E la nave va

So I want to leave Canada and go live in an European city of my choice this time, close to the sea, not too far down South or up North. Oh yes, the crisis is still ravaging the business and consequently the job market. By the way, I'm also 35, a little past the age of looking for my own true self around the world and back.

Oh, no! What a crazy idea living this cozy comfy existence of mine, my boyfriend (who can follow me if he chooses to do so), a nice apartment (that I rent anyway), my cat (that I can take with me), this secure and safe job that bores me to death, the many friends of many cultures that I've known for only five years maximum and have to deal with their own lives anyway, like anyone else on this planet. Five years were not enough to grow roots here, and a passport doesn't buy any feelings of belonging or being home. Of course I will miss some people, but being here I miss my friends back home and in other countries. The balance is never even.

Yes, it is a risk, but it occurred to me last night that this is not a one time decision. A while ago I decided once and for all to take risks, to swim against the current, to draw my own path, regardless of what did Mr. X and Mrs. Y. I took a risk when I went to Lisbon in 1997, fresh from university, to work in a Duty Free Shop. Then to Turkey as a waitress on the very pretty island of Büyük Ada, across from the fascinating city of Istanbul. About two months later I was in Athens for the whole of November and I managed to see the Minoic Knossos palace, an old dream of mine. In 2001 I left a career that just started to blossom and I stepped up on a cruiseship and became a qualified seaman aka foreign languages sherpa at sea and on the Caribbean islands.

Canada followed in 2004. I have never been here before, but it was one of the few countries that received immigrants based solely on your request and background. It didn't work out, I'm not fit for North America which is not fit for me. And it doesn't mean Montréal is not nice or Canada is not a beautiful country. It is a marriage that was simply mismatched, also because it was a long distance decision. So I want to try to settle in an European city that this time is not the first opportunity that arrised, but a conscious choice, why should that be bad? How many Romanians left Canada to go to Barcelona? Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar says one of my favorite poems. Maybe it is not the way, but it is MY way and I have to try it, no matter what. As long as there's no matter of life an death, what's the matter?

WINDOWS TO CUBA

Since I came back, on Saturday the 16th, I feel like I'm living in a black and white TV set. Since I left Cuba, the colours vanished, from the houses and people's clothes, as did the smiles and the quick wit jokes and compliments on the street.

There's a certain liveliness about Cuba, and especially La Habana, out of the few places I visited, that filled me with energy, tenderness and joy. Or should I say gratitude, for the Cubans, for making me feel so at home, welcomed and sheltered. Maybe it is also the language, this barrier that does not exist in my case, or my bubblying personality, my love of colours and extroversion. The fact that I knew communism until I was 15 and that I toured the Caribbean from 2001 to 2004. Having seen a few Cuban films and read Reinaldo Arenas and Alejo Carpentier. Maybe it is all that, maybe it is just an inner feeling.

I realised my affinity with Cuba has little to do with the one I have for Italy. It is admiration mixes with compassion and tenderness. The Cubans I was lucky enough to meet conserve a certain childhood ingenuity, confidence that the world can be better, that people like me, who experienced living in many different ways and in several places, puts always into question. Today it ocurred to me that most people we talked to reminded me of my mother, with her cheerfulness and impossibility to surrender to sorrow and cinicism.

Than it was the whole grandeur of Havana, its large streets and beautiful buildings, with vast rooms and high ceilings, even in more popular neighbourhoods like 10 de octubre, so unlike the appartments and houses we live in, molded with an innate sense of beauty. A past when people could afford all that...what a marvel. Especially when you compare it with the empty shops and scarily low salaries, from 12 to 30 dollars a months, the latest being for the famed Cuban doctors, that also get exported to Venezuela, in exchange for oil and prestige. People have to "solve", "resolve" - manage, in a word - to get more money somehow. Either by inventing themselves another profession: massagist, craftsman, electrician, pastries, candies or cake maker, prostitute, in the worst case or by succeeding, God knows how!, to arrange nicely enough one or two rooms to rent to tourists, for which they pay heavy taxes, monthly and yearly, either if rooms are occupied or not. Same goes for private family restaurants - paladares, they are not allowed to have more than four tables, as becoming rich would be a counter-revolutionary action. Another category is made by the people who succeed to steal from work items that can be commercialized on the black market, from lightbulbs and batteries to blankets. Maybe it's not honest, but if the State took everything away from its citizens, isn't it just to get some scraps in exchange, just to make a living? There is free healthcare, but there is a lack of doctors (so can they really afford to send that many to Venezuela?), of medication and hospital amenities. There is free education, but many teachers deserted looking for something more profitable. And when you get your free education what kind of job do you get? Now, even if you make enough money, the shops are mostly empty and other clothes than jeans, shirts and t-shirts impossible to find. It was cool when we were there and on the all along the commercial Calle Obispo we couldn't find a damn sweatshirt or light jacket. Food is scarce too, what we found in the fancy Vedado neighbourhood market were good fruits and veggies, the pescaderia sold only frozen fish and shrimps. We also saw long lines for the only type of white bread available. The distribution card still exists, for rice, sugar, a little black beans and coffee and one mug of oil, probably soy. Otherwise there also a package of pasta and some crackers. The hard currency shops (Cuba has moneda nacional pesos CUP, 24 of them making 1 CUC - convertible peso, the salaries, the food card shops, the market and the bread are in CUP) sell Havana Club and other liquors, bottled water, powder soups and canned juices, fruits and veggies, at the same prices as in Canada. Now let me guess who can afford that.

But against all odds people are extremely courteous and helpful, unlike any other country I happened to visit. Cuba was to me a beautiful and sad window with a look towards a luminous sumptuos past and another one towards a gloomy decaying present. Just another great socialist victory, like the one I grew up with, in the name of people, payed heavily by the people.

When you ask yourself

It's quite an interesting endeavour to live with one's self, learning to know which of your whims are acceptable or not, for you, and not for the sake of others. Interesting to question your choices and either you are what you do, or rather not, you're keeping your true self aside, waiting for an opportunity to let it out.

Last week I've seen "Tetro" by Francis Ford Coppola, beautiful visually but heavy, redundant and symbolistic on the story side, mixing love and power, Greek tragedy and Freudian theories. It is a powerful film indeed, very intense, but that's due in great part to its splendidly achieved gloomy ambiance, in a black and white run down Buenos Aires. Alden Ehrenreich is too much Leonardo di Caprio and Vincent Gallo bears a ressemblance to Joaquin Phoenix, lacking his force though, he seemed quite cold and unresponsive to me during the whole film. Maribel Verdu and Klaus Maria Brandauer were too much for them, while Carmen Maura played a cliché. To my great joy and surprise, I saw two Romanian names on the crew list: Cinematography by Mihai Malaimare Jr. and Production Manager Adriana Rotaru.

And I felt an urge to look for "Youth without Youth", the film Coppola made in Romania, with Tim Roth, Alexandra Maria Lara and Bruno Ganz, seconded by great Romanian artists, some of them (Mircea Albulescu for instance) playing silent parts. As the story of Mircea Eliade itself is very intricated, it is really hard to come up with something better. The film follows the original plot with just a few changes, sporting good performances, especially on the side of Tim Roth (as usual, I would say) and again, hauntingly beautiful images, using light and shadow in many interesting ways. Mircea Eliade uses love stories a lot in his writings, but they are mostly just a base for the development of his esoteric theories of existence. His characters seem to be rather prototypes than real people, made to comply with his demonstrations.

Strangely enough, both films deal with the difficulties of writing, "Tetro" with creative and "Youth without Youth" with scientific. Both Tetro's family drama and Dominic's study on the origins of language go unachieved, and the two films deal in a certain way with the scope of life. What do we live for and how much are we defined by either our actions or our actual creations. Is life worthy and meaningful if we leave a lasting work behind says "Youth without Youth", or shall we rather count its importance by the events we went through? In "Tetro" the creative act is actually seen as cathartic, liberating and unifying, as the two male characters are finally brought together, after fighting about it. This was what I was left with, to me the dominating father didn't seem that important, as much as Tetro's refuse to face his past and subsequently himself.

I was left pondering on this issues and the way they relate to my life, but I guess this is part of who I am, constanly questioning myself.

So calm

During my three floating ship years, untied to the shore and ever moving on mostly smooth seas, touching and leaving land continously, like in a strange love-hate relationship, I struggled with my deep feelings of rootlessness, with anger, anxiety, solitude, pain. Beside island exploration and a small circle of good friends with whom I shared my taste for nature, music, books, wandering, wine and cheese, my support came from the time I spent alone, either walking, swimming or lying outside on the deck at night, enjoying the salty warm breeze, the wave spray and many books. Everything was changing and still staying the same.

It happened then that I became kind of aloof, cutting myself from the pettiness of the so called ship life, its merciless inconstancy that alternated kind and mean gestures supported by a main background of rage, solitude and indifference, palliated in all possible ways. Ship life looked to me like a fearful social experiment, that I was part of, living it and observing it at the same time, which made take a step back so I can watch myself playing on that turbulent stage. This way I learned not to worry too much, as many passengers were constantly complaining, just like many crew members, for a definitely different set of reasons, ranging from food and cabin quality to the colors of the walls or the various accents of people. But we got rid of the passengers at the end of every cruise, which was not happening with the bulliyng colleagues and bosses. I started watching myself from a distance even when I was passing through my worst moments, to the point of asking for my pictures to be taken when I was disfigured. In other words, I learned to take it easy the hard way.

When people tell me now that I look so easy going and unstressed under any given circumstances, I smile to my secret thoughts. There's nothing permanent and worrisome in life, except death and its causes. All the rest is like cruising from port to port, embarking and disembarking feelings, people and objects.

No Sex, Just the City

City Hall seen from the park

My fourth time in New York, after two years of absence, and only now I got the feeling that I started to get hold of the City, maybe because I was guiding someone else for once.

I started seeing it in a more coherent way, at least part of Manhattan, with its rich history of sweat, blood, pride, progress and wealth. There are some words now that are very fashionable for describing places: fascinating, magic, charming, vibrant, magnificent, contrasting, applying to anywhere, from the Caribbean to Papua and Paris. As many cities are contrasting, vibrant, fascinating and magnificent, New York is no exception, but what matters is what makes a place so intriguing and deserving that many plump and pretentious words. What do I like in New York, what matches my search of thrill and enchantment.

First of all, I don't even know when I stopped being interested in shopping. I guess I never really liked going out buying whatever allures me, most of the times I have in mind that I need this or that, at least more skirts or dresses, for instance. Fashionista is not a name for me either, I dress for the occasion and thanks to my grandmother's example I have a great sense of mix-matching colours and styles. My wardrobe is full of things that look slightly different than the norm and that I keep forever, because I really happen to like most of them. So shopping is not an issue for me in New York, just like monument list checking. Never been up on the Empire State Building or on a tour to see lady Liberty, as a matter of fact.

This time I paid more attention to my attention and what I like is the profusion of Art Deco details on the sky scrapers, built during the heavy industrialization period, when the machines gradually substituted people (what made us produce more, sell more, buy more and finally get to this latest crisis. Metropolis by Fritz Lang is a masterful example of an artsy alarm signal created during the very same period, another one is Chaplin's Modern Times). An abundance then of crafted metal doors with geometrical patterns, mostly in shiny golden brass, different patterns climbing up the stone walls up to where they become invisible to eye (but not to a more powerful camera lens). Fantasist shapes tower up in the sky, so if one wants to see the best of architecture, one has to look up most of the time. I like this continuous feeling of walking back in time and expecting to see the lovely fashion of the roaring 20's and worried 30's replacing the modern times snickers and jeans. In New York I feel the industrious nation of those times is still up and about, although in the popular areas probably half of the people are tourists.

I like the obvious care for the arts, culture and education that the Central Station, the New York Public Library and the Metropolitan Museum, amongst others, tell about. The Central Park and its gracious statues, fountains and buildings. It's not only a financial and business center, but also a home for the arts and science, starting with the Lincoln Centre and going through all the local theatres, festivals and jazz bars. Compared to many European museums hosted in palaces that were built for living, not for exposing art, the MET amazes by its organization and professional way of display, carefully explaining the context of the work and the life of the artist, meant for educational purposes too, not only for the entertainment of the cultured, initiated visitors. And seeing numerous names of donors on the walls, one understands that these people were not only wealthy, they were also wise and caring, willing to become famous by their good deeds too. They knew that progress comes from education, and they wanted to build a new world based on democracy and meritocracy, so they did their best in making the USA rival mother Europe. For me is questionable either they succeeded, and if bigger high rise buildings made anything better (personally I like user and nature friendly spaces).

So much about the general impression this time. I like the bridges, the old run down metro stations, the food stalls, the street musicians, the artsy Villages and SoHo area, the mix of colours and races, although I find there are more Vietnamese and Thai people in Montréal, and their restaurants too, to my delight. Not to speak about the French style pastry shops, which shine by absence in New York, or otherwise are overpriced, like most of the food. The grocery shopping in compensation was affordable. Although I stay away from shops, I enjoy their artistically decorated windows. On the other hand I know that many dirty jobs are performed by illegal immigrants that live in dumps, far from the pretty side they clean up daily. I don't understand how comes there's no control of it. They get paid less than minimum wage and have no social or medical protection. But they can live in the US and the employers get cheap labor in exchange. One reason I wouldn't like to live in New York, for instance, beyond the over bullicious atmosphere, the long work hours, the short vacations, the weak human relationships, constantly challenged by the accelerated rhythm of life and the obsession of performing and socializing.


We walked a lot, took many pictures, ate little, saw some of my friends and some of the Metropolitan Museum and Central Park, due to scarce time. Which didn't allow us to go to any decent jazz concert or Cuban restaurant, as we planned. I also missed the Italian Arte del Gelato and Obika mozzarella bar. But I managed to get a few bottles of wine, cheaper than in Québec, including the Marsala requested for Tiramisù, so I can make the original recipe. I was very happy that my Cubano fell in love with the City and enjoyed all the wandering, although it went beyond its energy reserve.

SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL

Not only I will be going to New York this week-end and my dear friend Jane is hosting us in a great area of Manhattan, but I got a very nice unexpected gift, in the shape of a blue dragon.

I saw my first play by Robert Lepage - Le Projet Andersen, three years ago, and I wrote a small reader comment in the cultural weekly Voir :

Identité et solitude (tous différents, tous égaux)

Tout d'abord je suis allée voir Robert Lepage sans préjugés, pour la simple raison que je ne le connaissais pas. J'ai vu la pièce en tant que roumaine résidente au Québec, francophone et amoureuse du théâtre et d'Andersen depuis petite. Ouverte à tout. J'ai été d'abord fascinée par la magistrale mise-en-scène, les trouvailles, la technique, la fantaisie débordante doublée par l'esprit pratique capable de trouver les solutions. Puis par la versatilité de l'acteur, qui passe d'une peau et d'un accent à l'autre, qui émerveille, amuse et attendrit, qui joue le Québécois, le Français, le "Beurre" exilé.

Mais ce qui m'a touché le plus a été le but, l'artiste a deployé tous ses charmes pour nous parler de la SOLITUDE, car c'était elle le personnage principal, ni Frédéric, ni Andersen. C'est vrai, mon cher conteur danois ne comptait pas beaucoup dans l'économie du spectacle, ce qui n'empêche pas l'oeuvre théâtrale d'être valide. On intéragit tellement plus de nos jours et communique tellement moins. On se replie sur soi-même, voilà le vrai sens de la masturbation répétitive - l'incapacité de communiquer, de s'ouvrir aux autres et se donner. Si ça effleure Andersen et sa solitude - tant mieux. J'aime le résultat final. Le titre est "Projet Andersen", pas "Andersen - 150 ans après".

A côté des brillantes parodies sur le discours québécois ou européen - car les danois ou les anglais ne sont pas épargnés, sur la necessité du psychologue dans nos petites vies qui manquent de débouchés, sur les relations toujours plus tendues et hypocrites (le thème du refus de la paternité - débattue dans Horloge biologique) - reste la question, que fait-on de notre solitude? Autant lui donner un sens créatif à la place de nous enfermer dans une cabine de peep-show.

J'ai eu l'occasion de voir sur scène Sir Ian McKellen avec la Royal Shakespeare Company, Cheek by Jowl de Londres, l'Odéon de Paris, du théâtre italien...bravo au théâtre québécois et à Robert Lepage, j'en suis ravie.

The Théâtre du Nouveau Monde is showing Le Dragon bleu throughout May, but two months ago when I called it was already sold out. Quite disappointed I was still happy that I could buy tickets for another show: Eonnagata is the ballet-theatre Robert Lepage directed with contemporary dance myths Russell Maliphant and Sylvie Guillem, a sublime interpretation of the Chevalier d'Eon story in a Japanese key, presented within the Festival Trans-Amérique (exceptional dance and theatre from around the world for very accessible prices).

Looking for video excerpts of Eonnagata, I found the official site of Robert Lepage's company and it occured to me to write to them and tell my disappointment of not being able to buy my tickets for Le Dragon Bleu. I also sent my three years old comment and I mentioned that I am going to the FTA show.

And abracadabra, hocus-pocus, bum badabum...I got an answer the same day offering me two tickets for next Tuesday. As simple as that. Because they care about their public and people that do care about being in that room. I think it's fantastic, and a reason of pure joy.

FOR READERS

Got a reading questionnaire on Facebook, in Spanish, but I'd rather deal with it here.

1) What author appears most often on your bookshelf?

Maybe Italo Calvino, Bruce Chatwin and Jorge Amado, but the range of my preferences varies tremendously.

2) You owe most copies of which book?

None I remember. I bought twice Le città invisibili by Calvino, as I gave away the first one.

3) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?

For a long time it was Stavrogin from "The Possessed" by Dostoevsky si Darcy from "Pride and Prejudice", I liked the mysterious hard to get guys. Now nty heart has its feet on Earth:)

4) What book did you read again most often?

I don't really get back to it. Probably short stories by Chekhov and Bulgakov, plays by Shakespeare.

5) What was your fav book when you were 10?

I remember the authors: Alexandre Dumas and Jules Verne, Russians Nosov - Adventures of Dunno, Rybakov - The Dirk and The Bronze Bird, Obruchev - Plutonia & Sannikov Land (SF fantastic books about living prehistoric animals), Uspensky - Crocodile Gena, some two other Russian books with real animal stories and a beautiful anthology of Asian fairytales. All these books had the virtue of opening me towards other cultures, a curiosity that I will never lose.

6) Worst book you've read last year?

I've read a good deal of bibliography for my thesis, all were good:) The last bad book I remember: 11 minutes by Coelho, sometime in 2004

7) Best last year's book?

Hard to say, amongst the latest books I've read there are the ones by Romanian author Felicia Mihali, published in Québec: Luc, le chinois et moi; La reine et le soldat; Sweet, Sweet China and Dina.

8) If you should force someone to read a book, what would that be?

Shakespeare's plays for the large range of aspects, feelings, subjects and literary craft.

9) Who do you think should get a Nobel prize for literature?

It is unfair to choose a single author, still: Salman Rushdie and Umberto Eco (whose personal libraries hold about 50.000 books, by the way)

10) What book would you like to see adapted to the big screen?

Already done - Lord of the Rings, I've read it 12-13 years ago. Oh yes, all the Asian fairytales of my childhood:)

11) Describe the strangest dream including a writer, a book or a fictional character?

Can't remember.

12) The least cultured book you've read?

Lately, obviously 11 minutes.

13) The most difficult book you've read?

It was hard to deal with Kafka, it gave me some terrible anxiety states. "Doctor Faustus" by Mann, I couldn't even finish it.

14) Do you prefer the French or the Russians?

Most clearly the Russian: classics (Dostoevsky, Gogol, Goncharov, a little less Tolstoy - too exemplary for my taste), a modern who became classic: Bulgakov, the contemporary Bulat Okudjava, even if he's not really Russian. I also do like the French, but not in such a passionate way as the Russians. I went crazy for Balzac, Zola and Giraudoux in my teens. There are Marc Augé and François Laplantine in anthropology.

15) Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?

Shakespeare. Milton I haven't read. I love Chaucer, but there's no one like the good ol' Will.

16) What do you mind most about reading?

That I can't do it while I walk:)

17) Your fav novel?

What?! I do not intend to spend my day writing this list.

18) Do you play?

I don't like card games, nor videogames and I'm lousy with sports. The last time I played Monopoly, the Lord of the Rings variant, about three years ago.

19)Short stories?

Bulgakov, Buzzati, Calvino, Pirandello, Borges.

20) Non-fiction?

Anthropology, travel and psychology. No self-help and new-age, please.

21) Favourite writer?

Far too many, some are to be found within the above answers, less the Japanese, Ismail Kadaré and Milan Kundera. Also Latin-Americans: Marquez, Llosa, Amado, Cortazar, Carpentier, Arenas, some Borges. Spanish Cervantes, Almudena Grandes and Antonio Gala, Portuguese Fernando Pessoa. Some playwriters: Pirandello, Brecht, antique tragedy, Racine, O'Neill. Poets: D.H. Lawrence, Eugenio Montale, Giuseppe Ungaretti, Antonio Machado came with me to Canada. I do not exclude Romanians, only most of them were mandatory in school. Examples: Rebreanu and Camil Petrescu.

22) What writer do you think is over appreciated?

Paulo Coelho...brrrrrrrr

23) Book to take on a desert island?

The ones I haven't dare to read yet: Iliad and Odissey, Divine Comedy

24) And...what are you reading now?

Mother Russia: the feminine myth in Russian culture, by Joanna Hubbs and Des îles et des hommes - Françoise Péron, a study about the Britanny islands. Then I start again with Romanian contemporaries, many to be found at Bibliothéque Nationale du Québec, starting with cu Veronica A. Cara - Baba Lina.