Sweden 2010

Sunday morning. 4am. I hear a chill wind off the Gulf of Finland. But I’m warm and content here in my 6^th floor room, surrounded by Christmas gifts for family, muffins and strawberry juice and MY NEW PROGRAMMING IDEAS. No no, I am still officially done with that chapter. I’ve just moved it back a few months!

I’ve shared the reason I am here. To find the Scandinavian dance company that will, along with American (Reggie Wilson) and African (Boyzie Cekwana/Panaibra Gabriel Canda) companies, end Global DanceFest/JOURNEYS. Previous target date, fall 2013. NEW target date, WINTER/SPRING 2014.

And here is why. The last show of the last night of ICE HOT was Gunilla Heilborn’s This is Not a Love Story. It IS how I feel about Gunilla’s work however…a love story…I love it. So full of gentle sarcasm, everyday humor, ordinary questions, tiny history lessons, elegant easy dances. Just two performers, all alone but filling a big stage with their low-key friendly funny presences. So I think This is not a Love Story must come to North Fourth. The company was part of Latitudes North a few years ago and Johan Thelander bought the very cowboy boots he is wearing on stage in icy Helsinki in sunny New Mexico.

The night before, Winter Guests/ Alan Lucien Øyen’s new work Flawed was performed. Not such an easy work. Not at all. The lanky, very white Norwegian and the sleek muscular very black dancer from Guadeloupe/Paris just put it all out there. The prejudices and practices of xenophobic, homophobic, misogynistic sexual physical acting out. Did I say that right? At first I did not like this piece. Too much in my face. Then it surrounded me, sunk into my psyche so to speak. But, I thought, wow, I cannot put that on stage in Albuquerque. Then I thought…I must. Alan may be one of the smartest writers and thinkers around; Léo Lerus the most compelling dancer…they’re like mad angels… mean and beautiful.

Tero in Albuquerque. John Davis and me

So I cannot have one of these works without the other I think. But I’ve only covered SWEDEN and NORWAY so far. Remember Tero Saarinen opened ICE HOT’s first night. Tero has already performed his technically attention-grabbing solo Hunt in Albuquerque; he could bring it back with a new solo just being finished now…and represent FINLAND.

Once you start down this slightly obsessive path you must go all the way with it? Yes, I think so. DENMARK. Granhøj Dans perhaps. Just looked at a bit of the vimeo of 2men2mahler. Looks funny and silly and smartly danced! Granhøj was in New Mexico before also. It would be nice to finish with all of these friends and their new work.

For ICELAND, an exhibit curated from all of the photos Bob, Teresa and I took this summer. And how about a film of some sort from GREENLAND. I realize it is officially part of Denmark but surely won’t be for much longer?

Obviously an excellent plan. Perfect way to celebrate my mumble mumble (big one) birthday and STOP programming. There is time and money to consider but that’s for when I get home and feel like worrying.

Would be nice to partner with Albuquerque’s contemporary theater festival Revolutions in January 2014 or later in the spring on the unmentionable birthday. And be funded by IKEA! Before my sons take me on out Central American bus trip. A celebration of my Norwegian/Scandinavian heritage and love of idiosyncratic dance. THE END.

Just Remember… There is always a merry-go-round going round somewhere

It is 5am. I’ve been reading since 4. Went to bed six hours ago happy after dinner by myself in the Scandic Simonkentta restaurant. Beef brisket, pureed potatoes seasoned with root parsley and braised rutabagas, turnips and parsnips on the side. A glass of wine. Very nice. Wanted to be alone, not with my former dance compatriots and friends at the performance. Why is that?

This process of deliberately ending a career, leaving a field much loved—leaving it—as opposed to easing out but keeping references friendships connections feels harsh to me this morning. So many people here at ICE HOT I admire and respect and with whom I have formed friendships over the years.  Why this distancing?

Apparently I need to end things and never look back…never do them again. Wife. Bureaucrat.  Political Activist/Volunteer. Social Worker. Now—Dance Programmer. But I’ve loved each of these pursuits at a point in time so isn’t there a way the  friendships and interests can survive in some form?  Mingling and enriching contemporary life?  A rhetorical question. To which the answer is…apparently not.

Don’t look back. Avoid the awkwardness, even pain, of separation from people, places and things. You can try to keep everything that ever was connected to your life connected to your life. Or not.

Although I always return to Minnesota and check in with the old house as it dissolves into the black wet frozen warm soil pine needles blue flags pet skeletons.

Perhaps this discussion can continue with family, with Robert and Marsha, with beans and rice and Dominican beer at shabby but friendly little beach hotels over the holidays. We all explore each life passage like we are the first people ever to experience it. Silly us. But the subject is good for rambling conversations before going to bed with that new murder mystery. What’s more disquieting as you drop off to sleep? Your life passing slowly and quickly before your very eyes or the dead body in the swamp?

This is now. 5:45am, Saturday, December 14, 2012. Helsinki, Finland. One more day of ICE HOT. One more year of a dance life.

Can’t take photos in performances so it’s just snow snow snow

As predicted, all snow and dance. I combined the two for a few seconds as 1 ½ of my feet pirouetted on the cold wet marble of a theater entrance, swooping to one knee and springing (more like lurching truth be told) back up in the embarrassment of it all. No harm done.

 The most annoying downside of winter snows is not the cold damp dark in general, it is the impaired mobility factor—walking on slick surfaces is actually dangerous. Funny, don’t remember that being a problem growing up in Minnesota, land of ice and snow supreme! Is age the real issue here perhaps?

 Thursday. To dance to dance to dance to dance to dance.

And, to speak both ill and gratefully of the experiences: First. Three performances by apparently over-indulged girls who have been led to believe that it is worth our while to watch them 1) tell a small story—cutely; 2) insult the audience with serial panty removal, toy guns and …well…screeching; and, last but not least, 3) edging and twitching across the stage to boringly repetitive sound. Every festival/showcase has many misses for every hit, indeed after the ‘girls’ (disparagingly labeled thusly because they seemed so young in their unintended [I think] arrogance) there was one more unremarkable presentation.

BUT THEN. Kenneth Kvarnstrom’s piece “YOUMAKEME” for the Helsinki Dance Company. Brilliant. More than made up for the previous misspent hours. Five dancers of some excellence uniquely choreographed and costumed. A work of dark humor, smart lighting and layer upon layer of the unexpected. Perfect. Love this…everyone did.

Dances like Kvarnstrom’s make me sad to be ending my career as a programmer. Because, if I were going on past 2013, I would want to make another Latitudes North festival with work by Tero Saarinen and Kenneth Kvarnstrom—Finland would be well-represented. Now, in two days, I will find the representatives of Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Iceland.

Stop it Marjorie. That’s magical thinking. You are not doing this anymore.

Some regret at moments. Relief too though. Not to have to wade through the possibilities to get to the actual.

On with Friday. A meeting with JOURNEYS spring artist, Philippe Blanchard; walk to the market for silver jewelry for the woman, young and old, in my family, and highly anticipated evening performances.

I must work on a new subject…until then. More snow.

HE’S everywhere

Wednesday, December 12^th, 2012. Slept the sleep of the righteous dance traveler. From 8pm to 4am. That Lapin Kulta did help. At 6:30am I will go down for a proper breakfast…as northern Europeans do it. I’ll take a picture to carry with me when I’m stopping at the Holiday Inn Express in Nowhere, Kansas for pre-cooked eggs and frozen waffles with margarine and fake maple syrup.

For you Marsha, playing “guard the market” from the fluffier creatures walking by

This is my last dance booking trip. Hopefully just the right dancer/company is here to wrap up the last JOURNEYS/Global DanceFest in Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA. I am a little sad…but only a little…because it is time. I need to devote every travel dollar and minute to getting to those last 108-countries-in-the-world-before-I-die. But I will return to Finland and Norway for sure. A trip to visit my Norwegian cousins. A trip to Lapland where a great grandfather on mom’s side was from. A trip to Finland as the starting point for a summer’s journey on the Trans-Siberian Express.

Scott and Steve, this is where all the small stages were set up with people basking in the summer sun

Now 3am Thursday. Yesterday was good. Bundled up after breakfast and headed for the Christmas market. First half hour of walking on ice and slush terrifying of course—just like that first drive of the season on slippery roads—and then one adjusts. But that experience of a broken bone from falling tends to stick in my mind and movement. Finally I adjust and creep along rather briskly!

Leaving hotel at 9:30am. Dark and cold. But soon it feels normal

The market is not so very different from any holiday gift fair except that it is in snow and there’s more silver snowflake and reindeer pendants and newly forged candle holders and miniscule northern lake fish fried to perfection and blood sausage and cranberry-centered candies than would be the case in New Mexico.

Mrs. Claus I do believe

Funny. The cold becomes just normal in a little while. And you stroll along like it’s….Minnesota perhaps.

Back in the day….

Back to the hotel for a nap and then off to the evening’s events. Two art center/theaters far apart but nice work accompanied by ample grog (mulled wine?) and champagne. Tero Saarinen’s new work led off the evening. I liked it very much. A sextet—the dancers so fluid in swoops and generous wide arms (outarching, my friend called it), always reforming as solos, duos, threesomes, all together, in new relationships. The score seemed unusual to me—almost like found sounds peculiarly arranged with lovely musical bits and interludes. A darkish piece but with beautifully-clear light focusing moments and actions. Called “Scheme of Things.” Susanna Leinonen presented “And the Line Begins to Blur,” Beautiful strong dancing, complicated but with a slightly murky feel. And finally Jyrki Karttunen danced a portrait of an aging drag diva. The audience mostly seemed to love it…with good reason for the powerful imagery he created. I didn’t get some of the humor but that is okay—says nothing about the quality of the performance.

Let there be music

Walked home on the ice-slush surface with Paul and Walter from White Bird since I did not want to go to one more talky-talky place even for euro vegetarian food. Ate a blueberry muffin, read murder. Life on the road.

Happiness is a warm hotel room with delicious beer in the tiny frig, instant wifi access, the BBC, surrounded by a cozy, cold, rich but friendly, sophisticated but ‘regular’, smart and interesting country called Finland. And…well…I love it here. Helsinki, Finland. I AM VERY HAPPY IN SCANDINAVIA in general. When I arrive I feel at home but in a place I like better than real home. Scandinavia is what Minnesota and Iowa and Wisconsin could be if they tried harder and ridded themselves of the dastardly deeds of evil Republicans.

25 hours from wheels up in Albuquerque to touchdown in Helsinki. For a minute I want to be forgiving of the nastiness of travel and do the half-full glass. In 25 hours I am 5296.1 miles from my apartment. That really is remarkable. I was FED (would you believe very tasty food?–in Minnesota we call it mashed potato and hamburger hot dish but as I recall the Air France menu called it something else! And an interesting smoked salmon and pasta salad. And a baguette-like roll, not exactly a real baguette but better than a grocery store one); GIVEN AN EXTRA BLANKET and apologies in the coldest airline cabin I’ve ever experienced; and transported these 5296.1 miles SAFELY with only three delays due to weather-rain, weather-de-icing the place and careless people who checked in their baggage and then disappeared  so it had to be found and unloaded (I think they were young, had a long enough layover to imbibe more than one wine and are shacked up in an airport hotel). The time spent on EXERCISE was positive as well. Getting to another terminal at JFK is comparable to one of my morning river walks; getting to another terminal at Charles De Gaulle is probably three morning walks. And hoisting my bags up and down is certainly a couple of hours on the machines. Fitness travel it’s called.

I rode with a group of young Russians on one leg and noted that while kids each dress more individualistically than we did back in olden times, they do look like the same individuals all over the world. And from Paris to Helsinki my cabin mates included 100 Chinese tourists on a tour to experience Christmas in Europe. I’m quite worried that they may not have heard Feliz Navidad or Alvin and the Chipmunks even one time. What kind of Christmas experience is that! They need to come to the good old US of A where we are classy holiday celebrators.

There you have it. Getting to Finland. Did I mention this makes me VERY HAPPY even if it’s not another passport stamp. In fact, while people looked at my passport at various points, no one stamped it. I don’t like that. Even though I philosophically think the world has far too many official borders…if I cross one I need my passport stamped!

The driving service driver who picked me up at the airport (thanks to this well-organized Nordic dance festival) is a Russian Finn and we talked about everything including the Trans Siberian Express which she has not done but has heard of and recommends.

I am checked into the same Scandic hotel that my wonderful (got that boys?) and I stayed at some years ago and they still have wooden pens. The front desk said I could take as many as I want so that will take care of me until I get back here on my way to Christmas in Lapland in 2014 or 15.

I can go to bed now. Tomorrow I’ll describe the first Finnish novel I read before I switched to a Swedish murder mystery for the plane. But tonight I have had two beers and potato chips for dinner (don’t tell me you have never done that at the end of a long travel day and your leftover egg salad is back in Albuquerque and you’re to tired to even order something real from room service. And besides I already had mashed potato hamburger hot dish sometime in what is about a 30 hour day since I rolled out of bed in Albuquerque.

This is a silly post but I am very tired and slightly drunk. HAPPY TRAVELS TO ALL and to all a good night.

photo from flickriver.com UNHCR

A HISTORY: The Democratic Republic of the Congo is a rich and scenic place. Part of the country is bursting with minerals; much of it is lush with misty mountains, broad rivers, dense greenery. And pretty much all of it is brimming over with death and destruction and murder and rape and starvation and sadness…and life going on.

Like all college students I read “Heart of Darkness” but even though Africa was central to some vague travel future I didn’t think beyond the book’s literary value which would have to be accounted for in a term paper. Many years later I received an invitation to be part of an international delegation to Kinshasa, Zaire that would discuss how African artists could create a continent-wide touring network. I was surely among the least important of international arts presenters but it was an invitation not to be refused. It would be the first of many trips to the astounding continent of Africa.

Since that time I have not been back to what became the Democratic Republic of the Congo with the overthrow of Mobutu in 1997. But my membership in and travel with the Africa Contemporary Arts Consortium and friendship with Faustin and Virginie Lineykula of Kisangani, DRC has kept me aware of the sad news from there.

photo from traveltourist.net

Bad and sad news has been pretty much non-stop since the Kingdom of Kongo became the Belgian Congo and King Leopold’s personal and extraordinarily brutally-run estate. There was a brief moment of hope when a leader of the fight against colonialism, Patrice Lumumba, was elected to become the first Prime Minister of the Republic of the Congo. He said “We are proud of this struggle, of tears, of fire, and of blood, to the depths of our being, for it was a noble and just struggle, and indispensable to put an end to the humiliating slavery which was imposed upon us by force.” (Kamalu, Chukwunyere. The Little African History Book – Black Africa from the Origins of Humanity. page 115, courtesy Wikipedia)  Unfortunately he refused to become an American puppet, even accepting help from the Soviet Union, our arch cold-war enemy. He was soon assassinated courtesy of the U.S. and Belgium.  Eisenhower told Dulles (CIA) that Lumumba should be eliminated and, although the Belgians actually did the killing they were fully supported by the American government. Adam Hochschild’s brilliant book King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa is my source for this. (page 302 of the Mariner Books paperback) There are any number of accounts of U.S. complicity in Lumumba’s death; it is a fact.

No good news since that time.

Faustin Linyekula

AN ARTIST’S STORIES: In the last years, Faustin Linyekula has been my guide to stories from the Congo through his dance pieces, Festival of Lies and more more more…future (which have both been performed at our North Fourth Art Center). This fall, I had the pleasure of seeing Faustin’s Le Cargo at Danse l’Afrique Danse in Johannesburg. Le Cargo is an exquisite and moving solo. This remarkable dancer/choreographer is also storyteller, singer, family man and Congolese—and we get them all in this one carefully framed quiet story-dance. Faustin shares a tale of returning to the village in which he lived as a small child. He sings with an unexpectedly beautiful voice and dances—but only a little. It really is a story in the old-fashioned full-of-words sense. Faustin lives much of the time in his home, where his extended family still lives, in Kisangani. But sometimes it is too dangerous to be there, as it surely is now.  Then he must go back to France, his wife Virginie’s home and where his sons can live in safety.

NINETEEN EIGHTY-NINE:  I am somewhat ashamed of my one trip to the DRC, to Kinshasa the capitol. I was there however and here is the story of that trip in 1989.

Cameroon, first stop ever on the continent of Africa

I left from San Francisco where I lived at the time. Flights took me to NYC, Paris and then, on Air Zaire’s only internationally-flyable plane to Zaire, with a stopover in Douala, Cameroon where three days of small adventures passed the time. I stayed at a French hotel and ventured out around the city and down to the river with a French-speaking driver so we used our shared few words over and over and I’ve never known the significance of anything I saw. I was always back in the evening at my safe French haven  for quiche or pasta or bifteck and French wine.  That was actually my first time on continental soil, a pure tourist experience but it felt like a big world travel step. Even though it was all in French!

Back on Air Zaire to Kinshasa. It turns out that the man in the next seat was a Cameroonian attending the same meeting—which was fortunate because my airport/hotel information was missing. This helpful gentleman offered to share a cab to the conference hotel for which he had all of the necessary information. The hotel was charming, old, much of it of wooden construction, high ceilings, fans stirring the warm tropical air, right on a main street in downtown Kinshasa. Brilliant I thought, I’ll just have some soup and a beer in the restaurant downstairs, maybe walk a bit and be off to sleep, all rested for tomorrow’s gathering.

This was Mobutu’s Zaire where the U.S. was pouring in money to buy the devil’s loyalty to ‘our side’ in the cold war that made America stupid for a very long time. And the French ‘owned’ West Africa culturally—at least on the surface. I knew about Mobutu, I disapproved of Mobutu, my liberal do-gooder self said we Americans/westerners needed to stop supporting him, but there I was, extraordinarily dumb about the reality of it all.

The next morning, just as I stirred about my oh-so-comfortable room, happy with the street sounds and smells and air and light of this foreign place, there was a knock on the door and a rather officious French woman bustled in, informing me that I was at the wrong hotel—I was to go to the Kinshasa Intercontinental. I refused until she finally informed me the conference would not pay my expenses if I stayed where I was because ALL Europeans were staying at the Intercontinental—only African delegates would be here, she said!  So I moved. After all, while we were proud of owning Mobutu politically, the French were equally proud of ‘owning’ Congolese culture!

Sometimes you’re just a tourist

That was the end of my first actual experience of Africa. The rest was the gilded cage life of the European delegates (all white people—except for one black Brit) at the very swank Intercontinental Hotel with luxury vans to take us all to Mobutu’s Palace of the Arts for our meetings.

The “outing” to Mobutu’s park

There was one outing to Mobutu’s very own park where soldiers leaped out with guns drawn when our driver approached the entrance too quickly. The park was greenly luxuriant and devoid of all humans. For Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu wa Za Banga only.

the show at the Palace

Finally there was a grand ceremony at the Palace with costumed dancers and drums beating and fake smiles and damp handshakes amidst all of the trappings that ‘Big Men’ throughout the world use to impress and intimidate.

Some Norwegians, a Dane, Canadian and me…far from real life in our “gilded cage”

It was surreal. We all drank a lot and tried halfheartedly to make arrangements to get out of the hotel into the city, to sign up for some tours even. But there was no help from the French or African hosts and we, Europeans, Americans (3) and Canadians were too inexperienced and awestruck by the very fact of our being in this far and distant place to actually break away.

Then it was the last day and everyone flying airlines other than Air Zaire left. The Air Zaire plane had broken down and would stay in Paris until repaired. So a few of us were two or three more days in Mobutu’s Zaire and, I am ashamed to say, we never did have the gumption to go wherever we wanted—discouraged by our hosts who said “mais non” to the idea and our apparent lack of determination.

I want very much to go back. I have thought about somehow getting to Kisangani and seeing the places Faustin has carved out to make dance and inspire youngsters to make a life with art. But now, as fighting renews and all looks hopeless again after a brief semi-peaceful time, it doesn’t seem that anything, including art, will ever make a difference. If anything ever does it will be people like Faustin who gain some authority over the thugs. How likely is that?

December to Remember…this time the words are not coming to you from your local car dealer. Because I have stolen the phrase for my purpose–to  share my preparations for a trip to Helsinki followed by another to Santo Domingo and Port-au-Prince. The first is work (the difficult task of viewing four days of contemporary Scandinavian dance) and the second a holiday jaunt with Robert and Marsha (bro & sis). It’s all good! Yes it is.

There is preparation involved in running around the world a little bit purposefully. But not what you think. Clothes are no longer a problem since everyone in the entire world wears jeans and t-shirts and sneakers and hoodies (except elderly women outside of the US and Europe—so in this instance I’m happy to be an American). Food is not a problem either. In Finland or Dominican Republic or Haiti it is possible to live on cokes and potato chips or hamburgers and fries or saltines and yogurt.  And the whole wide world has coffee, beer and wine.

However there are strange and wondrous or ordinary and tasty things to eat everywhere and you should try them. Reindeer and cloudberries in Finland. Lots of rice and beans and plantains and flan in Dominican Republic—not so very different from New Mexico. What about Haiti you ask? It might be a little different.

Griots: (Haitian grillots — fried, glazed pork) 6-8 servings

Griots is a rich, flavorful dish and is one of Haiti’s most popular, invariably served at parties and family gatherings. Cubes of pork are soaked in a sour orange marinade and then slow-roasted until tender. The tender morsels are then given a finally fry in oil until delectably caramelized.

This recipe uses a mixture of orange and lime juice in place of the hard-to-find sour orange juice. Also spelled grillots, griyo, griyot or griot.

Ingredients

• Pork shoulder, cubed — 4 pounds
• Onion, thinly sliced — 1
• Green or red bell pepper, thinly sliced — 1
• Scotch bonnet peppers, chopped (optional) — 1 or 2
• Shallots, thinly sliced — 2 or 3
• Garlic, chopped — 3 or 4 cloves
• Thyme — 2 teaspoons
• Salt — 2 teaspoons
• Pepper — 1 teaspoon
• Oranges — 2
• Limes — 3
• Oil — 1/4 cup

Method

Add the pork and all the other ingredients except the oil to a large, non-reactive bowl and mixt together well. Refrigerate for 4 to 24 hours to let the meat soak up the marinade.

Oven to 375°F. Place the pork and its marinade into a large roasting pan and cover tightly with a lid or aluminum foil. Place in the oven and roast for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until the pork is tender.

Remove the roasting pan from the oven. Remove any extra liquid in the pan, putting it into a saucepan, and set aside. Add the oil to the pan and stir it into the meat. Return the roasting pan to the oven and let the pork cook for 20 to 30 minutes more, stirring occasionally. Any liquid will evaporate away and the meat will begin to fry in the oil and brown.

While the meat is frying in the oven, place the saucepan with the reserved liquid on the top of the stove and boil it down until it is well reduced and thickens. Remove the roasting pan from the oven and mix the reduced sauce into the browned pork. Serve hot with sos ti-malice, banan peze and a side of pikliz.

I am going to try to post something about every other day all month because there is so much and many food and weather and dance and music and smells and noises to experience in these places 5,219 miles apart.

Until I leave however the posts will mostly be about books. Several have been ordered, three Finnish novels and five or six (mostly) novels about the two  countries of Hispaniola. I must finish a tale of Swedish cops and murder tonight so that I can begin the next two journeys’  literary preparation.

I have been to Finland before but Dominican Republic and Haiti are NEW PASSPORT STAMPS. Did I already say…life is good. 

A Jo’burg bridge at night

I was supposed to be on my way to Addis Ababa right now but a nasty bug came to inhabit my body yesterday and made me lose my voice and feel unwell. I do hate when that happens but it does occasionally and whining won’t help.

Beat, the Thulani Lodge manager, kindly booked me another day in my most pleasant little room and United Airlines was extremely helpful about changing my reservation. So, I have been in bed reading all day. It isn’t quite as much fun when you don’t feel well as when you’re just playing hooky for a few hours.

The nice folks that gave the Corpocracy its logo/symbol according to “Cloud Atlas”

About my reading…finished “Cloud Atlas” which EVERYONE should read. David Mitchell is easily one of the best writers of contemporary fiction around so take this ride with him through the history of the power and destructiveness of consumerism. If that sounds a bit dry it is definitely not; Mitchell shows off his flair for capturing diverse ages, locations and cultures in just the right literary voice; he is clever, funny, and smart. Don’t be afraid…you don’t know you’re reading a critique of where our culture of consumerism is taking us until you get into An Orison of Sonmi-451 about half way through the book—or at least I did not.  QUICK…READ IT…movie’s coming out this month.

Today I read a brand new Paul Theroux novel “The Lower River” about Malawi where he once lived as a Peace Corps volunteer. I haven’t read so many of his novels, not finding them as rewarding as his travel lit but this, like “Mosquito Coast” is a good if rather unsettling day’s read.

Just bought seven new books at my favorite neighborhood book shop…think I’ll begin blogging about books when I finish up this South African adventure.

Okay then…it is 6pm in Jo’burg, hot days, perfect evenings, breeze gently blows my curtains…I am having smoked beef flavored potato chips and banana milk for dinner.  I believe this will put the finishing touches on my road back to perfect health. (Not true, ate a few of those chips and they’re nasty and think I’ll stick to water until my bug leaves—but it is what I had in my room!)

Hakim & Panaibra

Africa Consortium, of which North Fourth Art Center has been part for several years, is interested in the next generation of U.S. and African artists getting to know each other, share ideas, make and/or support each other’s work together has put some funds toward the travel necessary to make this happen. Hakim Bellamy, Albuquerque Poet, writer, theater guy, young people’s advocate has come along on this trip. Hakim is what it’s all about with his great curiosity, passion, and intelligence. He was everywhere on this trip, poking into the multi-cultural multi-disciplinary world that is Jo’burg and South Africa.

MORE DANCE.  Three pieces to talk about before I feel that my own tour of Danse l’Afrique danse is over. South African artist Sello Pesa’s Theatre Inhabitant is profound although you might not know that right away. A downtown somewhat shabby industrial street. Traffic going by. On one side a man dressed in a dark suit stands at a podium and reads what sounds like the City’s new cultural/downtown development plan. A small audience of well-dressed bureaucrats and their guests sits on folding chairs in front of him.

Nothing much seems to happen and then you begin to notice the small stuff, a street guy bangs his head on the cement wall blocking off a vacated building complex in great disrepair; then bodies roll into traffic, a drunk gets caught in a barrel and rolls frantically about, a hat lies in the street fallen from one of the vagrants/drunks; it’s run over repeatedly. Meanwhile the official drones on about the astonishing results of this new and latest city plan.

I particularly like this because I worked for about 10 years in the City of Albuquerque’s Cultural Affairs Department and there are a multitude of cultural plans lying about, mostly both unread and unimplemented, that were once announced in just such pompous tones.

Hakim and I took a morning trip to Rosebank Mall which has the best collection of good quality African crafts around. As we settled in for a leisurely lunch and the first cold beer had just been put in front of us, a sting operation went into action right next to our table. Since it was two sort of skin-heady looking white guys grabbing and holding down a black guy we, being children of the other most racist nation on earth, were immediately indignant, snapping pictures as fast as possible to catch the dirty deed as it went down. Turns out we jumped the gun a bit. We were told by several people there, black and white, that it was a sting operation and that the guy being ‘stung’ was indeed a bad actor, stealing and defrauding about the city with great aplomb—finally he was caught and I guess it was a good thing. Still…I only trust the cops (anywhere) a tiny bit more than the criminals so it’s hard to come to firm conclusions.

BACK TO DANCE. Friday night was the last really big night of the festival. It began with a performance, Les Sorciers by Aly Karembe (Mali) at the Dance Factory in Newtown where much of Jo’burg’s art action takes place, then we trekked (well, bussed really) out to Soweto Theater once again. What an evening! Three quite fine solos in a row, Fana Tshabalala (South Africa) and Gates of Hell; Bertrand Tchebe Saky (Senegal) and Demna and Jean-Michel Moukam Fonkam (Cameroon) and Une Fenetre. While they were all captivating, each in its own way, my favorite was Gates of Hell. Tshabalala is a magnificent dancer making it almost impossible to look away which is rare situation to find oneself in after a solid week of wall to wall dance.

The crowning event of the night was Peter John Sabbagha’s One Night Stand. P.J. has been making dance in South Africa for a long time and, even though I have only seen two of his works I am delighted and impressed each time. This is the second time I’ve seen One Night Stand and it just gets better.

It is a big sexy piece with wild dancing and a message…but I think the program text can describe it better. “…The choreography is fast. The movements are so fluid that they curl with contortion, electrifying with their kicks followed by decelerations, wanes and surprising deadening effect. The sumptuous lighting…takes us through different climates and atmospheres which help shape the strange world of One Night Stands. P.J. Sabbagha creates a visceral dance, which examines the impact of AIDS on the body of each individual.”

Friday night was also the night of the grand presentation and cocktail party hosted by Total, the company sponsoring some part of Danse l’Afrique danse. According to their web page, “The TOTAL Group is a multinational energy company and the fourth largest publicly traded integrated oil and gas company in the world. With operations in more than 130 countries, the group employs around 95 000 people in its businesses that cover all aspects of the petroleum industry, from oil and gas exploration, development and production, and liquid nitrogen gas (LNG) in its upstream operations, to refining, trading and shipping crude oil and petroleum products in its downstream operations. The TOTAL Group also produces base chemicals and speciality chemicals for the industrial and consumer markets. In addition, it has interests in the coal mining and power generation sectors.”

Before One Night Stand we got to hear several speeches from both French and South African Total VIPs. We should be grateful that they support the arts, I suppose. Their speeches included references to the many social and cultural projects they fund. Hate to be cynical here but I would love to know what percentage of their earnings goes to good works compared to what percentage goes into the pockets of the execs and shareholders. AND what they’re doing to the environment. “Cloud Atlas” has a good description of what the world will be like when the Corpocracy is in full control…it ‘s not pretty and it’s almost here.

But what the hell. The terrace party with white table clothes, candlelight, black-suited waiters, a string quartet (I think) and lots of wine and hors d’oeuvres overlooking the lights of Soweto was impressive. I am thinking ‘it’s not your father and mother’s Soweto anymore, is it.’ And that is a good thing. Although no good will come of it being Total’s Soweto either.

I want to go  home now. The End.

Melville shop window last night

Days Four, Five, Six (Not counting two days of travel).

Africa Consortium bunch

It is Thursday, October 4^th now. According to CNN and Huff Post presidential debate did not go particularly well for our team. Well, damn. But it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood—of Melville. And the festival goes on.

My favorite Melville spot

A perfect South African spring morning. If I were younger I would live in this country for awhile…but I am not…so just happy that I have gotten to know something about a small part of this big amazing place over the past few years. In a while I will go to Rosebank Mall to see if I can find some of the contemporary wooden figures to join their friends on my window ledges in Albuquerque. Maybe some lunch and then an evening in Soweto at more performances.

In the township, Hafiz & me

Even though these particular blogs are partially festival reports, they must also serve as notes on my personal journeys.

I know this is my next to last scouting trip. My presenting life is happily drawing to its close. I say happily because, while my movement toward this conclusion has been slow…it has been steady and at my own pace. Coming here to Danse l’Afrique danse has given me a chance to see—and in some cases say goodbye [mentally at least]—to  old friends. And to know which work I want to bring to Albuquerque for the grand finale of Global DanceFest/Journeys.

I will go to ICE HOT in Helsinki in December to see and invite some Scandinavian artists to be in Albuquerque for the final bow to my dual heritage—Norwegian/contemporary dance presenter—in 2013 or 2014 and THEN I write write write and get to the last 95 countries on my list.

ENOUGH ABOUT ME. Now to cover Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Topically.

THE TOWNSHIP. Danse l’Afrique danse began with Via Katlehong Dance from the very large and very poor township of Katlehong—which is where Monday began for several of the fortunate among us. The company issued an invitation to join them at home in the township where their base of operation and practice is a company member’s house.

It was a morning to be remembered. First for getting to spend time in a township new to most of us, but especially because these dancers are quite simply strong and beautiful—characteristics represented perfectly in their dances.

Townships are sort of suburbs and sort of ghettos and sort of neighborhoods and sort of separate towns.

Actually townships are all of the above.

TO DANCE.

First there’s Faustin Linyekula (Democratic Republic of the Congo) and Taoufiq Izeddiou (Morocco) to write about—with pleasure.

Boyzie, Faustin, Panaibra, Virginie

Faustin’s Le Cargo is moving, exquisite, small, pay-attention work. This dancer/choreographer is also storyteller, singer, family man and Congolese—and we get them all in this one carefully framed quiet story-dance. Faustin shares a tale of returning to the village in which he lived as a small child. He sings with an unexpectedly beautiful voice and dances—but only a little. It really is a story in the old-fashioned full-of-words sense. I do have a slight complaint. I wanted so very much for the story to continue rather than repeat as it does. My small issue with a beautiful work.

Taoufiq’s Aleef is the opposite of quiet and exquisite. Aleef is loud, really loud, and furious and confrontive. No way to get away from Fela’s music and Taoufiq’s falls and turns and yells and black and lights and red. The third time I have seen this piece and each time I am as engrossed in its sound and fury as the first time.

I must talk a little about Andreya Ouamba’s Suer Des Ombres and Radhouane El Meddeb’s Ce Que Nous Sommes because these two are among my favorite artists.

Andreya

They are very different but what they have in common is choreographic intelligence, imagination and talent. I didn’t mention their pieces earlier because they are both hard for me wrap my thoughts and impressions around.

Radhouane

My favorite choreographers appeal to me for different reasons, all personal of course. Don’t we all see different aspects of ourselves reflected in the art about which we care the most? There is emotion and spectacle; beautiful dancing and brave dancing and tough dancing; stories get told one way or the other—usually. With both Andreya and Radhouane I do appreciate both the power and the subtlety of images and actions but what I feel the most is intelligence, design, aforethought. That even though the topic may be very hot as in Suer Des Ombres, the thought process behind it cool and smart.  Even I am having a hard time figuring out what I mean by what I just said—still it feels right when I reread it so guess it stays in the blog. I would like to see both of these pieces again in a perfect space when I am very rested and can talk to the artists immediately before and after. Yeah right…like that kind of opportunity comes around often!

I have only described the performances so far that I have responded to most strongly.

There are others from the previous days I must mention because, while they may not have struck me as personally or directly they are important in this world where contemporary dance is a hard road to follow in terms of understanding, encouragement and support.

Lucky Kele (South Africa) with Point 1,2,3 and Delavallet Bidiefono (Congo) with Ou Vers? were on Friday’s bill; Fanny Roselyne Mabondzo Ngamba (Congo) and Hier D’Aujourd’Hui on Saturday; and Gladys Tchuimo (Cameroon) and Voler De Ses Propres Ailes, Julie Iarisoa (Madagascar) and Yellow, and Mamela Nyamza (South Africa) and Shift (wanted very much to see Mamela but could not because of the site/location of the performance) on Monday.

Vincent and Laura from Bates Dance Festival

Skipped Tuesday and saw Vincent Mantsoe’s Skwatta (talked about Vincent a few blogs ago as he just performed this and other pieces at our N4th Theater in Albuquerque), P.A.R.T.S (artists from Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker’s school/originally from Tunisia, Morocco and Brazil) with 111-1, and Jacques Banayanga (DRC) with Laisse Moi Parler.

Again, fine performers all. But like all artistic endeavors, we experience them very personally and if something isn’t right (for us as individuals)we take it personally. All of these pieces had great strengths and maybe some weaknesses. But that’s one view only.

Intended to write about Melville and my day off but maybe a tour of my ‘hood will come in a future blog.

Two days to go. Festivals are intense and joyous and engaging for three or four days and then, when you’ve greeted old friends and seen your favorite artists in their new or familiar performances, the event starts to lose momentum. Or rather we do. Winding down then. In perfect Melville in perfect Jo’burg on a perfect spring day. Okay okay okay…so I know it’s not perfect but let me have my moment here…