Laura and I were out and about in Gent again yesterday. Sometimes I knew what was around the next corner … and sometimes I didn’t.

I’m curious about people. I want to know what they have to say. So I start conversations.

We stopped in front of the most mysterious building. Peeling coral paint, a fig tree growing out of the sidewalk, a worn sign speaking of a long ago café. So dark through the windows but I could make out a long table, wooden sculptures (including a wise elephant), and ghostly shapes fading into black.

With us stood a bearded man holding his bicycle. He too wondered about past and present life through the locked door. A kindred spirit! Our new friend spoke of another pub now closed, one festooned with bicycles. “That’s Lieven!” I offered. “My neighbour.” And indeed it was. We shared a love for dark spaces.

And off he rode with a wave.

***

It was a second umbrella day but we had our moments. A tiny street ended at the Lieve River. As Laura and I gazed at the water, it brightened. And off to the right was the Gravensteen castle:

Such beauty in our afternoon. My head dreamt away until I heard …

“Bruce!”

I turned to see my cello classmate Sarah. She and I laugh a lot during the group lessons … so why not continue now? Some of the talk was about the left hand on the fingerboard but it was larger than that. It was an embrace of life, and we drew Laura in.

And then the music faded as Sarah walked away. A second wave.

***

I wanted to show Laura the narrow, turning streets of the Patershol, the oldest neighbourhood of Gent and only steps from my home.

I love the wet cobblestones. They whisper to me in their shining. Now an umbrella floated towards us, accompanied by two women. The words “Why not?” came into my mind. I took their picture:

Excuse me, I’m a photographer from National Geographic. The photo I just took of you will appear in our February issue

They stared for a few seconds. Then it was smiles and a laugh. We paused our lives for a minute or two and then they were off into their world again. No wave. The umbrella needed to be held.

***

We had dinner at Le Botaniste. I had pesto toast, adorned with spirals of zucchini, sundried tomatoes, and other yummies. I said to Laura that pesto was my favourite flavour. “I love avocado.” > “But Bruce – there’s no avocado in pesto.”

Oops. My culinary deficiencies exposed again!

I’m pretty sure our server overheard all this. She was a happy young woman. I asked what her name was. What returned were syllables that I didn’t recognize. We laughed as she coached me. “It’s ‘Gember’. In English that’s ‘Ginger’.” Such a simple concept but apparently beyond the Canadian brain.

***

And so it went

Human beings are the joy

I tried to surprise Laura at the train station.  I wanted to sneak up behind her and say “Have you ever heard of the Evolutionary Collective?”  Sadly there were many cars on the train and a flood of people exiting.  I couldn’t find her.

I hustled back to our arranged meeting spot and sat down.  A minute later, here comes a familiar face.  We smiled from a distance and hugged from up close.  Reunion.

After a stop at my apartment so she could drop off her stuff, we dipsy-doodled through the streets of Gent centrum.  It was raining.  But so what?  We had warm coats and an umbrella.

I wanted Laura to experience Izy Coffee, a homey locale for me, where I’ve had so many conversations.  And now another one.  I can’t remember what we talked about but the words were sparkled with smiles.  Two friends who had never before been in the same room.

After coffee, I asked Laura to take the lead, to follow where her nose led her.  Pretty soon it took us to St. Bavo’s Cathedral, one of Gent’s famous churches.  She wanted to go in, and so we did … both of us for the first time.

Inside was immense.  I told Laura I wanted to find a statue that spoke to me.  We parted ways.  Within a hundred steps a shining lady offered a welcome:

We had a nice talk.

Laura was drawn to a ring of candles.  And soon our eyes met once more.

As we walked and talked throughout our day, what each of us had to say was real.  We went to moments and people who have touched our lives.

I wanted to know about Laura’s work.  She told me that her small group coordinates the sustainability efforts of many organizations.  Thanks partially to the work of Laura and her friends, the whole is truly bigger than the sum of its parts.

Some of what Laura said I didn’t understand.  I’m okay with that.  Seeing the commitment in her eyes was enough.

I asked her where was home.  Her response showed that there is no central location in geography.  Home is when she’s with lovely people.  Laura agreed that she’s a nomad.  I smiled to feel the sameness and the difference between us.  Home for me is people and it is Gent.

I knew I could talk about anything with Laura and she would simply get it.  No evaluation or comparison.  So I mentioned two times in my life I had failed to complete a task – riding my bicycle across Canada and becoming a teacher in the Evolutionary Collective.  Almost completely I’ve let those experiences go.  They both bring a tiny smile to my face.

Laura and I had a long dinner at Shazanna, a delicious Italian restaurant.  It really didn’t matter what we talked about.  Again, I can’t remember.  We were together.

Our day ended with a walk on the wet cobblestones of the Patershol – the oldest area of Gent.  Restaurants and cafés showed the faces of diners and drinkers … couples and small groups enjoying each other’s presence. 

Welcome to my home, Laura

This is my guest bedroom. It’s a lovely space. Only three people have slept here. Tonight will be the fourth.

Laura is a friend from the Evolutionary Collective. The group of us meet on Zoom. And Laura and I have never met … physically. Today at 11:00 am she’ll walk into the lobby of the Gent Sint-Pieters train station. I’ll be there.

Previously when I met people who I’d only talked to online, my first comment often was “You have legs!” Maybe the same today.

Laura will be here till Monday. I could be all proactive, armed with a list of things she must see. No thanks. She’ll survive quite nicely without walking the halls of Gravensteen castle.

There are places I love in Ghent and I can feel the pull of having Laura experience them too. Well … maybe not! We have a blank canvas of a weekend. Who knows what colours we’ll pick, what scenes?

Laura will choose. She’ll feel into what is moving her in the moment, and we’ll do that, go there. What of the new will I discover? I wonder.

Tonight I choose. We have a reservation at my favourite restaurant in Ghent – Shazanna. It’s the home of astonishing pasta and no doubt other delights. We’ll smile a lot.

(I love/hate it when WordPress corrects my spelling mistakes. I just typed “smike”. It was changed to “smoke”. We definitely won’t be doing a lot of that.)

I await my friend

Last night ten of us showed up at Gregor Samsa to read a play – Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

In the photo, you see me playing George (cleverly disguised as Richard Burton) and Rani playing Martha (looking a lot like Elizabeth Taylor).  We took on the roles for Act One and Act Three.  Harry and Lola played the couple in Act Two.

We were all fierce.

Here’s what Wikipedia says about the play:

George, an associate professor of history at a small New England college, and his wife Martha, the daughter of the university president, return home drunk from a party.  Martha has invited a young married couple she met at the party for a drink.  The guests arrive – Nick, a biology professor, and his wife, Honey – just before 2:30 A.M.  As the four drink, Martha and George engage in scathing verbal abuse in front of Nick and Honey.  The younger couple is first embarrassed and later entangled.

Do you want to get a feel for us last night?  Okay, here we go:

George:  You’re a monster – you are.
Martha:  I’m loud and I’m vulgar, and I wear the pants in the house because somebody’s got to, but I am not a monster. I’m not.
George:  You’re a spoiled, self-indulgent, willful, dirty-minded, liquor-ridden ...
Martha:  SNAP! It went SNAP! I’m not gonna try to get through to you anymore. There was a second back there, yeah, there was a second, just a second when I could have gotten through to you, when maybe we could have cut through all this, this CRAP. But it’s past, and I’m not gonna try.

***

George:  Martha, in my mind you’re buried in cement right up to the neck. No, up to the nose, it’s much quieter.

***

Martha:  I looked at you tonight and you weren’t there … And I’m gonna howl it out, and I’m not gonna give a damn what I do and I’m gonna make the biggest God damn explosion you’ve ever heard.

***

George:  And please keep your clothes on, too. There aren’t many more sickening sights in this world than you with a few drinks in you and your skirt up over your head.

***

Martha: I swear … if you existed, I’d divorce you.  I haven’t been able to see you for years.  You’re a blank, a cipher.

***

George:  Once a month, Martha. I’ve gotten used to it. Once a month, and we get Misunderstood Martha, the goodhearted girl underneath the barnacles. The little miss that the touch of kindness will bring to bloom again. And I believed it more times than I’d like to admit because I don’t like to think I’m that much of a sucker. But I don’t believe you, I just don’t believe you! There is no moment, there is NO moment anymore when we could come together.

***

Martha:  George … who is good to me – whom I revile, who can keep learning the games we play as quickly as I can change them. Who can make me happy and I do not wish to be happy. Yes, I do wish to be happy. George and Martha: Sad, sad, sad.

***

Rani and I loved snarling our lines – spitting them out.

After all was said and done, we sat in the glorious room with its deep green walls and wooden beams above.  We talked.  We analyzed.  My body was there … I was not.  I was still George, seething at Martha, ready to give the middle finger to anyone who crossed me.

George only floated away when my eyes closed in bed

But now, as I write this, my lips tighten once more

GCN Plus is a cycling streaming service, offering European races and exquisite films that expand the world of the rider.  Yesterday Warner Brothers, the parent company, cancelled the service.  (Sigh)  No more races or films, and apparently no access to ones in the library of content.

I’m sad. 

I love the flow of the peleton racing through gorgeous landscapes, the thrill of a small breakaway group trying to make it to the finish line before being swallowed by the mass of cyclists.

And the films!  Stories of inspiring riders, really ordinary folks like you and me … but so alive!

My favourite GCN Plus film is Westfjords: Riding Iceland. Jenny Graham is a solo rider exploring the big, wide world, smiling through rainstorms and encounters with all sorts of people.

This time it was the fjords of Iceland. Meet Gunnar – a snowplow driver:

His job was to keep the hilly winter roads open so local folks can get out and get back home again. He worried about being swept off the road by an avalanche … but he had a job to do – serving his neighbours. Gunnar’s conversation with Jenny included lots of smiles at both ends.

And then there’s Frida:

She’s in Grade Five with four other kids in her isolated town. She loves hanging out with her friends, riding her horse … and biking.

“It’s hard in the winter. It’s so dark.” Jenny brings out the best in the happy young one.

GCN Plus shows me thrills and spills and the tenderness of people being themselves.

Amid the sorrow is the need to act. I wrote this on a cycling website:

I hope that some wealthy, cycling-loving person is reading these comments and sees the gap that has been created by Warner Brothers. May your company recognize the opportunity to serve cyclists around the world and to display your product or service for all to see.

Please jump in.

I will also be writing Warner Brothers

I have faith that all will be well in the end

I sat with my friend Larisa in Izy Coffee this morning. She’s the one on the left.

Larisa grew up in the Soviet Union. It was a protected existence. Very few strangers showed up in her town. One day – wonder of wonders – a black fellow came towards mom and five-year-old daughter on the street.

Young Larisa was already steeped in magical stories. “Unicorns! I wonder if there really are such things.” And now something equally amazing was getting close.

Larisa’s mouth sprang open. She hid in her mother’s coat … but kept looking. I can imagine her thinking “What is that!?” She stared at the black skin.

The man smiled in return. He must have been a wise one. He understood what was happening and joyed in the girl’s innocence.

***

Flash forward a whole bunch of years … to age 23. Larisa was travelling in China. Language was a problem but connection was not. Lots of folks asked to take her picture. She was mystified. Why?

Larisa’s tour guide provided an answer that pierced to the heart. “Many people here today in Beijing live far away, in the open lands of China. This may be the first time they’ve come to the big city.”

“They’ve never seen a white woman. They think you’re ugly. Your eyes are far too big.”

The young woman hearing these words smiled. She knew she wasn’t ugly. She immediately popped herself into the minds of the rural folks who wanted her photo.

Never before

Completely unknown

What is that?

At one time expressing bewilderment … later receiving it

All natural in the way of things

I sang to the world last night. The concert was at Minard. For those of you familiar with Ghent, this is the image that may come to mind:

I wasn’t looking out at this view. Instead I was in the auditorium’s café … with about fifty of us enjoying the drinks and the music.

I sang Paint The Sky With Stars during the open mic part of the evening. Here I am:

Wait a minute … that’s not me. I’m pretty sure that my hair is shorter and my face older.

I’d sung a capella in front of people twice before but that didn’t create a deep groove of performance. I was nervous yesterday but happily I was excited too. The song is marvelous:

Place a name upon the night
One to set your heart alight
One to make the darkness bright
Paint the sky with stars

I wanted to sing in a key that would allow me to hit deep notes without wobbling. I did that. I wanted to sing with passion, whether in-tune or out-of-tune, whether the words were remembered well or not. I did that.

And … I wanted to “fill the room” – to reach people at the back. Although I’m hesitant to say this, I did that. The bartender way over there kept his eyes on me as I sang.

I feel tall

Throughout the evening, an artist created images of us performers. The creations of her hand were being revealed moment-to-moment, beamed to a large screen for all to see.

On December 11, there’ll be another open mic session at Minard. I’ll be there, with some beloved song. Perhaps Song For A Winter’s Night, perhaps Loving Arms …

I enjoy watching cycling videos – both the races and the travels to far-flung places. Today it was Cairngorms: A Scottish Adventure. Jenny Graham and Mark Beaumont set off to the Highlands.

It’s a bittersweet viewing for me. Riding over rugged terrain is not in my life. Any cycling is now a thing of the past. But look at the beauty here:

I remember the mountains of Canada … being immersed in them on overnight trips, feeling the strength of my legs as I climbed to the passes.

I watch Jenny and Mark bounce over rocks on single track trails. Donning rainsuits as the torrent descends, struggling to light their tiny campstove. And smiling!

I hear the adventure in their voices. I see the light in Jenny’s face:

And that light is mine as well. The mountain peaks of the soul. The wide open spaces of the mind. The beholding of divinity in the folks passing by. No less of an adventure.

May we all soar

You’ve heard about my adventures in getting home from an Antwerp concert but you haven’t heard about the concert itself.

Stjepan Hauser is a Croatian cellist who is shaking up the instrument. I too am a cellist … and I want to play with passion. Hauser teaches me.

He strode onstage, looking impossibly sexy. His shirt was unbuttoned one extra spot, showing a hairy chest. He walked with a swagger. He pointed with his bow to us the audience after most of the pieces.

At one point early on, he said “This next one is a love song. You ladies in the audience will like it … See you later.”

Yuck. Too much male ego for me.

The small orchestra behind Hauser (women and men) seemed to be gushing over the cellist at every turn. I didn’t gush.

So there I was, leaning away from the person and leading towards the music. For the music was grand. I flew with My Heart Will Go On from Titanic. And then Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.

Do I stay grumpy about this macho man or let go into the overflowing experience?

I let go.

And I was taken. Stjepan loved playing the cello. He loved playing the melodies that move us … and feeling the fullness of the violins behind him.

I too loved. Whatever skill level I reach on the cello, I vow to sway with the music, to smash my fingers down on the strings, to let the bow speak.

Later in the performance, Hauser donned a harness that allowed him to play his transparent instrument while standing and walking. Sometimes he bounced while still loving the bow and strings. He toured the lower part of the hall in the middle of a tune, audience members leaning forward to touch him.

And then there was the soaring theme from Pirates of the Caribbean, with a video of Hauser dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, playing in sync with the man onstage. Woh!

***

Okay … I give up my opinion

I loved the show

I love the cello

It was Wednesday morning. I’d just finished my oral exam for Dutch class. (Whew!) Now it was time to exhale.

Months ago I’d bought a ticket to see Hauser in Antwerp, about an hour from Ghent. He’s a Croatian cellist. I’m a Belgian/Canadian cellist. The course dates included Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of this week … so there’d be no lingering in a new city.

After the exam, I sat in Izy Coffee checking out train schedules. Perhaps I should have done this earlier! The concert was expected to end around 10:00. The last train home was at 9:30. And no late buses. I didn’t even figure out what a taxi would cost.

Friends in Izy started problem-solving for me. A hostel for six hours or so and then an early morning train? I checked – all the hostels were full. And I wasn’t willing to pay for a hotel for a few hours. Sell my ticket and sleep in my own bed? No! I want to hear the cello played brilliantly.

And then the barista Merve simply said:

Before the concert, ask people in the arena for a ride

Why didn’t I think of that? I smiled at the prospect of meeting new folks. And I could feel my trust that all would be well.

The concert started at 8:00. I entered with the opening doors at 6:30. After I’d approached a few folks (none of whom lived in Ghent), a woman with her young daughter suggested I make a sign. The girl had paper. The mom had a pen. And voilà:

On I walked, row by row. So far no Ghentians in the crowd. Lots of smiles, though, and “Good Luck”s.

Someone suggested I go right down to the stage and grab the microphone. Okay, I’m not that brave.

As I roamed from one family or friends to the next, I’d sometimes look back at the paper providers. When they saw me, they smiled. Hmm … I was known.

Flushed with a so far failure to produce the result, I decided to retreat to the concourse. Trust in the goodness of human beings still lived in my soul. I’d find a volunteer and see if there was anything in place to help people like me. A woman in a blue shirt replied “No.”

“But …

“That woman over there lives in Ghent.”

!

I resisted the temptation to kiss the pointer and the one pointed to. The second blue-shirter had a lovely smile and a sweet nod of her head. Yes, Rose would drive me to Ghent. And no, she wouldn’t take any money.

My sigh filled the universe

***

I crawled into bed at 12:07

I walked into my Dutch classroom at 8:50

All indeed was well