2012/03/02

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  Palais des Congrès - 2012.02.26 - 00h03
  Scènes de Montréal - Montreal Scenes
  

  A smile is gone

  A lot of people here were in mourning this Monday. Chantal Jolis, that French radio host turned Québécoise and of whom I talked about in my June 28, 2009 post, died in the early hours of the morning. She had the Parkinson's disease. She had chosen to live her last years in the Iles-de-la-Madeleine, of which I also talked about recently (February 16) when I recalled that giant storm that left me stranded there, in 1982. There was a lot of special programming on radio and on television, especially on Radio-Canada.

  She had a take on life, and death, that was absolutely remarkable. I hope, if ever I'm in a similar situation, to have both her serenity and lucitidy. Radio-Canada's Espace Musique has a blog and on the day she died, they posted a bunch of links to previous radio or television programs she took part in. One of them is centered on intimate interviews held in a train slowly going its way in the countryside. It's in French of course, so unfortunately not to the reach on non-French speakers, but for these latest, if it's available across the ocean, I'd strongly recommend. It was recorded in May of 2010 and she was already three years after her diagnostic. It lasts 17 minutes.

  The Radio-Canada blog -> http://blogues.radio-canada.ca/espacemusique/2012/02/27/chantal-jolis-bon-voyage/

  The specific train conversation link Entrevue de Chantal Jolis à On prend toujours un train en mai 2010 >> -> http://www.radio-canada.ca/audio-video/pop.shtml#urlMedia=http://www.radio-canada.ca/Medianet/2010/CBFT/emission30mai_m_2.asx

  

  Lucio is gone too

  Lucio Dalla died yesterday (Thursday). I played this morning a CD of him which I hadn't listened to in a while, and on which there is of course his all time greatest song, Caruso, which
  was also sung by Luciano Pavarotti as everyone knows. There are many versions of this song with Dalla on Youtube including one shot in Modena in 1992 featuring both Dalla and Pavarotti. On this day, however, I prefer this one, much slower, more intimate, and more recent (2010). It's from a RAI DUE television show.

  On that CD I have, there is another song which I like very much. It's called "4.3.43" which is Lucio Dalla's date of birth, March 4, 1943. This below is a rather special live version, on a very intimate and acoustic mode. I wish I could understand what he is saying when he talks of the Portuguese "fado" and of Janis Joplin.

  And this is the version I have on my CD and despite that he hardly pronounces most of the song, it's the one I prefer the most. There's something about it reminiscent of some cozy piano bars at 3h00 in ther morning. Then again, maybe it's because it's the only version I had heard up to now.

  These are the lyrics [those in brackets are not sung in the above versions - don't know why]. I tried to understand the general story but I don't think I got it right at all. What I understood is that his mother aged 16, who sang in some bars in the port, met this unknown sailor who knew how and made love to her and after a month, tadah, no periods and here comes Lucio, who became known as Baby Jesus for those living/working at the port. Like I said, I'm probably wrong from A to Z, especially that it does not match his bio on Wikipedia. By the way, whether in French or English, Google translate is a complete failure when it comes to translating Italian.

  Dice che era un bell'uomo e veniva, veniva dal mare
  parlava un'altra lingua pero' sapeva amare
  e quel giorno lui prese mia madre sopra un bel prato
  l'ora più dolce prima d'essere ammazzato

  [Cosi' lei resto' sola nella stanza, la stanza sul porto
  con l'unico vestito, ogni giorno più corto
  e benchè non sapesse il nome e neppure il paese
  m'aspetto' come un dono d'amore fino dal primo mese]

  Compiva sedici anni quel giorno la mia mamma
  le strofe di taverna le cantò a ninna nanna
  e stringendomi al petto che sapeva, sapeva di mare
  giocava a far la donna con il bimbo da fasciare

  E forse fu per gioco o forse per amore
  che mi volle chiamare come nostro Signore
  Della sua breve vita il ricordo, il ricordo più grosso
  e' tutto in questo nome che io mi porto addosso

  E ancora adesso che gioco a carte e bevo vino
  per la gente del porto mi chiamo Gesù Bambino
  E ancora adesso che gioco a carte e bevo vino
  per la gente del porto io sono Gesu'Bambino

  E ancora adesso che gioco a carte e bevo vino
  per la gente del porto mi chiamo Gesu' Bambino
  Gesu' Bambino

  

  Monsieur Lazhar

  Monsieur Lazhar did not win the Best Film in a Foreign Language Oscar. It was not hoped for but expected. Not that it's not a great film, it's just that if faced an equally great one, from Iran. Monsieur Lazhar still remains a wonderful movie, a must see, imho. Some critics from outside Québec, and from prestigious papers at that, had made it their favorite... goes to say. The film's theme is so very much the movie that I bothered uploading it here. It's available for free download on the composer's site, but here it'll be more permanent.

  

  Down under

  Although I was barely recovering from a week of pains and aches here and there due to a nasty winter cold and maybe other stuff doctors continually fail to identify, I decided to head downtown Saturday evening for the Nuit Blanche. When I took the metro it was past 22h00. I resurfaced at the Berri-UQAM metro station then walked west to the Place des Arts/Place des Festivals area, which was this year the focal point of the Nuit Blanche, even if there are also four other sub areas in the city. After a while there, I finished by electing to give it a go for the Art Souterrain contemporary art exhibit, a walking tour of 7 Km in Montreal's underground. It was 23h15 when I started the tour at the Place-des-Arts. I made most of it, but when I got to the Centre Eaton, it was past 3h00 AM and I was too tired to do the last stretch at the neighboring Les Ailes de la Mode shopping building. Besides, I lingered for a while at Centre Eaton because one of the works displayed there was a gigantic thing spread over three floors on part of the atrium's sides, floor, and escalators. When I finished taking pics, it was now 03h30. I could have taken the metro (McGill station) just there (it was open all night for this event) but that meant a transfer at Berri-UQAM, and although it was open, the train frequency was maybe fifteen minutes and with my luck, I'd probably end up at both stations when the train had just left. So instead I walked back to Berri-UQAM using Ste-Catherine St., a walk of about 20 minutes. I finally got home at 04h30. What I found the most annoying was that being dressed for the outside (this is winter, remember ) and never having to go out for the whole Art Souterrain walk, I was in heat all the time and often had to stop, remove some clothes and try to dry out somewhat.

  I took many pics and videos but I don't have the time, or energy, to put them together for posting. For now, below is a plan of the Montréal Souterrain (Underground Montreal) with the Art Souterrain path (the orange line). I started at Zone 1 (Place des Arts) and called it a night at Zone 13 (Centre Eaton).

  

  Another link about the Underground City

  

  El Gato

  A gato is a cat in Spanish. I only use this term because I'm going to Mexico and I want to make myself sound interesting.

  The cat I'm talking about also thinks a lot of himself. He's quite a furry cat, kind of charcoal colored, with long and not very disciplined hair, and has the looks and postures of a bitchy old male stray cat, what he probably is. Why I mention this cat is that I've seen him a few times lately, strolling down the sidewalk on my side of the street, straight as a pole and heading to his business with the same attitude, wandering about like he's the owner of all the buildings and that he's checking things out to make sure everything is ok. I like cats. Contrary to dogs, they don't need us and just tolerate our being around. I like dogs too, but their attachment to us soon turns into an attachment to them and then we're screwed.

  

  Getting the hell out

  I'm leaving Tuesday (March 6) for two weeks in Puerto Vallarta (Mexico) or the surrounding area. I'm not at all in the shape required for such a trip. On the other hand, since I had initially wanted to go there for much longer, maybe it's better that way. I do badly need some sun. This winter was rather mild but as per the Sunny days go, we certainly can't talk of overdoing it. Being anxiety prone, and also aching everywhere including some disturbing new little aches in the upper abdominal region, I've been stressed a lot lately which explains my absence from here. I have a zillion good reasons to be anxious. I have an old car which I can't leave on the street while gone because it's winter and it may snow and they may have to clean the street which means moving the car so I have to park it elsewhere which means the airport (about 150$), where although it never happened in nearly 15 trips, the damn parking lot could be full when I get there in the wee hours of the morning so I'd have to find that other private one where the shuttle to the terminal is much less frequent. Then of course, the car which makes strange noises lately could very well die on me between my home and the airport, or better yet not start at all. Then there's the fact that I have to transit via Toronto (change plane there), an airport I hate for all sorts of reasons, and to make it worse, for the first time ever, having to use Air Canada which is the rock bottom pit of no class bad service airlines, and whose pilots, I heard today, just got a strike mandate and whose baggage workers are also in a labor dispute. A cookie with that? Well there is a cookie. I'll also be treated as a second class citizen in my own and officially bilingual country since both Toronto Airport and Air Canada are required, by law, to supply French services, the airport because it's a federal outfit, the airline because it was formerly a state airline and when it was sold to private interests, continued bilingual services was a sine qua non condition of the sale. Everyone knows neither respect these obligations. And for the first time, because I have to take Air Canada, I won't be served a lunch or meal while on board for more than five hours. Worse, to add insult to injury, they will offer me, payable with VISA at a price that can lift the airplane all by itself, a crappy cold "lunch" made with stuff only people outside from Québec in this country of mine would consider food.

  Now, with a bit of luck, all this will only have been anxiety. I sure hope so.

  Since I bought my ticket somewhat in advance, most of the trip's preparation is over with, so maybe in the next few days I'll be able to post some pics taken during the Nuit Blanche.

  

  Da Food Section

  Let's continue this new tradition of endind posts with yummy stuff that can be eaten.

  My mother called me the other day for recipe ideas for chicken breasts. Most of those I have are too complicated for her or the ingredients are not readily available where she lives or she'd get stuck with them. For example I use cilantro for other [Latino/Mexican] meals, but not her. She'd have to buy a bunch of it and only use a few sprigs, with having to throw the rest away. But still the same, I'm not even sure supermarkets there carry cilantro (coriander in leaves). I did have this one recipe which I like and since I did have multi-colored bell peppers to pass before they wasted, I did the recipe permitting me to take a pic which I could send to her along with the recipe. It's called «Poulet au trois poivrons» (Three-peppers chicken). Since the pic was taken, I'll maximize its utility by posting it here also. I should have been a businessman.

  

  This is a beer I buy once in while and which I like a lot (and which I may even have mentioned here before - hey, I'm aging, shit happens ). It's Belgian, good point, Trappist style, more good points, but 6,3% alcohol, bad point for me, which is why I don't abuse of it. For pricing comparisons to anyone who would want to compare, it sells here for 3,30$ (dollars, not pesos - I'd bet you didn't know that the symbol for Mexican pesos is also '$'. )

  

  This is simply a weird meal. The rice is Mexican (arroz a la Mexicana) and so is the green sauce which is hot Mexican salsa. The sausages however are not Mexican at all, not even from any of both Americas. They are Slovenian kranjskas (the hotter version). These sausages have a tight texture so it's possible to cut them in two for pan frying. The end result was not bad at all.

  

  

  • 22:36
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