happiness is a mat that sits on your doorway

you'll have recognised the line by the counting crows.
aberdeen was full of movement. a lifetime crammed into a week resembling a poem by william carlos williams (no it is not pathethic to write that!). only after opening the fridge in bucharest and seeing the very same milk tetra packs that remained from when i left did i realise that i have only been gone a brief while. friends found back, scottish and salsa dancing, indian food, discussions, a flying spaghetti monster with mobile eyes, walks and seagulls. beats with my brother, coffee with mum. it was a magical time, with people materialising when i thought of them, and with sensitivity heightened to the extent that i could feel people better again. after some time i didn't need to explain about the last six months anymore. we had arrived in the same world again. flying north when flowers are starting to fade also means you get to see more blossoming. i found back the pleasure of reading and learnt about the enclave of gorazde, and the wind-up bird chronicle (still recommenging murakami for anyone who needs a journey of dreams and stories resembling a silk garment). real sadness came over me when the plane came down over english patterned fields, windsor castle and a lake with little dinghies. leaving to less comfortable places in the hope of learning. i miss you already.

Ukommen a Schottland

Di Saach mat de Fliijeren ass jo sou, dass dat alles ze seier geet. Et kennt een dann och un ouni Probleem, an ech war sou frou fir zreck dass ech schon Deeg firdrun nit mi schlofe konnt, an ech war matt mengem ganzen Etre ‘poised’ wi dat joi su schein heescht op Englesch fir rem heihinner. Ech war benzich, well hei ass di Plaatz di mech an de leschte puer Joer vill geformt huet, an wou ech frou war. Fir d’eischt war ech einfach nemmen iwwerrascht an iwwerwaelticht vun all den Autoen hei, vun de Stroossen, dem groen Himmel, dem Granit. Nee wi propper ass et. Nee wat hun di all ee komeschen Accent wann se Englesch schwetzen. An si sin sou frendlich. Mee ech war gefaang an enger Art Nervositeit gekoppelt matt extremer Middichkeet, an ech war liicht desorienteiert vun dem Gejaitzs vun de Meiwen moies frei. 6 Auer moies, ech sin hellwaakrich, an ech konnt neischt iessen vun lauter Elektrisiteit. Firwat get et hell matzen an der Nuecht? Firwat reent et vun alle Seiten? Firwat hun ech emmer di falsch Kleeder un? Ei, d’Sonn hei pickt mech nit. Ech war dann och opgereecht fir jiddfereen hei ze gesin an normal Saachen ze maan, wi an de Kino ze goen an vleicht bei den Inder. Ech hun dat remfonnt wat ech vermesst hun, an d’Freijoer hei ass genial. D’Faarwen an d’Klorheet vun der Atmosphere am Norden hu mech wierklich bereiert.
No e puer Deeg Gefill wi Insomnia matt pickichen Aan an Nerven aus Chinapabeier sin ech dann elo ganz ukomm… an muss an 60 Stonnen rem meng Valisse paken.

Forthcoming...

Here, the news about the forthcoming World Development Report that - almost surprisingly - acknowledges the damages made to agriculture and other sectors by deregulation policies and laissez-faire to the point of abandonment. You may have heard it all before, but it needs to be remembered and made present more often. Still a third of humanity lives in absolute poverty, still the gap between rich and poor rises, with rural areas in the "third world" at the bottom of the bottom rungs. Quote from Le Monde: "Bien que l'agriculture ne soit pas le seul instrument capable de les sortir de la pauvreté, c'est une source hautement efficace de croissance pour y parvenir." An important sentence after all these years during which agriculture has been devalued, underpaid and the consequences remained little considered.
I wonder what impact the following strategy will have on the world and how exactly the World Bank will re-orient its policies for what Le Monde says may be 20 years...
"L'accélération du changement climatique, l'imminence d'une crise de l'eau, la lente adoption des nouvelles biotechnologies, et le bourgeonnement de la demande de biocarburants et d'aliments pour le bétail créent de nouvelles incertitudes sur les conditions dans lesquelles la nourriture sera disponibles dans l'économie mondiale".

Mitschmatsch

I'm in Bucharest and I have the luxury of internet access. Attentive followers of this blog may have realised that it is not updated in real time. I write stuff in my offline-village in the Carpathians and post it in bulk whenever I get the chance to be wired.
So among the trivialities that captured my attention were:
The president of Romania has been suspended and will take his hat. There was a big pro-Basescu demonstration on University Square. The question that crossed my mind was: what is this going to change? Democracy works in great ways here (and elsewhere). This did not make the news much in the Anglophone world, and in France, I guess, it got blanked out by election craze. To me it appears like just another scene in a political play with lots of acts and revirements and bilete and interestedness and messiness. All for the good of the people of course.
I found the architectural imgatination displayed by the 3D graphist artists here exceptionally beautiful. If I could go through a career training again, it would be IT and graphic design programming. No kidding.
The self-proclaimed salvator of Romania, Gigi Becali, has a TV station now, airing 'religious ceremonies and Steaua trainings'. This is exactly what the world needed. From Cotidianul more.
Today's Wortchen features the linguistically elegant title of ' Vier Tage lang den Geist der Bücher aufsaugen'. Is this how you motivate people to read or attend festivals? I am unsure about the strategy...
Aberdeen has a summer archaeology school and I wish I was not on fieldwork...
Still up for primitive humour:

So go and give them love, you're spending too much time with the computer anyway!

nutshell pulling faces on fieldwork...

In random order:
a. attentive and quite interested in whoever is sitting across from me and/or what they are telling me

b. letting it all out: how can one single valley annoy me so much?

c. content and slightly amused by the thought of one old villager I met on the road and who told me a joke on his way to the fountain

d. upon discovering that an interview has been postponed or cancelled by the work of “higher forces”

e. smiling aggressively in a (more or less failed) attempt to be funny

f. mischievous and imagining all the things I feel like doing instead of walking around in a valley asking silly questions

g. worried to the point of exhaustion and/or having just heard an awful piece of news

h. a bit annoyed sitting across from some guy who is being racist, sexist or otherwise inappropriate, and not wanting to be shouting at him, because I should be professional… and I just grind my teeth, fiddle with my pen, say da-da, hm-mh, and my belly is full of anger

i. dreamily thinking of all the good, soothing, exciting, strange and beautiful things that have happened in my life: happy memories

j. enjoying the sun tickling my nose and being completely absorbed in mostly happy thoughts

k. trying to crack the latest anthropological or personal problem but actually getting side-tracked by trivialities, which already makes for more lightheartedness

l. appearing to be very sad, absolutely worthy of attention, and offering that look that hopefully will melt hearts, minds and, if need be, steel (Letzebuergesch: eng Schëpp = literally, a shovel, viz shape of the subject’s mouth)

m. something in my world has definitely caught my attention (speak to C.S. Peirce about this)

n. mocking and taking on a slightly superior stance and showing that what is inside is what counts

Movements

Why is it that, now that I am leaving for a bit, I notice all these things I have not done, and yet, at the same time, my mind is already bouncing off Edward Wright building and walking up College Bounds. My vision of the present becomes more acute, I am perceiving people and things intensely emotionally, as if for the first time. Threat of absence makes impressions stronger. Yet I am already preparing my luggage in my mind, when I should be focusing on what is at stake here. When I am in one village, I think about all the people who might be home in the other one, and when I walk to the other one, I remember what I forgot to do at home. The issue is closely connected to my needing to remain flexible, because people resist being nailed down to an hour and a place, and so I need to learn differently, and ‘be like a running brook’ (K. Gibran) that seizes opportunities and passages, and forgets about those that cannot be. Insistence is vain because it does not work that way, time has a different quality, and there are a lot of routes through the mountains. Yet, it is hard not to lose one’s bearings at times, with all the noise, the randomness, the stories, another kind of importance stressed, the deferring of time and the insistence on things that I had neglected. Why all this tugging of my being to be with my family, who are in one place, with my friends, mainly in a second place, when I am in a third one. Why all this being longing. Why all this being fragmented. Why all this time spent thinking about the other, having the feeling that time rushes with all this occupation, and, also, waiting for movements coming together.
16.04.07

Into My Arms

Sometime in the Easter Week, moved by all the hope, I decided to be happier, less anxious. Yet another scheme of growing up and shaping of how I am. So here I am, on fieldwork, another week has rushed by, I have Nick Cave in my ears, a blanket to hide under, and I am not thinking the creepily usual self-commiserating whining. Truly. I could be complaining about a lot of things, but something tells me it will not make it easier. I have this tendency sometimes to think the worst, and wake up thinking I have not a lot to live for, but, in fact, this is a matter of perspective. Not having a tight schedule which gives me the luxury to wake up slowly and ponder, generates a lot of space for thought and, indeed, creativity. I try to see it this way, though, I admit, it is not always easy to be your own master. Today, the yellow dog that I met as a puppy (and fell in love with) in November and who was my neighbour then, but who has since moved to another family, accompanied me to my field visits all day. I was amused by his opportunism, and flattered that he did not follow the first person who we encountered on the road to the next village. First, I told him to go home, then I told him not to be afraid of the other dogs, and then I told him not to walk in the muddy ditch (also serving as canalisation). I was so happy he was there. It was a bright day, and I did not care that he caused the whole dog population of the ulita mare to make a hell of a noise, announcing this traveller. I knew I would not find too many people at home, because they were all busy planting potatoes and labouring in their gardens on the hills, but I did not take it personally (for once). I sat for ages with the woman that has blue eyes and runs one of the little shops and listened to her explain about giant frogs, vinera izvorilor, local versus national politics and oameni vazuti. I walked back and recognised some people in cars coming my way and saying hello, waving, flashing lights. People’s Hristos a inviat, and I love the moment when you can decide whether you want to get involved in a conversation. My mother made me laugh on the phone. I shouted at an obviously hard of hearing old man who had his back turned to me and talked to some sheep across the fence. He eventually turned around, noticed me, came closer across his garden, and said, what are you saying, love? I am a bit deaf… How can you not smile at that? Of course I did not just shout at him for fun, I actually wanted to know whose sheep they were.

Spring, Easter and Tuica

Lighting a Candle, Kissing An Icon, Singing His Praise.

I never really understood religious practice until recently. It may seem pretty ludicrous considering anthropology deals a lot with religion, but it is true. It does not mean I never learnt about religions in the widest possible sense of the word. It does not mean I never tried to understand. It does not mean I never wanted to be part of a religious ‘community’. I wanted to be Catholic at times. I was, furthermore, like a lot of teenagers, fascinated by Eastern spirituality, meditation discipline and the ability to shape and lead one’s person through all kinds of ritual and everyday practices and habits. I felt strongly about the topic from quite early on, and I loved Schwëster Céline’s example of religious teaching in first and second grade, as well as another Katechet’s in fourth grade. It was about stories conferring what it means to be a good person, some historical teaching about the origins of Christendom (probably highly biased), and a lot of singing. I was fond of various aspects of mass, especially the phrase Herr, ich bin nicht würdig dass Du eingehst unter mein Dach, aber sprich nur ein Wort, so wird meine Seele gesund. I do not think I understood a lot, but I also liked the Credo, and, of course, the Hostie that used to stick to the top of my mouth.This is the origin story of my subsequent aversion to Catholicism. In 1991, when Iraq invaded Kuwait, one priest (Dächen) who had never even heard the word pedagogics but who was teaching us two hours a week, had us pray that the Third World War would not begin with this event. I went home in a panic. I was scared of his inappropriate stories of dying people he visited to give the last rites. He told us elatedly that his very dear friend had just been made bishop (about a year later, this bishop was responsible for our confirmation and said to me that I was wearing a nice dress, which had me puzzled – it has remained the only words I have exchanged so far with a bishop). We were eleven-year-olds under the madness lessons of a jumping, screaming priest who made the floorboards shake, and who dictated about the sacraments the rest of the time. The memories are brought back to me even today most vividly as I walk my dogs on a hill neighbouring the village when the wind carries the melody of those church bells to me. I was scared, and attempted to conform as well as I could. I strongly disliked the regime of punishment that happened in primary school when we missed out on certain masses. Some children got ‘gifts’ for attending, while the others… well, got scolded. I found unacceptable and stressful to the point of vomiting (but that is another story that will be spared to those I have not yet shared it with…) that a different teacher could pray with us every day and yet treat us blatantly and randomly differential by throwing large bundles of keys at our faces, and screaming at us. I was protective of my brother and did not like him being terrorised by the urging of various teachers and priests to follow a strict regime of Sunday mass, otherwise Hell would be unavoidable. Whatever happened to the merciful new God, a definite improvement on the avenging God of the Old Testament? How strictly the dogma is to be applied also depends on the willingness of people to accept it, but children, I think, should be protected from this kind of power games, and demonstrations of oh so little minds. Stëchwierder: divorce, deadly sins, the holy trinity, going to mass X times a week versus nasty gossip, judgementality, hypocrisy, conflict-eagerness, narrow horizons and boredom not channelled into positive creativeness. Following my father’s words, and developing an inclination to seek truth in philosophy, literature and history books as an arrogant, self-absorbed teenager, I decided that the church as an institution had to be condemned for all its wrongdoings and partiality throughout time. This would help to get things right in the future, which I imagined, of course, as secular as possible. I would argue this with teachers of religion. I would show complete disrespect to them, which makes me feel ashamed even now. I would argue this, defending laďcité, the Enlightenment, and all the rest of secular Western values. I failed to consider to a large extent, with all my concern on the failings of people working for churches, what religion means for people on a daily basis. I never came to agree with the rationale(s) behind Catholic celibacy, Catholicism’s obvious privileging of men, and its stance on birth control, the infallibility of the pope, nor can I empathise with certain kinds of US Protestantism or the complicated reasons behind religious extremism, when religion is uncannily closely allied with politics, hatred and identity. I will still today argue for the validity of secularism, but with some necessary qualifications. As I grew older, I became less radical – a real softie! A few things happened: first, I came to think about morality a lot. Second, I went through the process of coming to hold very dear some people who were believers of various kinds. I admired, respected, and, possibly failed to emulate their moral stamina and way of embracing the world. Third, the question of how you can reconcile your own views, perspectives and fundamental beliefs with others, who are seeing this world in very different terms, became more and more pressing as I learnt more about anthropology. Tanya Luhrmann has worked on a related question. In order to get into someone’s skin, it is not enough to learn the discourses. To summarise her work in North America very superficially, she is looking into the topic of how people become religious, and why certain people are more likely to have religious experiences (e.g. speaking in tongues, apparitions, etc.) than others. Why I was saying that I never understood religious practice until recently is because I never had an approach that was any other than led almost purely by my mind, by what I considered rational. I had no way of experiencing religion in emotional terms, except, possibly, through singing and playing instruments. I had no need to communicate through God with those I was worried about, because I was working in ways that were very self-centred and individualist. I may have had difficult moments, but I was always able to get help from other people: I was never on my own, yet I thought I could resolve anything with my head. I despised a lot about the village I grew up in because of its confessed religiosity and its multiple expressions of the contrary. It is a particularly apt example of a modernist vision of the world. I think it is the realisation that not everything is up to your own person that makes people like me, who have not been habituated as much with the religious disciplines of the person from early childhood, slowly comprehend with all your senses, all your ways of perceiving and understanding that churches can be places of comfort. Churches are buildings of peace, of recollection, of memory, of contemplation, of communication, of clarity. While I definitely had been in awe of churches as buildings before (Notre Dame de Paris, Chartres, Reims, Sevilla, Cordoba, Avila, Salamanca, Florence, Aachen, Sainte Gudule, Glasgow Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s, Iona Cathedral, St Machar’s, Sagrada Familia, Cathédrale de Luxembourg, Sfantul Iosif Bucharest, to name but a few), and while I had sought them out for reasons that were unclear to me, I did not consider the links between architecture, aesthetics and emotions. Here, as in other architectural examples, orientation in space and time, and ordering of space comes close to an ordering of the cosmos, an ordering of the self in time. What it means to a person to light a candle for a dear person who has passed away, is to establish and make present the memory of all time spent together. It is to create, or highlight an emotional connection that has never been severed. It is to find hope and relief in a moment of silence and to take courage again to face everything else. What else is communion?I’ve always been a bit slow to understand certain things, especially those defying the kind of logic I am tending towards (or should I say ‘find easier to deal with’?). But I get there eventually…[After I had a long conversation with one of the priests here, I find that my idea of Christian religion is not in line with the hierarchical thinking of the more traditional elements of supposedly not just the Orthodox church. I have a problem with being told what to do, and so I am not sure if I will ever feel the need to go beyond that and submit to these kinds of demands of acceptance]03.04.07

‘It’s always been like this’

I will try to express to you how much I dislike this kind of explanation. Variants of it may be the following: ‘humankind is like this’, ‘the mentality here has always been like this’, ‘people are x,y or z’. I realise that it is often understood that I need to describe and analyse what is going on and what people are saying to me and not take sides. Write it all down, as it was put to you. I confess that sometimes I am an anthropologist who doesn’t shut up. My usually very calm, bordering-on-indifferent attitude to certain people making arguments with which I couldn’t disagree more gets disrupted at times. I lose my temper with some people, and I forget about politeness, and cannot just say to myself, let it go, you need not pay attention to this silliness. I have been trained to be sensitive to the world, due to my job, and the boundaries are permeable. I am involved in this world.I especially dislike when authoritarian males are trying to teach me about this, that or the other do not give me any credit, or think it needs convincing that they are the man for me, … just because they have made up their mind that I am a combination of a.young, b.female, c.foreign, d.blonde. I need to speak up against the cynical views so prevalent here that people have always been thieves, opportunists, and that politicians have always been out to get their own share by means of the office they occupy. I need to disagree with the idea that there have always been differences between people and that this is a good thing in the face of (and entirely ignoring) widening and deepening relative and absolute inequalities in a global economy that continues to be labelled ‘capitalism’. I need to hack at aristocratic pretensions and the ideas that some people are necessarily, by birth, masters or servants. I need to believe that the world is getting readier for meritocracy. I need to disagree with local bureaucrats who tell me bullshit about laws, public office and maps. I need to show a reaction to lies, excuses and lack of good will. I need to scream in the face of biological determinism and ‘it’s in our genes to be like this, that or the other’. I need to speak up against views that assert that men are more violent than women and have always needed, in situations like wars, to rape women. I need to shut out drunkards who interrupt me in my conversations with other people and who patronise me like I know nothing about the world and the language I have been living in for the last six months. I need to speak my mind about the casualness with which is mentioned the following: ‘I do not beat women’. I want a world in which this is impossible to even think. I need to encourage women who ask me whether I am not frightened to be alone, and to walk and live among strangers. I need to at least assert what I think (sometimes), even if I have no power to change any/much of it. Mentalities and people can change very quickly, and I refuse to believe that the people are all bad. I have a lot of faith, though I may lose courage and temper sometimes. This is why I fight.09.04.07

FLOUR, noun

A powder obtained by grinding grain, typically wheat, and used to make bread, cakes, and pastry
ORIGIN Middle English: a specific use of flower in the sense ‘the best part’, used originally to mean ‘the finest quality of ground wheat’. The spelling flower remained in use alongside flour until the early 19th century.
Willst du einen Kucken backen musst du haben sieben Sachen…. Butter und Schmalz, Zucker und Salz, Eier und Mehl, Safran macht den Kuchen geeeehl. Remember? My Tata Nin used to make me recite that. Along with Eia Popeia, and Bim Bam Biren… remember those, fellow Luxembourgers? Much too gruesome to be in my innocent little blog…
For those who did not know, I love making and sharing cakes…
CAKE MAKING. The messiness is great. First thing: I turn on the oven. I like assembling all ingredients, gathering them on the kitchen workbench. If you do not care to get first class ingredients, do not even bother to start. Here, the chickens are very kind (and happily walking around in the courtyard, with a caring rooster that gets upset if they make it over the fence, but not back again – they are good chickens but they are not very clever). They provide really healthy eggs without stress hormones, antibiotics, and the results of 24-hour artificial lighting. Those egg yolks are as yellow as it gets. The vagueness of recipes that do not really exist but in your head is something fitting with my philosophy of cooking. I had an argument with my high school chemistry teacher, who insisted cooking was a science. I still disagree, although I think I could take his point now without getting in a fight, quietly. You pour the wet things, the dry things and it mainly takes the will to improvise and use your powers of quick decision. The decision of mixing either with a fork or with a machine depends on what you want to prepare. As in most things I do, I do them impulsively-fast and without any show of patience and delicacy (though the intention might be present…). I may not know what I am doing but it is a lot of fun. I usually need a security radius of three metres, because I spill, the sugar leaks, and the flour scatters (here I wanted to write ‘poofs’, because this is what it does, but I was afraid of being misunderstood. Where are verbs like stëppsen when you need them in the rich English language?) in all directions, and I accidentally turn the mixer on maximum, spraying the cupboards with a snowy sweet substance. Then, after staining my front with flour, egg white and doughy stuff, I can finally get my hands dirty. I knead the dough and decide whether it is still too wet, taste briefly what it may need in addition, grease the pan quickly, and then put the mass of cholesterol-laden deliciousness into the shape, proceeding depending on the kind of cake you are making: layers, bottom, all-mixed-together kind. Let it get some heat (not too much at once, it will burn on the outside and be somewhat liquidy on the inside – not a pretty ending for a cake), and set your alarm clock. Go away and do not peer into the oven every three minutes. Cakes need their privacy. After your alarm has rung, you can go poke the golden sunrise with a knife. When ready, do not serve immediately, you fool. You will get sick, all your teeth will fall out, and you will miss out on the full enjoyment.
A WORD OF WARNING. When I was seventeen and on exchange in Australia, I wanted to impress everyone by making a cake. I found all kinds of ingredients in large, unlabelled glass jars. I mixed, worked, stirred, and tasted the ready dough. Damn. Salty as hell. How come? After a few more failed attempts, my hostmum came home from work, found a very messy kitchen and a desperate, stubborn teenager, and asked what on earth I was trying to do. I weakly offered to make something for the dogs out of the dough (stupid idea). Then she introduced me to one of the secrets of her household (or maybe of Australia – I cannot be so sure at the moment). Here sugar was brown, not white. Everything that was white was, in fact, salt. Yeah! A cake with 100 pinches of salt… yummy! So be sure what you are using is safe… or you will end up like that baker Mulles Mieltuut who was baking Mourekäpp on one of the Fausti tapes. He became paranoid they might contain washingpowder (Sääfepollefer), and tasted them one by one, until he became a huge Mourekapp himself… not a happy ending!
CAKE SHARING. It is an essential part of my research methodology. People give me all kinds of things: interviews, tuica, cheese, apples, time, laughs, coffee. I give them cakes in return. It is the least I can do. Cakes may also be given away as entirely free gifts, of course, and not only on birthdays. I miss my anthropology and history office and campus mates to give cakes to (of course only expecting kindness in return…).
OTHER REASONS FOR MAKING CAKES. It is a fun creative effort and takes less than an afternoon. Great for procrastinating, because it keeps your mind occupied and you will not have feelings of guilt in the process. Quick results, too, much unlike PhDs…
FINAL REMARKS. Of course I am resistant to bribes, but propositions welcome. Maybe I will be seduced, who knows, after all I live in a country where bribing is part of the deal (of course, only until they joined the EU… wait a moment… never mind). Should you ever wish to make a cake for me, be aware that chocolate cake is not really my favourite. In fact, I have had my decade of chocolate already. I am in the decade of cheese, just in case you were wondering. Here, given all the apples in the basement, I also deal with fruits. After that I will be ready to move on to something else. Life is full of surprises.
06.04.07