Travel Archives | James Alexander-Sinclair

Those who have read this blog before will be fully aware that I love a jaunt. An unnecessary number of past blog entries have involved me wittering on about mooching through Moscow, charging around China or even just sauntering to Scotland or waffling about Wales.

Today I am off again but with not much horticulture involved. Previously I have gone to give talks in Canada or lectures in the US but this time I have an important mission to accomplish.

Saturday.11:50 – It begins, as many of these things do, at Heathrow airport and an aeroplane. I booked a BA flight in January and it has now been shifted to American Airlines who appear to have a cabin crew of little charm but I guess it is just an overblown taxi and that sort of thing doesn’t really matter. The days of cocktail shakers, armchairs and stewardesses dressed like debutantes are long gone. I am sitting on it for a long time – about eleven hours – as I am going to Los Angeles, a city which I have never visited before.

18:40: Just as an aside, is the Mile High Club actually a thing? I ask purely from idle curiosity and a grudging admiration for anybody capable of such contortions in such a tiny and inhospitable cupboard.

21:00 I am quite bored. I have got to that time in a journey when one has had enough of films, your ears hurt from headphones and you crave fresh air. The plane has been in the dark for the whole journey which is quite disorientating. We are presented with a strange concoction for lunch. It looks like a collection of rejects from a toddlers arts and crafts workshop.

My neighbour understandably asks the cabin crew for some sort of elucidation.
“Excuse me” he says “what is this?”
The stewardess looks at him disdainfully and says
“You know, I really don’t know “.

And that is it: we chow on down regardless and discover that it is noodles with cashew nuts and other stuff.

18:00 WST: Dinner on roof of hotel- my sister, my brother and his affianced. I am here for the wedding. I am very tired and looking forward to my bed.

Sunday. 07:00: Enough sleeping we are off on a wander around West Hollywood. First impression is that Los Angeles is very big and sprawly – I understand that this thought is neither original nor particularly illuminating. There are some cool buildings up in the hills.

We did the thing where you go and read the stars on the walk of fame: what struck me in particular was the number of Stars for people I had never heard of- shows how easily one can be out of sight and out of mind. Even the ones with remarkable names…Wink Martindale? Irish McCalla? King Baggott? Morris Chestnut? Xavier Cugat? Bronco Billy Anderson? Spanky McFarland?

14:30: Off to Griffith Park. It is hot and crowded but there is a breeze up there with great views to the city below and of the Hollywood sign on the hills – it would have been a bit silly to come all the way here and not see it. It may not be terribly obvious in this photograph but it is there. I am standing by the observatory where they filmed bits of La-La Land: nice place, pretty dreadful film.

Dinner in a loud diner called Bernie’s Beanery where we eat hamburger served by attentively tattooed waitresses.

Monday 10:00: We are going to Huntington, a big old Botanic Garden in Pasadena. It has all the things that you would expect from a botanic garden – roses, herbs etc but, as this is California, it has an amazing Desert Garden. I have always been partial to a cactus (as you can see from this impassioned appeal I did at Chelsea Flower Show a few years ago) but this was something else. Spiky buggers In glorious abundance. All laid out thoughtfully and en masse, some flowering but all architectural and exciting. I really loved all of it and it has completely changed my perception of Cacti.

There is also a Japanese garden and the biggest Chinese garden outside Beijing.

14:00 Los Angeles County Modern Art Museum. Great building, ace views, good selection of art including this fabulous model city with trains and cars by Chris Burden (Metropolis 2)

19:00: Tomorrow we go to the desert and the purpose of this little jaunt becomes clear…..

There will be at least one more part to this story – bear with me.

I am listening to Mistakes by Sharon von Etten. The picture is of more Cacti.

I fear we (or you anyway) are in for another multi part blog as I am off again, this time to Seattle.

Sunday: I have been here once before but only for a very fleeting visit: it was autumn 2012 and I was headed for Vancouver and had the idea that I would go to Seattle and take a bus from there so that I could admire and enjoy the bright colours of autumn or fall as they prefer to call it over here. (I understand why but I fear that it doesn’t fully capture the richness of autumn which is not just about falling leaves but about harvest and extra sweaters and the like). Anyway, long story short it rained so hard that I could see very little of interest from my bus window. There is a blog about it here if you wish to extend your research.

I am travelling on a very crowded flight and am in the middle of a row of four seats. While not unbearably uncomfortable it is not a luxurious position in which to find oneself. The main problem is how you get out to go and do a pee when your neighbour on the aisle is asleep. It seems a bit rude to wake them but climbing over a semi recumbent person is both a little too intimate and requires more gymnastic flexibility than I find myself capable of at my time of life. Nothing for it but to grit the teeth and brace the bladder until they awaken.

I am eating pizza in Pagliacci’s on Pike Street. it is 7:00pm but my body still thinks it is the middle of the night. The man at the next door table is relating the entire plot of Masters of the Universe a woman who is bravely feigning interest. He has an umbrella which acts as a sword for the “By the Power of Greyskull” moments.

Busy day as I am whisked off by the delightful Jason to catch a ferry. We are off to do the Seattle triple – the three outstanding gardens on Bainbridge Island. First up is the legendary Dan Hinkley’s garden, Windcliff. I am fully aware that February is not the sine qua non of garden visiting months but this is quite a place. A view to die for of the Puget Sound, the bone structure of a chiselled starlet (fabulous rock work and a stream that trickles and twinkles) and some truly gobsmacking plants. in particular a trio of Arctostaphylos subtly flowering and with burnished stems the colour of freshly poured Beaujolais.A Sophora nudging into flower, towering Drimys, scattered Opuntias and wherever we went the sweet scent of Edgeworthia.
All that and hummingbirds too.

Second is Heronswood. In a previous life this was the nursery founded by Dan and from whence all sorts of horticultural rarities were dispatched across the United States. Plants whose ancestors were discovered on explorations across the known and unknown world. The gardens consist of a more formal area around the house which dissipates into a lace of winding woodland paths. The gardens and stock were originally sold to the Burpee seed company who shipped all the plants to the east coast for propagating and pretty much ignored the garden until the financial crisis when it was sold to the Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe who have brought the gardens back and continue to care for them
To be honest, it was too early in the season to get the full caboose. Lots of good Hellebores and Cyclamen but many of the plants were still asleep, the only evidence of their existence being an alluringly simple transparent plastic label protruding seductively from the earth

Number three garden (all this fortified only by a troika of pastries at breakfast time) was the 150 acre Bloedel Estate. This is less of a garden with trees than a nature reserve with a couple of gardens. We walked along well maintained paths through meadows and moss shrouded woodland. There are bridges and boardwalks, fallen trees and fields of ferns. It is really charming.
Finally we emerge by the original house that is modest and symmetrical with a view down a steep slope to the sea where you can here the incessant catcalls of a colony of seals. Near the house is a formal Japznese garden with raked gravel, artfully arranged boulders and a pretty impressive tea house large enough to hold not just a tea party but a bring and buy sale. A moss garden follows which, while interesting, is a bit shallow compared to the naturally occurring moss cavalcade available in the woodland.

We retire to eat Vietnamese buns in Bainbridge town before catching the ferry back. I am beginning to droop but nothing wakes you up faster than standing on the prow of a ferry while you cheeks lose all feeling in the icy Pacific winds.

I am listening to The Big Moon.

My goodness, two blogposts in under a month: it is quite like the good old days when people used to read blogs and the world was not completely swamped with words.

Anyway it is that time of year again when I skip off to Moscow to judge the Moscow Flower Show. This will be the fifth year and it is always interesting – the gardens are usually a bit of a mixed bag but never dull. This is my week

Sunday:
Hampton Court for a recce, watch Iceland lose to France then return to the Teddington Travelodge. This is worth a brief mention as it is basically a multi storey car park with rooms and if possible should be avoided. There was a postcard on the bed which said (and I précis this rather than quote verbatim) ‘Welcome to the British summertime. For your convenience we have drawn your curtains to keep out the heat of the day, we have also removed your duvet and left you with a single sheet. We suggest that you open your window at night when the temperatures cool”. This is, we assume, in lieu of air conditioning

Monday is judging which was all very jolly. Then lunch, then feedback then drive home and try not to sleep on the M40.

Tuesday :
Fly to Moscow. Aeroflot this time which has it air crew in very jaunty orange uniform: like a group of Slavic satsumas. I am eating mushroom risotto and fried almonds followed by a perfectly passable tiramisu
Clouds are funny things’ all soft and fluffy to look at but as soon as you go into one in an aeroplane they get all uppity and shake you about in a most alarming way. I had my knee firmly grasped by the very large man next to whom I was sitting on a flight from Glasgow the other day as we lurched through a crowd. I think he was very embarrassed.

Wednesday :
Began with Russian pancakes, boiled sausages and Brussels sprouts but, more importantly, it was judgment day.

Eccentrically the rest of the panel had already judged in my absence so I was mostly on my own and then added my marks to theirs. This resulted in some slightly odd decisions which I had to moderate. There are some okay gardens and a couple of shockers but this is a very young show which needs time to find its place. It would be even better if everybody thought about things a little earlier – some garden applications did not arrive until June – which is not something that we would tolerate at the RHS!

Obviously, as this is Russia, we have to have dignitaries and speeches and a full blown awards ceremony with fanfares and clapping. I signed all the medal certificates and then, after a moment for a swift change of suiting, I showed the deputy British ambassador round the show. He was rather captivated by the idea of gardens uniting countries etc etc and it gave him a rest from talking about the Chilcott report to inquisitive Russian journalists.
We also had the minister of culture who made a longish speech* about something. Then various other people popped onto the stage and talked about how amazing everything was and how grateful we all are etc etc. Russians love a speech even more so if it is made by a government apparatchik. Then I made a speech and dished out medals: this involved two girls – one dressed in a Russian flag and one in a Union Jack – who darted forward and gave each winner a bunch of roses, a bag contains a book and some tea, another bag containing more tea and an MFS pen tidy. My job was to give out a certificate and kiss people when appropriate ** then there were more speeches and more certificates to everybody involved. This included the show’s pet Orthodox priest who has an amazing beard and comes every year to bless us all. He made a speech and was rewarded not only with the tea and roses but a Bosch cordless screwdriver.
Dinner followed in a former chocolate factory with a great view of the river.

Thursday:
I woke up this morning to a bit of a bit of a judging rumpus which always adds a bit of a frisson to proceedings. Facebook was jumping with a certain amount of disgruntlement so I had to pour a lot of oil on a lot of waters – if there had been a cormorant in the vicinity it would have been in trouble. I think all was fine in the end – the problem was that we gave one Best in Show rather than rewarding a best in each category of which there are many – Show, Russian, Balcony, Urban, Art, Chic,Trade etc etc. For some a Gold Medal is not enough…

Having done this I tootled off to give a seminar to the assembled designers and interested parties about judging and show gardens and garden design in general. It was a long seminar with many questions.
I am now also the (apparently) only foreign member of Russia’s largest ecological society. Founded 90 odd years ago by Lenin’s wife they are responsible for planting about 5 billion trees and do work to improve the street planting in towns and cities all over Russia. I have a very smart badge.

Lunch was bortsch and dumplings followed by more feedback. Then a couple of interviews and time for a very swift change and off to a Ukrainian restaurant for dinner. This involved a particular national speciality called, I think, sala. Paper thin slices of pig fat wrapped around a sliver of raw garlic – it melts in the mouth but I am not sure that I am in a hurry to eat it again. This was not all there were, I hasten to add, many delicious things that were less piggy in particular little savoury pastries called Pirojock which I could eat all day if called upon so to do.

More interestingly the restaurant was on the second floor and, on the other side of a glass partition was a large cow – chewing the cud and regarding the assembled diners with a look of abject scorn – a goat, a vast rabbit, some peacocks, a couple of golden pheasants and a very sturdy woman in national costume. It was very weird.

Friday
Home again, home again jiggetty jig via a certain amount of turbulence near Visby.

I am listening to Louise sin the Blue Moon by Alison Moorer.

*I have a very patient and diligent interpreter called Evgeny. He is a great pleasure to be with and is very good at his job. He also has an interesting mixture of pastimes. He looks very bland – which is his job as he is there to blend into the background – with a suit and tie but in his time off he has three cats, he reads an enormous amount, he goes to the gym and is a devotee of House dancing. He is a diamond.

** Russian social kissing involves three points of contact (right cheek, left cheek, right cheek again) so when you have thirty odd medals to give out and most of the awardees are women this takes quite a while and involves a lot of friction.