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Showing posts with label argentina. Show all posts
Showing posts with label argentina. Show all posts

Thursday, September 6, 2012

At What Price Pride
















The question is often asked "who we are?" or "what do we do?".  Quite a bit of confusion abounds over how to get hold of one of our shirts, coats, or other splendid things we find along the way.  Sometimes the tone is more disgruntled. "Do you actually want to sell anything?  Why is it so difficult to get a shirt?"  Perhaps a favorite point of consternation is whether we are a clothing company that travels or travelers that create clothing?  Of course my response to this line of questioning is equally maddening.  Both.









Before we threaded a stitch or waded through bolts of shirting material we were travelers.  If you've read the older journal posts you can see that we aren't playing around.  From the earliest of days travel has driven me just as it has touched others in our merry little group.  Ive always had to push a bit further, to see what was just around the bend, over the next ridge line, or to see first hand the shimmer on the horizon.  I suppose a therapist would say that I'm never satisfied with what I have, that something is missing that keeps me searching.  Who am I to argue?  I do know that the true explorers of our world of both the geographic and mental variety are incredibly worthy of my admiration.  I believe that humans have an innate curiosity, a wanderlust.  To dampen this is to go against our very nature.  The chap in the corner office looking at figures and tallies of why things cant be done, not so much of an inspiration.
















So, we are travelers who have a good eye for things.  Fortunate enough to grow up in such a manner that we understand the intrinsic worth of something.  The lovely people that we occasionally partner up with aren't culled from a business directory.  These are people that for one reason or another we have migrated towards.  I'm not sure there is a moment as powerful as when seemingly at random, two kindred spirits connect.  That combustion and instant drive can be overwhelming.  Yet that's how it happens.  Its happened in Parma, in Lancashire, and in Buenos Aires.  All people so incredibly passionate about what they do that it is completely infectious.  You meet an older gentleman in Northampton and suddenly you are engaged by his version of the correct British sole.  As darkness falls you leave the leathery smells behind, shaking his worn hand and knowing that you will be doing something together in the future.  These are the people you want to surround yourself with.  Young or old, it doesn't matter; but there must be that passion.













I know that terms such as curated, small batch, artisanal, and crafted are terrific buzz words at the moment.  Without attaching a label it's what the people that make our goods (ok, attaching a label might be easier) have been doing for generations.  Its all they know how to do.  They have to run in small batches because they aren't set up to run bigger.  Many things are hand stitched because they feel that this is the only correct way.  We stick things in our cases when we travel.  Some times we sell these things.  Other times we order more of these things.  I tell people  we make unique, hand made items, from some fairly out of the way places,  available to a select group.  Apparently I'm supposed to say we curate for a discerning market.







We are gone a significant amount.  Some of us more than others.  As a result,  our offerings have been sporadic at best.  We know this and frankly don't know what we want to do about it.  Our shirts really are beautiful.  I love it when I receive emails and yes, letters (someones been paying attention to my ravings) about how much a shirt means to someone.  Its the same reason I had the shirts made for my self to begin with.  To have something in your wardrobe that you are so enthralled with that you wear it again and again with little regard to hygeine is a true testament.  I want you to feel that way about your shirt.  To be out of sorts when you are stuck wearing one of your other shirts that you thought was so grand (and pricier) until you received one of our chocolate coloured boxes in the post.




















I want more people to experience the above.  I honestly do.  However, I'm not prepared to sit in a cubbyhole all day so that more people have more items to chose from.  Here is where pride tends to get in the way.  In order to provide an opportunity for more people to lay their hands on our cloth (I couldn't resist) things would have to be dramatically different.  Ive been approached by groups who want to use our name and our style for shirts produced in fairly large factories in Eastern Europe and Asia.  Ive nothing against these places.  I travel there, Ive been to these factories but its just not the same.  There isn't that connection or that sense of history and place.  Our shirts don't have to be made in Italy but I like the family we work with.  There is a fantastic history of shirt making in Northern India that harkens back to the days of The Raj. A skilled family owned company that cut their teeth producing material and later finished goods for the British officers in the hill country.  At a later time I'd love to work with these charming people.  Its a perfect fit for us but I have an obligation to the fine hands that stitched that very first shirt.  This is relevant to me and it should be to you. 


















Objects with a true heritage and sense of place are incredibly important in this world.  Do you know that trout don't live in ugly places?  Amazing shirts aren't stitched there either....







I'm told that how we do things is not the correct way to run a profitable business.  Who said anything about a business, let alone a profitable one?  At this time we pass these items along and hope to clear enough to fund our trip and to make sure that the family is happy.  From time to time I do entertain the notion of "getting serious" and I do think it the correct thing to do in order to provide more of an offering to those that want.  I'm told that my pride gets in the way of some massive type expansion.  I'm okay with that but I know I need to give just a bit.   Rather than look at an operation that churns out goods for everyone under the sun I'd rather invest in the friends that we have made.  A couple of new machines in Italy, perhaps the same in Argentina.  Still not sure what we can do for George and his gang in Northampton but it will be something worthwhile when I think of it.












I realize this has done little to shed much light on us.   However,  I can promise that one of two things will happen down the road.  We will continue as we are, trickling out product as we see fit or we will get partly serious (never get completely serious about anything) and I won't  let my pride get in the way of sharing more of our lovely treasures with more of you discerning people.
 












Until then. I have a flight to catch.....

Monday, January 18, 2010

Until next year then.......

January 16 - Santa Rosa - St Carlos de Bolivar - Buenos Aires

I have no words today, just tears and photos. Two men, one bike, five cameras. Against all odds, WE DID IT.




More coming in the next few days when I recover some composure.

Friday, January 15, 2010

just great words from Simon

Thursday, 14 Jan 2010

January 14 – San Juan - San Rafael

I am writing this under siege, in a service station, about 100km from San Rafael, Argentina. Although we are clearly not driving in the race – merely reporting on it, we were mobbed as we pulled up. I signed autograph after autograph before finally stumbling into this air-conditioned haven. Right now we are holed up with two confused looking American drivers from the Monster Hummer team. The crowd are banging on the windows, staring in, trying to attract the attention of the yanks (my ego would like to think that it’s all about me, but it’s definitely not).One of the many fine things about Argentine servos is the fact that they sell beer, long necks of beer. So as I write, I am supping cold Heineken and watching the mayhem unfold outside.




Last night I felt like I was filming something of a last supper, this morning as I pointed the camera at Christophe over the bivouac table, I was unable to shake the fear that by the end of today, it could all be over. Everything I shot was coloured with “last?”.
We hit the road at around 7.00am, heading to the end of today’s special. This latter part of the rally is attracting spectators in their tens/hundreds of thousands and we had to weave a torrid path through their cars to find a space to leave the car close to the village of San Martin.






It was hot as we walked towards the arrival checkpoint – very hot, definitely up in the high 30s with very little shade. The prospect of a long, hot, nervous wait for Christophe was not one that I relished. I have taken to carrying the hard drive that holds all the footage I have taken with me at all times. I was worried that the intense heat would somehow damage it, so I practically crawled under a thorn bush which offered some shade and prepared to wait.
I soon tired of this uncomfortable predicament and longingly eyed the shady awning under which the official Dakar TV crew were waiting. Earlier in the day, I had sent an SMS to one of the TV guys at the race organisers to have him tell people to expect me at the finish. I had little hope of this leading to anything, but it is at this point that the day started to become officially good. As I wandered over to the awning, a rough looking, Gauloises smoking TV guy was on the phone. I heard my name. “Am I hallucinating? Is it the heat? The exhaustion?” No. before I knew it, I had escaped the sweaty solipsism of the independent film maker and was sat in a camp chair, enjoying banter with the French guys.

The crowd at the finish were frenzied. In amongst the dust being kicked up by a hot wind, they mobbed every bike or car that arrived, chanting, shouting, touting T-shirts, flags, bags, stickers, underwear? To be signed. The French TV producer seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, chain smoking like a madman as he attempted to “shoo” them away from the TV area. It made for great viewing from the luxury of my chair.
It was at least an hour and a half before I even thought about filming – expecting Christophe to come in 2 ½ hours or so behind the leaders. Eventually, I got up and captured some of the madness – a long lens bringing the action close up to me, quite literally in my face. Fifty or so bikes had come through. Rob Pollard among them. Another great performance, finishing in the thirties despite a broken elbow that is causing him serious discomfort.

The Volkswagen cars that are leading the race arrived in, and the crowd broke ranks and went wild. Monsieur Gauloises lit a whole pack at once and ran into the fray, looking ready to cause serious harm to anyone who’d interfere with his broadcast. An immaculately dusty long-haired French TV presenter complete with neck scarf flowing in the wind attempted to look composed as he reported from the heart of the madness.

I stood back, well away from the chaos – letting my long lens bring it all to me. It was out of the corner of this lens that I spied an orange helmet, forging a path through the throngs of passionate fans. I blinked, pulled my face away from the eye-piece, wanting to check this apparition for myself. The French TV presenter laughed a perfectly manicured laugh at a comment from one of the VW drivers. The TV crew’s camera captured the whole manufactured scene, and right out of their shot and into mine came Christophe.

There is, so I’m told a position you can find on a motorbike where riding becomes effortless. In the face of an injured back, a torn triceps and 13 days of hard riding, it is this Zen riding state that Christophe found today. He rode better, faster, more efficiently than he has on any day since the race began. How, I do not know, but somewhere amidst the sun scorched rocks and parched sierra earth between San Juan and San Raphael, Christophe found the something that maybe, just maybe could take him through to Buenos Aires.






Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Simon checks in- Atacama & Bienvenido en Chile


Atacama


Jan 5 – Fiambala – Copiapo – Bienvenido en Chile

505 km driven today; up over the Andes and down into the Atacama desert on the Chilean side. Landscape ranged from surreal to stunningly beautiful to downright unsettling as we rolled into the stark aridity of the Atacama. Dubbed the driest place on earth, it hasn’t rained in this place for 300 years; and it shows. Huge gritty sand dunes the size of mountains dwarf anything before them. I was desperate for water – to drink, to bathe in, to break the visual drought.
But the day began with a climb up to a crazy 4760m pass. I stopped to shoot a heap of footage on the way up and by the time we hit the summit was definitely feeling the altitude.

Jacob, the SBS journo I’m travelling with was suffering more than me, suggesting we stop for a sleep at around 4500m! I figured we needed to get down and drove the next 150km or so until the air was somewhat thicker. The switch from mountains to dunes was seamless. So odd to see dunes of this height, at 3000 metres. I found the landscape decidedly unsettling – beautiful maybe but totally alien.
Enough about me. Christophe had a great day today, dubbing it the “first real Dakar stage of this Dakar”. He was at the bivouac when we arrived, hanging out in the shade waiting for his assistance truck to arrive.

The terrain was much more suited both to his riding style and bike. The organizers had shortened the special after a large number of riders and drivers didn’t make it home until late into last night or early this morning. After the horrors of yesterday’s stage, I’d say today was a welcome respite. The bike is fine. Just the air filter to be changed before tomorrow. So Christophe gets a well earned early night before a very long special tomorrow. He’s now ranked 64th overall. Not bad for a bloke who by his own admission didn’t get to train half as much as he would have liked. Was talking to Christophe before coming out to blog and he thinks he’s actually placed second among the riders with no mechanic or assistance. We may have an interesting new subplot on our hands…
You may be wondering how the Fiat is going. Well folks, he’s a little dusty but going good.

We had to dig him out of the sand at 4.30 this morning and ultimately needed a tow from a guy called Sebastien. Thanks Seb. All in a day’s work at the world’s biggest mobile music festival without music – The Dakar Rally.

Yours from the desert. Simon



Monday, January 4, 2010

Stage 3- Cordoba-La Rioja

An update from Simon & Christophe in Cordoba via Team Rally Australia

Que puta calor! Left Cordoba at 11.00pm last night in an attempt to get to the end of today’s special. Got most of the way before tiredness stopped us. Pitched my tent in a dusty abandoned childrens playground and slept the sleep of the very fricken tired.
Our cunning plan paid off and we found our way down a long dusty track to the end of the special. I suspect you’re asking what the hell the special is. Basically every race day is made up of a liason on road and untimed and a special which is the full on off-road bit.
I fended off a French attempt to get me out of the area and got down to business. Christophe came in mid way through the field.

Dusty and tired but good. He took a tumble somewhere along the way and damaged a fork that he has since replaced. Had big trouble with the helmet cams today. I think it’s the insane heat that is messing with the lithium batteries. It’s ok, I’ll just send a production assistant to get some more. Oh! Forgot, I don’t have one.
Spectacular scenery as we drove across the plain towards the Andes. This is the stuff I live for. Looking forward to crossing into Chile in two days time. We’ll be crossing a mountain pass at over 4000m.

So so far all good. Christophe still in the race, getting good footage and boiling our arses off in Argentina.
Tomorrow, the mechanical freak show that is the Dakar moves to Fiambala. Hasta Pronto