le 31 mai 2010, Paris
The air is filled with the flowers from les platanes and the sun is still there at 8 pm. Spring is in Paris despite the chilly temperature.
Flaner – the best exercise in Paris and the precursor to anything unpredictable. So I was wondering in the streets and found a great restaurant. But after asking two neighborhood guys, Helas, it was closed. They pointed out that nearby at the Place de Gaillon there were two gastronomy restaurants and one of them belongs to Gerard Depardieu.
Place de la Gaillon is a lovely little square with two high end restaurants. But right across the street, there was this homey little restaurant with painted red windows and menu on the wall and it was recommended by Michelin. The waitress has a lovely smile so I chose this one.
The guy manning the oster bar liked me and gave me une langustine de plus. The plateau d’Ecaille was simply copieux et delicieux. I was conquered by my food, my glasses of wine and the time just being alone and enjoying myself. I even offered a stranger some of my huitres. These simple earthly happy moments that make life worth living. R, who would share art, travel, sex, food and surprises with me, thourouly, totally, fully as you?
I saw the waiters running out all the time with trays of seafood and running back with hot food. I found out that Depardieu has two restaurants, this little one serves the seafood to the luxurious one, the other one cooks plats chauds for this one – at the end, the food is the same and price is half here!
Vive la France and Depardieu – great actor and marketer.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
The outcast and the Indian wedding
The wedding started at 9 am. Hands were perfumed by sandalwood, hair sprayed by rose water and scarlet dot made in between the eyes.
"This is the first uncle, the daughter of the second uncle, the aunt who suffered two strokes, the brother of the bride..." within minutes I got all confused "They are all mad at me, because I am not married". Thus is the introduction of R.
The priest that was specially trained and well paid to perform the wedding ceremony sat down. Trumpet started to blow out those high pitch tones and drum beats got more and more intense. Incenses are burned to blur all senses.
The whole wedding was bathed in a warm orange-ish hue: shinny dark skin tones, gorgeous hand woven saris, the gold covered bride, the jumpy flame that could made saris catch fire, plenty of flowers and even the sound of the trumpet has that orange color.
The ceremony was performed on the stage, the guests either watched or minded their own business. Part 1 was dedicated to the groom, part 2 to the bride, part 3 to the couple with their parents. Each long enough to exhaust everyone who was part of it. At the highlight, everyone threw rice mixed with jasmine to bless the couple. Then the whole crowd proceeded to the legal part: sign the contract, change the ring, deal was sealed - i.e. breaking the deal could cost more than the lavish wedding.
Then everyone runs for the food. R and I went upstairs for the non-vegetarian part. Instead of waiting in line, we went to the lounge to have a beer. "A single woman sits in a bar to have a beer is never heard of in India, even the prostitutes don't do that." Well, at least I outperformed the prostitutes. "I lived in Shanghai for almost three years and came back to Singapore to get married. Once a woman becomes a wife, she just changes! My marriage lasted 3 months..." "Did you go through this kind of ceremony?" I asked "Thank God no!".
The line was gone so we went for food. A runs in, red with anger, shouted: "You put me in a very embarrassing situation! I tried to keep seats for you and you just disappeared!" And then he run off as quickly as a drum beat, full of fury.
R and I went downstairs, A was sitting among housewives and crying babies holding two seats for us - ultimate results of similar weddings in the past. A boy was picking up jasmine flowers from the floor. I thought that he would collect them, but after he gathered a handful, he threw them in the air again.
"This is the first uncle, the daughter of the second uncle, the aunt who suffered two strokes, the brother of the bride..." within minutes I got all confused "They are all mad at me, because I am not married". Thus is the introduction of R.
The priest that was specially trained and well paid to perform the wedding ceremony sat down. Trumpet started to blow out those high pitch tones and drum beats got more and more intense. Incenses are burned to blur all senses.
The whole wedding was bathed in a warm orange-ish hue: shinny dark skin tones, gorgeous hand woven saris, the gold covered bride, the jumpy flame that could made saris catch fire, plenty of flowers and even the sound of the trumpet has that orange color.
The ceremony was performed on the stage, the guests either watched or minded their own business. Part 1 was dedicated to the groom, part 2 to the bride, part 3 to the couple with their parents. Each long enough to exhaust everyone who was part of it. At the highlight, everyone threw rice mixed with jasmine to bless the couple. Then the whole crowd proceeded to the legal part: sign the contract, change the ring, deal was sealed - i.e. breaking the deal could cost more than the lavish wedding.
Then everyone runs for the food. R and I went upstairs for the non-vegetarian part. Instead of waiting in line, we went to the lounge to have a beer. "A single woman sits in a bar to have a beer is never heard of in India, even the prostitutes don't do that." Well, at least I outperformed the prostitutes. "I lived in Shanghai for almost three years and came back to Singapore to get married. Once a woman becomes a wife, she just changes! My marriage lasted 3 months..." "Did you go through this kind of ceremony?" I asked "Thank God no!".
The line was gone so we went for food. A runs in, red with anger, shouted: "You put me in a very embarrassing situation! I tried to keep seats for you and you just disappeared!" And then he run off as quickly as a drum beat, full of fury.
R and I went downstairs, A was sitting among housewives and crying babies holding two seats for us - ultimate results of similar weddings in the past. A boy was picking up jasmine flowers from the floor. I thought that he would collect them, but after he gathered a handful, he threw them in the air again.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Le Sacre du Printemps and the chosen one - Coco and Igor
The first time I heard le Sacre du Printemps was in New York, part of my husband's classic music appreciation exercise. We went to Avery Fisher Hall and after the show went to the Empire Hotel (torn down or moved) opposite Lincoln Center. I remembered the dark velvet curtains at the hotel bar. We met a former high rank executive of Pfizer who just underwent a throat surgery due to heavy smoking. He could no longer talk so he took the option of heavy drinking.
Then par hazard I saw the ballet in a long haul airplane - contrast to Nicolas Roerich's colorful costumes, it was a group of faceless and colorless individuals. Too chic. It was the movie that truly carved the music in my mind with it's power of dissonances and asymmetries. Listening to him is like to appreciate Picasso. What a comparison to the delightful Tchaikovsky violin concerto which is the hallmark of beautiful music!
So, what happened in the mind of the chosen one, the lucky one and the doomed one when she was chosen? If I were her, I would be dancing and eying the village elder, strangle him or kick him in the head, make it an efficient sacrifice of two to God - if that helps.
Then par hazard I saw the ballet in a long haul airplane - contrast to Nicolas Roerich's colorful costumes, it was a group of faceless and colorless individuals. Too chic. It was the movie that truly carved the music in my mind with it's power of dissonances and asymmetries. Listening to him is like to appreciate Picasso. What a comparison to the delightful Tchaikovsky violin concerto which is the hallmark of beautiful music!
So, what happened in the mind of the chosen one, the lucky one and the doomed one when she was chosen? If I were her, I would be dancing and eying the village elder, strangle him or kick him in the head, make it an efficient sacrifice of two to God - if that helps.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Moscow does not believe in tears
Girls are out, braving the spring cold with short skirts. Vodka is poured. Warm it up - we can't do anything to the cold, but we can do something to our body and to our mind. Don’t expect it to be so good. Don’t expect it to be so bad either. You are in Russia. In the roughest roughness there might be the finest fineness or, vice versa!
Moscow tried and will always try. Moscow failed many time but one thing still holds: Moscow does not believe in tears. Cheers!
Moscow tried and will always try. Moscow failed many time but one thing still holds: Moscow does not believe in tears. Cheers!
Sketches of Russia
The land is covered by snow. The snow is so white that it looks blue. Everything is frozen. Napoleon failed, revolutions staged and ideologies born and dead. Dr Zhivago’s mother got buried, into this bluish fridge, like the Tsars family. Who said that there is no equality?
The snow covered land extends to the horizon, to the faintest blue. The lighter the color, the further the distance. The mountains look at discarded skeletons. The rivers look like a snapshot of rivers on a map – with its stand-still streams meaning nothing but a sign. The desert ignores all other existence – because to a great stretch it is the only existence.
A road, with nobody and nothing on it, cut through the snow. It seems that someone just tried to wake up the earth with a giant whip, a straight strike, so deep and so painful. The road leads to more harsh, dry and rough land.
All of a sudden, a tiny village appeared, like a few bricks accidentally dropped in the middle of nowhere. This is what all the journey is worth for.
The snow covered land extends to the horizon, to the faintest blue. The lighter the color, the further the distance. The mountains look at discarded skeletons. The rivers look like a snapshot of rivers on a map – with its stand-still streams meaning nothing but a sign. The desert ignores all other existence – because to a great stretch it is the only existence.
A road, with nobody and nothing on it, cut through the snow. It seems that someone just tried to wake up the earth with a giant whip, a straight strike, so deep and so painful. The road leads to more harsh, dry and rough land.
All of a sudden, a tiny village appeared, like a few bricks accidentally dropped in the middle of nowhere. This is what all the journey is worth for.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The squirrel and the lion
Once upon a time a squirrel wants to become a lion.
He goes to the lion and asks: "I want to be a lion. What shall I do?"
The lion says: "You need to go hunting for meat."
The squirrel goes back home and catches a bird. But he has no appetite for the bird. When hunger kicks in, he gathers 5 nuts. He eats 3 and hides 2 and goes to sleep.
The next day he wakes up and feels dreams unfulfilled. He goes to the lion again.
"How can I become a lion."? Asks the squirrel.
The lion grabs the squirrel and swallows it.
He goes to the lion and asks: "I want to be a lion. What shall I do?"
The lion says: "You need to go hunting for meat."
The squirrel goes back home and catches a bird. But he has no appetite for the bird. When hunger kicks in, he gathers 5 nuts. He eats 3 and hides 2 and goes to sleep.
The next day he wakes up and feels dreams unfulfilled. He goes to the lion again.
"How can I become a lion."? Asks the squirrel.
The lion grabs the squirrel and swallows it.
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