St. Marie aux Mines

From a journal entry on 22 June 2007

A table at a cafe on the cobblestone streets of Rebeauville, France--the Alsation region, Vosges mountains surrounding. Anne and I pitched a tent last night above the town of Saint Marie of the Mines at camping du Fenarupt (www.domaine-fenarupt.com) where we met the friendly misfits of France. With the rain at a pause we strolled down the hill, past the hospital and into town--alive with the international gem and mineral exposition. License plates on little cars showed attendees from all over Europe--Denmark, Italy, Germany. Fiats, Peugots, Renoilts--tinz cars to navigate narrow streets--packed for the occassion. We met Dennis, a man of textiles and 50 years of accordian playing as we drank Kronenberg beer to the sound of the town's accordian club orchestra--old and young gathered round. The man that everyone in St. Marie knows, Antoine, shook hands with Dennis and even extended his confident, silent introduction to us. The people seem happy in St. Marie aux Mines--smile lines cresting around the eyes. Beer and Anne's hand-rolled cigarettes (lit kindly by Dennis) were followed by tartes flambe (lard, onion, gruyere, ham, cream) and a pot of meat over sauerkraut. Pinot noir complemented and a man from Paris took our picture. Up the hill after dessert--full and happy under the crescent moon. Pitched the tent next to Thomas, a German gem trader in town for the conference/fair. Slept as it rained and, with Anne's determination, made coffee in the rain upon waking before being ushered into the must-filled, wood-panelled room--the dining space at Camping du Fenarupt in inclement weather. We shared coffee and butter cookies with vagabond Alan and his dog Moustache. We drove away calling "merci, au revoir" out the windows, blowing kisses in the rain as the Camping du Fenarupt staff gestured as if drinking a bottle of wine to let us know there would be festivities in the evening--that we should consider a return visit. We smiled, turned on French pop radio and wound our way through the forest to Ribeauville where we now sit drinking coffee and wirting. The Moselle River is long behind us--our friend the Moselle. Poisong ivy rash on the mend--I believe--I hope. The German apotheke recommended a gel that has offered some relief. Oh! the wild foxgloves or, as the German's call them, fingerhats, throughout the forest. beautiful!

Meeting the Moselle

After touring the interior of Burg Eltz (Eltz Castle) and refreshing ourselves with apfelschorle (spritzer and apple juice), Anne and I prepared to meet the Moselle. As it was a special ocassion, I applied lipstick before facing the gentle river.

A sleepy-minded journal entry, early morning before the plane landed in Dusseldorf

Dusseldorf near. Morning time. I recall a plump, brown and tired face on the New York City subway, ragged cornrows patterning her head. The Brooklyn Bridge jutting into the sky, strong steel and cable--Grimaldi's Pizza choked with a line of people eager to dine on a Sunday summer night. Blisters from walking a few miles through city streets in high heels. Drummers in African garb, a kid with a hat to catch the coins and dollars. It is quiet in the too early morning. The body transitions in time--the cells whispering that morning has sped ahead by six hours. Hungry for images, ready for wide-eyed leisure and recovery. A limber soul. Crystal ice in the double paned windows. Socks on the feet for a muffled shuffle. Platitudes, hairbows, fireman fundraisers, well-fitting jeans, purses, thrift stores, seams, galoshes, grandfathers, mythmakers, saltshakers, poison ivy, scuttling mice, inside windows, stewardesses, lobsters in cages, supermarket white lights, ziploc bags, rubberbanded claws, yapping dogs on leashes, the urine smell in the city, mint gum, barn doors, street art, galleries, hair gel, the horizon line, magazines, duty-free, chinese food, tandoor chicken, tika masala, cabbages, fried rice, pineapple, crab meat and lemonade. Belt buckles, tractor supply stores, the bright afternoon sun and fireflies in the field hovering, birthdays and mexican bread, lovers and friends, clean kitchen counters, cinder block walls, mounds of dirt and fresh cut flowers, lanky slobbering dogs, mint in the hair, shaving, baths, flossing, barettes and cigarettes, delicate goblets, crystal stems, poppies, New York bagels, keeping on, microwave popcorn, sweat and perfume, passed out, fire hydrants, orange trees, lozenges, fishermen, Germany, friends left behind, friends to come. Laziness, inspiration, joyful nothingness. Braids in the hair. Athletic shorts, basketball courts, street ball in Brooklyn, hockey sticks, talking lisps and then, yes! sugar-free. Paris! All the monuments of man and the blue blue sky, the red wings, the willow and the violin. Muslims in scarves and in prayer. The moon cycle continues and the descent. Hookahs, Coleman Hawkins, dancing to Erik Satie slowly on a Sunday morning. Glorious light through ballroom windows. Orange signs and steam in Shanghai. An apron to wipe your hands on. Very suggestive--a diving pelican. Indian music! Fighting flying parrots. The green parrots of Pasadnea, a pressure cooker, rice cooker, walking with head down, then head and heart high. Packing light, toothless. Stomping feet, on knees, through trees. The sudden appearance of yes! Tracking down the monkeys forgetting grace, reaching for ropes and words. Sometimes a blank mind, sometimes dust in the air. Bottled water everywhere. Belts around the waist. Salt and pepper to taste. An out of tune piano for a raft. Baffled and blue, the heart sings true. Hair rained on and rusted--twisted with trumpet sounds and curled by the angel's hounds. Chills pills spills wills mills gills kills. Goslings in the wake. A woodchuck having a field day. A maypole and a fireman's carnival--steam in the tent. Lightning finding the rollercoaster, screams finding the pole, fried dough and beer. mud. chat. boots & sandals. A new pen! A bitten end. A tunnel to the sun!