Wow, I am so far behind on the blog.
I arrived in France, by TGV, on 15 July. Stepping off the train in Lyon, everything just hit me, so hard. The last time I was here was in 2005, just weeks before I would arrive in Japan. Ah, Japan. Lyon has always been a place where I happen to be in the middle of something...first time in 2003 with Jenny Winston, as I was experiencing my break from university, and then with Lucile and Jean-Charles in 2005...
This time, I was headed to Valence. I arrived, exhausted, at 10.30pm, and Sylvain and Gaelle were there with open arms. Second wave of emotions. I met them in Djenne, Mali, on a dusty Tuesday morning when, yet again, a transformative circle was enveloping me. My personal struggles with my impending move to Japan, difficulties with Abby (we would part ways less than a week later, in Timbuktu), and wow the physical struggles with the heat, the food or lack thereof, the overwhelming stark cultural differences...
Their home is a haven of West Africa. They lived in Senegal for 2 years, in Ziguinchor, where I went after Mali to visit them. In Mali and Senegal I felt they took me in with extra open arms, perhaps because of their awareness of my sensitive nature at the given time...well, either I'm still coming off as a nervous wreck, or they are just simply kind, generous, loving, open, caring people. Amazing. Anyway, in their apartment are heaps of African cloth with bissap to drink and a Malian bogolan on the wall...an enormous collection of African music and photos of their comrades from their time in Africa adorn the walls...
The next day we went to Crest, on the Drome River, and spent the afternoon on this beautiful isolated bend of the river where crystal clear water flows down through cliffs with a mountain view and we picnicked. Perfect.
Sad to go but I was intent on getting to Toulon in time to see Septeto Nacional de Ignacio Pinheiro. It was a quick, easy hitch down with 3 rides, nothing strange at all...it's a cute, small town with a French seaside feel (logical, considering its location), and I spent the afternoon wandering around. Anne-Laure, an absolutely wonderful girl from CS who has a Vietnamese grandmother, was letting me stay and her home just 10 minutes north of the city was a paradise of gardens, East Asian fabrics, fragrances, and tastes from her parents' vegetable garden.
It was time for the show...I arrived not too long before the show would start, and my biggest concern was how I would be able to speak to the group. This is the chance happening that most transformed my experience in Cuba...the day I was asking around so intently in La Habana Vieja for a supposed music practicing studio, didn't find it, gave up, headed towards the Malecon...and walked in on them. I was really lucky in that I saw the group appear and walk into their tent backstage. I quickly ran behind the tent and started waving frantically, hoping to catch the eye of one of the band members inside. And it worked. Raspa, the 61 (maybe now 62) year old lead singer made a face and called over Frank, and then it was a blurry wave of hugs and kisses and exclamations. All 7, with the addition of Frank's brother. Wow...what a reunion. I was pulled in backstage and we had a pre-show shot of Havana Club, true to tradition...exactly what I had been hoping for.
The show was great, the crowd got really into it, and afterwards we sat and chatted for awhile...it was so crazy to think that here I was, in the south of France, meeting up with this band that I met in Havana, Cuba...
We parted ways promising to reunite in Cuba, Japan, or donde sea...
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