London 2012, part 2: "Mon-ten-egro, Mon-ten-egro", ball games, wrestling and a posh drunk on the train.

So maybe the website wasn't so bad after all - I managed to get tickets for the women's Basketball semi-final at North Greenwich Arena (O2) between the USA and Australia and then the women's Handball final between Montenegro and Norway at the Basketball arena within the main Olympic park, hurrah! Securing tickets for an event in the main Olympic Park was a real thrill - I had been feeling left out, wanting desperately to see inside the Park whilst the Olympics were still on and here I was with a ticket for the final night (not counting the closing ceremony)!

We will return to this, but first the women's Basketball semi-final. Wow. Basketball has never really grabbed me, but I was certainly gripped by this match. Where did they get so many extremely tall women from? Several were more than 6 feet tall, one was 6 feet 5 and another 6 feet 7! The Aussies led early on but were eventually downed by the Americans after a thrilling, furious, aggressive match full of feinting,"time-outs", personal fouls (boooohhhh!!!) and some frankly bonkers supporters! I loved Liz Cambidge of Australia who was the top scorer for the match and according to my daughter advertises vitamins in Australian TV (!), was taken aback by her team mate, a 6 feet 5 inches Madonna lookalike (the singer, not the nice lady in the religious paintings) with legs so long that her shorts looked like a t-shirt dress and loved to hate Diana Taurisi, a brilliant player in the US team, but (in my not very well informed opinion) was unnecessarily aggressive, pushing and shoving her opponents even when they weren't in possession.

After the match I travelled across the water to Excel using the cable car and enjoying fantastic arial views of North Greenwich Arena (O2 to most people), of the Thames and of the new developments around Excel on the other side. By this time it was after 8pm and the streets around Excel were crowded with people coming to and from the venue as well as people like me - strolling and enjoying the atmosphere, stopping off at the pop up eateries for dinner or snaffling ice cream like me!

The Basketball was great but nothing compares to the handball final in the Basketball Arena. Actually getting there was a thrill - entering the Olympic Park, being so close to the main stadium, walking amongst the thousands of visitors from all over the world, being helped and directed by the "games makers" volunteers. And they really did make the games, helping everyone, smiling, joking and cajoling the huge crowds in order to make everything move smoothly.

After worrying that I wouldn't see the park in all its glory, I was not disappointed. The Basketball Stadium - very simply in its design but very effective, a white box with "golf ball" surfaces, the fantastic curves of the velodrome and the aquatics centre. But the highlight was being able to watch the men's 5000 metres final on the big screen in the area called "Park Live" together with thousands of other visitors. If the roar inside the stadium hadn't been so huge (and we could hear it several hundred yards away), then Mo Farah would have heard us cheering from our patch of grass by the screen. Every time he moved closer to the front, thousands of supporters cheered, screamed and waived their flags in support. But this was nothing compared to that final terrifying lap where he took the chance, took control and held off his opponents to cross the line first for his second medal of the Games. Mad cheering. People crying. Almost hysterical but a moment not to have missed.

And not too long to recover before the start of the Handball final. I first saw handball in Israel where my friend Barak plays for one of the leading teams. Its a great game, easy to follow, very fast but skilful and again, very physical. Montenegro versus Norway. The Norwegians were the reigning Olympic and World Champions. The Montenegrins were in their first Olympic tournament representing a country that had never won a medal in any sport. The stadium was Norwegian wall to wall. They had even drafted in some Danes carrying posters saying "We are Danish but tonight we are Norwegian". Well, I had no choice did I, but to become a temporary and honorary Montenegrin? This boosted their fan numbers by many percent, but I am not sure they really needed me. A few minutes after the game started, three extremely glamorous and excitable Montenegrin women arrived, sat in the row in front of me and set up a continuous chant of "Mon-ten-egro, Mon-ten-egro", dancing for every point their team won and somewhat winningly one of them turned around and said "I wish I understood what is going on"... Well the Norwegians won, but only just, 26-23, and I don't care how much the Norwegians celebrated or how happy the Vikings in the audience were, I don't believe anyone was happier than the Montenegrin team as they were presented with their country's first ever Olympic medal, jumped onto the podium and did a little celebratory dance. I went home happy.

Thirty minutes later on the packed tube home, there was a real party atmosphere with rambunctious celebratory French passengers, friendly atmosphere and unfortunately a posh English woman so drunk that when she first spoke I didn't realise which language she was slurring. Nothing worse than a posh drunk. Her dear husband was somewhat embarrassed as she shouted that she thought it had all been great, that it compared to the "Jean Michel-Jarre concert at Docklands daaaahling except I was freezing my bollies off then". Delightful. She sounded as if she had been on the Bollie to me but sadly lost some of it when hanging her crimson face through the window between carriages making strange noises at the people in the next carriage. High spirited perhaps, or just full of spirits I was glad to avoid a cleaning bill by getting off at the next stop.

I loved the Handball and also enjoyed the freestyle wrestling at Excel - somewhat different to those staged bouts that used to be televised on Saturday afternoons when my mum would be doing the ironing in front of Word of Sport or Grandstand, whichever it was. This was serious stuff and a real "Olympic" sport dating back to ancient times. The mat was graced by wrestlers from most of the "stan" - Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan not to mention Azerbaijan (OK so its not a stan but it sort of fits) as well as Cubans, Canadians, Ukrainians, Turks, Americans and Japanese. I hadn't realised how technical this sport is or how quickly the lead can change or a both come to an unceremonious end with  one contestant being thrown and pinned to the ground by his shoulders. Gold medals for Japan and USA, two medal ceremonies and that was it, my Olympics over.

Writing this watching the closing ceremony at home, I can't believe the 17 days have passed so quickly, so peacefully and so excitingly. I don't want it to be over or London's mood to be lost. So, the plan is to  see if the Paralympics website is any easier to deal with and to take Portuguese lessons as soon as I can...its only four years to Rio in 2016!

London 2012 - great gymnastics, crap ticketing systems and a strange obsession with lists

I was a strange child. I had an unusual interest in lists. List of British monarchs. Lists of countries. Lists of capital cities. And lists of Olympic Games host cities and medal winners. I can still recite the host city of every summer Olympics from Athens in 1896 to London 2012, including the extra celebration held in 1906 in Athens, and which was out of synch with the usual four year cycle.

I have never worked out quite why I had a special obsession with the Olympics. I was reasonably good at athletics as a teenager, reaching county standard before I discovered drinking and going out, but I never liked team games, doing anything I could to avoid them at school. My current theory is that this strange passion was something to do with travel and the long list of countries that march in the opening ceremony. This is because my other fixation was maps. None of that Ordnance Survey jolly hockey sticks stuff, but maps of different countries, poring over how close Bucharest was to Sofia, how far Vienna was from Istanbul and where exactly is Surinam.

Sitting in my shared bedroom in my little seaside hometown, where nothing much happened and where it was cold even in the summer thanks to the "cooling breeze" (for which read howling gale) from the North Sea, I would dream of one day traveling abroad. My horizons were somewhat limited. I thought of Switzerland as being particularly exotic and wondered if I'd ever visit. Well, I never have been to Switzerland (at least not yet), but I have been to some pretty wonderful parts of the world. My other desire was to participate in the Olympic Games and in moments of reverie, I would imagine myself crossing the final hurdle, approaching the long jump run-up or preparing for high jump take-off, even to the extent of doing a slow motion version in the living room when no-one else was around. It never happened, but 2007 saw the Olympic Games awarded to my home town of the last 24 years - to London - and although (sadly) my chance of competing appears to have gone by, I could at least attend and experience the atmosphere of an Olympic Games.

Applying early on for tickets, I was desperate to see some of the athletics - perhaps Jessica Ennis in the Heptathlon, some of the hurdles events (my favourite), perhaps some of the exciting swimming finals and maybe Handball - a sport I have come to enjoy through my time in Israel. No such luck. I got tickets for Wrestling (August 12th), and nothing else, although most of my wrestling was with the frankly crap ticketing website where I spent hours selecting tickets listed as being available only to find that after hours of waiting for the "15 minutes or more" for confirmation of my purchase, that the bloody tickets didn't exist. But all was not lost as I was invited to see some of the gymnastics finals on Sunday August 5th. Result. And, after many hours of trying, I secured tickets for the women's volleyball. I was going to the Olympics!

We'll come to how it was,  but first I have some early memories of the Olympics. I think I remember the 1964 games in Tokyo (although I was only 4 - so I can't really can I?) - but I do remember the fantastic (best ever?) theme music from the 1964 games - Tokyo Melody. Composed by a German(!), I am told it is still used on Japanese television for major events. I still love it, and here it is...

I also have memories from Mexico City in 1968. My neighbours were a little "horsey" and as they had no television, came to our house to watch the Olympic show jumping. Not my thing at all and I remember being annoyed that we had to watch this instead of the weekly Tarzan TV series with Ron Ely! I also have vague memories of David Hemery winning the men's 400 metres hurdles and a very young Lilian Board being devastated at "only" winning the silver medal in the women's 400 metres. I have a musical memory too - the theme tune for the TV coverage - "Mexico" recorded by Long John Baldry. You can listen to it here

My memories of Munich in 1972 are overshadowed by the brutal murder of 11 Israeli athletes and officials by Arab terrorists and the appallingly poor handling of the situation by the German security forces. Shamefully, the International Olympic Committee refuses to mark the anniversary of these murders at every subsequent Games. Before the terrorist murders, Mary Peters had won the Pentathlon for the Uk, very narrowly defeating the then West Germany's Heidi Rosendahl and East Germany's Burglinde Pollak.

But what of London? Its been "stupendous" to quote a friend. Starting with the torch relay which I saw at St. Paul's Cathedral and then again at Millennium Bridge where wheelchair sportsman Ade Adepitan carried the torch across the river to south London, there have been many emotional moments for me - the absolute thrill of watching the opening ceremony on TV and the longing to have been there; chatting on the tube with one of the managers of the fleet of drivers employed to make sure the athletes get to the competitions on time (it had never occurred to me to think about how this is organised) and meeting a lovely Caribbean lady from Croydon at the volleyball at Earls Court who told me she had travelled to Cardiff by herself to see the football and had spent hours on that damn website trying to get other tickets, and of course seeing the competitions themselves.

I felt nervous and excited at the O2 Arena (renamed North Greenwich Arena for the Games - sponsorship issues and all that). I so wanted Israel's Alex Shatilov to win the floor exercises and despite doing extremely well, a coupe of very minor mistakes held him down to sixth position behind the flawless demonstrations of Chinese, Japanese and Russian gymnasts. There was agony in the women's vault when one of the Canadian athletes injured herself on landing and was unable to complete her second vault. There was also ecstasy from the tall, blonde Romanian gymnast who took the gold medal with a very big score to the obvious displeasure of the sour faced runner-up!

But none of this compared to the breathless tension of watching the men's pommel horse. The auditorium was awash with Union flags and thousands of people just willing Louis Smith to win the gold for Britain. He was the last of the eight competitors to perform and the wait was pure torture. More heartbreak as one of the Hungarians came off the horse and had to remount to continue his routine. The younger British gymnast Max Whitlock performed out of his skin and took an unexpected lead as the fourth of eight men to perform, just about bringing the house down with the roar from the crowd. And then we had the experienced Hungarian gymnast - Krisztian Berki who performed faultlessly with a combination of hand stands, flairs, scissors and assorted speedy and unbelievably difficult twists and turns to easily head the field. Fantastic. And worrying for the Brits. A big group of Hungarians chanted "Hungaria, Hungaria" and made more noise than their numbers would have led us to expect.

And then Smith took the platform. Deafening roars from the crowds. Flags waiving. Then silence. His routine was stunning, technically the most difficult of all we saw and attracting the highest tariff in terms of scores but making it very difficult to execute. A few cheers as he progressed and some clapping, but for perhaps one minute the crowd sat in terrified silence. A great dismount. A massive massive roar and then the score came up. The same as the Hungarian! Surely they had tied and it was a gold medal? But no, the rules defer to the best marks for execution in the event of a tie and the Hungarian did marginally better. Silver not gold. A groan and then rapturous applause as the crowd saluted Smith's achievement and also realised that Whitlock had got the bronze and two Britons would stand on the podium.

The medal ceremonies took place directly after each of the finals and we soon saw two Union flags, flanking the Hungarian flag of the gold medallist as we stood for his anthem. Very moving and emotional but more so for me was the awarding of the medals to the background of Vangelis' Chariots of Fire theme. There was something very British about the moment...

And then a mad dash across London to Earls Court to collect the volleyball tickets and to watch the games. This was my first time at a "real" volleyball game and I wasn't disappointed. Fast, furious, noisy, physical and demanding total concentration I could easily become addicted to this sport. There seems to be a great deal of ritual surrounding the game with much high-fiving, synchronised sweeping of the court during time-outs and at changeover at the end of a set and near hysterical celebration and chanting from the fans. Both my teams lost...Turkey went down 3-0 to the USA as did Serbia to Brazil, but both teams but up a better fight than this would indicate. Completely out of character, I found myself cheering, groaning and taking part in a Mexican wave as the evening progressed. Most entertaining of all were the Brazilians who burst into song and dance for just about every point their team won and also the young Turkish man who rallied his team's supporters with chants of "Turk-ee-ay. Turk-ee-ay". It was over too soon, but I still had my wrestling tickets yet!

Who would have thought that the strange child in the cold northern bedroom would one day sit in not one but two Olympic venues in one day and witness real live Olympic competition, not to mention traveling to places a little more exotic than Switzerland (which I still intend to visit)? The strangeness persists a little - I like looking at lengthy lists of results on the Olympic website...

Jewish Sarajevo, a beautiful church and the Bosnian Pyramids

Sarajevo has a Jewish community of about 700 people. About 300 of these are "halachically" Jewish with the rest being offspring of mixed Jewish/ non-Jewish marriages. This is the remnant of a once much bigger presence, firmly established in the 16th century century with an influx of Sephardi Jews as a result of the earlier expulsion from Spain and much reduced during the Holocaust and by the exodus of several hundred community members during the Balkan War of 1992-95.

Sarajevo has been referred to as the "Little Jerusalem" due to the long and proud Jewish history in the city. The legacy of this long presence includes probably the most famous Jewish Book in the world - the Sarajevo Haggadah, hundreds of beautiful songs brought from Spain at the time of the expulsion and still sometimes sung in the original Judeo-Spanish, a wealth of Jewish learning and writing and a story of  largely peaceful co-existence with Muslim and Christian neighbours.

There have been dark periods in this history. The darkest of course occurred during the Second World War when the former Yugoslavia was occupied by Germany and when some 85% of the city's almost 12,000 Jews were transported to their deaths at a variety of camps in the former Yugoslavia. During this period, a number of Jewish intellectuals played a significant part in the resistance, including the writer Laura Papo La Bohoretta was eventually arrested and murdered. There are many stories of Muslim and Christian Bosnians helping Jewish friends and neighbours to evade the German occupiers and there are currently 40 Bosnian names on the register of Righteous Gentiles at Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. However, this is only one side of the story as the Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin Al-Husseini, who spent much of the war in Berlin and broadcast messages of support for the German regime also came to Bosnia during this time, recruited local Muslims to a special SS Division, who then participated in the killing of Jews and other minorities.

Ashkenazi Synagogue, Sarajevo

Jews have generally been well integrated into Bosnian society over the centuries and an example of this continuing acceptance included the Jewish relief organisation, La Benovelencija, assisting Muslims, Serbs and Croats to leave the city during the siege by taking them out with groups of elderly Jews and Jewish children who were evacuated from the city. Jewish community leaders have described this as repaying the help given to by fellow Bosnians to many Jews during the Second World War.

There are few remaining Jewish institutions in Sarajevo. The Great Synagogue in the city centre, built in 1581, is now a museum exhibiting a collection of religious objects, photographs and biographies of leading Bosnian Jewish artists and intellectuals including La Bohoretta (who is honoured by a plaque on the building's exterior), Daniel Ozmo and Doctor Isak Samokovlija. There are also exhibits relating to the Holocaust, to Bosnian Jewish life between the wars and a replica of the Sarajevo Haggadah is on display. The building is very well maintained and the damage sustained during the 1992-95 war has been repaired but it is not hard to feel the sense of loss of this once great community as this once "great" synagogue no longer serves a living community. Adjacent to the synagogue is the New Temple Gallery, another building owned by the Jewish community and used for art exhibitions. it was closed on the day I visited the Museum.

There remains one working synagogue in Sarajevo - the Ashkenazi synagogue across the river Miljacka, and a short walk from the Latinska Bridge. This synagogue is one of the largest in Europe and was built in 1902 to the design of architects Karl Parzik and Jungwirth. Built in the Moorish style, it is the only working synagogue in the country today. I understand that the interior is also in Moorish style with arches and wall pantings by Ludwig Oisner, but at the time of my visit the synagogue was locked. I have no count I will return to Sarajevo so seeing the inside of this imposing building will be on my list of must-dos.

One of the most enduring legacies of Sarajevo's Jewish community is its influence on music. The Sephardim spoke, read and wrote in Judeo-Spanish having brought the language with them from Spain following the expulsion of 1492 and many books, songs and poems were written in this beautiful, but now almost dead language. A number of singers such as Israeli's Yasmin Levy and Mor Karbasi are working hard to preserve this music and to promote it to a wide audience. Flory Jagoda, born in Sarajevo but now resident in the United States has recorded many of the specifically Bosnian songs. You can hear one of them by clicking on the video below.

Although Sarajevo has only one working synagogue today, the city is not short of religious buildings with many mosques and Orthodox and Catholic churches. I especially enjoyed visiting the Franciscan Monastery and Church of Saint Antonio in the Bistrik quarter of the city, very close to my hotel. The church was built in a very short period in 1912 and replaced a less robust earlier structure. Designed by architect Josip Vancas in the new gothic style, the church is a very large structure, towering over the neighbouring residential buildings and the famous Sarajevska Pivara brewery. The interior was refurbished in the 1960's and features stunning stained glass windows by Croatian artists Ivo Dulcic, wood carvings by sculptor Zdenko Grgic and a beautiful mural of the Last Supper behind the central altar.

Bistrik is a pretty quarter with many interesting buildings in a range of styles including art nouveau apartments, brightly coloured houses and rows of well maintained cottages. It is also a very green part of the city with many gardens, trees and grassy areas.

The final stop on my short visit to Bosnia was Visoko, a small town just a short drive from Sarajevo and which until recently attracted visitors with its leather trade and handicraft workshops, its fortress and a small town museum. This all changed in April 2005 when Semir Osmanagic, an American based Bosnian researcher noticed two geometrically symmetrical hills close to the town. Osmanagic maintained that the Visocia Hill (now known as the Bosnian pyramid of the Sun) and Pljesivica Hill (now the Bosnian pyramid of the Moon) shared characteristics with pyramids he had studied in Egypt and in South America. As you might expect, his assertions created quite a stir amongst archaeologists and the general public with a great deal of doubt being cast on his views.

After numerous subsequent excavations, he has been able to convince many experts (although not all), that the formations are not natural. Evidence to support Osmanagic's case include geological verification that the Visocica Hill is a massive stone formation in the shape of a pyramid, with excavations showing large slabs of hand carved stone at each level of the hill. Satellite, thermal and radar images of Pljesevica Hill show perfectly identical dimensions - surely indicating that the structure is artificial in nature.

On the morning of my visit, the upper levels of the hills were shrouded in mist and a steady drizzle was falling. Accompanied my travelling partner, I slowly made my way up Pljesivica Hill. There is a small entry fee to climb to where the excavations are exposed and after asking whether or not we spoke German (which we don't), the attendant explained to us (in German) that we must keep to the wooden edged steps cut into the mud (so maybe we do understand German?). Good advice, but some stretches of the climb either don't have steps cut in, or the wooden edges have already been worn away. What did I think? Well, there is definitely a massive sloping rock formation under the heavily forested top soil of the hill and it does look man made to me, although very different to the Egyptian pyramids which have been exposed to centuries of weathering. Osmanogic believes the structures to be more than 10,000 years old and they may have originated when the Balkan peninsula was a refuge for Mediterranean civilisations during the last ice age.

Still the subject of much debate the site is now being further excavated by a number of experts drawn from across the world. One thing for certain, looking down on the exquisite green countryside from the misty and heavily wooded hill top, it wasn't hard to imagine that an ancient civilisation would choose this place as a refuge from the encroaching ice.

And a confession. Visoko wan't my absolute last stop in Bosnia. That honour and delight fell to Samis, where there was just enough time for another coffee and a piece of baklava before going to the airport.

The Ben Uri Gallery - see the collection at home

Regular readers will know that I am a devotee of the Ben Uri Gallery, the London Jewish Museum of Art, currently housed in Boundary Road, Swiss Cottage. I have written about the excellent current Dodo Burgner exhibition as well as the equally impressive Josef Herman exhibition from earlier this year.

The Ben Uri has a wonderful collection of over 1,300 pieces, but the severely cramped space in the gallery means that only a very small number of them can be displayed at any one time. The gallery has been looking for a new, more centrally located and larger home for some time. The search continues, but in the meantime, thanks to the new look website, you can browse through some of the collection's highlights without leaving home!

The new website has a search facility that allows searching by artist's name, leading browsers to a list of holdings by each artist and also to an image of the works listed. This is still work in progress, but its already possible to view about one third of the Ben Uri collection in this way. In addition to this, the website now features a regularly changing slideshow of 32 works from the collection and this is very prominent on the home page.

I spent some time browsing through this large sample from this unique collection, and although a large number of works are still to be included, I was already able to enjoy wide looking at the work of several of my favourite artists.  This includes examples of Whitechapel boy Mark Gertler's work (my favourite - The Rabbi and Rebbetzin from 1914) and good representation of Israeli artists including Moshe Castel (my favourite - Father and Son from 1928 - and by the way there is an excellent museum of his work in Maale Adumim near Jerusalem - well worth a visit), Nahum Gutman (my favourite - Safed) and more contemporary photographic work from Natan Dvir (The Shtetl is Burning, 1972).

The Ben Uri has featured a number of refugee artists in recent years and these too are well represented on the new website, including Martin Bloch (the lovely House in Varengeville Normandy from 1939) and Yankel Adler (Ein Jude from 1926). Each entry gives details of the medium, dimensions, date where known and inscription. Not only is this  a great way of making the collection more widely available, but its also a great tool for art historians, researchers and people who just happen to like Jewish art (or even just art!).

The site also gives details of exhibitions, past, present and future - including a range of images from the current Dodo Burgner show, the gallery's education programme and other useful information. I understand that there are to be further improvements to the site, including additional ways of searching the collection as well as plans to add more information about the gallery's previous exhibitions. Again, good news for researchers and art lovers generally.

The Ben Uri collection is rich, diverse and constantly being developed. Its most recent acquisition is Chaim Soutine's, La Soubrette or the Waiting Maid, purchased with Heritage Lottery Fund monies and grants and donations from other sources including the Victoria and Albert Museum. There are plans to exhibit the painting very soon, so check the new website for details!

More from Bosnia-Herzegovina

I have already written about some of my favourite parts of Sarajevo - the art nouveau architecture, the coffee, the cakes...but I must also mention a couple of other things. Regular readers will know that in addition to coffee and cake, I have a passion for books and book shops. Sarajevo has many good quality book shops and there is clearly a burgeoning publishing industry here with many well produced local titles. Several book shops carry at least some titles in English but my favourite has to be Sahinpasic, located near to the Europa Hotel where I picked up a couple of treasures - Sarajevo Rose, subtitled a Balkan Jewish Notebook and Forgotten Sarajevo - a truly wonderful collection of old photographs of the city, many retouched with colour. Fantastic. Incidentally, the rebuilt Hotel Europa is worth a visit to sample the above average priced, but very good cakes in their Vienna Cafe.

Speaking of books, I have almost finished reading the Nobel prize winner Ivo Andric's The Bridge Over the Drina which follows the history of the bridge at Visegrad, built during the Ottoman period and its relationship with the city and its inhabitants over the next several hundred years up to the tragic events of 1914. The story is interesting, tracing the changing relationships between the city's different ethnic groups, the ongoing struggle for independence from the Turks and then from the Austrians and also the day to day lives, loves and struggles of Visegrad's citizens. Andric was born in Travnik of Croatian parents, served in the pre-war government and then again under Tito. The book is controversial in some quarters with what is described as an anti-Muslim/ Turkish stance, but I don't think it is as clear as that, with several Muslim characters being drawn sympathetically. Read it and make your own mind up.

I must also mention my hotel - Pansion Kandilj, a small, cosy, family-run hotel just a few minutes walk from the Latinska Bridge and the old city. The Kandilj (meaning candle) is very comfortable, has free wi-fi (and PC access if you don't have your laptop with you), and provides a nice breakfast with all the usual things plus omelettes to order! But, more important than this, the staff are extremely helpful, friendly and knowledgeable and can arrange tours and drivers to other parts of the country. The common areas are set out and decorated in Ottoman style and there is a nice small terrace area for evening relaxation. Good price too.

Sarajevo is a fairly small city so its easy to see a lot of it in a short time. One of the good things about this, is that it means you can squeeze a lot into a short trip and some of the country's most interesting sites are within a couple of hours drive of the city. Having agreed a very reasonable price with one of the staff from the Pansion Kandilj, we visited Mostar and Blagaj, two of Herzegovina's most beautiful locations.

The drive from Sarajevo to Mostar took about two hours - some of it on the very small amount of motorway the country has, but almost all of it through stunning scenery. This country is extremely green and mountainous, still has forests and it is still possible to see bears, wolves and other wild animals. I didn't see any on this drive, but when stopping to take some road side photographs, it was possible to hear wild pigs in the forest.

Mostar was our first stop and arriving on the Bosnian side of the city, we made straight for the famous bridge. The bridge at Mostar stood for more than 400 years and was a symbolic link between the two halves of this small and ancient city. Destroyed during the war in the 1990's, the bridge has been completely restored, again attracts many visitors and dominates the centre of the city, just begging to be photographed and admired. The bridge is faithfully restored to the original design of Ottoman architect, Hajrudin, a pupil of the famous Hodja Mimar Sinan who designed many of Istanbul's best loved buildings.

The Mostar Diving Club has its home on the bridge and during peak tourist periods, young divers can be seen dropping the 21 metres from the high point of the bridge into the summer water level of the shallow River Neretva below. They don't do it just for fun though. Each dive is a performance which begins with the diver climbing over the railings at the peak of the bridge and teasing the tourists about jumping. One of his colleagues takes a hat around to collect money to encourage the diver, who gradually prepares for the jump  - removing the t-shirt, then the shorts, then hanging from the railings, perhaps climbing back on to the bridge and feigning disinterest until enough money is in the hat. Then very quickly, the diver is back over the railings, composing himself, bends his knees and then he's gone to the gasps of the crowd and (at least on the two dives I saw) quickly resurfaces down below the bridge.

The narrow street on the other side of the bridge is filled with small tourist shops selling postcards, guide books, home made jewellery, a variety of trinkets and some interesting goodies such as hand made herbal soaps - I bought some for my mum! This side of the river also has a number of small cafes including the high level Terrace Cafe which has great views of the bridge, the streets below and the many tourists that have began to pour back into Mostar. There are also some interesting roof top views here and a great view of an old building gradually being overtaken by vegetation! The Terrace Cafe has a slightly relaxed attitude to service, but then it was 40 degrees on the day of our visit and the coffee and cherry cake were very good once they arrived.

Strolling through Mostar, walking through the main tourist area, there are a number of interesting sites, including the Koski Mehmed Pasha mosque built in 1617, again with great views of the bridge and the river and a small bazaar in the grounds of the building. A little further along comes the Kara Ozbegova mosque which has a very cooling and beautiful external lobby, which afforded us a little shelter as we felt the first drops of rain during our stay in Bosnia-Herzegovina. This is one of the most important Islamic monuments in the country and was completed in 1557 to the design of the great Sinan. Badly damaged during the 1990's war, serious restoration work is now under way.

However, for me, the star of the show is the 17th century Biscevica House, located a few steps away from the main drag. For a couple of marks admission fee, you can visit the first floor divanhan (conversation room) preserved in Ottoman style as well as an inner room overlooking the river. The house is decorated with Ottoman era furnishings, carpets and household items, including an "Ottoman" or storage trunk with beautiful if faded original decoration. The upper floor of the house affords views into the shady, whitewashed courtyard. It is easy to imagine generations of residents and visitors enjoying this cool retreat from the heat of Herzegovinian summers.

A short drive from Mostar brought us to Blagaj. Blagaj is best known for the Dervish tekija, or monastery. Built in the 1500's for a Dervish cult, the tekija stands at the base of a 200 metres high cliff wall and overlooking the source of the River Buna, which is larger than the source of the Danube.  The tekija itself has a quiet, peaceful atmosphere despite the large number of visitors every year and contains  a number of Islamic religious implements and artefacts spread throughout the various sitting and prayer rooms. The wooden lattice work is also interesting and the decorated wooden ceiling in one of the larger rooms is extremely unusual, featuring twisted wood. Visitors can also walk out onto an outside balcony which gives good views of the cliff and the water.

Less well known, but well worth a visit is the Velagic House, approached by walking down a steep lane on the approach to the tekija. The complex was built in 1766 and consists of three houses with courtyards, a guesthouse, a mill, granary, water channels and beautiful gardens. Visitors are shown round by a member of the Velagic family who originated in Hungary and who still own the house. We were guided around the parts of the house that were open by Mirza, a very knowledgeable teenager who speaks good English and is clearly very proud of his family's heritage.

Much of the house is under restoration and it should attract many more visitors once the work is complete. Photographs are allowed in the house itself, but rather strangely not in the very attractive and peaceful garden. Mirza explained to us that this is because of some "problem" with a neighbour who does not like them to have visitors and objects most strongly to photographs. We actually saw this neighbour during our visit who stood scowling across at us from his own garden. Very strange, but don't let this put you off. The house has some beautiful Ottoman area furnishings and some very charming and interesting historical photographs as well as an opportunity to see some of the prized possessions of the Velagic family. Well worth a visit.

All of this in one day and still back to Sarajevo in time for dinner and the evening promenade. And of course, coffee and cake at Samis!

For more pictures from Bosnia-Herzegovia, view the "otherness website" here.

Matthew Bourne's Play Without Words - revived at Sadler's Wells

Matthew Bourne's Play on Words, his take on the 1960's Robert Maugham novella and Joseph Losey film, The Servant, is currently being revived at Sadler's Wells by his New Adventures company.

I saw the 2002 version at the National Theatre and was thrilled that Mr. Bourne had once again created something fresh, exciting and innovative, following on from his successes with his takes on Swan Lake, The Nutcracker and Carmen. Ten years later, Play Without Words retains the magic I remember from the first time around and is still gripping, holding the audience in its palm as the story plays out.

As with the novella and the film, Play Without Words tells the story of rich boy Anthony, his relationship with fiancee Glenda but more importantly with the manservant Prentice and the housemaid Sheila. In this version, each of the main characters is played by three dancers - who are all on stage at the same time, and are thus able to show the passage of time as well as providing a fantastic visual experience. The story is extremely dark and shows the balance of power shifting between the different characters and classes. In the early scenes, Prentice does everything for Anthony, including dressing him and applying his deodorant, but this quickly turns into dependancy that allows the manservant to turn the tables and to exercise a dark power himself.

The use of servants as characters to illustrate the power struggle between classes is very much of the time the novella and the film first appeared (the book was published in 1948 and the film came out in 1963) - but the principle is still relevant today showing the dependency of one level of society, or individual, on another and how easily the relationship can be manipulated. But stronger than this is the message that desire, including forbidden desire, can be used to bring down those in positions of power or to gain influence over them. Anthony makes advances to Sheila as well as there being distinctly sexual overtones of the relationship between Anthony and Prentice. It is important to remember that the Profumo Scandal  was contemporaneous to the film version.

This story in all of its formats has a star-studded history. The film starred Dirk Bogarde as the manservant in what became a signature piece for him, with Edward Fox as Anthony, Wendy Craig as the fiancee and Sara Miles in her second film as the housemaid (for which she won a BAFTA). Not a bad line up! As if this wasn't enough, the screenplay was written by Harold Pinter. Bogarde was at his peak during this period, tackling difficult social issues, including in Victim which debuted in 1961 and is said to have influenced the Wolfenden Act of 1967.

Back to the performance. The soundtrack is excellent, with original music by Terry Davies, the score includes some great jazz moments, not least those performed by Mark White on trumpet and Sarah Homer on clarinets and tenor saxophone, but more than this, the soundtrack really sets the mood for the performance, perhaps even outshining that of the movie which was itself significant and included compostions by Johnny Dankworth and a recurring theme sung by Cleo Laine.

I loved the references to the 1960's - the conversation between Mrs Peel and John Stead when Anthony is watching The Avengers on TV, the re-creation of the Salisbury Pub from the 1960's for some of the more sleazy scenes and even the use of Dusty Springfield's I Only Want to be With You for the audience to exit to. The Salisbury is a particularly clever inclusion as the pub also featured in Victim, and was indeed a well known haunt for gay men, prostitutes and other "outsiders" pre the Wolfenden Act. The Salisbury is still there today but is more of a tourist attraction these days with the air of risk having long disappeared. The 1960's are also referenced in other ways. The very clever set includes a backdrop of Soho sleaze signs from that daring decade and of course the sharp suits and Mary Quant styles worn by the female members of the cast all look back to that period.

The audience at Sadler's Wells is a young audience-  and that's a good thing. Many of them will not "get" the references to the 60's in this piece and I suspect many of them will not know of the movie or the novella - although both are referred to in the excellent programme (!), but that doesn't seem to matter as the performance visibly captured the audience's imagination for what seemed like a very speedy one and three quarter hours. If you haven't seen it already then hurry - its only on until 5th August!

Sarajevo - art nouveau, baklava and carbonised chips

I had never been to the former Yugoslavia before a recent short trip to Sarajevo. There are no direct flights from London, so I spent an hour at Zagreb airport waiting for a connection. Technically I've now visited two of the former constituent states of Yugoslavia, but I'm not counting an hour in an airport as a real visit to Croatia, even if I spent another one on the way back.

Sarajevo is a city with a big history. Invasions or annexations by Turks and Austrians. Occupation by Germans. A narrow escape from Stalinist domination due to former leader Tito (who is still much revered) and of course more recently the siege of 1992-95 during the collapse of Yugoslavia. From arrival in the city there are visible signs of almost all of these events, some less expected than others.

Above - war damaged art nouveau building in the old city centre

The Sarajevo skyline is full of minarets dating from the Ottoman period to the present day and these stand out on the descent to the city from the surrounding hills. Many buildings still show signs of shelling from the most recent war and others remain in ruins. The Latinska Bridge remains as a memory to the assassination of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand by one Gavrilo Princip in 1914 - lighting the fuse to the First World War. One of the main boulevards is named for Tito. And somewhat unexpectedly, there are many stunning art nouveau buildings from the Austrian period.

The people of Sarajevo also reflect this history. The city is a mix of Bosniaks - Bosnians of muslim background (if not necessarily overtly religious), Serbs and Croats as well as Gypsies and a remnant of a once much larger Jewish community. For the most part its not easy to know who is who. There are fair skinned, fair haired, blue eyed women in headscarves and obvious Islamic dress and there are dark skinned women (and men) in very revealing clothing during the evening promenade around the old city centre when the streets are full of people in their best clothes, shopping, meeting friends and generally being seen. There are very few fully covered women here, although it appears that this is a growing phenomenon and that Saudi Arabian investment is underwriting the provision of new mosques, madrases and cultural centres.

Sarajevo is a very young city - there are children and young people everywhere and although unemployment is sky-high, (indexMUNDI quotes the official rate in 2010 as 43.1%), there is a feeling of confidence here.  The cafes are full and people seem to have money - much of it sent back from relatives working abroad. The city has been regenerating itself through culture. The Sarajevo Film Festival was on during my stay and there is an international Jazz Festival every winter, but these important events can only bring limited job opportunities for locals. The main cultural and historical buildings have been restored and tourists are coming and very welcome.

But back to the art nouveau. There are examples of this architectural style throughout the old city. The largest concentrations I saw were along Marsala Tita (a Parisian style boulevard named for Tito - pictured below), on Obala Kulina Bana (the busy main road running the length of the old town beside the river) and a residential area north of the old town, centred on Tina Ujevica.

Marsala Tita has a number of glorious apartment blocks with shops on the ground floor. The Salomonova Palace dates from 1912 and was designed by Rudolf Tonnies. The street facing facade of the building has clearly been restored and cleaned and is extremely impressive with a range of nouveau motifs and a quality book shop on the ground floor. The courtyard is open and reveals a commemorative sign to the architect as well as stylish cafes on the ground floor and several floors of flats with walk along balconies. It is easy to imagine such a courtyard in Budapest or Vienna. On the opposite side of Marsala Tita, stands the stunning National Bank of Bosnia and Herzegovina (pictured below) - a much reduced form of art nouveau, but with the entrance guarded by two classic nouveau figures holding lamps and decorative freezes on the external walls.The architect was Milan Zlotovic and his building is a showstopper on this busy boulevard.

The art nouveau ensemble around Tina Ujevica was originally residential but has been used for various purposes over the years. The Villa Mandic  (pictured below) was built in 1907 for lawyer Dr. Nikola Mandic and designed by architect Karl Parzik. The building was once the American Consulate and latterly the Museum of the 14th Winter Olympics held in Sarajevo. Badly damaged in the recent war, the Museum is relocated and the Villa requires significant restoration. It is located at the top of some very steep steps on the side of a hill which gives it a tremendous view of the city. The turrets, colours and grandiose entrance to the building make it well worth the climb.

Adjacent to Villa Mandic is Heinrich Reiter's villa (pictured below), also designed by Parzik. A fascinating slim tower peeps from behind the overgrown garden and is adjoined to a wonderful piece of Central European architecture, decorated in rich alpine floral style and which at least according to the sign outside is partly used by the British Embassy. If it is the Embassy, and they occupy the part with the satellite dish for goodness sake can they remove it, or put it at the rear of the building - hasn't it already suffered enough? Parzik was Born in 1857 in Jicin in the former Czechoslovakia,spent 60 years of his life in Sarajevo and designed many buildings in the city including the National Museum, the Ashkenazi Synagogue, the Islamic Foundation and numerous churches - evidence of early ecumenicalism perhaps?

A walk along the riverside of Obala Kubina Bala affords great views of the many banks, villas and apartment buildings in nouveau and other interesting styles, including the magnificent Fine Arts Academy, again resembling Hungarian architecture of the period. Most of these buildings are in desperate need of cleaning and further restoration before they are lost.

Food usually features largely on my travels and although I've been very good recently and significantly reduced my cake dependancy, I am afraid I had a major relapse in Sarajevo. These people know a good cake alright, and how could they not, with the Turkish and Austrian influences. Its a bit of a cake paradise. Coffee drinking is a national sport - real coffee that is - in independent, long established cafes with baklava and other eastern sweets, cream cakes, fruit tarts and flakey savoury pastries stuffed with cheese, potato, spinach or meat.

My cafe of choice has to be Ramis (pictured below) on Saraci in the old town. Established in 1912 by one Nezir Nezirovic who named it after one of his sons, four generations later the cafe is still with the same family. Not only are the cakes terrific (best baklava on all my travels) but its also a great location for people watching - get one of the outside tables if you can and see most of Sarajevo come past at some point in the evening. The cafe attracts locals of all ages as well as tourists and its not hard to imagine how it must have been back at the beginning of the last century when perhaps Sarajevo was at its most elegant.

Continuing the sweet theme, Bosnians like their ice cream too. You can see it everywhere. Cafes sell it from the window, kiosks sell it in the street and queues form at the best shops throughout the evening. The most popular ice cream shop is Egipat on the busy Ferhadija thoroughfare in the old town. There are many flavours to choose from but the vanilla is legendary. There is a story that some Italians were so impressed with it that they offered a huge amount of money for the recipe, but the owners didn't want to sell! I tried it and liked it and thought I detected a taste of caramel in there too...

Bosnian cuisine is very (very) meaty, but the vegetarian can survive quite well here. There is Vegehana, which is not only vegetarian but also non-smoking. Tucked away on a side alley at Ferhadjia 39, the restaurant occupies the ground floor of what appears to have been a residential property, is nicely decorated and furnished in modern minimalist style and has a good menu with vegetarian staples like tofu and seitan as well as salads and my choice of falafel and humous (no surprise there then!). The service is friendly and welcoming although a little disorganised, but certainly worth a visit if you've had enough meat or are looking for a vegetarian oasis. Elsewhere good salads are easy to find, but don't expect a long list of veggie options in most places.

The Inat Kuca restaurant on Veliki Alifakovac has great views of the river from the outside tables and on the evening I ate there, there was also an open air concert in the adjoining square - part of a month of free concerts held during the summer each year. My guide book praised the food (salads, soups, meats and the ubiquitous cheese, spinach and potato pies) but had harsh words for the service. I enjoyed the food (cheese pie with various salads) and thought the service was fine - although there only appeared to be one waiter for rather a lot of tables. The interior of the restaurant is worth a look with its beautifully decorated ceilings, walls and open kitchen. Cosy in the winter. The cheese pie by the way is a variation of what some of us know as burekas.

The only food "disaster" I encountered was in another restaurant where my friend ordered chips as a side dish. Well, chips appeared but not like you've ever seen in a restaurant before. Blackened and hard and as my friend Claudio described them, "carbonised". A new dish perhaps - chips carbon(ise)ara? But even here, there was much smiling and wanting us to enjoy the food, so a few burnt chips can be overlooked...

You might also like Milan Zlokovic's Modernist Bank

Dodo Burgner - The Inspiration of Decadence at the Ben Uri Gallery

The new exhibition at the Ben Uri Gallery - The Inspiration of Decadence - features the work of little known Berlin artist Dorte (Dodo) Burgner. It covers her early work in the Bohemian Berlin of the 1920's and early 1930's as well as her later works as an emigre in London.


Born in February 1907 to a respectable German Jewish family, she demonstrated independence from an early age. Perhaps the best example of this is changing her name to Dodo, saying "I was called Dorte, which is an unsuitable choice for a very dark little Jewish girl". One of three children, she led a sheltered life but her parents ensured she had regular access to art, theatre, cinema, museums, books and music. She claimed they had an unhappy marriage and that her father was distant, but she found solace in her paternal grandmother, Adelheid Wolff. Adelheid who lived with the family, taught Dodo to read from an early age, took the children regularly to the Berlin Zoological Gardens and once temporarily transformed the shop within their building into a gymnastics studio that she rented out! She died in 1919 leaving the 12 years old Dodo devastated.

Dodo's early school years were spent at the municipal lyceum in Wilmersdorf. She was not an outstanding student and was something of a loner. In 1918 she transferred to the Auguste Viktoria School, where her sister Suse had been a classmate of the young Marlene Dietrich. Her school life was occasionally interrupted by the First World War which also brought about  rationing of food and fuel, but which left the family largely untouched. Leaving school in 1922 with ordinary results, she had excelled in only one area - drawing, her mother encouraged her to paint landscapes during the family's summer trips to the mountains. Dodo had other ideas and drew courting couples, suicides and nude nymphs! Shocked, her mother consulted a paediatrician about her, who reported that she had nothing to worry about!

A further struggle with her parents erupted over Dodo's desire to go to art school. A compromise was reached when she agreed to spend a year at "finishing school" to learn household skills, before enrolling at the private Schule Reimann in autumn 1923. She went here because her secondary school grades had been insufficient to gain entry to the State Academy for the Arts. However, Schule Reimann suited her down to the ground when she discovered that it had a "reputation for bad moral behaviour of its students" and that life classes included visits not only to the zoo, but also to night clubs! She was at the Schule until 1926 and during that time had works published in the magazine Form und Farbe whilst others came into the possession of the Liperheide Costume Library, now part of the Berlin State Museum.

Bored with the staid social life of her family, she longed for excitement, dated several men and saw Josephine Baker appear at the Nelson Theatre on Kurfurstendamm, dressed only in a banana skirt. Extremely taken with Ms Baker, Dodo went on to produce a series of drawings of her. Hired to do freelance work upon leaving the Schule in 1926, she was commissioned to make fashion drawings based on swatches of material, for the Michels & Cie fashion boutique, many of which appeared in the store magazine. Well paid and not needing to help her parents financially, she spent freely on taxis, cigarettes with her own name printed on them and somewhat avant-garde attire, including a monocle to avoid wearing glasses!


The exhibition includes several of Dodo's fashion designs from this period, showing elegant hats, scarves and other accessories, drop waist skirts and dresses, several of which are clearly inspired by art deco and jazz age styles as well as a range of theatre costumes and some highly stylised advertising posters for fashion and perfumes. Like many European artists of this period, Dodo was able to excel across a range of disciplines including costume design and graphic art. She also produced a number of expressionist works that bear comparison to those of George Grosz and Otto Dix. It is interesting to consider what impact she might have made had her life not been interrupted by the Second World War and exile, but more of that later.




In 1927, Theodor Wolff, editor of the arts section of the famous Berliner Tageblatt newspaper commissioned her to make full page illustrations and double page spreads for ULK - a satirical magazine, with a circulation of up to 300,000 at its peak. This was an excellent opportunity for her to show off her talents and more than sixty of her illustrations were published in ULK between 1927 and 1929, many of them on the covers or in the centre fold. This was a huge achievement for a young women in her very early twenties and in later years she described this period as the peak of her artistic career. In 1928 she was engaged to design two costumes for a Berlin stage musical called There's Always Something in the Air. One of these costumes was worn by a very young Marlene Dietrich.

The ULK work really is a highpoint of the exhibition, illustrating life in the Weimar Republic in all its decadence. From the same period, Street Scene from 1928 couldn't possibly be anywhere else other than Weimar Berlin, with its depiction of glamour, wealth, decay and menace. The characters could easily inhabit a Grosz work whilst there is also a feeling of the works of Kirchner in this and some of her other works from this period.



During this time she had her first encounter with Dr Hans Burgner, 25 years older than her and a successful lawyer. They met at a party where they talked until the early hours of the morning before Dodo proposed marriage to him. Flattered and surprised, he politely declined but a close relationship soon developed, including many dinners, theatre trips and holidaying together. In summer 1928 whilst Hans was in Italy, Dodo wrote him an ultimatum, marry or forget it. She posted the later late at night, going to the post box wearing only a coat and gloves, but forgot to take her keys, giving her parents quite a surprise when they had to open the door to her!

Hans accepted, they married on his return and spent their honeymoon in Switzerland. Unfortunately, she soon tired of the round of domestic duties and dinner parties and came to realise that they had different personalities, worrying that she could never really share his life. In July 1930, Dodo gave birth to her first child, Anja. Dodo enjoyed the pregnancy but the little girl  cried continuously for most of the first two years of her life, sending her into a deep depression which she tried to resolve with a second child. This time, the pregnancy did not go well and when son Thomas was born in March 1932 she found it hard to bond with him.

The early 1930's heralded deep trauma for Germany's Jewish population, even those as secular and relatively uninvolved in the community as the Burgners. Hitler was elected to power in January 1933 and Dodo began to find it difficult to obtain commissions. In 1934 she returned to drawing, concentrating on illustrating children's books, Bible stories and theatre scenes solely for Jewish publications. Just prior to this, Dodo had met and fallen in love with Doctor Gerhard Adler, who worked under Carl Jung in Zurich. She became pregnant by Adler, but had an abortion. Hans Burgner was aware of this affair and possibly also of an affair with the educationalist and writer Tami Oelfken who later helped the Burgners to leave Germany.

She became pregnant to Adler a second time and again underwent an abortion before leaving her family and moving to Zurich with him. During this time she commenced therapy and produce a number of extremely disturbing works, some of which can be seen in the exhibition. These include a representation of the abortion scene in Madame Does Not Want Children, Death and Accusation, all from 1933. These works show the dark side to her life during this time and represent the feelings of guilt she felt at the abortions and at abandoning Hans and the children. There followed a period where she maintained a relationship with both Adler and Burgner. Throughout this time the restrictions on Germany's Jews began to be implemented. Things came to a head for the Adler/ Burgners when Anja was old enough to start formal school. Hans did not want her to go to a Jewish school and also refused to allow Dodo and Adler to take the children to Palestine, preferring instead to send them in 1936 to his sister, Hedwig, who had a boarding house in London.

Hans remained in Germany whilst Adler acquired rooms a few minutes from away from Dodo. Anxious to marry her, he pressed her to divorce Hans which she did somewhat reluctantly and despite the relationship beginning to cool. No doubt this was because Gerhard was already having an affair with another woman. Dodo was distraught but still married him, only to divorce the following year as he continued the other relationship. 

Dodo's parents followed her to London in 1938, as did her sister Suse and her children. Hans Burgner also came to London following legislation in Germany banning Jewish lawyers from practising. Apart from Hans, they lived in adjoining houses in Finchley. Hans was a regular visitor to the family and in 1944 proposed that as he and Dodo got on so well that they re-marry, which they did, remaining married (although not continuously living together) until Hans' death in 1974, aged 92.  After separating from Adler, Dodo saw him only once more when by chance he enrolled for a art class in Hampstead - the same class that she had enrolled for. He came to the first class and never returned. Adler died in 1988 and Dodo attended his funeral.

After moving to England, Dodo found it hard to obtain commissions - her style was considered too "continental" and for a time she worked designing Christmas cards and illustrations for children's books.  During the war years she also obtained some fashion design work for the John Lewis department store, but never returned to the bohemian style she had worked in, during her time in Berlin. In her later years, Dodo retained an interest in art, regularly visiting Florence with her daughter and travelling extensively in Great Britain. She died on December 22nd 1998, shortly before her 92nd birthday.

The exhibition includes examples of Dodo's work from the early Berlin years, the ULK magazine illustrations, her work for Jewish magazines in 1934-35 and the later works in London. Unlike many German artists of her generation, she was never involved in politics, but I was particularly struck by one of her works entitled Jews Looking Around. It shows three somewhat stereotypical Jewish men standing behind a globe and in the shadow of a swastika. What does it mean? Without the swastika it could almost be a piece of Nazi propaganda - the myth of Jewish world control. The presence of the swastika and the date of the work - 1933 - for me at least, signifies the hopelessness of the Jewish situation in Europe at that time. Three successful men, but without a home, driven out of Germany, but with nowhere to go. Prophetic. 

One of my favourite works in the exhibition is a postcard with New Year's greetings from 1927, featuring Dodo as a 1920's flapper and with a small dog on her shoulder. It shows a young, happy woman at the very beginning of what might have been a glittering career, but who was to suffer from many trials and traumas, both personal and political due to the times she lived in.

I also like the more restrained, but equally stylish catalogue page layouts from 1942 for bags and cushions.They are very much of their time, but still show a keen sense of style - simple but striking, using two colours and a touch of "the continent" to attract English ladies.

The exhibition also features work of other German Jewish emigres who were contemporaries of Dodo's - Frank Auerbach, Margaret Berger-Hamerschlag and Bettina Ehrlich amongst others. The Ben Uri really is a gem amongst London galleries - a small space with a big impact and a great programme of exhibitions and events. And their next exhibition will feature Judy Chicago. It doesn't start until October, so plenty of time to view the Dodo Burgner before then!

I Am Forbidden - a stunning first novel in English by Anouk Markovits

I have just finished reading Anouk Markovits' English language debut - I Am Forbidden.  The book traces the history of two girls - Mila and Atara - born into the ultra-Orthdox and virulently anti-Zionist Satmar community in Transylvania before the Second World War.

The Holocaust wiped out much of Transylvania's once substantial Jewish presence and both girls suffer losses during this period.There is reference to Rebbe (Rabbi) Yoel Teitelbaum - a real historical figure who excommunicated anyone with Zionist leanings or even who had contact with any Zionist supporters, yet took a place on the controversial "Kasztner train" that rescued over 1,600 Hungarian Jews from Eichmann's hands, first of all by having them sent to Bergen-Belsen and keeping them away from the other prisoners and then transferring them to Switzerland where they were freed.

Reszo Kasztner was a committed  Hungarian Zionist and depending on your view, risked his life to save as many Jews as he possibly could in impossible circumstances and making terrible choices to do so. Anouk's book makes great play of choices, including choices to be truthful or not, to live or not and to stay in the Satmar community or not. Both girls struggle with their own choices as they grow into adulthood and take different paths.

Mila cannot shake off her childhood memory of seeing her mother run towards the Satmar Rebbe as he sat on the edge of an open carriage on the Kasztner train and seeing her shot down and killed before she could reach him. As she grows up she is told the Satmar story that Kasztner was not responsible for rescuing the Rebbe, rather that Hashem was responsible. This also mirrors history when in the 1950's Kasztner took a court case after being accused of collaborating with Eichmann, of making money from his rescue scheme and of only helping Zionist supporters. The accusations were found to be untrue but the slur led to Kasztner being assassinated in Tel Aviv. It is believed he had asked the Satmar Rebbe to testify on his behalf during the trial, but Teitelbaum refused saying that only God had helped him.

Markovits herself is from a Satmar community but left rather than agree to a marriage that she did not want. Born in Paris, she now lives in New York, has published two books and secured a BSc, an MA (architecture)and a PhD (Romance studies)! She gives interesting insights into a little known world, including some of the rules governing relationships between husband and wife, rules of purity and ideas about how much religious learning is suitable for women and girls. Although she left the community, she stills writes with some affection for the individuals and particularly for the women characters who strive to keep the rules as well as to ensure their families are happy and healthy. There is even some sympathy for Mila's husband, Josef who when finding a terrible truth about his daughter cannot bring himself to denounce her and carries a hard secret to his death - despite the shocking denouement which is not revealed until almost the last page!

The story moves quickly and is extremely engaging despite the unfamiliarity of the world it inhabits. I covered the just under 300 pages in two sittings, not wanting to put it down and not wanting it to end. The reader is drawn into this "otherness" which deliberately separates itself from the rest of the world as well as from other Jews.  Indeed Satmarim deny the Jewishness of Jews who do not subscribe to their view of the world.

If anyone from London's Jewish Book Week is reading this, please book Anouk Markovits NOW for next year's event and continue the tradition of giving us access to great contemporary (and translated) French writers. My book of the year so far.

Randy Crawford and Joe Sample 30 years on

Thirty years ago I bought a ticket to see the Crusaders featuring Randy Crawford at Newcastle City Hall. It was just after Street Life had been a massive hit and knowing little about jazz then, I was really there to see Ms Crawford. Imagine my disappointment when an announcement was made that she was too ill to sing and that we would "only" have the Crusaders.

The Crusaders were great, but I always felt I'd missed out somehow. Well that's now been put right as Randy Crawford and the Joe Sample Trio shared a platform last night at "Under the Bridge" a new venue (to me), underneath Chelsea Football Club's stadium. I have been a fan of Joe Sample's music for a very long time now and over the last few years he has again teamed up with Randy to record a couple of excellent albums - Feeling Good and No Regrets as well as more recently, a cracking live album.

Its always a bit of worry when you go to hear someone who had their greatest "hits" a long time ago. Will the voice be the same? Will she do some of the old songs as well as the current stuff? What if its a disappointment? Well, I had no reason to worry. The voice was fantastic - and I have to say sounded as fresh and clear as on the recording of Street Life! She did some old songs and some newer recordings (although all classics culled from her recent albums). And she was no disappointment.

The evening opened with a short set from maestro Joe Sample and his trio - the bass player of which is Sample's grown up son Nick. At 73 years old Joe is still full of energy, tells a good story to introduce the songs and treated us to X Marks The Spot and Memories, from his excellent album The Pecan Tree (which I realise much to my surprise is now 10 years old!). X Marks the Spot was dedicated to the former New Orleans high priestess of voodoo - Marie Laveau. Joe recounted stories from his childhood summers in New Orleans staying with female relatives who kept him in check with amongst other things, stories about Laveau. Continuing the theme, he moved us to Spellbound from his 2004 Soul Shadows album before Baby Ain't I Good To You which was his way of bringing Ms Crawford to the stage.

She was given a huge reception by the largely middle aged audience and the treats began straight away with her version of Nina Simone's Feeling Good. There followed a string of blues inflected numbers - This Bitter Earth, But Beautiful (always associated for me with Shirley Horn), End of the Line; Me, Myself and I made famous by Billie Holiday and Tell Me More and Then Some which was penned by Holiday. And you know what? That Randy Crawford can sing these numbers as if they were her own. And something else. When Randy Crawford sings, you can hear the lyrics. All of them. No slurring or stumbling and any ad-libbing comes during the breaks or at the end of the song. Understated but with devastating effect.

As you would expect the biggest cheers of the night were for the "hits" - One Day I'll Fly Away, Street Life and Last Night At Danceland (which I love and which is inexplicably underrated). Street Life was the song she chose to close the show but she wasn't going to be allowed to get away that easily and an extremely insistent crowd brought her back for a perfect version of Almaz and a sweet closer of Happiness is Just a Thing Called Joe as a tribute to Mr. Sample.

A few more songs would have been very welcome. There was no Rainy Night In Georgia, That's How Heartaches are Made or her fantastic versions of Rio de Janeiro Blue and Cajun Moon. But, if she'd sang everything we wanted we would have been there all night.

Now aged 60, she sounded as good as ever. Physically very different to her sylph like younger days, much of the performance was given seated and she claimed to be extremely tired. She clearly enjoyed herself although the frequent bursts of laughter between songs remained unexplained and a couple of comments from the stage including "has anyone seen the key to my chastity belt" were a little strange.

Joe Sample is a real gentleman, regaling us with stories about being pressed to record "dance music" in the 1980's and his desire to have been an adult in the 1940's at the peak of Harlem's jazz era before changing his mind when he realised that many of those great names did not live to be 50!

So was it worth waiting 30 years for the two of them to perform together and to hear Randy Crawford sing live? Damn right it was. I hope not to wait so long for the next time.