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Passport that is my lifeline to staying in Europe
Still life with cold butt and full bladder
Right now my monkey brain is thinking about how I closed my apartment door, forgetting keys the other night and so had to call a locksmith who said he'd be there in half an hour but after an hour, my bladder screamed loud enough that I rammed my shoulder against the apartment door which opened surprisingly easily. So, I paid a man 99 euros to drive from Marseille to Aix and back. Yesterday, I missed the back pocket of my jeans when replacing my bus pass (and you all know how much I treasure that) and so went to get a new one, bringing my Maltese passport for ID. Well, it was a Saturday and that kind of business could only be done on a Monday, so I returned home after a long day. This morning, I noticed there was something dark and square in the toilet.... After these follies and more below, I worried about my senility, but Katharine, who has known me for ages, reassures me I was the same in my late twenties. Sigh. And so tomorrow when I go to pick up my rental car and need to show ID, they'll also be regaled by my sad tale. ..
All of this was after I bought an armoire. Yes, in Boston I had been moving around a large, dark, armoire that was heavy with both physically and emotionally, guilting me with the memory of being my family's sports closet growing up. How could I ever get rid of this behemoth? Eventually, I did, though had to pay to have it taken to Goodwill, but FINALLY, what a relief.
So, gee, why now just start all over with a big heavy thing?
My new baby is not small, but not as big as the last one.
It was delivered last week and two poor lads had to heave it up 42 steps, and when they got it close to my bedroom, it wouldn't fit through the door, which they only found out after banging up my walls. Duuh. When you're married to an engineer type for 20 years, whatever neurons of the measuring twice and cutting once type that might have been alive at some point are now atrophied. So, Mohammed, a lovely Algerian guy who runs through fields of poppies and is a hunter of pheasant and some other kind of hard to identify bird, saved me by taking the top off the bloody thing, moving it into my room and then putting the top back on, along with adding some shelves.
So, it's been an ass-backwards kind of week, which can only be blamed on not having one real care, which apparently leads to the loss of any vigilance that might have been there previously. It's not easy having everything you want, I guess...
Enough with the domestic dramas.
"Everyone likes the history of France until the French write the history". Detritus from after one of the manifestations
Poor Chris Anne arrived, to pouring, I mean pouring rain, right after the first manifestations, which prompted boards to be put up on luxury shops, making Cours Mirabeau look more like a war zone than a tourist destination. The manifestations happen on Saturdays, considerately after the big market ends at 1pm. They gather near the fountain in the middle of the city and march towards the mayor's plaza. Some kind of manifestation has happened every Saturday since I originally arrived; pro Palestine, pro-farmer, anti-anti-vape laws, more recently education and now added on is cost of living. For most of the time, it's been fine, though occasionally noisy or stopping traffic, but at the moment, it's a mess. Yesterday, a Saturday afternoon, there was a big group manifesting peacefully, and nearby, about fifteen police, not the police nationale that I'll get into in a bit, because they had black uniforms, not blue. They were putting on helmets and getting riot screens ready, it was easy to sense their tension and adrenaline. At the same time, the manifesters got up from their sit in and looked like, in a big group, they were coming right for the police, but at the last minute, made a turn, running up Rue Espariat instead, a quick way to the Mayor's.
I thought about taking a short cut to the Hotel de Ville to watch, but only a few feet beyond the armored police were little kids in costumes, many with faces painted Day of the Dead, parents wandering behind them as they trick or treated in the stores. It brought on such cognitive dissonance that I became somewhat frozen in place, not sure where I was or what was going on. Checking social media later, there didn't seem to be any reports of clashes or violence, so maybe the parents' lack of concern comes from experience and everybody had a fine day, even the police.
Boarding up in anticipation of Saturday manifestations, particle board painted a pleasing color.
I watched this grown up Spiderman double kiss a long-haired Elmo, also an adult
As well for my poor guest, an almost month long trial began on the day of her arrival, of the DZ mafia murders. This necessitates our usually serene and light Place des Prêcheurs be peppered with the dark blue uniforms of Police Nationale and their machine guns. Fortunately most of the men are not hard to look at... But still, not exactly the frolicking through lavender that one might expect upon visiting. One night we went out for dinner, cutting past the court house when the whole kit and caboodle were heading out for the night. Motorcycles, vans, cars, armored vehicles, all with flashing blue lighting up the sky, an occasional siren, choppers circling overhead. It really is something to behold and made me think of the movie Deerhunter.
The police are here every week day, usually in groups, many groups, at least two together, with automatic weapons at the ready, but talking, always talking, never not talking. Most of the mostly men are paying pretty strict attention, but once in a while you'll see a group of them relaxed at a cafe, leaning back and laughing. Some wear not face masks, but neckies that cover their mouths and noses to avoid retaliation. Because the Corsican mafia is a thing here, it's easy to understand, and actually made me reconsider my belligerent attitude towards ICEmen in the US. Generalizing here, I decided that one group is upholding the law, the other not following any. One is acting out of malice, one isn't. Not so cut and dried though, I know, but why not paint with a broad brush? It's easier.
The other day, as I was cutting through the big food market, which is close to one of their HQs, when a white van pulled up and a man carried out half meter on each side black plastic boxes that were mini-ovens, inside, immaculately prepared meals brought in for France's finest. Very very civilized. No donuts here.
One well-balanced meal and helmet
Police on horseback
Chris Anne was a good sport, given the wet blanket that hung around her for some of the time. But on her last day, we had a great day touring the markets and then, as it was again Manifestation Day, we headed out of town to Chateau LaCoste, where bizarrely, a group of people from the ICA Boston were being welcomed at an event there. LaCoste is a property owned by an Irish guy who has cultivated different and enough grapes to have his own label, while having every starchitect plonk down a building or sculpture. What this means is that for an afternoon, it's possible to wander through woods and vineyards, admiring different sculpture and buildings. We finished our day off with a drink at one of the four food serving establishments on the property and watched the sun go down over Louise Bourgeois' spider.
Oscar Niemeyer building and Rachid Johnson sculpture
Rachid Johnson inside the building
Chris Anne in front of Tado Ando's entrance
Richard Serra nestled in provencal deliciousness
New favorite. Tado Ando, Four Cubes
Prune Nourry's Mater Earth, disgorging people. Before we went in the womb, there were two women filming while yelling "poussez, poussez" at a man coming out, which he did, yelling"waah"
LOVELY FRENCH THINGS
In the middle of strife, when Chris Anne and I were walking from one market to another, we fell upon a group of people playing old Provencal songs for others dancing, right there in the square with everyone around, coming and going. It was a little corner of absolute joy.
There are starting to be delivery people in Centreville. Not like in Boston or other cities, but here and there. There's one guy who rides a one-wheelie thing, and there are plenty of electric scooters, both the standing and sitting kinds, but my favorite is a man, perhaps ten years older than me, who rides a bicycle and is likely deaf, as he always has classical music blasting from his little speaker. You can tell he's somewhat lost in it and has found an occupation perfectly suited for his temperament and preferences.
A chamber music concert in the cathedral turned out to be a fundraiser for the organ's maintenance, so the Bach, Brahms and Hayden were all primarily for organ, with woodwind, string and horn. The organist was talented, playing Bach's two melodies at the same time beautifully. The guy playing not an early music trumpet but perhaps one more appropriate for the marching band where he'd likely gained his experience, was charmingly unapologetic about his timbre and volume, seemingly unaware there were other instruments involved. Many in the grey hair audience subtly put fingers in their ears.
The quickest way to the chamber music is cutting through Place des Prêcheurs. Randomly, as is so often the case, there was a light show with super bass audio, reflected against the church. On the way back, there was something different in another square.
Impossible not to smile
One off light show that was, as it turns out, one of quite a few
The organ at Cathedrale Saint Saveur
Genius
After grieving for some years; first for the closing of Filene's Basement and then Russo's, my heart has warmed to Occadecco, a warehouse in the most random office park that has not one but two Cross Fits. It's chock full of stuff that I want to buy, and was the origin of the armoire mentioned above, along with the two things below.
I'll love it more in May because it's cotton and those tile floors that were so brilliant in September put a chill in the bones in November.
A force took over me and told the man at Occadecco I had to have this
Off to see Mary in Spain tomorrow. Stay tuned.