Photos & Words

I am walking towards the tube station. I pull my two pieces of luggage that follow smoothly on their small wheel. In front of the Italian bar with shiny metal round tables and mini skirt waitresses I see the Italian guy who did for me the three cappuccino yesterday morning. He recognizes me and says hi. I am not in a hurry so stop for a cappuccino. The morning a just a bit cloudy but nice and warm. The bar is not busy so when he brings me the cappuccino he takes a chair and sits at my table.

We start talking. I am from Cremona. He is from Parma. Not really Parma, just nearby: Borgo Val di Taro. I studied in Parma and know his place at the foot of the of the mountain that divide the large plane of the Po river form the sea. He has three daughters. I have two. No, I do not live in Italy, but in the Philippines. I was here for a week for work and go now back with a stop over in Ha Noi for a training workshop. What do I do? I never find it easy to respond to this question. I think about the 45 Vietnamese researchers I will meet after tomorrow. They are my work. They are the reason I fly around. They are the one who listen to what I present together with my colleagues.

‘I work with researchers in NGOs or other institutes. Together with them we try to make the research they conduct more visible to policy makers so that it enters laws and policies.’ He looks at me with a puzzled expression, but this is the best explanation I can give him.

At the end of the day we provide suggestions on ways that researchers can try to write their research up in different ways so that it fits with the way of working of policy makers. This is the  hope, though hope, writes Paul Krugman, is not a plan.  The researchers we train can just decide to change job. Other may leave the NGOs or public sector attracted by higher salaries in the in the private one. Some just want to do research and do not really care if their results are noticed by policy makers. To find evidence of success is not easy but, most importantly, is it possible?  In what I do the a the sequence input – output – result does not seem to fit . It definitely applies to this cappuccino. Input: a combination of my demand and the coffee that the bar has bought before hand waiting to sell it. Output: the cappuccino with its nice foam and just a bit of cocoa powder on it. Results: income for the bar and a nice after taste in my mouth that will accompany up to Heathrow.  All quite straight forward.

In my work the sequence is input, a combination of the demand by researchers of their institutes for strengthening their capacity to inform policy makers about their research and our knowledge of tools that can help these processes and funding. Outputs: trained researchers and training material or toolkits. Results: researchers know something new and they can apply it and, so far, leave the training happy about what they have heard.  To capture more than that is difficult. And thinking about it, my Italian friend sitting here can not really know what I will do with my better mood after this cappuccino and how will that influence my day. It is not his concern. maybe we should apply the same logic to our work and our projects, rather than investigating the ethereal, the world of hope where plans cannot reach, why not to focus and concentrate on the doing, on the delivery, on the quality of training and support? What the researchers will do is up to so many variables that it can bring them in so many directions, our training being only a tiny element of the complex mosaic of their lives.

It is time to go. We talk a bit on how we as Italian feel being overseas. Going back does not seem to be a plan for either of us. I stand up and want to pay but he says that the coffee is offered. ‘ Io mi chiamo Arnaldo, e tu?’. ‘ Io? Dimitri.’ ‘Ciao, alla prossima.’

It is still light outside, even thought is past eight. Had a chicken tikka. Go for a walk towards the Thames. Find a small alley that brings to a tiny park behind the archbishop house. A signs says that the park was opened in 1901. Pater Gabriel sings Heroes, his voice just gets better as he gets solder.  A man sits alone on the a bench and reads a hardcover book. Red brick houses surround this tiny park. A man is changing the t-short near the football pitch. Kids play in the playground on the other side. I walk back. People sitting at wooden table on the pavements at a corner pub. A police car passes with blue lights on. The A380 from Singapore glides towards Heathrow. Under the bridge of Waterloo station a huge drink advertisement portraits Wayne Rooney who is ready for the World Cup. The circular Plaza Hotel is now ready. The Big Ben says it is 8:45. Two Indian guys talk in the middle of the bridge. One wears slippers. A group of tourists take pictures from the bridge and try to capture the Parliament. A woman takes a picture of a man in his early forties. Blue jeans. Nice shoes, a  blue cotton jumper. A sad expression in his face. A pub with a very large lamp as a sign. The peace camp next to Churchill  statue. Parliament street towards Whitehall. People waiting for the bus number 12. One man with trench coat and hat rests his elbow on a low grating, he seems tired of the day and too-warmly-dresses. Chinese tourists take picture at the gate at the entrance of Downing Street. A police man is on this side of the and jokes with three colleagues on the other side of the gate. American tourists try to get a glimpse of N. 10. They are in bad shape. At the Horse Guard a very young soldier is cleaning the shit left by the horses. He is in his army fatigue. A nasty commander in a black coat points where he had not managed to clean. He uses the brush also from the stick side. He has a embarrassed expression as many tourists pass by. I think, don’t worry. one day you will get this back. A group of eight men and women of people enters a theatre holding a bottle of white wine and plastic glasses. The three men all dressed in the same style: black shoes, jeans, shirt outside the trousers. Trafalgar square, the National Gallery is still open. A very long white limousine passes with drunk girls shouting from the windows. Nelson sailing boats rests in the huge bottle closed by a cork that must be almost a meter in diameter. The sails of the boat are really as they said: colorful and representing world cultures. A man with a black hat points the bottle to the young girls at his side. People sit under Nelson column and watch the time go by. The Korean cultural centre advertises a Buddha exhibit which will start in a couple of day. Charring Cross bridge is almost empty. A drunk young boy, oversized and with jeans that are falling from his bottom tries to keep up with his more sober friend who tells him to keep up. Italian tourists take pictures of the London Eye. A Eastern European couple walks hand in hand towards me. The field at the London Eye has very short grass. In a group of youngsters sharing drinks and sitting on the grass I notice a girls. She is on her knees opening a bottle. Very blond hairs, almost white. Very white skin and red lipstick that shines out and seems a drop of blood on a white bed sheet. An Indian guy take a picture with his mobile phone. People in group. People alone, walking , sitting. A loud Greek restaurant and the the waiter of a nearby Chinese one having a rest and smoking a cigarette his shoulder resting on a wall.  Three drunk homeless waiting at a bus stop. One looks to me, red nose and cheeks. His expression foggy. The Indian fruits and vegetable shop open 7 days a week until 11pm.  All of a sudden I feel the urge to travel in this country,  from one hostel to the next, up north to Scotland to win my fears. The corner pub I passed earlier. Less people at the wooden tables. The sky yet not dark, the last snapshots of a London walk on a Friday night.