at all, for I had commented about this on Facebook back on 28th September.  I am more looking forward to see meetings between world leaders and Trump than to see Trump himself.

One final word on Trump: I believe he is, in essence, a showman and all of the 'nasty' speeches prior to the election were simply propagandist in nature and served only to attract an audience and 'captivate' people, which he did.  Trump the candidate and Trump the President will surely, and hopefully, be two different people and my take is that we will not be witnessing any new Great Walls being built nor mass deportations.  I am sure, though, that these coming 4 years will have their fair share of gaffes, quips and diplomatic manoeuvres characterised by comicality.

Double trouble

It has now been a week since returning from my latest trip to Malta.  In truth, it was the 4th trip in the space of 6 days: London-Gothenburg-London-Malta-London.  The Malta flight in question had been long booked - since January to be precise - but, as it often happens to satisfy Murphy's Law, things always crop up to create complexity.  This case in particular was one which could not be altered (quite literally) at all costs: I was to travel to Malta for the wedding of Manuel and Amanda back-to-back with an unplanned business trip to Sweden.

It has been quite a while since we had a wedding (2014 was the last one, in Italy).  Manuel was the last but one of 'the gang' from the class of '83 who met back in 1999 at 6th form and after 5 years of architectural school and full time jobs, Master degrees abroad and all in between stuck together.  To me, he is a sort of brother I never had and been through thick and thin.  A few years back, when he and then girlfriend Amanda were in vacation in Italy, I recall mentioning, half jokingly, that he ought to make a trip to Verona and get down on his knees outside Juliet's balcony; little did I know that it was part of his secret plan to do so (only that I got the city wrong - Venice - and that it was almost impossible to do on one knee - for it was on a gondola).  The rest became history, or rather was only made history last week.

The news of the wedding was too exciting and again half jokingly I told Manuel that my wedding gift deposit was to be the (structural) design of their marital home.  This also materialised and it is a project we are now both proud of, albeit I only last saw it in raw concrete.  As the year of the big day approached, the excitement started to build up when Manuel told me that the wedding was to be on 22nd October 2016 or the day of my 33rd birthday!  The news was made even more exciting when Manuel asked me to be a groomsman.  I have been a pageboy in the (distant) past and obviously a groom in the not-so-distant past.  But a groomsman was something else!  I could not wait for the day!

A week before the wedding, unforeseen circumstances at work made it essential for me to travel to Sweden for a 2 day workshop related to 'my' project there.  The day of travel back coincided with my planned outbound trip to Malta and there was no way I could make it without altering my flight.  My wife left on the Thursday night and I literally landed 30 minutes later, only to come home and sleep, change suitcase and return back to Heathrow, with a severe sleep deficit and accumulating fatigue from travel and long work hours.

After landing on Friday afternoon and collecting my suit, my family and I celebrated as best as we could, given the little time available, my 33rd: a third of a century.  It was my first birthday in Malta since 2006!  I recall celebrating my quarter of a century in London when I bought myself an iPod; so much has changed since then!  At the same time, little changed, for London is still the place I (or we) call home!

Back to my Malta story.  Saturday arrived and at 9 I met Manuel and the rest of the groomsmen for some final preparations, mainly involving fixing some lighting fixtures at the reception venue in 27 degree scorching sun, which made it hard to believe this was late October.  And then the time for dressing up!  The afternoon kicked off with a few photos at the Darmanin residence, a glass or 2 of Scotch and then a classic ride to the church in vintage Mustangs - very unconventional but equally cool!

Once at the church, I must admit I felt too emotional reminded of our own wedding and mixed with the fact that Manuel was, finally, getting hitched.  It was a beautiful ceremony.  Mr. and Mrs. Darmanin were born.

A short drive away and the fun began: catching up with 'the gang' and a few old friends whom Manuel and I had in common, coupled with Negronis on a quasi summer's night.  And then the dancing.  And the photo booth.  And more dancing.  And lifting the bride and groom on the shoulders.  Then again.  Then the cake.  Then more lifting.  And then the tiredness really starts to kick in.  But first all the flower stands need to be packed away.  I did not long for a good night's sleep like that night in a while.  The age, perhaps?

My wife and I had been dreading the flight on the next day for we mistakenly thought it was the first London flight.  Luckily, it was only at 5.30pm which meant we could get up and enjoy the Sunday almost in its entirety.  Goodbyes done, we made our way back to London and here we are now, one week later, getting ready for another week of work (incidentally including another equally challenging trip to Gothenburg at 7.30am but that is another story).

We will soon meet the newly weds here in London in a few weeks' time but, until then, I sincerely wish Manuel and Amanda an amazing married life.  The special day we shared with them last week was a promising start to what, I am sure, will be a life-long journey of care and love and knowing that all along the friendship which started years before our own marriages will endure.

Congratulations Lel and Amanda!

"Wearing only this"

So added then 22 year old Kate Winslet immediately after her request to Leonardo di Caprio to draw her wearing a giant blue diamond necklace in the 1997 epic "Titanic".  Being only 14 at the time and an all-time (RMS) Titanic aficionado (recall this), I had found this to be extremely radical, not to say sensual.  However, post Sunday last, the "only" has indeed become redundant; let me explain.

It was an ordinary Tuesday aboard the 8.12am Overground to work, with 1000 commuters and the weekly "TimeOut" to keep me company.  As soon as I read an article featuring what was to be London's first naked restaurant, "Bunyadi" or Hindi for 'natural', I knew that my first task at the office was to sign up on the 'waiting list'.  Little did I know that that list had already accumulated some 36,000 people before me.  I knew the odds of actually going were slim and, upon sharing the idea with my Mrs., it seemed to her (and myself too, really) that this was nothing more but an immense bluff call.

Until I received an email last Friday at 4.30pm that it was possible for me to book a place in the following 4 hours before the same email is sent to the 'next in line'.  Within 5 minutes, I was booked after emailing my Mrs. and telling her, "Please accept the invitation below; consider this to be your birthday gift, which you have to enjoy in your birthday suit".

And Sunday evening arrived.

We knew the code of conduct: you arrive at the venue in an otherwise unmarked location (an all-black, boarded-out ex-pub but with a fancily dressed bouncer at the door off a nondescript part of Elephant and Castle), you leave your clothes and all belongings (devices and the like) in a locker and put on a gown and wait in a bar area until you are called to the dining area where you are then free to take off your gown, if you wish.  And then enjoy a dinner of all-raw natural food.  Served by equally (un)dressed waiters/waitresses.

The waiting bit was brief but seemed too long and when our party was called, we were escorted through a labyrinth of dark, candle-lit spaces of bamboo booths with soft jazz in the background.  The temperature was just warm enough to make you want to take off the gown.  Which we did once we settled in our booth (of 6 but just for the 2 of us).

The staff were very cordial and all natural (not only in dress but also in their interaction) and in no way made us feel uncomfortable, especially on our waitress's first appearance in the booth.  Magical atmosphere combined with tasty food and wonderful wine is my kind of perfect ending to the weekend.  The seaweed and sashimi-style salmon starter was as fresh as the ocean while the steak tartare main dish was exquisite (including the edible cutlery) and the crumble-coconut mouse-berry combo for dessert (washed down with fermented milk and raw cocoa) was the perfect finale.

The 1 hour 45 minute slot passed too quickly but we could not take off the grin off our face, even though being greeted by 'sunshine' at 8.45pm was a bit of a shock after almost 2 hours in the dark.

It is a shame that "Bunyadi" will be open for 3 months only for it would have found a very regular customer.  The taboo-ist inhibitions imposed by society on society over the past 21 centuries has really taken away a great sense of freedom which unfortunately is nowadays limited only to the few so-called naturists.  In this post-Brexit age, I think I am about to leave London and settle on some Caribbean island where I can have breakfast, lunch, dinner and all in between bunyadi style...

The endless river

If reincarnation was true, then I must say that in a past life, my favourite decade would have been the 1970s.  The reason?  It was the era of the electric guitar.  Of analogue recordings.  Of rock.  Of progressive rock.  Of Pink Floyd.

I never had the privilege of listening to a Floyd album for the first time (I was too young in the 1980s to remember any albums then and too naive in 1994 to recall "The division bell", though I do have feint memories of "Pulse" coming out and listening to it in surround sound at a friend's house...).  In an attempt, futile as it might be, to recreate this feeling, as soon as I heard that the Floyd are releasing a new album, the 1st in 20 years - and their last - I was determined to get it and listen to it from beginning to end in its entirety as soon as I get it, resisting the various posts on social media of previews and samples and what not.  And so I did.  This is a rather overdue review of mine of "The endless river".

No album after the likes of, say, "Dark side" or "Wish you were here" can really be deemed revolutionary.  However, the album is really a throwback to the authentic Floyd sound, an endless (so to speak) instrumental song, at times with too much effort in making it sound seamless, with only a single vocal track.  Many parts are reminiscent of earlier material.  "It's what we do" can be considered to be a re-make of "Shine on, you crazy diamond", or maybe its Part X, notably its time and occasional 4-note motifs.  The closing 2 chords in "The lost art of communication" strongly remind me of the amazing equivalent in "Breathe".  The references to "The division bell" are obvious in "Talkin' Hawkin'" with the scientist's interventions and with the bells at the start of "Louder than words".  I also think "Allons-y" is somewhat a reminder of "Run like hell"; I should stop here with comparisons since this might be getting overboard.

Intertwined between the first part of "Allons-y" and its reprise part is a magical sequence on the Royal Albert Hall's majestic organ.  Not knowing this is rock, I would say this is an extract from a requiem mass, one which Wright wrote for himself 40 years before his demise and which Gilmour, in one final struggle to create a counterpoint-style play between keyboard and guitar (although not as successful as the one in "Echoes" or, more recently, in "Cluster one"), created 6 years later after Wright's death in this tribute record.

Indeed, this is the album of Wright, the often-underestimated Floyd genius (and stating this objectively, despite my status as a keyboard player).  True, Wright's masterpieces remain "The great gig in the sky" and "Us and them" but what hidden secrets are found in this new album.  I simply love the seductive sound qualities of "On Noodle Street".  Ironically, "Anisina", one of my favourite tracks, is one of the few which does not feature Wright!

And, being the only non-surviving Floyd member, it was fitting that Gilmour, as the 'image' of 21st century Pink Floyd compiled this album as an elegy for Wright.  Early Floyd was characterised by Syd, then it was Roger's era, followed by Gilmour when Roger left and, finally, this is Wright's masterpiece (and, in a way, Mason's with his drum solo in "Skins").

Perhaps one of the biggest disappointments is the final track, which would have been better left an instrumental piece concluding the career of one of the greatest bands of all time.  The disappointment is probably overshadowed by the album art - the lack of Storm's contribution is clear.  However, I did like the 'book' quality of the album sleeve (but not quite the innovation of the blinking LED cover of the album's older brother).

In no way is this a negative air to end this short review.  All in all, it was a great experience to sit and listen to a brand new Floyd album, uninterrupted.  I can only extrapolate this feeling and think to myself: wouldn't it have been awesome to be around in March 1973 and listen for the first time ever "The dark side of the moon"?  But, in a bit of a massive Floydian slip, all I can say is, if pigs might fly...

Happy anniversaries

Any Maltese of good sense would know that this year was a special one when it comes to anniversaries.  I am writing this less than a week after I 'celebrated' or rather remembered one of my own personal anniversaries, i.e., my first move to London back on 22/09/2007.  Seven years.  Some say seven is a perfect number; perhaps it is true since, like my 1st year here, this year was truly one where everyday was one to look forward to.  But really the aim here was to reminisce on the sort of anniversaries I hinted earlier: the 10th year since Malta joined the EU, the 35th year since Malta no longer served as a military base for any foreign power, the 40th year of Malta's declaration as a republic and the 50th year of Malta's independence.

With only one of these celebrations left, I thought it was a good time to record some of my thoughts at this point, in a time sandwiched between what I think are the 2 worthy of being Malta's national days.  One, the establishment of a Maltese head of state, is the culmination of the establishment of a sovereign state, but the former could not have happened if the latter was not already in place; the others were then somewhat circumstantial occurrences which invariably had to happen over time.

Writing this a week or so later after Scotland rejected its call for independence from the UK in a referendum made me wonder even more how a country such as Scotland, with countless natural resources (including oil, gas and, erm - why not - whiskey) could not be bold enough to take a leap and disrupt any reliance or affiliation with another country, even after 300 years, but then a tiny island-nation with no resources of its own, except its people, who was never a ruler but always ruled since the dawn of time, who always relied on external aid, could then make this leap forward half a century ago after a devastating war and at the brink of a nuclear war?  And what more, a move endorsed by all major political leaders at the time, settled all amicably and peacefully with no bloodshed whatsoever.  And then move on to become a thriving economy, exploiting its rich history and heritage (ironically furnished by all its past subsequent rulers) to create a tourist industry and a manufacturing industry but also being able to read clearly the signs of the age, when manufacturing fled to the far east and instead diversified into freight-less and non-manual ventures but into those requiring 'solely' intellect, IT and so on.  An island state which is a success story, with one of the lowest unemployment rates in Europe, which had the 2nd strongest currency in the world prior to joining the Eurozone in 2008, with a health system ranked 5th best in the world and free education to all.

It was a journey at times full of controversy and irony.

The fiery Mintoff changed political direction from integration with Britain in the 1950s to fully-fetched independence in the 1960s, being the first to propose the "Break with Britain Resolution" in Parliament, seconded by pragmatic Borg Olivier.  The latter, after obtaining independence, then voted against the establishment of a republic, which in my mind would have represented the ultimate nationalist achievement.

Mintoff, whose political roots were probably established during his time in Britain whilst studying in Oxford in the late 1930s, possibly exposed to Fabianism and as an external observer of the relatively thriving social services and conditions in the UK which he must have longed for to have introduced in Malta (which he eventually did, and more), was then so ardent in getting 'rid' of the British.

Borg Olivier, the prime minister who ultimately negotiated the independence constitution, was arguably elected because of the Church's involvement in the 1962 election which effectively limited the odds of Mintoff's election into government to the slimmest possible, but then had to face a Church which was utterly against independence.

And a few decades later during the EU saga, it was the conservative party, still carrying the label 'nationalist', was pro-EU, whereas other leaders of the right strongly became Euro-sceptics.  On the other hand, the labour party, the long-time apt voice of workers who would benefit strongly from such an open market as is the EU, failed to join all the other European left wing thinkers and politicians who tend to be in favour of the EU (even if, at times, this tends to be not really in line with socialist principles, but that is the game of politics for you).

And then the conservative party led by a devout Catholic presumably not amused by consumerism and liberalism, who viciously sought to have a free market and removing all importation embargoes and advocating free-for-all access to the capitalist frame of mind in the late 1980s, after having fought for and acquired EU accession, was most certainly overwhelmed by a transformation into a society with changing values, importing via media and the Internet and adopting an extensive liberal ideology, leading to introduction of civil rights such as divorce and civil unions, including for LGBT couples, and rightly so.

And in another twist of irony, the strongest voice opposing the EU a decade ago is today one of the 6 MEPs in Brussels.

A country of contradiction.  A country often of political complexities, even if unnecessary at times.  But nonetheless a country of success and economic progress and which has been in the international limelight for different reasons in every decade of its first half a century of sovereignty, aiding in the advancement of the world itself.  Malta proposed to the UN measures to safeguard the oceans in the late 1960s.  Malta advocated the idea of including a chapter on security in the Mediterranean as part of the Helsinki Accords in the 1970s.  Malta hosted the Bush-Gorbachev summit in the 1980s, effectively ending the Cold War.  Malta's Guido DeMarco was President of the UN's General Council in the 1990s.  Malta was instrumental in helping the West handle the Libyan crisis a few years ago.

Each of these tasks and achievements is totally incommensurate with the size of this country.

I proudly look forward to be participant in the greater part of the next 50 years of this country's journey and, who knows, maybe at 81 also celebrate the first centenary of Malta, an independent sovereign state.

An eventful weekend in the land of Veneto

Whilst Scotland were busy debating and voting on whether the country should stay forming part of the UK or not (which they ultimately did choose to hang on to it) and Malta was rather ironically busy preparing to celebrate its 50th anniversary of independence from the UK, we were busy making our way to Gatwick airport at 2am, in the midst of a freak 10 minute thunderstorm which was promptly timed with our exit from home.  I just realised that I rather abused the word busy here, but in fairness each of these activities does indeed deserve the title.  And it turned out to be an ever busier weekend...

The trip to Italy was prompted by the invitation to a wedding of 2 Italian friends of ours - one of the great things about London is that most of your friends are actually not British and you invariably participate in such events all the time.   Admittedly, I had been to this part of Italy a number of times, and my wife likewise (have both been to Venice alone 3 times each), but alas never together and have been there already had its advantage: it was to be a rather chilled holiday, not racing against time and trying to see every bit of the city but immersing in the city's life and enjoying every moment.  Or actually not having to visit only the obvious sites but stay off the beaten track and discover some of the hidden gems the city has to offer (and this particular city has a lot to offer).  Having said that, visiting Venice is always an enchanting experience and I must say, even in the light of my limited world travels, it must be my favourite place in the world.  And it is one of those unique places where the city was formed centuries ago and, contrary to other cities, largely stayed as it was then due to its obvious physical constraints.  Each building, each stone (I was going to write each street but..) and each canal has a story to tell.  Few cities have the honour of being frozen in time (Valletta is another case in point, but lingering on this point would be a tangent).

The stay was brief but quality reigned over quantity (having an SLR in Venice for the first time was a bonus) and we then moved onto the mainland just outside Padova in another of the Veneto's unknown secrets, Montegrotto Terme, where the wedding was to be held.  A thermal spa resort, housed in a superb Art Nouveau 1920s building, complete with lift in a cage and iron post beds but immaculately kept and with 7000 odd square metres of pools, jacuzzi and all the other well being perks and treats which I never experienced before.  It amazes me how the Romans were able to develop such commodities and leave us all the architectural and cultural heritage but, at the same time, be so barbaric: crucifying thousands daily, feeding men to lions for their entertainment and so on...keeping to a positive note, they were truly 2 days of refreshment, which I wish I had the chance to enjoy in more troublesome times...

The wedding itself was splendid: good food, good wine and good fun, concluded by night-time swims in the heated waters!  One minor detail was that every evening was characterised by distant thunder and lightning displays, whicn we nonetheless ignored, given that they were too far even to be heard.  I even thought them to be quite spectacular!

Come the last day and we headed back to Venice for a last half day of sightseeing under a very strong sun.  As soon as we landed in the airport terminal, the sky turned black and an intense thunderstorm kicked off, with all vengeance. It was slightly worrying knowing we were flying in 2 hours' time given my phobia of take-off and so on; the flight was invariably delayed.  We soon found out that the plane was diverted to Bologna, 20 minutes away.  After a quick bite and 2 hours waiting, we were told that the plane was on its way to our airport, which was a relief.  More reassuring was knowing it landed - safely - and that the rain had stopped.  But soon a saga kicked off.  The staff said there were no coaches to take us from the gate to the plane, a few metres away, but against security to let passengers walk on the runway (because at times the Italians really know their legal obligations).  Then there was no staff to unload luggage and load the new luggage (which I guess was limited anyway, given it was an easyjet flight).  And then, most importantly, there was no staff to refuel the plane.  It was the end of the staff shift, we were told, and because some few people did not do an extra half hour worth of work, a plane-full of people had to wait overnight till the plane could take off the next day.  In the next available slot, i.e., the next afternoon, or 17 hours later to be precise.

No café or restaurant was open at that hour and no hotel was available to accommodate us, albeit the offer to seek accommodation which would be refunded.  We "slept" on the seats in the gates, which were surprisingly plentiful, only till the sun rose at 6am or so and the scheduled flights kicked off with the usual persistent accompanying announcements and movement of people, making any sort of attempts to sleep impossible.

To cut a story short, we boarded at 12.40pm, a flight which was scheduled at 9.45pm the night before, having slept 9 hours in total in the previous 2 days (I forgot to mention the wedding ended at 2am or so and we were up by 9am for breakfast).  Just to add insult to injury, there were minor problems with the trains between the south and London, meaning we got home at 5pm or so, exhausted and with just one desire: sleep in a bed.

At the end, it was the best flight of my life: I never was as excited to get on a plane as that day, perhaps only more in September 1989 when I flew for the first time.  Or perhaps in September 2007 when I moved to London for the first time (incidentally it was my 7th anniversary of moving to London).  After a good sleep of 11 hours, it was back to work and then catching up with the celebrations in the homeland, which made me feel proud to be Maltese and grateful that the generations of the past wisely chose better than the Scots to seek independece from a then dying superpower, diversing the island nation's economy from solely based on foreign military activity to a thriving one that it is today.  But this is another story...

Snow and sun in Salzburgerland

I just realised that this is the first post for 2014, which is now in its 42nd day (already).  There is one good reason (actually more than one) for not writing earlier: extremely busy Monday-Fridays with no inclination to spend a few minutes in front of a monitor in the evening and equally packed weekends in a row.  Necessity is the mother of invention, though and thus now that the 1st escape from London for the new year took place, here I am with my bulletin on the trip to Salzburg.

It was a rather serendipitous trip courtesy of British Airways - well, partially - after they hassled us during our trip to Amsterdam and rewarded us with a welcome flight voucher (have not mentioned that one before, have I?) and which we redeemed to pay tribute to the Austrian city famed more than anything else for its son Mozart.  An obvious interest for me, although I admittedly admire Beethoven slightly more.  But not today...

The initial reaction after booking flights was: Austria?  Mountains?  Winter?  Given that I am not into skiing and such perilous activities.  But further reading made it obvious that the city had more to offer than copious mountains with skiing pistes and Mozart.  The latter inevitably had to feature on the trail and on the first day, after ascending* up the 1853m high Untersberg and down, visited his birthplace.  And the family's residence the next day.  And a magical concert of 2 of his piano sonatas and a fantasia in a beautiful Romanesque hall.

We did venture slightly out of the Salzburg city centre for half a day to visit the salt mines in Hallein and also the Stiegl brewery, where we left with a surplus of beer which was happily consumed on the Saturday night.  Oh yes, the beer.  Superb.  And the food - everything revolves around meat: sausages, schnitzels and goulash.

After my non-exhaustive travels around Europe, I guess I know what the recipe for a European city is: a river with a few bridges across, a cathedral or two, one main square, palaces, museums and the hill-top castle.  Indeed, all featured in Salzburg, but every time I go to a new city, there is some unique facet to the combination of these elements; truly the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  And the beauty of Salzburg undoubtedly played a key element to inspire the young Amadeus.  Plus some twist of fate and a good gene or two.

*In a cable car, needless to say

How much does your company pay, Mr. Foster?

I could probably competently answer the original form of the question of which the title above is a parody; the structural engineer's task is more often than not aimed at designing buildings to carry weight and making their own weight as minimal as possible, but I am not turning this into an academic exercise of sorts.  It is a mere reflection on my new role at F+P just before I start my 7th week there (since, you know, 7 is the perfect number).

Sometimes it still feel surreal that I actually work within the studio of one of the architectural superstars of the 20th and even now the 21st century (albeit that Lord Foster himself is apparently very rarely in London let alone in the office).  In my undergrad days, I would flip through books, magazines and the net looking at Foster buildings for inspiration and even now that those days are long gone, the inspiration is surely a perpetual one.  After the last troubling years in academia, I am finally back to working in the real world, designing real buildings and all with the added advantage of being in one of the most exciting workplaces for any architect and/or engineer.  Starting a new day is something I look forward to (minus the waking up bit, of course) and even walking around the offices past all the models, pin-ups and drawings and sketches stuck to the magnetic walls and sometimes taped to the glazed external walls is inspiring.  A quasi communist atmosphere dominates the office - senior partner, intern and all are treated equally, their opinion valued and respected and everyone is on a first name basis where the only formality lies in the quality of the work produced.  That, in itself, is impressive, where even mere 'work in progress' type material for internal meetings is of supreme presentation calibre and no expense really is spared.

Speaking of expense, the payment I referred to in the title is beyond the financial one.  I am not much of a money fan but the real value I am getting from my job probably has no price tag: the experience and privilege gained from working in such a dynamic studio.  In my undergrad days, I would look at the Commerzbank or the Sainsbury Centre or the then newly built Gherkin in magazines and yearn to visit them.  In my postgrad days, I would walk around the City and see the buildings for real and recall peeping inside the Riverside studios, where all the magic happens.  Nowadays, I am a sorcerer's apprentice myself and I am part of the 1000-odd strong team of wizards who create the wonders which dominate the London skylines and beyond.

Reflections of my life

So sang The Marmalade some 40 years ago when I was mere, erm, dust (in the religious interpretation of the word).  Of course, I am fond of all the rock music from the 70s but I did not choose this title as a tribute to the golden age of the genre - I borrowed it simply because this is what I will do here, as I near my 30th birthday.

Probably 1 of these landmark years which truly marks the transition into adulthood.  Not that 20 does not fall in the adult realm but I would say that being legally recognised as an adult - i.e., with the right to vote, drink and drive (what joys) - does not imply the degree of maturity society expects from adults.  Especially in the context of being an undergraduate student, even in a relatively conservative university environment like Malta, where condom machines are not permitted and where there is virtually no need for students to 'leave home' and experience independent student living away from their childhood cocoon.

Probably life's biggest lessons which I have learnt so far were triggered by the fact that I have lived the greatest part of the last 6 years - my God, thinking about it is scary - in London, where for the first time I experienced the above: away from the comfort of home, having to worry about shopping and feeding and cleaning and other household aches, away from the luxury of a car at my doorstep and having to travel in a city which is several times bigger than my entire native country and striving to harmoniously live with people from 101 diverse backgrounds, cultures and ways of living which are acceptable in their own view but not necessarily in mine.  Where else would have this been possible?  Fair enough, any other major metropolis, say NYC, but Malta?  Not in a million years.  Unless the Mediterranean dries up and the Maltese landmass increases by some 1000% and suddenly not only North Africans but people of all nations 'move in'.

From what started off as a 12 month stay ended up being extended to a 3 year one and, in the meantime, it was no longer me but two of us here, hence the additional 2 years appended to the original 3.  Ironically, these 2 years might actually prove to be the most exciting of the lot, given that I am finally free from any formal schooling (about time, too) and with a new promising job in the pipeline.  But that is another story...the story here is a hi-story one and an egocentric one at that, where the subject is, quite simply, me.

What happened in these past 30 years?  What made me become me?  Perhaps this would need someone more qualified than me when it comes to psychology or anthropology but I will stick to what I think were the major milestones in my life, so far.  And it's quite a big chunk of that: optimistically, around 33.33%.  More realistically, almost 40%.  Unless, of course, the reaper catches an earlier train and calls beforehand...but let's not go there.  Here they are - reflections of my life:

1983
January, or thereabouts, I began this journey!  Not much I can say, until Saturday October 22nd, when I saw light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, at St. Luke's Hospital, Pieta'.

1984
Halfway through summer of Orwell's infamous year I made my first steps.  Quite a milestone I would say, given that walking is probably the activity which I have done every single day in the past 30 years.  And a few months later, in the traditional Maltese quccija, I picked up the hammer.  Magistrate?  Carpenter?  With the benefit of hindsight, one could attribute the tool to construction in general.  Hence, the architect/structural engineer?

1985
Not much can I remember from here at this point, except from surprisingly vivid memories of my first Christmas and the effort which my parents, uncles and aunts made at re-interpreting the concept of Santa Claus delivering my presents via some other way other than the (non-existent) chimney, which I clearly pointed out.

1986
I would say that my most clear recollection from this year is listening to Madonna's "La isla bonita" and eventually "Who's that girl" which I would "sing" to my new-born sister in 1987.  There was no MTV, no YouTube, no Spotify and no iPods: only the radio which was the sole source of entertainment to my then-teenage aunt.  But perhaps this first exposure to music led to my later interest in this art?  I know what the reader is saying, "Seriously?  Madonna?"  But every cloud has its silver lining.

It would also be the year when I first went to kindergarten and presumably reinforced my knowledge of the alphabet and the numbers.  Elementary, true, but, at the end of the day, every single thing I have ever studied, read and/or written is a mere combination of these 10 digits and these 26 letters.  Period.  So quite an important academic year that was!

1987
The year my sister was born, which taught me a great lesson: that the world does not revolve around me (I learnt this before I heard of Galileo and his 'outrageous' theory that the earth is not the centre of the universe) but I need to share resources and respect the needs of others.  Possibly one of life's greatest lessons which sadly many do not adhere to in the real world, from a colleague sharing a bathroom at the office to multi-billionaires destroying acres of rainforest every day.

1988
This was a year of many firsts: first time out of Malta, first time on a plane, first time I had a McDonald's milkshake.  It was a relatively long trip in Germany, which brought also a number of disappointments: I was hoping to get a piece of cloud (but found that plane windows cannot be opened) and when visiting the Efteling fun park discovered that cartoon characters were not limited to hand-drawn entities but could also take the form of people dressed up in costumes.  On a more serious note, I finally realised that the world is way bigger than Malta, to the extent that while on a train, my first experience of paresthesia took place. Nothing serious, of course, but at the time I was terrified that I was nearing death, with the cause being the ingrowing 'cactus plant' from all my nail-biting, a "disease" which had been used (unsatisfactorily) by my parents, uncles and aunts to make me quit the vice (I eventually did but only in 2000 or so).

1989
My first year at De La Salle College or DLS, which provided all my primary and secondary education for an entire decade.  I would say that a few years after this point I started the intensive love-affair with Maltese history and architecture in particular, thanks to history lessons, which eventually led to my line of study.

In late 1989, I also started my music and piano tuition, which again led to an enduring passion which I maintain to this day.

1990
The year of my 2nd trip abroad (Italy, this time) at a time when the entire country was still feverish with Italia Novanta (or the 1990 World Cup), which brings to mind the many First Communion parties I was invited to during that summer, which often included TV sets with live matches.  And mentioning First Communions, of course I also had my own on 10th June, which was the first (and probably last) time I had a bespoke suit made for me!

1991
One particular event I recall from this year: my first ever visit to a construction site (the Malta International Airport, where my father worked as a materials analyst at the time).  I was completely overwhelmed by the vast size of the project, even back then.  My clear memory is of a wide expanse of a sea-like, blue-coloured plastic (which I now know is the damp proof membrane laid before the ground slab was cast) in what would later be the arrivals and departures lounges.  Probably it was the decisive moment when the die was cast and my fate as a structural engineer was sealed.

1992
I was only 8 at the time but I know it was the year when local general elections took place and it was probably the first time billboards were used (instead of the posters glued on buildings which I faintly remember from 1987).  I remember a PN slogan at the time including the word solidarjeta' or solidarity, which I had no idea at the time what it meant, but I then remember an incident during lunch time when 2 students were involved in a 'fight' and an elder student controlled the situation yelling, "Fejn hi s-solidarjeta'?" or "Where is the solidarity?" whilst other on-lookers made references to the said slogan.  It was perhaps the first time I realised that politics were serious (albeit 'grown-up') business; luckily I was never involved in the matters, until 1998...

1993
My first decade of life: I started my final year in primary school this year and it was very clear in my mind back then that I wanted to be "an architect, like Glormu Cassar", or the prolific 16th century Maltese architect responsible for building most of Valletta's public edifices.  It was a combination of many incidents - the airport visit, the exposure to and love of art in general, the history classes referred to earlier, my childhood experiences in the Kalkara valley and the vernacular architecture there - but it was a decision which influenced many later decisions, which (of course) I do not regret.

1994
As a consequence of the event in 1993, I started secondary school in 1994, which saw a transition from the 'junior school' to the 'senior school' and (less gloriously) no longer wearing shorts as part of the school uniform.  It was a radical shift in the schooling process, with my new subjects, including foreign languages, of which I never found any use at the time except for following Italian TV, but which became extremely handy many years down the line in my travels around Europe...

1995
One event comes to mind: the bicycle accident of 1st May, which left its mark on me (thankfully not physical) till this day.  I cannot try to ride a bike without feeling all my muscles stiffen and completely mishandling the vehicle.  I do not see any ways how this can be modified...

1996
I recall that I was in Form 3 (i.e. late 1996 or early 1997) that I had my first experience of the Internet at home.  Needless to say, it was via a dial-up connection using a 56k modem on a Pentium I 133MHz PC running Windows '95.  It is almost surreal to compare this seemingly archaic technology with the state-of-the-art digital advances.  I am not comparing the Airbus A380 with the Wright brothers - a century apart - but this is a mere 20 years ago.  I wonder what there can be beyond wireless and cloud technology...

1997
It was around this time that I realised that the end of secondary school is marked by sitting for 'O' Level exams.  It was a word I had vaguely heard during conversations about my elder cousins, which seemed not applicable to me at the time but which suddenly became an imminent reality I had to face too!

1998
Recalling the reference to Maltese politics under '1992' above, it was during this summer that I went to the first political mass meeting(s) which uniquely characterise electoral campaigns in Malta.  It was also when I decided that I will never attend such events again: I hate crowds and people (thinking about it, maybe I am claustrophobic?) and cannot fathom why one should go to such an event, particularly if during the hot and humid Maltese summer, when one can follow everything on TV from the comfort of home.  And why should I indicate which party's meeting am I going to when voting is all done in secret?  I never went to such events again (except on the E.U. accession celebrations in 2004...and a number of rock concerts) and never intend to do so in the future.

1999
And this was the year when I finished my 10 year stay at DLS, when I successfully sat for the famous 'O' Levels and when I started my 2 year (Sixth Form) stint at St. Aloysius College or SAC.  It was an eventful year, particularly summer, when I had my first experience of voluntary work, which taught me that there are some aspects of life which cannot be bought by money and are quite priceless.  Of course, us Christians believe that payment will be done in the afterlife, but let's keep things simple here...

The choice to go to SAC rather than stay at DLS was purely for the sake of change (besides the better reputation which SAC had, at least in my mind).  I have absolutely no regrets and they were 2 of the best years of my life.  The extra curricular activities I was engaged in - teen group, music group, Soiree - ensured that I never had a dull moment, amidst all the pure maths which became deeply engrained in me, alongside my ever-growing love for rock music and some friendships which developed at SAC which I hold dear till this day.

2000
The infamous millennium.  The millennium bug.  The Y2K.  The end of the world.  What I recall most from 2000 are the summer months, when I got my first (paid) job as a waiter in a local restaurant.  Besides all the protocol of silver services and many 'tricks of the trade', this working experience taught me the value of money and that the only ransom for money is hard work, whether it is physical or intellectual.

2001
Can anyone not remember where s/he was on 11/09/01?  I was having a nap and awoke to see the burning WTC North Tower and, sadly, just in time to see the 2nd plane hit the South counterpart.  The significance for me was the fact that it happened a few weeks away from my first day at university, where I finally enrolled on the architecture/civil engineering course.  The latter initially proved to be a sort of cultural shock, particularly drawing streetscapes and the whole lot after 2 years of pure maths and physics...

2002
Right after the new year, precisely on 03/01/02, I sadly experienced the first family death: that evening and rather suddenly the sole nannu I knew passed away.  Even 11 years on it is surreal to think that he passed to a better life exactly on the same day my other nannu had died 20 years earlier...

On a much happier note, 27/06/02 was the day (or night) when I started dating one of my colleagues from uni whom I had already known from SAC.  The years rolled on and, as they say, the rest is history.

On a lighter note, it was during this summer that I had my first car: the VW Polo Fox hatchback (FAA-821)!

2003
The second decade of my life.  Almost half way through my undergraduate degree, walking towards my professional goal in life.

2004
My very own annus horribilis.

My beloved nanna passed away on 12/02/04 quite literally in my hands, only 1 day after a rather terrible design review (which eventually became the only time I ever had an exam referral).  Just over 5 months later on 15/07/04, my uncle lost his decade-long, brave battle against cancer.

Two losses which left a deep impact on me, each in their own way.  On one hand, the fragility of life and how we live at the mercy of, well, fate.  On the other, how much family can never be underestimated, taken for granted or even unappreciated; luckily, it was not the case with nanna.  From that point onwards I knew I had to invest all the effort necessary to reach my goals and dedicate the achievement in their memory.

2005
It was during this year that I made the choice to choose to devote my final 2 years at uni focusing more on civil/structural engineering rather than architecture; a choice which seemed so obvious back then but which would eventually be responsible for further choices down the line, always from the educational and/or career point of view.  In retrospect, I do not think I would have chosen otherwise!

It was also during this summer that I worked as an architect/structural engineer for the first time during a summer placement at DeMicoli's in Portomaso.  What an experience that was - I probably learnt as much as I did in 4 years of lectures!

2006
And finally I got my B.E.&A.(Hons.) degree.  It was the end of an era but certainly leading to exciting times in the industry - I returned to DeMicoli's and was lucky enough to work on some of the practice's larger projects, including a 6 week stint in Libya in May 2007.  The learning curve was steep, not because of the difficulties but because in a short time I believe I reached respectable heights and I feel I will be always indebted to the office when it comes to my professional development.  First love never dies, as they say.

2007
Only until I flew to London on 22/09/07: scared and excited at the same time.  The learning at Imperial College was intensive (I distinctly recall my reaction after the first finite element analysis lecture, which I will not reproduce here for the sake of decency), but the learning on a personal level was probably several orders of magnitude bigger.  For the first time I was away from home for a reasonable length of time and this brought about new responsibilities.  It also made me aware of what it really takes to run a household and that nothing can truly be taken for granted, including finding clean laundry in the drawer!

What I also learnt not to take for granted was something even more fundamental: life itself.  The passing away of my cousin (who at merely 22 or 2 years younger than me) on 10/04/07 made me realise that the sad events of 2004 could really happen at any time and being alive is a huge privilege; life must be enjoyed to its fullness.  Amidst all the hard work at Imperial, throughout that scholastic year I did my best to live up to this whilst in London.

2008
And after 12 intensive months, it was finally over.  I got my M.Sc. and the conspicuous D.I.C., which Imperial awards to all its graduands, irrespective of gender.  My time in London was not over: I moved to Surrey and started working with an engineering consultation practice, which, in a sort of deja vu manner, proved to be a very fruitful experience as much as the postgraduate degree was.

After living in London for a year with £1 being a steady €1.50 (or rather Lm0.60 as I knew it), 2008 was also the year when the pound decided to collapse, with the 2 currencies almost being 1:1 right after I got my first pay cheque, making my earnings not any much better than what I would get at home...

2009
Which is what I did in April 2009: I packed my 100kg of belongings and got a 1 way ticket to Malta.  It was a serendipitous move: only a few months later did my girlfriend and I change our status to fiancée and fiancé, which brought about an exciting set of new activities to address.  And in the meantime, that phone call from Imperial with an offer for a funded Ph.D. due to start in October!  With all the dates set and virtually everything taken care of, I got yet another 1 way ticket to Heathrow and began another adventure, only that this time I knew I was not going to be alone for long!

2010
Everything changed after 20/03/10.  The happiest day I can think of - finally Mr. and Mrs. Micallef.  I think marriage is one of life's defining moments, probably the biggest commitment (even if, ironically, 2010 was the year Malta introduced divorce).  Till one becomes a parent of course.

Being in London for a 2 year long 'honeymoon' started as a joke but amidst all the ups and downs which would follow throughout the course of my Ph.D. and with the 2 years extended by a further 2 (or so), it was definitely an exciting period of European travel (to date: Budapest, Barcelona, Paris, Valencia, Marrakesh and Amsterdam) and the occasional U.K. trip (too many to remember!), it was (and still is) a truly remarkable experience to live the first few years of married life in a city like London...and beyond.

2011
This was the year of uprising in the Arab states but was relatively calm in the Micallef household, except that there was a major decision taken towards the end of summer when my wife was also offered to do a Ph.D., which she accepted and thus extended our temporary stay in London by at least another 2 years...

2012
Definitely one of the hardest years I can think of.  Never was I so close to quitting the bloody Ph.D. than the summer of this year.  Frustration and difficulty in finding motivation were the main culprits but thanks to the (very little) determination I had left and the (very persistent) support I received, I managed to somehow complete my work and started writing up the blessed thesis in late autumn...

It also marked another sad family-related episode: my last-surviving grandparent passed away on 15/03/12 and with nanna I bid farewell to an entire generation of my family.  Some life lessons are never taught at school, even if at the most advanced of the tertiary sort, and they are only learnt from experience.  It still remains for me one of life's dilemmas although I paradoxically believe it is God's best way of dealing with us humans, that whatever and whoever you are, the same fate awaits us all...

2013
And here we are today: my third decade of life.  This turned out to be a mini autobiography more than anything else, but I am one who finds it hard to kiss, that is, to keep it simple (no 'stupid' here for I respect you, dear reader, for having stuck till the end).  That's part of me, along the other aspects which make who I am: a son, a brother, a husband, an architect/structural engineer and a music aficionado, currently stuck in London and now truly enjoying every bit of it more than ever before.

After the long ordeal at Imperial (whose termination I found most welcome), I gave academia another chance by working as a research fellow at the University of Surrey.  To be fair, it was less stressful working scenario, albeit still productive, but...that will be in another post.

What's planned for this decade?  They say life begins at 40, so I have plenty of time left to think about what I will do in life.  Till then, the plan is to get yet another 1 way ticket to Malta and simultaneously build a new home there and a professional career, cherishing all the memories accumulated in London.  I seriously cannot imagine what I will be writing about in the period 2014-2023 but definitely will not be in a blog called "The streets of London"!