Good Friday in Bastia - the procession of the Black Jesus

This Jesus was found in the sea in the 14th century and there are a variety of legends available about lights surrounding the floating cross etc. He is therefore worshipped by the fishermen.

I'm not entirely sure why the Confrereie (religious brotherhood who look a little bit too much like the Ku Klux Klan) have gotten involved by dressing up like this, but I'll endeavor to find out.

More "manifestations"

More photos here

First glimpse of the countryside and a tear-gased demo in town.

Sorry. Between this post and the last there is a bit of a grey area. I have been a bit lazy. 

Last week was fairly steady, good weather and project all OK. Bastia is slowly waking up for the summer, people are arriving to find work and there are a few more ice cream shops open than before. Yesterday I found myself 50km away in a little village called Francardu, being chatted up by a 65 year old Corsican man. He openly told me he had a wife but he liked to embrace other women and asked me if I wanted to go to his house with him...a tempting offer but um, no thanks. I was driven to Francardu by a lady called Tiennette  who was introduced to me by Anna when we bumped into her one night last week. She lives opposite me and I find her very sweet. She is small, fairly old with a white bob and trendy clothes. She offered to drive me out of Bastia as she was going to a meeting of people who seemed somewhere between the National Trust and Greenpeace. A curious fairly elderly bunch, they seemed a little posh for environmental campaigners. They were very friendly though and I had a lovely lunch with them after a morning wondering around the village talking with a veteran of the Indo-China war who had lost his hearing after being shot at. I ended up with the pervy man after a pelting of heavy rain forced me into a local cafe full of men talking politics very loudly over one another. During the afternoon there was an excellent presentation - that I understood well due to the pictures - about the lost drinking fountains of Corsica. It reminded me of the kind of research projects you see in Dartington. A very thorough and holistic argument about the history woven into these spots, and why they are in need of a revival. Apparently water from the Alps flows underneath Corsica, and these fountains access that source....this was reiterated by an old man in a cafe today, who said the same thing - as well as adding that this Alps water flows under the sea.

This afternoon I took a potter down Bvd Paoli to see the demonstration that I had heard about from someone else at the cafe (this is the best way to learn stuff here, drink coffee and chat to locals). Hundreds of  teenagers were in the street near the main post office with masked faces. At first I thought they were just being a bit rowdy but then I realised that the smoke and the smell in the air were tear gas and it was necessary to cover your face so you could breathe. The young people were protesting about the imprisonment of Yvan Colonna, December 13th 2007.  See here for the wikipedia version of events. In Bastia, most people I have spoke to seem to think it is unjust and that he is just a scapegoat to cover up a dodgy assassination. One of the ladies of the Polyphonic trio Soledonna is now forbidden to travel outside Corsica after hiding Yvan in her house, which makes me wonder how dangerous a man he could possibly be. It smells a bit of dodgy to me. Still, clearly not to the gendarme. They fired tear gas clumsily onto a crowd of teenagers from all sides and heights in a futile attempt to dissipate a crowd of adolescents. I went up and took some photos, being quite pleased I had some fast black and white film and my wide angle camera. A little while later, after enquiring about what on earth was going on, a few guys asked me to stop. I vaguely grasped that they were concerned that some of the people would think it might get them into trouble with the Police. Fair enough, with the police behaving like that I wouldn't trust strangers much either. I chatted to some guys sitting on a  bench after moving away from the gas with a sudden surge of people. One of them assured me photography was allowed but people were just worried. I then spotted Anna in the street and she told me how ruthless the police are. A few moments later we could see more grenades landing in the distance, followed by a few being thrown from the top of the building. Then, they landed right behind us, metres away. We started running but there were quite a few and it became impossible to escape inhaling something. We ran across the street into the centre of a roundabout. Gas grenades were landing on the tops of cars, buses and people who had nothing to do with the protest. Completely mental. I have honestly never seen anything like it. It is incredibly uncomfortable too. Obviously tears are formed, along with a burning feeling around the eye sockets. I can still sense it on my skin now and my throat is a bit raw. I stayed for a while with a bunch of kids who had bandanas with the Corsican moor's head symbol. They let me photograph them and talked a little bit about how there parents are part of the nazionali party. There was an intriguing mix of ideologies present today. I had a last look and had just decided to go back up the hill and away from the chaos when another shower landed near me. There was a big crowd crush and someone was on the floor. People crowded round to help and others kept running up the hill. One guy made it 10 metres then collapsed, his face red and tearstained with his friends around him. At this point I left. It probably would not have been a good idea for me to stay as things were getting heated and if anyone decided I was a spy in the heat of the moment it would not have been very funny!

So here I am, at home going to bed.

Goodnight.

x 

I started to head back  

 

U fretu di marzu ghjentri in u corru di u boiu. (Frassetu) Le froid du mois de mars entre jusqu'aux cornes des bœufs.

I'll finish off the story of St Joseph's day...

So after not spotting Santu in the Church I went back along the costal path towards town where there were apparently people protesting about the crap economic and social situation..the same as in the whole of France. Anna told me on the phone that it was quite boring and not that anarchistic so she was going to drink a turkish coffee at Jackie's cafe. It was whilst I was on my way there that I spotted the kid's assaulting each other with foam. I carried on but then something told me to go and get a picture so I turned around and went back. After inching towards the kids I spotted mama in the doorway in a big gown, heavily pregnant. I asked in bad french and good universal hand gestures if I could take a picture and she said it was fine. After stopping momentarily to see what on earth I wanted they carried on pummeling each other with badly perfumed shaving foam. I took some pictures and went to show the mother. Her name is Samira and she is exceptionally friendly, despite looking after a handful of children with a cumbersome bump. She gave me a juice and I showed her and the kids the pictures. Three of the children were hers, a boy of 3 a girl of 6 and another girl who was 12. Mohammed, Nawal and Dalila. Samira had come to Corsica from Morocco in 1989. She first lived in Ajaccio, where her family remain, and then married and moved to Bastia. I asked if the eldest would be interested in a language swap, and she was, so we agreed that one afternoon of the weekend I would pop by learn some French and teach some English. 

In terms of my project, Thursday was pretty rubbish as a few people cancelled our meeting but 

I did take lots of pictures around Bastia (which are on me flickr). As I returned to the apartment there was a noise in the distance but I thought it was just the awful pa system in the square blarting out catholic pop. By the time I had gone upstairs, there was - what sounded like - gunfire going off outside and a choir singing. I went back outside to investigate and sure enough, the elusive procession had actually arrived at the Church at the end of my street. There was something colourful on a stretcher which was hoisted up in the air a few times before entering the church. I imagine it was St Jo? So much for the procession starting at 1pm. It was almost sunset. I should have factored in the Coriscan timekeeping....not quite as out as Mongolian style, but getting there. I like it, but from what Dorothy Carrington said in her book "Granite Island" the leisurely pace of life in Corsica has irritated many a foreigner, "Moreover (and this, I suspect, is what most infuriates office employees on holiday), there is no one to make them work all day : their land belongs to them, as does their time."

So the procession was late. Big deal! I got to see some of it and then I went to take some photos in the last light by the sea. The little bit at the end of my street must be where the teenagers go to snog at sunset.

...

St Joseph's day

Today I searched for the procession which was apparently happening but to no avail. It was, however a nice day, so I pottered around and watched people with crap balloons celebrating St Joseph. There were lots of cakes everywhere. On the way back to town I spotted some children completely covering each other with shaving foam. I didn't really understand why but I decided to try and photograph them. I didn't have to try very hard as their mother said it was fine. 

The results - along with a few bits and bobs from around and about  - are here

click me.

I'm quite tired now - I'll write a bit more about the day soon - and I have to get up early because I am going to try and do some yoga in French.

Bye for noe,

Grace

Photos on flickr

From the night out....

and 

Around town

"Get away from here before you're completely bewitched and enslaved"

I can imagine Corsica enticing you into lingering for longer than you planned to stay. 

I can imagine why Anna ended up staying for 11 years. 

I can imagine why Dorothy Carrington lived her until she died in 2002 aged 91

I can imagine why there is an empty apartment above me waiting for the scottish couple to arrive for their 6 month stay. 

I can imagine the many things that used to happen on this street.

I can imagine what the countryside looks like but I haven't been there yet.

I can imagine what the Mazzere look like

I can imagine why the Coriscan's want to be separate from France

I can imagine why the people are a bit subdued despite all the sunshine