Antwerp as diamond city

Antwerp is a diamond city and that means that we have a rather large Indian population, the majority of which lives near the more leafy areas around town and a huge Jewish community living in town, right there where I live too.

The Jewish community celebrates their Pesach or Easter between April 22 and April 20. This celebration entails a more than thorough spring cleaning before the passover. The house has to be thoroughly cleaned so that all that is dirty, or contains yeast or that can ferment has to be thrown out of the house. The city of Antwerp organises an extra household-garbage collection in the neighbourhood. I am glad that inclusiveness is working this way. Yet also other communities, like the Moroccan community have their own customs like following the Ramadan. This means no eating during the day, only after sunset and before sunrise one can eat. Mutton with couscous is one of their delicious dishes. Yet the sheep have to be slaughtered in a ritual way, slitting their throat. Often this leads to controversy, or even protests. People feel that electrocuting the sheep is more humane...  Strange concept.

Bake sale on Old Miners Day

At nine the women have set up
their last stand
have baked
now sell or as I
eat and share and buy
dress up on a dare collect
for the merry go round
in this town
flags
for the vets in the cemetery
vaudeville play
community spirit
for a day
friendshp
& foreign wars
cow girls
bad boys
and floozies
bikers on harleys
(yes I know the sound well)
in a way
all soiled doves with
pretty old cars

Africa VII - South Africa

The beauty and the contrasts. Table Mountain and Robben Island. The Market and the promenade along the sea...  Cape Town and its townships. And of course I was there for work. All the participants of the ACP meeting were invited to a guided tour of Robben Island, by the former minister of the Interior under the first Mandela government. He had also during a long time been in the adjacent cell of Mandela. He spoke about how the boycott of African goods and fruit helped them. they felt sustained by our solidarity. The General Assembly was openened as Usual by the National Anthem and this is what happened.

Sikeleli Africa

 At the first notes

just two white people jumped up

one with his left fist in the air

she with her hand on

her heart

All peoples standing

the light skinned

rose

a few notes later –

The huge hall filled with

respect

I like to think

the white people were

slow

not recognizing the music in their

soul

or just older and stiffer and

slower

I like to think

Nkosi Sikeleli Africa

is the hope that touches us

all -     

We received a lunch packet after the guided tour of Robben Island of course it included a South African  apple. Eating it on Robben Island stirred up memories of solidarity and touched my soul.      

African authors

Olivia Rutazibwa hosted a lunchtime event called "Writing to Africa"Schrijven aan Afrika" with four African authors . Lunchtime? Yes the conversations were held in the Ethiopian restaurant Toukoul under Olivia's gentle, artful questioning. These authors learned Dutch and do write in Dutch. Alphonse Muambi from Congo, with his book Democracy goes hungry is a regular contributor to 'Trouw' a Dutch newspaper. Babah Tarawally (Sierra Leone) published in Dutch in 2010 The blue-eyed God and seriously considers returning to  his country. Also Sayadin Hersi (Somalië) lives in and publishes his work in The Netherlands. Jean Bofane from Congo lives and writes in Belgium. Mathématiques Congolaises is his first novel. Sayadin Hersi (and it was obvious the other interviewees knew what he was talking about) remarked that readers always ask him whether his novel 'Verloren vader', Lost father is autobiographical. Smiling he said I am a writer, I do tell stories. I write them differently for a European readership than for African readers. They each expect a different way of storytelling. Living in Holland and Belgium these authors however do still love Africa, they follow what happens there; often they are critical of their own country and government.

The food was yummy. Sadly the sound wasn't too good, so I can't tell you more about the other authors.

Snow - and refugee camps on the Syrian borders

The first minuscule snow flakes made me smile, hid the church-towers in the distance like a fine fog. Then the flakes grew bigger and I saw the roof tiles getting fluffy edges and the flat roofs turning white. It quietens the city. Time to think and meditate. I have seen pictures of the official Syrian refugee camps in Turkey. In this horrible war cluster bombs are being used in the cities. It is a known fact that those kill mainly children rummaging among the debris of their homes. So families flee with their children and their elders and end up in the no-mans-land between the Turkish and the Syrian border. These people have nothing. Turkey is nice and warm in summer but now there is a harsh winter too. Blankets, sleeping bags, tents is the minimum a family need to protect itself from the elements. The Pen Writers in Prison Committee still received messages about human rights violations in the beginning of the destruction of the country. Now since months and months nothing came through. It is also a shame how cities on the United Nations list of cultural heritage of the world are bombed to smithereens, regardless of the inhabitants. I know people looking for a way to help, to make a difference, if they found a way. I'll let you all know. It is a humanitarian emergency.

Living on the edge of the Jewish quarter

Living on the inner edge of the Jewish quarter I have a choice when  I go shopping: to the right or straight ahead I'll see the people in their diverse religious attire. Fedora like hats on top of the head, white shirt all in black with the curls along the ears flying while cycling on the boardwalk. Yarmulke's and the fringe of their ceremonial scarfs peeping out from under the coat, while some where long white stockings and large fur hats, which when it rains are covered in a specially designed plastic bag. The women I saw this morning wore all a different color of wig: black or blond, light or dark brown. All wore comfortable flat shoes. The difference between richer and poorer Jews is immediately visible. The poorer women can't afford a good wig, so they wear scarves, either hiding all their hair or a scarf with an attached fringe of hair sticking out.
Since there are also a lot of Polish Jews there are also some good polish shops where you find kefir, other wise only found in the health shop or in the Pakistan shop. I also notice that some peope go to synagogue each morning and on special occasions they'll have palm leaves wrapped in plastic under their arm.

Going left however, I enter the general mainly European stream of peoples, with North Africans and black Africans being part of the mix just as Turkish and oriental people. A friend once called me on the fact that when one is at a local police station and does not speak the local language that one has to bring an interpreter. She was totally offended by this and thought the city should have the interpreters on call. So I got curious and asked how many languages were present in the small old jail, where people who have been picked up wait for their first meeting with the judge. The answer was a to me staggering amount of 76 languages. So the menu is from kosher to halal, from bio dynamic to straightforward meat, potatoes and veggies... All in walking distance. Wonderful.
What I don't understand is that the protests against the scarfs Muslim women wear and the acceptance of the same principle in a different execution in the Jewish community. In both cases the hair of women is supposed to for private viewing only.

Mound builders and Paducah

The Indian Trading Post alerted us to the location of Wickliffe Mound State Park. The mounds were build about 1200 years ago. Some flat topped as meeting grounds, others for structures of importance for the community.

 There must have been about 15 dwellings and the exhibition shows the tools used, the food eaten and the pottery. The light spot on the picture left is a burial mound where 14 people were found, unburied, studied and then returned to their original grave in as close the same pace and position as they where.

 Then it was Paducah, a town with a theater, with bistro's, wineries and quilting, being the quilting capital of the USA. Of course also here the 'Ministery of Harley Davidson' and Free Spirit. Yet also frozen mocha was to be had and even decent bread, hippie stuff and dirty chai: chai with chocolate and a shot of  coffee. Of course antique shops and restaurants: the catfish was excellent, a pleasant surprise along the Mississippi.

The desert poetry night

 Desert Poetry night, on April 30th, was the fourth and final leg of the Festival on Tour. We had a good crowd, listening well, showing their appreciation.

We counted 40 people sitting in the changing desert light. The first one to read was Carol Calvillo, with  a poem titled The House of Marie Durant. A great start. Although James Smiths, Jim, started with the intro signed in ASL by Dori, followed by Dan Bishop and the tribute to Johnny Cash. Some songs like Pocahontas and me and Jackson were just played over the loudspeakers but all the other songs Al Brock sang life with his guitar.

Jean Bishop read a poem by Jennielee Bishop, her mother in law: The Cowboy's wife. A fun, yet insightful poem about life on the ranch. Dan read two poems about work on the range, about a mean bull and building fences, written by Judd Bishop his father.

Cooper Gallegos read powerful poetry about living in an Hispanic  neighborhood in an abusive  relationship: bravo for brave and strong poetry. There was also Dori Signing three poems of her choice  from Traces, Annmarie Sauer  reading from Traces and Fred Schywek reading from Felsenleiter with the English translation. And then  10 poets read Global Night Car as a premiere in the USA. Then there was abundant food, excellent potato salad by Mary and a surprise birthday cake offered by Nadine. The next day was the big cleanup and saying goodbye to friends and neighbors... and on the road again.

Route 66-III

The buildings are about energy in a strange way. Providing gas, shade, sustenance.

People must have had big dreams with grand designs to match. So they built plywood castles sold by Mr. Barocchio.  And of course an ice machine was part of the luxuries of life. Across the street mail boxes. I wonder where these people live who do receive mail.

Then wonderful honey yet at 23 dollars for a big pot rather expensive: but the taste of the woodland honey is sublime. The surprises of the road...
So the drive to Kingman with a taste of honey ready for sweet dreams ends here.

Small Town Bake Sale

To me this is an iconic picture of a small town in the West: The swamp cooler sticking out the window, the ladies in the shadow wearing their shades. Also I love seeing the king cap white pickup truck and when  you click on the picture you'll notice the quad...

The guys, members of the E Clampus Vitus are up the mountain to paint the C in bright white so that when one walks around one is reminded of where one is.

The women, in real community spirit have been baking: I got Brownies, pound cake, chocolate-chip-almond bars, and peanut butter  and raisin cookies. They also have fresh white bread. One lady proudly shows us her blueberry muffins... Note the red nails and the bangles.

Of course the obligatory warning is posted that all the goodies are not from a health authority inspected kitchen...
I have eaten some of my stash I took along and can assure you the quality is excellent. So munching along while blogging I help pay for the white paint and the 'brotherhood' of a day out on the mountain.
Small town... great people

Digger Daves - The bar almost open

 This is Digger Daves place and people are rooting for him to open up in April. The place was dingy, dirty and the food only good when grandma came in to cook... The place was closed because of a gambling habit of the owner and defaulting on his deliveries. Already the outside at night looks warm and cozy, inviting.

 The inside is a more than pleasant surprise: old horse tack on the ceiling, antlers, old water valves, a marvelous glass collection and a warm atmosphere. Big plans for the food:
A clean kitchen, well thought out, safe and lots of enthusiasm from the cook...

 In one of the pinball machines a pack rat made its nest.  That happens, when humans move out, animals move in...

 View of the bar and two back country horsemen behind the mirror. I can see  the hustle and bustle of the place, hearing laughter and joy and banter around the pool table. Dori had her birthday, Dave backed a marvelous chocolate cake; here together lighting the  sparkling candles.
A fun time among friends...

It never rains in San Francisco?

The spirits of San Francisco come greeting cloaked in rain... Nighthawks have a good time with food and wine and the waiter at Tosca ready to close up after we left.

With talk at the Specs about poetry, poets  and books

meeting new people, warm embrace

the meaning and urgency of words

And then again the night and touched by light.

Nashville to Chloride

From the wide open road through Virginia and Tennessee there was the fun and music in Nashville and a flight away  was Las Vegas and a long wait for our luggage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friends offered a great oriental meal on the way  to the Mojave Desert which I supposed would bring quiet and peace and relaxation. Of course repairs have to be undertaken since after a harsh winter the water pipes are broken, the bushes and shrub stand high and there is the meeting of old neighbors and friends and meeting new folks who just stop by, drop in and chat. The stories of peoples lives unfold, their courage and resilience shines through. Their warmth and willingness to share is overwhelming because it speaks of trust. The desert itself unfolds a hidden beauty, fascinating in its sparseness, rich in its teachings of survival... for humans and beast. The hare is an art lover looking at a statue of Bob Stordahl.

all pictures by

© sms:foto duisburg/rhein 2011

Kingsport-Knoxville-Nashville

© sms:foto duisburg/rhein 2011

On the road again and what does one see? Car places with festive streamers, sparkling cars, many big gas hogs for sure and in the smaller places along the road junk yards pretending to be repair shops.

Even in Kingsport where the city center was restored, it is not a walkable city, no place to sit down and watch the world go by. Cars are king, without a car nothing goes in this country, whereas at home, sometimes I don't use my car for a week or more, taking trams or walking.

At the end of the road one needs a drink. One. But which one. The liquor store straight across from the motel. Of course being in Tennessee it became the smallest Gentleman Jack...

In Knoxville stumbling upon  one of the hundred best Asian restaurants and proud of it.
It sure was a good meal and a customer taking a picture of the boss and her helpers... Go there Hashi in Knoxville. Excellent light tempura and hibashi veggies.

Carnevale Helau

Right food is important before the festivities start.  Eggs, potato salad, and the sour herring for the day after. Such is the basis for walking, and singing, schunkeln and lots and lots of drinking. At 6 o' clock  we heard the announcement 'Das Bier ist alle'... How can that be: no beer during Karneval. Helau is the traditional greeting, and the full greeting is a threefold repetition of the same raising in a wave the right arm...

Lots of music:Tätereee...

It is all about fun, political criticism. Also tons of candy is thrown to public. The difference between the groups and the onlookers is just that the onlookers are unique like the friendly folks in the last  picture.
Helau, Helau, Helau...

© sms:foto duisburg/rhein 2011

Der HIPPIEZWILLING in Orsoy am Niederrhein (>OSCHAU helau!<) 2011 am Karnevalssonntag