Best Days of Our Lives

So how is it like in New York city,
Where student’s fresh minds run desp’rately free?
So how is it like in your Manhattan
Where mighty pages are being written?

In your own time, in your own time
You are coming to age, I witness that.

Did we ever see on those days,
How fast beauty was fading away?

Why didn’t we know, playing with their knives,

We were spending the best days of our lives?

It does not matter anymore nore does it make a difference:
We are aware now time is passing by and softens our senses.

In your own time, in your own time
You are starting changes, I witness that.

Take it slow-ly and turn things around steadi-ly, our way.
Do you know and do you feel all these people watching you?
Like we used to follow shining stars; these miracles we glazed at.

“Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children.”

G. B. Shaw

De retour à Paris

Alors qu’est-ce que ça fait de rentrer à Paris?

Hm, je ne sais pas trop en tous cas il y a des choses qui m’ont manqué et que je retrouve avec joie aujourd’hui ici. Des choses personnelles et puis d’autres comme la culture. Je me souviens de ses gens d’Afrique du Sud incrédules qui ne comprennait pas que cela puisse etre si important.

Ca l’est. Et j’étais comblé hier que se tienne la nuit des musées, à laquelle j’ai participé pour la première fois.

Cet après midi, expo Dave LaChapelle et ses photos à carractère sex trach et acidulés; un peu decevant: rien de nouveau et peux d’oeuvres.

Qu’à cela ne tienne, ce sera bientôt peut être notre tour.

The Breath of Panam

Chop chop sharp boy. It’s been 64 years today since the end of the second world war. Let’s celebrate, karaoke, ok. Korean style.

8:30pm let’s meet and let Min-Sik sing for a while. You, larynx Creep! There was Billy Jean etc baby, you sing it like you can, until the clock says stop. Top notch venue. Let have something to eat, ok: Karaoke. Korean style. We’ll share a soup shall we not, asks Min-Sik. Why do you ask?

Clock says stop and we all end up in Boulogne, Boulouloubi would say Marwan,  on the balcony of a first floor flat looking into a  dark neat night. So what did you say about your holiday in Baly? So what did you say about South Africa? I sing it like I can.  And it all disapears in the wind like a puff of  smoke. We ride back to our houses sliding on the thick grey ribbon, we fall back suddenly into our lives. Doesn’t it feel great?

Eat

For my one but last evening in Johannesburg, people I knew were all busy. I was hungry and did not feel like cooking so I curiously decided to get to my favourite restaurant on my own. I took a book and went off for my first time alone-at-the-restaurant experience.

It was much easier than I though, may be I have grown in maturity, I did quite enjoyed it; reading my book, drinking wine and ordering quickly. In the middle of the evening I started to get much more pleasure from that situation than I would have expected, the mood and the music were soft and smooth, easy to glide on.

In the end I decided to stay a little longer than planned – event though I had to meet people afterward – and spoiled myself with a little cake. When it landed on my table I was reading; I continued while eating the raspberry jam on the side. Against my tong I felt an awkward sensation like a leaf in the middle of the sugary cold jelly. I pulled it out of my mouth and laid it on the side of the plate to notice very surprised that it was a dead cockroach. I stared at it a short while.

I called the waiter and kindly required him to take the plate away while asking for the bill. I didn’t say any thing, as you are not supposed to say that word over there – Taboo! – but he nodded comprehensively, he was embarrassed. I paid and left, not too unhappy about that evening after all.

But don’t you think it is ironic that for my last restaurant in South Africa, for my last ordered course, it was the first time I found a cockroach in my food. It is as if something was saying, well if you leave, leave with a bad taste in your mouth. But I don’t. I know better.

So farewell my lady and see you later maybe. Papa’s flying back home, for good.

Be Eaten

So this is it: my last weekend here, another three-day break to enjoy the south-african funfair. It didn’t take me long to decide what I should do to close this memorable chapter of my life: one trip with the beautiful freaks, a tour in real life for a taste of how bad things can get. Kruger here I am; Wam Bam!

So I look for a nice lodge and book a big room for a spoiled boy right next to the park. We arrive Saturday, a little after lunch and take our time to slowly immerge ourselves into the deep thick sent of the wild. We sit next to the pool until the sun gets red and that zebras and warthogs come nearby to sip water before the night. We leave the lodge just before sunset for a night-game-drive in the park. We look for beasts hidden in the dark; apart from lions eating a giraffe in the distance and night insects big like your hand we did not see much more than the usual herbivores.

Before sunrise, the following day, we are already driving to the park with our ranger Heinrich, and his 2.7 tones four-wheel drive. We ride around in the clear light and fresh air with tea and much expectation. Our guide knows a lot and sees so far away it feels he could foresee the future. We quickly start to spot all kinds of odd looking animals (wildebeests, rhinos, giraffes…). I have seen them times and times before but this time it is different, this times it is goodbye.

We drove for twelve hours, stopped a few times for breakfast cooked camping-style – hanks Heinrich – on top of a mountain overlooking a flat field as wide as Manhattan, split in half by a large river where hippos rest and kudus come drink fearfully. We have seen many things that day, a lot that I will not remember, but that’s how things go. I will mostly keep in mind an encounter with a huge alpha male elephant walking on the road. Our guide wanted to get him off of it so he parked the 4×4 in the middle of the road. The beast walked around the vehicle at every try, until finally it got fed up, stopped and looked at us. Although we were sitting in that nearly 3 tones jeep, 2m above the road, the animal still looked huge to us. The words of our driver were echoing in the back of my mind: “We weigh 3 tones in this car, an average elephant weighs 7 tones; for him flipping the car his as easy as tossing a water bucket”. This was no average male.

That’s how it is over there: the stronger is always right. We human are little useless things with no natural defence against nature’s most basic threats. Over there we have just a little more resistance than green grass and harmless-insects. It is difficult to feel how powerful nature is until you get next to it, into it. These animals we usually see on TV or at the zoo have powers far beyond what I could have imagined. Any of them running one a half time quicker the fastest human – you cannot understand unless you have seen it in reel; any predator able to cut through bones like us through carrots human – you cannot understand unless you have seen it in reel; Sight, smell, claws, poison, weight, stamina, you name it it’s all very impressive to the point that even in the biggest car with the best gun you still feel powerless. But wait. Why do we want to know about all that? Why do we need to hear stories about people getting killed and what horrible things hyenas and hippos will do to you if they can? Why does humankind need to be in touch with such violence?

For the last day we wanted to do a morning game-walk but unfortunately all of them were canceled as a hippo had attacked a group the previous week. A woman nearly died and several were injured. Instead we stayed at the lodge surrounded by zebras, and monkeys eating bananas.

And that was it, as fast as it came it was gone. I closed this window on life and came back to our reality.

Elephant in Kruger Park from damien.ldp on Vimeo.

Fear facts:

• A hyenas will eat you alive, no time to kill you. With a group of four/five beasts they will just rip your arms legs apart for each of hem to eat in their corner.
• Hippos are the animals inflicting the most casualties upon humans in Africa, even though they do not eat meat. There are just bad tempered animals.
• A buffalo has so much adrenaline that it seems impossible to kill. Lions (200kg) would need to be five or six together to take one down; that is why a old male buffalos have usually faced and survived several lions attack. A bullet would typically not stop a buffalo unless it hits the brain or the spine.

Into the Wild… Coast

Two weekends ago was a four day break. My friend Alec and I decided to go on a trip on the wild side; strip naked of any artificial and superficial aspirations we headed for the southern Kwazulu Natal. Boy did we meet Danger enough in such a short period of time.

After a good day of work we left Thursday at 4pm in our white polo; a snazzy car with no light indicators and a smashed side view mirror. At 6.15pm Alec was asleep. At 8pm I wake up Alec for him to drive a little while I rest. At 8.15pm I drive again because Alec was falling asleep on the road. At 12.20pm, while cruising across the Drakensberg I wonder where we are going to sleep as we don’t know what town we are heading for, nor when we will arrive. At 2am we park in Port Saint Johns – 1.20hours of driving for Alec, the rest for me, yes please.We sleep in a tent on the lawn of the backpackers.

The next day it rains…

The next day the sun is up, we pack our things and go. We start walking along the shore heading for the light house. Then things start to get complicated. We walk on steep hills, with the Indian ocean on one side and the wild on the other. At times we follow the rocky beachs: we walk across a deserted camp with bleeding barking dogs, when we turn around we see people with machetes and ropes hanging from the cliff nearby. Pirates! Oh dear.

At times we climb on top of cliffs and follow narrow paths following the top of endless hills. We get lost from time to time, get stuck rather and look around for a moment until we find the right way.

Danger Zone

Wild kids

Sometimes we climb, sometimes we slide, we rest, we eat or drink. Sometimes we meet people and sometimes we feel like alone in the world, in the wild.

After seeing civilization a second time, when reaching a famous beach down south, we head for our final destination, hidden god-knows-where. I see a snake looking at me when climbing a slippery rock – meet Mr Green Snake, very likely to be harmless, but on the moment you only think about all these horrible stories you heard.

A little later things get worse and I we start walking on grassy paths: on one side a 20m fall on sharp rocks and its bursting waters infested with man-eating sharks, on the other a slippery 50° angle grass hill whispering to you time and again, I will make you fall, I will make you fall like you have no idea, and me and my 15kg bag in the middle with only supported my unreliable shoes, my eager vertigo and Alec commenting on the marmots down below, yes, 50m down below.

I did it, and I am still alive and able to right these lines. A few hours later, after another perilous performance, we decide that time has come for us to set the camp. The sun is getting low. Alec points to the top of a mountain, says it’ll be safer: far away from any ill-intentioned fellow. I nod and we go. Within an hour we arrive breathless to the top. We sit for a moment drink a little – I said a little we only have half a litre for the night and the walk back. Thirst! Oh dear.

We eat our little simple meal, in the middle of the high yellow grass, with the ocean on our left, the sun set in front of us and… what’s that on top of the hill on the right? Pirates! Oh dear. They can see us like a big black fly in a thick mushroom soup. No worries. Or should we. Alec warns me that people have warned him to be careful of where he camps as people are not always friendly with strangers. History of violence. And good night. Ok, ok.

The night is already very dark, but the full moon shines enough to light our surroundings. We hadn’t been lying quiet for an hour that I start hearing voices. I sneak a peak outside and see people walking down the hill in front of us (so getting nearer) I wake up Alec. He confirms and we wait. It’s difficult to see where they head to; after a while there voices are drowned in the sound of the waves and we go back to sleep. And good night. Ok, ok.

A long while later, I am still thinking about this situation we are in. Oh dear. For no particular reason I decide to have another look. An there, as obvious as can be, I see a man running down he hill in front of us with a light. I wake up Alec again as he requested. He starts hiding his money and credit cards, keeps a few bills in his pocket and says we should wait for him outside. And so we do, we stand in the warm night, listening to the wind, waiting for the guy and his machete to come and impress us with his smart moves and his vivid anger. He never showed up.

The net day we walked back, looking at the sea to see some sharks and people running out of the water when lifeguards whistled. We slept on the lawn of the backpackers again and left at sunrise for a long while beautiful – but long – drive home.

When I think about these joyful moments I can think of at least five times where I could have died, if I had had a little less luck. But that is why Africa is so great, you are responsible for your own actions and no-one will come – in time – to rescue you. You have the freedome of living your life as it pleases you to even if you have a enormous chance of getting in irremediable troubles.

Attempted Car Theft

On Sunday night, after an evening at a friend’s house, I went back to my car – a Volkswagen Polo – to notice at first the warning lights didn’t work when I pressed the lock remote. I opened the door and thought for a second that it seemed much messier than usual with even a mini umbrella lying on the drivers floor mat. Then it stroke me that the inside lights were also off as the door was opened.

That’s when I realised that someone had broken into the car and tried to steel it. Plastic cover underneath the steering wheel and on the dashboard had been ripped off and wires where hanging. Nevertheless, the car started and I managed to drive home. I was quite puzzled still and had a few unanswered question poping up in my mind. Why didn’t they steel it as they seemed to know what they were doing? How did they brake in as I hadn’t seen any broken glass ? Did I forget to close the car? Did they just run off when I went out? Is there anything else they could have stollen inside? Why is the “trunk open” indicator on?

Then I started to think about all these crazy stories and thought that maybe there was someone hidden in the trunk waiting for me to drive back home and rob me there… Uncomfortable drive home I must say. I stopped outside my residence, next to the guardian and its – now very reassuring – shotgun. There was nothing in the trunk; not even my Kilimanjaro coat anymore… (At the light of the next day I finally manage to see where they had broken the lock to enter)

I went to the police for a rather simple testimony, quite brief, but it took us a good two hours. The police agent wrote it by hand, asking me for spelling confirmation from time to time. I was very cautious of his style too. At one point we had to start over because he was unhappy with a sentence and didn’t want to cross it out… We had a small funny chat about the broken lock issue: to my opinion, it had probably been broken with a screwdriver.

- How do you know it’s a screwdriver?

- I don’t, I said probably; I wasn’t there.

- Then tell what did they use?

- How could I know? I was not there. I can only guess from the shape of the broken lock, that it’s a tool somewhat similar to a screw driver.

- Hm… Ok. So how do you spell screwdriver?

In the end, after telling my story, he wrote the legal sentences before having me signing the testimony. Two thing I noticed: first no mention of the broken lock. His sentence said something along the lines of “I went out of the house, opened the car using the remote. I started the car which started; everything worked well but some wires were hanging from the dash board. I drove home.”

- Hm, but it doesn’t seem like you addressed the issue of attemptetd car theft here. It doesn’t even mention the broken lock!

- Well you didn’t tell me about the lock.

- I think I did, and we had a debate about the screwdriver!

He looks at me we a incredulous look, so I point with my finger the line on the “spelling paper” where I wrote for him screw driver. I had to rewrite some of it much to his despair as I was quite keen on crossing out words.

The second thing I noticed was the legal text underneath of which I had to sign. It was so funny that I wrote it down on the “spelling paper” to remind me of the exact words later. It said:

“I did not give permission to anyone to attempt to steel my company car. I swear that the content of this statement is true and help me god.”

Detours en Birmanie – Partie 2

Extrait de carnet de voyage en Birmanie

À Bagan…

« Au fur et à mesure que l’on s’enfonce dans ce pays, il semble plus merveilleux encore. La région n’est que villes d’un autre temps, campagnes asséchées et temples ou pagodes. L’air y est cristallin le matin et doux en fin d’après-midi. On se laisse bercer par le rythme des sabots de notre cheval qui claquent sur le bitume. »

« Les temples sont somptueux à l’extérieur ; rouges, noirs, blancs ou dorés, parfois gardés de dragons, ils sont là par milliers dans cette vaste plaine. »

« La vie est tranquille ; on s’habitue à cette monotonie coulante et sans intérêt autre que de s’émerveiller. »

« Nous passons la journée en calèche dont le cocher – notre guide – parle très peut anglais et se racle la gorge trop souvent. Il nous parle pourtant beaucoup dans un dialecte incompréhensible, autant qu’à son cheval qu’il a affublé d’une fleur jaune et rouge. Il chante de temps à autre et fait de la musique avec son fouet en le tapant contre les armatures métalliques de la carriole ou les rayons des roues en bois. »
Toujours à Bagan…

« Le temps semble s’y être arrêté il y a cinquante ans ; les maisons sont en vieux bois, les gens à la peau brunie et au visage sec et droit vont d’un endroit à l’autre à pied, à bicyclette ou à cheval ou s’endorment un moment sur un banc en attendant que la chaleur soporifique se dissipe. La ville n’est pas éclairée de nuit autrement que par des dizaines de lanternes en papiers accrochée aux branches des arbres. »

Au Lac Inlay à l’aube…

« Non loin d’ici les moines prient depuis quelques heures déjà, leurs chants m’ont réveillé de bonne heure; l’air est frais et le village est encore englué dans une masse brumeuse en attendant le levé du Soleil ; pourtant il y a déjà beaucoup d’agitation dans les rues alentour. »
« Nous avons passé la journée sur un bateau à moteur en vieux teck peint en bleu. Très longue et étroite l’embarcation fend l’eau du lac sans heurts ; elle est conduite par un shan qui ne parle pas anglais : les dialogues sont très agréables, épurés, purifiés à l’extrême et c’est apaisant. »

« Les buffles d’eau sont des créatures assez respectables et impressionnantes. Elles se déplacent avec lenteur, calmement et ont au fond des yeux une sagesse et une tranquillité enviables. Elles semblent passer leurs journées à se rafraîchir assis sur les bords du lac dans les eaux peut profondes. Chaque buffle est attaché par une corde à un enfant qui l’attend patiemment assis sur la berge ; on se demande lequel des deux garde l’autre. »

À Yangon…

« Il n’y a pas grand-chose à dire sur ces derniers instants si ce n’est qu’à côté de Bagan on Inlay la vie y semble déjà fort futile. »

Myanmar or Burma ? (pictures)

Paya Shewdagon at dawn – Yangon

Sacred text in Burman – Paya Shewdagon, Yangon

Paya Shewdagon at dawn – Yangon

People embarking ferry between Mandalay and Bagan

Burma people with traditional makeup

Hudreds of pagodas – Bagan

Sunset at Bagan

Inlay lake farmer

Canoe at Inlay lake

Fisherman – Inlay lake

Fangio, our boat driver at Inlay lake

Voyage chez les Birmans – partie 1

Extraits du carnet de voyage en Birmanie

« Le départ pour le Myanmar fut bref ; un grand coup sec. L’arrivée à Bangkok : inattendue et inachevée dans un motel près de l’aéroport. La nuit fut courte et nous arrivâmes au petit matin à Yangon. »

À Yangon…

« Nous visitons le centre ville à pieds dans une chaleur écrasante ; les rues sont bruyantes et brouillonnes. Il n’y a pas de touristes et nous plongeons doucement dabs l’inconnue d’un pays dont nous ne connaissons presque rien (pas même le taux de change). Nous finissons la journée a regarder le coucher de soleil au Paya Shewdagon ; l’air est très doux » (Nous avions tout de même étudier la situation socio-politique avant de partir)

À Mandalay…

« Il y fait très bon vivre : les gens sont souriants et semblent heureux(1). Nous flânons en rigshaw. Nous nous reposons et passons l’après midi a goûter et découvrir des magasins incongrus au détour de ruelles. Le temps s’est suspendu tout le jour. Vers dix neuve heure trente, le gouvernement coupe l’électricité pour réduire les déplacements des citoyens. Nous nous rendons chez les Moustaches Brothers symboles de la lutte antigouvernementale… »
(1) – Il le semble mais il faut garder a l’esprit que nous nous trouvions dans une zone autorisée au tourisme donc sous les projecteurs internationaux et à priori soignée.

« … leur spectacle n’est sûrement plus ce qu’il était en termes de satire politique ; le gouvernement aurait donc réussit à les faire taire à coup d’années de prison et d’interdictions à répétition. Mais les danses, déguisement et bribes de vies qui s’en échappent restent très bons à prendre. On en ressort touché par toute la peine et l’injustice qui transparaissent malgré tout leurs efforts pour les dissimuler. À demi-mot leur message demeure toutefois très clair.
Nous nous couchons satisfait et attendris je crois par cette journée. »

« À quatre heure du matin nous quittons l’hôtel pour embarquer sur le ferry qui descend le fleuve jusqu’à Bagan. A première vue le confort semble inexistant – difficile traversée de quinze heures – mais petit a petit nous nous prenons au jeux et nous laissons glisser dans une torpeur rythmée par les arrêts incessant du bateau à chaque village au flanc des berges. Les femmes portent sur la tête des plateaux de nourritures, les hommes des jupes et les enfants le maquillage traditionnel.»