June, 2013
ARRIVED IN PARADISE
so i arrived in madrid ...
paul and his son and son s wife, philippe and sylvie, were waiting for me....
we drove several hours to southern spain...to his daughter s village...
she lives high atop a terraced village with southern type whitewashed houses scattered along the winding narrow roads, leading down into the village...
living in an old farmhouse...restored...and surrounded by wild gardens,,,
and views of acres and acres of rolling hills of olive tree plantations...
we had dinner in the garden last evening, amongst the wild garden of lavender and hollyhocks, under the sweet aroma of the linden tree..
with a magnificent view of old town granada to the west ...and the
snow capped mountains of the sierra nevadas to the east...with a sunset
that turned the skies orange and yellow with a hue of pink...somewhat like the sunsets we often saw from gerry s studio and our bedroom...
way back in dundas...
can t believe in those few short hours i have been transported physically and emotionally across that huge ocean....
the strength of it overwhelms me...
have jet lag...so others walked early morning into the mountaiin villages..
and i just now awoke...to sweet smelling coffee...the only thing that really awakens me when my internal clock is so off...
the sun is HOT....and the skies a gentle blue...with a little mist over the sierras...soon to be burned off by the heat of the day...
the light is a bright light...maybe due to the golden ground colours
of the clay earth
we had coffee and fresh baguettes with local homemade berry jam..
for breakfast...
the others went off to granada for the afternoon...
to order tickets for us to walk through the grand Alambra tomorrow...
i will relax here in the quiet on the lounge today, in the shade,
the sun is too hot...
with the sketch book that paul gave me..and some of his daughter s artbooks..she is an artist also... and try to get into the six hour time difference rhythm ...and heal this fractured knee bone of mine..
finally, after all the running up and down my stairs in the past few weeks getting my home ready for my move...
what a whirlwind that was...but happy it is done..
now, just finishing this journal...i can see into the quiet
of the meditative, sundrenched garden...
the playful butterflies....which i am going to join....
with my coffee and sketch book...
and maybe later walk over to the local cafe to practice some
of my long forgotten spanish...with the friendly locals..
hope you are all very well...
and that the sun will shine brilliantly on you soon...
hasta ...besos
ANDALUCIA
back to our farm house after a few days road tripping....
and now breathing in the fresh country air...
stopped in granada....and the alhambra... with its many gardens..
and palaces....so opulent and decadent..
.amazing though..it was not considered a world heritage site
until the '80's
and to sevilla ...visited the alcazar...and swearing i will never visit
another castle or cathedral..incredible as they are....
have had my fill of them over the years..
so strolled through old town sevilla... stopping
at all the tapa bars...and people watching....
it is saturday....and wedding parties in horse and carriage
seen all over town..
glamour like i have never experienced ..
even the decorated horses exude elegance....
and after saying this...no more cathedrals...we stop in
old town cordoba
as my friends say the cathedral at cordoba...is a must see..
the initial building was begun in the 600 's ...
... how could we ever imagine the 600's...
but the history far too complicated to recount...
it was first a humble church...torn down..
then a mosque..
with its thousand unbelievable arches...
simplicity... in perfect rows...the simple exquisite mosque..
then a church...then a mosque...now a cathedral...
somehow overwhelming now to see a cathedral inside a mosque...
but way overdone..with its may altars of gold and silver and jewels...
wondering if this was all the treasure stolen by the conquistadors
from the inca and mayan civilizations...
displayed so proudly now on all the altars and shrines..
and now knowing why i love the simplicity of the romanesque churches..
just simple arches...
all around paul s area on west coast of france...
so simple and meditative..
just sitting in old town cordoba.. soaking in the wonderful warmth with a cool beer...
wondering why the beer is not staying cold...
we notice the temperature noted on the thermostat next to us..
a warm 45 degrees..in the shade...
and loving it...
and then on the road returning home...took the wrong turn..
so decided to stay with it...and ended up on the ..costa del sol...
and the costa del luz...the light...a brilliant white light..
just a few miles north of the african coast...morocco...
with its maze of mysterious alleyways in the Medina...
so easy to get lost in.....
and here... the landscape..gently rolling hills filled with
fields of sunflowers...all flowers turning their heads
in the direction of the sun...and turning the landscape yellow....
as far as the eye can see..
and ending up in malaga.....getting my fill of fresh oysters...
maybe it wasn't a wrong turn after all....
back to the farmhouse today...high atop a hill with its buena vista...
...a 200 meter walk in from the road along a winding pathway in a meadow
of high golden grasses...each blade glistening in the heat of the
noonday sun...the pathway... dotted with small pomegranite trees
with their tiny orange blossoms... red and pink wild hollyhocks...
and broken pots filled with aromatic lavender...
on the way in...noticing the red clay tile roof of the farmhouse..
the tiles...decaying and moss filled...telling stories of years gone by....
stepping over pieces of plaster fallen from the old farmhouse walls...
the walls... covered with grape vines..
but somehow charming when entering the foyer through the huge old carved wooden doors...
with max, reaching up to my shoulders, greeting us with his licks and kisses....
and the elegance of the sliver moroccan light fixtures hanging in the foyer
from the 16 foot high ceilings...
and the contrast of the ancient outside ...
with the stark elegance of the interior...
with its whitewashed walls and moroccan carpets ...
and huge old clay pots strewn around the rooms...
with large abstract cream on white canvas paintings
painted by paul s daughter...
and a small altar with buddha sitting in a corner...
seeming to watch over us...
and finally, breathing in the fresh country air....
sitting in the garden...
with a glass of pineau...
paul drawing the breathtaking landscape with his bamboo pen...
and looking at the bamboo plants growing next to the linden tree...
with their simple lines...seen in so many japanese drawings..
paul's drawings so influenced by japanese art...
he tells us a story of a 13th century japanese artist, living in a monastery...
the artist, wanting to draw much of the time, but his superiors
frowning on it...finally, as punishment, tie him up to a tree...
but the artist, so intent on drawing, draws a rat in the ground with his foot...
and the rat, so realistic and beautifully drawn, comes alive...
and gnaws at the rope...freeing the artist from his bondage...
freedom...is what life is here...
hasta pronto... besos
FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE
buenos dias .... and bon jour...
spain ....and france ... all in one day...
so today saying... hasta luego...to family... and leaving south of spain...
and the costa de la luz....
driving north to france...
stopping in bilboa in northern spain to visit the guggenheim gallery...
designed by our own canadian, frank gehry...
very impressive from afar...
but somehow disappointing on closer view...
the titanium panels covering the building seemed to be cheaply
glued on and ready to fall off...
the interior does have great lighting and space for viewing the art ...
but was also not impressed by much of what i saw...
jean-michel basquiat...i will never understand...the price of his art..
... millions...one piece ..$16 million
for what he called art..don t understand his appeal..
although i know he depicts much afro-american history in his art...
and he collaborated with andy warhol in the '80's...
basquiat unfortunately died of an overdose, they say, in 1988...after a very troubled life...at the very young age of 28..
shortly after the death of andy warhol...
bilboa... such a mixture of architecture...it seems to confuse the eye..
but the best iberico jamon.... i have ever tasted...
even the regular serrano is delicious...but the iberico...like butter..
depends on where the pigs grazed and what they were fed...
there are several grades of iberico..but the best came from free range pigs
... they roamed in oak forests in spain... and fed on acorns..
the diet and exercise of the pigs determine the taste..
we had the best in bilboa....the taste and texture...like butter..
then across the border to france...i was dozing in the backseat of the van
when we crossed the border... and was a bit shocked at my reaction when i awoke and saw the same places that gerry and i had been, thirteen years ago...while visiting my son julian, who had been living here for the year...
a day of triggers,...which i think started with visiting the guggenheim..
the first time i had been to an art gallery without gerry...
remembering walking around galleries with him and always being
so interested in what he had to say about each piece of art...
feeling his enthusiasm and love of the art..
and now visiting the aire de repos...the resting areas...the same ones
that gerry and i had stopped at...and seeing him sitting there beside me,..
having a bit of lunch..or just relaxing...
and then passing through Surgeres...the town we had also passed through with julian those many years ago...and us joking with ger...
calling him Sir Ger...which is exactly how you pronounce that town...
and visiting La Jarrie...
and then arriving at my friends' home ....a beautifully restored stable
in a tiny hamlet on the west coast of france...where the light is brilliant...
because of the salt ponds...and the 'salt dust'...
it is late evening here now and looks like mid afternoon...
the last time i was here was with julian and ger...
and i remember the walks in the evening looking up at the stars...
the millions of stars we never see at home..here in the darkness of
the fresh night air..
in this tiny hamlet...a hamlet of only a few homes....mostly stables..
the same stars i am looking at tonight...
and a profound happening....always talking to ger...asking him
what i should be doing and where and what...always feeling
lost in the universe...and intellectually knowing i should let him go..
but my heart finding it difficult..
but have had a small bottle of moroccan hair oil..with a label on the
box it comes in...with the word...GER...probably means it is from
germany...but nevertheless....GER..
so everyday when i opened the box, for the past year, i saw ...GER..
and i have taped it over and over again so as not to loose it...
but today when asking him what i should do..
the little label simply fell off...
and as i stepped out of the shower...my wet feet formed a heart shape
on the wooden step outside the shower...where i always step out..
and certainly do not know how my feet this time formed a heart..
it seems impossible..
then as i walked out into the garden...
the acanthus...just beginning to loose their blossoms..
finding a fallen white blossom on the garden floor...
the blossom,of course...in the shape of a heart..
triggers....and signs...
they happen...and shake me up...
just read a book by kati marton....paris a love story...about the life and death of her beloved husband, richard holbrooke... US ambassador to
the balkans..
who was partly responsible for negotiating the end of the balkan war...
in the '90's....
i visited my son in bosnia shortly after the war and saw, first hand,
the devastation war brings...
so feel a bit connected with this book...
kati s last words in her book...
after trying to get on with her life without him..
she says ... she misses him every step of the way...
i find those words haunting...
because....like her, i miss gerry every step of the way...
the countryside here...
the landscape was red....filled with poppy fields...les coquelicots...
but just harvested...
and now the landscape is yellow...and golden
yellow from the fields of sunflowers...
and golden from the fields of golden wheat...
with a few traces of poppies...still trying to hang on...
peeping their tiny orange heads through
the shafts of golden wheat..
so seeing this huge expanse of golden landscape dotted with orange...
like a stroke of a paintbrush...
a dreamscape..
driving along these winding roads of this pastoral countryside
amongst the many sunflower fields...
i see a hamlet called...la madeleine...paul, in all his patience,
takes a few photos of me in front the the sign...
with the ever so impatient frenchman...beeping his horn
at paul standing in the middlle of the road...for the perfect photo...
of me in front of the sign...LA MADELEINE....
the sign.... covered by rose tremiere...hollyhock...
here ...the land of the wild hollyhock..my favourite wildflower...
Madeleine standing in front of La Madeleine...
i am trying to take a photo of the fields of sunflowers...
but everytime i have my camera...seems to be the wrong time...
they have always turned their heads...in the direction of the sun..
of course i never have my camera when they are looking at me...
so just when i think i can head back home to get my camera..
by the time i arrive back at the fields..
they have turned...and too late again..
of course, remembering their name in french..les tournesols...
meaning ...to turn to the sun..
but when no sun...they hang their heads in a sort of depression...
i understand that...
and visiting the romanesque churches in the saintonge area..
the architecture that i love....so simple in its form...
no glitter...just simplicity in its many arches...
so easy to pray in the tranquility under the arches...
this whole area...filled with history...
driving through the winding, narrow country roads...
from village to village...most built in the 11th century and still
keeping their character...
stopping in each village at cafes for a cafe crema...or a glass of wine...
or a pineau...
pineau...the local drink...wine mixed with cognac...the wine stopped at fermention and cognac added...
and people watching...a great passtime of mine...
and then returning to my friends' home, looking at the garden..
a very active front garden...
the numerous acanthus..
a very ancient flower...
whose leaf is depicted on much of the medieval sculptures...
the flowers...scattered about the front garden..
reaching high above the kitchen window..
as we sit at the kitchen table, they seem to be peering in on us..
wanting to know our secrets...
i am sure they could tell us many interesting stories..
and an interesting story from philippe...
about the acanthus...
when they dry up and their tiny white blossoms fall..
they then eject their seeds with great force...
so far and with such force...that they pound at the kitchen window...
and, philippe says, if you are sitting in the garden...you must move...
or be hit by the seeds..
and still in the front garden...watching the hundreds of butterflies..
fluttering around the butterfly bush and landing on their long, conical
shaped purple flowers...
and listening to the bees, buzzing around the wygelia bush,
which i planted here many years ago...
sucking the nectar from the tiny pink flowers...
and the wild hollyhocks...here..the land of hollyhocks..
the rose tremiere...
and looking at the huge summer hibiscus which we just planted ..
with much larger flowers than the regular hibiscus...
with its huge pink flower greeting us each morning....
which looks like it is smiling at us..
in this magnificent 40 degree weather...which i love..
and just as i am sitting here thinking of the beauty of this garden life..
a dragonfly lands on the wygelia blossom...
never saw one so close..
and thankful to the universe for such beauty...
the wings have a filigree design...
so dainty...but this dragonfly looks just like a helicopter when it flies off...
and a walk into the calm of the back garden..
a very different kind of garden..
very private where the family always sunbathes in the nude..
with its wild bamboo bushes..its tiny palms
and grape vines climbing up the walls of the old ruin behind the stable..
and outside under the roof of the ruin...an old brass bed ...
where we all take turns having a siesta...
siesta...after a big lunch with maybe too much wine..
everyone on vacation...
siesta time...when all is quiet...at least of scurrying people..
where, i am sure, most of the population of france was
conceived during this 'siesta time'...
if everyone had a bed in their garden, i am sure there would be no wars...
and today...off to another hamlet deeper into the countryside...
driving along winding roads through breathtaking views of sunflowers and wheat...
we finally arrive at the most tranquil and amazing gites... a country inn..,
in the deep of the countryside..
a villa, with a garden so basic but beautiful ... covered with hay..
the owner of the gite... fashioning his garden...his passion...
on the principles of some japanese organic garden guru...
they have a gallery where paul is having an art exhibit this month..
so we hang the exhibit...it is elegant...
gerry loved paul s art...as do i...his lines are sensuous..
and we are invited to stay over for two nights...
this night, the handsome young 28 yr old son, emanuelle,
with his long rasta braids..
is having a concert with his reggae band...
it was spectacular..in the garden...under the linden tree...
and under the moonlight...
where the concert was grand...
but the background...three 4 yr olds..decide to be the background..
and they stop the show... they could be the supremes at age four..
dancing and singing..with such sensuous movements...like professionals...
can t take our eyes off them...
and the next day ...a garden guru from senegal .. arrives for an organic
garden workshop ...he tells of how he is teaching the young senegalese
how to sustain themselves with a garden...
and meeting people from around the world staying at this gite...
like a bit of paradise...
we are all invited to senegal to visit the gardens and the schools...
sounds appealing..
and next day...ishmael... visiting from niger...a jewellery maker..
mostly silver and gems from niger..
ishmael...covered from head to toe in his traditional gown...and turban..
soft blue silk...keeping him cool in this extreme heat...
and a night of african food and film...and music...
dancing under the stars to african music...
ishmael ... in his soft blue gown...like a vision...
he will visit again next summer...he says...inshalah..if god permits...
always something going on...
and the next night...emanuelle is making dinner for the guests,.
15 of us...he is making mussels...my favourite....the aroma
is sumptuous...
so i wander into the kitchen and ask for a taste..
he allows me one..and says he will serve dinner...
but then is running off to a concert..
they are the best tasting mussels i have ever had..
a special sweetness...maybe just fresher than i have ever tasted...
but waiting for dinner for the real taste test...
at dinnertime, mounds and mounds of mussels on my plate...
and in the morning..
as twelve middle aged french women...who speak a little english...
sit around the breakfast table with us ...
and i mistakenly say to emanuelle..
i LOVED your mussels last night...
these 12 women hear..
i LOVED your muscles last night..
and i immediately have 24 eyes glaring at me in surprise..
for a few seconds...until we all realize that things get lost in translation,.
they refer to mussels as ...moules...
...and muscles ...as muscles...
needless to say... both emanelle and i created a few shades of red..
of embarrassment...
but we all had a good laugh..
and for the first time...i saw these tight french women relax...
and again...lost in translation...
the owner of the gite asks us to bring food to the table for each
evening dinner...a feast...
but she says... bring sucre ou sel... sugar or salt..
WHAT...sugar or salt ..to a feast...
i am shocked...why would we bring sugar or salt..
i ask again and again...and she does not realize my shock..
until we all understand what is said..
she is asking to bring a sweet or savoury plate...
but again ...lost in translation...
and always, looking forward to the saturday morning market
in the local village...where live chickens are being sold..
and fois gras...trying not to think of the poor geese..
but nevertheless, tasting the best fois gras ever...
with its layer of grease dripping over the edges...
and the colourful flowers and herbs and fresh baguettes...
and hazelnut tortes..and onion tarts...and cherry clafouti..
and organic vegetables..and seafood galore...
oysters...where the farmer shucked three for me and
i slurped them down much to my friend s disgust..
after filling our bags, we head to the local cafe just around the corner
from the market..where the owners are friends of my friends..
they offer us small glasses of local white wine...
in tiny wine glasses, where we sit on the patio..and people watch...
there is a direlect looking young man with missing front teeth..
i think he is a local homeless, but when i am introduced to him..
he is one of the areas most famous violinists..
this is the real thing..
and we stop on one of our escapades, at the local
saintonge jardin romane..
with its many sculptures of the romanesque churches in this
history filled area...filled with medieval history...
the saintonge area has a large number of romanesque churches...
and this garden is a monumental tour of romanesque art..
such a simplicity of the romanesque...
combined with the itricacies of the arabic art influences...
so noticeable in the sculptures of these churches...
intricate like the filigree wings of the dragonfly...
the sign in the sculpture garden says...
'the important rise in population which took place in Europe at the beginning of the 11th century, provoked the expansion of new territories.. By the end of the 10th century, the great forests of Saintonge were cleared for crops. New villages were built on the lands gained, together with over 600 churches. The church, in particular, the monasteries,
benefitted most from the expansion...'
so, am feeling so immersed in this great history...
everywhere i look, more art, more sculpture...
feeling like i am back in another era..
but... i am brought back to the present again at the thought of my son and his family visiting us next week...
i am ecstatic...missing family and friends ..
so greatly looking forward to their visit...
with my new adorable baby grand daughter...
but off to the opening of paul s exhibit tomorrow...
with a champagne garden party...and a feast...
where i made the mistake of talking about mussels..
where the locals are all talking about ...LA CANADIENNE...
i hear the whispers...
and wondering who i am..
and now thinking that not speaking the language is to my advantage..
it makes me the mysterious woman...who arrived out of nowhere..
and here at my friends...staying with them for the summer..
their family is visiting from all around europe...
and staying in rented villas...converted stables really.. in this hamlet..
so we leave our door open...and anyone walks in
at any time..the many teenagers...paul s grandchildren..
with their ipods and ipads and whatever else these days..
that teenagers do..
but feeling so comfortable ...sitting around the living room
as we go about our business...
always making meals.. part of the day..
and always family meals...full of love and laughter...
but they all understand locked doors...not even a knock..
the family that i miss so much...with my family all living afar..
and being invited back to spain to visit their daughter i just visited...
and being invited back here anytime...
now feeling like part of the family...
so, to quote a friend of mine...another paul whom i met in france also many
years ago...who wrote a book titled.... all our summers are french...
now thinking...all my summers may be french...
inshalah...if god permits...
a bientot et bisous....till we meet again... many kisses...
ps for those of you who write french...sorry for the missing accents...
Un Rêve
late summer here...driving my friend's little citroen through
the winding roads of the countryside through sunflower fields ...
...each sunflower turning brown...
after a season of lush brilliance...the sunflowers, drooping their brown heads in sadness...knowing this year's adventure is coming to an end....
coming to an end...like my journey...almost time to leave this land of
food and wine and love and siestas...and baguettes...baguettes in every
wicker shopping basket...if nothing else...wine and baguettes...
and flowers...
will miss everyone here...my old friends and my new friends...
but am also looking forward to spending a few much needed weeks
with my family...in geneva and in copenhagen...and being with my
beautiful, sweet baby grand daughter...we will celebrate my son's
and his wife's marriage....their danish celebration...in the countryside
of denmark at his wife's parents' farm, with a celebration under the stars
in their large garden...with japanese lanterns floating into the skies...
so...feeling part of the landscape here now...
and i find myself no longer LA CANADIENNE...
french phrases come out of my mouth...without thinking..
sometimes shocking to me...
'je n'ai pas beaucoup de temps'...i don't have much time...
i replied to someone who asked how much longer my stay in france...
so..when i say a few words...such encouragement...
ohhh, they say...your french is very good...
they are so kind...
leaving...but not without one last encounter...
i recently met someone at the weekly feast/ concert at the
gite in the countryside where paul is having his art exhibit...
it was an evening of pineau tasting and fine food and wine and music and conversation and meeting new people.... in the garden of the gite...
jean-pierre is an installation artist who works with the environment...
the elements...wind, air, fire and water...and light...
his projects are worldwide and brilliant...
AND he is an avid motorcyclist...with an old BMW...
the last bike that gerry had...
jean-pierre...an artist and an avid motorcyclist...
jean-pierre...he has become my friend...
something in my soul exploded when our eyes met that night at the feast...
vibrations touching...as with most of my friends...
i adore his spirit...
he took me for a short ride on his BMW next day...slowly in the countryside.... through little hamlets, along narrow winding roads and through paths in the cowfields...
we stopped to buy some cheese and wine and a fresh baguette
in one very tiny village...and had a picnic sitting in the tall grasses
in the fields...
...we have since been on a two week ride together...
my first time on a motorcycle since my last ride with gerry 5 years ago...
... i love the wind and the freedom of the rides...
but the ride has not always been on the motorcycle...
we attended the Tribal Festival last weekend...
where the theme was australian aboriginal music...
with 5 foot long tube-shaped musical instruments...
made from the branches of the eucalyptus tree...
after the termites have had their fill of the inside...
and only the exterior wood remains...
and it becomes the instrument for the didgeridoo tribal music...
where the player seems to breath and blow and tap their tongue
all at the same time into this tube...
in order to make these sweet, deep, earthy vibrations..
where we sat in a bathtub placed on the grass on the side of the river...
with one end of the wooden instrument placed inside the enclosure of the tubs ...the other in the player's mouth...
at this festival...with more hippies..from around europe...
than i have seen since the sixties...whoops giving my age away...
with a bathtub under us and one over us...making an enclosure where
we had a 'vibration bath'...
feeling the vibrations of each blow flowing over our skin and
reaching far inside us...
during one ride, we stopped in a secluded meadow to escape the noonday sun... on the edge of a brook...so we settled a bit...
and as i took off my motorcycle jacket, my thick leather belt fell to the meadow floor...in the shape of a snake...
as we were laughing about it...
we saw the eyes of a snake making eye contact with us...
he was magnificent, with lime green luminescent spots...
like a jewel...
in the amazonian kichwa culture, i learned last year while i was
living with them in the ecuadorian jungle...
that a snake is a sign of luck and happiness...
then as we walked along the brook, we noticed a small enclosed area
with several small cages all nailed to the trees...
in one, a bird, caged...with 20 steel twist ties holding down the cage door...
a bird...needing 20 steel ties..???
some crazy person...
the bird, maybe a partridge, was flapping crazily in this little cage,
and yelling... surely soon to go mad...
so as difficult as it was to undo the 20 steel ties...
we finally set him free...
and we both agreed , that if he died, at least he would die in freedom,
rather than of madness...
jean-pierre had a leg severed in a motorcycle accident in his youth some 30 years ago...
a car hit his motorcycle at some very fast speed...
he lay dying on the pavement, bleeding to death...and actually had an afterlife experience...
he saw the tunnel of light and his life flashed before him, seeing people who had passed away....
he woke up in the hospital room...they saved his life with a blood transfusion...
six months later he restored an old motorcycle and since then has lived and motorcycled around the world...
he is presently restoring a ruin in the countryside of france and temporarily
living in his small van parked in his large garden...
and is working on ideas for a commission of a large scale installation
in a major local city...
we attend the feast/concert each wednesday eve...at the gite...
and help in the large, friendly kitchen...chopping vegetables...or
setting tables in the garden with vases of fresh flowers ...
from their large organic garden...or cooking a local dish...
feeling like part of the family now...
the lovely owner of the gite invites me to accompany her and her charming husband to senegal.... to learn more about the earth
and organic gardening...
and to cook with the senegalese women...
and of returning here next year...
and when the evening is over...
after a night of food and music and spiritual connections...
under the linden tree, in the moonlight at the gite...
jean-pierre tells me that he brought a second motorcycle helmet
to take me home with him...just a short ride away...
when i told him i was committed to stay overnight at the gite,
he said...'well, i will just have to kidnap you in the night...'
how can one possibly resist someone who wants to kidnap you
in the night...
especially when you adore his spirit...
but i did...
we later motorcycled to a local coastal city..
.a port city on the west coast...
it became an important harbour in the12th century...
and has an extremely complicated history...
but was blockaded in the 1600's for over a year...i was told...
where no one could get in or out...
and consequently many inhabitants died...
and secret talk of cannibalism...
but only heresay...
and known for its wine and cheese and salt...
and we sat on the beach along the coast and soaked in some sun
and dipped our feet into the atlantic..
and motorcycled along the salt ponds...where the light is brilliant
from the salt dust...all like tiny crystals shining in the sunlight..
we now sit under the stars at night, in the coolness of the evening...
wrapped in blankets, squeeze onto jean-pierre's lounge chair,
in his garden, after a difficult day of restorations, breaking down
stone walls in his ruin...
... we sit by candlelight in this dark countryside, no city lights...
and have conversations about God and music and motorcycles
and severed legs and phantom pain... and of art...
and the emotions we all feel when we look at great art...
later we lie still in his van, listening to vivaldi...and to pink floyd's
...'wish you were here'
i know gerry would have loved his spirit...
time to leave the dream...
a la prochaine...
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