A little before 7 am the earth trembles under our feet. It takes me a few seconds to realise that this is an earthquake, one of those many which have hit the region in the past couple of weeks. We learn that this one is in Bali, and of magnitude 5. It is a sharp and deep tremor, which recedes quickly. T. and A. are still fast asleep.Read More
More travel. We head to Ubud, central Bali.
T. a student in Anthropology (and a former kid) is specifically excited by the prospect of visiting the Monkey forest. Monkeys are indeed everywhere. People too. L. comments on the fact that there are in fact more people than monkeys.Read More
We dive in Panangbay, Bali. It has been over a year since we have not been in the water and we reacquaint ourselves with the heavy (when on earth) gear of the modern diver and the subtle buoyancy which makes us float between layers of ocean, light and free.Read More
A and T are bickering at each other. They share the same room is our eco-resort villa. Since the ‘villa’ is just an open roof, we pretty much all share the same room, together with a vast collection of bugs and frogs, which all spring to life as soon as the sun sets.Read More
Our next place is a diving resort. Or rather, an eco-resort. We sleep under a white mosquito net, which flaps gently in the wind. The bedroom is open under a thatched roof, the rudimentary bathroom is outdoors, a slim shower in the middle of exuberant vegetation which T. and A. find exciting.Read More
Vacation are our time for intense reading. We pack our kindles with books or all sorts before we set off. I stock up on contemporary fiction, based on reviews from the New-Yorker, literary prizes short lists and friends’ recommendations. L. does the rest and always revives classics (Russian authors last’s year, Balzac this year) and piles up essays.Read More
We went to our first Indonesian beach today. Waves like mini tsunamis, crashing on a dark sand beach. Nobody in the water. Too dangerous. The beach is full of young couples watching the sunset and having their photo taken on a back drop of huge waves. A few kids running around, far away from the water.Read More
When you travel, there are always a couple of things you forget. Only to discover that in most instances you can buy them easily and cheaper in the country you are visiting. There are of course a few exceptions.Read More
Day 1 is orientation day. The day where you get your 5 senses acquainted with your new environment and evaluate the best strategy to cross the road without getting rolled over by a car or a motorbike (or a scooter in the case of Indonesia).Read More
Yogyakarta. Java. Indonesia. L (my husband) picked the hotel. Our hotel is a former prison. The roof-top is a hydroponic farm and the inside walls surrounding the central courtyard are covered with herbs and green vegetables. Mint is growing in front of our room, on the 3rd floor.Read More
This might have been yet another lie. A trip to Paris to see a friend he did not know. She left a note on the pillow. “Borrowed your blue suitcase. Gone for two days, to see my friend M.”Read More
It all started with a misplaced Oyster card which I thought was in my usual coat pocket. One morning, we woke up to freezing weather. I changed coats and used my contactless debit card. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas.
We went on holiday with my family in France. London, the grey tube station, deep escalators and the nasal voices chanting “mind the gap” were far away.Read More
Pendant de longues années, cette boîte en carton vert marbré, fermée par un ruban noir, demeura sur un coin de la cheminée. Je finis par l’oublier au fil des mois, par oublier pourquoi elle était posée là, presque tristement. Par la voir sans la voir. Une présence absente. La présence compacte d’une absente, Jeanne. Je n’avais jamais ouvert cette boîte depuis le départ de ma grand-mère, Jeanne. C’était son legs, son bric-à-brac, le chuchotement d’une voix familière et lointaine au creux de mon oreille ; un léger battement de cil, fermer les yeux sur les souvenirs qu’elle avait capturés pour moi, sa petite-fille Elsa. Elle avait écrit mon nom d’une main tremblotante sur une vieille étiquette jaunie, collée là, au centre de la boîte, très légèrement de travers. Et puis une date, juin 1985, quelques mois avant sa chute.Read More
C’était un matin vif et glacé. Elisa, emmitouflée, les yeux à demi fermés, marchait en sautillant jusqu’à la gare, en respirant à petites bouffées pour empêcher le froid d’envahir ses poumons. Les rayons du jour qui s’annonçait diluaient lentement la nuit bleutée.Read More
It was like a breath of fresh air. The smell of youth, oxygen pixels, a movie she had seen so many time but that she loved, time after time.
There was nothing nostalgic or sad as she was browsing, head titled, weaving the moments, the season, the years, the homes where they lived, the countries where they had moved to.
Most she remembered easily, prompted by the images. But sometimes she would look at strangers, a place she had no recollection of. It was often sunny on the photos and they were leafs on the trees, flowers in the gardens. A string of summers, vacations, travels with seas and rivers and mountains and castles and statues in parks and on fountains, bas reliefs on the building. She would smell the summer air, the scent of the garden flowers, the iodine breeze of the ocean.