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

Portraits, rock clubs and a strawberry risotto with the Stevie Wonder impersonator.

It feels like a lot has happened since my last post but it was only a few days ago really. On Thursday I met with the Stevie Wonder impersonator for lunch. I thought I would give her a chance even though my first impression was that she is completely barking. We arranged to meet for food and she phoned me earlier than I had anticipated and invited herself into my apartment. By the time she got to my door she was completely out of breath and needing food really soon because she is diabetic. I felt a bit sorry for her as she is so overweight it is making her ill. We looked around the citadel for a place to eat but the only place open was a Michelin rated restaurant ... I though what the hell and so we ate in there. Betty, or Liz Abel.... spent the whole time talking with the waitress about her life and her opinions about food. I ate in silence (secretly quite relieved) enjoying an incredibly meticulous and ornate meal. The strawberry risotto for the main was completely bizarre and the drizzle of salty maple syrup finished it off nicely! I did enjoy my desert which was three mini creme brulee's (can't spell). What I didn't enjoy so much was Betty shoving her spoon in every 2 minutes, completely uninvited.

Anyways, I could go on about the lunch with Betty, but really she's just a bit lonely and doesn't have many friends. This is probably why we met each other as during my first week I probably came across the same way! 

 So. After this I went to meet Anna in preparation for our visit to the Bastia equivalent of social services. The director of the department was a very direct lady who was aparently extremely good at her job. After explaining my project, she straight away refused to be photographed as she had experienced difficulty with the arts network in Bastia (some manga-esque cartoons were not suitable in her eyes for the children visiting the exhibition to see) and as it was a recurring problem, she didn't want to end up in one of their exhibitions. After seeing my book she understood a bit more what I wanted to do so she agreed to let me photograph her, as long as it would not be exhibited in Bastia or Corsica. That was an easy agreement to make, and I took her picture but the light wasn't wonderful and it may be a bit too much like the Mongolian ladies' format.

Friday I went to have a falafel for lunch at Grain de Sesame. It was very delicious and I recommend it to anyone who ever comes to Bastia. Then me and Jackie went to Anna's for a cuppa and a look at the colourful food pics anna had done for the cafe. Then we wandered the streets of Bastia and ended up in a nice little tea room tucked behind the main streets. It was an afternoon of ladies, coffee and leisure! My grant had arrived too so I brought some of the local food I had been meaning to try since my arrival. Fig and chestnut jam, local cheese and local wine. The cheese smells so strong it has to live on the balcony now. 

On Saturday I planned to go to the theatre to see a play about migrating birds, but I on the way, whilst calling for Anna I got whisked into her apartment, handed a glass of red wine and spent the whole day chatting and drinking with her and her friend Vero, who lives up the road. It was a nice day and we were the nutters of the neighbourhood trying to play with Anna's devil sticks in the street to the amusement of the passers-by. It was a nice bit of colour and life in the otherwise subdued street. Rue droit is it's name and it is a fascinating windy, dingy but charismatic street....I will talk more about this road at a later date.  

After taking a tipsy walk around Bastia and having a baileys in the sun I came home to make preparations for a night on the town (or more accurately a night up in the hills outside the town). We were going to a club which had live rock bands apparently and was the only alternative place to go in the whole area. People generally went there about midnight or later so there wasn't the mad scramble to be at the pub before it closed at 11 or 12 like I am used to. We went in Anna's little old white car which took a bit of effort to start and had a plastic window on one side. After struggling up the side of the hill behind Bastia we finally arrived at the bar. There were 19/20 year olds smoking fags outside and a stream of people arriving. It reminded me quite a lot of The Rat and Emu (the student union at Dartington College of Arts) where people hang about outside in the same way at the weekends and on the top of a hill away from the hustle of the town. Inside there were a mix of people I would never have imagined I would ever see in one room. Middle aged couples, mafia, heaps of lesbians and trendy 19 year olds who looked like the people on Brick Lane. There was a live band playing all sorts from The Beatles to Amy Winehouse (all with an accent) to Rage Against the Machine and The Rolling Stones. It took a while to get the crowd up and dancing (it took me two neat vodkas) but after a while the dance floor filled up. The lady who I met at the poetry night, the head of Women's stuff in the regional government, who came across as quite shy and quiet, suddenly appeared on the dance floor at about 2am strutting her stuff more than anyone! We had a giggle and a slurry conversation about arranging a meeting sometime this week. Some guy who attached himself to Anna at the beginning of the evening - who I thought knew her but actually doesn't - decided to try his luck with me. He was an incredibly odd guy who literally glued himself to us all night. I made the mistake of telling him I live in the citadel and unfortunately so does he. He got worse as the night turned into morning and literally followed me around the building and outside where I had to huff loudly in his face and walk 50 yards to sit somewhere else before he left me alone. Even then 20 minutes later he was at it again. At the end of the night when the lights turned on and the ugliness of the crowd shone through Anna had to get a friend to pretend to chat him up so we could run away and drive without him back down the hill. I got home as the sun was coming up, the birds tweeting and bakery opening up. I was in the state where you feel sober but blatantly aren't, and I tried to read my new book. 

("Granite Island" by Dorothy Carrington, a british woman who first came here in 1948. She was seduced by the island and it's people and wrote many books about the history and culture of Corisca. She lived in Ajaccio until she died in 2002 aged 91) 

I wasn't successful and fell asleep after dribbling on page 1.

Needless to say, Sunday was a write-off. I got up at 2, drank a coffee or 3 and gave the apartment a good clean. 

Now its Monday. I was meant to meet Santu but I'm meeting him tomorrow instead. Today I photographed Patricia Poli in her magnificent apartment above place de marche. She sat at her piano and sang beautiful songs and I took pictures. After the sun moved round a little the light got much better and I think the pictures will be very nice. Patricia also gave me a CD with her songs and said I could use one of them for a slideshow. After drinking tea with her and making a few more appointments with Anna's help I headed home still weary from the weekend. I brought on the way a cable to connect my Ipod to the sound system in the flat and looked forward very much to listening to Patricia's CD. Her band is called Soledonna and I had already stumbled across some of their music on Pandora. The CD is fantastic. Track 4 is an arrangement of "Bella Ciao" which seems to be popping up in various places alot lately. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bella_Ciao

On the speakers in my flat the music is gorgeous!  I think this will be the song I choose if these portraits are ever made into a slideshow. 

and on that note.

ciao ciao.

 

 

Saints, men being waxed and chicken torches

Today has been full to the brim with people, and a fascinating bunch of people they were too. I began by waiting in the car park at the end of the street for Santu (saint) a man whom I had had a brief and broken conversation with on the telephone and who was recommended to me by Marcel. He was playing pink floyd in the car and he looked like an old hippy. We went to Lupino in the south and had coffee in a cafe that was full of other people just waking up. After two espressos my conversation tends to improve and after an hour we were talking about rent prices in London - for boats and otherwise - and the drug problem in Bastia. He explained to me that there is a big celebration in Corisca on March 19th for St Joseph's day, and there will be a procession through the city, where the religious brotherhood will all walk together wearing robes. On Easter Monday, or St Pascal's day there is a possibility that I can go with him to his village, where there is a man with chains on his feet carrying a wooden cross through the streets - this will be wonderful for photos so fingers crossed. Then we had lunch together, I had pasta with 4 cheeses and he a gigantic veal steak with breadcrumbs..it was bigger than my face I reckon. Then a tiramisu - which you seem to get everywhere here - so I felt pretty stuffed afterwards. Memories came back of being taken for dinner in China or Mongolia where politeness must take priority over personal preference. In this instance it wasn't the food, it was the amount, but still the same feeling of obligation. After this Santu dropped me home and offered to take me to some shops in the old town that have been there for ages and are complete with an old lady. 

Next my first photograph of the project, a portrait of Anna in her colourful apartment. A wee struggle with the lighting, but we'll see how they turn out. Her lounge is so bright and there are so many things to look at that I think it will be a nice picture. After this we went around the town visiting different ladies that Anna knows. First we went to a beauty salon with two - apparently typically corsican - women. Anna's friend was working at the time but she heard us from upstairs and came down to get me. I followed her up the wooden staircase and into a room where a man was being waxed and given a facial! I thought I had walked in by mistake! but actually as she was busy she wanted me to take the photo of her working!! The man didn't seem to mind and he just lay there while I took the pictures! Again the light was not fantastic, but god I hope this picture comes out. It would be a classic!

Then we went to a lovely tea room in a little side street where a friendly sophisticated woman in ethnic clothing greeted us warmly. The cafe had a lovely interior with a very uniquely corsican feel. The lady is called Patricia and she is also a very popular polyphonic singer..an art which was not open to women until recently. After explaining my project and showing her my book, she agreed to be photographed and said she would prefer a photograph of her at her piano as that is where she spends most of her time. She said she would also sing me a song!

I will go there next Tuesday afternoon and the sun will be low in the sky but shining into her apartment which is high up. While Patricia was serving a customer, Anna showed me some books of a photographer who's name I wish I could remember as he walked into the cafe 5 minutes later. Anna explained that all of the interesting people in Bastia know each other and it is very good that I met him....I will find out his name tomorrow. After a nice pot of sencha tea we left and pottered around town before ending up in a cute little restaurant serving kebabs and falafel. We sat down and drank a pot of mint tea and Jackie the owner brought us home made baklava. Her 5 and a half year old daughter is now my French teacher. Her name is Noa and she is extremely mature. After explaining my project Anna left me to hang out with them...Jackie's english is great and Noa speaks childrens language so its much easier for me to understand! She has drawn about 6 pages of princesses and fairies in my notebook. I was then invited to their house where I was quickly shown how to do fairy jigsaw puzzles and given some presents. The first gift was some petit petit hair accessories. The second was a photo of Noa ice skating and third - which I didn't get until after dinner - was a yellow rooster plastic torch. When you press a button on the bum of chicken, the mouth opens and a light comes out! It also makes a cock a doodle doo. Quite convenient this gift, as I had forgotten my torch this morning and the stairwell in my building is very dark - goodness knows what the neighbours thought I was bringing home with all the cock a doodle doo's it emitted! After eating with Jackie, Noa, her son, and the Tunisian au pair I left. I will see them again soon I hope! 

Its been a lovely day, busy, colourful and diverse. Exactly the way that I hope my portrait series will become!

I have another early start so je vais me couche.

bon nuit,

Grace

x

My balcony when it isn't windy

My balcony, originally uploaded by gracegelder.

Rapunzel

I am completely at the mercy of nature, stuck in my apartment, too scared to open the kitchen door to grab my pants off the washing line in case I break another load of glass. This wind is completely crazy. It began at about 4am with me being woken up by an eerie howl and a load of banging. I soon twigged that it wasn't a ghoul trying to get into my apartment , it was another dose of mediterranean wind. I stumbled out of bed, opened the door to the balcony and began taking my washing in in the dark - only the smalls remain there now. I tried to go back to bed but lay there worrying something would open and blow everywhere. A minute later it did. There are now fluffy seeds all over the floor of the lounge. After securing all doors and windows for a second time I finally went to bed sleep. Only when a change in pitch occurred did my cat nap cease and I again got up to check all of the potential wind-holes. While I was lying in my bed I could imagine the journey that the (inevitably) lost pair of pants might make around the citadel in Bastia. I could imagine them floating onto new balconies, mingling with other pieces of underwear and maybe even going in the Church and landing on the head of the black Jesus they found in the sea in 1400 and something....who knows. 

There are sirens everywhere, it sounds like there is a monster trying to get out of the washing machine cupboard, then there is a silence and then another gust wraps itself around the three bare walls of the flat.

Should be an interesting day!

(Forgive the short post, my focus is more concerned with making sure that mother nature doesn't trash the flat again.)

Sunshine, Stevie Wonder impersonator and Syrian poetess

Today was a completely different day. Glorious sunshine, and the whole of Bastia out to enjoy it. After being woken up at 9am by two adolescent boys ringing my doorbell claiming to be electricians (I hope they were because they did something to the meter box thing) I prepared for a visit from the "Proprietor" Maxime - who is definitely a man. He arrived at 11 am sharp but I think he was here a little bit before that, as the husky hobbit like man who is always hanging out by the church shouted AAALLOOORORRRSSSSS MAXIME! on the street and the two men had a conversation that I could hear but not understand all of. Maxime came with a plastic white Ikea-esque lamp which was a sorry replacement for the 80 year old chandelier which so nearly fell on my head. It was a working light nonetheless and now I can see what I am cooking properly. I made him a coffee and he told me some very interesting history about the apartment I am staying in. The citadel itself is the oldest part of Bastia, that I could have guessed, but I had no idea that Rue Notre Dam, the street I live on at number 8, is the oldest street in the entire city. It was built to provide a path for the Genovese aristocracy to get from their palace to the Church and those buildings remain to this day, the bookends of my street. The old husky hobbit man and his wife were actually born in this building and they have lived here ever since. The 600 year old history does explain the charismatic flakiness of the building a little and perhaps why certain chandeliers fall down sometimes. 

After Maxime had put in the light and sorted out the DVD and surround-sound system for me, he said a pleasant goodbye and went on his way. I gave Anna a call who suggested going and having lunch in the sun at the "Vieux Port" (Old harbour). I gave her a knock and we began a search for the perfect table in the sun with a nice lunch on it. Clearly the whole city had the same idea and the best cafe was overloaded, so we headed to Place St Nicolas instead. There was the same ambience there and we found a place and had some lunch. Anna had been thinking about my project and already had a few interesting women in mind to photograph. She also spoke of her observations of "les bastiaises". They all wear black. They all have designer sunglasses. They all have dark groomed hair with a fringe. She's actually quite right! There are exceptions obviously, but on the whole everyone wears black. She attributed this in part to the south mediterranean style - being greek she noted the tendency in her own culture to follow this tradition. Its something I will definitely think about. The women she knows are diverse - which is unusual for an outsider, but I can imagine her personality enables her to traverse the rigid social boundaries. Next week she will begin to introduce me to different women who I can photograph. After our lunch we pottered along in the sun and couldn't resist a coffee to continue soaking it up some more. We sat in a place which had the most ridiculous looking desert platter I have ever seen, so we ordered two. It was an espresso, a shot glass full of tiramisu, a shot glass full of chocolate mousse and a small anise scented mousse thing with chocolate on top. Bloody gorgeous it was! The sun must have been over 20 degrees and there were plenty of people to watch for the hour that we stayed there. 

After digesting all the sugar I said bye to Anna and headed to "Lupino" the district in the south 

where the CIDFF (An organisation fighting for the rights of victims of domestic violence) office is. After a 45 minute walk up some huge hills I arrived as they were all leaving. It must have been a misunderstanding of mine caused by me acting like I actually knew what was going on when I didn't. Never mind. I was quickly put in a car with a Syrian poetess and a french lady and driven to the Municipal library where there was a poetry recital by 4 women. The syrian lady read her poems in arabic - which sounds beautiful and it was nice to think that no one else understood either! They were then translated into French and occasionally Corsican, which sounds like a mix of Catalan and Italian to me. The Coriscan poets were mostly reading in French and from what I understood were talking about Corsica not being French. As they were reading slowly and with alot of accentuation I actually understood about half. It was a good hour and a half of French lesson for me. (I am now listening to an internet radio station called "French songs since 1890 of the dead artists" in the hope that by overloading my brain with all things French I will one day wake up and suddenly spout a stream of long repressed perfect French. Its chanteurs.org if you are interested in hearing it yourself)

Anyway, whilst waiting for the Syrian lady to acknowledge the fact that I was standing in front of her waiting to ask a question I was poked by the boob of a very large lady who asked me something in very rapide French. I explained that I am English and don't speak much French so she spoke to me in English instead. I explained my project and asked her what she did and she told me she sings Stevie Wonder covers aswell as French stuff. I think she is actually a bit bonkers, she kept lurching at people and half talking to me. She beckoned me to the bar where I was given a Muscat and she continued to lurch. Then in a room full of people talking about women's rights in the arab world amongst other things, she burst into a hearty french song. Some people seemed to look interested, others looked embarrassed, two men shook their heads. It was quite weird, especially as she kept looking at me. I made a dart for the door and bumped into the lady who had driven me and the syrian lady there. She was very friendly and she quickly went into my "list of people I enjoy practicing my French with". She asked about my project and gave me her card - she is the head of the women's rights department in the local government and is very interested in my project. She wants to spend time chatting and looking at my Mongolia book after the busy week of activities for International Women's Day.

Great. C'est bon, et apres ca, je suis allee a la maison.

Bon Nuit,

Good night.

Narrowly missing falling chandeliers

March 5th 3pm

As the wind has blown away the the electricity for a while there is no internet, so until the (thankfully) fully charged battery of my laptop runs out I will write about the day's events on a stickie note.

Yesterday was a day of studying tying up loose ends and cooking so not much to talk about. Today was much more fun. As I write there is a gale force wind blowing through the apartment, its actually quite concerning because as I returned to the aprtment about 45 minutes ago, the kitchen doors - which were firmly closed when I left - were wide open and banging and the floor was covered in pieces of glass. The wind is so strong that I could not even manage to lean against the doors to keep them closed. Dishevelled is probably the best way to describe the atmosphere, both of me and everything around me!

So I look for a broom, and there isn't one. I picked up the biggest pieces of glass and put them on the table. The doors blew open again and as I went to close them the chandelier that I had just passed underneath fell onto the floor. I couldn't believe it, although I had heard thumps from the apartment above a minute or two before it happened. The wind is an incredible thing. I have figured out how to shut the door properly now - meaning it blows open every 20 minutes instead of two. The whole flat is shaking and there is a ghostly howl working its way up and down the street. The stiff old yellow wooden shutter in my bedroom had also managed to work its way open. I can't even manage to open it that easily, it needs a right old wrench.

Anyway, enough about the wind - I think you get the picture. I met Jean Thomas this morning by Napoleon in Place St Nicolas, and I could tell it was going to be a good day immediately. He's a jolly fellow, extremely camp and very friendly. We spoke only French, but he was easy to understand and helped me alot with my grammar. We walked all around the Quartier de centre - the district he is responsible for - and he showed me another way into the citadel where I live.

(am writing this at 20.56 as have just spent the last few hours with a power cut and a glass covered broomless kitchen) I went out to buy candles in case the night was going to be spent in the dark. Marcel has just visited me and spoken to the landlord. With a name like maxime I had made the mistake of assuming it was a woman. Now I hear that Maxime is a very educated and very beautiful single man. Hes coming at 11am tomorrow morning with a new light for the kitchen. All is now clean and I have electricity. Marcel also informed me that the wind was 100km/hour today. No bloody wonder I couldn't close the door. Its not the end of those winds either.....

I'll continue with the story.

After picking up some pain au chocolats we went to his friend Anna's house and he seemed quite excited because she "was Greek and had good coffee". Anna lives in a house not disimilar from the one in Totnes near the Waterman's Arms pub with plants and pots and sculptures all outside it. A few of them were broken by cars or naughty children. She was extremely friendly and I liked her instantly. Her flat was a big cosy room with a mezzanine level, and a big buddha in the lounge. She sat us at a table and brought us a delicious cup of coffee and some madelines.
Her English was very good and we got on well and talked about photography and my ideas. It turns out she knows a wide range of bizarre women for me to photograph in Bastia. I feel a lot better after the meeting! Lunch was paid for with a book of vouchers by Jean Thomas - courtesy of whatever job he does at the town hall and we had a lovely mexican meal at the old harbour. Now I have some buddies to hang out with the next two months looks a bit more fun!

Bon nuit,

Grace

3rd night.

I am about to spend my third night in Bastia, Corisca. I arrived on 1st March at 21.30 on a plane transfer from Nice. (where I watched two massive arguments break out in the space of 20 minutes) Marcel Fortini, the director of the CMP (Centre Mediterraneen de la Photographie), the organization I am working with, met me at the airport. He was friendly, easy-going and quickly began explaining how I need to speak French. I did my best but my best is relatively crap, he was encouraging nonetheless, and so I tried some more. 

After 25Km we were at the apartment I now live in. It is probably the polar opposite of the barge I live on in London. It is situated on the second floor of a building inside the Citadel http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Citadel It is huge and bright, with big windows and a balcony. It has an amazing shower built into the corner of the bathroom with a white mosaic floor and wall. There is a huge oven, a washing machine, a dishwasher and chandeliers. There are very interesting works of art and artefacts on the walls and good books on the shelf. It also has wifi - hence the blog. (OK enough rambling on about my temporary accomodation - I just can't believe my luck!)

So after the do's and don'ts were said and the plans for the following day announced, I went to sleep in my new four-poster.

Yesterday - day two in the big Bastia house - Marcel picked me up at 11.30 and drove me around the city. It is one of those cities where its actually quicker to walk as driving takes you round the one way streets in the opposite direction of where you want to go. There was plenty of time to get my bearings and its basically left or right along the coast depending on where you want to go. We went for lunch at a cosy wooden restaurant where my first drink of the day was a glass of "Table wine" which tasted like normal wine to me because I am from the UK. The pizza was mouth-watering and the coffee to follow was pokey and short - just the way I like it. Then I met Valerie, Marcel's assistant whom I would be having the most contact with. She is also very nice and speaks good English. By now I get a sense that Marcel is concerned that I am going to struggle with this project. I am however, determined not to. I keep telling myself that if I can manage to make a book about Mongolian women in 2 months then a book about Corsican ones shouldn't be too hard...but maybe its harder!

An afternoon with Valerie was spent visiting the office, the south of the city (the "disadvantaged" part where a massive regeneration is taking place) and the centre of the town. I then went on an adventure to buy a sim card a dictionary and some vegetables. Apart from not realising that in order to get any attention in the Orange phone shop, you needed a ticket, (I eventually sussed that out) I was successful. I had a nice lentil stew and ebly for dinner. 

Today I went with Valerie to meet the head of the south "Quartier" she explained my project and that I wanted to photograph women in their apartments but he was also a little pessimistic about my ability to communicate. Then we met a lady who was the head of an organisation who defend the rights of women who are victims of domestic violence. She was introduced to me and then introduced herself in perfect English and told me on Friday there is a celebration for international women's day and an exhibition of work by women who had been attending art classes. I could feel the others breathe a sigh of relief and my hope in the project was restored. 

She gave me her number and I will meet her on Friday. I was also introduced to the head of the central "Quartier" and despite his pigeon English and my pigeon French we are meeting next to Napoleon on Thursday morning at 9am. 

After this cluster of rendevous I went into town to check out the art centre. It wasn't that interesting as the exhibitions and cafe were closed but I did meet a lady and I asked her if she knew of any french teachers, she did and said she would call me. After that I wandered into Le Ronde Pain for some lunch and a hot chocolate and had a Coriscan cheesy bread thing which I have forgotten the name of. It was very tasty! The two bored looking assistants giggled a lot - probably at me - and when I went to pay, the cockier one asked for my number for the other one. I told them after an awkward silence that I would return and give him my card at some point. He may be useful at some point. To finish the day off I popped into the little shop I spotted yesterday with heaps of lenses in the window and pictures everywhere. The lively oldish man who owned it came to life and he has a lens for the Nikon I have which I am tempted to buy. He also had just about every possible image of Corsica old and new you could ever wish for. I spent an hour in their looking at everything from Mick Jagger being papped by him whilst on holiday (shouting fuck off) to images of maps from 1600's. He had some great pictures of Jim Morrison (some looking pretty terrible) and thousands of images of every aspect of Corsican life. We had a great conversation with a complete hotch-potch of Corsican, French English and Italian. A fruitful day.

Maintenent, je vais me couche.