“We could learn a lot from crayons; some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, while others bright, some have weird names, but they all have learned to live together in the same box.”
(Robert Fulghum)
(the Caran d’Ache Shop, Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)
His name is long vanished, but his bones still defy time. He was a chief and buried by his villagers high atop a hill. He was mourned, remembered, and worshipped. Temples were built and rebuilt over his body while his identity and story faded. Maybe he was a great man; or maybe he was a feared man? Perchance he was a wise man, or simply a human with kind, compassionate eyes?
Today his burial site is still worshipped, in an unbroken lineage going back two thousand years. Today he lies underneath the Cathedral of Geneva, right under the altar area.
Chance, perhaps; or perhaps not?
(Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)
It was cold, frosty cold, and as we ran from the tram to the lake the rain chilled us to the bone. We stumbled down on the pier in pitch-blackness, holding on to the handrail and hurried towards the old spa in the middle of the lake. We dove inside and were instantly surrounded by chatter, heat from huge coal fires, and the lovely scent of fondue au Crémant, a Swiss fondue made with sparkling wine. Fingers and cheeks thawing we swirled our bread in the cheese, blissfully forgetting the chill outside.
Nothing better on a frosty night than fondue at Bains des Paquis, at the prettiest corner of the Lake Léman. If you stroll down at daytime you may even discover a little secret: the beach sand is not sand at all, but crumbled little sea shells. A little secret of this world, just like splashing sparkling wine into a fondue.
(Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)
Blinded by the rare December sunlight sparkling on the lake we slipped into Hotel d’Angleterre for an afternoon treat. There were silk napkins and silver teapots and a single blue flower in a glass. There were towers of sandwiches and cakelets and creamy fluff. The sun rays danced around the tables as we sipped our steaming hot darjeeling from rosy bone china.
And I felt an overwhelming gratitude for being allowed to call this extraordinary person my friend, in a world never too big for an occasional cup of tea together on a Sunday.
(Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)
We strolled down Bourbon street, lost in film noir scenery. Neon lights and shadows surrounded seedy bars, where night people searched for the spirit of life, or tried to forget the very same. Never-minding the shades of craze between the Dungeon and strip clubs, we slipped into the Preservation Hall to witness a bunch of age-grayed cool cats jam the night away.
And the desperation of living faded in the face of pure light and true joy of being alive. They say clichés are true. Oh! such a lovely cliché is jazz on Bourbon street!
(New Orleans, Louisiana, USA; December 2013)
New Orleans rocks. Where else can you spot a wolf playing the fiddle in the middle of the street? Where else can you ascend to a state of bliss by yummy creole food, every day?
And where else can you see a ghost lady walking on the top floor balcony of the most beautiful building on Bourbon street, brimming with centuries worth of anger at her infidel husband – whose mistress she first invited for tea and then buried alive in the wall?
(New Orleans, Louisiana, USA; December 2013)
“Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
(Oh how I wish I were on a pink boat in the South China Sea, instead of making Power Point slides!)
(Koh Samet, Thailand; April 2011)
“Let’s go to the cocktail party at the Jewel Box”, my friends said. “Free drinks if you see a five-minute film? Great deal”, I replied. And there was valet parking, and willow-wispy artsy chic ladies mingling with smartly cut young men. And champagne and laughter under the stars next to a sparkly glowy ruby cube.
Just before midnight we walked inside and up flights of depressing concrete stairs, and into a world of an endless, deep red sunset. The air vibrated with a deep bass hum and a soulful crying tune. Bubbles and chatter waned away as we dove into shadows and loneliness. Slowly, slowly, a raven-haired woman appeared in front of us, floating mid-air without a single thread of clothing, carrying the sorrows of every grieving mother in the world in her eyes. Some years back she made so many people cry by just a silent stare across a table. This time she did it through the silver screen.
And I could not help but feel we had only seen the beginning and that it was all our hearts could handle.
(‘A portrait of Marina Abramovic’ by Matthu Placek screened at Art Basel in Miami Beach; Florida, USA; December 2013)
I like the USA, and I respect the USA. And oh! how much some things about the USA irritate me. Good examples are the amount of red color used in street advertising, and the two kinds of advertising during Good Morning America: cancer drugs and life insurance. Both types of commercials usually show a green park or meadow with a happily married couple are taking a stroll, with children, grandchildren, and a golden retriever prancing about. Add a soft filter for idyll enhanced.
I digress: the photograph above shows a basketball match; more specifically, Miami Heat against Detroit Pistons. Apologies, and to the point: during a game spiced with dramatic video backdrop, hero music, pyrotechnics, and a seriously warped commentator, how can the players concentrate? And is this a game, or a game sugar-coated into an action movie with heroes on both sides, and no bad guys? How much does the game weigh in the adrenaline rush of the spectator, and how much the sugar-coating?
Perhaps it is all irrelevant: all sport is business, and all business is show business. And boy, do the Americans know show business.
(Miami, Florida, USA; December 2013)
Thighs aching, sand in my shoes, and lungs full of soft, balmy Florida morning air. Running on the beach is like running in tar, but the palm trees are waving their fronds, cheering me on.
(South Beach, Florida, USA; December 2013)
This blue marble 