my trip to europe was full of wonderful places and people. will post pictures of places by and by (i took more than 500 photos) but i wanted to pay special tribute to all the spectacular people i connected and reconnected with. here they are.
Yesterday I flew from Amsterdam to Toronto. Excellent Icelandair flights, although the Reykjavík airport is in some disarray with new construction going on, crowded departure lounges, not enough seating, and long bus rides to one’s aircraft.
In Toronto, seamless organization: I skip the long immigration lines and check in at a standalone terminal with my Nexus card. Takes all of 2 minutes. After picking up my luggage, I ask the info desk how I can call my shuttle. I don’t have a phone. No problem, browse thru all the parking services available for Toronto airport, press a button and get connected to ur shuttle service for free. The shuttle picks me up in under 10 min.
I see people in shorts and T-shirts and wonder if they’re the hapless innocents who just landed from Cancun. No, it’s warm and balmy outside, even at 8pm.
I get to the parking lot and find my car – it’s like meeting an old friend. A quick stop at Kandahar Kabab for dinner and then off to Rochester.
Two hours later at the border, I tell the US immigration officer about my whirlwind trip to Europe. He asks me if I have anything to declare. I say no. “What? No duck or Belgian stuff?” he jokes. Another hour and I’m in Rochester’s familiar neighborhoods. Spring is in the air. I’m listening to classic rock on the radio. Oh, how good it is to be home!
Nihal Rabbani: Arabic farewell breakfast with Mara – Shakshuka (eggs poached in a sauce of vine tomatoes with sliced red bell peppers, chopped onions, ground red paprika, cumin, black pepper, pink Himalayan salt, Moroccan olive oil, bay leaves, a cinnamon stick and cayenne pepper); chopped cilantro; different types of bread; Jordanian zaatar; organic Spanish olive oil; white grapes; hummus seasoned with coriander and lime juice (from the Moroccan deli stall at the open-air market); Arbequina olives, home-made labneh from goat yogurt curd; semi-mature Dutch cheese from Northern Holland, accompanied by pomegranate-raspberry juice. I’m kind of sad that this weekend went by so quickly!
Today, some good jazz music at Café Engelbewaarder. Thx Nihal!
At the Rijks Museum enjoying some vol au vent and Dutch apple cake 🙂
Loved this beautiful description of “A Thin Wall” by Rachida Aziz (Le Space, Brussels):
Avec les femmes de sa famille Mara Ahmed retrace l’histoire de la partition entre le Pakistan et l’Inde en 1947. Ou comment les frontières dessinés par les colonisateurs impérialistes ont déchirés des familles et des villages entiers. Des enfances brisés, des vies interrompues et des séquelles profondes. Au-delà de l’hommage à la résilience des femmes indiennes/Pakistanaises, ce documentaire est d’un poétique et d’une beauté inouï.
With the help of women in her family Mara Ahmed redraws the history of the partition between Pakistan and India in 1947, when borders drawn by imperialist colonizers tore up families and entire villages. Childhoods were broken and lives interrupted, with profound consequences. Besides being a tribute to the strength of Indian/Pakistani women, this documentary’s poetry and beauty are remarkable.
[Photograph from Le Space’s website]
Yesterday a good screening of A Thin Wall at Le Space, an unusual community space close to the canal that “partitions” Brussels into a wealthy East and an economically depressed West.
Unlike the Paris banlieues, poor neighborhoods are located in the center of the city here, more in line with the American model of hollowed out urban centers surrounded by prosperous suburbs. And of course, gentrification, with its attendant side effects, is also at work. There is plenty of diversity – I was told a small neighborhood nearby is inhabited by immigrants from no less than 160 different countries – and a certain dynamism that’s clearly visible within the walls of Le Space.
My beautiful friends, the Zoeters, were there and Karin was able to get two counsellors from the Pakistani Embassy to attend. The wonderful Frank Barat made it as well – it was lovely to meet him in real life. I was picked up from my hotel and escorted to the venue by Christopher Daley, a fellow documentary filmmaker whose work I cannot wait to check out.
The questions after the film were interesting as usual. One of the counsellors questioned the premise that nationalism needs to be ditched hook, line and sinker. What about nationalism as a force for anti-colonial struggles and the demand for self-rule? True enough. Although nationalism in the anti-colonial context has enormous potential for freedom and social, political and economic transformation, it can also be used later to justify the need to homogenize by defining rigid parameters for nationhood. A young woman asked about an alternative vision to the Western idea of nation states and I advocated open borders, which might reduce the inequities and imbalances that exist between the colonized world and the world of colonizers. Someone noticed that it was mostly women who were interviewed in the film and whether that was intentional. Indeed.
Finally, a bright university student compared the reality of coexistence in the Indian subcontinent, prior to partition, to Belgium’s ability to negotiate fragmented politics (Dutch speaking Flanders, French speaking Walloon, and then the Brussels-Capital region) and continue to function as one entity with many moving parts. Loved that. She came to speak to me afterwards and told me she is of Moroccan descent. She enjoys the city’s rich diversity and is extremely curious about the world. What a perfect way to end the evening.
Today a tour of Ghent and Bruges and at least 1 million pictures…
Ay Marieke, Marieke je t’aimais tant
Entre les tours de Bruges et Gand…
Brussels… So I got here yesterday after a flight to Charleroi, followed by an hour long bus ride, which was followed by a nightmarishly labyrinthine journey to the opposite platform of a tram, having to ask 4 or 5 people how to simply get across and all of them not being sure because of security-related changes, and finally being locked into a tiny exit kiosk which would not accept my ticket but wouldn’t tell me how to get out, until a refined looking older gentleman saw I was trapped and slid his pass in between the doors so I could scan it and leave. Yes, the London Underground has never seemed more magical to me than at that moment.
I emerged from the metro at the Bourse, and the first thing I saw was the huge memorial to the victims of the recent attacks. Cards, flowers, candles, pictures, lots of banners and posters, slogans and messages of unity, lots of love for Bruxelles ma belle, and a multitude of soldiers in combat uniforms, fully weaponized, with military trucks not too far away. I had a hard time articulating my thoughts but I felt extremely unsettled.
This morning I had a lovely breakfast at Cafe Paul (hot chocolate that actually tastes like chocolate) and then explored my neighborhood, near Rue Marche aux Poulets. Found a little cinema, and Brussels city tours (I’m taking a tour with them tomorrow), discovered a wonderful jewelry store that sells such unusual pieces I was immediately intrigued (thought the owner was the jewelry designer but actually they’re imported from Israel), looked at some lovely Belgian lace, and obviously photographed Grand Place profusely.
I was planning on going to a jazz club later tonight but the amazing Karin Zoeter called me back. Her dad, the late George Zoeter was the Honorary Consul General for Pakistan in Ghent, and my parents were great friends with hers back when we lived here in Belgium. Karin has taken over that position and like her dad, she accomplishes everything with immense intelligence and grace. She volunteered to pick me up and drive me to Nazareth, close to Ghent, in order to visit her mom at their lake, a place which is an integral part of my childhood.
Mrs Zoeter is now 81 and as warm and active and full of perfect manners as always. We had tea and Belgian chocolates on the deck, surrounded by bird songs, sunlit leaves cascading down weeping willows, and their jeweled reflection in the lake. Un petit paradis. Karin had to go to a town council meeting, so Mrs Zoeter and I went on a walk around the lake. I remember taking that walk as a child. The trees are much taller now, so much so that some had to be cut down. We walked by the cabana we used to go to over the summer in order to swim in the lake. We collected an egg from Mrs Zoeter’s chicken coop and passed by her jardin potager. Once home, she cooked me some Brussels sprouts and rice, along with lightly seasoned cod. We looked at her wedding pictures and talked about her wonderful husband of 52 years and how she still hasn’t quite recovered from his death 6 years ago. I remember him as a smart and gentle-spoken man, even-tempered and always smiling. After some chocolate mousse, Karin insisted on driving me back, once again, all the way to Brussels. Both her and her mom plan on attending the screening this Friday.
Yes, the world can be an incredibly dysfunctional place, but as I continue to travel across countries, histories, airports, borders, languages and politics, I am much more consistently moved by the kindness and beauty of the human heart.
What an amazing day! This morning I went to the Douglas Hyde Gallery, near Trinity College, and looked at these simple yet intriguing paintings by Bill Lynch. Lynch applies oil paint directly onto the surface of coarse plywood and so the texture and history of the wood becomes an integral part of his work. There’s something light and gauzy about his paintings, a certain ease, but also something thoughtful and witty.
Later in the afternoon, the gorgeous Zoe Lawlor came over to Dublin and we met for the first time. What a treat! We went back to the Cuban place for some delicious food and talked about a million things. At the screening, I met the brilliant Betty Purcell, who moderated a thought provoking discussion by asking excellent questions, and Michael Mac Donnchadh who talked at length about the partition of Ireland. Also in the audience, Raymond Deane and Renate Debrun! We had met in Paris a couple of years ago and it was so lovely to reconnect. Finally, my beautiful cousin Shafaq Jamal and her daughter made it to the screening as well!
An important discussion about partitions and their colonial parallels and peculiarities, extremely sharp questions from an engaged audience, a full house in spite of it being a weekday and a dauntingly rainy one at that, fantastic friends and family who all came together, and new friends I hope to keep in touch with. Thank u Robert Navan and the Progressive Film Club for making this happen. This is my second (and definitely not last) time in the city. Love Dublin!
Tonight, wonderful Cuban food in Dublin including lamb on skewers, a vegetarian paella, and crispy rollitos (some stuffed with chicken, others with goat cheese). After dinner, a trip to a “real” pub (The Long Hall) where there’s no TV, no music, just people talking. Thank u Robert Navan for this lovely treat and all the great conversation. Looking forward to the screening tomorrow, where we will be discussing both the partition of India and Ireland. 2016 is the centenary anniversary of the 1916 Easter Rising.
Good screening of A Thin Wall at TVapex studios last night followed by a lively discussion and an interview. It was interesting to screen for British Pakistanis and get a sense of their reaction to the film. Many of them were moved and some offered excellent feedback on the title of the film, its historical context, visual quality, and poetic approach. All great comments 🙂
Saw “People, places, things” at Wyndham’s Theatre last night. What an experience! I was lucky to be seated on stage, close to the action, and therefore all the more blown away by Denise Gough’s electric performance.
She plays an alcohol and drug addict, “caught between wrath and terror” and trying to save her life through something similar to AA’s 12 step program. The fact that her character is astonishingly intelligent (after a rant in which she mentions Foucault and Derrida, her therapist concludes, “So you’re an addict because of postmodernism”) and a talented actress who is more comfortable playing colorful roles than being herself (at her first meeting she begins, very reluctantly, to introduce herself and the background to her addiction, when someone calls her out for stealing from “Hedda Gabler”), make her (and the play) multidimensional and captivating.
The staging is equally fantastic, including the use of video, light and many moving parts that construct and deconstruct scenes seamlessly. One of the most unforgettable visuals in the play is a choreographed sequence representing withdrawal (spoiler alert). All of a sudden clones of the main character begin to crawl out of every corner and crevice on stage, writhing alarmingly and then rising up from under the bed covers, climbing out of the floor, emerging from walls and furniture. Each incarnation is vomiting, shaking, hallucinating, panicking, screaming. It’s a terrifyingly bad trip. And most excellent theatre.
You can say whatever u like about London’s dismal weather but it’s a fact that the London sky photographs gorgeously: a remarkable striation of color, countless shades of grey and blue, dense clouds with whimsical outlines – some sunlit and brilliant white, others dark and ominous. Took some wonderful pictures from the Millennium Bridge that links the Tate Modern to St Paul’s Cathedral.
The Tate Modern wasn’t half bad either, though my favorite area, the Turbine Hall, is closed for construction work. Artwork that stood out: Peter de Francia’s “A little night music” (which connects musical instruments to instruments of torture) and “Romulus and Remus” (which shows modern day military leaders being suckled by a wolf). His work is inspired by Francisco de Goya who too created sinister allegories about the violence and politics of his times. The entire room was filled with works that spoke of “Civil War” (including a detailed figure from Picasso’s Guernica and a hellish scene that portrays figures literally melting into one another (Malangatana Ngwenya’s untitled piece from 1967 about Mozambique’s war of independence against Portuguese colonizers). Sadly all too real, still. Another image that sticks in one’s mind is Richard Hamilton’s “The citizen” which is inspired by IRA prisoners on the “no wash” protest. It draws parallels between the blanket-clad protesters and images of Christian martyrdom.
Finally, the Mark Rothko room was profound as usual. The lights were dimmed to capture the solemn mood and colors of Rothko’s Seagrams murals. People automatically lowered their voices and preferred to view the giant canvases while seated in silence. Such is the effect his work has on many of us.
Movies playing at the local Renoir Theatre: a film about the use of propaganda in North Korea, a film about the radicalization of Pakistani youth in madrassas, a film about the only (American) human rights lawyer in Afghanistan and her uphill battle against insurmountable corruption, and then a film about an Israeli dance choreographer. I guess “Brand Israel” works. And so does Brand Orientalism.
