Saramago has died. A good reason to awake my dormant writing. His words have inspired me for a decade now, since I first read The Cave. His craftsmanship combined with the wisdom of he who sees beyond the surface, and manages to reach the core of the fruit without destroying its beauty, has left us today at 87. Poignant, relevant, critical of this world but intimately in love with it, Saramago managed to raise important questions about the open wounds of the human condition, our creations and destructions. A great loss because his words will no longer procreate. Yet a great gain because he was… because he existed, and left such a legacy behind him. He won’t be going to heaven because he didn’t believe in it, he won’t go to hell because it is too small for him… he’ll come back as a tree, as Cipriano Algor, or as the man with the black eye patch, or as the seeing woman or simply as the cellist, who surprisingly will not die!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/José_Saramago
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Friday, June 18, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Feb 13 Strasbourg and the legacy of Gutenberg!
Au Crocodile has been passed on through many generations and now hangs, lifeless, from the ceiling of the Strasbourg restaurant bearing his name. Dinner is not cheap but it is flavoursome, très français, very ceremonial, and surprisingly light. I could type up the menu but that would mean more delays on posting this blog entry. I’d rather upload a photo of the St. Valentine’s carte du jour!
Strasbourg, a European Union capital in the Alsace region was built on and around water. Its canals trick you into feeling like you're in a “bike-less” Amsterdam. A nice mix of German and French cultures make it clean, conservative and interesting. Wikipedia says that the city's name has been “Gallicized” from a Germanic origin meaning "Town (at the crossing) of roads". Gutenberg might have been inspired by this busy intersection when crafting the most influential invention of our modern times… the printing press. He lived here for a while. As a crossroads, Strasbourg was a pleasant surprise in my transition between Africa and the former Soviet Union.
The Hotel Regent Petite France where I stayed is a modern gem built within old walls, tastefully renovated and relatively inexpensive compared to what you can get in Frankfurt for double the price. Another restaurant I savoured was Les Deux Gourmandes. Smaller and family run. A cozy living-room-type bistro, equally reptile-friendly, detailed and as full of ritual. I love the French eating pace. One can spend hours at the table without the pressure of humming waiters asking cliché questions such as: “how are you guys doing?” or “here’s your bill but don’t worry, whenever you are ready” …right! In Canada tables are often double booked thus one is expected to leave shortly after the last sip of coffee… Not in France… it is like “you stay, you enjoy, we take our time as well… life is rude but belle!
My selected book for the moment, pretty much in tune with Valentine’s weekend, was The Lover (1984) by Marguerite Duras. I have read the two versions of it, one in Spanish and the other one in English. The Lover was written in the form of an autobiography as the young Duras narrates in first-person. The Lover from Northern China (El Amante de la China del Norte), released concurrently with the film version, was written in film script form and in the third person. I enjoyed both. Duras is sharp, short sentenced, extremely detailed in single terms and in bold observations. She says it all in petite sentences like: "Very early in my life it was too late." Definitely one of my favourite authors. When I visited Saigon (Ho Chi Min City), I endlessly thought of the way Duras described food, colours, steam, humidity… wow, that was a genius showered in sweat in the expanding borders of "French" Indochine!
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Strasbourg, a European Union capital in the Alsace region was built on and around water. Its canals trick you into feeling like you're in a “bike-less” Amsterdam. A nice mix of German and French cultures make it clean, conservative and interesting. Wikipedia says that the city's name has been “Gallicized” from a Germanic origin meaning "Town (at the crossing) of roads". Gutenberg might have been inspired by this busy intersection when crafting the most influential invention of our modern times… the printing press. He lived here for a while. As a crossroads, Strasbourg was a pleasant surprise in my transition between Africa and the former Soviet Union.
The Hotel Regent Petite France where I stayed is a modern gem built within old walls, tastefully renovated and relatively inexpensive compared to what you can get in Frankfurt for double the price. Another restaurant I savoured was Les Deux Gourmandes. Smaller and family run. A cozy living-room-type bistro, equally reptile-friendly, detailed and as full of ritual. I love the French eating pace. One can spend hours at the table without the pressure of humming waiters asking cliché questions such as: “how are you guys doing?” or “here’s your bill but don’t worry, whenever you are ready” …right! In Canada tables are often double booked thus one is expected to leave shortly after the last sip of coffee… Not in France… it is like “you stay, you enjoy, we take our time as well… life is rude but belle!
My selected book for the moment, pretty much in tune with Valentine’s weekend, was The Lover (1984) by Marguerite Duras. I have read the two versions of it, one in Spanish and the other one in English. The Lover was written in the form of an autobiography as the young Duras narrates in first-person. The Lover from Northern China (El Amante de la China del Norte), released concurrently with the film version, was written in film script form and in the third person. I enjoyed both. Duras is sharp, short sentenced, extremely detailed in single terms and in bold observations. She says it all in petite sentences like: "Very early in my life it was too late." Definitely one of my favourite authors. When I visited Saigon (Ho Chi Min City), I endlessly thought of the way Duras described food, colours, steam, humidity… wow, that was a genius showered in sweat in the expanding borders of "French" Indochine!
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Sunday, March 7, 2010
Feb 11 - Ghana
Despite the infernal heat, the drive to Cape Coast in Ghana was my gift from the gods. And my companionship: god’s angels. How lovely the people, how cordial, how thriving, how inspiring. My friend BG was right. The coast is natural, ages old with fishing villages by its shores and hunters on the road selling rodents (some smoked, some still breathing). Gospel on the radio and Nana, my group leader, telling stories about religion, traditions, politics. We stopped at the University of Cape Coast to talk to students. Impressive. The sculpture of mother wisdom feeding her child caught my eye. I also found bright smiles that tell you stories, colourful fashion, elegant talk. I was treated very well. I was told that is how officials treat foreigners... often better than locals. I used my “foreign-ness” as a charming way to grab their attention… and to invite them to come to Canada with me. We then visited boarding schools, for girls, for boys, private, public, wealthier and not so, uniformed, organized, old enough to be soon celebrating their first century.
On the way back, we visited one of the various fortresses or castles used to gather slaves before shipping them away. Most of them were Portuguese but this one was Dutch. A bit dilapidated, although recently renovated, it sits as a silent reminder at the top of a hill in the midst of a crowded neighbourhood. A tired-looking man in his forties is the key holder. As we walked into the small dark rooms where people from the region were ‘herded’, I felt my pores jump and my eyes pour. And there was that “door of no return” through which stolen generations of men and women walked off their land and disappeared onto the ocean… under the supervision of greedy traders and the ambitious colonizers of the Americas.
I come from Africa too. I felt at home in Ghana. Colombia is also a multicultural society where races have mixed again and again. It is difficult to trace one’s heritage. We are an amalgamation of Europe (with all its combinations and permutations), Africa (mostly from this region of the West Coast) and from the local sedentary inhabitants of the land, rich Aboriginal families (Muiscas, Chibschas, Quimbayas) who lived on “Pacha Mama” for centuries before Columbus. I’m sure African blood runs through my veins… I felt it in the beat of my heart drumming as I saw the boat makers make boats and followed the waves that bathe their bare toes…
Back in Accra the bi-colour cabs buzzed. There were ads welcoming Obama in full smile along John Atta Mills, the Ghanaian president. From North Ridge where I stayed (at the Alisa Hotel) to the steaming streets of a city with a large football stadium, I melted with the inclement sun but suffered no pain. For the first time on my trip I saw traffic police. I noticed that my driver uses the emergency break instead of the pedal break to stop and the highways are divided by fence-like barricades adorned with chicken wire to ‘encourage’ street-crossers to use pedestrian bridges. Along the road I saw big markets, informal vendors. They sell wedding dresses, iron bars, stereo speakers, fridges, evangelical churches, remedies for tumors and other malformations, food.As we listened to the radio there was a catchy tune that I started to whistle. Nana, Collins and Cynthia laughed. What do the lyrics say? I asked. “Give me a quarter, I'll forget all my sorrows and I'll pay you tomorrow”. It refers to getting a shot glass of ‘akpeteshie’, the 40% alcohol local gin… that helps one forget about the daily burdens so that tomorrow never comes…
I missed the akpeteshie. If there is a tomorrow, I must return to Ghana for my quarter. Share
Monday, February 15, 2010
Feb 6 - The Lion and the Jewel - Lagos
With the challenge of technology comes this delayed video from Lagos... no, it was not filmed at the beginning of the 20th century. My writings and postings have been as slow as uploading these videos onto YouTube. I am now in Ukraine... a lot to share. This video was shot on February 6
Unlike Chinua Achebe who has an Ibo (Igbo) tradition from Nigeria's South East,Wole Soyinka has a Yorùbá cultural heritage from the Lagos region. He was the first African to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1986 for his extense work. In 1959 he published his comedy The Lion and the Jewel which I depict here. An amusing short play filled with colour, sense of space and creativity. Share
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Feb 7 - The Blowfish Hotel - Lagos
Blowfish expand like globes. They are cute water versions of porcupines. Nevertheless, I would have never expected to stay at a hotel with this name. I did in Lagos. Everyone locally calls it the Blue Fish, it sounds more pristine and inviting. I agree. I have never scratched the surface of a blowfish but I imagine surprises. That’s what I have found at this relatively small boutique hotel in the heart of Victoria Island. It is so secluded that it has no sign on the door (apparently you pay a lot of money for such signs in Nigeria); so one enters the place like a secret guest through the garage front door.
Bright pink external walls, the Blowfish invites you with its furniture, its many bellmen, porters and other uniformed staff. Wow, it seems like it is going to be a good stay! Oh, wait a minute… my newly assigned tiny room hasn’t been cleaned, it looks like somebody just got up… and the toilet, oh no… what happened? Not a nice welcoming ceremony. Ok, after a few minutes, the baby-looking manager with an Arab accent comes to my rescue. He apologizes a million times and ‘upgrades’ me to a corner room where I can actually walk a bit. I like the windows facing the street and I settle down for one night. The internet is not working… but it must be down for now, maybe tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes. I cannot even see the wireless network on the list of available ones. I’ll have to live for 4 days without access to my inbox. My consolation, phones and blackberries work just fine.
I find this hotel a resemblance of the two extreme realities of our world. On one hand a very wealthy elite who “enjoys” the benefits of good food, fine shelter, and a social life. On the other, the vast majority a nation (and many nations), working hard to please that elite, trying to make ends meet (sometimes at whatever cost).
The Blowfish administration is trying to fill the gap between those ends. Good luck! And here we are, westerners, asking for lotion in the bathroom, clean water, reliable internet… when I complain about the service I am left with this bitter sense of guilt inside… How can I dare to ask for more?
The same combo goes for luxury cars driving on dirt roads and the poorest people talking on cell phones. We forget, I forget, how this is, because in Canada things seem much different. Although, we can always scratch the surface, and dig a little deeper to find out that the poor will always be there and be more than we imaines (ask the organizers of the Vancouver Olympics). We are sitting on a very privileged chair in a small dining room. Although… chairs can always tumble and fall…
I wrote this in the silence of my secluded fortress:
“In the open night, abandoned at their mercy and with no tail to rid them of mosquitoes, two men lay down on a straw mat. Instead, they scratch their legs with their toe nails. Their dusty sandals as pillows. The heavens as the infinite end they could sink into. They try to sleep. They toss around while the palm trees hardly move. The only street light in their faces is a reminder of the cement floor on which they try to rest. They are lying on the backyard of a big house besides a shiny Land Rover. The humid air weighing on their shirtless bodies. They evaporate in sweat. Rub their chests with naked hands. Once in a while, get up to pray… on the same mat. They kneel and stand, kneel and stand with silent prayers. They also play with the keypad on their cell phones. They call people and throw laughs around in retaliation. They seem restless. They go out onto the road to shake hands with other pals. They piss on the walls. I see them through the window of my air conditioned room on the third floor. I wonder when they are going to start the next revolution. And I see motorcycles stop. People chat. Passing cars give me snapshots of life with their beam lights. I see hollow roads, and moving shadows that bounce around. I hear ghosts of the past; I see spirits of the present. And they talk with loud enthusiasm and even smoke despite the pressing heat. But the sounds of engines swallow any singing”.
Requirement of the day: reliable internet and laundry.
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Bright pink external walls, the Blowfish invites you with its furniture, its many bellmen, porters and other uniformed staff. Wow, it seems like it is going to be a good stay! Oh, wait a minute… my newly assigned tiny room hasn’t been cleaned, it looks like somebody just got up… and the toilet, oh no… what happened? Not a nice welcoming ceremony. Ok, after a few minutes, the baby-looking manager with an Arab accent comes to my rescue. He apologizes a million times and ‘upgrades’ me to a corner room where I can actually walk a bit. I like the windows facing the street and I settle down for one night. The internet is not working… but it must be down for now, maybe tomorrow. But tomorrow never comes. I cannot even see the wireless network on the list of available ones. I’ll have to live for 4 days without access to my inbox. My consolation, phones and blackberries work just fine.
I find this hotel a resemblance of the two extreme realities of our world. On one hand a very wealthy elite who “enjoys” the benefits of good food, fine shelter, and a social life. On the other, the vast majority a nation (and many nations), working hard to please that elite, trying to make ends meet (sometimes at whatever cost).
The Blowfish administration is trying to fill the gap between those ends. Good luck! And here we are, westerners, asking for lotion in the bathroom, clean water, reliable internet… when I complain about the service I am left with this bitter sense of guilt inside… How can I dare to ask for more?
The same combo goes for luxury cars driving on dirt roads and the poorest people talking on cell phones. We forget, I forget, how this is, because in Canada things seem much different. Although, we can always scratch the surface, and dig a little deeper to find out that the poor will always be there and be more than we imaines (ask the organizers of the Vancouver Olympics). We are sitting on a very privileged chair in a small dining room. Although… chairs can always tumble and fall…
I wrote this in the silence of my secluded fortress:
“In the open night, abandoned at their mercy and with no tail to rid them of mosquitoes, two men lay down on a straw mat. Instead, they scratch their legs with their toe nails. Their dusty sandals as pillows. The heavens as the infinite end they could sink into. They try to sleep. They toss around while the palm trees hardly move. The only street light in their faces is a reminder of the cement floor on which they try to rest. They are lying on the backyard of a big house besides a shiny Land Rover. The humid air weighing on their shirtless bodies. They evaporate in sweat. Rub their chests with naked hands. Once in a while, get up to pray… on the same mat. They kneel and stand, kneel and stand with silent prayers. They also play with the keypad on their cell phones. They call people and throw laughs around in retaliation. They seem restless. They go out onto the road to shake hands with other pals. They piss on the walls. I see them through the window of my air conditioned room on the third floor. I wonder when they are going to start the next revolution. And I see motorcycles stop. People chat. Passing cars give me snapshots of life with their beam lights. I see hollow roads, and moving shadows that bounce around. I hear ghosts of the past; I see spirits of the present. And they talk with loud enthusiasm and even smoke despite the pressing heat. But the sounds of engines swallow any singing”.
Requirement of the day: reliable internet and laundry.
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Monday, February 8, 2010
Feb 4 Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (Posted in Accra Feb 8)
I am finally in Lagos. A bit tired after a long day. The city welcomes me with the humid heat of a port. The Virgin Nigeria flight was short, calm, full and relatively on time. Adekoya waves at me with the Canadian Embassy sign. He will drive Tushar (a colleague) and myself to the Blowfish hotel. Vendors on the street, blowing horns, taxi drivers wave some kind of an ID at us. We drive through the crowds as if we were celebrities. A huge green billboard displays a beautiful woman and a Nigerian flag. It prays: “Be still and know that I am God”. This city is anything but still: Women carrying kids beg through the traffic, many sell water, a young girl signals cars to stop as she crosses the busy road with a tray of fruit on her head. Welcome to the buzzing Lagos, largest city in Nigeria.
Soon after we drive out of humanity to enter a long highway… It could be Buenos Aires, Shanghai, Ho Chi Min City or anywhere in India as Tushar states. The road is bumpy but steady and we advance like a sail boat in the sea. As we get off the free way we enter a higher-end neighbourhood, we see a mall, we pass by the higher buildings and end up across from a garage door: That’s the blowfish; almost a pension, a boutique hotel.
P.S. I just Watched the video and noticed it didn't upload properly... darn... I can see it well on my computer. Oh well... Things Fall Apart, what better conclusion...I'll try to fix it soon, for now I think it is fun!... Cheers).
As I wait for a chicken and avocado sandwich in my room, I lose faith in blogging tonight. The internet is not working. Neither was my first room. They assigned me one that hadn’t been clean. The benefit of my complaint was an upgrade, but it came with a price, no internet on sight… I have also lost my faith in recovering my camera. The local Lufthansa people told me "it had not been found". I hope whoever has it, can do wonders with it. It contains my latest video from the Frankfurt-Abuja flight… where I was sharing the clouds with all of you. What can one do? Just move on. My webcam seems to be in conflict with YouTube and I burnt a converter last night… I just hope I can share my Nigerian books with you before I depart on Sunday.
My chicken and avocado has arrived. And as I am starving I will stop for a little while. The fries are very salty but my palate doesn’t seem to mind. Share
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Feb 2 Fela Kuti and my journey to Abuja - Nigeria
Some technical difficulties and a loss… but here I am. I have arrived in Abuja, capital city of Nigeria. It is my first time visiting West Africa. As we flew over the Mediterranean sea and entered Africa through Tunisia and Morocco (waving to my friends P+B)... my interest in the dessert grew. The flight satellite image looked like this massive extension of yellowish/orange land that ended on a green bank… Nigeria. Desserts are maegestic (Sheila, you should follow your dad steps and tell us that story...)
I am a bit sad because I left my video camera on the plane. That means that I may not be able to video blog the way I had planned. The unexpected happened… I was just wondering what everything had gone so smooth… I have this idiosyncratic believe that there’s always a stone in the shoe… perhaps because I know how distracted I can be. I can pack the perfect suitcase and forget the most important item from my list… oh darn!
So far so good. Entering Nigeria was simple, friendly, easy. Yes, it was warm but manageable; and the Canadian embassy people were there waiting for us. I got a new phone SIM card and exchanged some US into Naira. Two things I forgot to bring: a 3 leg converter (those which look like fridge plugs) and my iPod charger. The hotel is ok, and the Tuesday’s seafood buffet was great as well as the local beer, Star. I can hear the reggae like music on the different patios. I swear I heard Spanish Salsa music on the elevator before. I am now fighting with the internet connection for the service to work. It did earlier on but now it is simply dead… and I called the front desk to ask for assistance and they promised to call me back… 10 minutes ago.
I slept on the plane and listened to music; but also finished my first book by a Nigerian author. I shall talk about it tomorrow. It was fun. I also started a play by another famous Nigerian author (clue: he has one of the most amazing hair-dues... can you guess?). I can already see some similarities between the two storytellers.
What does this city smell like? Hard to say. It’s a combination of smells: the air conditioning, fried sweet plantains, sweat combined with expensive perfume, liquor, serene forest breeze. What does it feel like? It feels like things work but at their own pace. People are way friendly but extremely laid back. They do their minimum possible as not to stress and assure you everything is going to be fine. I kind of like that. They are pretty, well groomed, some men tall and strong; women play with their hair and their hips. They greet you as you pass by, but not with the Asian ceremony… it is more like a next-door neighbour type of attitude.
Fela Kuti (from Wikipedia) was born in 1938 and left this world in August 1997. He was a Nigerian multi-instrumentalist musician and composer, pioneer of afrobeat music, human rights activist, and political maverick. He's been my friend and travel companion since S and I watched The Visitor a couple of year ao. Here goes excentric Fela!
And of course, the movie of the day: The visitor (2008) directed by Thomas McCarthy. If you've watched the TV series "Six Feet Under" you will recognize Mr. Richard Jenkins who plays cold Professor Walter Vale.
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