On packing suitcases

I am anxious, I am staring at the two suitcases I have; a small one for carry-on and a bigger one, then I also have a backpack for my computer and then I see the heap of books and things that needs to fit in there. Too much. 

The luggage rules of the airline say 23 kilograms for the luggage and max 10 kilograms for carry-on luggage. The problem isn’t just fitting in all the material things I have managed to accumulate in the past two years, because more heavy than the objects I wish to carry home is the thought of fitting in a life lived.   Because these two years were not just an episodic trip with souvenirs of strange things, places and sounds, but an experience of great change, connections and emotions.  How do one fit such an important moment of self-realisation and personal growth into a suitcase? How would one carry it back, how would one reconcile with both the past as well the unknown waiting at home? 

Looking at my heap of accumulated things, it isn't just the thought that I might not come back that overwhelms me, but the realisation that it is the closing of a chapter, and while new wonderful things might await me,I am a little sad to say goodbye to what has been an incredible time of my life.As I am filing through old papers, notes, maps, as I am folding up and throwing away, I take account of the things I've seen, of who I've loved and all of the great stories there is to tell. Oh dear,I need some tea, the packing is making me reflective and a little melancholic. 

Getting home and other adventures

I am back in sweet South Africa. It has been a tough year, so being home, in the presence of family and old friends is a much needed balm to my wounds. I've been counting the days to come home, and I have to say that tears of relief came when my aeroplane took of  Saturday night.

 In fact it was a little bit like a dam wall that was flooding, it started in the first take off, then stopped for a while and then I almost missed my flight during the change over in Paris (is that not the craziest biggest airport ever?) due to a luggage  irregularity and the tears started again.When I finally took my seat in the big Air France Boeing to Johannesburg.I basically sobbed out loud during the entire take off almost up until the point where they served us our first meal, poor guy sitting next to me. When I walked through those airport doors and saw my parents it all came out again, luckily this time my mom cried with me. But what a nice feeling to be home, albeit that Pretoria has changed so much that I almost don't recognise it. 

Today I went to Johannesburg for my research. I took the Gautrain there and then took the wrong bus and got a little bit lost in the inner city. For those who don't know South Africa, the inner city have had a reputation for not being the safest of places, especially for lonely girls. But what different eye opening experience. People are so kind in Johannesburg. Everyone were just so helpful and concerned. It started with me in the wrong place asking for directions pointing to spot on my printed out google map, and so this continued for a while, where most people just tend to point me to security guards. At some point a security guard pointed me to a hotel which has a taxi service for the people that stay in the hotel. The hotel receptionist was so kind and helpful, got me into their taxi, and even offered to stop at an atm so I can draw some cash. Arriving at the ATM there was an incredibly long cue, and the guy then had to take their customers to their place, they left me there, promising to come back. 

While waiting for the hotel taxi I struck up a conversation with a guy called Themba who fixes refrigerators and things - if anyone in Joburg needs their refrigerators fixed, I got his number, he really seems like a nice guy with a desire to do things. I chatted with him and his friends for a while until they had to go work. I then stood their waiting until a concerned lady working at the bank walked up to me, expressing that it is not safe for me as a girl to stand their by myself, and whether she can help me. Saying that if these people do not show up for me in 10 minutes time, she is going to get someone to accompany me to a bus stop. Ten minutes later she sent someone to accompany me, and we head of the nearest bus stop. Unfortunately it wasn't the right bus and we had to conceive of another plan.So my next plan was to walk to the next street (which was a one way in the direction I need to be) and take a taxi. Once again for most privileged white kids like myself, the perception of the taxi,  the taxi is a little mini bus that is the standard form of transportation here in SA for most people who cannot afford a car, it is one of danger and exploitation and something that should be avoided, that is the general perception.Never the less, this seemed like my option and I decided I will have some faith. The guy told me the hand sign to call a taxi, and so I did. 

Next to me stopped a yellow mini bus driver with three lady passengers, I asked if he could take me to the place pointing on my now crumpled up google map print out. Unfortunately also he didn't quite understand where it was, but never the less offered to take me to someone who could help me. He stopped where there was one of the Johannesburg security officials (these guys are all over the inner city streets) and when I offered to pay he said no it is for free, he then had to leave to take his other passengers on their way. One of the sweet ladies in the taxi got off at the same stop and walked with me to the security and didn't leave until she knew that I was taken care off (it seems a white young girl on her own in that area really was quite a cause for concern). The security guard then called me another taxi, explained exactly where I had to go, and made the drive swear that he would take care of  me and get me there. Reassuring me when I got in: "don't worry,this guy is a brother, you can trust him". And so he did get me to my destination safely and did not overcharge me either. 

I wish I somehow managed to get all these people's names through all of my confusion, but the movement was to fast. It was such a rythm the city, people moving everywhere, taxis, cars, busses, and yet people could take the time to concern themselves over me, some stranger in the city. When I left today, I felt like I in fact had an adventure, and I got to see the inner city of Johannesburg (not just the regenerated parts) which I wanted to photograph, but must admit that I was (perhaps unnecessarily paranoid) too scared to take out my camera.Perhaps I was lucky, but maybe it is actually just that the inner city isn't as dismal as we have become accustomed to think.

Waiting for the tram, Milan

What gets you through the day,Milan

The philosophy of the giant leaf

I've been back for two weeks now after spending a month in Kassel participating in the Maybe Education program at the Documenta 13. I will post still a few pictures from Kassel  once I have the time ( I’ve been spending hours trying to clean up my  computer which is having more mini breakdowns than me).

I've been having a rough few weeks. It is partly because of the seasons changing which tends to bring an onslaught of melancholy my way, but more so it is that my heart is a little broken, my money is running out and I am feeling completely lost and  confused as to the direction my life is supposed to be going.  This last point has to do with the fact that I have only a thesis (which also adds to my stress) left to finish and then I am done with my course here in Milan, I am kind of wondering what I am supposed to do when I am done. It is hard to believe that 2 years is almost over. All of this makes me feel all very lonely.

I’ve been treating this depression in my usual way; I drink too much tea and either starve myself or eat too much sugar.  I then follow on this by breaking out in tears randomly in inappropriate places such as on the metro, in the supermarket or the elevator on my way to pay my landlady.  Furthermore I make sure that I call my friends often to prevent myself from slipping into that dark place where I will eat only two frankfurters a day and listen to Phantom of the Opera too many times. Thank heavens for my friends; they are the best  bunch a girl could ask for. If it wasn’t for those drinks at Cape Town (which is a great bar in Milan not the city in South Africa) or our dinners where we cook together, I think I would definitely be lost here.

So Friday on my way to the supermarket while I was having one of those sidewalk-weeping sessions I discovered this giant leaf on the sidewalk. Today I picked up an even bigger one. So of course you might think that this story has no point, but picking up this giant leaf that’s width is the same as my shoulder width, reminded me of noticing things. Too often we get so stuck in the rut that we forget to count our blessings and see where we are at. So I took this giant leaf and hung it up in my room, as a reminder that one needs to get up and go out to discover treasures, it is better to put on your shoes and coat and cry in the street, then sit alone in a room,  who knows there might be even bigger leaves out there. Yes these things in life is like my path to the supermarket, it can seem so mundane, and sometimes I have to walk it while crying, or dodging footballs, but it is only by walking it that one notices the treasures and that one gets to the chocolate shelf.

La bella vita

This year has already passed in such velocity that I find it hard to keep up with all the things that I need to and want to do in the time that I have left here - it includes writing anything on this blog. I have been reluctant also to write to personal things here lately, as I really don't know so much how I feel about sharing it all with strangers, and also that it would not interest people (judging from the statistics of my blog, it is not just my family reading it any more. But a few people have been sending me some worried messages after a few negative status updates on Facebook, and I have not had any time to write long letters to anyone, so I want to use this platform to send out a quick update.

Summer has arrived in Europe - albeit a very unstable one at that. It has been raining a lot this month, and we also had an earthquake (what a strange feeling to wake up and feel like you are on a boat) but the past few days have been just lovely out and I have been indulging in the things that make Italian summer wonderful.  I am still stressed because exams are right around the corner and I am still nowhere near anywhere in terms of preparation for it. Tonight however  Iv'e decided to take some time just to reflect a little bit on the things I am happy about and to breathe a little. So just as a remedy to all those who always here me complain about everything, here I list a few of the things I absolutely love about my life right now. 

I have handed in a thesis proposal on Friday which is a huge relief for the moment.

There are two things Italians are the best in making;  gelato and cappuccinos. Really there is no better pick me up then these. I would recommend people to come to Italy even just for these two things. 

Italian cooking. I learnt how to make eggplant parmegiano last week from one of our classmates. It was delicious. 

Cheap wine. In Italy you can still get a good wine even if it is cheap. In South Africa buying cheap wine is usually a bit of a gamble, you either end up with some good wine or really really bad wine. Here though, one can be sure of wine still being absolutely drinkable at 3 euros per bottle. (Sometimes even less if you find it on sale in the supermarkets).

Travel, It is so easy to travel from here. I am heading to Paris this weekend. I am so excited

I have great opportunities ahead. Going to take part in a program at the Dokumenta in Kassel. I am super super lucky. 

I have amazing friends all over the world. That makes me rich.

Lastly, I love these summer nights, they buzz, people are outside and the sun goes down late. Makes you feel like there are more hours in the day and when the sun sets it cools down a little and some nights you can even see two stars.

Welcome Spring!!!

Finally March is drawing to a close and I cannot be happier. I despise February and March! The winter just becomes too long, the Naviglio  (the canal in the street close to where I stay) is just empty and disgusting, revealing everything that people dump in it, including a stench which makes the daily walk to school quite nasty. March also seems to be the month of homesickness, me and my fellow foreign student friends all felt quite down and out in these days. With lots of classes and lots of pressure, everyone seemed just a little bit on the edge lately.

But now spring starts to settle in here in the Northern hemisphere, and the trees start to show little buds of green, while the hedge down below my apartment is covered in yellow flowers.  The weather allows for strolls outside and wearing dresses with tights and gelato. Hopefully soon the Naviglio will get its water back.  The end of March brings some relief as sweet April with all its goodness is on its way.  April bring Easter holiday ( me and my friends are heading to Spain) and spring picnics.  

Bosco Verticale, Milano

At the moment the skyline of  the neighbourhood Isola  in Milan is dominated by large cranes and construction. These visions of progress seems to represent the opposite of how a lot of the citizens of Italy experience it. Amongst  these constructions is the Vertical forest designed by architect Stefano Boeri. While I quite like the idea of it and the design concept; the reality of it is quite something else. These apartments will cost more then most people can afford and instead of being seen as positive thing in the community of Isola, it becomes a symbol of the gentrification that has been taking place over the past few years. This has led to the already very cement area to become even more grey, and it has also taken away the spaces used by the community, there is no longer a park (apart from the future park that will be there for the inhabitants of the obviously not very inclusive Vertical forest ) or community centre, something they have requested several times with constructive proposals.  Read more about the community's struggle here (unfortunately all in Italian) and in english and italian on the website of the Isola Art Centre. This  situation lets me wonder what the point of good design is if it is at the cost of others?  

Chic winter girls

Europe in general have been incredibly cold these last two weeks, in fact they say that Italy is experiencing one of its coldest winters in 30 years. I also happened to be in Berlin for one of the coldest weekends ever, I think at one point it was about - 18'degrees or something.  All I know is the weather made me feel hysterical  for most parts of my weekend. What fascinated me most was how the Berlin girls managed to look so chic even in the coldest of weather. I of course was the opposite of winter chic, I piled on everything  I had in my suitcase. I call the look yeti-chic, the many layers causing me to also walk like one too. Winter 1: Edna 0

2012 here we are!!!

Wow, my first post for 2012. Where have I been, its 1 February today? Well after a wonderful Christmas back in my homeland South Africa with family and friends (where the most activity lifting my hand to lift my glass of wine) I am back in Milan and preparing for exams,  a thesis proposal,  a trip to Berlin this weekend to go to this exhibition that the dear Carlo Spiga  is apart of. I hope I can take pictures of some of it.  I am a little bit scared though, they say it is going to -10 degrees. So while we knee deep in winter here, I will relish for a few minutes the summer days on South western coast of South Africa.  Buon Anno everybody!!!!

Friends

I have been pretty blessed in my life to have made some really awesome friends, and here in Milan it is no exception. They really are people I could count on and then they are also a wonderfully talented bunch too. Most of them are artists who enrich my life with their perspectives and humour and inspire me with their discipline. I've come love them like family. So on my art blog I will be doing a little feature on each of them soon. Read it here.  

(Below are a few photos of my favourites. The first one was taking by Wei-Ning on our last night out, the rest was all taken by me through out the year)

 

A family trip: Portrait of my mother.

Having been away from home now for 8 months my excitement kept me awake the week before my parents and sister arrived here at  Cadorna station, and when they arrived it felt like have never been away from them. So on that excited state we parted from Milan central station for a trip starting in Tuscany, making a turn in the Alps and ending in Milan.

Going on holiday together as a family is not something new to me. This is one of the important things my father worked into our years since I’ve been a child. It was not necessarily anything luxurious yet these childhood travels through South African landscaped lies embedded in my mind as joyful childhood memories.  However I have not travelled with my parents in years, and I’ve never travelled with them as a grown-up. With my new perspective of travel  and perhaps this part of growing older  it made me look at my parents in a different way, it was sometimes frustrating  but mostly quite entertaining, and somehow  illuminating in who I am.

My mother is a lady. I have never heard her utter a crude word in my life, never heard her shout and she always drinks her tea from a pot.  When we have guests things are served properly and when it is a special occasion the good silver is taken out.  She is also very shy and sometimes it seems has this thing where she needs the confirmation of others to make a choice, but at the same time she has very strict ideas of what is wrong and right, even though she would never impose it on someone. My mother has been brought up to be completely proper. She was raised in the height of Afrikaner nationalism in Pretoria, in the times when children must be seen and not heard, where women got bad reputations for “promiscuity” and where most things they saw were under the conservative censorship of the then government**.  On top of that they were raised  in kind of high society Pretoria of those days, my grandmother have always been the perfect host and was featured sometimes in the society pages for the dresses she wore to functions. This makes my mother often care too much of what other people think.

The problem is this, my uncle always said to me that in my case the apple falls very far from the tree; I am not shy, much more flexible on my ideas and I am definitely not as conservative. Yet the older I get, the more I am aware of my complete resemblance to my mother, I talk like her, I look like her, I tend to express anger like her and I have inherited al lot of the same insecurities. This was a scary thought for me at first, yet once I observed the situation more closely I realised that it’s also from her which I’ve gotten that thing which has allowed me to have a life full of  amazing friendships. It is from her that I learnt to be soft, to be loyal, paying attention to my friends, baking cookies for everyone for no reason, to keep the peace, be diplomatic and that clean sheets and a well made bed is the best thing in the world, and that little things count.  These qualities are which made her a wonderful mother. She always made sure I had tissues on me, a habit I still have now and I am lucky for, one always need those at some point.  It is she who made me tea every afternoon after school, who put flowers on my bedside table when I came to visit from university and who listened to me moan for hours about the same topic on boyfriends that broke my heart.  She always has time for people and it is something that I have inherited that I hope I will never lose. 

** talk about no exposure 

When the cat is gone

I am now in Milan after a trip with my parents, and it is true what people told me; Milan is a ghost town this time of year.  It is very lonely! The upside though is that my house-mate is also on holiday which leaves the apartment free for me to sing and dance,  the best is I don't even have to put on pants :-D I am actually supposed to get some work done but I spend a lot of it creating mixes to dance around with. So here is my underwear-sing-out-loud-because-the-neighbours-aren't-here dance list :) . 

1. She's got you high - Mumm-ra
2. Warrant - Foster The People
3. Campus - Vampire Weekend
4. After Hours - We are scientists
5. Somebody That I Used To Know - Gotye ft. Kimbra
6. Just like heaven - The Cure
7. Rolling in the deep  (Villa remix) - Adele
8. Crazy for you - Best Coast

Summer in Milan

Summer in Milan comes with a few challenges. Number one: the weather, with high  humidity (some days an average of 56) and temperature soaring up to 32 degrees  one really  starts to wish for a bedroom that does not face the late afternoon sun. I now wear tiny sun dresses for the most part and sit around in my underwear where possible.

Second challenge which comes along with the heat and the humidity is that of the mosquitoes. These bloodsucking parasites of Milan are super creatures; high level buildings and clothes are not a challenge to them. You will get bitten, and the bite stings. It also leaves very prominent pink bumps which if you scratch it looks like you have some skin disease.  And they will bite you several times, and they choose the places which are most uncomfortable for you like on your fingers, toes and the inside of you thigh, with the placement just right so that it would be inappropriate to scratch yourself in public. I have now counted 3 on each foot (of which 2 are on my toes), 2 on my one thigh, and one on the other, one on my finger, one on my knee, one behind my knee and one of my calf.  

Then there is the third challenge: EXAMS! Now the exams here in Italy are a completely different process than South Africa and if you are  not used to it the process can be compared to Chinese torture.

First of all, they refer to this exam often as an interrogation. Exams are done orally. One has 10 minutes to discus all you know with the teacher. In the most part it doesn’t start by them asking you question but it starts by them looking at you with eager empty faces and then them saying: “Start!” So there I sit in front of them and I hardly know where to start! So here I discovered my weakness, I am really good at preparing for written exams, and it requires you to prepare the minimum and you usually then have an hour to formulate your thoughts around the knowledge base.  It is not so easy to formulate something in 10 minutes that sounds like something, also I realised that I have a tendency to be distracted easily when I talk. I go from one point to a completely random point.  I felt at most part like I said nothing.

The worst part of the exam however was the way it is organised. Your timetable states the exam is on a specific date and starting at a specific time. You then show up at that time, and they circulate a paper on which you list your name, and then you wait for your turn according to that list –taking in consideration that some lectures needs coffee and smoke breaks. For example my first exam start at 9:30 but I only did my exam at 14:00. For the waiting part everyone else sits in the same class where you are being interrogated. So if the build up in the wait and listening to everyone else doing their exams (wondering if you are able to say as much as they just did) didn’t make you nervous enough, you have the entire class listening to you when you do yours. Exams in general I find painful, but these are a slow torture.

However I made it through and passed all of them with good marks, and now I still have four more to do in September which will end my first year of my masters.  Between the heat, the mosquitoes and exams however there are the great things:  Gelato, watermelons,  cappucio freddo (coffee and milk on ice), green parks, summer storms (which reminds me of home), summer holiday coming soon and then starting the first weekend in July the SUMMER SALE!! So if you excuse me I have to work some so that I can go do some shopping tomorrow.

--- To come: 

I still need to write about the Venice Biennial ---

The MACHINE must go on.

Despite my good intentions to post regularly and to keep this blog entertaining and as informative source of my well-being to the people back home, the usual thing which is called life happened. Romantic-visions-of-living-in-a-different-country aside, it still becomes your life at some point and then the usual things prevail. Responsibility, friendships and having to eat, sleep and wash your clothes every now and then exists whether you do it in English, Afrikaans or Italian. My life here is pretty full, so here is only a short update of my well-being in list format.

1.  I got a bicycle, its improving my faith in God, I have to pray often because Italians drive like assholes. I love it though; I get to school way faster. I haven’t fallen with it yet.  It has a bell and a basket and the breaks function properly. I love not having a car, I love being outside.

2.     It was my birthday in May, I am now 27, I have not yet grown up properly. The day itself was pretty eventless, but the day before I had a picnic and rode around on my bicycle wearing banana underpants on the outside.

3.     Yes, parents I do eat well, despite my laziness to cook, small budget and affinity to eat too much sugar, I manage to get all the food groups into my diet. I do not seem to have lost weight or gained too much either.

4.     I have become a coffee addict. Un cafe macchiato per favore!!!

5.     Exams is in three weeks. WHAT!! YES!!! And then I am sitting here writing a blog when I am supposed to read Deleuze.

6.     We are working on tons of projects at school. School itself is a godless learning MACHINE, but we are making it work for us.

7.     I got to redo a performance called “Wearable Chairs” by Gianni Pettena. Also got to meet him. We learn a shit load of the 60’s and 70’s and art.

8.      I am making art (or trying to). My room is a mess in the process. Also making a huge sculpture with Edith and Leah (pictures will be posted once it’s done).  Love working with them. We get each other’s humour. We laugh a lot. A LOT!!! Love them. Good friendships are founded on humour I think.

9.     We are organising an exhibition - check it here.  Working with 30 students, no joke. Makes me swear in all 3 languages I know. Also NABA doesn’t clean the spaces for us, so we were carrying heavy stuff and doing cleaning. My body is in pain today. On the upside of this, I got to see skinny Italian men, wearing skinny jeans carrying heavy things. The relationship between muscle, weight and body mass defied all scientific logic when you see a skinny slightly feminine boy carrying something which is twice his size (it’s the small things in life which delights me).

10.  Summer is here and it is hot. I get to wears skirts. Sun cream is really expensive here. I have gotten a tan (or at least for my white skin, something which resembles a slight colour). GELATO is fantastic, and I am addicted to cappucio freddo  - milk on ice topped with espresso.... ja ja

11.  Oh yeah, going to the VENICE BIENNALE ja ja ja!!

Ok, thats that. Oh, yes also my English grammar and spelling is deteriorating, and I have not time to edit things. I am dealing with it. 


I hope to update at some point with pictures and anecdotes. But right now I am off to school to hang up our exhibition.

A short break - Friendship and stroopwafels

I have had no time to write lately, also sometimes just not the inspirations and at most time just not the energy.  But it is Easter holiday now and I am writting from Amsterdam while stuffing my face with stroopwafels. It is my fourth visit to this city, and everytime I arrive I am happy to be here, I love this city.  People on bicycles (the air here is way cleaner then in Milan), a language where I recognise the words and well this city with its canals is just so picturesque.  But the best part of it is that I am vistiting my besty Lise who has been living here since 2008.

One often has very romantic ideas about travel, and in a lot of ways those ideas are true, but when one moves to a country for a longer period then a touristic visit one is also faced with the harsh realities of dislocation. It is not a temporal sense of dislocation that one enjoys and then returns home and put in a photoalbum to look back on. One is living alone far away from home, with people often being so different from you in culture, language and belief which hard as it forces you to confront you own ideas, beliefs, culture. While this is not a bad thing, the process in itself can be quite disruptive to the system, it is a series of breaking things down and building things up, finding an idendity in another space. One does not have the same luxury of quickly calling a friend who believes exactly the same as you to call when you are experiencing an exitstentialist crisis. It is a challenge one can not foresee or understand unless you have done the same.  And one that will not leave you unchanged.

By then one has this realisation that by the time you will return back home, that home will probably not feel that home anymore. One has this fear that when you get there you will be so different that one wouldn’t find your space there either.  One also has a fear to somehow betray yourself, and its a violent process of holding on to things and letting go of others.In this half way there space is a longing to just touch base somewhere.

 What amazing thing a good friend is. We have not seen each other in months, and in the time we have been changed.  We share a tiny mattress sleeping “kop voet” (the skill of sleeping with on head on the one side of the bed and the other on the other side) like one needs when one doesn’t have enough beds, something we learnt already in the early years of our friendship at University. One can be happy with so little. And now many years later, older, two very different people from our original wide eyed days, we can still find honesty, I can still feel like myself and I am able to piece together little pieces of myself, albeit a little rearanged. And we can still laugh at each other’s jokes; we still understand each other even though we are different. A good friend brings home, no matter where you are.

Delusions (Spring in Milan)

He was sitting with me in the park,  the heat makes one lazy, and the heat makes one foolish, and the blossoms and the blue sky makes one want to indulge in something and I couldn't resist in saying something to  what most of my friends at home would shake their head for and go “Ai Edna!!!”   I told him that  know that it is not love, that the chemistry we experience can be mostly blamed on hormones , but I don’t care, I wan’t to kiss  him and I want to indulge, he opened pandora’s box! He smiled and said he was afraid of the consequences. But he was delightful in the sunglight and looked so cool with his sunglasses and the sun was warm on my back.  Consequences are for winter.  And so foolishly I kissed him in the sun and in that moment Milan seemed perfect. I got burnt by the sun completely.  Perhaps in the future I will remember to wear sunscreen and keep my guard up for such indulgences, maybe take some water to save me from delusions, but delusions often make wonderful source material....

Venice (Final part -finally)

Here is the final and very late part of our Venice trip, I've been delayed by a million other things(some of which I will share at some point), including internet problems. But here it is,Venice Part III!!!

When you walk out of the train station at Venice you are imediately transported to some other dimension in time. Venice is truelly beautiful with its canals and old buildings and gondoliers, one’s imagination runs back to thoughts of old romantic courtships on balconies and love letters. At the same time the aesthetics becomes almost a bit artificial as these old buildings are maintained in contemporary times.

With the carnival there are also the costumes and the masks. You find a range of costumes from period costumes to just plain bizarre costumes – a man in a snail suit and a creepy man with many hands to mention only a few.  Between crystals, feathers and bizarre characters it feels more like one is in a fantasy.  Perhaps it is this strange feeling of unreality that gives way for the strange behaviours and excess that people allow themselves at carnival.  The memories of the day seems slightly unreal as I remember us squatting in the streets, wandering aimlessly, seeing to much, my friends kissing strangers and me attacking someone...

Most of the day we spent wandering the streets; gazing at the dozens of people in costumes. By sunset we found ourselfs in the big plain overwhelmed by the spectacle. By then most people has already been drinking all day and it is with these strange surroundings that events started turning in to craze.  By now it is not strange anymore that random people take pictures of random people. Everything is spectacle there is Darth Vader, a Jedi, a very tall man, a women dressed in gold, name it.

We did not think it strange shortly after sunset when guys dressed as prisoners asked to take a picture with us (even though we were not dressed in costume). As we were posing for pictures with these random men one of them seemed to find a particular liking in me. Of course one does not think anything at first, being a little intoxicated by wine and spectacle one isn’t immediately aware of the events that could follow. So when the man put his arm around me and looked at me with a big smile I did not anticipate that his lips would all of a sudden move in towards me, and if it was perhaps just a kiss I could’ve accepted it, but what was to follow was so absurd that I did not exaclty know at that point whether I should laugh of cry. As his lips came close and my head slightly bobs away his tongue shot out with determination to enter my mouth.  In disgust I pinched my lips togehther pulled away as much as possible.  The resitance did not seem to discourage him, infact he just readjusted his plan and instead of sticking his tongue in my mouth he opted for licking my face instead. My dear friend looked on and we can still not really know why she just stood there looking at us and why I myself seemed to be so passive in the process of escaping him. I did dodge him after that but my face felt kind of sticky for the rest of the night. What is funny though is that his friend seemed to have tried the exact same thing with my friend Winnie.

As the night progressed the fools became more.  One of our travel companions of the day got lost at some point during his search for a bathroom and was only able to find us two hours later.

When the night got really late we moved from the events of the big plain in search of other parties, food and bathrooms.  We wandered the tiny streets, found a slice of pizza on the way and found plenty of strangers to have strange conversations with.  It was after one when reached a club that played strange regae music.

The club filled up more and more as night (or by this time morning) progressed.  There were tons of strangers making out, and tons of men trying to pull their moves on any girl that might have accidently cast a glance at them. There were plenty of men making an effort to come bump and grind (gosh I had that, why would I want to dance like that?), and plenty of men groping at me at random points.  I don’t know if it was just a little bit too much alcohol, tiredness or the strange atmosphere but all the groping and people pushing, but it got me feeling a little aggressive.  I at some point remeber using really rude language which I could never repeat to tell a guy to please leave me alone. In my defence, this guy continously touched me and stood way to close to me, and he was creepy and had long dreadlocks which looked like they might carry 300 different lice species.

Perhaps before I describe my next moment of craziness one needs some understanding of my reality to gain perspective on the event that followed. Now, for South Africans, crime is a reality, we all know someone personally that has been affected by violent crime at some level.  Guns to me is not something you play with, it is a weapon of destruction.  At some point after  I have been groped at too many times and I was already extremely tired a man appeared out of nowhere into our little dancing circle and pointed a gun into my face. My first reaction was of such complete terror which made me jump at the guy to grab the gun from his hands.  I completely aggresively attacked the guy, only to realise that it was infact ofc ourse a plastic toy gun. But at that point I was so angry I grabbed the gun from him anyway and try to break it and hit him with it.  I got such a fright that I was completely angered by the sittuation and needed to go outside to breathe and I almost broke out in tears. 

By then all I wanted was to go home.  Eventually I manage to get a free bottle of water from the barman (I think he could see I was in a crazy state) for me to calm down. By then though we found it time to leave and find our way back to the train. It took friendly strangers (well the one was making out with my friend so he had to be friendly) to direct us, me sort of carrying,sort of dragging my other friend who found her capacity to walk slightly affected at that point, but we made it to the train , happy to finally sit down. 

# Please excuse me for typos, spelling and grammatical errors - internetlessness = posting from library which closes in 15 minutes, no time to edit#

Carnivale di Venezia (part two)

On Saturday morning at about 5:20  I got up to  meet my friend Edith at 6:15, Romolo station, from there we took the metro to  Central Station, to catch our train to Venice departing at 7:25 with the rest of our friends. The plan was to spend the day and party through the night and return on the train which departed the next morning at five.

We were informed to be there early to find seats, and good advise it was.  By 7:00 the train was full but there was still passengers entering. By departure most coaches were filled with people standing, and as we stopped at other cities on the way, it filled up more. Like sardines in a tin people stood together as more passengers squeesed in making it impossible for anyone to move anywhere. 

As the train filled up, people eyed us lucky ones with seats with discontent, the levels of discontent rising as the corridors of the train gets fuller and fuller, making the air smell like toilet. It also became particularly uncomfortable when the ones who ended up standing next to us in the corridor were two young couples who continuously made out with each other during the three hour trip.

I became particularly greatful for our seats as the trip continued and it became apparent that I should not have had that cup of tea to wake me up.   Not being able to get up and go to the toilet, I accepted my fate that I will have to just bite my upperlip for another hour and 40 minutes.  At least I could convince myself that sitting with bladder discomfort is way better than to stand while trying to keep it together and inside.   

Eventually we arrived and the first thing we needed to find was a bathroom, the bathroom wasn’t so hard to find but it had a cue almost as long as the Great Wall of China, this made me dash back into one of the empty trains to find  a toilet. I found one with only four people cueing, only to get inside to realise that it must be the most disgusting place I’ve been in.  This I realised required some planning, one does not want to touch anything, thus it requires lifting your coat, while squating over the toilet and concentrating on (and I stress this) not touching anything.  By then four people were waiting outside the door with the same urgency, and if there is one thing I can’t do is pee under pressure. It is hard enough as it is relaxing one’s bladder muscles (I have no idea how one would call that) while squating, relaxing while someone is knocking on the door every few seconds makes it pretty much impossible.

So without relief I gave up and hoped that we will find a descent bar very soon.  Finding a bar quickly during carnival in Venice was another thing. There were so many people all concentrated into the narrow streets of Venice that we moved like a herd of cattle huddled together very slowly. So even if the bar seemed quite close in sight it still took at least 20 minutes to get to it. I cannot expres the happiness I felt when we finally arived at the bar and I could use a descent quite clean toilet. That feeling of relief, well it is priceless.

This wasn’t the only time when we experienced bladder discomfort, with tons of people at the carnival finding a bathroom became quite the ordeal. It became a mission finding a balance between the amount of liquids taken and the calculation of available bathrooms.

At some point during the night (it think it might have been at around one the next morning perhaps) we were walking from the big square to another square, by then most bars were closed and the available public bathrooms seemed non existent. One becomes quite desperate while roaming through the tiny streets and corners of Venice in the dark.  It was in such a desperate moment that our one friend winked us into an isolated side street, she found a bathroom, or that was what our happy minds thought... No, it was not a bathroom, but just a tiny little isolated street, so armed with a tissue we prepared ourselves for the unthinkable: squatting in the street.

While the rest stood guard we took turns to go. Peeing without a toilet for girls has never been the easiest of tasks and doesn’t go fast and care free like with men. One has to plan it carefully to avoid accidently urinating on your own shoes. The tension caused by our knowledge of our crime was enhanced with the continuous muttering of our one friend “Oh I am so sorry Venice, you are beautiful, I can’t believe I just did that!” I was the last to go, and not being a natural camper in general found the task at hand difficult. Just as I got my mind wrapped around the concept and ready to undo my pants men walked by on the far distant side, forcing me to look for a darker corner.

With my darker corner found I took a deep breath and as I loosened the button of my jean, all of a sudden from the top of a balcony, a woman cursed out words at me while almost throwing an entire bucket of water on me. I had to dash. The moment has past I fastened my button again and gave up, feeling somehow relieved that I did not get my chance. Eventually I did find an available bathroom, but we are forever stained with the memory of our intentions...

More to come in next post...

Carnivale di Venezia (part one)

The train on our return from Venice to Milan was silent only buzzing with a few snores and drunken half asleep slurs.  Some passengers slept with their heads bobbing up and down or sidewards, some with their mouths wide open, too exhausted to care about appearances. Some still carried the trails of the past 24 hours;  coriandoli (confetti) in their hair and clothes, a stranger still hanging on their arm or a mask dangling from their bags. Everyone relieved to be able sit down and close their eyes, all utterly exhausted.

At some point during this three and half hour trip however we were abruptly wakened by loud shouting that came like a storm into the coach. I was one of the first to wake up in fright by the shouting coming from the seats behind me.  An ominous looking man with long black dreadlocks shouted at the girl behind me about his bag which he then placed on the seat next to her, saying something about how people wants to steal his bag, the poor girl rattled out of her sleep, trying to explain to him that she really just wants to sleep and wants no trouble. Out of shear shock I hopped up and asked him if he could please keep his voice down to which he replied something in Italian which meant something like going into your ass, but really I was was too tired to really understand his insult.  

The fact that some people were now dissaprovingly looking at him and rolling there eyes only seemed to be like fuel to his fire as he now walked up and down the coach ranting insults to us all. He said something like “you are all asleep, but you are racists and thieves and slaves of arabs” inserting the word “motherfuckers”  after every statement and any other open space left to use the word. He then proceeded to an open seat opposite an Asian man.  The fact that he was Asian immediately made the man adres him. “Where are you from?” he asked with the loudest tone of voice one can possibly immagine, the poor man replied that he is Vietnamese, which didn’t really seem to sink in with the rebel here as he almost started assaulting the poor guy by shouting at him for the capitalism of the Chinese and other wrong doings, calling him ignorant and spoiled and all kinds of other names. He then started frantically looking for his bag, blaming everyone of stealing it, as it was still lying where he left it next to the other girl. He then realised it, grabbed his bag and placed it opposite the Vietnamese man, shouting about how he can not trust him, then repeated his earlier rantings about his disgust in the east.  He then continued to rant at the rest of the bus, calling the Spanish thieves, the Italians corrupt and basically every other existing nation as something negative and always using the word “motherfuckers” repeating it like a mantra.

It took my two friends to walk over 10 coaches to report the matter to the conductor. When the conductors arrived they observed him as he was now doing kicks and slamming the seats with hands.  I have no idea what the conductor said to him, but he managed to talk to the man in calmest of ways and made him leave the train at the next stop. Silence at last.

We could finally return to our numb states. This radical scene seemed almost the appropriate end to one of the crazier days I’ve come by in my life. What an adventure it has been, the carnival of Venice held up to the reputation of carnival offering chaos, absurdity and spectacle... 

To be continued...