There is a statue of Sir Winston Churchill outside my hotel in Mexico City. I have no idea why. I don’t think he ever visited Mexico or played any role in the country. The statue depicts him in his war-time boiler suit with what is meant to be an expression of grim determination on his face. Actually, he just looks grumpy.

I am not sure why:  a sunny Sunday morning in the upmarket Polanco district of Mexico City is a pretty cheerful place to be with its relaxed café culture and tree lined streets. It is rather like Barcelona. But with fewer pick pockets. [Read more…]

I found myself being driven through the streets of London at 5.00 am this morning. Pre-dawn London is magnificent. The city looks splendid: bright and sharp against a clear autumn night sky. And the lack of traffic means that the collection of medieval villages that now constitute this great international city fall into geographical context. Rather than sitting snarled in traffic losing sense of how London knits together, my taxi sped from Bermondsey to Southwark to Lambeth to Westminster to Knightsbridge to Kensington and beyond; the ancient place names – each resonant with London’s long and tangled history – that have now been absorbed into one vast urban metropolis.

My journey took me to BBC Television Centre in west London where I was wheeled out as the latest talking head analysing the impact of Hurricane Sandy as it battered the east coast of the United States. It actually feels a little uncomfortable sitting in the cosy studio of the BBC Today Programme talking about a human disaster unfolding thousands of miles away. How can you begin to articulate sensitively the key points about disaster management succinctly in just a few minutes when you are sandwiched tightly between job losses at a Swiss bank and management changes at Apple? [Read more…]

Mt Halgurd is the high point of Iraq. Having been a regular visitor to a country that has had more than its fair share of low points in the past few decades, I leapt at the opportunity to stand on the top of Iraq’s highest peak and see an aspect of this country rarely seen by outsiders.

Mt Halgurd is in the North East corner of the Kurdish region of Iraq, high in the Zagros Mountains that stretch in an arc from the Strait of Hormuz in Iran northwards through Iraq to the Turkish border. Buried under deep snow for much of the year, they are still snow free in October and the ascent of Halgurd, while not a technically difficult climb, is made more demanding by the thinness of the air at 3,620 metres (11,876 feet) and the lack of distinct paths. A local guide is advisable, in our case a former fighter with the Peshmerga, the Kurdish militia that fought a bitter struggle against the forces of Saddam Hussein.

The view from the top is worth the effort, a stunning panorama of mountains and ridges baked brown by the long hot summer even though temperatures at the top are near freezing. North across a deep valley is Iran where you can make out a series of Iranian border posts dotted along the ridge opposite, a useful warning that even in good weather you need to be careful to descend back the way you came and not stray into the hands of an Iranian border patrol, a point not lost on our guide. [Read more…]

Yesterday in New York, it was the same cloudless blue sky as eleven years ago. The anniversary of the 9/11 attacks – like the day itself – was one of those immaculate early fall days. The heat of the summer has abated and the city sparkles in warm sunshine.

Walking to a meeting in the financial district past the Freedom Tower built on the site of the World Trade Centre, New York seemed quieter than usual.  Many people had stayed at home or were attending memorial services. The atmosphere was reflective and respectful, not sombre or morbid. And generally New York’s mood at the moment reflects the weather: bright and fresh. Indeed, the city seems to defy economic gravity. America’s recovery may be anaemic and the financial services industry – the lifeblood of New York prosperity – is still spooked by Eurozone fears. But walking down Fifth Avenue you have little sense of the hardship faced by millions of people across the country. This city hums. [Read more…]

The French accuse the British of talking about little else other than the weather. They are right, we do. We talk about it a lot. Then again, we have a lot of weather to talk about. In a country that can routinely lay on four seasons in a single day, it is not that surprising that our climate figures prominently in our conversational range.

And talking about the weather suits our character. It avoids the need to talk about anything remotely personal that could lead to any hint of embarrassment. And it allows us to moan stoically thereby indulging two of our most important national traits – complaining and enduring – at the same time.

But down here in southern France I have noticed that we are not alone in our preoccupation with the weather. Every conversation with a local seems to go the same way: “Mon Dieu, c’est trop chaud”. They are right it is hot, a sweltering 36 degrees as I am writing this under a tree in the garden. But what is extraordinary is that they seem surprised that it is so warm. [Read more…]