Pierre & Wendy On the Road

Why we did it .............

Here I sit, in our yard, typing on my computer, outside in the shade of a stone wall built in the 1760's, thinking about my relationship to where I have come from and where I am now.  It's a great luxury to have the time and mental space to think and read and wonder about things.  I was afraid that I had somehow lost access to my Self and my personality with our dramatic move, but it turns out that it just took me a month to come back to feeling like myself. Here's Pierre in the same spot.

 

The move, the change, and not having my old stuff around has cleared out some of the clutter in my mind and makes it possible for me to approach doing and thinking about things that I wanted to do before but there was too much in the way.  I used to say that if we didn't move to France, I would have moved us out of our house and back in, instead here we are!

We have known that we wanted to experience living here since our second or third trip together, almost 15 years ago.  Each time we came to France, trying to get over here once a year a month, we explored a new area or two with the thought of making the move.  We would find a village we liked and I would say "who would be my friends here?" and we would imagine what we would eat and actually DO there. Answer: hang out at Chez Max, a cafe in the family home of Max Jacob in Quimper, owned by our new friends!     

 

 

For Pierre it was to be a kind of homecoming, having been surgically removed from Paris at the age of 10, and for me it would be a way to live inside an ancient culture that either invented or developed the things I love most -- food, fashion, perfume, furniture, gold leafed trim on buildings, joie de vivre, l'amour, pastry! -- you know the drill. 

 

 

We had the chance to live in Brittany for 6 months in 2006, when Pierre taught at an American art school and I took a break from everything, reading, cooking, relaxing and learning more French from The Nanny dubbed on TV, while Pierre fell in love with the region that helped to transform his work.  He had never lived within this kind of nature, walking daily through the Bois d'Amour, a forest that had inspired tons of other painters, rain or shine, while I loved its reminder of where I grew up in New York, playing in the forest.

 

 

 

 

Last year our lives in LA changed dramatically when Pierre's beloved mother died in her 90's, after living in LA for over 50 years and we decided to take the chance. Why?  Because we could, and we were still young enough to handle it!  And because we both wanted to shake up our lives, having become alternately complacent and numb as we watched LA transform from the backwater it had been to a thriving metropolis that represents an American Dream that had lost some its lustre for us.  When I moved there in 1983, it was a welcome respite from the claustrophobia and constant jockeying for position in New York, the implicit need to be moving forward, onto the new thing, jetisoning most the old things I had loved about it. 

 

 

Yesterday I discovered (thanks to the Internet -- which took 3 weeks to get, but that's another story-- I can live in a village and follow the trails of friend's recommendations and books I've liked and get them instantly) Luc Sante's Kill All Your Darlings. He talks about everthing I was thinking and feeling in NY when it started to change irrevocably in 1980, with the advent of money and power triggered by Reagan's election.  He says "(We) had no interest in power.  We just wanted power to go away." which is still true for me, as a creative professional, I only really want to have the power over my own life and work.

For the time being Pierre has processed a lot of his self questioning and missing home, and I feel placed in our new environment, shopping for food, cooking and eating and reading (gosh that sounds boring but it's not yet), waiting for our TV to be delivered, and also for our 60 cartons from home.  Yes, it's still home over there, but it's home here too, we accomplished a kind of alchemy with our move, which I knew I couldn't look ahead to when we just closed our eyes, held our noses and jumped. 

Next up, more about where we live (including photo albums), commentaries from Pierre, and about the food, natch!

Pierre & Wendy Move to France!

We sure don't have these at home -- beet chips yum!

Yes, we finally made it! Getting out of our house and Los Angeles was the hardest thing either of us has ever done, except maybe for moving to a different country! Check out these beet chips, can you imagine these in the US?

In case you are wondering, we definitely question our sanity almost daily. We have no idea why we have done this in certain moments, especially when confronted with the daunting beaurocracy and terribly different ways of communicating what seems to us to be objective information! BUT, we remind ourselves, we have wanted to do this for 15 years, and this is the moment we actually could, just in the nick of time. If it had happened just a few years from now I doubt either of us would have been able to handle it, phew!

As dear old Mark Twain put it, more or less -- "When you are old, you never regret the things you did do, only the things you didn't do.". So here we are!

 

Take a look at what I had for lunch yesterday for 9 euros......Mixed Grill Pommes Dauphin!

It is two weeks exactly from the moment we left LA, in a limo (thanks Groupon) with four suitcases, three carry on bags and Minxy the Cat in her travel box. We spent three days in Paris, had a few great meals with friends (I will do a post on Camille's amazing Tomato Tarte Tatin next week!), did some Paris Sale Shopping for the first time (mon dieu!) and got over our jet lag.........then onto Brittany, with the nightmare of taking a train with vacationers with all those bags and the cat, thank heaven I got bargain first class tix, just for the space.

Poor Brittany, it has rained here for almost three months straight, so they all say. Since we have been here, it has instead rained on and off, with the dramatic sky and weather changes Brittany is justly famous for. Not that it isn't a pain, it poured rain the day we drove 80 kilometers to IKEA, and our house, which hadn't been occupied for a year was wet inside and out! The dehumidifier has helped a lot, as has the intermittent sun, and it's alright now. As someone who is terrified of mold and my particular health issues connected to it, it has been fascinating to observe that the walls can actually be wet without the kind of mold growth we are accustomed to, and then simply dry out! My skin loves this climate, it always feels moist although I have not have not seen myself in a proper mirror in natural light nor have worn any makeup except for lipstick in a couple of weeks, so I have no idea at all how I look! And I think it's the cool light in combination with the water that oddly silvers my hair.......... Happily I am living in a culture that actually seems to admire women over 50, so refreshing!

Here is a view from our bedroom, which faces East, imagine the dead quiet!

Stay tuned for Pierre's post tomorrow, he has much more interesting observations about our sojourn here and the culture we find ourselves in, while I seem to still be in the nuts and bolts aspect of the trip. I am still surprised by being The Practical One! Once I get everything arranged, then I can be more of a Dreamer....Or so I promise myself.......off to look at an automatic car, very rare in these parts! Xxx

 

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Our First Photo Book

 
Click here to see Pierre & Wendy's France on Shutterfly

A Great Story About Travel Insurance (& the Medical Insurance Racket) Part 1

This is a perfect story for our nelected Travel Blog -- I broke my ankle on a trip to NY a month ago, and had had the foresight (?dumb  luck ? prescience ? paranoia ?) to add Travel Insurance to the expense of the trip.  You see, I had had a bizarre mishap on my last trip to NY and ended up in a Brooklyn emergency room to get two stitches in my toe.  For this my Anthem Blue Cross Insurance (catestrophic) was billed $2000 so the price got discounted to $800 and I got accepted for charity at the hospital so I've been paying off $400.  Now this is what two stitches should cost, but I still wish I didn't have to pay it.  So when I was ordering my tix to NY, I realized that if I had had Travel Insurance they would have paid for it, ostensibly :)  

Enter Squaremouth.com, the Travel Insurance comparison site.  Just go there, put in the costs of your trip, and sort the results by your most important benefit (lost or misplaced luggage, medical, flight delay, cost etc) and do a little research.  I researched people's nightmare travel insurance battles (everyone shares their bad experiences online), and chose the cheapest insurance, which coincidentally, I couldn't find any complaints about (no one rants about their good experiences, that's why I'm blogging about it here).  I hadn't heard of the insurance company, USI (Travel Insurance Services), but they had a AAA rating, and were based in No Cal, which I took as a good sign, as a diehard Leftie. 

To cut to the chase, one week into a two week trip, I fractured and sprained my ankle, which simply twisted and turned under me, ouch!  This sent me to a suburban NY ER, required crutches and a horribly designed big black walking boot, big painkillers, and ruined the second half of my trip.  After all of the aforementioned had taken place, I called the Emergency contact number on my Travel Insurance and found the most sympathetic advisor imaginable, who said things like "we're here to take care of you" and promised to take care of all of the expenses connected with my injury, including rehab and a flight change to get home sooner so I could recuperate in my own home.  Do you believe this? 

This is what has transpired so far: Travel Guard (with an AIG email address, Chartis on the documents, and USI on my contract) arranged a new ticked for me go to home a couple of days earlier, in Business Class so my ankle would have room to relax, and sent me a car to take me to the airport, with an offer to have one pick my up at home which I declined.  I have a sheaf of forms I need to add documentation to in order to have them pick up the medical and rehab bills, so tune back in to this space to see how it goes.

Regarding the Medical claims so far, I have a statement from the ER stating that the doctor's charges were $175.  He sent me to an Orhopedist in the same building who has billed Anthem almost $1400 for looking at my Xray, telling me about my walking cast, and prescribing painkillers.  This took about 15 minutes and has been billed as "Surgery" for $1200 in addition to an Office Visit for $166.  The Boot cost $140 from someone else because the doctor couldn't fit me properly into the one in his office which would have been $50, and is priced similarly online.  My fabulous Anthem Blue Cross membership entitles us to a big discount, so the orhopedist's bill gets discounted to $400, and the crutches in the ER cost $111, almost as much as the human contact with the ER Doc (they are about $20 online).  So Blue Cross is making all of the profits from my Premium, and the people who provide the actual services have to bill at 3 or 4 times what they need to make in order to get paid, by someone, anyone, except not Blue Cross in this case.  You know, Blue Cross, the ones who are having trouble figuring out how to make it look like 85% of our premiums go into medical costs, no wonder! 

A note about the B&W photo above -- I lifted it off the internet and it's well worth checking out the work of the Street Photographer Markus Shartel for more.   

Art Trip to Brittany with Pierre Picot May 2009

I have been thinking about doing this kind of trip since I was an art professor at the Pont-Aven School of Contemporary Art, in Fall 2006, drawing in the "Forest of Love", at the edge of the village of Pont-Aven (made famous by Paul Gauguin and friends).  I took two groups last year and would love to continue.....

      I would like to guide you on a 7-day artist's holiday in Bretagne with Pont-Aven as our home base. Housed at the wonderful Castel Braz, we will explore the southern coast region between Qimperle and Quimper in our  comfortable van to draw and paint, eat crepes (nothing like the ones you've had!), visit hidden treasures in the dramatic "paysage" (landscape), meet local artists, eat oysters, visit Museums and galleries, eat pastries, drink wine (or maybe Chouchen, mead made in Brittany for 1000's of years), go to village markets, draw and paint some more (photography is fine too) and together improvise along with the wind and the tides, and there are plenty of both!

    As an artist my work has been shown in the US, France and Asia. I have taught and lectured on Contemporary and Modern Art at Art Center, Claremont and Otis Graduate Schools, USC, UC Davis,  Cal State LA, Long Beach and Fullerton, Chapman University as well as going to South Korea and France on extended lecture tours.

This trip includes: round trip transportation from Paris to Brittany, 7 nights B & B, all lunches, museum entrances, 7 days transportation throughout the region, and daily discussion of work done on site.
You will make your own travel arrangements to and from France and have dinners as you please — there are several good places in town, and we can also arrange dinners in neighboring towns and take our van.

Timetable:    
1 week stays start on: Monday May 18 to Sunday May 24, Thursday May 28 to Wednesday June 3.
Group size:    minimum 4 to maximum 7 people

Single Occupancy $1950, Double (friends, families, couples) $1800

If this sounds good to you and you are already daydreaming, then get back to me for any and all questions, clarifications, and suggestions ...email me for more details at [email protected]

Highlights of the trip include:
             Visit to the ancient magalithic site of Carnac (and scallop crepes), Tremolo Chapel, home of the Yellow Christ, painted by Gauguin, market day in Concarneau, its fabulous harbor, visit Quimper, its museum, old town, do a bit of shopping, Pont Aven museum, select galleries, lecture on Gauguin and his group by the world expert, walk, draw, picnic in the mysterious Bois d'Amour (the forest of Love), French-style tea time in local bohemian haunt, see menhirs and dolmens, gothic chapels typical of Brittany, visit artists' studios, hang out and watch the world go by at local cafes, sample local food: oysters, mussels and fries, crepes, fine pastries, aromatic cider, world famous butter cookies, and so much more... yum!
              Experience life at a snail's pace, rinse your eyes with beauty

Content Warning!

I must say at this point that I hoped I'd love India, and that this trip would be a fabulous adventure, but I have found out that I am a naïve Westerner, and I have been caught off guard by most of my feelings about it. I'm rather embarrassed that I can't just love it, and I know it's terribly politically incorrect to seem hard on places that don't have all of the Stuff we have at home, but that seems rather Colonial to me. I would never have come into a country where I loved the people and the life in all of it's original splendor, and tried to make it my own by making them Better while exploiting their resources for profit. 

At this point in my life I know that I treat people well, and I try to be direct and open and loyal and thoughtful in my daily life, but I'm cynical too, and this journal of my trip is a reflection of all of those things.  I am sorry that my experience is confined mostly to Delhi, and I've heard about many other parts of this huge country to visit, particularly far South and far North, that sound great.  But this is a working trip, and it is limited by my need to be here, and these notes are a reflect that limitation.  When Political Correctness was embraced by people like George Bush, it was a signal to me to try to avoid it whenever possible, without flagrantly hurting people's feelings, for I have no desire to do that, but a bracing dialogue is nice!

The bizarre nature of a blog being in a "public" space is that a bunch of strangers will hate it, but many of those who know the source will be intrigued at least.  I know I can't stand all of the blogs about what stranger's kids do from day to day, but their friends and family love it.  I wish we had an equivalent to Namaste, I feel silly using it here, but I'd like to.

Wendy Goes to India Part Three - Jodhpur

I would be lying if I didn't say here that for the first time I sure can see the appeal of being an insulated American traveling in style in the Third World.  But I think it comes with a kind of attention I simply I don't really like.  I mean I wouldn't mind the attentiveness of the handsome turbanned Mercedes van driver, it's so romantic, but I imagine that I don't like being placed that way in relation to the local people.  I say that I imagine it, because at this point, I think maybe I no longer care!  Of course just being Anglo has an effect, but I have had my principles after all ; )  I have always really wanted to be Inside the places I visit, not just Outside, which is why I don't like being a Tourist and don't like hanging out at Tourist attractions.  But maybe I want to be an Outsider here!  I fear I am turning into The Accidental Tourist.

The more I am here, the more I long for the relative simplicity, cleanliness (NYC is a hospital compared to it here), orderliness and complicity of life at Home. I have no sense of "we're all in this together" here, although natives may have it with eachother, but they play things quite close to the vest.  It didn’t occur to me that it really is Asia here, people are a bit inscrutable, and generally more communicative than other Asiatic groups.  But no one touches eachother in public here, except for children and oddly, boys and men (up to late 30's I'd say), who routinely hold hands and have their arms around eachother, as a male bonding thing, so they say in my India Culture Guidebook, as homosexuality is completely taboo, but this way they can hide in plain sight!  Click the highlighted bit for a hilarious blog by an Indian guy on this subject. 

Feeling totally up to my eyeballs in Delhi, I decided to escape for a "vacation" for a few days and chose to go to Rajastan, based solely on the fact that I had visited the Indian Trade Fair, which is a World's Fair kind of thing, mostly for regions in India, extolling the virtues, accomplishments and charms of each state.  I loved The Stuff from Rajastan, so I thought I could just go there.  I had thought of Northern India (which is everyone's most restful and sparkling choice as it turns out), but I got side tracked and forgot all about Shimla.  So I flew to Jodhpur.  The Guidebook said that it is oft overlooked in itself and simply used as a stopover to Euro Fave Jaisalmer, and that with it's Anglo past it is also neglected, and I thought I could use a bit of Anglo influence, I sure love London!

I decided to treat myself and fly there for around the price of flying to SF from LA, and also stay in a nice place, this was my Vacation after all.  The provincial airport was just as I had imagined, let's say a more arid and less Streamline Deco version of the Long Beach Airport (did I mention that Rajastan is a desert?  I forgot that too when I decided to go there!).  The streets were at first empty and rathe bleak near the airport, but got just as choked and congested as I am used to as we got into town, with even worse air since the Tuk Tuks still use diesel instead of natral gas like in Delhi.  The ride culminated in the bumpiest imaginable route through the teeming closed market instead of around it! 

I checked into a nice room in my quiet courtyard hotel that almost didn't even seem like a real business, just a place where people stay, the laissez faire attitude of the people who worked there (except for the young man who hoisted my huge suitcase onto his shoulder and walked up 4 flights!) was so pervasive.  Oddly, there are two, really three, hotels with part of the same name, two are owned by brothers in the same courtyard building, but one is fancy and one is not.  I thought I had booked into the fancy one, but I hadn't and it turns out to have been a good thing.  The fancy people were the snobbish version of laissez faire, which is much more annoying than being merely casual.  

My mint green room with cool stone floors (all stone in India comes from Rajastan) faced The Fort, not a street in sight, and I lay down for a little nap before I went out, after the heat of the day, around 5.  I hung a Louie out of the hotel, away from the impossibly busy market and tourist area, and FINALLY it happened, I experienced the charms of otherworldliness!  Wandering down a nameless street (they are all nameless, I mean they have names but there's no way of knowing what they are) I entered a world that hasn't ever changed.  Pierre and I like eating Indian, Thai, Korean and other ethnic foods that seem the way they always have been, like we are eating food at its origins.  That's how it was in the back streets of Jodhpur, and I hear it is just so in many smaller towns all over India (1,000,000 is a Small Town here).  

It's very dense, with people in little connected stalls down both sides of the street (just like you see in movies that take place in places like Jakarta, even the ones parodied by Indiana Jones), puntuated by houses, doing what they do, like soldering jewelry in the waning daylight sparked by the light of the torch, or selling candies or vegetables, and a zillion other things I don't even recognize, each stall specializing in something, selling only to locals, or making dinner or washing their kid's hair in a bowl with the door open.  I was the only stranger here, and lots of kids acknowledged me by saying hello, sometimes they put out their hand, as if to shake yours, but they don't really want to, just the gesture.  Shaking hands is a totally Anglo thing, Indians only do it because they know it's our regular practice, and to "do business" it's necessary.  All you get is the limpest of hands grasped inside yours, totally inert and vague.  Sometimes the kids run after you in groups, calling hello hello, something you see in those black and white Italian movies too, kids running after people who look so different, and it's sort of cute, but it can be sort of menacing too. 

I walked and walked and walked, knowing I was almost lost, but not too far afield.  For part of the way a girl led me on her bike until we got to her area, and I encountered one beggar, really the neighborhood simpleton asking for something, it's so hard to have small change here unless you are really living within their economy, where one rupee is actually worth something (there are about 50 rupees to a dollar).  I bought a couple of pairs of shoes from a couple who was making them right there, having to take off MY shoes and be barefoot in their messy shop (that's what I got the tetanus shot for), and hanging out with them for a while.  They spoke about ten words of english related to their metier to facilitate the deal, which culminated in my minor bargaining by writing amounts in pen on the palm of his hand.  I just can't bargain to save my life!  It's not fun for me, it's kind of like having an argument with a stranger, which I really hate.  With a friend it's different ; )

I was so happy today to be able to experience  the timelessness of being in the back streets,  it could have been a hundred years ago (ignoring the motorbikes and tuk tuks = auto rickshaws) and I was largely ignored, or simply acknowledged, no one wanted anything from me, I wasn't made to feel welcome or unwelcome, I was just taking a walk in a strange place.  And strange it is -- camels sleeping behind broken gates, or chewing or pissing in the street, oodles of roaming cows, sleeping ownerless dogs, and tethered goats, ancient edifices, all different, from crude adobe affairs to intricately latticed ones, all dilapidated. Some are painted the special blue of the city, giving way to greens and occasional pinks, both exteriors and interiors, as you can look straight into people's houses. Life is very public here, I doubt there is any of the sense we have of "privacy," so many things take place in public, even haircuts!  I learned from the Isreali guy that the blue buildings are Hindus and the green doors Muslims, there tons of temples, but the most noticeable souds are from the Muslim ones.  I love hearing the Hindu chanting, which is similar to the Buddhist's, but I couldn't find my way into any of the temples, they're kind of walled off.

I was so happy wandering and wandering, it got dark and I was exhilerated by feeling safe, after 10 days of not being able to wander in my Delhi neighborhood at dusk.  As a result I got into a little bit of a sticky situation, walking down a very dark street with a big wall on one side and closing shops on the other, and a camel and some cows lurking there in the dark, of course they aren't dangerous, just large objects in the way, and a large gang of kids started following me, grabbing and yelling, and I didn't like how it felt.  None of the adults around were intervening, as often they do when their young ones are harassing you, and I really hated it.  Then the street emptied out onto another one, and I realized I wasn't at all where I thought I was.  Luckily there was a landmark clocktower in the main market near my hotel, so I asked some friendly auto drivers, who didn't try to pester me into riding with them, and got redirected, way way far away, back down the same dark street, this time with no children in sight.  Is this becoming a boring story?  Sorry!  Anyway, it was fun and tiring and I felt I was really on an adventure for the first time since I'd left home, and that traveling was, indeed, worth it. 

Wendy Goes to India Part Two - Delhi

Everyone was impressed that I was off on this adventure to make shoes in India for a month, on my own, with only my Business Agents as connections to the entire continent.  I kept saying that I "knew I was insane," so I guess everyone thought that I had some idea of what I was in for, but I really didn't.  And I knew I didn't, I just knew that I could handle it at this moment in my life, and anyway, I'd been pursuing a way to make my shoes in India for ages, and now that I'd uncovered the opportunity, I felt I had no choice, especially with Pierre's active support. 

A couple of times in the weeks preceeding the trip, I sort of welcomed the possibility of NOT doing it, if the first samples I'd been emailed were absolutely awful or if there was an international incident, or if it turned out that it was going to be astronomically expensive for some unforseen reason, but no such luck!  Hotels in Delhi, as it turns out, are NOT inexpensive, they are at about the level of hotels in a provincial US city, like St Louis, not at all on the scale of the rupee, in which everything else is wildly inexpensive, like a subway ticket is something like 9 rupees, which would be under 20 cents.  Yes, you can stay near the railway station for $20 a night, but I've never been good at staying at those kinds of places.

I had already made a series of mental adjustments about what I was going to be able to produce here.  I could tell that my original idea about producing ornate embroidered jeweled gold-threaded shoes in India, utilizing what was, in my mind, the indigenous aesthetic of the place.  I was going to make a kind of indo-european shoe instead of the traditional indian shoes one sees everywhere, or the brittle pointy ladylike ones and gaudy sandals we see as exports, made in synthetics, for Hindus, that Indian women wear with their dressy clothes, jeans, or saris.  I was going to utilize the ancient techniques I thought that were still being used in inferior materials but in superior materials for my shoes, converted to my designs.  As they say in French, ce n'est pas evident.   

Whoops!  The aesthetic I was imagining existed in the last century, and while the general penchant for embellishment and color is, and always will be, a huge part of the culture here (no one wears black!!!) its contemporary expression is in plastic and polyester, they don't even use silk thread for embroidery, it's called "silky" thread, and there's lots of "silky" stuff because silk is "too expensive" for the mass market here.  I haven't told them that I pay upwards of $70 a yard for Indian machine-embroidered silk in the U.S.  What does it cost here?  Must get to that fabric store that was closed last time.  It makes me think of when I asked a Turkish woman to bring back a great pair of shoes from the market in her hometown for me, and she apologized when she told me that all of the footwear in the market was made in India or China, and nothing special anymore, so sad!

I met today with William Bissell, owner of the fab Fabindia company, with 15 stores across Delhi, employing 15,000 village craftspeople to make their lovely clothing and home furnishings.  By our standards they are wonderfully affordable chic-traditional and contemporary twists on the classic indian cotton and silk clathing presented in retail settings with an international tone.  He told me that he had started out working with shoemakers many years ago, and that they made traditional all-over embroidered shoes with jewels set in them, but it was at least 20 years ago, it's over now, he apologized.

I spent my whole early life feeling, and actually being, "different," and I find that I don't really enjoy being "different" while travelling, especially in this situation when it marks me as an Anglo to sell stuff to.  One of the reasons that I am so happy in France is because it is the only place I have ever been where I don't stand out, I look just like them!  I wish I were there now.  Or I wish someone were here with me, I use Pierre for motivation while traveling, he'd get me out to the local Mosque or fair or whatever, where I don't want to go alone, too much attention to fend off! 

People say that what they love about India is "the people," but in Delhi I generally find people to be rather surly, impatient and mercenary (with everyone, not just foreigners), and daily interactions are quite a struggle outside the hotel, if you are lucky to have nice staff in humble places, as I have been.  Outside the big city, in smaller towns (even 1,000,000 is a small town!), people are totally different, and it's quite a relief.

I'm completely open to meeting interesting tourists, but most of them don't seem anything like moi, they are mostly regular people out to see the world, or well heeled travelers out to consume the world, or earthy adventurers.  If the truth be told, and I could choose one of these types to be, it would be the latter, but I fear I'm Type 2, but not as insulated since I'm really not that well-heeled, so I'm ultra sensitized, really too high strung for the Third World!  So far, I have met some lovely people, an Isreali Old India Hand building a house in Jaisalmer, which he offered to me anytime, a French guy spending 6 months on walkabout for photos of craft-speople in India, and a couple of Quebequoise women on a spiritual quest.  One of them had sold everything at 50 to enact her lifelong dream of traveling around the world, but I noticed that she was only going to Asia, that was "the world" to her.  So far she had loved everything, except spicy food.  She was surprised when I told her to be careful in Thailand, she had no idea the food would be spicy there!  But she was on the trip she'd dreamt of all her life and it was working out for her, why quibble? 

Wendy Goes to India Part One - Delhi

My first third-world country just might be my last!  It probably doesn't get any more like it than my "budget" hotel neighborhood here, though I'll bet that each 3rd World location has it's very own third wordliness, with its flood of humanity, pollution and squalor, hideous lighting, whirring fans, uniformed "officials," bizarre rules, and a poor populace trying to make a buck off rich white people at every opportunity.   I miss Paris!  

When I was preparing for my trip, I had the weather for Delhi on the desktop of my computer and at night the atmosphere was simply called "Smoke," like for somewhere else it might say Cloudy or Rainy or Clear.  I figured it was an odd translation, but now that I am here, it is the only way to describe what's in the air, a mixture of a very rough kind of smog mixed with the mist that is coming in for "Winter."  It's a bit shocking, to be able to see the smog right in front of you all the time, and nothing like a blue sky ever. 

How to describe it here?  My first night, coming in a taxi from the airport at 3am, hurtling through the smoky dark on highways with trucks mostly, transporting stuff to and from the City, sometimes people or animals, with stretches of absolute nothingness, leaving me to wonder if we were indeed on our way to the city or if I might be abducted -- which I could sense wasn't the case, I just couldn't help it popping into my head!  Arriving in "my" section of the city, Karol Bagh, from the back, as it turns out, the least scenic route and the one guaranteed to get my driver quite lost, as our directions were from the main access route (as well as in English, which he didn't speak).  Had we entered from the great Hanuman sculpture -- a huge painted representation of the orange elephant/man deity, I might have been less dismayed about the area, but all it looked like was a sprawling 3 story crumbling shanty town with wandering dogs and cows, big pools of I don't know what, wires everywhere, and places that not only looked closed at 3am, but maybe closed forever, with no one in the streets but some hovering auto rickshaw drivers who had no idea which streets were within 6 blocks of their posts.

I passed a miserable first night, or early morning, having gotten in at 4:30 or so, with a terrible smell of camphor whose source I traced to the bathroom with mothballs in all of the drains to kill what is in the water, eww. Outside barking dogs and intermittent fireworks punctuated every five minutes it seemed, until they gave way to the early morning traffic and endless honking horns.

What a strange experience I've signed onto, coming to India this way.  I always said that I'd rather come to such a foreign place with a project to do instead of being a tourist, because I do hate going to places other tourists go to, and that hasn't changed.  I went to Agra for the shoe factories, so I had to go to the Taj Mahal, which I hated, I know, EVERYBODY loves it.  Oh well.  Agra itself has all of the charm of Newark, and is an absolute cesspool for Industry, which enrobes the Taj in a blanket of brown mist that makes parts of it rather photogenic, but also makes it impossible to see it or capture it in it's proper "light," EVER.  Google it for a proper picture. Here's a short clip of the street activity in Agra.

Oddly, I didn't feel (or LET myself feel?) at all stressed out here for the first week, which leads me to believe that "stress" is more conditioned than situational, so maybe I can lick it when I get home.  Perhaps the familiar feeling of my stomach doing its anxiety thing happens when I anticipate certain experiences, and I can learn to undo that.  I guess that if experiences are simply thrust upon me, I just react in the moment, without imagining anything in particular, so nothing is triggered?  I mean I certainly feel insecure here, sometimes sad or lonely, even slightly endangered, and my stomach stress thing has only kicked in once, when I couldn't sleep all night and had to go to the train station at 5am, which was a complete zoo.  

Well, now that I think of it I didn't sleep well for my first 10 days in Delhi, sleeping in an unimaginably active neighborhood of car parts dealers mostly, and on the busiest side street at that.  The street that the religious procession passed on my second morning at 6 am, complete with a brass band, and also home to the drummers for one of the political parties up for election this week, paying poor people to vote their candidate as it turns out.  Did I mention that I couldn't go out on the street at night on my own because the streets were full of men, and only men, hanging out with, you guessed it, men.  And not a woman in sight, farbeit for me to be The One! 

I did take a fantastic Tuk-Tuk (three wheeled auto rickshaw that goes "tuk-tuk") ride with the Sidney Greenstreet character who ran my hotel, in what seemed like the middle of the night, to go get my plane ticket to Jodhpur, passing the most amazing market, a wedding, and every manner of life taking place on the street.  It was like a real live India amusement park ride, and one of my most fun moments, and there haven't been that many, I must admit.  Doing my work here IS fun, but it is the least part of my time, the rest I'm supposed to be a Tourist having "fun," and I don't like being a Tourist, which I conveniently forgot to get myself here I suppose!

Dix-Neuf (19) -- Fall 2006 Student Show at CIAC

We all returned from Paris to finish up the semester at the Pont Aven School of Contemporary Art (PSCA) starting with the wonderful student show for the end of the Fall 2006 Semester, launching us into our last two weeks, doing and seeing everything one last time, in 2006 anyway.

The photo album starts off with a shot of each piece in the gallery going clockwise, and afterwards there are lots of pictures of the artists with their pieces, and with eachother, which I always love to see, I hope you do too.