both at the same time

The contrast of my life here and there.  So much control – the trains are predictable, the rocks have bolts – I recently had a nightmare where all my clocks stopped working.  The tool that I use to sync with the rules of this society stopped working.  I am average, or even at the bottom here.  I know nothing. My education seems to be less than that of most of the people who surround me.  My skills to ascend are minimal. I hardly can do math.  It is all relative. 

Thinking about the victims of coupcoup attacks and motorcycle accidents.  Nothing is certain.  A watch would just drive that message home. Who learns to ride a motorbike before purchasing one? You never know when it will end. Today, tomorrow, any day.  Today you have 10 kids – tomorrow they may all be gone.   But yet, I believe we are equals in this world. The context has just changed. But there no body understands why I am in school, why I don’t have a husband, and where I am hiding my children.  

Journey’s near and far

The curse of interseason. 

The irony of ascension. 

The ice spirits. 

Bonn so near yet so far.   The local lack of kingdoms.  The curse? blessing?  of the topography? 

Allegra – Romantche and Engadine – land management, complexion, village arrangement, logging, so different.  

Weekends of Chamoix, Bouctin, Fox, all the animals of the forest. 

Vinyards surround us.  

Further down the Rhone valley – a whole new attitude of live and let live – is that the dividing cultural difference between the cantons? 

Learn the types of rocks – and what you like. First success with the friends. 

Minority Dialects

When is a dialect a new language?  How are speakers of different dialects discriminated against?  When is it helpful to call your language a separate language?   When do people really not understand or when do they pretend to understand?  

 

What is the difference between grammatical errors made by native speakers and those made by people speaking it as a second language?   At some point, are they acceptable?  

 

Back from Modena

Returned from Moderna, Italy (and a detour to Torino) last night – only to find that Mali is on the verge of war and that there was another West African Coup.   Makes me yearn for West African drama and excitement, although I know that coups aren’t really as exiting in country as it seems like they should be.

Travels in Italy made me marvel at the diversity of vocabulary, accents, and food.   Regionalism is so rich.   At the same time, I was reminded of the many connections between Italian and American cultures – and especially food.   It felt very familiar – but at the same time the wine and cheese and little sandwiches were different than any I had ever eaten before. Vineyards are cut differently than those in Switzerland.  The roofs are made differently.   The houses are shaped differently.  The colors have nothing in common.   It all felt a bit like a painting.

I became newly fascinated with the standardization of Italian, and look forward to reading Dante’s Devine Comedy in its original language some time soon, especially the part where he describes those who say si, those who say oui, and those who say oc.  The definition of romance languages.  I am almost on the brink of wanting to pick my latin books back up.  Almost, but not quite.

As we crossed the San Bernard Pass, back into Switzerland, the it was snowy and the wind blew (and hasn’t stopped blowing cold wind).  Switzerland felt so small and homogeneous as we drove back through Sembrancher and Martigny, the places, where just a week before, I felt a similar fascination for the uniqueness of each village and place.  Where I had marveled at the rocks, the chalets, and the old town squares.  Where we had walked on a roman horse cart trail over the mountain.   Where we had discovered ancient secrets in our own backyard.

My new project

Luckily I started studying Patois before this weekend because a woman on the train went on and on in a language that sounded much more like this poem than like any french I’ve ever heard.   She handed me a spiritual quote reminding me that god’s eyes are everywhere as she left.

taken from http://www.patoisvaudois.ch/

 

 

Patois is also crucial to understand the places that we travel by foot.   What is a Ban?  Ban d’aiguilles?   Les Proz?

So much to learn.   This weekend, I became frustrated at cars and rejoiced in my foot and rope travel (not to mention the trains and buses).   Cars have repeatedly prevented me from discovering the places where I live.

We should have heard the rush of water in the valley – not that of cars.

Katerine – lyrics in my head

Parole de Le Jardin Anglais:

Je m’étais endormi
Je m’étais assoupi
Je m’étais évanoui dans un jardin anglais
Et nul ne le savait
Dans un jardin anglais

Je t’ai revue en rêve
Dans ton habit d’Eve
Les cheveux flottant
Dans les eaux du Léman
Dans les eaux du Léman

Mais ce n’était qu’un rêve
De Lausanne à Genève
C’était comme une ombre qui suivait mes pas
Quand le soleil tomba

Je n’avais pas compris
Je n’avais pas appris
Je n’avais pas saisi tout ce que je voulais
Dans le jardin anglais

Je voulais faire en sorte
Que le courant t’emporte
Loin