Uncle Sam

As I glided through the streets of Chiang Mai, back in March, I was suddenly sucked in to a second-hand bookstore by my willful subconscious. I subjected myself to this impulse, trusting it to be the friendly me-within who had forgotten why but was nevertheless determined to. Hannah was getting a foot-massage from the 3ft middle-aged Thai lady who had just cut my hair (strangely, many services in Thailand seem to be accompanied by an optional massage), so she wasn’t at hand to guide me. As I perused the dusty books- fortunate leftovers of the tourists of yesteryear- I suddenly realised why I had walked in. I wandered up to the counter: ‘Sawadeeka, I’m looking for a book by Howard Zimmer... or Howard Zinnsk? No, that can’t be right. Er, A People’s History of the United States’.

‘Ah yes, Howard Zinn. Yes, we have’.

I slapped my Baht on the counter and gleefully went on my way, feeling very adult (having bought an actual History book). Sadly, the bookkeeper offered me no optional massage with my purchase. A shame really, considering the amount of time one spends browsing in a bookstore. Anyways, I managed to get through the book- partly in Thailand then in France and finally in the orchards, in audiobook format narrated by Matt Damon.

Fact: Matt Damon was the first to mention A People’s History of the United States to me [see clip].

But it wasn't till Howard Zinn's death earlier this year that my attention was drawn to his works.

"A People's History of the United States is an attempt to balance the scales by writing about the parts of US history that aren't often covered in depth. It focuses particularly on the effects of government policy on the poor, women, and non-whites throughout US history, documents labor movements and equality movements in more depth than one normally sees, and points out the mixed and disappointing records of US cultural heroes. It is, in other words, an attack on assumptions and accepted wisdom about the heroes and important events in history, and on the stories we tell ourselves as a culture" [http://www.eyrie.org/~eagle/reviews/books/0-06-090792-4.html]

Needless to say, it's an interesting read. It gives a different kind of bias to US history and is well-worth the effort if you want to deepen your understanding of what the US has been through. Personally, it helped strip away prejudices I held of Americans by separating 'them' from their governmental policies. Much of my political study at university concerned Latin America and so I couldn't help but develop a deep skepticism of any apparent good will in the way America deals with the rest of the world. Digging deeper, as in any history, you get to see the layers that make up a society and are bound to develop some kind of empathy and feeling of kinship with the people themselves. Now I get to meet the American people with positivity and good cheer, approaching them as I would any other culture- with curiosity and fascination- and with a much deeper respect than I would have previously imagined.

October Babies

In honour of Lou and Tim's birthdays this month, I thought we should take a look back at Tim's 2008 summer hit 'Mon amie, Ma Cherie', in which he lovingly expresses:

"Lingerie, mon amie

Magnifique, ma cherie

Tes seins dans mon sang"*

[...]

*Lingerie, my friend

Magnificent, my darling

Your breast in my blood

I had some great footage of Lou as a two-year-old in Tasmania terrorising older kids into acknowledging her lordship over the trampoline but unfortunately the external HD on which I'd saved it has crashed.

Katy and Jean-Michel also recently celebrated their birthdays. Here's some footage from a film I made Katy a couple of years back. The black and white scenes are from Cambrai around 1994. You can see our big old french backyard in the snow. The colour clip was filmed in Tasmania, 1987. It ends with some Saint-Auban action from this week. I hope spanning three decades in two minutes won't make you too queasy!

Bimbo a Bordo

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Busty blondes in France’s most famous wine region, that’s what this post is about”. Not so, I’m afraid. This is the tale of four adults packed into a car with a crying baby, a Michael Jackson CD and as much Parmesan and pasta as the boot could hold.

There's something odd about being on holiday in September here. That's because of La rentrée- i.e- the back-to-school, the end of summer, the muffling of the collective European sigh of relief. Sure, you'll still find Dutch and German tourists beached along the Mediterranean coast, but most French workers are back on the metro grinding their teeth. Supermarkets have been advertising school supplies since late July but la rentrée isn't a real issue then- it's just a vague and distant threat, like liver disease to the alcoholic or the apocalypse to the non-Jehovah's witness. But in September you can feel the whole of French society gearing up to get back to work. There's a stress and a hopelessness that overcomes you, even if you are on holiday. I was under this spell, sitting in Katy and Jean-Michel's backyard as the cold wind descended through the valley from the north. A chill overcame me, but then it turned into a shrill of excitement as I realised we were to head off to Italy during the night.

Pre-dawn car trips bring up positive memories for me: driving across the harbour bridge to go surfing, awaking to 'Sweet Dreams' by Eurythmics on Andrew's phone alarm and getting up to go spear-fishing, watching Baywatch re-runs, aged 11, as Dad packed the car for our holidays in the South of France. There’s magic in the air at 4 am. And despite this, the too-early-in-the-morning-demons assault you. The hangover-like feeling upon waking up; the over-enthusiastic morning glory; the general hatred of being conscious- these are their weapons. Thus, as you pack the car under the starry sky with your droopy eyes and mostly numb limbs, you pause and think:

Then in the stillness, you drive through the narrow Alpine roads, up and up and around the never-ending bends. Suddenly a deer dashes off into the trees, and then a wild pig stumbles over its awkward tusks as it flees from your path. The rest of the animal kingdom, having been taught to stay off the road, leaves you alone. All that remains is the rumbling of your car. Dawn gives one last big push and lo! Light fills the sky, and the silhouettes of trees become... er... trees. And it is all so climactic! And you feel like breakfast now! And the words come to you as if Nature itself were singing them in your ears!

So we stopped in Barcelonette, filled up the car and bumped into this guy.

And of course had our morning coffee and croissants.Thomas was happy as Larry in his yellow jumpsuit.

Barcelonette is one of the oddest places you'll see thanks to its colourful history.

Soon after crossing the border into Italy signposts stop making any sense and speed limits become arbitrary (despite signs everywhere telling you 'the cops are watching you'). As we approached Alessandria, where we would attend our friend Nathalie's wedding, Nigerian prostitutes lined the road and cars could be seen stopping here and there. It was a bit disheartening to see businessmen pulling over in broad daylight at 1pm. It made the practice seem really accepted and banal.

We stayed on an old ranch with the rest of the Kasmierzak family. The wedding was in Italian with bits of French here and there, and, Nathalie's new husband being quite the connaiseur in food and wine, the reception dinner was very nice right through from the hors d'oeuvres to the desert liqueurs.

Nathalie's dad, Jean-Pierre (pictured right) is a counselor in France and it was nice to chat to him about the profession he is passionate and knowledgeable about. Hannah and I are hoping to do a three year course in counseling starting next year.

We spent a week in the mountains of Tuscany, near Castelnuovo di Garfagnana and mainly just lazed about. It was pretty wet and cold and we had the sniffles so we puddled around the region- a hike here, some pizza there.

We nipped in to Pisa for a bit of a look around at its architectural marvels. Yes, the tower is on a bit of a lean and yes, all the tourists are taking the photo where they are holding it up with their bare hands. "It's on a lean and therefore induces a sense of the comical in us" they shout at me in unison.

Pisa seems like a pretty vibrant student town and yet all the tour buses really just spill out around the tower and people don't venture much further into the heart of the city. It bucketed down with rain while we were visiting the massive cathedral and baptistery and when we finally emerged a beautiful rainbow had been drawn across the sky.

Our trip finished off in Massa, on the west coast. One thing that Italy has seriously messed up is the privatisation of its beaches. They are all broken up into private deck chair areas, and there's naught but one 50 meter-wide beach per town that's free to the general public. That's where we spent our beach days, between two fences. But it was lovely, really. Lying on the sand with hardly anyone else around.

Some facts to finish up.

Thomas went for his first dip in the ocean. Jean-Michel had his birthday. Katy is a wonderful mother- and very rock'n'roll. (She also had a cool 'blue' party for her 30th birthday which was good fun. We had fresh lamb from the farm. Yum). Our BnB host in Massa was a very nice guy. I wrote postcards which I never sent [stamps and post-offices. It's a bit complicated for my generation]. We went to a restaurant that brought us huge disgusting charcoaled steaks and charged us $7 per 100g. Hannah gladly discovered that Italians make a lot more shoes in her size than our Anglo-Saxon-Viking nations. I tried to go for first-thing-in-the-morning jogs whilst in Massa. One morning I ended up in some run-down park that was filled with rabbits. It was a bizarre experience. The rabbits seemed very cute and friendly. Then I grew faint. And it seemed to me that the rabbits all turned and stared at me. And they gathered around me, slowly approaching with their twitchy little noses, whiskers wriggling, tails bobbing, fangs protruding... Then I blacked out, thinking:

Most of that rabbit story is actually true. But the moral of the story is- don't go for a run first thing in the morning. It's no use, really.

PS-

The four of us are disappointed we can't make it to Koro's book launch this weekend and hope all the Fordes/Whileys have a good time!

Only 2 weeks left for Hannah and I in France after which we fly off to America :-O

Oh and it's my birthday on Saturday! Huzzah!

How to Feel Homesick

Thanks Jono.

Summer

This is me these days- on a rock, facedown, vacant, content.

Ah. Provence. Finally to be enjoyed as it ought to be- lazily, merrily and without specific purpose; picking up a book between sleeps and staring at the words while daydreaming about something else... But, for you, I’ll summon up my energy, cast my thoughts back over the last couple of months and give you a bird’s eye view of what happened.

The cherry harvest was long and tiresome.14-16 hours of work per day, 6 days a week. Jean-Michel ought to be given a trophy for managing such a crazy business. However, I did say to Katy when we got home one night after midnight: “To be working these hours we should be saving lives or making millions- and we’re doing neither!” It was a stretching experience and quite character building.

We had a few days off after the cherry episode to beat our ploughshares into wine bottles and cash in some sleep. Some good friends came to visit, including my own flesh and blood- Xav who was passing through on his way to his mates wedding in Switzerland. Cigars and wine ensured this was a colourful reunion. We also partook in the ceremonial burial of Katy’s placenta. It had been resting in the freezer while we waited for Thomas Manatoa’s French godmother Elise [pictured] to

get a chance to come down.

Xav prepared a nice service in te reo with French explanations and we sang Ka Pinea Koe* to wrap it all up. It was very special.

*Ka pinea koe e au I will adorn you
Ki te pine o te aroha With an ornament of love
Ki te pine e kore nei With an ornament that will never
Te Waikura e Rust away

Thomas [pronounced ‘toh mah’- a la française] is a delightful chap. I’m very fond of him and its strange to think we’re spending so much time with him now but will then be absent for most of his childhood. That is a saddening thought, but it

will give me a shot at been one of those enigmatic old uncles who send one line birthday cards and expensive gifts to their growing nephews only to meet them properly later in life and develop a strong adult friendship.

The lavender harvest was next. This was quite an enjoyable job. It was a lot more ‘normal’ in terms of farm life. Just Jean-Michel, his dad and I. Hot days, lunch breaks, lavender smell filling the air. It was great. Its only defect, really, was that it came after the cherry harvest- meaning that we were pretty zonked. Here’s a little video to show a day of lavender harvesting. You can see the cutting in the tractor, the drying and then the harvesting of the flower. There’s another type of lavender that gets sent to a distillery to have its essence sucked out but I didn’t get a video of that process. Tiki and Tahi the goats also feature in this video as I milk and feed them every day. They’re super placid in the film because I’ve already catered to all their needs. Otherwise they’d be climbing all over me and trying to eat the camera.

Hannah and I and our friend Mishal- who came to visit for a week- went to Perpignan for 3 days to see a friend of mine I met when I was flatting in Granada.

Abbaye Saint Martin in the Pyrenees. It’s a bit of a hike to get up there but it’s worth it!

Perpignan is tucked into the South-Western corner of France, near the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees and also on Spain’s doorstep. Its Catalan heritage is still relatively strong and the language is spoken in Gipsy/Spanish communities. There’s a push for French people of the region to rediscover their Catalan roots and from what I could gather there’s some progress in that area. While we were there we went to a photo- journalism expo which showed the works of dozens of photographers around the world for 2010. There were some interesting themes:

Islam in Bangladesh; cops in the Bronx; the survival of the homeless in New York; the Amazonian rainforest etc. There was a series on the civil unrest in Thailand from March-May this year, which showed among other things the burning of a massive shopping centre in Bangkok. We’d been there a month before (days before the blood protest)

and I can easily see why this massive money machine was targeted in the protests. Seeing it utterly destroyed was quite potent and you could feel the powerful rage of communities looking for justice. And of course you can't help but feel the strange paradox of being a tourist- knowing that all this was brewing while you were head down in a map trying to find your way to the nearest noodle bar.

On a different note- we are currently in the mountains of Tuscany with Katy, JM and Thomas! More about that another time.

Business Time

Melting away in the cherry orchards. That's what we're doing these days. I step out nude of the caravan at 5.30 a.m. and barely feel the fresh morning chill as I pee on my favourite tree. 30 degree heat hits at about 10 a.m. and the temperature has nowhere to go but up! I spend the day meandering through the cherry orchard helping pickers sort through their pickings and making stovetop coffees on a gas burner for our Italian workers [the pictured one is Russian and demands no coffee]. JM and I then sort through the days fruit and get it all pretty and packaged to send off to the expeditors. The cherries are juicy and delicious and I try to eat as many aesthetically unappealing ones as I'm obliged to throw away.

Unfortunately, the french fruit market is suffering enormously, partly because of poor quality harvests earlier in the season. Many cherries were damaged after sleeping through a long winter and then confusedly waking in hot climates only to find they were being assaulted by rain, invaded by cold and attacked by hail. Producers then sent their lame, limping cherries to dealers- who then stored them in fridges, mixed them and sent them off to fussy supermarkets who were not pleased to find rotten red weather worn cherry veterans sitting on their shelves. Four weeks down the track and Supermarkets are simply not buying cherries so dealers are just storing them in big fridges and producers are getting nothing for their efforts.

We started picking two Sundays ago as Jean Michel's cherries come later than the rest because of the altitude they grow at (this is his niche in the market). The cherries are lovely, but they aren't really selling so we are mainly doing half days of picking at the moment (6 a.m.-1 p.m.)- about 600kgs worth of fruit. I got a bit of a fright on the first day when we started at 7 a.m. and worked until 11 p.m. sorting through the days plunder- trying to get the bad ones out and putting them in size categories. Thankfully, this system was just a try-out and we managed to get home by 930 p.m. the following evening and then 8 p.m. the day after that.

JM still has to go back up the hill in the evening to water the trees so he usually gets home about two hours later. With the demand at an all time low, the rhythm is actually quite nice this week- but it's always depressing to think that after all the organising, picking, sorting, driving, and packaging the cherries go and rot in some poor expeditors fridge! Might as well do the full day's work and then throw it all into an incinerator! Pity also that the average french person won't experience the nice juicy taste of cherries freshly plucked from the tree. Anyway- not to worry- JM will be one of the few left on the market next week and supermarkets will catch up with the fact that cherries are generally now in good nick.

• I've been milking two goats- Tiki and Tahi- for the last month and a bit. I handle their teats quite well now and get the most out of them. Katy makes nice cheese from the approx. 4 litres they kindly put out.
• Hannah has been having French conversations with a tutor up the road and I love reading the essays she writes for homework.
• It's hot these days. If I'm home in the evenings I usually dream up going for a run and end up having a cigar and reading a book under the big tree by the stream. Going through the book of Judges which is refreshingly action packed. I especially enjoyed this account last weekend:

Ehud

'Once again the Israelites did evil in the eyes of the LORD, and because they did this evil the LORD gave Eglon king of Moab power over Israel. Getting the Ammonites and Amalekites to join him, Eglon came and attacked Israel, and they took possession of the City of Palms. The Israelites were subject to Eglon king of Moab for eighteen years.

Again the Israelites cried out to the LORD, and he gave them a deliverer—Ehud, a left-handed man, the son of Gera the Benjamite. The Israelites sent him with tribute to Eglon king of Moab. Now Ehud had made a double-edged sword about a foot and a half long, which he strapped to his right thigh under his clothing. He presented the tribute to Eglon king of Moab, who was a very fat man. After Ehud had presented the tribute, he sent on their way the men who had carried it. At the idols near Gilgal he himself turned back and said, "I have a secret message for you, O king."

The king said, "Quiet!" And all his attendants left him.

Ehud then approached him while he was sitting alone in the upper room of his summer palace and said, "I have a message from God for you." As the king rose from his seat, Ehud reached with his left hand, drew the sword from his right thigh and plunged it into the king's belly. Even the handle sank in after the blade, which came out his back. Ehud did not pull the sword out, and the fat closed in over it. Then Ehud went out to the porch; he shut the doors of the upper room behind him and locked them.

After he had gone, the servants came and found the doors of the upper room locked. They said, "He must be relieving himself in the inner room of the house." They waited to the point of embarrassment, but when he did not open the doors of the room, they took a key and unlocked them. There they saw their lord fallen to the floor, dead.

While they waited, Ehud got away. He passed by the idols and escaped to Seirah. When he arrived there, he blew a trumpet in the hill country of Ephraim, and the Israelites went down with him from the hills, with him leading them.

"Follow me," he ordered, "for the LORD has given Moab, your enemy, into your hands." So they followed him down and, taking possession of the fords of the Jordan that led to Moab, they allowed no one to cross over. At that time they struck down about ten thousand Moabites, all vigorous and strong; not a man escaped. That day Moab was made subject to Israel, and the land had peace for eighty years’

Great attention to detail in this account. I also love that the next two lines are.

‘After Ehud came Shamgar son of Anath, who struck down six hundred Philistines with an oxgoad. He too saved Israel’.

Good for Shamgar to get a mention, I thought. Good one. I also came across the Hebrew name ‘Keenaz’ in there somewhere and I thought that would be a great name to give a kid. Totally ligit, dude- it's like- in the Torah. Like that couple who wanted to call their boy ‘4REAL’ (as written). On the subject of names- I've enjoyed seeing Xav&B, Katy&JM, and Lou&Tim's naming of their boys. Names are fascinating and its exciting to be confronted with a name that causes you to meditate on its meaning. Xav made this brilliant picture of the three nephews. Just great.

Left to right: Finlaeic Te Kawaingatoa o te Mana Atua , Thomas Manatoa, Te Kōpū-a-rangi Turanga Reuben Vance

Looking forward to seeing how these fellas turn out!

PS- Pictures from tonight- Manatoa's first barbeque!

There and Back Again

Tripping Through

FRANCE

Hannah and I took a break from sunshine and evening beers by the stream to visit the far north of France where I grew up. We snuck into an old friend's wedding at short notice (great Salmon baked in Champagne at the reception) and saw quite a few people from my old church there. I spent a lot of time trying to remember names and taking messages for mum and dad but it was good fun. Hannah got to experience the 'Chti' accent, particularly when this fish-faced guy, the colour of the inside of an aubergine, pulled out his most obscure northern jargon and splattered it in Hannah’s face. “What noises is he making?” she asked me. Something akin to an enthusiastic duck call is the answer, though the content was pretty ordinary- “You don’t speak French do ya? She’s not from around here, is she?”. Terry Gillam would have happily filmed that scene, I reckon.

The wedding was good fun and seeing all those people reminded me of the life we led in this unique part of the world. It also made me realise the incredible twist of fate that led me to where I am today.

Who knows where/who I’d be if we hadn’t moved to NZ when I was 14. I shudder to imagine. And yet, a decade ago NZ was an unknown place to me. What then seemed odd and impractical (being ripped out of my then known world and social network) turned into the delightful existence that I know today.

----------------------

Now gather around children, as I segue into a magical story. I decided in May to go through the Bible as a narrative from beginning to end (I know- crazy right), and came across:

Joseph: young guy, lots of brothers- they don’t like him too much (he’s getting a bit big for his own boots they reckon)- so they sell him into slavery rather than kill him, which can get messy [notes Reuben, who’s not feeling too good about the whole thing]. Joseph is a great slave. He has some depressing times (prison and the like) but is promoted to the highest office in the land, just under the Pharaoh. A big famine comes to Egypt but they are prepared because yours truly (empowered by the Almighty) interpreted dreams predicting this would happen.

His brothers come to Egypt for food because they’re out (famine and all that). After they meet Joseph a few times he reveals himself as their brother. They get a bit embarrassed and remorseful but Joseph, tears in his eyes, embraces them and offers his perspective on the whole ordeal:

"I am your brother Joseph, the one you sold into Egypt! And now, do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you. For two years now there has been famine in the land, and for the next five years there will not be ploughing and reaping. But God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So then, it was not you who sent me here, but God" (Genesis)

Now THAT attitude is unbeatable and I do believe, without a hint of fatalism, that God is sovereign over all things; that he has looked after us gracefully and mercifully and that whatever he does with us will be for his good pleasure. That’s good enough for me.

BELGIUM

Stopped for a pee. Cost us 50c each.

GERMANY

We carried on to Germany-a country which I’d heard so much about and yet whose soil I’d never trodden on- to see our friends Ben & Kirk. They live in a cool flat in Mannheim, which as you can see from the map is conveniently on the way to Switzerland. They took us to see Heidelberg- a sexy little fairy-tale town. We waddled under the rain through the medieval cobbled streets, past cabbage scented restaurants, up to the Heidelberg Castle- perched Alhambra-like over the town, then descended back down to the pub to eat schnitzel and drink beer. Interestingly, Asparagus is a big deal while it’s in season and they have whole menus dedicated to it.

I realised- as if this were an odd thing- that I spoke very little German, and quickly evolved from dankes and entschuldigungs into excellent Mr Bean impersonations.

Shop attendant- Halo!

Me- Halo! Tzen bitte.

Shop attendant- SchnifelishnaffenzuggenartVISAoderMASTERCARDneinundziebenartberg

Me- smile, quizzical grunt, 'Ya', broken-English-compromise- 'Here ygo, hohoho'. 'Danke. Danke'. smile, bow, exit.

German motorways are toll free (the French ones added up to over 70 Euros) and have sections where you can speed to infinity if you are so inclined. Infinity meant 140 kph in our little Corsa [whose radiator was hanging with wire from the farm] but it was good fun. Hannah read me the first of C.S.Lewis’ space trilogy “Out of the Silent Planet” while I held the wheel and drowned in my bum sweat.

SWITZERLAND

Switzerland was super-scenic. Mountains, lakes, chalets. Yum. We went to visit Hannah's friends at L'Abri community, near Aigle- which is South-East of lake Geneva. It is a fascinating place set up by an equally fascinating thinker- Francis Schaeffer.

We only spent five days there, but i found it really invigorating. There's a nice balance in the lifestyle and some cool, open-minded people. It's an intellectually satisfying place because there's room to think, critique, and opportunities to digest knowledge through dialogue- which is something I found lacking on my best Uni days. It's a nice neutral Christian-based environment (neutrality is Switzerland's forte) and you find a majority of Americans there who have been disillusioned by this:

and looking for something more real.

I know this has been a long post and we're all busy people. But if it helps, I'm in the mountains in the South of France and you're on a beautiful island in the South Pacific. I think we've done well and deserve a good snooze. I'll leave you with a very funny clip by an ambiguous and witty character- Russell Brand. I read his biography last year and usually enjoy his comedy. He's a bit rude at times, so intermittently cover your ears if you're a bit sensitive [you will have to watch it once through to know when to block your ears so you're already in a bit of a conundrum... I recommend just watching it]. He deals with an incredible amount of issues in this one small segment. Please watch it. It will enrich your life.

This guy would have done well at L'Abri.