Yvoire, France.
Today I basically had the dream day that I would like to use as my model for Dream Life. It was strikingly simple. Which makes me happy, to think I am satisfied with something rather low-maintenance. (Though it does involve being in a beautiful place.)
I woke up at 7:30am. Had breakfast with my better half. Ate something light but also something sweet, which puts me in a good mood, because eating dessert for breakfast makes me feel sneaky, but as a semi-adult, like I am getting away with it. It wasn't terribly unhealthy: cornflakes, a croissant with nutella, and a cup of hot chocolate with a shot of espresso tossed in.
The caffeine perked me up.
Tom left for work/class which means I have the day to myself.
Spent a couple of hours browsing the web. Caught up on the news, looked at some impressive and inspiring things people are up to (grassroots NGO's, photo-essays in remote regions of the world, these kinds of things get me energized to make something of myself), and talked online with a couple of friends- which makes me feel less like a lone satellite orbiting in a meaningless void. Keeps me close to home.
My friend Gozaldi, from Indonesia, was online.. I even knew which internet place he was at, I could imagine him in the booth, drinking some overly sweet soft drink and chainsmoking. He never realizes how far down the cigarette has burned and inevitably huge clumps of ash will fall onto the keyboard. It was so nice to know exactly how it was all going down, thousands of miles away, somewhere so different from here it is difficult to even fathom. He and I brainstormed Indonesian names for the gallery I want to open, I like all the double-words in Indonesian, like "gila-gila" (which means crazy), "laki-laki" (boy/man), "cumi-cumi" (squid), "jalan-jalan" (take a walk), but none of those are exactly fitting for an art gallery. I was glad to have another fond memory of Indonesia, the quirky fun of those words popping and rolling off my tongue.
We then talked about his "soundpedia" the sound art installation he is making to tell the history of Indonesia since 1850 (through sound and musical composition). I am again reminded of the fascinating, tumultuous history of Indonesia and affirmed in my desire to facilitate greater exposure to the really cool and innovative art happening there now.
Then I went for a walk: which today brought me to the harbor and lakeside of the vast Lac Laman, or when we are in Switzerland, Lake Geneva. I found some trails that led through woods alongside the lake, and stretched my legs, got my thoughts circulating for my writing. A couple of small boys hid under a wood-planked bridge and as I walked by/over it, poked sticks up at my feet. It was so cute!
I marvelled. This village is centuries old. Stone fortress like buildings, dead ivy sprawled and clinging to their sturdy yet forlorn surfaces, narrow little pathways between more ancient architecture... the sound of gulls squawing. Big stones by the water had a strange discomforting moss on them that looked like the toupee my middle school French teacher used to wear (RIP M.Slater). There was a species of bird I had never seen before, plump and black and white, hanging out on the dock, a pair of these birds, something of a cross between a penguin, duck, swan, and dodo. Bizarre, right? There was a huge swan- looking at it- I felt it must have been a mutant or a freak. When I think of birds, I first imagine a sparrow or swallow, something tiny and chirpy that darts around deftly. This swan looked like the t-rex of birds. I found it frightening, sculptural, dangerous.
How weird is it that the Queen owns all the swans in England? I was glad this swan is in France, a French swan, because I had a feeling it would not bow down to the Queen. How unnecssary is that- for the Queen to own all the swans? Is it just to remind us of an unnecessary unappealing British need to own lives, which they deem inferior, and feel justified in possessing, en masse, by some divine allowance? Very strange to me. Poor swans. Where other birds can live in freedom, the swan is the serf of the Queen.
Anyway, listening to the lapping of waves on the pebbled beach brought my thoughts elsewhere, and yet focused them at the same time. So now I am properly inspired to write about the disintegration of my time in Indonesia, some key moments in that confusing, colorful, depressing, rainy chapter of my life, and how it led me to China..where I gratefully and athletically pursued Redemption!
In short, I love life in this tiny French medieval village. I feel like I could write a thousand essays if I lived here.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Cheese is the new Freddie Kruger
Tom doesn't want me to keep him up but it's actually his fault because he brought us to eat fondue, even though he read my previous blog post that expressly stated I was sick of cheese and bread. What did we eat tonight? Yep, you guessed it.
The cheese was in fact delicious, but had an effect similar, but different, to a double espresso. It made me feel woozy, giddy, drugged. I dread sleeping, what mayhem will wrack my dreams tonight I hesitate to imagine.
It was midnight and the city was nearly comatose. Walking on a winding, little cobblestone alleyway, a line of MGMT's hit song, "Time to Pretend" wafted out of one of these archaic and movie-set apartments, with the high ceilings, ornate metalwork balcony and the stone gargoyles above. As the city of Lausanne lulled, I was jerked awake with the vivid memory of watching Andrew and Beno do their MGMT act (back then it was The Management) in the backyard of Fountain (a street at Wesleyan with student housing), a late spring block party, everyone was there. The night air was sweaty with possibility, beer flowed from the kegs. How could I ever imagine that later, I would see their faces on a huge plasma TV at a junky expat bar in China, or hear that unforgettably catchy line drifting near the ancient cathedral in Switzerland?
Did they see this all coming? What can we see for ourselves?
---Now I'm writing this the next morning. I was right- my dreams were a disaster. I was in several car crashes, driving a car maniacally in reverse, at about 100mph, not knowing how to brake. After several attempts at getting someplace and bashing up the vehicle, I thought in my sleep, which shouuld I distrust more, cars or cheese?
I also dreamt of being conned into trying on a unicorn hat while a man tried to steal my things, and arguing with old friends. Needless to say, this morning, as I try to finish my writing excerpt on my time at the rainy season in Indonesia, my time at the monastery in China, and a Swedish girl with a mushroom top haircut.
The cheese was in fact delicious, but had an effect similar, but different, to a double espresso. It made me feel woozy, giddy, drugged. I dread sleeping, what mayhem will wrack my dreams tonight I hesitate to imagine.
It was midnight and the city was nearly comatose. Walking on a winding, little cobblestone alleyway, a line of MGMT's hit song, "Time to Pretend" wafted out of one of these archaic and movie-set apartments, with the high ceilings, ornate metalwork balcony and the stone gargoyles above. As the city of Lausanne lulled, I was jerked awake with the vivid memory of watching Andrew and Beno do their MGMT act (back then it was The Management) in the backyard of Fountain (a street at Wesleyan with student housing), a late spring block party, everyone was there. The night air was sweaty with possibility, beer flowed from the kegs. How could I ever imagine that later, I would see their faces on a huge plasma TV at a junky expat bar in China, or hear that unforgettably catchy line drifting near the ancient cathedral in Switzerland?
Did they see this all coming? What can we see for ourselves?
---Now I'm writing this the next morning. I was right- my dreams were a disaster. I was in several car crashes, driving a car maniacally in reverse, at about 100mph, not knowing how to brake. After several attempts at getting someplace and bashing up the vehicle, I thought in my sleep, which shouuld I distrust more, cars or cheese?
I also dreamt of being conned into trying on a unicorn hat while a man tried to steal my things, and arguing with old friends. Needless to say, this morning, as I try to finish my writing excerpt on my time at the rainy season in Indonesia, my time at the monastery in China, and a Swedish girl with a mushroom top haircut.
Swiss Miss
Lausanne, Switzerland.
It's a grey day, drizzly, the kind that you can be thankful for, if you were looking for an excuse to stay in. I have a big excerpt due tomorrow, for my writing class that I'm taking in San Francisco, and I was afraid I'd feel guilty for being in Switzerland, having never been, and not even inclined to walk around.
From my perch on the big bed, I see all sorts of houses everywhere. Some are plain, concrete and stucco looking, bearing no resemblance to the marvelous and historic looking houses we saw yesterday in the small towns in champagne-country as we drove through France. The kind with high arched windows, strong wooden shutters, ornate stonework, lined behind cobblestoned streets. But some of the houses in my view are more interesting- with peaked tile roofs and billowing chimneys. We chose a room that faces the street, instead of the more expensive one, which was significantly smaller and had bad feng shui, but which faced the lake.
Taking a break from my writing, I walked down to the lake. I like being in countries where I don't speak the language, I feel like I get to disappear a bit, and become half human, half ghost. I feel free of normal societal participation. This is a sensation I really enjoy.
Approaching the lake.... this lake is as big as a sea!
Mist rises off the water and the blue is almost a grey. A few gulls swoop listlessly and a flock of geese pass, making a noise unlike anything I've ever heard. They didn't sound like other geese, their sound was a rather high-pitched whirring, and made me wonder if it was not in fact the sound of their wings rotating, rather than a noise coming from their long throats.
Mountains rose ever so faintly in the back of the bluegrey skyscape. Snow caps.
I crouched down to collect rocks. I was mesmerized by their lines, some looked like they had the pattern of bamboo etched in them like a lithograph, others were wrapped in perfect stripes. I collected as many rocks as I could carry, which was not many, as I was very hungry, and feeling weak.
I dreaded buying something to eat. I would even say I was despairing just a little bit. Not because I am nervous about speaking bad French (which I am), but because after only a couple of days in Europe, I am already sick of bread, ham, and cheese. Every time I take a bite I think of my heart getting thick and clumsy. I found a sushi place!
They were speaking Cantonese!
So I say, Hey, you're speaking Cantonese! And then we proceed, in this Chinese tongue, to discuss the brief trajectory of my immediate life story, as well as telling them my mom is from Hong Kong, that I am just here traveling, they tell me, enjoy your lunch, and other things that just don't translate easily into English (eat slowly, walk slowly).
And I walk back to the hotel feeling just a little bit less out of place, and loving the diaspora.
It's a grey day, drizzly, the kind that you can be thankful for, if you were looking for an excuse to stay in. I have a big excerpt due tomorrow, for my writing class that I'm taking in San Francisco, and I was afraid I'd feel guilty for being in Switzerland, having never been, and not even inclined to walk around.
From my perch on the big bed, I see all sorts of houses everywhere. Some are plain, concrete and stucco looking, bearing no resemblance to the marvelous and historic looking houses we saw yesterday in the small towns in champagne-country as we drove through France. The kind with high arched windows, strong wooden shutters, ornate stonework, lined behind cobblestoned streets. But some of the houses in my view are more interesting- with peaked tile roofs and billowing chimneys. We chose a room that faces the street, instead of the more expensive one, which was significantly smaller and had bad feng shui, but which faced the lake.
Taking a break from my writing, I walked down to the lake. I like being in countries where I don't speak the language, I feel like I get to disappear a bit, and become half human, half ghost. I feel free of normal societal participation. This is a sensation I really enjoy.
Approaching the lake.... this lake is as big as a sea!
Mist rises off the water and the blue is almost a grey. A few gulls swoop listlessly and a flock of geese pass, making a noise unlike anything I've ever heard. They didn't sound like other geese, their sound was a rather high-pitched whirring, and made me wonder if it was not in fact the sound of their wings rotating, rather than a noise coming from their long throats.
Mountains rose ever so faintly in the back of the bluegrey skyscape. Snow caps.
I crouched down to collect rocks. I was mesmerized by their lines, some looked like they had the pattern of bamboo etched in them like a lithograph, others were wrapped in perfect stripes. I collected as many rocks as I could carry, which was not many, as I was very hungry, and feeling weak.
I dreaded buying something to eat. I would even say I was despairing just a little bit. Not because I am nervous about speaking bad French (which I am), but because after only a couple of days in Europe, I am already sick of bread, ham, and cheese. Every time I take a bite I think of my heart getting thick and clumsy. I found a sushi place!
They were speaking Cantonese!
So I say, Hey, you're speaking Cantonese! And then we proceed, in this Chinese tongue, to discuss the brief trajectory of my immediate life story, as well as telling them my mom is from Hong Kong, that I am just here traveling, they tell me, enjoy your lunch, and other things that just don't translate easily into English (eat slowly, walk slowly).
And I walk back to the hotel feeling just a little bit less out of place, and loving the diaspora.
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