Despatches
Neon thrills in Primrose Hill; life on the street in London; coffee culture in Addis Ababa; a TV chef with a difference in Cairo
[ LONDON ]
The light fantastic
TO FIND OUT WHAT THE CELEBRITY SET will be getting for Christmas this year, look no further than no.156 Regents Park Road, in London’s Primrose Hill. It’s here you’ll find God’s Own Junkyard, artist Chris Bracey’s pop-up shop, in residence until mid January. Bracey’s chosen medium is neon and his signs, it turns out, are a beacon for the rich and famous: when we visit he’s been open for less than two weeks and already Daisy Lowe has dropped in, Jude Law’s bought three pieces and Sadie Frost has put in a bespoke order. Jamie Oliver, meanwhile, was transfixed by the rotating, four-foot statue of Jesus sporting a neon halo and football shirt. ‘He stood there for ten minutes,’ says Bracey. ‘He was really zombied out.’
Bracey’s own neon fixation began in the 1970s, when he started working with his father, a coalminer from the Rhondda Valley who carved out a new career making illuminated fairground signs. Extracting money from the showmen proved tricky, though, and Chris went his own way, finding a more profitable niche in the after-dark world of Soho. After he designed a sign for the Pink Pussycat, all the club owners wanted one, and his neon-bright outlines of curvaceous girls and promises of non-stop striptease soon blinked from every alley.
That, in turn, led to a commission for Soho gangster movie Mona Lisa, since which Bracey’s career has burned ever brighter. He’s seen his work on the façade of the Tate and in Tim Burton’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He’s worked with fashion photographer David La Chapelle (‘he was really nice’), Turner Prize winner Martin Creed (‘he used to come round and have a bacon sandwich’) and even the late Stanley Kubrick (who he says was a bit odd). With a dealer in LA, his work now realises serious sums.
He’s at his happiest, though, in his sprawling Walthamstow workshop, twisting Murano glass tubes into letters and siphoning in the gas. His favourite piece in the shop, he says, is the flashing arrow that says ‘love and laughter’. ‘At the end of the day,’ he says, surveying the twinkling lights, ‘those are the two things you really want: to love and to ’ave a laugh’. Elizabeth Winding 156 Regents Park Road; www.godsownjunkyard.co.uk
[ LONDON ]
Unseen city
HUNDREDS OF WALKING TOURS TAKE PLACE EVERY DAY IN LONDON, but none are quite like Unseen Tours. Unseen’s homeless guides show interested parties – tourists, school groups, businesses, charities and ordinary Londoners – what life is like for the very poor in one of the biggest and richest cities in the West. The homeless know these streets well – far too well, perhaps – and as tour guides they will not only tell you about the history of the area, but also offer more personal insights. They’ll talk about the doorways they have slept in, the cafés they are welcomed in, and the friends they have made and lost over the years. It’s fascinating, occasionally harrowing, and you’ll never see the city in the same way again.
The walks are organised by The Sock Mob, a group formed several years ago to spend time with the homeless and help them overcome their loneliness. ‘We broke the ice by giving them socks and showing that we had no agenda, but just wanted to chat,’ says Lidija Mavra, who helped found the group. ‘Over the years the network has grown. The idea for the tours came from the homeless. It was important to do something creative and meaningful for them. They get to connect with people who have never met a homeless person and may not have wanted to.’
The tours began as part of the London Festival Fringe in August 2010, and proved so popular they now take place three times a week in five different destinations: Shoreditch, London Bridge, Covent Garden, Mayfair and Brick Lane. The hosts are either currently homeless or have recently moved into accommodation, and while their memories are fascinating, revealing a hidden side to London life that few of us could imagine, they are also troubling. Life on the streets is tough and the guides do not shirk from telling you how badly the homeless can be treated by all sections of society. But they always do so with wit and compassion: these tours are entertaining and serve as a vital reminder that the homeless are human too, all of them different.
‘We help them with the history angle, coach them in researching the area and then let them add as much personal experience as they feel comfortable with,’ explains Mavra. Unseen Tours, then, are a very different way of allowing people to meet the city’s rough sleepers and learn a little more about London’s history and its secrets. Peter Watts www.sockmobevents.org.uk/
[ADDIS ADABA]
Heritage brew
A QUOTE FROM BALZAC HANGS OVER the entrance of Ethiopia’s oldest coffee shop: ‘When you drink a cup of coffee ideas come marching in like an army’.
Judging by the long queue for espressos (yours for the equivalent of 18 pence), there’s no shortage of ideas to be heard at Tomoca, open almost every day since 1953. The fact that the place still pulls in crowds despite huge competition from Kaldi’s, a Western- style local chain with an oddly familiar green-and-white logo, keeps operations director Wondwossen Zewdu full of beans. ‘It’s a meeting place for Ethiopians,’ he explains, pointing at a group of men engaged in animated conversation. ‘At home you talk to your friends and neighbours, but here you can talk to strangers. It’s a place for talking about politics, weather, news, sport, business … everything!’
Coffee plays a central role in everyday Ethiopian life. A typical drinking session in a family’s front room can take several hours; the beans have to be roasted, ground and brewed before multiple cups are consumed by all in attendance. Drinking at Tomoca is quicker but no less sociable. Customers argue over the day’s news, play cards and chat.
The shop was originally opened by Italian businessmen but five years later the Woube family took over and they’re still in charge today. ‘The secret to our long success is that we’ve always focused on quality,’ says Akalu Woube, the assistant manager and Zewdu’s uncle. ‘It’s still the best coffee in town.’ Handsome but broken Italian equipment purchased by the original owners still lines the top of the counters, symbolic of the family’s heritage and expertise.
‘Coffee means everything to Ethiopians,’ says Zewdu. ‘I think the average person drinks at least nine cups of coffee a day.’
This seems a conservative estimate. Matthew Lee
[ CAIRO ]
Square meals
Earlier this year 33-year-old Ghalia Mahmoud was a maid for a wealthy Egyptian family. Her life changed when her boss’s brother came to dinner. He was founder of Egypt’s TV 25 channel – named for 25 January, the day Egypt’s revolutionaries took to Tahrir Square – and he was on the lookout for new presenters that the average Egyptian person could relate to. In Ghalia, a sunny, outspoken, self-taught cook from a poor neighbourhood, he thought he might have what he was looking for.
For her job interview she was asked if she could prepare a meal on just a couple of dollars. Accustomed to feeding her extended family on the smallest of budgets, Ghalia made a meal for a family of eight for $5 and with it launched herself on a new career.
Like the meals she prepares, this is TV on a budget. The studio is an apartment, where filming takes place in a cramped kitchen furnished with inexpensive aluminium pots, plastic plates and a propane gas stove.
From here, three times week, Ghalia cooks up thrifty meals (meat or fish is only served on payday, Friday), liberally seasoned with home-spun advice (‘I’m giving you recipes so you can spend less on food and more on education’) and stories of life in her neighbourhood. Dubbed the ‘chef of the revolution’, she has fans across the Arab world; when the show is on air, the producers can barely keep up with the volume of calls.
Ghalia still buys her ingredients at her local market and catches the bus to work. ‘My audience can relate to me: that’s why the show’s been a success,’ she says. ‘It reflects the mood of my country.’ Sakhr Al-Makhadhi
