American Fez

Playa del Carmen

I have just returned from the 'Mayan Riviera' as the eastern coast of the Yucatan Peninsula is conceitedly known in resort-speak. It is an area of Mexico completely devoted to the cultivation of hangovers and suntans. The only buildings here are shops, restaurants, bars and hotels. Tourists can have themselves pierced and tattooed in between shots of tequila. In the souvenir superstores they can purchase ersatz Mexican culture and almost anything with Frida Kahlo's face plastered across the front. Natural flora is hidden behind a forest of flip flop trees, sombrero bushes and inflatable cacti.
To attain a moment of tranquility it is essential to rise with the Zapatistan lark, since walking abroad any later than daybreak means sharing the beach with obese hedonists sucking contentedly on overpriced bottles of Corona. There are sunburned Europeans stumbling along the sands with their burden of scuba diving equipment. Persistent locals hawk full body massage and other sybaritic services. Meanwhile, pop music from the numerous beach clubs fills the air with a jumble of different songs; their enormous sub-woofers struggling for aural prominence with the jet skis and outboard motors of sports fishing boats.
At six in the morning, however, the shoreline is mostly serene and deserted. You might encounter the odd exhibitionist performing tai chi, but they don't bother me. Neither do the squinting pelicans, bewildered rock pool crabs, creaking palm trees or lapping waves. A welcome adjournment from kitschy commercialisation, however brief it may last, and certainly worth the trip south of the border in an economy seat with a layover in Newark.

One Man's Idea Is Another Man's Prison

Hitler was a failed architect; today, he'd be a succesful one. I suppose, then, we should thank the horrors of modern construction for adopting such tyrannical personalities and for allowing them to assuage their lebensraum fantasies in city squares rather than on international maps. Surely it's better to confine beady-eyed maniacs to local planning offices rather than release them into the wild. Mind you, having said that, look what a dreadful hash Mussolini made of downtown Rome with his ugly Via dell'Impero. You can't win with these people and, alas, there are so many of them. 

2013(a)

I was in Washington DC recently, the ne plus ultra of institutional architecture. Even the fast food restaurants have neo-classical facades. I went to the National Gallery and saw a Roy Lichetenstein retrospective. Whaam! Now I remember, I don't like Roy Lichtenstein.

So I went to the Smithsonian and gazed at Davey Crockett's hat instead. At least, I think it was Davey Crockett's hat. There's every possibility that it was actually a stuffed beaver and I was in the Natural History Museum by mistake. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference when all the buildings look the same.