LAST 10 MINUTES

Morroco in our hands

Waited in the longest line at the market  in Antwerp for the best sandwich we have ever eaten. Felt like the entire country of Morocco was wrapped in our hands.  All within one freshly baked lavash was: goat cheese, artichokes, marinated mushrooms, garlic, and onions, dolmas, large grilled sweet peppers, a handful of olives, figs, and topped with drippings of honey.   Served with a small glass of sweet mint tea, we sat with it dripping between our legs.  Appetizer, main course and dessert all in one wrap.   Being made behind a gigantic table of filo pies, baklava, olives…olives…with vegetables, every spice you can imagine…mountains of olives.  Rolled ourselves drunk back to our bicycles and could only go back to the room for a nap.

The first 24 hours in Antwerp – A moan from the bathtub

85264 – that is the code that gets us in this building. It forms a cross on the keypad. 120 year old building having known only three owners.

Outside orthodox Jews whiz by in full garb on bicycles..   The kids  are wild – flying down the sidewalk, screeching on the brakes in front of the kosher market.  The men are all serious, but look beautiful in their long beards and flying peyos. Some of the women have one child on the back and one on  the front.  I buy a half pint of fresh Jewish caviar – chopped liver – and a loaf of dark seeded bread.

Then there are the old streetcars that require little from the drivers but using the brakes and selling tickets.

We keep being told how small this town is – but it feels likes a chest of treasures, each one wanting to be rotated slowly in our hand, and tasted.   The streets, like movie sets, feel almost deserted.  The shops, each one special and modern and timeless.  One only sells gloves with such love and enthusiasm, your only decision is purple or orange, pig or calfskin.   Many have a vintage car in the showroom.  Some have colored buttons and sweet grass perfume.   Some have old school desks and skulls under glass.

Lunch of white asparagus, french fries, and pavlova.

Did not fall in love at Dries Van Noten or  Ann Demeulemesster, though they were beautiful.

Fell in love in the bath.

Woke up so slowly.  Shaving cream on my toothbrush

Most tourists want to eat off the english translation, then onto the next city.   We smell the empty kids pool.  We taste the octopus and herring.  We crave touching all the summer wool.  We need to see the negative spaces and the streets with nothing on them.  Then to photograph the street numbers, our food after we finish, the sign with the coffee cup that says, “sandwich” above it in script.

More interested in the ancient zoo, and the glass houses and the perfect imperfection.  The chocolate on a stick you sink into the steaming milk.  Everything that is not in the guidebook.  We stay up at night watching Casablanca in bed.   We wake up and wonder at the light.  The light in our room is a whole vacation in itself.

Chocolate….chocolate….chocolate….

Cologne on May 25

Just before pulling into the train station in Cologne, we saw a large exhibition of photographs up on the bridge.   The were mostly headshots, like we had seen many times in museums, and books – faces of Shoah.   Display  portraits of deportation that public to welcome you into this busy German town in 2010?  We saw them again both ways when we went to Wuppertal.  Then last night, at the end of the day I went up to see them close-up and they were gone.   I walked to both sides of the bridge.  The fence was covered with thousands of little locks, all signed with names of couples in love who threw the keys in the Rhine.  The exhibition was over.

We went to see Marcus Schaden at his remarkable bookshop.  He was in LA, but all the wonderful photography books were there and Richard opened volumes for us.  The gallery owner across the street saw us looking at the incredible Yutaka Takanashi book, and took us over to her gallery where they had an exhibition of Tajanashi.   Back and forth between pictures looking better on the wall or on the printed page.  Both in Takanashi’s case were wonderful, maybe the wall got the edge.  Loved the reflections and the shadows and the sea.

Two years ago I was talking to Marcus Schaden at a festival in Dumbo, at Powerhouse.  He had a table of his books, and while we were talking someone stole his computer.  Didn’t figure it out until he was long gone.   Were able to see the person on a security camera later.  The computer was history.

Feel like there are three of us on this trip.  Stephie, myself, and this baby growing inside.    Looking at little girls clothing.  Maybe Jackson, maybe.

Wuppertal – Inspiration & Sadness

Our whole trip was built around this performance, on May 24th in Wuppertal.  Viktor, an older piece of Pina Bausch.  Our first since she passed away last summer.   Morning bike ride in Amsterdam. Train to Cologne.  Train to Wuppertal.  Wonderful dinner sitting next to Wim Wenders.  Then into the Wuppertal Opera House.  The belly of the beast.  Front row balcony, hot night, no air conditioning. Felt the loss of Pina everywhere, especially in the staging with was in the depths of a huge grave with dirt being shoveled down onto the stage all night. Still there were dancers swinging out over the audience. Still there were those hands dancing, songs of accordions, songs with Fred Astaire. and a stage filled with old friends. Still water spit.

We miss Pina and it is not the same.  Memories are a blur.  No pictures during the performance, please.

Amsterdam – Decompression