TWO PARADISES
I love the way time moves on Ile de Re. It’s a place populated by so many constants, that it doesn’t mark time conventionally—things creep forward but my visit this year, my visit last year, and the two years before have so many interchangeable frames. I don’t have the same shocks like I do when I come back to Seattle after a year’s absence—where has everything gone and what the hell is that in its place?—everything—the beach, the village, the fields—is right where I left it. The first time I came to Ile de Re, Aden was a newborn and we were up in the early mornings giving her feedings; she was completely captivated by the simple switching on of the light fixture in the main room; after dinner I would pass out on the couch with Aden on my chest…three years later she’s a bit bigger, watching DVDs on her personal player, speaking full and lively sentences, eating with a fork (tho’ she still sits in a high chair, and sometimes mamie still feeds her…she regresses a bit in the grandparents’ care, but I say…the rest of life with its cold comforts is on us soon enough, enjoy being a little thing while it’s here.
I settled into enjoying the island extensively this last week. Riding my bike on ever longer arcs, I rode to St. Martin and back no problem (my bike, however, being the cheapest model I could by, pretty much threatened to vibrate apart on this 10 mile ride) just for the pleasure of checking email and having a café at the 4bis Café, which is in the Hotel La Jetee, Ile de Re’s most stylish hotel. There are a couple of 4 star ones on Ile de Re, and I haven’t been in them, but the vibe seems distinctly old school, and La Jetee is not only placed directly in the middle of the harbor area, but it has a lovely style to it and a sense of fun about it…the higher-rated (Somehow, La Jetee is a three star hotel, prob. because it doesn’t have a full on restaurant—but being where it is, there are loads of good ones within a five minute walk) places are tucked off in odd corners of the island, standing alone and not inviting my curiosity whatsoever. Le Richelieu’s restaurant has a Michelin star but even that has never gotten me interested—I’d much rather spend an evening at Bô, for example. The 4bis Café has free wifi (and a free computer for internet access—the net cafés in St. Martin charge like 10 Euros an hour or something ridiculous), sandwiches, good café, and juices and the like…and like the hotel, groovy, colorful décor.
On Sunday night Dom & I watched fireworks that were accompanied by a music and narration over a PA system that triumphed the island’s failure to be surrendered into English hands in the 17th century—and in fact Dom said the narration was rather a taunt. The fact is, the English are staking their claim now, and succeeding in maintaining it. The fact is, Easyjet, Ryanair, and Flybe all come to La Rochelle now, and by the number of passengers I saw boarding the Easyjet flight to Bristol on Friday, I would say that there are a substantial number of commuters living part time on the island, and part time in some soggy chunk of the bigger island up north. Someday, everyone in the UK will live in Almeria or Umbria etc., and take a £9.99 flight to their job each morning in Wolverhampton or Leeds etc. and back home again each night.
I watched three wonderful bits of odd cinema this week, Guy Maddin’s “Twilight of the Ice Nymphs”, “Archangel”, and “The Heart of the World”, which are all on one DVD released by Zeitgeist Video. All three films (the latter being a 6 minute short) have oddly mannered characters who continually search for love and miss the obvious, throwing themselves at the mercy of indifferent or horrified objects of affection…and always end up pilloried on a petard of ice grown in their own hearts, having passed a worthy ship in the night, circling it, even…all of these dramas play out in wonderful/absurd landscapes with incredible amounts of detail scattered around each frame, creating completely realized, completely and consistently stylized worlds.
On Friday I had my last aquagym, my last bike rides, my last trip to the village to the café, journaux, poissonerie, boulangerie etc. The whole family accompanied me to the airport, where I was horrified to see a line of passengers stretching out the front doors of the tiny terminal into the parking lot. As it turns out, these were Easyjet passengers; the Ryanair line was much shorter. I gave one last goodbye hug and kiss to Aden about 25 times. Dom & I found we have the same feeling when leaving Ile de Re: that we may never return. I think the time we spend there is so powerful, inspiring and rejuvenating that we think it too good to be true. But it’s true that my heart breaks when I have to go, and it was doubly hard to say goodbye to Aden after having these uninterrupted days to play with her.
In the 90s my first wife Kim befriended a lovely guy who was an editor at Random House. She sent him promos from SubPop Records, where she worked, and he sent us boxes of great books. From Philip K. Dick to Martin Amis to Richard Ford…in the split I ended up with probably 50 great titles, most of which are in storage but let’s say that it’s very odd for me to buy a book. I have just been narrowing down the list of unread titles on my shelf for years. I blazed thru the two books I brought to Ile de Re (they were, after all, comic books, albeit 350-page ones) and found myself on Friday evening in a situation I hadn’t been in for some time—having time and money to spend, in an English-speaking country, with the glorious obligation to supply myself with reading material. After checking in for my flight to Glasgow, I checked in to the Borders in Stansted airport and proceeded to browse my way slowly thru title after title. I finally picked up Rajiv Chandrasekaran’s “Imperial Life in the Emerald City” which is essentially a shopping list of absurd examples of the incompetence of the US administration in Iraq in the Bremer era. I’m only a short way in and the smugness and detachment I am starting to observe America with from my CESM viewpoint is bubbling over.
The second part of this blog is to be called: God Bless Norman Blake. Norman, the humble genius brogue-ing away at the center of Teenage Fanclub, was kind enough not only to put me up on Friday but he picked me up at the airport, at 10.20 on a Friday night. That’s a friend.
The Blakes live in a lovely flat, which is astoundingly similar in layout and external appearance to another Glasgow address I’ve crashed at many times, Eugene Kelly’s. Norman, his extremely kind Ms. Christa, and their daughter Rowan, live in a place that reminds me of what Dom & my place would be if a) it was just a bit bigger and b) my stuff wasn’t in a storage place 10,000 miles away. It’s a kind of cheerful museum to their pursuits (music and art collecting) that’s neither cluttered nor stodgy…it’s just the home of three very cool people, that reflects quite tastefully their warmth and good peeps-ness. Rowan, 11, gave me her room, after moving her gerbils to an undisclosed location. I slept with the protection of My Chemical Romance looking over me as guardian angels…when I arrived Rowan was already in bed but the adults split a bottle of wine and listened to the new Kevin Ayers album that Norman helped work on, and talked about many things. In fact, since I’ve been eating lights and not drinking for like a month, the 3 glasses of wine I had left me absolutely hammered, so I spoke freely on a number of subjects! You could also say I felt at home.
In the morning Norman was up early working on some faceplate designs for some audio components he’s building from scratch; he also made me café latte that’s more or less the best I’ve had in months. Rowan emerged and introduced me to her gerbil, who proceeded to eat part of my finger! After the usual confusion and scramble of show day with guests and kids and all, we set off to drop my stuff/check me in at my hotel, pick up Dom at the airport (who had boarded a plane directly after leaving Universal Music’s big convention party in Paris at about 5am!) and haul ass out to Inveraray, to the estate of the Duke of Argyll, who is playing host to a lovely little party called Connect Festival.
I was determined to see Vashti Bunyan, having missed her at Primavera Sound last year as her set was the exact same time and length as Big Star’s soundcheck. I had arranged that our arrival would be about an hour before she went on—except that a) she went on an hour earlier than planned and b) my passes were about a mile away. I apologized to Dom, who was more or less not interested in running down a muddy track thru the woods, and dashed down same in search of the box office to pick up my wristband. The head honcho of the festival happened to be driving the golf cart I flagged down, and took me around the back way to the stage where Vashti was performing (the car park, box office and stage were all at opposite points of a very large triangle) so I managed to see 4-5 songs, which was more than enough to satisfy me. Having played solo shows at festivals in the past, I felt for her as she grimaced each time a huge clatter came from behind the backdrop as the next bands’ backlines were being loaded in. I remember playing Falls Festival in Australia on New Year’s Eve 2001, being almost drowned out by the Hives who were about 150 yards away. And, during Vashti’s last song, a techno bass drum started to thump quite audibly out of time with her music. But still, I loved her set!
The rest of the day Dom and I wandered around, ate haggis/neeps/tatties, ran into Eugene Kelly, Michael Cerveris and other musical friends, watched Teenage Fanclub’s amazing set (their first show in over a year), watched a bit of the Divine Comedy, watched a bit of Modest Mouse (Dom remarked that they sound like they’re from Ghent, and indeed they are now like an American Zita Swoon in many ways. They have a percussionist as well as a drummer, plus of course Johnny Marr, and I have to say, it all works together really well. Isaac is more of a component than a focal point now, so it really feels like a big band working together, rather than songwriter with musicians behind, which is a little more how the earlier stuff was to me (which I also liked a lot). We spent a lot of time shivering in the drizzle. And, at last, Norman & co drove us home…I can only say: God bless the Family Blake, kindest in the land.
Today we stayed in the hotel, to postpone exposure to the drizzle and mud, enjoyed the pool, endless cups of tea (I have now perfected my technique) and wished that I was in the same time zone as the U.S. Open; hope it's on tonight when we get back.
Love
KS
Glasgow, UK
