Radio silence

Posted on July 24, 2011

Sorry for the radio silence everyone. It’s been a crazy busy summer so far for me. I’m regularly uploading new photos on my Flickr account so keep checking those as often as you like for some visual goodies. Here’s a few of my best shots this summer so far:

Mexico parte dos

Posted on May 10, 2011

Underwater Museum of Sculptures in the Caribbean Sea: a project by Jason DeCaires Taylor

Posted on April 19, 2011

Last year, I went to Cancun to visit my good friends JD and Alejandra, who were expecting their first child. It was during that 16 day voyage that JD took me to Puerto Morelos, a small fishing village, home of the National Arecife Park. When they decided to escape the harsh Canadian winters, Ale and JD first lived in that pueblito, and were neighbours, for a short time, with this guy, Jason.

When JD took me to Puerto Morelos, we went to visit Jason’s workshop, hidden behind a school in the jungle, on the outskirts of the village. Unfortunately, Jason wasn’t there at the moment, but we were allowed to take the time to check out the sculptures and the process behind the project. Jason DeCaires Taylor was (and I suspect that he probably still is) working on a great number of cement sculptures inspired by the local people (amongst other subjects that served as models). On the walls of his workshop, we could see photos of countless people on which the sculptures were based. These sculptures weren’t meant to be put on the front lawn of houses or around a pool: they were to be sunk deep down in the clear Caribbean sea near Cancun.

The idea is to form an underwater museum and to let the natural fauna and flora integrate the sculptures naturally as part of the underwater environment. Fishes float around the cement bodies and coral grows on the faces of the sunken subjects. Last year, I added this guy to my facebook friends. I don’t know him personally, but the interest I have in this project of his is unrelenting. Every once in a while, I’ll get updates from him and check them out. Since my first visit to his workshop, the work has kept on growing, and it keeps getting more and more media coverage. National Geographic even covered the story!

This morning I just saw this following video posted on my newsreel. I feel compelled to share it with whomever reads my blog because I find it absolutely fascinating. The video takes you through the underwater museum and lets you see the progress by which nature takes in the sculptures, after which you get to see tidbits of the process behind the whole enterprise. Feeling a strong tie to the Puerto Morelos community (to the point which makes it feel like a second home to me), I encourage you to take in the wonderful images of this short video and hope that you’ll enjoy it at leas half as much as I did.

 

Away and back again…

Posted on April 12, 2011

 

So I appologize for the radio silence as of late. I escaped to Mexico for a couple of weeks and I’m now back fully recharged and ready to kick it Montreal style.

However, it’s a different me that returns to the home-base: My fingers have forgotten how to type – traded in that skill for more sensory ones: sand caressing, swimming, searching for a breeze and resting high above my head on the ropes of a hammock or simply braiding my fingers together on top of my head. They are used to everything always being covered in sand and salt dust.
My skin is sunkissed. My body still seeking some crazy warmth in a way that clothing can’t replicate. I still feel the presence of Matus, a spiritual sage that I encountered on my way and that adopted me as his daughter. My papito and I talked for what must’ve been a minimum of 5 hours a day. I also made other friends on my path. Met a new friend from Patagonia. Another one from France. Clearly, I also met a bunch of people from various parts of Mexico, who are now established in the hermoso pueblito of Puerto Morelos. In the short time period I was there, I forged strong family-like bonds in a strange and mystical land. They say that more stuff happens in a mexican day than in any gringo-land: I’m ready to testify to that.
Asi es. I know deep inside me that I must return. There’s a home there for me, and plenty of work opportunities that rival the type of work I can get here in Canada. But there’s no need to rush such a move. Life will help me make it a reality. I also know that don’t want to be there always – the summers are unbearable and there’s not much work during that season. However, as the next winter begins to rear its ugly head, I will make more concrete plans to return. In the meantime, I have a life here which I love and I’m not ready to abandon everything that it is just yet. Missions must be completed in order to bear fruit.

 

Note: The tree with the crazy green skin and the spikes is a Ceiba. Ceibas are a sacred tree to the mayas. All photos by Sarah Brideau.

L’automne sur le chemin des ressources – N.B.

Posted on October 12, 2009

Le Congrès Mondial Acadien 2009

Posted on August 21, 2009

La vie en Acadie… même quand on travaille tout le temps, est belle…

Depuis les dernières semaines la Péninsule Acadienne vibre de gens, d’activités, de fiereté acadienne, et de chaleur estivale. Je me suis rendue dans la région pour travailler et essayer de gagner assez de sous, en préparation pour un rude hiver montréalais en rédaction de mémoire. Depuis le 7 août, je travailles pratiquement sans relâche à faire à peu près n’importe quoi. À la soirée d’ouverture du Congrès, je faisais partie de l’équipe vidéo pour le grand spectacle, où je faisais la caméra pour des projections en direct. Le lendemain matin, une photo du spectacle faisait la page couverture de l’Acadie Nouvelle où l’on voyait Kit Gogen avec le grand écran LCD en arrière de lui, avec un de mes cadrages vidéo! Le lendemain, un peu moins de glamour… je démontais la scène pendant 12 heures de travail ardu. D’après un ami, you’re as good as the last job you’ve worked in this town… il me fallait donc continuer.

J’ai aussi fait partie d’un show de théatre/multimédia, Mez’elles, à la Grande Maison de Caraquet où je “jouais” le rôle de paparazzi. Quel plaisir ce fut de travailler avec une si belle équipe!!! C’était un très beau petit show que l’on donnait en 3 représentations de 25 minutes par soirée, et cela pendant 4 jours. Ce fut un plaisir de contater qu’il était aussi très apprécié par le public.

J’ai photographié une réuion de famille, j’ai travaillé comme agent de sécurité, j’ai travaillé dans les films… bref, n’importequoi pour ne pas aller ramasser des bleuets dans les champs à la merci du soleil plombant et des maringouins géants et voraces d’Acadie. Thank god, it’s all worked out! J’ai rencontré plein de monde: des gens incroyables, talentueux, intelligents, charismatiques et attachants, provenant de tous les coins de la diaspora acadienne. Je me suis liée d’amitié avec un groupe de gentils Louisianais (du groupe Feufollet) qui sont venus jusque chez nous pour nous entraîner dans de folles soirées dansantes au style Cajun. J’ai eu énormément de plaisir à échanger avec ces gens chaleureux qui partagent ma culture ainsi que ma passion pour cette dernière, beaucoup de nos moeurs, notre langue, etc. Ils prenaient plaisir à nous raconter des histoires, à préciser certains aspects de la vie Cajun telle qu’elle est vécue dans le Sud de la Louisianne… j’ai même appris à danser à leur manière. On y prend vite goût! Tout ca m’a donné envie de découvrir in vivo cette Acadie magique et mystérieuse.

Le 15 août, en l’honneur de la fête nationale de l’Acadie, plus de 50 000 personnes se sont entassées dans les rues de Caraquet pour fêter la survivance de son peuple. Le Congrès Mondial Acadien présenta un superbe spectacle pour la foule après le Tintamarre. On me dit que ça ressemblait un peu au Mardi Gras de l’Acadie tropicale. Moi, je me promenais dans l’arrière scène où je documentais l’envers de  l’action sur vidéo pour une partie du montage qui rassembla les événements majeurs du Congrès… et bien sûr, je joignais la fête du même coup!

Il y a plus d’une semaine que je travaille avec les Productions Cojak en tant qu’hôtesse des visionnements de films acadiens aux événements “Voir l’Acadie”. On y montre 24 heures de cinéma acadien en 3 jours dans trois villes diférentes. Je passes donc mes journées à voir des films… à me saturer de l’Acadie cinématographique.

Mardi soir, j’ai eu le bonheur d’assister à une soirée de musique Cajun qui était organisée à la Place du Congrès. C’était un excellent show qui mettait en scène trois groupes venus de la Louisianne, dont l’excellent groupe Cédric Watson & Bijou Créole, qui offrit une prestation chaude, dansante, énergique et épicée de musique du genre “nouveau zydeco”. Devant un tel spectacle, la foule assoifée de musique ne pouvait qu’en réclamer encore et encore, et c’est à deux reprises que l’audience se mit à chanter “n’aut ti boutte”, comme il se fait en Louisiane!

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Demain,  je retournes travailler en production avec l’équipe vidéo pour le spectacle de fermeture du Congrès. Il paraît de cette région sera frappée par une tempête tropicale qui risque de faire anuller le concert… espérons que ce ne sera pas le cas. Ce serait trop dommage de terminer un si beau Congrès de cette façon.

L’Acadie, l’Acadie…

Posted on August 2, 2009

Sailing in Acadie is quite certainly one of my favorite ways of spending my time when I’m back home. The only thing that beats this is actually making it to the dunes after sailing around for a bit. Saturday, we had good wind and sailed at a steady 6 knots with the main sail reefed down two notches. Lots of waved spraying us in the boat and regular 15 degree tilts. Good times. Then we went and had dinner on the dunes… Ca flotte… du very best indeed.

I’m no stranger here. After having traveled all through Europe,  having been in countries where the difference is evident, I find myself in Tracadie where lots of people share my last name. Though my accent isn’t quite the same as how they speak here, when I introduce myself as a Brideau, I get immediate validation as a local. It feels like everyone could be my first cousin here.

I’ve been hanging out with my buddy Chris a great deal. He’s also a moment chaser, though we have different ways of creating our art. To share creative moments with a friend is a priviledge for which I’m truly grateful. He’s teaching me the ways of handling a camera that snaps 30 photos/second and also records sound… it’s a bit overwhelming, but loads of fun.

This is where bad kids end up… the bat-cave. Chris and his family have a gorgeous home.

Travelogue: Life is many postcards…

Posted on July 28, 2009

So I left the ladybug in charge of my cucumbers and packed my bags for good ol’ Acadie

I sure hope I don’t come home to something like this…

On the way, we caught a few severe storms… punctuated with pretty yellow fields like this

Visited great modern museums on the way

Au Québec, il y a beaucoup de “crémeries”. No matter how small the village, you’ll always find a moderately successful ice cream stands. This one was just hanging out there in the middle of nothing. Ice cream is always good. mmm.

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And as we crossed the Matapedia Valley, there was lots of pretty fog in the mountains. It feels like I spent the whole trip dozing off into sleep, waking up, taking pictures, dozing off again. If only it was so easy to take nice pictures… no effort required whatsoever.

Pretty skies unfolded constantly along the way

Then there was a rainbow… a little man, all dressed in green velvet, three inches, tall flicked a gold coin at us and disappeared into the forest on the back of a unicorn (who knew they were that small).

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.We saw a covered bridge…

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More pretty fog…

A “warning – bikes come around here too” sign

Fallen construction cones by the riverside

Altogether, it took about 12 hours to drive to New Brunswick yesterday. After being held up by one of our passengers who took a bit longer than expected to get ready, then some hold up at the car rental place… we finally left Montreal at about 11AM. There were some major thunderstorms around Quebec City, and we had to drive between 60 and 80 km/h on the highway for about an hour and a half in order not to crash or end up floating away in a ditch. Then there were more thunderstorms around Bathurst, which made us loose about another hour at ridiculously low speeds, but left us with a fabulous light show to watch while we were at it.

Last night, me and my grandpa got dressed up in old costumes in the middle of the night and took pictures. It was fun. Today, my great uncle, the clever and infinitely sweet priest, came over for breakfast. Then, later, my old pal Chris came to pick me up in his Green Hornet-green Bricklin (you know those cars that have doors that open from the top like wings). We got lost on out way to the beach, but then finally made it there.

We chilled there, smoked, talked about our respective visual arts.

I took pictures of junk on the beach while Chris took some of his ever ringing phone calls.

Just enough time to show me how to turn on a video camera, tell me that the basic was all about the kinetics of holding it steady and fluidly…  ring…

Pretty girl walked by on the beach…

There’s nothing like sand in your toes. Chris appears to enjoy that too. It’s the small things that make up the good life… he gets that too, that’s why he actually likes it living around here. You have to be the kind of person who can turn the most mundane things into magical moments. There’s lots of that to be had where I’m from…

Natural scenery. Chris was going to set it up “better”, but I like to take pictures of things as they are. Then I was saved by the bell…

Everywhere I go hang out these days, couples seem to be engaging in some pretty shameless groping. You’ll see that lots in public parks of Montreal, but apparently, New Brunswick beaches are no exception.

We hid our gear in the tipi while we were going to scope things out. … which never happened since his Inkerwoman called him home for dinner.

We got lost again looking for my uncle’s house… stopped to ask a man for directions, but since we’re both burnouts, we couldn’t remember what to ask for… so we drove on in the Bricklin, listening to 70s tunes. How very appropriate.

Then a picture of Chris’ favorite pinup flew in from the back.

Then I finally made it to my uncle’s house, where they like to catch black kittens in their lobster traps.

Then we walked around in the woods until we hit what is the startoff point of a blueberry field.

Then walked back…

For dinner, I ate a fabulous meal of traditional salted cod. Mmmmm, my favorite. I hung out with my goddaughter and her 5031 questions, answering every single one of them. I take it as a challenge to answer everything she asks. Clearly, if I was around her 24/7, I wouldn’t be able to do that and keep up. I’d probably loose my patience… but I’m not around her much. So I figure the least I can do to make up for the cheap birthday present she’s getting from her broke-ass godmother this year is to answer every single one of her crazy questions and open my mind to her way of thinking. It’s pretty fabulous. She loves me and my answers I think. She cried a whole lot when we left.

Now, the weather’s cool. It’s nice here since it always cools off at nighttime, and just by opening the windows and turning on a few fans, you end up even better off than with AC in the city.

I don’t come around here all that often, and I always feel privileged to get to come back home to a place like this in the summer… with the beaches, the fields, the ocean, the forest, the hicks, the bright minds… It takes a special type of person to be able to stand this life year round though. I’m still in training… not ready for that just yet. What I feel even more privileged about is to actually have a pretty awesome friend to hang around with. It never used to be this much fun coming home to Tracadie. Now, even though I love my family to bits, I get to escape, work and hang out with my pal and fuel up on a bit of “this is who I am in real life” before plunging back into the comfortable nest where people’s main worry is taking care of each other.

Return from the old countries

Posted on June 19, 2009

It’s been three days since I’ve returned to Montreal. To be honest, I’ve been pretty ill ever since, which is my excuse for slacking off on the blog. The good thing about this (though there were several BAD things about this illness) is that it has allowed me to slowly immerse myself back into my homely environment in Petite Patrie. While I was bedridden (and toiletridden – I’ll leave out any other unfortunate and certainly unwanted details) I got to watch a lot of shitty TV shows. One of them that particularly hit me was Des kiwis et des hommes, which is actually a pretty bad show with a few excellent qualities. As it turns out, it’s shot live right here in my neighbourhood, at the Jean-Talon Market. One of the things that caught my attention is that they go out to the vendors, have chats with them about their productions and make recipes with what they find right there. After having been to France, let me tell you that I was pretty reluctant to admit that any food could be as good anywhere else as it was over there, BUT, apparently, our two countries do have common interests for good food that is well made in a respectable and traditional manner. Montreal is certainly the best place in Quebec to access some of the best foods out there without being on the actual farms. Why it’s so great is for the variety of things we have access to here… quality, certainly isn’t the same as the food found in the Lot, but that, I will judge as time goes by.

So my travels over the last 8 weeks have taken me to Spain, Southern France, Germany and England… what to say about all of that. There is so much to say, and photos can’t say it all. Barcelona was wonderful. Julie and me had a wonderful time discovering the city and the surrounding regions. One of the wonderful things about Barcelona is its transit system, which is top notch. It’s child’s play to get anywhere and very affordable at that. Within a week, we managed to discover some of it’s most noted landmarks and barri (neighbourhoods). It was also wonderful to meet three young American travelers with whom we randomly walked around in search of places to eat. Girona was fabulous and so was Sitges, two neighbouring towns filled with charm and beauty at every glance.

After that there was France. While I was there, I was lucky enough to be accompanied by two wonderful gentlemen: Alain whom I met during his 1 1/2 year in Montreal but is from Cahors and has been my best friend since then, and Vincent who took over when Alain had to get some work done, which turned out to account for most of my days in the Lot. I was also introduced to the lovely Ninon who welcomed us into her home for our late night dinners and hosted me for a few nights when I returned to Cahors last weekend.

Alain met me in Barcelona on the day of Julie’s departure and we spent a few days there before heading to Toulouse. Since he did his studies there, he knows the city pretty well and told me a bunch of the history of the places he took me to. Stories and Histories was my favorite way to discover the places I visited. Toulouse was quite pretty and I enjoyed spending time there with my friend, discovering his world I’d heard so much about. Actually, the word “enjoyed” is quite the understatement seeing as I was absolutely ecstatic nearing the point of delirium. I tried to absorb every moment, every smell, every taste, all the while avoiding dog poop (the cliche is true my friends). Every ounce of food and beverage vibrated an intense happiness that was felt everywhere in my body.

A few days later, we headed to The Lot (pronounced in French as “lotte”), where his grandmother welcomed us at the train station to take us to his home where his mother was preparing for the feast. I think I’ve described some of this previously so I’ll just skip right along to some memories that have marked my visit to the region of Cahors.Wineries and vineyards surround the town and were parts of my introductory day trip with Vincent. I was lucky enough to have a very intelligent and knowledgeable guide who took infinite pleasure into making me discover the riches of his homeland. Therefore, not only did I see a lot, but I learned a bunch while I was at it. Then came old Cahors, which I revisited profusely when I returned on the back end of my trip. To be honest, it’s not the things we did that can be put into words and transferred to you readers within a few words… its the people I met, the conversations, the silences, the comfort I found there that really made this stay absolutely sublime. This is a place where I could definitely consider living… and the rest of the memories are ingrained in my heart, and still come back to haunt me on a regular basis.

Germany was nice, fun, but definitely a culture shock I did not expect. After feasting in France for over a week, I found myself confronted with menus I did not understand a word of, and found out that most of their food consists of sausages and vegetables marinated in vinegar. What about the beer you say? Well the beer was nice. Tasty. The architecture? Since everything was pretty much destroyed during the war, it all was rebuilt, which makes most of it pretty much younger than most of what we have here in Canada. Still though, I must admit that it was rebuilt in such a way to keep things grand though simple. One of my favorite things about Munich was the fact that it is a city built for cyclists. There are literally bike paths everywhere. I had a fabulous time biking through it though it took me a while to figure out where I was going. The trains were also pretty easy to figure out though the language barrier certainly made things a bit harder for me since my brain found no recognition whatsoever in the words it was seeing on signs and such. It was a worthwhile experience, though certainly not a place where I would consider living.

Next stop was England, where I was visiting my friend Mike for two weeks. The journey began in Seighford, a village near Stafford in the English Midlands. As I expected, everything there is GREEN, oh so green. The scenery is lush and in every field there are either cows of sheep. It was absolutely lovely for a country lover like yours truly. I was welcomed at Cooksland Hall for a week where I was shown a warm welcome by my friend, his parents, Tango the dog and Molly the horse. Since I was there for a while, I will say this, England is the land of debauchery… at least for me it was. They serve some excellent bitter beers over there and some of the most delectable Scotch Whiskeys. When in France, you indulge in the food, and in England you indulge in the fabulous alcoholic drinks they have to offer. Life was mellow out there in the country and so it was on the Riviera town of Torquay during my second week. Mike and I ventured to Yorkshire for a weekend, where we flew a kite, drank Pimms and walked around a set of reservoirs in the moors. It appears everywhere I went I made friends with animals: cows, horses, sheep, dogs and especially cats. Good times. I ventured off to Birmingham one day and walked around the city. I also got a good amount of sun on my skin, which is unusual for someone to get over a two-week stay in England. Mike and I also found a great pub near the house where we went several times, the last of which I beat the pool champion at his own game. That one was for Acadia my friend! ha!

Now that I’m back and still jet lagged after 3 days on the continent, I reminisce on things that I’ve lived over the last 8 weeks. Like Alain has told me, the trip does not end once you get back home. It takes a while to get the voyage out of your system. Now that I’m living it, I sincerely believe it. I’m back as a slightly different me… and for the better I think. I am now forced to rediscover my own home. Get back in touch with my life, not as a wanderer but as someone who knows more now than she did when she left.

Anyway. I feel I’ve written enough for today, and you’ve probably read enough as well. I will keep writing on the subject until the well runs dry. One last thing is so very important for me to mention before I close this one off, the many thanks I have to make: Merci à Julie pour m’avoir permis de faire ce voyage merveilleux et pour ta compagnie en tant que partenaire de voyage épatante! bravo! on a fait une excellent équipe tous les deux; Thanks to Man-get, Brad and Chris for befirending us and helping us discover more of Barcelona than we would’ve without you (double thanks to Chris for hosting me in Munich); Les merci les plus profonds et sincères à Alain, Vincent, Imogen et Ninon qui m’on fait découvrir la mère-patrie que j’aime passionément-à-la-folie; and kind thanks to Mike and his family as well as Bridges and Parker for showing me a fabulous time alongside the warmest welcome in the UK.

Back in Montreal

Posted on June 16, 2009

Hello folks,

I’m back home in Montreal and currently undergoing a serious battle against a monstruous case of jetlag… I promise to write a “bilan” of my trip as soon as I’ve gotten some serious sleep.

Dans les sousbois

Posted on June 4, 2009

J’ai entendu ta voix dans les décombres de mes souvenirs.

J’ai vu ta main dans les vignes qui couvrent les arbres tendrement

qui y grimpent lentement

couvrent l’écorce de leurs caresses.

De la hauteur d’un tronc brisé, tu me tends ton bras, me montres le chemin.

Tu effleures mon poignet du bout des doigts.

Tu enfiles tes doigts entre les miens.

nos paumes se resserent

enlacent nos corps clandestins

à la sortie du sousbois

chuchotent des secrets

qui s’effacent comme les blessures sur mes pieds.

Travel-log: from the South of France to the English Midlands

Posted on June 1, 2009

 So maybe I haven’t been so good at keeping up with the English blogging for those of you who don’t understand French, or simply don’t understand what all of the poetic fuss is supposed to really mean. I think it’s been since one of my first days in France that I haven’t blogged anything straightforward.

To make a long story short, I stayed in Toulouse for a few days before heading to the Lot, the beautiful region of Cahors. It was there that I fell in love. Some of you may ask, “with a person or with the land”? The answer is a bit complicated, but for all intents and purposes, I will say that I fell in love with the Southwestern part of France. In all honesty, I’m ready to move there tomorrow, and I would if I didn’t have a few things to take care of in Montreal before I actually make my move. Whatever happens between now and September will determine the validity of that statement… so we’ll see.

What’s so great about it? Well the food for one. My body has never felt such extasy as it has while I was there. My stomach was happily digesting away all of the golden nourishment I was feeding it. My tastebuds finally understood what food was supposed to taste like. My brain didn’t understand why I haven’t been feeding myself this stuff for the past 25 years.

Thing is, I can hardly describe all of the wonderful stuff that I ingested over those 10 days. It’s all pretty simple really. Just quality quality quality. Most of the stuff people eat over there is produced within the region itself. In other words, the 100 mile diet is something that has always been part of these people’s lifestyles. They appear to be self sufficient and to live the lush life I always thought could never truly exist or really be that easy. Of course it has its downside… uh, yes…. hum. Ah, there we go: if you’re watching every calorie you eat, life would be impossible for you in the South of France. You would certainly pull all of your hair out trying to calculate the half bites allowed of each course. To have been there and tried it seriously for a week and a half, and I mean seriously… I had seconds and thirds sometimes and never skipped dessert, I didn’t really gain any weight to speak of. People appear to be generally healthy and you rarely see any overweight people in that part of the world, whereas in Brittain, it’s another story. The moral of this story is, indulge! There’s nothing bad about good quality products from the terroir. What we should really be scared of is the processed stuff slowly taking over everything we eat in the Americas.

Mis a part the food, I was lucky enough to have my very own travel guide show me around the region. I was visiting my best friend Alain, who lives in Cahors, and one of his good friends, Vincent, was kind enough to take me on daily adventures for 4 consecutive days. Vince grew up in the region and is a true lover of the Lot. To hear him talk about it, tell me stories, annecdotes and an impressively precise historical background of the things he brought me to see, was an experience I’ll never forget. I don’t think many travellers get so lucky as to have such a brilliant person motivate the discovery of such a magical place… I can’t even begin to say how truly blessed I feel to have had the opportunity to live the Southwest of France that way.

The lifestyle is also something that feels like something my body has been craving for a long time. They work, but not like we do in America or here in Brittain. They relax a lot… and they need to in order to allow their bodies to digest the intense quantities of food that they do. Of course there’s a lot of wine, and it is served with every meal. Yum. In the towns, the houses, the parks, there’s always loads of accomodations for sitting and taking a breather. People like to take it easy over there. Doesn’t matter which town you’re in, if there’s a terrace, it’s pretty much always full of people seeing la vie en rose.

People also seem to spend a lot of time in other people’s company… life is “communautaire”. They eat together, get together for drinks in the evening, have coffee with a family member, bref, people don’t appear to be so stuck in their own bubbles of individuality and stupor as we seem to have in the big cities. Maybe it’s just a factor that comes with being out in the country, but I felt that people easily said “hello”, even if you don’t know them. They welcome the Acadian girl as a cousin and try to make her taste as many local things as possible while she’s there. They always checked with one another to see “oh, have you gotten her try that yet?” or yet “have you taken her there?”. They are so proud of their region, of their culture, of their food and very eager to help a foreigner discover little oddities or specialties. That was quite special to tell you the truth. Some people may describe the French as slightly pompous, egoistical, or chauvinistic… but I get it now… it’s because these people are so deeply in love with where they live and their way of life, and with good reason. This also brings a pretty interesting perspective to some of the questions about culture that I’ve been pondering upon lately… but that’s another story.

Then, I headed over to Munich, with a heavy heart. I honestly never wanted to leave the Lot… EVER. But you know… life must go on. I was visiting a friend that I had met in Barcelona. Chris had a busy week, but I had a fun time in the Beer Gardens, walking around the city and taking pictures, figuring out how to get around by myself in a city where the language is so foreign that I can’t even pronounce things properly. It was a challenge, but I had a fun time. I spent a lot of time writing while I was there, which is something I haven’t done in a long long time. Funnest adventure was Tuesday, when we took a train out to Chiemsee. From there, we took a boat out to the islands on the lake, ran in fields, swam in the said lake… it was lovely.

Now I’m staying over at my friend Michael’s place in the English Midlands. I’m out in the coutry and life here is beautiful, nice, calm, though clearly not as lush and carefree as it was in France. The two cultures are of great contrast.

To have grown up as an Acadian who finished High School in an English institution, I had felt a strong connection to the anglophones over the past 10 years… much more so than to the country loving acadians, or the language fanatic quebecers. I appologize if this comes off as slightly harsh, but it’s just not something that I saw in myself… as part of my identity. I have always loved the country, but hated the way it seemed to imply a very limited perception of the world. I love languages and have always been proud of my French heritage, but I always felt that the Acadians don’t fit into the French Canadian identity since the complicated issues that Quebecers battled over the last few decades have been approached by them as a “separate” entity that is “non-Canadian-but-sovereignist”. It’s sort of a mess to try to explain this on a blog post about my travels, but let’s just agree to understand that the point I am trying to make is that I wasn’t exactly sure WHERE my roots were. I am Acadian… but what does that mean exactly? Well that’s one of the things that I have been finding out on this trip. How do people define themselves? How do they build their identities? Well, so far, I have found out that I am most definitely French because so many of the things that I lived over there felt more “spot on” than anything I have ever experienced. The only thing that ever felt like this has beed dipping my toes in the sand or in the sea…. whereas my French experience lasted for days. Everything I touched, tasted, saw, felt… pure joy and happiness.

In England, life is similar to many things and ways of living that we perpetuate in the Americas. I like a lot of it, but feels a little less like a discovery and more like something else, somewhere else… Anyway… enough blogging for today. I’ll try to update with more actual travel logs soonish.

Carte postale #10: Le réveil…

Posted on May 29, 2009

 Je me réveille dans un nouveau pays. Dans ce pays vert, une chambre douce, beige, un grand lit fleuri face aux careaux. J’ouvre les rideaux, je me jette dans la vue, je survole les champs qui dévalent sous mes yeux encore endormis. Je me réveille dans un grand arbre au milieu d’un champ. Le silence chuchotte ta présence. In my leisure suite*, a place to meet my own… et j’y rencontre tes careses qui voguent comme les vagues, qui taquinent les rives de mon île… your Spanish Key** qui bat à ma porte… oublie pas mon coeur***…

*Leisure Suite – Feist (Red Demos)

**Spanish Key – Miles Davis (Bitches Brew)

***Oublie pas – Karkwa (Le volume du vent)

Carte postale #9: Quand on traverse…

Posted on May 29, 2009

 Un autre avion, un autre aéroport. Pour un instant, en attendant l’appel aux passagers, j’ai pensé à ton passeport Européen à côté de mon passeport canadien. J’ai pensé à ton drapeau avec mon étoile. J’ai pensé à l’air, à l’eau qui rejoint ta terre. J’ai pensé à tes yeux, grands assez pour traverser mon âme. J’ai pensé à ton coeur, plus grand encore que l’océan qui sépare nos continents. J’ai ressenti ta chaleur, j’ai pensé à cette partie de toi que tu as caché dans mes bagages. J’ai pensé à nos coeurs étirés d’un coin à l’autre de ton continent… comme une corde raide qui traverse les régions, les montagnes, les alpes, les rivières, la mer… de la campagne française à la campagne anglaise.

Carte postale #8: Histoires de familles

Posted on May 28, 2009

Il me parle d’une peinture qu’on a fait de lui. Elle me mène vers la pièce d’à côté, s’excuse du désordre. Je lui réponds que c’est vraiment la dernière des choses sur lesquels mes yeux ont à se poser. Elle me prend par le bras, le serre un peu pour intensifier le contact. Je réalise l’importance de ce geste qui me touche profondément. Elle me raconte des histoires de famille, me dit qu’un tel parle très fort, and who belongs where and with whom. Je veux la serrer dans mes bras, prendre le thé avec elle. Je veux qu’elle me raconte tout, tout, tout. Je veux qu’elle m’apprenne ce qu’elle sait des herbes, du jardinage. Je veux absorber sa force et sa douceur. Je t’entends dans la pièce d’à côté partager un certain étonnement que vous avez pour ma gentillesse. Vous me trouvez spéciale… je vous rend le compliment.

Carte postale #7: Comme des arbres plantés dans la terre

Posted on May 28, 2009

Sur le visage de tes grands-parents s’écrit l’histoire d’une guerre, d’une bataille, d’une vie qui témoigne de leurs exploits. “J’ai 92 ans!” s’exclame une fois forte, towering over me in every way. “… moi j’en ai 25…”. L’histoire d’une victoire contre les vents et marées. La fierté d’être encore là. Il est peut être un peu Acadien ton grand-père… nous aussi sommes plantés dans nos terres comme un vieux saule persistant. Malgré les grands dérangements, c’est notre résilience qui l’emporte, c’est ça l’histoire de notre vécu persistant. Ton grand-père et moi, comme de grands arbres qui fleurissent à chaque printemps… qui verdissent pour prouver que l’espoir n’est pas qu’une illusion perverse.

Carte postale #6: Ta terre, ma terre…

Posted on May 27, 2009

Ta terre m’est familière. Avec toi, j’ai découvert un chez-moi au delà de l’océan. Ta terre de sable et de quartz. Ma mer de sable et de sel. Tes galets dans la forêt. Mes galets à l’air salin. Tes fruits de terre. Mes fruits de mer. Je suis des défricheurs d’eau qui s’achètent un one-way-ticket vers l’aventure, sachant que le retour viendra de soi-même. De ceux qui y reviendront à pied s’il le faut. Tu es de ceux qui sont bien ancrés dans leurs terres, que tout le poids de l’histoire qui retient. Toi tu as un bercail précis, tu connais ton chez toi. Mon chez moi, c’est une diaspora à laquellel vient de s’additionner ton chez-toi.

Carte postale #5: La petite mort

Posted on May 27, 2009

Tu me dis que tomber est une petite mort. Je croyais que la petite mort était une jouissance qui fait revivre. Tu est de ceux qui préfère danser sur la corde raide, la tenir jusqu’au bout, persister jusqu’a la fin. J’ai justement besoin de savoir que ca prendra plus d’une tempête d’été pour te faire lâcher ceux que tu aime. J’ai besoin de savoir que lorsque ce sera moi que tu tiendras au bout de ta corde, qu’il faudra plus d’une tempête pour faire de notre histoire une épave.

Carte postale #3: Mon esprit bat la campagne…

Posted on May 26, 2009

Nous sommes les Forest City Lovers explorant des Country Roads. “And no matter how far you drive, you can never take the ocean from my eyes”. Nous traversons les rochers bordés d’océans agricoles. Je t’explique la vibration du rouge qui explose un peu partout. Les coquelicots comme mes orteils parmi le sol fertile. Tu caresse doucement ma cuisse pour attirer mon attention vers une voile écarlate qui suspend un homme dans le ciel.

Carte Postale #2

Posted on May 24, 2009

Mine de rien tu m’attaches. Tu m’explique comment aller plus haut. Tu m’assure que je ne tomberai pas. Tu me tiens, me tires par le haut, je deviens désinvolte et sans appréhension. Tu me permet d’atteindre un nouveau sommet. Tu m’apprend comment sauter, comment me laisser tomber en chute libre.

S’en arrêter au souvenir déchirant serait une erreure. Mon voyage de libération est soudain devenu un retour vers moi-même. Tu m’emporte vers la plus totale désinvolture. Je me retrouve à tes côtés, je deviens une nouvelle personne. Comme Alain qui retourne auprès d’Imo, soudain soulevé, une personne nouvelle. Je me laisse tomber dans le vide et tu me soutiens, m’apprend à mieux attaquer la montagne, compagnon de découverte en éternelle requête de mes sourires.

*Dans ce projet que j’appelle “Cartes postales” je souhaite recréer des instants, des moments du voyage. Ces dernières, un peu comme sa version physique, sont ouvertes, découvertes à quiconque veut les lire (étant donné qu’elles sont toujours envoyées sans enveloppe). Ce sont des messages qui composent des images en très peu de mots, car il n’y a jamais assez de place sur une carte postale pour vraiment y produire ce que l’on veut transmettre à l’être aimé à qui on écrit. Première addition en Français à mon blog, c’est un premier essai poétique en plusieurs années de blocage…

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