SONG SATURDAY - VITAS FROM RUSSIA

“Home is not where you live but where they understand you.” - Christian Morgenstern

A nice restful day today… Then a wonderful evening at home, with dinner for two, candlelight, music, flowers… All the while the wind was howling outside and the cold, wet streets reflected the lights. We laughed and we kissed, oblivious of the winter night outside…

Here is an upbeat song from Russia, sung by Vitas. It is a song about coming home from foreign lands, a song about the welcoming shores of Russia, made all the more wonderful by the spring sunshine and the gorgeous scenery of the video, shot in the Ukraine not far from Kiev.



Illustration is the Swallow’s Nest Castle in Yalta, overlooking the Black Sea.

VARIOUS FEARS

“Many of our fears are tissue-paper-thin, and a single courageous step would carry us clear through them.” - Brendan Francis Behan

It is “Black Friday” today, a dismal day in many people’s books, but depending on one’s cultural background and superstitious nature, the day could be bad, good or indifferent. In Greek, Romanian, Spanish and Latin American culture it is Tuesday the 13th that is an ominous day, not Friday the 13th. Some people consider the number 13 as very lucky, rather than unlucky. The ancient Egyptians and the Chinese both considered 13 as a lucky number. Cultures with lunar calendars and 13 months don’t associate 13 with anything sinister. However, in the USA, in some buildings the 13th floor is apparently skipped, going from 12 to 14 and some hotels will not have a room 13! In some cities a 13th Avenue does not exist, once again 12th skipping to 14th Avenue. It was rumored in the 18th Century that thirteen people sitting down to a meal together presaged that one of them would die within the year, something which is still maintained by some.

This triskaidekaphobia (irrational fear of the number 13) and paraskevetriskaidekaphobia (irrational fear of Friday the 13th) is long entrenched in the Western, Christian tradition and is long associated with the 13 people attending the Last Supper, with Judas Iscariot being the unlucky 13th person. Another dinner with 13 unlucky guests was in Norse mythology, where Loki, the Norse god of evil, started a riot when he gate-crashed a banquet at Valhalla attended by 12 gods. Witches that clearly oppose themselves to a Christian superstition, have groups of 13 known as covens.

As well as Friday the 13th, today is also International Left Handers’ Day. This reminds me of another irrational fear – sinistrophobia (fear of left side, left handedness). It was established by UNESCO in 1984 at the initiative of the British Left-handers’ Club. Left-handers account between 7% and 10% of the world’s population. Many great people were left-handers, among them Alexander the Great, Aristotle, Cesar, Napoleon, Bismarck, Mozart, Rachmaninoff, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Einstein and Leo Tolstoy (However, some infamous people were also left-handers, e.g. Jack the Ripper!)

For many centuries left-handers have been thwarted, ostracised, constrained and forced to adapt to a right-handed world. Although nowadays most left-handers are not forced to use their right hand, they still have to cope with the inconvenience of using implements, tools, devices and accessories that are designed for right-handers. If a left-handed option is available it is usually more expensive and not readily available.

The third irrational fear I will refer to is xenositiophobia, quite apt for our Food Friday! Xenositiophobia is an irrational fear of foreign food… Fortunately in most Western countries, this is a fear that we see less of as we are exposed to a wide variety of foreign cuisines more and more frequently in the West. We are very fortunate here in Melbourne as we are extremely cosmopolitan and there hundreds if not thousands of restaurants that offer a variety of international cuisines at a standard that often exceeds that of many restaurants in their original countries!

RAMADAN

“There shall be no compulsion in religion.” – Qur’an 2:236; "The Cow”

Our Muslim students are observing Ramadan presently. I chanced upon some of them making their way to the prayer room and they were talking about Ramadan. Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic Lunar Calendar, which began yesterday. Every day during this month, Muslims around the world spend the daylight hours in a complete fast. It is a time they see as a chance to purify their soul, refocus attention on God, and practice self-sacrifice. Ramadan is much more than just not eating and drinking, it is seen as a great opportunity to rediscover one’s spirituality and come closer to God.

Muslims are called upon to use this month to re-evaluate their lives according to the laws set down by the Qur’an. One is to make peace with those who have wronged one, strengthen ties with family and friends, do away with bad habits. It is one’s chance to clean up one’s life, one’s thoughts, and feelings. The Arabic word for “fasting” (sawm) literally means “to refrain, and this implies not only refraining from food and drink, but also from evil actions, thoughts, and words.

During Ramadan, every part of the body must be actively restrained. The tongue must be stopped from talking idly, backbiting and gossip. The eyes must refrain from looking at unlawful things. The hand must not touch or take anything that does not belong to it. The ears must stop listening to obscene words or idle chatter. The feet must not go to sinful places. In such a way, every part of the body observes the fast or restraint. Food and drink are consumed during the night, but once again restraint should be practiced and no feasting should be undertaken.

Fasting is not merely physical but rather the total commitment of the person’s body and soul to the spirit of the fast or restraint. Ramadan is a time to practice self-restraint; a time to cleanse the body and soul from impurities and re-focus one’s self on the worship of God. Ramadan is the month God chose in which to reveal the final scripture – The Qur’an. It is believed that one of the greatest ways a Muslim honours the Qur’an is by reading it. Many of the pious Muslims of the past would close all books and focus on reading the Qur’an only this month. A Muslim should strive to read the Qur’an in Arabic at least once during this month. The Qur’an consists of approximately 604 pages. This means a person can read the entire Qur’an by the last day of Ramadan from cover to cover by simply reading 4 pages after every prayer.

At the end of Ramadan, the Muslims celebrate with a great feast, Eid ul Fitr. Eid is an Arabic word meaning “festivity”, while Fiṭr means “to break fast”; and so the holiday symbolises the breaking of the fasting period. Eid ul-Fitr lasts for three days of celebration (or more, depending on the country).

Koran |kəˈrän; kô-; ˈkôrän| (also Qur'an or Quran) noun
The Islamic sacred book, believed to be the word of God as dictated to Muhammad by the archangel Gabriel and written down in Arabic. The Koran consists of 114 units of varying lengths, known as suras; the first sura is said as part of the ritual prayer. These touch upon all aspects of human existence, including matters of doctrine, social organisation, and legislation.
DERIVATIVES
Koranic |-ˈränik| adjective
ORIGIN from Arabic ḳur'ān ‘recitation,’ from ḳara'a ‘read, recite.’

AS THE SEASONS CHANGE I RETURN HOME

“There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.” - Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

We came home to a wet, grey and cold Melbourne. Winter is still around and even if we thought that we had escaped it somewhat with this trip to tropical climes. Arriving here this morning was reminder enough that we still have some of the worst ahead. Nevertheless, as we went shopping today for some groceries, we saw big bunches of daffodils out for sale. This was underlined by the changes in our garden: The primulas have started to bloom and the polyanthuses, cinerarias and the bulbs are all starting to show colour. Though it is winter, spring is just around the corner.

For Poetry Wednesday today, a poem for the changing seasons and for our homecoming.

As the Seasons Change I Return Home

A welcoming sight on one’s return home:
The spring flowers planted months ago
Beginning to burgeon forth and bloom.

A welcoming sound on one’s return home:
The windchimes playing a chord of greeting
As winter wind still blows, but with less ferocity.

A welcoming smell on one’s return home:
The linen cupboard reeking of lavender, plucked last summer
And enclosing within it sunlit, warm memories.

A welcoming taste on one’s return home:
Home cooking with sun-dried garden herbs,
Fresh lettuce, radishes, spring onions from the winter garden.

A welcoming touch on one’s return home:
Your fingers in my hand, your warmth against mine,
Your tender kiss on my naked flesh, making me tremble…

FLYING HOME...

“Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.” - Charles Dickens

Travelling home today, from Hanoi to Melbourne, with one transit stop in Ho Chi Minh City. As is the case with such travels, the tiring to-ing and fro-ing from one means of transport to another, the interminable security checks, the long haul flights make one wonder if it has all been worth it. At the time of the highest inconvenience, one is tempted to say “no, it’s not worth it, never again…” However, once the brou-ha-ha is over and only the good memories of the trip remain, one gets the old wanderlust returning once again.

On Thursday I go back to work, so Wednesday will be my buffer day to recover and prepare myself for the onslaught.

THE 'HANOI HILTON'

“You can kill ten of my men for every one I kill of yours, but even at those odds, you will lose and I will win.” – Ho Chi Minh

We visited the Hòa Lò Prison today, referred to as the 'Maison Centrale' by the French. It was called the 'Hanoi Hilton' by US GIs, many of whom did time here during the Vietnam War. Once it was a massive French-built prison accommodating over two thousand prisoners at its peak. The prison built in 1886 was quite small initially, holding around 400 prisoners. It was expanded in 1913 to hold 600 but actually in reality it packed in more normally anywhere between 700 to 895 prisoners in 1916. However, during the 2nd World War it held 2000 prisoners both international and ethnic prisoners, especially South Vietnamese (see more of my photos here).

Prisoners were held either in solitary confinement or in dormitories where they would be shackled together on a raised platform bed, which sloped downwards at the foot. Diseases such as dysentery and malaria were rife among the prisoners along with little medical attention given if at all. An almond tree in the prison courtyard provided remedies in the form of wood, bark, flowers and fruits for these ailments.

The prison became notorious as the temporary home of large numbers of captured enemy soldiers and airmen, mostly American. The American prisoners of war were held in a separate wing apart from the other prisoners. The first American prisoner of war was an airman called Everett Alvarez. Many prisoners died through torture or illnesses before the Vietnamese were able to execute them. The Vietnamese denied any torture took place citing the American prisoners themselves have nicknamed the prison the Hanoi Hilton as the accommodation was as comfortable as a hotel. Prisoners were not granted any civil rights as required by the Geneva convention, but as Vietnam had never signed up to it they claimed it didn’t apply to them.

The ways they tortured the prisoners were numerous. Sleep deprivation, beatings water torture, whipping and slapping, bones broken and teeth knocked out. The Vietnamese were trying to get the prisoners to make statements saying they were being well-treated and that the American invasion was wrong. Food was in short supply and what food they were given was often contaminated with faeces both animal and human. Methods of execution included the guillotine, which was used in the prison and is still there preserved to this day. Both men and women were held in the prison but were segregated.

During the 1990s, virtually all the area was demolished to make way for a modern tower block of apartments and high rise offices called the Hanoi Towers. On the south-east corner of the site, the entrance lobby and a few of the cells have been retained as a small museum. Looking at the remnants of the prison from the opposite side of the road, the building is dwarfed to insignificance by its huge neighbour, making it difficult to imagine its gruesome history. It is well-maintained and has been elevated to a shrine for political prisoners kept here during Vietnam’s struggle for independence. The prison contains several interesting exhibits, including the heavily-used guillotine that was the centrepiece of the French judicial system in Vietnam, and is well worth a visit. The signs describing each of the exhibits are couched in a language that is rather heavy-handedly propagandist, but nevertheless, one becomes acutely aware of the hardship and inhuman conditions of incarceration here.

A 1987 film written and directed by Lionel Chetwynd, “The Hanoi Hilton” tells the story of the suffering, torture, and brutal treatment the American P.O.W.s had to deal with daily while in the Hoa Lo Prison. The film focusses on the resistance the prisoners gave to their captors and the strong bonds formed by the Americans during their captivity.

On the way to the prison we visited the “Ambassador’s Pagoda” (Chùa Quán Sứ). This temple has its origins in the 15th century when a hall was built to welcome ambassadors who came to visit the king. A pagoda was built in the 17th century next to the hall, which has since been called the Ambassador’s Pagoda. The hall was destroyed in a blaze, but the pagoda survived. Nowadays this is one of the most active pagodas in Hanoi, and since 1958 it is the headquarters for the Vietnam Unified Buddhist Association, a major Buddhist learning and research centre, with the largest Buddhist library in any temple in Vietnam. Dozens of young monks reside in the complex and study in its classrooms. Inside of the temple are many finely carved statues, some dating back to the 15th century.

When we visited we saw many young monks and nuns praying in the temple and many faithful were making offerings of incense, fruit and paper money to both the images of the gods, as well as to their ancestors. The air was heavy with the smell of burning paper and even the incense was a heavy, cloying, unpleasant smell. Many little old ladies in the courtyard were selling matches, candles, prayer books and offerings. The temple was quite a large one and more full of life than most of the other temples we visited.

Tomorrow we fly back home. The trip was short, but we packed much in and enjoyed it quite a lot. However, it is great to be going back home as the heat, dirt, noise, overcrowding and congestion has been quite an experience.

ART SUNDAY IN HANOI

“A sincere artist is not one who makes a faithful attempt to put on to canvas what is in front of him, but one who tries to create something which is, in itself, a living thing.” - William Dobell

Today we visited the Chùa Trấn Quốc (Tran Quoc Pagoda), the Chùa Quan Thánh temple, the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, the Army Museum, the Hanoi Flagpost and the Hang Be market. It was a tiring day owing to the heat and the queuing up for an hour and a half, to get into the mausoleum, which was by the far the most exhausting. Nevertheless, once again, we really enjoyed what we saw and the history, culture and local colour we absorbed was immense.

Firstly, Chùa Trấn Quốc sits on an islet linked by a bridge to the causeway between two lakes Hồ Tây and Trúc Bạch. It was founded in 545 AD during the Lý Dynasty. It was moved from the Hồng Hà's left bank (Red River) to its current location in the early 17th century. In the gardens stands a Bồ Đề (Bodhi) tree that is easily recognizable from its heart-shaped leaves, taken from a cutting of the original tree, under which Buddha sat and achieved enlightenment in India. The island and pagoda provide a beautiful backdrop, particularly when viewed at sunset. The characteristic pagoda associated with the temple is a Hanoi landmark and corresponds with most Westerners’ ideas about what a pagoda should look like…

We then visited a second temple, the Chùa Quan Thánh beyond the two lakes, just across the causeway. According to legend, this temple existed in the south of the To Lich River in the period of Cao Bien, a proconsul of the Chinese Tang Dynasty who built the citadel of Dai La (around 866). After King Ly Thai To established the capital (1010), the Temple was moved to the north-west of the capital. It is one of the “Thang Long tu tran” – four famous sacred temples honouring the Gods who guard at four main directions (East - West - South - North) of the ancient Thang Long Citadel. The Temple is dedicated to Saint Huyen Thien Tran Vu who guarded and administered the north of the country. That is why it is also known as the Tran Vu Temple. The Temple has a majestic three-door entrance, which was built on large stones with a bell tower on its top. Inside it is very ornate and decorated with gilded carved wood, statuary, has many altars and incense burners. In the courtyard of the temple there was a martial arts lesson going on, so we stopped and admired the young men and women who were practicing the ritualistic moves.

We then proceeded to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where a few nasty surprises awaited us. First, was the huge expanse of lawn criss-crossed by intersecting stone paths to the east of the Mausoleum. We attempted to walk across the path and were interrupted by loud cries of some soldiers who stood guard around the square. They motioned us off with gestures and more cries and when we approached them we could not make ourselves understood as they spoken not a single word of English. They motioned us to the south and after a couple of kilometers we finally came to the entrance of the Mausoleum, past a huge queue of people waiting to get in. At the entrance came second surprise number two: The entrance was closed firmly and the guards around (who once again spoke no English) motioned us away. Some of the locals were able to get in, but others who also tried were rudely dismissed. No English signs were around. We were rather hot and bothered and very disappointed.

Fortunately, I spied a couple – he Vietnamese, she a westerner, who were conversing with one of the locals. I enquired gently as to why the doors were closed and whether we would be able to get in. It was explained to us that because it was so crowded the gates had closed early and that we would not be able to get in. I thanked them and rather disappointed we lingered around looking sourly at the interior. I was surprised when our acquaintances came back to us and asked us to follow them. We did and going through a shop right next to the fenced off area, we were able to walk through the back door into the enclosure and the car parking area where the tourist buses were stopped. Thus entering by hook and crook we were able to join the queue of the hundreds and hundreds of people waiting their turn to enter the mausoleum.

It was hot, crowded and we were only amongst the very few westerners amongst the locals. We went through three security checks, relinquished our camera and finally we were waiting on the final stretch to enter the monolithic and highly unattractive, but nevertheless imposing, Russian-designed Mausoleum. Guards everywhere goose-stepped and showed off their guns, in order to intimidate and further build up the sense of awe of the pullulating masses. We managed to end up inside and after climbing a couple of flights of stairs we made our way through the murky and dimly lit cool chambers to the inner sanctum where the embalmed body of Ho Chi Minh lay in repose as though asleep. It was brightly lit and as we were shuffled along by guards, we saw the wax-like remains of the man whose last request before his death was “cremate me” – unheeded, of course…

We went out and walking through the manicured gardens came to the “One-Pillar Pagoda” (Chua Mot Cot). The characteristic thick central pillar on which this small pagoda is built, is said to represent the stem of a lotus flower, symbolising purity. The metaphor is made stronger by the square pond in which the pillar stands. Around the pagoda there is another small temple in which is a nice Buddha image, some gardens and a small monastery. It is well worth visiting this site as it is verdant with large shady trees and provides a cool refuge for the people who queued to see the Mausoleum.

The Ho Chi Minh Museum is a large modern building immediately next to the Mausoleum and is dedicated to the great revolutionary and statesman who went on to become first the Prime Minister and then the President of North Vietnam. The common people of Vietnam are indebted to him for what he has done for their country and as a mark of their gratitude the museum was dedicated to him. The Museum in preserves everything memorable related to the great revolutionary. It consists of five extensive floors and was inaugurated on 2nd September, 1990, celebrating the 100th birthday anniversary of Vietnam’s great President.

The museum has an extensive collection of military orders, mementos, photographs of the Communist Party’s achievements, the great August and October revolutions, the country’s fight against Fascism and the imperialist power and the world movement led by Ho Chi Minh. The Top floor has a beautiful centerpiece which is a gargantuan gold lotus flower, which also shelters smaller exhibits related to Ho Chi Minh’s political activities. One can make one’s way from the “Past” section to the “Future” section by following the symbols made in the shape of labyrinthine murals. The National Liberation Movements are symbolised by a "volcano", bright red in color and surrounded by national totems. The Museum is another example of Soviet architecture and so the visitor has the opportunity to take in both the exhibits and structure.

We then walked to the Museum of Military History, (as the full name of the Army museum is), located in the south-west corner of the Hanoi Citadel. A large assortment of military paraphernalia clutters up the front gardens, overlooked by a large statue of Lenin, glaring from the other side of the road. The main exhibition covers events during the war against the French colonists from the 1930 uprising to the victory at Dien Bien Phu in 1954. The American War is described in a separate exhibition stall. There is a strong pro-Vietnam propaganda element of course, but there are rare photographs and video images of Ho Chi Minh, the legendary General Giap, the battle of Dien Bien Phu and the Ho Chi Minh Trail that makes a visit an unmissable experience for military history buffs as well as those simply interested in seeing the Vietnamese side of the conflict. A guide is essential to assist with language and contextual interpretation.

Right next door is the bonus of visiting the Cot Co Watch Tower. Apart from being of considerable interest as one of the few remains of Emperor Gia Long’s mighty edifice, the view from the top includes the whole Citadel area and its surroundings (unfortunately it was closed when we visited).

We then proceeded to the heart of the Old Quarter again and did some shopping around the Hang Be market area. A few souvenirs and gew-gaws for people back home. Nothing major and certainly nothing that we really saw and greatly admired or wished to buy for ourselves.

Now to conclude Art Sunday, a reference to the Fine Arts Gallery that we visited a couple of days ago. The enormous, fine colonial mansion that houses the museum was given an oriental-style roof when it ceased to be a residence. Nevertheless, the effect is pleasing and well-suited to what is after all, a gallery of Vietnamese art. The various collections are quite eclectic – inevitably, the Soviet inspired social realism school is well represented but is by no means dominant. Among the many reproductions, there are some fine originals. Particularly noteworthy are a delightful collection of folk art, and a good range of modern art including some excellent water colours and innovative contemporary work.

Unfortunately, the artworks that have been executed in lacquer have not stood the test of time and have discoloured very badly. The museum does not appear to be well curated, nor are the art works well looked after. We were horrified to see some of the guards sitting down and knitting, or dressing their hair or plucking their eyebrows or generally being very uninterested in their job or the visitors. There were several pieces that we liked and above is one of them, Nguyễn văn Cuông’s (born 1962) “A Fleeting Memory”, a quite large (103x157 cm) and colourful woodcut made in 1997. The artist was born in Hanoi in 1962 and graduated from Hanoi Fine Art College in 1989. Since 1990, his work has been exhibited many times in Vietman as well as in the United States, the United Kingdom, Taiwan, Japan and Norway.

Most famous are his woodcuts with succinct, symbolic motifs, strangely brilliant colours and a loose but haphazard plot. Cuông’s works of art appear modern but still display traditional roots. Cuông achieves his moods through a careful choice of colours, lines and textures, describing each scene carefully with strong reds and yellows, greys, browns and blues. Cuông invites us into a world where the rhythms of the everyday are the bonds which bind each of us together.

HA LONG BAY VIETNAM

“A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Today we went on a day-long tour to Ha Long Bay in the northeastern part of Vietnam which is 165 Km from Hanoi (see more of my photos here). Ha Long Bay is often touted by proud Vietnamese as the world’s Eighth Wonder. One of the main attractions of Ha long is the bay’s calm water and the thousands of limestone formations dotting the seascape. The Bay’s water is clear during the spring and early summer. Some of the islands are quite large and there are small alcoves with sandy beaches where swimming is possible. Ha Long literally means “descending dragon(s)” and according to local myth, the story goes as follows:

Long ago when their forefathers were fighting foreign invaders from the north, the gods from heaven sent a family of dragons to help defend their land. This family of dragons descended upon what is now Ha Long bay and began spitting out jewels and jade. Upon hitting the sea, these jewels turned into the various islands and islets dotting the seascape and formed a formidable fortress against the invaders. The locals were able to keep their land safe and formed what is now the country of Vietnam. The Dragon family fell so much in love with this area for its calm water and for the reverence of the people of Vietnam that they decided to remain on earth. Mother dragon lies on what is now Ha Long and where her children lie is Bai Tu Long. The dragon tails formed the area of Bach Long Vi known for the miles of white sandy beaches of Tra Co peninsula.

This myth is in line with the Vietnamese myth of their origin Con Rong Chau Tien. This myth describes the union between a king (representing the dragon) and his bride (representing a goddess) giving birth to 100 children which are the ancestors of the Vietnamese people. The Ha Long myth illustrate the Vietnamese belief of their origin and the fact that throughout their history, they are aided by their ancestors, the dragon and the gods, in the defense of their land.

The bay has some surrealistic scenery and the limestone formations are both bizarre and awesome. Over thousands of years the base of many of the formation have corroded to a point where many seem to be balancing on thin air. The shapes and the positioning of these formations often resemble people, animals etc., hence, most are given a name by the locals. Some of the more famous are: Hang Dau Go (Wooden Stakes cave), Hang Bo Nau (Pelican cave), Hang Trinh Nu (the Virgin), Hang Sung Sot (Cave of Awe), Dong Hang Hanh, Dao Tuan Chau (Sentinel Chau Island), Qua Chuong (the bell), Con Voi (the elephant) etc. Now, about one thousand formations have names.

We finished our tour by visiting Thiên Cung cave, which is situated on the south-west side the bay, 4 km from the wharf outside of Ha Long City. The way to Thiên Cung is a steep one, covered on both sides by thick forest. After entering a narrow gate, the grotto’s 130-meter-long chamber opens up. Thousands of stalactites and stalagmites make this a veritable fairy palace. This grotto discovered about 17 years ago, is one of the most beautiful caves in Ha Long Bay. Legend has it, that beautiful young lady named Mây (cloud), caught the eye of the Dragon Prince and he fell in love with her. They were betrothed, and their wedding lasted seven days and seven nights in the very centre of the grotto.

In honour of the wedding, small dragons flew about through the stalactites and stalagmites, elephants danced together happily, snakes twined themselves around trees and two stone lions danced with their manes flowing in the wind. A large elephant, smartly dressed, waited for the bride and the groom. The genies of the south and north stars also came to attend the banquet, and the atmosphere was definitely animated and lively. All these scenes have been seemingly fossilized in the grotto. 
Arriving at the last part of the grotto, a natural gushing stream of water babbles down throughout the year. Here are three small ponds of clear water. Legend has it, that this was where Mây bathed her 100 children, bringing them up wisely and happily into adolescence.

For Music Saturday today, a traditional Vietnamese tune played on the Dan Tranh by Truy.

FOOD FRIDAY IN VIETNAM

“Rice is a beautiful food. It is beautiful when it grows, precision rows of sparkling green stalks shooting up to reach the hot summer sun. It is beautiful when harvested, autumn gold sheaves piled on diked, patchwork paddies. It is beautiful when, once threshed, it enters granary bins like a (flood) of tiny seed-pearls. It is beautiful when cooked by a practiced hand, pure white and sweetly fragrant.” -
 Shizuo Tsuji

Another full and exhausting day in Hanoi, visiting several important landmarks, but also once again weaving our way in and out of the labyrinthine streets of the Old Quarter. Two important sights we visited, were the temple of Literature and the National Fine Arts Gallery. More about these on Sunday!

The traffic, congestion, smells, thronging crowds and the exotic atmosphere are constant assailants on one’s senses. The offensive odour of an open drain mingles with the fragrance of incense burning at a small shrine in a shop; the cacophonous and never-ending beeping of car and motorcycle horns is interrupted momentarily by the jingling of bells and wind-chimes when passing a temple whose curved roof and characteristic gate invites one into the peaceful courtyard. The milling crowds and never-ending stream of motorcycles drives one crazy, and yet one may pop into the gardens of a pagoda and momentarily escape, seeping oneself in history.

One of the most amazing things we have seen is the hundreds of vendors of street food. On every sidewalk, under each awning, on every street corner, one finds impromptu kitchens often consisting simply of a charcoal burner and a pot in which cooks every sort of imaginable comestible. Noodles, rice, bits of meat, poultry, vegetables of all sorts, soups, fish, spices, herbs. Unidentifiable bits and pieces are chopped, minced, cut, dressed, wrapped, or otherwise prepared for cooking and then boiled, steamed or fried right there on the street by women who seem to have cooking under such difficult circumstances down to a fine art. Around them are small plastic stools where the customers sit and enjoy the food, which is ladled out in plastic bowls. Once they finish the washing up is done in a large plastic tub filled with suds.

Beside such impromptu ‘restaurants’ may be open drains, shops selling all sorts of goods that may not be so appetizing. Right next to one of these street food stalls yesterday, we saw two men slaughtering chickens, the blood collected carefully in little bowls once the neck was cut. No doubt, even the blood will be used to prepare some tasty recipe. Every now and then some horrible smell wafts from a sewer, or the omnipresent pollution and car exhaust fumes will intrude into the cooking smells. For a westerner to eat from these street stalls is inadvisable, however, there are more up-market eateries and restaurants to choose from. The prices are extremely cheap by our standards and the quality of the food is good.

In Vietnam, “com” (boiled rice) is eaten at the main meals of the day (lunch and dinner). Rice is eaten together with a variety of different dishes and the rice can be of different types. Typically fragrant rice is used, such as Tam Thom and Nang Huong. An ordinary meal may consist of boiled rice and the following: “Mon an kho” (meal without soup) consisting of dishes of pork, fish, shrimp, and vegetable cooked in oil, as well as vegetables, pickles, etc. “Mon canh” (meal with soup) consisting of a soup made with pork or spare-ribs, crab meat, and fish.

In the past several years, people in urban centers have begun to go out for lunch at the food stalls on the street. Consequently, there has been a proliferation of temporary food stalls along many sidewalks and public spaces in the cities. Some stalls are open until early in the morning to cater to regular customers. Around noon, owners can be seen arranging tables and benches along the pavement to form makeshift shop floors. After two or three hours, when there are no more customers, they begin to remove all of their wooden furniture, so that the place resumes its former appearance. A well-served lunch for one is very inexpensive, but once again I stress that westerners will eat in the street at their peril.

“Pho” (noodles) is the most popular food among the Vietnamese population. Pho is commonly eaten for breakfast, although many people will have it for their lunch or dinner. Anyone feeling hungry in the small hours of the morning can also enjoy a bowl of hot and spicy pho to fill their empty stomachs. Like hot green tea which has its particular fragrance, pho also has its special taste and smell. Preparations may vary, but when the dish is served, its smell and taste is very characteristic. The grated rice noodles are made of the best variety of fragrant rice called Gao Te. The broth for Pho Bo (Pho with beef) is made by stewing the bones of beef and pork in a large pot for a long time. Pieces of fillet beef together with several slices of ginger are reserved for Pho Bo Tai (rare fillet). Slices of well-done meat are offered to those less keen on eating rare fillets. The soup for Pho Ga (pho with chicken meat) is made by stewing chicken and pig bones together. The white chicken meat that is usually served with Pho Ga is boneless and cut into thin slices. You could consider Pho Bo and Pho Ga Vietnam's special soups. Pho also has the added advantage of being convenient to prepare and healthy to eat.

A STROLL IN OLD HANOI

“If you want to understand today, you have to search yesterday.” - Pearl Buck

Hanoi (or more properly Hà Nội in Vietnamese) is the capital city of Vietnam and has an estimated population of about 6.5 million making it the second-largest city of Vietnam, after the most populous, Ho chi Minh City in the South. From 1010 until 1802, Hanoi was the most important political centre of Vietnam. The city is located on the right bank of the Red River. October 2010 marks the 1000 year anniversary of the establishment of the city (see more of my photos here).

Hanoi has been inhabited since at least 3000 BC. One of the first known permanent settlements is the Cổ Loa Citadel founded around 200 BC. Hanoi was occupied by the French in 1873 and passed to them ten years later. It became the capital of French Indochina after 1887. The city was occupied by the Japanese in 1940, and liberated in 1945, when it briefly became the seat of the Viet Minh government after Ho Chi Minh proclaimed the independence of Vietnam. But the French came back and reoccupied the city in 1946. After nine years of fighting between the French and Viet Minh forces, Hanoi became the capital of an independent North Vietnam in 1954.

During the Vietnam War, Hanoi’s transportation facilities were disrupted by the bombing of bridges and railways. They were promptly repaired and the Old Quarter was to damaged. Following the end of the war, Hanoi became the capital of Vietnam when North and South Vietnam were reunited on July 2, 1976. By 2020 the Hanoi Capital region will have an area of 13,436 square kilometres with a population of 15 million.

We spent the whole day walking today and fortunately, the weather was great - around 30˚C and fine. We started off early in the morning form our hotel, on the shore of the large lake and walked to the Old Quarter. The traffic was horrendous and small scooters and Vespas were everywhere. We were amazed not to see any accidents as even on the street intersections controlled by traffic lights, the interweaving of cars, pedestrians, scooters, bicycles, buses, was a sight not to be forgotten. Crossing streets became a near death experience, as one didn’t know who had right of way or whether one should go or stay when the walk signal came on. Oh, and by the way there are these strange black and white regions on the road every now and then… Nobody seems to know that these are pedestrian crossings and pedestrians should have priority.

The Old Quarter, near Hoan Kiem lake, has the original street layout and architecture of old Hanoi. At the beginning of the 20th century the city consisted of only about 36 streets, most of which are now part of the old quarter. Each street then had merchants and households that specialised in a particular trade, such as silk traders, jewellery, food merchants, etc. The street names nowadays still reflect these specialisations, although few of them remain exclusively in their original commerce. The area is famous for its small artisans and merchants, including many silk shops. Local cuisine specialties as well as several clubs and bars can be found here also. A night market in the heart of the district opens for business every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening with a variety of clothing, souvenirs and food.

We saw the Old Quarter and the small lake, temples, churches, public buildings and shops. Markets and historic sites, hotels and guest houses. However, largely today was a familiarisation exercise with the “flavour” of the city. One of the highlights was the visit to the Ngoc Son Temple, located on a small island on the small lake. This Temple was constructed in the early 19th century on the foundations of the old Khanh Thuy Palace, which had been built in 1739. The temple is dedicated to Van Xuong, the God of Literature, although the 13th-century hero Tran Hung Dao, the martial arts genius Quan Vu and the physician La To are also worshipped here. The island is linked to the shore by a red, arched wooden bridge, The Huc (Sunbeam) Bridge, constructed in 1875 (seen in the photograph here).

Vietnam |vēˌetˈnäm; ˌvyet-; ˌvēət-; -ˈnam| - noun
A country in Southeast Asia, on the South China Sea; pop. 82,689,000; capital, Hanoi; language, Vietnamese (official).
Traditionally dominated by China, Vietnam came under French influence between 1862 and 1954. After World War II, the Vietminh defeated the French, who then withdrew. Vietnam was partitioned along the 17th parallel between communist North Vietnam (capital, Hanoi) and noncommunist South Vietnam (capital, Saigon). The Vietnam War between the North and the U.S.-backed South ended in victory for the North in 1975 and the reunification of the country under a communist regime the following year.
ORIGIN from Vietnamese Viet, the name of the inhabitants, + nam ‘south.’

A TRAVELLING POEM

“I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad.” - George Bernard Shaw

It is 11:11 p.m. local time here in Hanoi ( and 2:11 a.m. Melbourne time!) and we just arrived at our hotel after many adventures, delayed flights and last minute visa woes, we managed to get here, after spending about 19 hours in taxis, planes, buses, etc. The last straw was the taxi trip from the Hanoi airport to the city centre and to our hotel. The roads were crowded with traffic – cars, trucks, motor scooters, pedestrians and the city was amazingly dark. Even the houses standing like gaunt sentinels (they are so narrow, even though three or four stories high!) did not show many lighted windows. We finally worked out that everyone had their window blinds and shutters firmly closed. The few open shutters disclosed bare bulbs of low wattage that created a rather dismal mood.

The insistent beeps of the car horns and crowded roads, however, underlined the fact that this was not a sleeping city. The closer we got to the centre (and the airport is about 30 km form the centre) the more lights appeared on the side of the roads and a few neon signs advertised nocturnal haunts – “Karaoke”, “Restaurant”, “Sauna and Massage”…

For Poetry Wednesday today, something I found on the web at the airport lounge and which is fittingly Vietnamese. A 19th century woman poet, Hô Xuân Hu'o'ng (1772–1822). She was a strong-minded woman living in perilous times and while her poetry is deceptively tranquil and placid, describing ostensibly nature scenes, there are hidden meanings and a wild eroticism. She lived most of her life in Hanoi and therefore is an apt guest for Poetry Wednesday! And I quote from an excellent article by John Balaban:

“In the poetry of Hô Xuân Hu'o'ng, who wrote around 1800, near the end of the high tradition of nôm, we find poems behind poems behind poems. Almost all of her lü-shih or chüeh-chu poems, while apparently about natural landscapes or everyday activities, have hidden within them a complete, parallel second poem: a double entendre whose topic is sex. Sometimes, as in the poem below, the translator can succeed by finding words that are both true to the physical landscape she describes and suggestive of other things to the English ear: for example, "cleft," "bearded," "plunges," and "mount." Here, the translator's task is to also set up a double meaning with a single set of images.

DÈO BA DÔI

Môt -dèo, môt dèo, lai môt dèo.
Khen ai khéo tac canh cheo leo.
Cua son do loét tùm hum nóc,
Hòn dá xanh rì lún phún rêu.
Lát leo cành thông con gió thôc
Dâm dìa lá liêu giot suong gieo.
Hiên nhân, quân tu ai mà chang...
Moi gôi, chôn chân vân muôn trèo.

Hô Xuân Hu'o'ng

THREE MOUNTAIN PASS

A cliff face. Another. And still a third.
Who was so skilled to carve this craggy scene

The cavern's red door, the ridge's narrow cleft,
The black knoll bearded with little mosses?

A twisting pine bough plunges in the wind,
Showering a willow's leaves with glistening drops.

Gentlemen, lords, who could refuse, though weary
And shaky in his knees, to mount once more?

As scholars have noted, the title "Dèo Ba Dôi" (Three Mountain Pass) would probably suggest to a Vietnamese reader the range in central North Viêt Nam called Dèo Tam-Diêp. But the poem's peculiar grotto would invite suspicion, and of course a literate Vietnamese reader would recognize immediately the pine and willow as male and female symbols, respectively. "Gentlemen" and "lords" ("Hiên nhân, quân tu") are traditional terms for the elite, mandarin class. Yet Hô Xuân Huong is anything but traditional. A woman writing in a male, Confucian tradition at the end of the decadent Lê dynasty, she only makes honorific references to men when she is being derisive.

The main aspect of the poem behind the poem (behind the poem) for Hô Xuân Huong is that she is almost always working against tradition. Behind her traditional landscapes lies sexual dalliance. Behind her pagoda walls, irreverent fools. In the widow's funeral lament, she hears infidelity. Yet all her poetic subversions are launched in exquisitely made, regulated lü-shih and chüeh-chu: verse with traditional requirements for line length, rhyme and tone placement, and syntactic parallelism. But here too she is unique and surprising, often using the word-stock of ca dao and the aphorisms of the common people where her male contemporaries are content with flowery rhetoric and stock ideas.”
John Balaban

Now time for bed!

OFF TO VIETNAM!

“To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.” - Aldous Huxley

Well, tomorrow morning we are leaving for a holiday. It will only be a very short one, but it turned out very well considering how quickly it was arranged. That’s one of the wonderful thing about the internet, one may browse through airline sites, hotel sites, arrange tickets, stays, look for package deals, take advantage of specials, and all that in one afternoon, in time for departure the next day! So, it was all arranged, we are going to Vietnam, to visit Hanoi! We are leaving tomorrow morning and coming back early next week.

It worked out cheaper than going North and staying in Cairns or Townsville or Broome. It’s quite sad when one can arrange an overseas holiday and spend much less than one would locally. I suppose there are many factors involving the exchange rate and cost of living, but there it is. We’ve never been to Vietnam before, but we have both heard good reviews from intrepid travellers who have been and came back with the best impressions.

Most people think of the war if one mentions Vietnam, especially people in our age group. And sure enough, there are many conflicts in its long history. However, the country has moved forward with the times and progress soon overcomes obstacles put in its way by painful history.

Vietnam was part of French Indochina and only gained its independence in 1954. Decades of internal discord, civil war mixed with external interference and tragic armed conflicts have hampered its development. The country has an area of 330,000 square km and a population of about 83 million people. It stretches along the South China Sea down a mountainous backbone and encompasses two river deltas: The Song Hong in the North and the Mekong to the South. Rice, coffee and rubber are the main crops with reserves of coal, anthracite, lignite, tin, iron ore and extensive rainforests beginning to be developed. The climate is monsoonal with moderate rainfall. The capital city is Hanoi with other major cities including Ho Chi Minh City, Da Nang, Hué, Rach Gia, Nha Trang and Haiphong.

Stay tuned for more on the trip…

UNDER THE SAND - MOVIE MONDAY

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” - Thomas Campbell

Being Movie Monday today, I shall once again review a film that we watched recently. This was a curious film that came highly recommended by a friend of ours and which starred that darling of French cinemagoers, Charlotte Rampling. She was born in Sturmer, England, in 1946. The daughter of a British Colonel who became a NATO commander and a painter, she was educated at Jeanne d’Arc Académie pour Jeunes Filles in Versailles, France and at the exclusive St. Hilda’s school in Bushley, England. She was a model before entering films in 1965. Since then she has had numerous film roles in British and American films, but especially so in Continental ones. In 1995 she was chosen by Empire magazine as one of the 100 Sexiest Stars in film history.

The film was François Ozon’s 2000 “Sous Le Sable” (Under the Sand). It is an intense, but slowly moving film, building up to a crescendo little by little like a Rossini overture. Rampling plays Marie, an English literature lecturer in a Paris university, who is seemingly happily married to Jean (Bruno Cremer) for 25 years. They have no children. They begin their usual summer vacations in the southwest of France and soon after they arrive there they decide to go to the beach. Jean leaves Marie sunbathing on the beach and goes to swim in the sea. When Marie suddenly looks at the time and realizes how long her husband is gone she looks for him, but she cannot find Jean. Has he committed suicide? Drowned? Left her? With no clue and no body to mourn over, Marie reports the disappearance to the police but continues her life, acting as though her husband were still alive. As the weeks pass, her friends try to get her to snap out of her idée fixe and even introduce Vincent (Jacques Nolot) to her who is an eligible bachelor.

This film is not for those who desire action and car chases, cops and robbers or superhero stunts. It is a quiet meditative study on a woman’s fragile psychological state following a crisis in her life. Rampling gives a magnificent performance mostly acting with her facial expressions, her gestures, her body language. What remains unsaid in the fim, or what is hinted at is important for us as we are then able to decide what actually has happened on the beach. Rampling is ably supported by the rest of the small cast. She manages to convey Marie’s initial bafflement and subsequent denial believably and with conviction. As she begins to see Vincent her awakening erotic fantasies and guilt begin to intrude into her coping mechanisms and she comes close to becoming mentally unstable.

The confrontation with Suzanne, Jean’s elderly mother (played wonderfully by veteran actress Andrée Tainsy) helps Marie to sort out her life and accept Jean’s disappearance – or does she? The mysterious last scene of the movie back at the beach where Jean disappeared is one that leaves the viewer of the film puzzled, but also free to choose the ending that he/she desires. The strange man on the beach could be there or he could not. He could be anyone: Jean, Vincent, the Lifeguard or even a stranger. Marie’s frenetic but erratic run towards the man is puzzling as she seems to run past him in the end, or does she?

This is a film that will appeal to those who wish to watch an intellectually stimulating film and who enjoy good performances. It is one that contains some nudity and sex scenes (in true French cinema style…), however, these were not offensive, but rather tastefully shown and certainly part of the story, highlighting Marie’s shifting frames of reference. The movie is available on DVD and I fortuitously found it in the sale bin of our video store for a paltry price.

RON MUECK'S SCULPTURES

“The trouble about man is twofold.  He cannot learn truths which are too complicated; he forgets truths which are too simple.” - Rebecca West

Last time I was in Brisbane I caught the exhibition of Ron Mueck’s sculptures. Mueck (born 1958) is an Australian who works in the UK and creates hyperrealistic sculpture using modern materials. He started as a puppeteer and model maker for television and films, his work for the film “Labyrinth” being the most notable. He has had no formal art training and his sculptures grew out of his work in film.

Mueck’s sculptures are hard to ignore. The scale ranges from the gigantic to the pygmy size, but life-sized figures are notably absent. The sculptor says: “I never made life-size figures because it never seemed to be interesting. We meet life-size people every day.” The technique he uses relies on chicken wire armatures covered in plaster and clay, over which are painted layers of coloured polyester resin. He also uses silicone, real and artificial hair and fur. Hairs, nails and other details are then added to give an amazingly realistic appearance to the figures.

Looking at a Mueck sculpture one is firstly awed by the sheer scale of the enormous figures, or intrigued by the amazing detail of the small figures. Secondly, there is an element of confrontation – you have to make your mind up about them very quickly. Most people like them or hate them immediately. Many people find the sculptures threatening or creepy. I did not dislike them, but would not go out of my way to acquire one, if I had the money to do so.

There is a message inherent in sculpture such as Mueck’s. The greatly realistic appearance of the sculptures forces the observer to develop a “relationship” with the figures, although their disparity in scale creates a tension and a belligerence that demands attention. The nakedness of many of his sculptures is also something that shocks many viewers and the ordinary appearance of real people that mirrors most of us has an effect that invites the viewer’s self examination and introspection.

Mueck’s art is approachable, confronting, hard to ignore. It shocks many and invites comparisons. It is the art of controversy and popularity, easily absorbed into mass culture and marketability. However, it does ask some probing questions, the most important one that it generated for me being: “What does it mean to be human?”

SAPPHO AND AVATON

“Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables” - Sappho

A quiet day today and an even quieter evening tonight. For Music Saturday, something old and new at the same time. Something exotic and something indigenous… A curious mixture of the genuine and the imagined. A Greek progressive music group of the 1990s that took inspiration from ancient poems and imagined ancient music. The group is called “Avaton” and here is their rendition of one Sappho’s poetic fragments:

Αεριων επεων αρχομαι αλλ’ονατων [ε] γω το καλλος επιτ[μεζον]…
οφθαλμοις δε μελαις νυκτος αωρος και ποθηω και μαομαι ουκ οιδοττι θεω
διχα μοι τα νοηματα κατ’ εμον σταλαχμον
ου τι μοι υμμες ας θελετε υμμες [ο] ττινας
γαρ ευ θεω κηνοι με μαλιστα παντων σινοντα[ι]
εγω δ’εμ’[αυται τουτο συ]νοιδα
μη κινη χεραδος ου γαρ θεμις εν μοισοπολων οικιαι
θρηνων εμμεν
ου κ’αμμι ταδε πρεποι
ΣΑΠΦΩ (≈620 BC - 570 BC)

I start my song with ethereal soft words. In my life I served beauty.
Along the night, when dark sleep captures my eyes and desire burns me and excites my body,
I know not what to do: my mind is divided drop after drop the pain within me…
No, it’s not you who for me, as much you want it,
For they whom I benefit injure me most...
Yes, I have placed this deep in my mind and I know it.
Leave the pebbles and don’t mix them up. Lamentations are not be heard into poets’ homes.
Such things are not appropriate for us.
SAPPHO (≈620 BC - 570 BC)

GOULASH

“Every man who possibly can should force himself to a holiday of a full month in a year, whether he feels like taking it or not.” - William James

Well, I took Wiliam James’ advice and forced myself to have a holiday. I shall have eight days off rather than a month, but already I am greatly looking forward to it. We have nothing planned, but who knows, we may go away or we may stay at home. It all depends on what is available and how we feel. One thing is for certain, I shall not be at work on Monday!

Another wonderful winter dish for today’s Food Friday. I remember visiting Budapest many years ago, now and tasting the authentic version of this dish in a little tavern in the suburbs – it was delicious!

HUNGARIAN GOULASH
Ingredients
60     g butter
2    tablespoonfuls of oil
1    kg lean stewing steak cut into 2 cm cubes
1/2    kg onions
1    clove garlic, crushed
2    tablespoonfuls paprika
150    mL water
1    bay leaf
1/2    kg small new potatoes, peeled
salt and ground pepper to taste
sour cream.

Method
Melt the butter with the oil in the cooking saucepan and add the beef cubes when the fat is very hot, browning quickly on all sides. As the meat is sealed, remove from the pan and reserve. Add the chopped onion and cook until golden. Add the paprika, salt, pepper and garlic, the water and bay leaf. Return the beef cubes to the pan and stir to coat them thoroughly with the sauce. Bring to the boil, cover and simmer for about an hour. Stir in the potatoes and continue simmering for a further hour until cooked. Remove the bay leaf and spoon goulash into warmed bowls, spooning the sour cream on top. Serve with a gutsy shiraz or cabernet.

TIME

“It strikes! one, two,
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch,
Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest;
Would thou could'st make the time to do so too;
I'll wind thee up no more.” - Ben Jonson


I can’t believe it will be August in a couple of days time! The year has flown past and before not too long it will be December again. Time and our perception of it is an amazing thing. Sometimes it drags and hors seem like centuries, while other times months whiz past as if they were seconds. I have been so busy at work this year that I think this is what has made me believe the year has flown by. I guess growing older may also have something to do with it…

The older we become and the great our age, the shorter each year becomes relative to those we have lived through. Someone 80 years old sees one year as one eightieth of their life, whereas a child of eight would see one year as one eighth of its life. For a child the year drags on and on, for an older person it flies past. For a lover waiting his beloved, seconds dilate into hours. For a condemned man waiting execution, days become seconds as the day of death draws closer.

The more one thinks of time the more one becomes fascinated and perplexed. It can be seen as a ribbon unwinding and moving ever forward, our finger following it along sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Some say it can only go forward and certainly that is what our ordinary every day experience seems to indicate as the logical thing. However, moving backwards in time is something that has fascinated humans from time immemorial. Fast forward and fast reverse like a video player, perhaps? The typical time machine experience…

Einstein’s relativity theory and the various experiments that have been done to test it out have proven that time is elastic. Time goes slower in heavier gravitational environments. Space-time is curved and the universe is expanding… There is some evidence that time travel may be possible, but not within our lifetime surely!

relativity |ˌreləˈtivətē| noun
1 The absence of standards of absolute and universal application: Moral relativity.
2 Physics the dependence of various physical phenomena on relative motion of the observer and the observed objects, esp. regarding the nature and behavior of light, space, time, and gravity.
The concept of relativity was set out in Einstein's special theory of relativity, published in 1905. This states that all motion is relative and that the velocity of light in a vacuum has a constant value that nothing can exceed. Among its consequences are the following: The mass of a body increases and its length (in the direction of motion) shortens as its speed increases; the time interval between two events occurring in a moving body appears greater to a stationary observer; and mass and energy are equivalent and interconvertible. Einstein's general theory of relativity, published in 1915, extended the theory to accelerated motion and gravitation, which was treated as a curvature of the space-time continuum. It predicted that light rays would be deflected and shifted in wavelength when passing through a substantial gravitational field, effects that have been experimentally confirmed.

YANNIS RITSOS

“Force is all-conquering, but its victories are short-lived.” - Abraham Lincoln

For Poetry Wednesday today, Yannis Ritsos (1909–90), a Greek poet. He is one of modern Greece’s most widely translated poets and moved from an early concern with classical themes and style to a more deeply personal lyricism. His writing reflects family tragedies, a stay in a tuberculosis ward, and his political engagement against dictatorship that earned him periods of deportation and house arrest. He served time in prison camps during 1947-1952 and after the 1967 coup, thence living under house arrest or surveillance. He took moral power from his poems, and spoke of political enemies with compassion rather than bitterness.

Some of his best known works include: Tractor (1934), and Pyramids (1935). These two works  achieve a fragile balance between faith in the future, founded on the Communist ideal, and personal despair. Epitaph (1936). This was a lengthy poem which uses the mechanics of traditional poetry but expresses in a clear and simple language a message of fraternity and brotherhood. Vigil (1941-1953), and  Districts of the World (1949-1951). These were written from his experiences in prison camps, which occurred because of the Greek civil war and his stance against the Fascists

Later works marked Ritsos’ development and maturity as a Poet: The Moonlight-Sonata  (1956) – When Comes the Stranger (1958), The Old Women and the Sea (1958),  The Dead House (1959-1962) This is a long monologue partly inspired by the ancient Greek mythology and the ancient tragedies:  A characteristic of his latest poems such as: Late in the Night (1987-1989) is that they are filled with sadness and the awareness of suffering. But in a humbly poetic way Ritsos preserves a gleam of hope in his creative tragedy.

With These Stones
Yannis Ritsos

An unexpected wind blew. The heavy shutters creaked.
Leaves were lifted from the ground. They flew away, flew away.
Until only stones remained. Now we must make do with these –
he kept repeating – with these, with these. When night descended
the great, inky mountainside, he threw our keys into the well.
Ah, dear stones—he said—one by one I'll chisel
the unknown faces and my body, with its one hand
tightly clenched, raised above the wall.

May 30, 1968

Ageing
Yannis Ritsos

Saturday, Sunday, Saturday again – and before you know it, Monday.
A quiet dusk without colour, or trees, or chairs.
We have nothing to spend. The old pitcher on the dinner table;
the plates, the glasses, the sad hands, the deserted –
the spoon rises; another mouth finds it – but which mouth?
Who eats? Who grows quiet? In the open window
a small, forgotten moon swallows its own spit.
It's not that we're no longer growing fat, but that we're no longer hungry.

June 4, 1968
Partheni concentration camp
Translated by Scott King

CORNFLOWERS OF ST PANTALEON

“To me the ideal doctor would be a man endowed with profound knowledge of life and of the soul, intuitively divining any suffering or disorder of whatever kind, and restoring peace by his mere presence.” - Henri Amiel

We had a disastrous day on the train system today, after a power fault in the city about 5:00 am was caused by an overhead contact cable that broke at North Melbourne train station and triggered a short circuit, affecting the viaduct between Southern Cross and Flinders Street stations. The outage plunged part of the Southern Cross station into darkness and stranded more than half of Melbourne's commuters travelling in and out of this major station. About 400,000 people were affected, but fortunately my train at 7:00 a.m. went through. I was wondering why the Southern Cross station was dark as we were going through it, but I didn’t think twice about it until later on that morning I started getting SMS messages from our staff who were stranded in various parts of the rail network.

Our public transport system is usually fair to good, but every now and then disruptions do occur and then chaos ensues, as happened today. Commuters will be hopefully be mollified on Friday as there is to be free public transport as an apology for the disrupttons today…

The cornflower (bluebottle), Centaurea cyanus, is the birthday flower for this day.  In Greek mythology, Cyanus was a young man who spent his days gathering flowers and adoring Chloris, the goddess of vegetation and flowers. When he died suddenly one day while in a cornfield, Chloris transformed him into the cornflower as a reward for his devotion.  The flower was used as a love oracle.  Carried in a young man’s pocket and surviving till the next day, meant that he would marry his sweetheart. If the flower withered and died, his sweetheart would leave him for someone else.  The petals of the flower yield a blue pigment that miniaturists used commonly in the past.  The flower symbolises delicacy and a dweller of heaven.  Astrologically it is Saturn’s plant under the sign of Libra.
In Faust, Goethe has Margaret speak:
    “Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell
    If my love loves, and loves me well;
    So may the fall of the morning dew
    Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue.”

The Greek Orthodox faith celebrates the feast of St Panteleimon (also known as St Pantaleon) today. He was the son of a wealthy but pagan father and a devout Christian mother. He was born in the late 3rd century in Nicomedia and his mother brought him up as a Christian. He became a doctor and migrated to Rome, becoming a physician in emperor Maximian’s court. The rich life of the court tempted him away from his faith but an encounter with Hermolaus, a Christian priest reawakened a new Christian feeling in him. He sold all his possessions and donated the money to the poor, giving his medical services to all the needy for free. His fellow doctors were amazed by the numbers of miraculous cures he seemed to effect and their envy was instrumental in his denouncement and arrest as a Christian in emperor Diocletian’s persecution of ca 303 AD.  He was to be executed and six times he was miraculously saved, finally being successfully beheaded. He is known as a martyr and healer, the patron saint of cripples and invalids. A Greek proverb proclaims: “All the blind and crippled go to St Panteleimon”.

JULIE & JULIA

“Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” - Harriet van Horne

I was in Brisbane today for work and it was an exhausting day. It is not very good to commute over such long distances as the day becomes tiring and one’s body objects somewhat. I must be getting old! I spent the whole day in a small room with the auditors that we had around, but at least all went well and the trip was successful.

At the weekend we saw an interesting little film, which on reflection was mildly amusing, but otherwise nothing to write home about. It was Nora Ephron’s 2009 “Julie & Julia”. The film is a double biography of famous American cook Julia Child and the less famous Julie Powell, also a cook and author. Meryl Streep who played Child overacted somewhat, just to ensure that everyone knew who the star was in the movie, while the rest of the cast were fairly competent.

The film is a constant hashing backward and forward in time (and place), between 1949 Paris and 2002 New York. In 1949, Julia Child, the wife of a diplomat, tries to spend her days constructively while her hubby (played in a laid back way by Stanley Tucci) works in the embassy. She tries millinery, bridge, and then cooking lessons at the Cordon Bleu school. There she discovers her passion for food and we follow her life until she writes her first cookbook. In 2002, Julie Powell, a public servant and unpublished author, decides to cook her way through Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” in a year and to blog about it.

The stories and the two women’s lives become tangled as there many common elements: Good friends (mostly), loving husbands, and of course the food. The zest of French cooking is conveyed well and the 1949 Paris scenes are well shot. I began to watch the film with interest, but halfway through I started drifting off. It was too long, too repetitive and Julia Child was too much, while Julie Powell was too bratty and had too many tantrums.

Nothing much happens in the film except for cooking and people talking at  one another. I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t in the mood…