Quotes Loved Lately ... and an early run at a birthday

Homelands don't exist.  It's an invention. 
What does exist is that place where you were happy.
Susana Fortes, from Waiting For Robert Capa.

A sign you are getting better is when you care less what others think of you.
Robert Moore.

Great artists don't have careers, they have lives.
Gregory O'Brien.

It showed her she had to live 'in the gap between what could be said and what really happened'.
Nelly, in The Invisible Woman. 

The writers I know, or whose lives I have read about, have one thing in common:  a stressed childhood.  I don't mean, necessarily, an unhappy one, but children who have been forced into self-awareness early, have had to learn how to watch the grown-ups, assess them, know what they really mean, as distinct from what they say, children who are continually observing everyone - they have the best apprenticeships.

Doris Lessing.

Today was mostly about a birthday, not mine but an early Miss-9-celebrating-10.  Her birthday falls in the school holidays and she has made some precious school friends here in the city.

It was all about water fights and laughter, a toast made with plastic goblets, and gifts that made her swoon.

It was a good day here in the flatlands of Belgium.

Oh, and about this Flemish side of Belgium, the place where I live ... VRT News channels made this.  It so captures the Flemish I know.  They have their serious face ... and then there is this crazy-beautiful side that I sometimes forget about.

On my facebook page I wrote, 'One of the biggest secrets about Belgium is how amusing and wicked the Flemish folk are. VRT-Nieuws is our news channel of choice and it was hilarious (and yet unsurprising) to see them ALL dancing to Happy here. They wear a serious face oftentimes but scratch the surface and ... well, you get a sense of them here. Loved this.'

 

Château de Fontainebleau, France

Imagination rules the world.
Napoleon Bonaparte.

It was a huge day in France today ... and while in the area, of course, we wandered off to explore Napolean's place in Fontainebleau.

Favourite moment was escaping the 3 tour groups (with guides) who dogged our footsteps and finding ourselves alone when we reached this magical corridor.

I am quite the brat when it comes to preferring to visit popular places alone.  We achieved that illusion today. 

See.

Barbizon, France

We have returned to the hotel so the Belgian bloke can watch Belgium play Algeria in the World Cup. 

Currently this is not going well, at 67 minutes we have 1-0 to Algier however it has been lovely for me to sit down and go through my photographs ...

We wandered all over the area today, visiting Barbizon too.  As in, The Barbizon school of painters were part of an art movement towards Realism in art, which arose in the context of the dominant Romantic Movement of the time. The Barbizon school was active roughly from 1830 through 1870. It takes its name from the village of Barbizon, France, near the Forest of Fontainebleau, where many of the artists gathered.

Source: wikipedia.

It is incredibly, stunningly beautiful there but very expensive.  It wasn't a love at first sight kind of response but it was a beautiful village to stop a while in.

Update: at 70 minutes, Belgium scored.

Katherine Mansfield... a small and unexpected pilgrimage

Risk anything! Care no more for the opinion of others ... Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth.
(Journal entry, 14 October 1922)
― Katherine Mansfield, Journal of Katherine Mansfield

 

Gert surprised me by taking me on a small pilgrimage to Fontainebleau, France ... to the grave of my most favourite New Zealand author, born 76 years before me. A much-loved author, a woman I might have modeled my life on if I had known of her when I was young.

She fled New Zealand before she was 20, striking out in a world that was bigger than her 1903 Wellington, New Zealand, world.  She returned home then left again, forever, in 1908 and died in Avon, near Fontainebleu, in 1923 ...aged 34.

She knew so many writers, forming close friendships with D.H.Lawrence and Virginia Woolf, to name two.

Katherine’s friendship with Virginia Woolf was an extraordinary blend of intimacy, rivalry and mutual admiration. Artistically, they were intimates. Culturally they were hemispheres apart.

After Katherine’s death Virginia confided to her diary that Katherine's writing was: “the only writing I have ever been jealous of.”

And so it was. Katherine was bold.  She wrote: I believe the greatest failing of all is to be frightened...  in a letter to her husband, John Middleton Murry, 18 October 1920.

She revolutionised the 20th Century English short story. Her best work shakes itself free of plots and endings and gives the story, for the first time, the expansiveness of the interior life, the poetry of feeling, the blurred edges of personality. She is taught worldwide because of her historical importance but also because her prose offers lessons in entering ordinary lives that are still vivid and strong. And her fiction retains its relevance through its open-endedness—its ability to raise discomforting questions about identity, belonging and desire.

NZEdge.com.

And so, we called by, visiting her grave today.  Said our hellos and photographed that place where she stopped with her wandering, leaving her work to travel the world on her behalf, inspiring others oftentimes ...

But honestly, who wouldn't love her?  That woman who wrote ... The pleasure of all reading is doubled when one lives with another who shares the same books.

The New Baby ...

Or perhaps I should write, the new secondhand baby ...

The Belgian bloke and I were up early and out the door before 8am this morning.  It's Sunday and we had decided to head out to the huge outdoor Sunday market in Waterloo. 

The range of stuff you can find there is remarkable, perhaps even more so for a girl from smalltown New Zealand.  There is so much really ancient stuff.  200+ stalls, laid out in an orderly fashion, allowing you to explore the entire market and not get confused.  There's a delightful mix of genuine antiques, that stuff that looks like it's been pulled directly from someone's cellar or attic without stopping to clean it along the way, and more contemporary 'stuff'.

The new baby may have traveled that middle path, straight from the attic, undusted.  It was quite stiff from lack of use and Gert had the unenviable job of breathing new life into it. 

It's a little orange Standard Ugro and I can't find one online so far and now I'm wondering if it's older than we realised.

Anyway ... anyone who knew me back in those days that were filled with tortuous hours of learning to touch-type on old Olivetti typewriters would now collapse laughing over my delight at playing with this little orange machine ...

I love it.

Hair On Her Teeth ...

I'm just in from an evening out in Antwerpen. 

It's 1am, and I'm still recovering from seeing a young and relatively inexperienced Dutch team beat the pants off an experienced world champion Spanish team ... 5-0.

Extra time was a nail-biting experience simply because it still seemed entirely possible that Holland might score again and that, that would have been too embarassing to watch.

But I have to confess, there is something so good about finding yourself at a cafe in Grote Markt, sitting with a lovely Flemish guy you consider a friend, watching the football on a big-screen there at the cafe where you're attending an official function.

We drank our wine.  Vic put up with my enthusiasm for the game while Gert was off and doing his work there in the crowd.  It was quite the balmy summer's night and the sky was clear. 

The football-watching crowd were divided.  There were some who supported the Spanish however ... and I might be the only person who reports on this truth ... a large number of Belgians here were overjoyed when Holland won.

Really!

Towards the end of the evening, I met a small crowd of 20+ something Belgian blokes as we were leaving.  One of them mistook me for an Australian and it quickly turned into a mocking kind of tournament.

An older woman, a friend of Gert's, leaned over and said admiringly of me, that I was one of those women with hair on her teeth ...

Why yes, that is a compliment here.  I was worried it was about not brushing however it simply means that I'm not someone who can be easily taken down in conversational combat.  (or something like that.  i may have to stand corrected.)

I was quite proud, as the last person who congratulated me on my mocking brilliance was Vinnie Paul, way back when I was 16.  It's been a while.

Anyway, all that to simply write, it's been a lovely evening here in the flatlands of Belgium tonight.

In These Days ...

These days find me consumed by a writing course that I'm doing ...

Consumed.  In a way that I haven't been since those rare occasions when school or uni were teaching me things that I was passionate about. 

Writing was my first love, closely followed by photography, way back in my childhood.  But it was writing that took most of my attention when I lived in New Zealand.  Then I flew, I was teacher for while, I wandered some, and I mostly misplaced my writing ... in one sense. 

In another way, blog-writing arrived and I started out on a different kind of writing.  One that I probably didn't really consider as 'writing' ... it occurs to me now, as I realise I have never stopped writing.  I only stopped writing that novel.  I only packed away my manuscript of interviews with climbers.  I only stopped the book-orientated writing.

But anyway, I am writing again.  I have book I want to finish soon.  It's complicated.  I almost made it simple but that would be silly.  I like complications ... why would I write a simple book. 

All that to say, if you're thinking you have a book in you, if you want to explore the whole process ... from the idea to the publishing (including all the tiny details along the way), then I highly recommend you take Christine Mason Miller's course, The Conscious Booksmith.

It's consuming, and fun, and satisfying, and exciting ... it contains all the elements of a damn fine adventure actually.

Oh!  And adventures.  I'm off road-tripping to France next week.  My Belgian bloke has surprised me with a small pilgrimage, in honour of one of my favourite New Zealand authors.  Really surprised and delighted me.

In July, I'm road-tripping, with Helen, to Italy.  Oh the adventures we have planned.  I shall be blogging that road-trip.

August is Norway and I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to spending time with Ren.

For now ... it's all about waiting for this special couple's little girl to arrive in the world. And there a ballet performance and a poetry reading planned for tomorrow.  Dank u wel, to the lovely Ruth, who organises some of my best adventures here.

 

 

 

Much ...

Forgive me if I fail to write coherently about the food at yesterday's 50th birthday party but I think the photograph at the end of the post goes some way to explaining why I fail ...

It was things like the fact that I don't like the idea of veal but ohmygoodness, it tastes like THAT!?? 

Jayne hosted the most exquisite party, invited a whole lot of lovely people, and made sure glasses were kept full of champagne while tempting our tummies with the most divine nibbles.

And I picked up a camera not my own and took photographs to my heart's content.  I drank champagne, again ...  Why yes, I was that woman who formerly claimed she didn't like champagne, who has shamelessly consumed 'quite some' (as the Belgian bloke has been known to say) these last 48 hours.

It appears I have seen the light with regard to good champagne.

Mmmm, and so it turns out a recipe for surviving a 29 celsius weekend here in Antwerp involves some champagne, much good food, and more than a few excellent people.

Normal service shall resume here tomorrow.

Sometimes ...

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were able to simply concentrate on one thing ... on just one of those wild and beautiful ideas that I have.

Perhaps it would be about me just going to Genova to work on my book.  Or if I stayed home and only worked on the photography workshops.  I wonder how it would be if I was a one-idea kind of woman.

Or if I just did the housework and cared for my family, deep-cleaning this quirky old Belgian house once a month, studying new recipes then cooking then, and taking the time to be sure my family was happy. 

And maybe I would have that dog I dream about too.

If I didn't enjoy meeting new people as I do ... or love exploring other countries so much, then that distraction-factor would be so much smaller and that much more manageable.  Perhaps.

But I am seem to be one of those people, genuinely deeply curious about almost everything.  I love photography, writing and people.  I love new people but old friends too.  I love family, and I love those messy new ideas that bubble up and spill all over the place. 

I tried staying in and working one rainy day back in Genova but the balcony beckoned and instead my camera and I attempted to capture some of the beauty just outside the glass doors. 

I miss that apartment and yet, at the same time, I am glad to be home. 

There was a BBQ last night, a reunion with some of Gert's university friends.  They were gracious and kindly allowed me into their circle.  The reunion was held in a beautiful location someplace in Belgium.  We were outside under this sail-like canopy that kept us dry while a Fiordland-New-Zealand-style tempest rumbled and crackled and downpoured around us.  It was a truly superb evening.

We hit 29 celsius yesterday ... summer is here.  The garden is luscious, between the heat and the rain, everything out there is celebrating by growing madly.

And today there's a 50th someplace in the city.   I should get ready but meanwhile ... another of the series of photographs taken from that balcony high up on Via Malta, one rainy day back in beautiful Genova.


Reading in the Garden, Belgium

We wandered out into our small pocket-sized garden after dinner and read until 10pm.  It's been hot here.  We have summer.  It's for sure now.

There's even talk of 31 celsius at the weekend.  We have a BBQ to attend, a birthday party too.  Oh, and the monthly expedition for supplies.

But anyway, the garden ...

Note of caution, based on what I read in Gert's mind ... if you want peace and tranquility, best not take a photographer.

Stories and People ...

Maybe we refuse to acknowledge our common origins because racism causes amnesia, or because we find it unbelievable that in those days long past the entire world was our kingdom, an immense map without borders, and our legs were the only passport required.

Eduardo Galeano, Mirrors - Stories of Almost Everyone.

Re-entry is always difficult.  My life in Genova is so different to the life I live here in Antwerp.  And being house-keeper in this quirky little Belgian house means settling back into that domestic life of cleaning and cooking and taking care of people.

It's also about me creating a space that I like to spend time in and so there are peonies in the big vase downstairs ... my laundry is done, the floors have been cleaned, bread was baked, meals cooked.  The transition  is complete, I am a housewife and all kinds of other things too, again.

I've done a couple of school-runs with Miss 9 (almost Miss 10), we're on a countdown to her fourth of July birthday.  And one of those school-runs involved a much-needed detour to my place of worship and peace ... De Slegte.  I found treasure, of course.

Eduardo Galeano's book, Mirrors - Stories of Almost Everyone, was my tram-companion today.  I love that  man's humour.  His intelligence more than anything but the way that he writes is rather exquisite.  I heard him interviewed a while back and thought, 'Hmmmm'. 

I have a copy of his Children of the Days too. 

In other news, in news from Genova ... Giovanni is a friend I met long-ago via the internet.  Raised in Milan, he moved to New Zealand some years ago with his wife, and it is from there that he too writes the most marvelous things.

You can imagine, it's rare that we find ourselves in the same country at the same time.  Until this last visit he was always in Italy when I wasn't however we did catch up back in 2010, when I was at home in New Zealand.  And this time the gods of travel allowed us a small meeting.

He arrived in Genova last Sunday and we met in Piazza De Ferrari.  The antiques market was still on and it was fun to wander with him, hearing his stories of this thing and that. 

I was obviously beyond temptation having purchased the beautiful shawl.  (Actually I reached home with about 2euro in change in my pocket.  This is my traveling life, the common story of Di wandering... New Zealand to Istanbul being the most disturbingly close-call of all).

Giovanni and I lunched, we caught up on stories and then, that evening we were able to join Barbara, Donatella, Luciano, and friends of theirs, for aperitivo out in the city.  It was so much fun.  But that's Genova to me ... aka La Superba.

My airline had contacted me that afternoon and so there was the scramble as I worked to get ready to leave a day earlier than I had planned.  Gert has since expressed bemused surprise that he made that mistake while booking for me.  We never make these mistakes and, while it was a situation that made me laugh, there was so much I was leaving until that last day in the city. 

Mmmm, children, don't leave everything until the last moment.

Anyway, I left Giovanni in the city on the Monday, as he wandered there before he headed off along the exquisite Ligurian coastline.  And I gifted my wine and Monday-food to Barbara, then left.  It was over again.

And below ... a photograph I took of Giovanni as we said our goodbyes until next time we find ourselves in the same country again. 

That Divine Thing ...

Today, at the monthly antiques market here in Genova, I met the most marvelous man and he sold me this 'most divine thing'. 

I wasn't shopping.  I was actually accompanying Outi as she shopped however ... this happened.  This beautiful shawl that I couldn't resist and believe me, I can resist most things, but this hit me in my girly soul.

I wasn't bartering, I really didn't have the money.  Unfortunately most people assume I'm bargaining.  It used to happen in Istanbul too. The lovely bloke selling this dropped to a price that was simply superb and so yes, I'm walking to catch my plane in Milan on Tuesday ...

But no, really, the Belgian bloke is bailing me out.  Thankfully.  I broke into a sweat confessing.  I love this shawl that much though ...  and I'm not sure I captured it here as it's silky and heavy and completely luxurious.  But anyway, you get an idea.

My Genovese Workspace

It's raining this morning and so I've stayed at the apartment, with plans to meet friends later.  But even when it rains, I find this city beautiful. Reflections appear in puddles on footpaths all over the city.

I have developed a new and terrible habit.  I wake about 8am, open the door to the small balcony, climb back into bed and sleep again ... as late as 11am that first time.  It's bliss.  I'm an early-rising creature and find it easy to wake and begin a day.

Not so here.  I have become a sloth. Quite the delighted sloth.  It won't last. It's only that I'm walking all over the place and talking to so many interesting people.  And I have Donatella and Luciano's cd playing.

But staying in on a Saturday morning in Genova ... you can see why in the photograph below.  The space where I work is an easy place to be.

Thank you, Air B&B.  I can't recommend them highly enough.  My cousin, Julie, introduced me to them and we stayed in them in Verona, Croatia, Budapest, Austria, and Lake Como last summer.  You get to meet interesting locals and live in local homes. 

My bedroom/office space in this beautiful apartment, downtown Genova.

Genova, of course ... and my playlist.

Hmmm, which order shall I post them in ... the photograph or my favourite music playlist?

The playlist:

Alexi Murdoch - Breathe (it reminds me I must)

Fabrizio De Andre - Creuza di Ma (because it takes me back to Genova, everysingle time)

Amos Lee - Arms of a Woman (love the sound)

Ben Howard - Old Pine (just love, so much)

Brian Eno - By this River (from a movie, it haunted me)

Counting Crows - Sullivan Street (there has to be at least one, of these guys or REM)

David Gray - The One I Love (somehow this one slipped in.  It wakes me up if I'm concentrating too deeply.

LP - Into the Wild (just simply love and adore)

Marc Cohen - Ellis Island (an old favourite)

Missy Higgins - Everyone's Waiting (love and adore)

Passenger - Let Her Go (new big love)

Sarah McLachlan - Angel (old love, and it reminds me of Pippa singing it beautifully)

Van Morrison - Into the Mystic  (hunted this song down and fell for Van Morrison as a result. Loved 'The Newsroom' too)

Yo La Tengo - Green Arrow (brilliant beautiful exquisite)

Zucchero - Dune Mosse (i enjoy Zucchero)

Paul Kelly - Midnight Rain (possibly my most favourite song ever but on his cd, it opens with heavy rain.  I love songs that include heavy rain, like we used to have back in Fiordland, NZ)

So this is it for now.  There are more I need to add but it meets my needs for now.

And the photograph ... Genova, of course.