Processing Home ...

When I returned from New Zealand there was a bleak Belgian winter going down and so I simply holed-up, in my office here, processing photographs taken during our 5 weeks back home.

At some point I realised how sad I was becoming, missing the freedoms of home, missing the light, missing people I loved and so I quietly put the rest of my photographs away.  Unprocessed.

Spring arrived ... then left after one day, making repeated attempts over months until finally one day it was ours and I realised I had moved on too.  I had stopped comparing there to here and was focusing on European people and projects again.

I wandered over to Genova, worked like a crazy woman for 5 days and returned to Belgium, swearing I would never attempt Italy in 5 days again.  It's too short a time.  Then Gert took his summer holiday and we explored a small part of France ... discovering some of Bourgogne then falling for Doussard, near Annecy.

Back in Belgium, we have overcast skies and heavy rain today.  We were at 31 celsius two days ago ... it's like that.  Will summer come ... maybe, sometimes.

And I have some exquisite projects in front of me.  A photography exhibition in autumn, the wedding of some favourite folk in France in summer, two workshops in Italy, and the promise of meeting some excellent people along the way.

But today ... today I turned back towards New Zealand and worked through images taken of a favourite family in Fiordland.  Hunter, pictured below, is a treasured friend. 

After I left Fiordland, way back in 1998, he sometimes had work in Dunedin and would come stay with me and my dog, bringing fresh venison from the hills.  Bringing himself and his stories.

He introduced me to the music of Buena Vista Social Club by turning up the volume on his car stereo while we sat out on the deck of my little wooden cottage on the peninsula.

It was good to see him again, to be back in Manapouri for a while and to spend time with his wife Claire, and with their daughter Phoebe too.  Photographs to follow if permissions are given.

My Ideas About Turkey

Last night, I watched with horror as the police force attacked the people of Istanbul.  I watched late into the night, not sure of who the best sources were ... but I watched, hoping the people would prevail against yet another government who has stopped consulting its people.

I imagine there is a lot of 'information' going out into the world today.  Each with its own spin, as newspapers and governments decide how this story will be spun ... how will the story of Turkey best serve their interests.

As for me, I know what I know based on the fact of having spent two years living there.  And yes, it was a while ago now but the basic nature of the people, the culture ... it won't have changed dramatically. 

This is what I know ...

The people of Turkey are some of the kindest and most hospitable in the world.  They have a humour I recognise from New Zealand.  They love to tease, to mock gently but kind.  I have never met kinder.

I spent a couple of weeks on crutches while there and it became usual to have strangers say, Geçmiş olsun, as they passed me in the street.  It translates as get well soon.  And the ankle injury 'incident' was a story in itself.  I was at a job interview and rolled my ankle as I was leaving.  Mortified, I made myself hobble over to a taxi.  Sitting there in the back, not sure of where I would take my rapidly swelling ankle, the taxi driver asked me to give him any friend's phone number, called Ozgur, picked her up, took us both to hospital, and refused any payment.  I was in his taxi for an hour.  This was commonplace, in terms of my experience of Turks there.

Another day saw me arrive at a little shop run by two brothers.  We 'knew' each other a little, as I was a regular customer.  That day I was coughing up my lungs and, of course, I left with a bag full of herbs they gifted me, explaining that I needed to brew and drink them.  The same happened when my friend Kagan, and his wife, took me home to her parents in Ankara for Seker Bayram, otherwise known as the Sugar Festival.  That too is a story but too long for here. 

I was coughing again, I struggled with spectacular laryngitis in those years immediately after mother died.   Another special drink was made, honey-based and full of all kinds of things, whipped up for me by the very kind head of the household. 

The kindness of the vast majority of the people I met there left me speechless sometimes.

I adored the parents of my lovely friend Beste.  She married Jason, another good friend and colleague of mine, and they took me to her parents home often enough for me to wish that I could always live over there on the Asian-side of Istanbul with that special family.

Her father insisted on meeting Gert before I flew off with him ... explaining that, as I had no family there, they would check this guy out.  They approved but her mum did tell me I was welcome back there if things didn't work out over in Belgium.  All this despite the fact that she wasn't that much older than me.

The food was incredible.  I miss it still.  No place else (that I've been) does food like Turkey.  I never had one favourite food, there were many ... too many to name.

And open, the people were so open.  Europe came as a huge shock and I suffered during my first lonely months here in Belgium.  After life in a living, breathing, hustling-bustling beautiful-crazy city like Istanbul, Belgium seemed very quiet and kind of cold.  There's was no welcome in the cafes or the hairdresser ... although I am finding those spaces.  It just takes much longer.  I was nuisance and my friendliness was just a wee bit too much. I had to reset my behaviour over those months after I moved. 

I returned to Istanbul in 2008, staying with treasured friends Lisen and Yakup, capturing the city with my camera as they took us all over the place ... as we four worked on a huge photography project that we must complete one day. I returned home with thousands of photographs and a hectic schedule.

The woman in the photograph below.  I knew her for a very short time. I ate the delicious gözleme she was selling at the organic market there in Istanbul.  And we talked, via Yakup, and she said yes to the photographs.  She and her friends ... they just opened up for me.

Whatever comes out of Istanbul in the days and weeks ahead, however it is spun, just know that the Turks have big hearts.  Enormous hearts.  As a society in general, I think I can state that they value family and love children ... so much.  Sure there the usual problems associated with a 'loving' family but the love is there anyway. When the prime minister appealed to parents to take their children home from the protest, the mothers arrived and formed a human chain around the park they are protesting in ... a chain between their children and the police.

Last night as the police brutally attacked those protestors, the people of Istanbul began marching towards the heart of the protest, from suburbs all over the city.  Peaceful everyday people, marching into a policeforce that seems out of control, or under the control of a prime minister out of control.  I almost cried as they marched in the small hours of the morning.

Yes, if you are Turkish and in your 20s, your mother's friend might read your coffee grounds, using it as an excuse to give you a hard time about the boyfriend they don't approve of ... but we all laughed when they did that.  One night, I remember falling asleep to the sound of a small group of retired officers wives, talking and laughing as they played cards in the room next door to me.  I was a guest, snuggled in amongst yet another Turkish family and it felt so very good to be there.

The mother-in-law of a friend wanted to keep me and immerse me in Turkish until I was fluent.  Her son had taken to calling me a 'winter woman' ... the woman you have for winter, when the weather is cold.  The teasing, oh the teasing.  They thought they were hilarious, making me blush like that.

The taxi-drivers, the people in the shops, the cafe staff, the hairdressers.  I left with a million stories I hold close to my heart.  I treasure the friendship of the students I still know from those days, so proud of those like Ege, who now studies in Paris.

Don't just believe one story of the political situation in Turkey.  Visit sources like Erkan Saka if you want to know more.  You can read about him over here.  Find your own sources, but don't judge without searching.  The people of Turkey deserve no less.




Laura Young

Laura's words have been haunting me ...

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

She's a photographer, a writer, a river girl, so she writes ... and so much more.

 

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

- See more at: http://laurayoung.typepad.com/photography/2013/06/day-38-scraps-all-over-the-cutting-room-floor.html#sthash.xc43GKV7.dpuf

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

- See more at: http://laurayoung.typepad.com/photography/2013/06/day-38-scraps-all-over-the-cutting-room-floor.html#sthash.xc43GKV7.dpuf

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

- See more at: http://laurayoung.typepad.com/photography/2013/06/day-38-scraps-all-over-the-cutting-room-floor.html#sthash.xc43GKV7.dpuf

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

- See more at: http://laurayoung.typepad.com/photography/2013/06/day-38-scraps-all-over-the-cutting-room-floor.html#sthash.xc43GKV7.dpuf

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

- See more at: http://laurayoung.typepad.com/photography/2013/06/day-38-scraps-all-over-the-cutting-room-floor.html#sthash.xc43GKV7.dpuf

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

- See more at: http://laurayoung.typepad.com/photography/2013/06/day-38-scraps-all-over-the-cutting-room-floor.html#sthash.xc43GKV7.dpuf

Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like if our only labels were our names and all we had to do with our life was figure out how to flesh that out, just that one name.  Stop worrying about being a good mother, daughter, son, neighbor, grandfather, and all the rest of it and just figure out what it means to be "X".

Seems it could it could take a person their entire life to figure out how to do that well.

- See more at: http://laurayoung.typepad.com/photography/2013/06/day-38-scraps-all-over-the-cutting-room-floor.html#sthash.xc43GKV7.dpuf

Fields of Gold, Bourgogne

You only are free when you realize you belong no place — you belong every place — no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.

Maya Angelou.

I was looking for words to post with the photograph that follows and I was going to write something long about wandering in France, about finding fields of gold, about how I almost melted with joy when I found this field but maybe the photograph speaks for itself.

And back to work ...

We arrived home later than expected, caught up in the air-controllers strike, fortunate to have our flight only delayed by 4-5 hours.

I can't complain and would rather that air-controllers were well-paid and happy with their working conditions.  Lyon Airport isn't the worst airport in the world to get stuck in either.  I would have preferred it was Istanbul, as that is surely my favourite airport so far - free wifi and good food.

Lyon had great food.  We took the risk and paid 14euro for a main at the brasserie there.  It was the best airport meal ever however ... we surely paid for it.  We had tried the cheap route earlier in the day but it was 7 euro for a bag of potato chips and 2 bottles of water. 

We knew Belgium had 22 celsius but, of course, that did involve flying through a bumpy band of grey cloud and into rain.  Kind of 'tropical', if you really want to stretch the meaning of tropical.

Today has been all about unpacking, cleaning the house, and getting back on task with the photo-processing I couldn't do on holiday.  I'm pleased with how it's going but missing Doussard's mountains and surrounds.

The work in process ...

The Parapenting Blokes Next Door.

Gert and I were out on the terrace, here in Doussard, enjoying the last of the day and watching the light change on the mountains in front of us when a parapenter landed out there in the field.

It happened too fast.  I missed photographing him landing.

A little bit later and I realised another guy was about to land.  This resulted in a bit of a Di Frenzy.  I gifted Gert my dessert (threw it his way really), grabbed my camera, ran to the fence and asked the blokes on the other side if they thought their friend would mind if I photographed him landing ...

Why ask them you might well wonder.

Well, they had walkie-talkies and the first parapent bloke had wandered over to their backyard after landing.

Bemused, I suspect, they said they thought it would be fine.

Two more came down afterwards.  Lured, I was told, by the fact that the beer and the BBQ was set up out there. 

Lunch near Le Lac Vert ... France

Gert drove  me 65+ mountainous kilometres ... we took the secondary roads between Doussard and Le Lac Vert. 

Mountainous, winding, narrow roads when you have have livedin Antwerp too long and your driver is a flatlander.  (Gert said I have to explain that I found the drive kind of disturbing.  I said, surprised, 'but I thought all that was contained in that sentence'.  He said, 'no'.) 

But anyway ... the view was so very worth it.  The image that follows, Mont Blanc no less, was taken while seated at the restaurant called Chalet du Lac Vert.

Stunning I thought.

Wandering, in Annecy, France

We spent the morning in Annecy and were bemused by this lovely little French city.  Although it did take us an hour to decide that yes, we will pay 11 euro each for our lunch because we're really really hungry now!

French bookshops there mostly sell books in French.  I was despondent, as I think I might have loved reading so many of the authors displayed however it was all very impossible. I bought postcards and wrote one to my Dad while stuck in the traffic jam 'home'.

A glimpse of Annecy ...

 

Room With A View ...

We moved locations yesterday, driving some 250kms, heading for the foothills of the French Alps.  And I am quietly excited because, after so many years of reading climbing literature, I shall finally visit Mont Blanc.  A testing point for so many of the climbers I read.

This new gite is a quirky little cottage, 3-stories high and about 3 metres wide.  It's more like a wilderness cottage in New Zealand, in some ways but still, there's a log fire burning, we cooked dinner in the tiny kitchen, we have free internet and there's tv too.

But more than anything, I am stunned by how like the Queenstown/Fiordland area this place is.  We arrived in 27 celsius yesterday, I was completely destroyed by the huge pollen count - late Springs can do this they tell me.  Our car was coated in pollen when we parked in Annecy.  Thankfully the rain rolled in, we've even heard some thunder roll around in the mountains beside us ... and rain, blessed rain.  It took the temperature down to 13 celsius and washed away the pollen. 

But my idea of mountains, much to Gert's amusement, is that they should always be draped in fog and clouds.  They're at their best that way.  There's a creek running near the house, the rain beat down most of the afternoon, the birds sung, taking over from the cicadas who had greeted us. 

Nature is alive and well in this corner of France and I have to admit, I'm really impressed by it all.  The photograph was taken from the top floor of the cottage.  Tomorrow and Tuesday shall involve much exploring and, quite probably, many more photographs. 

Au revoir.

Cluny Abbey, France

In 910, William the Pious, Duke of Aquitaine, founded an abbey under the patronage of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, accountable directly to the Pope. The abbey grew considerably until the 12th century thanks to abbots like Odilo and Hugh of Semur, who were later canonised. 

Cluny was the mother house for over 1,000 monasteries and became the headquarters of the largest monastic order in the West: the Cluniac order.

And that is where we wandered today. 

Bourgogne is confusing me. There is so much here.  You drive 6kms and you feel you have arrived in another country ... sometimes, another time.  And we have driven so many kilometres, slowly, wandering through time and space in ways I'm not sure I've traveled before.

Cluny Abbey was a Benedictine Monastery that played a hugely influential role throughout Europe in the Middle Ages.  It had the highest arches in the Roman world and was the biggest church in Christianity. 

Sadly French revolutionaries destroyed this incredible site in 1790.  Still, it was a pleasure to wander there, learning of its history, enjoying what had survived and/or been restored.

I turned a corner searching for the 3D film room they promised us and found the corridor below there in front of me.  This is simply a snapshot but I love that it captured something of the beauty that is still the Cluny Abbey.

In Bourgogne ...

I find myself comparing the landscapes here in Bourgogne to those back in New Zealand.  Although, surely, that is the fate of the wanderer.  I find myself always layering memories of places I've lived or visited over where ever I am in the now. Looking for some kind of 'fit' or familarity.

Some mornings I wake up in Antwerp and I smell that particular smell, that heavy-traffic pollution smell, first discovered in Los Angeles,  a familiar scent back in Istanbul and now, oftentimes, there it is in Antwerp.

Here in Bourgogne it is the geography ... the lay of the land.  The vineyards that run as far as the eye can see, the hills, the lush fields.  The air is good.  And somehow the cloud formations make me imagine the coast or a huge lake is somewhere close by.  It's big sky country where we are.

Chateaus and castles are everywhere.  Sunday was spent wandering le Château de Cormatin.  Rather exquisite it was ... no echoes of 'home'.  It was particular and surely an example of 'someplace else'.  Unimagined. Unknown.

Evenings, and I've been relaxing with a short tv series out of New Zealand, Top of the Lake.  A Jane Campion creation.  I'm hooked but find the storyline disturbing.  However the scenery is so beautifully familiar.  Two episodes to go ... Salon.com has promised a 'superb finale'.  Let's see how that goes.

And now?  Sunshine and Bourgogne are calling me. 

Off and wandering.

Bourgogne, France

After 4  days off-off-line, here I am ... posting a snapshot of a dinner we made in Bourgogne, France.

This region is beautiful.   Really beautiful.

I'm using my small travel laptop and I'm really not sure about the screen.  I know there's a problem with a strange kind of film over all of the images I view on it so ... I will post snapshots, tell you some stories, and wait to process the best of the beauty when I am home again.