Präriepost

Prairie Post (today from Lausanne, Switzerland)

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Prairie Post

9-07-13

(today from Lausanne, Switzerland)

It’s a beautiful day, here, in the city overlooking Lac Léman.  Bievenue in Lausanne! The mountains on the other side of the lake are partially covered by fair-weather clouds; thunder had cleared the air over night.  It is a late-summer day, the people of Lausanne enjoy a few more hours of sun and warmth, they spend time outside, they meet at the Lake, they suspect that autumn is just on the other side of the mountain. Bievenue in Lausanne!

How international this city must be with French, German, and Italian as their official languages, and with English as an additional bonus language to learn! But perhaps this town is too close to the French border, there are no signs of other languages, no German, no Italian, perhaps some English, mostly French, all French, just French, yes French is the language of choice.  No signs or interpretations in German or Italian, all just in French, français, français, and français.  Bievenue in Lausanne, bievenue to the Swiss French-only culture.

Indeed, they speak French, they live French, they eat French.  Kidneys, and pork shanks, and horse meat, and tarte flambé; croissants as petit dejeuner with café noire, the usual… the menu in French, no German, no Italian, am I still in Switzerland?  Oh yes, they do serve Rösti here, these wonderful Swiss potato pancakes, but they offer IPA beer with it. IPA here, in Switzerland?  Really?

It is easy to travel through town with the metro system, free for all tourists and convenient to use.  The 13th century cathedral on top of the hill purports to protect the city, there are stairs and stairs and stairs, there is a lot of up-and-down in this town.  Let’s walk, ok, let’s walk… the young generation has its own quarter in town, with blasting music only identified by the young, with a “beach” restaurant in midst of concrete pedestrian zones, plenty of places to hang out.  Why do I feel that I might not belong?

I do belong to the other side of town where they placed the university, separate from the rest of the city.  The campus is nicely located right next to the Lake.  Quite a few psychologists are walking around, talking, speculating, listening.  They wonder what children “think,” children who are confused why adults don’t seem to know the answers to questions they are asking.  How do children conceptualize the world?  Is it really round?  If so, why don’t we fall off?  Perhaps because we live in the middle or on top of the earth…  How do children think?  How do adults become resilient in the face of adversity?  And more discussion on gene-environment interactions:  the same gene can have a positive effect if the environment is positive, it can have a negative effect, if the environment is negative – differential susceptibility is the clever word somebody coined.  They talk, and they talk and they talk – perhaps the fresh air here makes their thoughts come loose, here in this mountain city next to Lac Léman, where people speak French, and only French, all the time, where the food is notably French and where the coffee is either “noir” or au lait. Bievenue in Lausanne!

Prairie Post (today from Villagrande, Sardinia)

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Prairie Post

6-17-13

(today from Villagrande, Sardinia)

It’s a beautiful day, here, in this small village of Villagrande. The air is clear, the sky is dark blue, the temperature just right. They say that the lake they built some years ago has changed the weather, more fog and more rain than ever, but there is no evidence of this today. A cool, sunny morning brings out the good in everybody.

Three strangers have arrived from elsewhere, they clearly are not from here. They are just a bit too overdressed, their hurried walk gives them away, and they seem to be talking all the time. People here prefer a much simpler life. They hang out at the local bar, they sit around tables in cafés , they take a break, and there is no need to constantly analyze their own well-being. Life is much simpler here, in Villagrande.

Even though it is apparent that these strangers do not belong here, they are welcome into a dense social web of relationships. It is lunchtime – a time spent together, time for a good meal. They bring prosciutto and sausages, and their own special bread soaked in water. They bring pasta and parmesan and their own local red wine. They bring boar, pork, lamb, and beef.  They bring fresh fruit, their own peaches, cherries and apricots, they bring cheeses and tomatoes, and risotto with mushrooms, they bring tiramisu and coffee, and you must finish with their local digestives.  There is nothing simple about the meals they offer to visitors coming through town.

It is the atmosphere that is most remarkable around the long tables where people share a meal.  They relax in togetherness, without a loud word, there is simply social togetherness. There is no rush, not hurry, no mission to fulfill.  There is an exchange of a few words, enjoyment of the day with others, being there for each other.

It is not only their social togetherness that is striking, there is also a composed, relaxed personality noticeable among the people of Villagrande. No stern reaction to others, a faint smile every now and then, a no-worry attitude. After all, what is all the fuzz about?  They are used to protect their sheep, and so they are used to protect each other.  Their self reliance must be coming from many hours and days on the mountainside.  They call it the “pastoral life.” A given responsibility is a taken responsibility. They are pastoral to each other as much as they are pastoral to themselves.

And they are active here, in this small community, walking up and down these hills, stairs, everywhere stairs, they are headed toward their own garden built into the hillsides of the village. They walk their sheep, and tend their goats.  They are outside and walk, stairs and stairs and stairs, they are outside and breathe. There is nothing complicated about this philosophy, it is very down-to-earth way living, down-to earth relating, down-to-earth introspecting.

And they have a good sense of humor. They laugh or smile, they like to be with other people even if they don’t need to talk all the time.  They like to create a mess but then bring things back to order, they like ideas, so long as they are not too abstract. They have family, and family is at their inner core.  They say it’s a hard life, but a good life. Roberta is asking all the questions, she is engaged, she enjoys the interaction. And they enjoy her, because they know her.

Today they celebrate St. Basilio, the patron of the city.  The only road through town is blocked off and the street vendors bring in their food, their crafts, their antiques.  The church is too small today, so there are additional chairs outside, neatly ordered in rows.  There is a procession with a statue of the saint in front, the whole town will follow with music and prayer. Afterwards, the extended family gets together for another feast.  More than fifty people have come, and there are these strangers again.  Of course, they are also welcome. There is food, food, and food. A piglet, lamb and chicken are roasting on a large grill. “You should never run out of food,” says Marcus, the father, “it would be bad luck.”  Marcus stands up and leans over the tables to make his point.  He always smiles when he gets excited, his short hair frames a bronze taint that he develops when he is out in the forest.  Marcus is in charge here, in his quiet way.  Because he is proud to share his experiences, he pours another glass of local liquor for everybody, because it is time to celebrate life.

They live in a blue zone, a longevity hot spot. They live a good life and a long life, here, where the sun is always shining on top of these beautiful hills and in the hearts of these humble people, where the food is local and plentiful, and where everybody puts issues aside to enjoy the simple life.

Die Präriepost

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Die Präriepost

06-26-11

Es ist kühl hier, in der kleinen Präriestadt, der Sommer ist widerstrebt, sein eigentliches Wesen in Erscheinung treten zu lassen. Graue Wolkenfelder ziehen übers Land und immer wieder gibt es Regenschauer, die sich im munterem Wechsel mit laut polternden Gewittern unaufhörlich bemerkbar machen und sich dann in Missmut auf die Gemüter der Menschen auswirken. Denn im Grunde steht die Gemütslage der hier streng lutheranisch erzogenen Bevölkerung dem Griesgram wesentlich näher als der mit Sonnenstrahlen verbundenen Frohmut.

So fehlt es den Menschen hier auch nicht an freizügigem Sarkasmus.  „Hast wieder verpasst, den Mais vor den Regenstürmen anzupflanzen, wie?“ „Warum so früh? Weißt nicht, dass die ersten immer die letzten sein werden, du Besserwisser? Steht schon im Guten Buch geschrieben“. Die Stimmung ist auf dem Tiefpunkt, wenn die Sonne sich einmal längere Zeit nicht sehen lässt, und es sind natürlich immer die anderen, die dafür verantwortlich sind.

Nur die Prärie selbst weiß nichts von solcher Melancholie. Im Juni, und besonders nach den vielen Regengüssen, zeigt sie sich in buntem Gewand. Ob schwarzäugige Susanne (Thunbergia alata) oder lila Scheinsonnenhut (Echinacea), ob Schmetterlingsseidenpflanze (Asclepias) oder Goldrute  (Solidago virgaurea), alles steht in voller Blüte. Auch der Rohrkolben (Typha latifolia) steht schon zinnsoldatenhaft am Wasserufer, jeder einzelne für sich, also wolle er nach dem kommenden Wetter Ausschau halten.

Die Tierwelt kümmert sich nicht um Wettervorhersagen. Gerade sind die ersten Rehkitze auf die Welt gekommen und versuchen zaghaft, auf den eigenen vier Beinen  stehenzubleiben. Unten am Dorfsee sieht man sie nah bei der Mutter am Flusslauf verweilen. Daneben zwitschern die Zaunkönige in ihrem Revier als müssten sie mit aller Lungenkraft ihr Waldstück verteidigen. Ein Blaureiher fliegt auf und segelt gemach über dem Wasser auf die andere Uferseite. Die ersten Geier ziehen ihre Kreise, die Eichhörnchen machen sich mit schrillen Tönen bermerkbar, und die ersten Grillen stimmmen den Abendgesang an. Hunderte von Glühwürmchen blitzen bei Eintritt der Dunkelheit miteinander um die Wette. Auch eine Schildkröte zeigt sich plötzlich und erregt Aufsehen im Dorf. Langsam versucht sie, die Dorfstraße zu überqueren, und es dauert nicht lange bis die Nachbarschaft aus ihren Häusern gelaufen kommt. „Auf welche Seite der Straße will sie denn nun?“ Sofort melden sich die Experten zu Wort. „Wir waren gerade mit den Kindern im Zoo – man darf die Strecke der Schildkröte nicht umkehren“. „Also dann, wie können wir sie sicher auf die andere Straßenseite bringen?“ Sie versuchen es mit Besen, mit Füßen und mit Stöcken, aber die Schildkröte bewegt sich nicht von der Straßenmitte. Schließlich kommt eine Dorfbewohnerin mit einer riesigen Schneeschippe und trägt das gestresste Tier auf die andere Straßenseite. So hat sich auch diese Angelegenheit erledigt.

Pastor Randy denkt weniger an die Natur als an seine Kirchgänger. Ihm ist aufgefallen, dass sich viele der Besucher gar nicht zu kennen scheinen, und so hat er kurzerhand beschlossen, dass alle Gemeindemitgleider ab sofort Namensschilder tragen sollen, bevor sie ins Kirchenschiff eintreten. Nur scheint er da die stoische Gesinnung der Dorfbewohner schlecht einzuschätzen. Hier möchte nämlich keiner beim Kirchenbesuch erkannt werden, und deshalb ist Pastor Randy auch der einzige, der nun ein Namensschild trägt.

Für diesen Sonntag hat er mit Stolz zwei gute, alte Bekannte in die Gemeinde gebracht: Pastor Wayne und Pastorin Christa waren in der Gegend und freuten sich auf ein Wiedersehen mit der Gemeinde. Den beiden Ehemaligen war die Präriegemeinde vor einigen Jahren zu klein geworden und über einige Umwegen sind sie nun in Hong Kong gelandet um dort den kleinen Katchismus unter die Leute zu bringen. Pastor Wayne durfte an diesem Sonntag in der Präriekirche die Predigt halten und bezog sich auf den wöchentlichen Bibeltext. Es war der letzte Paragraph im Mathäusevangelium, der es ihm angetan hatte. Die Gemeinde freute sich, denn manche zogen daraus den Schluss, dass der nächste Gottesdienst bis zum Advent warten könne.

Pastor Wayne las den entscheidenden Satz noch einmal vor: „Und da sie ihn sahen, fielen sie vor ihm nieder; etliche aber zweifelten“.  Der Zweifel, so Pastor Wayne, gehöre zum lutheranischen Denken – im Griechischen als „Hin- und Herwägen“ verstanden, könne dies in der Prärie schlechthin als Lebensauffassung aufgefasst werden.  Man wisse nicht genau, werde die Ernte gut genug werden, man wisse nicht genau, werde die nächste Generation den richtigen Weg einschlagen, man wisse nicht genau, ob man die letzte Entscheidung richtig getroffen habe. Der Zweifel, ein unabdingbares menschliches Gefühl, das dem Kirchgänger noch einmal klar machen solle, seine Lebensweise ständig zu hinterfragen. „Und wenn Ihr dann den Entschluss fasst, dass Ihr mehr für die Gemeinschaft in Eurem Dorf tun sollt, wenn Ihr den Entschluss fasst, dass Ihr mehr Nächstenliebe zeigen sollt, wenn Ihr den Entschluss fasst, dem Zweifel Taten folgen zu lassen, dann habt Ihr das Matthäusevangelium verstanden“.  Pastor Wayne hat mit der Faust einige Male kräftig auf die Kanzel geschlagen, er weiß, dass er dieser Gemeinde eigentlich nichts mehr schuldig ist.

Dem Rest seiner Predigt können die Gemeindemitglieder kaum noch folgen; nur als sie hören, dass sein Gottesdienst in Hong Kong mindestens zwei Stunden dauert, da werden sie etwas missmutig. Pastorin Christa aber deutet ihrem ehelichen Kollegen auf die Uhr und so endet Pastor Wayne, der seine Zuhörer mit Beispielen von Flüchtlingen in Burma schon längst verloren hat, mit der Bemerkung, im nächsten Jahr wieder kommen zu wollen, daran bestehe wohl kein Zweifel.

Der Sommer ist lang, hier in der Prärie, und außer dem Kirchgang gibt es nur wenig neue Höhepunkte. So fährt man ins Nachbardorf, wo jährlich schaffende Künstler eintreffen um ihre neusten Meisterwerke anzubieten. Sie kommen aus Kalifornien und New York, aus Louisiana und Illinois. Menschen in der Prärie sind aufgeschlossen, wenn es um Malerei und Fotografie, Farbdrucke und Skulpturen geht. Wer möchte nicht ein farbenprächtiges Großstadtgemälde in die Prärie bringen um es dann provokativ an die Wohnzimmerwand zu hängen? Wer möchte nicht ein postergroßes Bild von einer alten Scheune im Arbeitszimmer ausstellen? So schlendern die Farmer und Lehrer, die Kleinwarenhändler und Kellner aus den umliegenden Dörfern  den Kunstmarkt entlang und lassen sich die neuesten Werke der wandernden Künstler zeigen. Sie halten hier und da, um einer lauten Rockband zuzuhören, um die jungen Leute zu bewundern, die gemeinsam ein Haus für eine mit ihren drei Kindern aus dem Sudan zugezogenen Mutter bauen, sie sehen einer Tanzgruppe zu, wie sie nach der mit Glas produzierten Musik zuhören, und sie schauen sich die neuesten Filme des internationalen Filmfestivals an, wie Sechzig Filme in Sechzig Minuten, ein Kaleidoskop von Eindrücken, die von Mick Jagger bis zu einer sich duschenden Frau, vom Sonnenaufgang in Denver bis zur gehetzten Fahrt in den Bergen reicht.

Nach ausgiebigem Besuch kehren sie dann in ihr Dorf zurück und wissen, dass sie eigentlich mit ihrer Welt zufrieden sein sollten, hier, wo die Studenten immer etwas smarter sind als anderswo, wo es immer Wetter gibt, und wo jeder jeden Morgen vor dem Frühstück aufsteht, wie immer.

Prairie Post (this time from Hong Kong)

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Prairie Post

5-10-11

(this time from Hong Kong)

It is hot in this town, very hot and very sticky.  The mountains calmly compete with skyscrapers for height and splendor. Thick clouds move steadily between these man-made and nature-made giants.  Nobody here seems to mind the oppressing weather, people are surrounded by the South Asian Sea; salt water must flow in their veins.  They don’t need rain; they have enough humidity filling the space around them.

Space is always on their mind, here is this city of seven million, space is essential.  Here, they tear down 20-story skyscrapers so that they can replace them with 40-story skyscrapers.  The only way to create real estate is to move vertically. People live in small compartments, people work in small compartments, people move in small compartments.  Space is the most precious commodity here.

Space is also important to Philippine workers who have a day off and find their gathering place on the sidewalks.  They meet with family and friends and orchestrate the largest picnic festival in the city. No matter the weather, it is time to gather for this hard-working ethnic group.

Living space consists of a double bed and a small two-foot space from bed to window.  Two people cannot move in this space at the same time, unless they also move vertically over bed and over chairs and over suitcases.  Space is the issue here in this metropolis. The sea of skyscrapers make up an amazing community of illuminated buildings, most arranged in feng shui fashion, some violating this oriental form of architecture. This ancient belief in aesthetics negotiating between heaven and earth is visible everywhere, balance between wind and water, all to improve life in positive ways.

Feng Shui did not matter to a those older people who used to live in wire cages. No other place to live, until the Helping Hand came to the rescue and built decent housing.  Now they cheer on visitors, they are eager to show off their volunteer activities.  They live four to five people to a room, they have few of their own belongings, but they happily play mahjong, four people to a table, with shuffled tiles, with strategy and a little bit of luck.

Siddhārtha Gautama did not believe in luck, he considered belief in luck to be low arts.  His image overlooks the mountains here in the backyard of the big city.  His smile comforts, projects harmony and good will. A small hike from the cable car station, following chants in the background of the monastery and stairs that seem to lead to the sky in which the master appears to dominate.

A small fishing village is situated just down the road. Metal sheds built on stilts, seemingly floating in the bay area.  All streets here point to the market, open spaces filled with the scent of fish, some dried, some alive in water, all ready to be sold. Older people work in these shacks, live in small quarters behind. Their lives are connected with other family members and the community.

Older people also run the Ginkgo restaurant, a small venue on the main island. Septuagenarians cook the meals, octogenarians serve food with a sly smile on their face; they take care of any of the costumers’ needs. They quietly protest mandatory retirement in many other jobs, show their reliable service. The older generation wants to preserve the ways of the past.

The younger generation has different ideas about their future.  They don’t plan to have children because it is too expensive – who can afford the education of children when you can’t afford to pay your own rent. Chinese women from the mainland, however, visit here to bear their children – seven days are allotted for these unforeign foreigners.  If Chinese children from the mainland see the first light in Hong Kong, they will become residents.  Other Chinese residents need to invest millions of dollars into real estate to become residents. Because so many persons from mainland China became rich so quickly, the Hong Kong government needed to raise the investment limit by several million of Hong Kong dollars.

Shopping remains an adventure in this part of the world.  How about a discount?  They are willing to lower the price, perhaps, and they smile, smile, and smile until the price offered is too low for comfort… no, no, no, 210 Hong Kong dollars is simply not enough. But what if the tourists leave, what if they don’t return, it is time to finish the deal at 220 dollars. It’s the first sale of the night, so they will allow a special discount, or so they say.

This major city on the south end of China is a city of delightful dishes. Dim Sum, the traditional, especially prepared, the vegetarian home-cooked meals eaten in the temple, the tea time at the Peninsula, the goose in Soho, the noodles, the rice, and the fish, and finally the longevity buns and the mango pudding.  This is a city of oriental taste and breathtaking smells. Pick up the sticks and come on in!

People move up the escalator, still the escalator, and still the same escalator.  It’s the only way to climb these steep hills.  They move down to the underground, a most efficient underground, they move to the ferry and off the ferry.  Transportation is vital, transportation is efficient. Hong Kong, a lively place, here, where the people keep moving, where space is cherished and where everybody spends time at the harbor to capture the magnificent skyline of this vivacious city.

Prairie Post (this time from Johannesburg)

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Prairie Post

7-25-10

(this time from Johannesburg)

It is pleasant here, in this peculiar city of the very south. It is not too cold, not too warm, even though the residents prefer it a bit warmer. They want shorts and t-shirts, they want the temperature as close as possible to their body heat. Those coming from the northern prairies are not used to blasting heat in the car when the temperature is a comfortable 70 degrees outside. “Yeeees,” they say with their Desmond Tutu accent, “it will get warmer soon, then the winds will come up and it will start raining.”

It’s Jo’burg, the city of struggle and reconciliation, the city of violence and peace, the city of hope and desperation. Jo’burg greets visitors with vuvuzelas at the airport, the recent soccer event is not forgotten. Everybody talks soccer! “Too bad,” they say, “that Argentina did not make it further” – who do they think they are talking to?  There was disappointment about the home team, there was disappointment about Ghana, there was disappointment about the final – but there was excitement about the opening ceremony, there was excitement about the international attention, and there was good business.  The white Afrikaans may prefer their rugby and cricket, the rest of the country is in football fever.

Apartheid – no other word seems to be more connected to Jo’burg. The colonialists had settled here needing help in their newly established gold mines. Apartheid should keep the Blacks separated living on the other side of the mines. Let them come and work, but let them not live in this city of “ours.” The policy of apartheid was tolerated for a long time by the West because of the fear of spreading communism. The end of the cold war changed everything – in Europe and in South Africa! Today, Blacks have moved to Jo’burg because the Whites moved out, in fear of retaliation. In due time the government took over, and the downtown apartments quickly became housing assistance to the poor with nobody caring for the property.

Jo’burg’s streets are dark and dirty, people here move about guardedly, not a single White person is in sight. No reason for visitors to walk in this city, no reasonable reason. No sights, no culture, no inspiration. Jo’burg is a deserted and over-occupied city, Jo-burg is left to its own devices. Jo’burg is a lonely place amidst too many people, all with the same unfulfilled needs.

Illovo, Sandton, Hyde Park: The Whites have moved north of town, into new neighborhoods, disconnected from the city and from each other. Here are pockets of wealth that once ruled the gold mines and now they build hotels and shopping malls in secure and protected environments. Here is the middle- and upper class keeping in safe distance to the rest of town. They hide behind fences, walls, and barbed wires. Security systems included, of course. Guards at every neighborhood corner, of course. Blacks clean their streets, Whites live in the comfort of their mansions, here, north of downtown.

Soweto: The other side of Jo’burg. No White person as of late would have dared to drive through this section of town, the place of Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu. However, the famous township has become attractive to visitors, and it is now somewhat easy to get there, a quick tour, and a hurried drive back north all within a short period of time. Some of Soweto’s residents live in small cottages, some in subsidized housing, some merely under tin roofs. Soweto, a political town of struggle throughout the 20th century – reinventing itself in the 21st!

It seems like not much is normal about Jo’burg, but people coming from rural areas plan to go back “home” sometime in the near future. They long for the grasslands – anyone born on the land remembers the deep roots of prairie grass. They have left their cows behind, the cattle is attended to by their aging mothers. Life is more complicated in Jo’burg.

From the savanna they receive the food they eat. Meat, meat, and meat, particularly game, any form of game: impala, ostrich, and springbok are on the menu. As a side, mieliepap, always mieliepap! “I can’t live a day without mieliepap,” they say, “wouldn’t be a good start to the day.”  Of course, they also like their fish ‘n chips, they prepare spiced chicken, and for breakfast they eat baked beans – of course baked beans on toast! Don’t expect to get what you ordered in this part of the world. You may receive chips instead of couscous, or mieliepap instead of potatoes.

This is a city of daylight.  Nobody is out in the dark in this town, it is quiet in the evenings. Fear still rules after sunset. “We need more time to grow together,” they say, “it just takes more time.” The big battles appear to be fought, and much of everyday life seems normal enough. For now, the success of a major sports event enlightens everybody from manager to taxi driver. “We did it,” they say, “now we are hoping for the Olympics.” A country in transition, no doubt, here, where apartheid is current history, where vuvuzelas rule, and where everybody is waiting for the weather to warm up.