The Enigma of Arles

- Arles is known for being somewhat economically neglected, yet the city offers artistic riches which range from Enlightenment-era Provençal portraiture to black and white street scenes photographed in New York city. And that’s just the Ratthieu Museum! 

- As hinted in my post on Masaki Yamamoto, Arles isn’t known for its multiculturalism, but the Ratthieu Museum showcases people of colour in various settings, including a photo of a sophisticated, stylish woman observing an upmarket neighbourhood in Accra, Ghana in the 1960s. 

- The NYC street scene I mention captures a serious-looking, Black man carrying a pile of newspapers in his hands. The most prominent headline informs about a lynching. A young Black boy is in the foreground, unsmiling. It isn’t clear how they interact with each other (or if they do), but they share the space at this moment in time. Questions that arise might include: What are the effects of living in a period of white supremacy which is even more hostile than that of today? How is it possible to go about business as usual when the murder of your people takes centre-stage? What does it mean to be confronted with the lethal reality of day-to-day life at a tender age? How might the generations create community support?

- A free contemporary photography exhibition beckoned to me in the centre of town, impressing me with the variety of its themes and both political and aesthetic achievements. There were about twelve different mini galleries, one of them juxtaposing the life-giving natural world and imposing man-made structures, seemingly critiquing the invasive way humans conduct our lives. A more peaceful exhibition brought attention to the beauty of the natural reserve around Arles, the Caramargue. Still others focused on local birds with brilliant plumage. And finally, I remember representations of the nude human body, scarred but ornamentally tattooed in the aftermath of serious operations, including masectomies… the idea was to show that irregularly shaped bodies are still attractive.

- The Frank Gehry-designed LUMA, a metallic-toned, curvy high-rise is a very recent addition to the older curves of Arles. The postmodern art gallery reaches eight storeys and is responsive to the existing textures and shapes around town. It honours the Roman amphitheatre, prominent in the Old Town, as well as the light-coloured dwellings with red roofs which have also been around for a long time. There is a slide installed inside, two or three storeys tall, and a number of different exhibition spaces. While I felt the gallery was a bit under-utilised (there was at least one level where nothing much was happening), it did provide me with a short film of a mystic and moody tone - a woman in NYC found herself musing over her quiet apartment in the rain, then walking the city at nighttime, navigating nature and noodles.

- Nature was a recurring theme at LUMA, one exhibition space painted as if representing a forest. One of the first spaces on the ground floor showed an interview with a director of the gallery, in which she described the close relationship she enjoyed with the Caramargue from a young age. The second film of the storey featured an interview with Frank Gehry and offered a brief but delightful bird’s eye view of Arles, to show that the entirety of the landscape was an inspiration for the Deconstructionist building.  

- There are some not-so-pleasant sides of Arles, and my accommodation was tucked into one of them - on the outskirts of town, with little foot traffic. Boxy Lidls and Burger Kings were surrounded by big roads, generating an industrial feel. The walk to the centre took about 20 mins, and I wondered if the under-loved houses and residential buildings on the way were the type of places Van Gogh was confined to.

- I did see a couple of trios of young people, seemingly on their way to do something fun, during my four days in Arles. Their easy comaraderie made me long to be part of the in-joke. Their smiles spoke of the resilience of the regular person, making the most of a place that might not support their highest ambitions but still offered distinct possibilities for enjoyment.

- I noticed that the make-up wearing population of Provence favoured the Cat’s Eye look - for this one needs eyeliner and a leaning towards traditional notions of femininity.

- The café that Van Gogh painted in the Old Town was closed at the time I wandered by. I did see a handful of paintings of his at the Van Gogh Foundation, my favourite being a mostly green and red representation of flowers in a park or field. It was nice to see a video installation from Yayoi Kusuma in the same gallery: some of her classic white dots floated away from her red clothing when it met a body of water - the theme was self-abnegation. 

- Will Arles improve its economic fortunes in the near future? LUMA is a good start, but it only goes so far, and without a push from many different sides, it may not live up to its ambitions. Nevertheless, it remains an inspiring (and puzzling) place to visit in many ways.

Re: Sham Marriages

After watching most of a Hollywood film called 'The Proposal', I decided to do some research on fake marriages. I remember meeting a cis woman my age when we were both in our late twenties, and her being open about being potentially willing to enter such a situation. There was no specific person in sight, but she professed an in-principle desire to help a personable and virtuous being attain Australian citizenship. At the time, I thought this was a nice thing to have in mind. I also knew that I could never do it myself, wanting to be free to pursue relationships that are heartfelt and soul-enriching. 

The woman's sole and ongoing marriage happened with an Australian citizen, and is based on love. Maybe she was "young and idealistic" in her late twenties. Some other women are not so privileged - they are financially struggling and/or otherwise vulnerable. (Sham marriages include payments of thousands of dollars.) Women are socialised to put their own needs second, and are celebrated for being 'of service' to men and the community. I imagine a certain kind of woman(, non-binary person or man) who suffers from low self-esteem would feel like they are helping out a desperate soul secure a better life for themselves. A combination of suppressed self-concept, financial hardship and that socialisation to be of service might fit the typical profile of an Australian willing to participate in a sham marriage. 

It is sad that many people who want to immigrate to Australia are not provided with the ability to do so. Resorting to fraud can, in a certain light, be seen as a last resort on behalf of possibly well-intentioned people who just lack the resources to immigrate through the legal pathways. On the other hand, if you want to participate in Australian culture with goodwill, to start off lying to the community about your relationship/s is the wrong way to go about it. The law is there for a good reason, probably helping individuals avoid exploitation and abuse. 

I think that an Open Borders policy would dramatically reduce the amount of people obtaining scam marriages. Would-be immigrants who have enough initiative and resources to catapult themselves into Australia and start integrating into its society should be able to stay as long as they wish. I realise the tendency is to make citizenship by naturalisation more difficult and not less, but if it were up to me I would remove as many legal obstacles as possible. I recognise the value of immigrants from multiple perspectives: social, cultural, economic... 

It's not too late to reverse the trend and increase Australia's legal immigrant intake. Let those who want to move do so. Down with sham marriages, long live Open Borders! 

A Random Collection of Travel Thoughts

 - In 2023 my travels diverged a bit from how they usually unfold: I chose places more popular with tourists. Noticing a conspicuous absence of backpackers in southern France made me feel a little like a fish out of water. I had the thought, ‘is this glamorous, conservative and super-affluent landscape suited to me?’ I comforted myself by tapping into other, deeply formative thoughts, such as: ‘A place is made up by the people in it, and now that you’re here, you’re bringing your unique presence and making it ‘an Epiphanie place’.’

- I chose to travel to France and Italy, two of the most visited countries in Europe, hoping to experience a different flavour of people than can be found in Paris and Roma/Firenze/Venezia. In other words, I looked for places with well-worn appeal, but slightly removed from the top-tier attractions. 

- There are a handful of travellers who have published enthusiasm for ‘Second Cities’, noting that people are often friendlier outside the nation’s foremost urban centre. Second Cities are also typically full of interesting sights, which you can bond with more intimately in the absence of the tourist crowds of the First City. In addition, the locals frequently have more time to vibe with you when you ask them a question or strike up a conversation, because life moves at a slower pace. Did I mention it’s less expensive?

- So then, I found myself with an interest in Marseille, the Second City of France. I had heard it was gritty, but also that it had an appeal for connoisseurs of multiculturalism, thanks to the book ‘Afropean’ by Johny Pitts. When I found that Marseille was one of the least expensive French hubs to fly into from my base in Hannover, Germany, I seized the opportunity. I had extra reason to visit France in 2023 because I knew next year it would be inundated with crowds on account of the Paris 2024 Olympics.

- I did not enjoy Marseille the way I enjoyed the rest of Provence and Carcassonne, but I did like this one thing very much: when I made eye contact with people on the street, they searched for, found, and heightened the charm in me. There was an insistence that life should be charming - it was a guiding concept. This elevated my spirits despite the grotty pavements, not infrequently run-down buildings and the visibly trodden-upon spirits of the Black, brown and PoC population. It was possible to find a sexy side to the city, and I found pleasure in its fine arts museum, imaginative approach to food and fashion at MUCEM, and enjoyed languidly people-watching at a small, elegant, cream-coloured square facing the Opera House.

- Despite the undeniably interesting nature of Marseille, I soon found myself longing for fresh air and a smaller scale environment. Enter Cassis, a village I uncovered whilst searching for accommodation in Marseille. Close enough to the big city for me to get there easily, and with its own unique charm, I found myself wishing I had stayed longer than three days. But then, I averaged 3.5 days in each of my southern French locations, not ready to commit to a deep dive in a region known as a rich person’s playground. (The exception was Arles, where I had prepared to stay for a week, but issues with the accommodation saw me leaving early.)

- Aix-en-Provence was a city I knew little about, but was intrigued by, because I’d seen photos from its attractions and it seemed filled with possibilities. I felt a bit let down upon arrival, because it lacked the cosmopolitan flair of Marseille. It was an altogether whiter, less diverse, and more conservative affair. However, it was distinctly more attractive than Marseille architecturally, and wondering the streets, I started conversing with a young, Black man dispersing smoothies. It turned out he was passionate about manga (the Japanese comics), which he told me about while blending mangoes and strawberries. Fearing the familiar sexism I usually uncover in men, I didn’t engage too deeply. 

- I felt myself becoming a little pretentious with repeated exposure to French mannerisms. On a more positive level, I arranged my body and speech in a more graceful, elegant way. There would be time to filter out the pretence and hold on to the refinement in the future. 

The Charm of Carcassonne

Sometimes a palette of greys can be comforting, stately and sophisticated. Over my three days in Carcassonne there were times when the stone structures rose up to meet an overcast sky, and other times when they were dappled in shade. At other times still, the sun lit up the settlement an all-encompassing glow, reaching even the deepest crevices in the walls. But with or without clouds, the place emanated charm.

The scale of the fortified city is small. Some people just blow in for a day trip, and leave after a few hours of admiring the combination of well-preserved, medieval architecture, pausing to sample the local produce (often in a glamorous setting with vibrant colours), and navigating the abundant shops (some explicitly catering to tourists and others simply offering elegant accessories). I was staying three days, hoping for a multilayered experience. 

It was in this way that I ventured into Carcassonne at various times of the day, able to savour it in those tranquil morning hours, before the majority of the travellers descended, and brought the hubbub with them. Being a traveller myself, I’m not complaining, but we sure outnumbered the locals, crowding the streets till sunset. (During post-travel research I realised that the city was illuminated beautifully at night, but even if I'd known this prior to my stay, I would still have returned to my accommodation before the final rays of light.)

I noted a lone kebab shop in Carcassonne, adjoined by a crêpe stand which was seemingly owned by the same proprietors. Counting at least three places serving crêpes apart from this (they're complete with visual representations of the famous street food), I considered that some might see this as an authentic French experience, one that does the medieval heritage justice, but others still might see it as a story of gastronomic hegemony. The latter would ask: "Where are the immigrants' contributions to the culinary landscape? A Carcassonne which embraces multiculturalism in its historic centre would instil a stronger, more resilient community." I did see Black people on the 40 minute walk between my accommodation and the heart of town, so I know they are part of the societal fabric. Now is the time to get more inclusive. (Historically, too, people of colour were present in small numbers all around France and Europe - this is nothing new.)

I usually travel on a budget and this is reflected in my food choices - 14 days of southern France saw me eating at least one croissant or baked good each day. This time around, I was inspired to break up the pattern with a local dish called cassoulet - a medley of duck thigh, beans and sausage. It was advertised everywhere, but it wasn't until the opportunity to try it at a Michelin-starred restaurant came up that I found myself having a gourmet experience. The meat was mouth-wateringly juicy and tender, and it remained on my mind long after it was savoured. I had taken care to ensure I was comfortably sated and not too full, and thought about how even an uncomplicated dish can be a phenomenal taste sensation if prepared with care and attention to detail.

Now, wouldn't it be great if a restaurant of comparable quality was set up by an Afghan chef? The locals and travellers would enjoy not one, but two exceptional dining experiences, and learn about the way food is prepared, presented and appreciated in another culture. A win-win scenario, and one I hope emerges in the future. 

On my third day I made it up into the ramparts, and had the mind-blowing experience of looking out into the orange roofs of the pale houses sprawled just outside the walled city. They stretched out towards the dainty yet vivid mountainscape on the horizon. It was deliriously scenic. This was on my right-hand side. On my left-hand side was a bird's eye view of the pretty, charismatic contents of the walled city, dotted with trees and creeping vines. Back to the right, and forward a bit, I spotted the houses giving way to vineyards and other green spaces, looking verdant and well-tended. The distinctive, tall, bushy-tailed trees of the region teased my eyes, poetically pointing to the heavens. A conspicuously located church vied for my attention on the right hand side, while an amphitheatre came into view on the left. The compact, contained nature of the citadel could be seen as contrasting with the expansiveness of the open fields. Lush greens rode up to light blues, indicating the cooler climes of the mountains. 

Upon viewing my photos from the ramparts, my best friend would muse that they looked almost unreal in their Mediterranean splendour. Indeed, I was semi-dazed as I took in the stupendous views on all sides. If this wasn't enough, moving through them revealed another side of the fortified wall, with its asymmetrical roofs, narrow openings designed for bows and arrows, and sleek stone surfaces. I must confess I was too overwhelmed to take in the informative signs very well. I remember vaguely being informed about various kings and the battles they had found themselves in, but perusing them was first and foremost a way to catch my breath between the onslaughts of sheer gorgeousness.  

Back down to the dark grey ground, I made another round of the adjoining courtyards and passageways, the sunshine dancing in the hair of the people in front of me, accompanied by a refreshing breeze. Most of the travellers were well-dressed, and seemed to be either from the UK, France or Spain. As I wove through displays of cookies, the Tourist Information Centre and knight costumes for little kids, I overheard a person with a Scottish accent exclaim, "This was brilliant!" to their partner. 

I have to concur. Carcassonne was the cherry on top of my French travels. 

European Encounters [4]

[4] Before Dawn in Carcassonne

When I ascended to the train platform I almost passed the person with the hijab by. She was standing close to a man with a turban, presumably her husband, and while I needed help, my first instinct was to look beyond them. I had received strong messaging throughout my life that Muslim people were not okay, so it took me a few seconds to snap out of it... (I asked of myself: 'Why wouldn't this woman be as capable of helping me as any other person on this platform?') 

Addressing the woman directly, I introduced myself with a Hello, and proceeded to ask my question. I had a ticket for the train to Lyon, but there were a few other trains due to arrive at the same time, and I was worried about not being at the right place at the right time. The person with the hijab didn't know, and had limited English to communicate her thoughts to me, but, she set out to find out as much as she could about my train. 

I recognised in her the universal spirit of wanting to be helpful - she recognised a fellow traveller in need, and something about me was nice enough to arouse her sympathies. We both started navigating the platform in search for clues, going off in slightly different directions. Within the passage of a few minutes I had consulted the electronic screen closely, and asked another two passengers about their circumstances. Eventually I was sufficiently relaxed that I was going to be at the right place at the right time, and tried to communicate this to my helper. 

Only, she couldn't understand that I was satisfied. She kept searching: asking a station officer, and other would-be passengers around me. As I stood still, she was a flurry of activity. I started worrying that she would miss her own train while investigating mine. 

A few minutes before the train to Lyon was due, the Muslim woman's train pulled up. She addressed me one last time with the (correct) information she had managed to find, I thanked her kindly, and she ran a short distance to board. The doors of her train shut, but there was a station officer around to help her re-open them and make the connection just in time. I felt grateful to her, as well as a little guilty. 

Many times I've heard people say 'We are all the same', but it was this personal encounter which put things into perspective for me. When I took the chance on her, the hijab-wearing woman was just as altruistic as any other soul. I intend to stay open to interactions with Muslims, knowing that they are as deeply human as anyone else. 

European Encounters [3]

[3]

Disoriented and hungry in Arles, I decided to approach the lone youngster perched on a bench overlooking the river. 

"Masaki Yamamoto!"

I don't know what I had been expecting, but a Japanese name seemed unlikely a response to my enquiry about local patisseries. 

"It's the best," the girl with black-framed glasses and a bohemian handbag insisted, and proceeded to guide me back into the narrow, cream-coloured streets I'd just left behind. 

Locating the shop with a merry, yellow colour scheme, I was instantly impressed by the presentation of the patisseries, which had both elegant contours and a glaze-induced shine. So charmed by these edibles that I ordered two, I proceeded to imbibe the best lemon tart of my life. 

I came back the next day, trying various mind-blowing morsels. The sales staff had been a young, white woman the first day, but the second day it was a middle-aged, Asian woman. I wondered if she was related to the eponymous Masaki, but felt too shy to ask. 

At any rate, it's nice to see a Frenchperson of Japanese background responsible for the best patisseries in Arles. The choice of name clearly illustrates pride in the owner's origins, and breathes new life into a city which is in search of more innovation. 

Cis Men and Friendship

Last year I decided there were two too many disrespectful men in my life. 

Let's call the first one A. He was older than me by 24 years. We met on Facebook and had never met in person, but had gotten into the habit of spending hours talking to each other on audio calls. 

A talked over me repeatedly. He clearly thought that what he had to say was more important than what I had to say. After mentioning this mistreatment of me numerous times to little or no effect, I eventually decided that I would not talk to him again. The friendship fell apart shortly after. 

The second man, B, was prone to outbursts of bruising criticism. In addition to this, he insulted me by calling a serious concern of mine 'silly', and 'nonsense'. He was older than me by 32 years, and tried to initiate a romantic relationship, which is a giant red flag. He didn't give up after the first time, either. 

What did these men have in common? They were charming, artistic and gifted at communication. 

This is no longer good enough. 

I am best friends with a cis man who identifies as a feminist. He is just one year older than me. He hears me out when I speak. He sees me as an equal, which means he shows my views, and the amount of time it takes to speak them out loud, respect. There is no going back.

It was my best friend consistently giving me space in our conversation that made me realise that this was the standard that needed to be met, from hereon out, in all friendships with cis men. It's a high standard, but it's also equality in practice. 

So, again, being a feminist emerges as my #1 requirement for new friends.  

Strong Opinions

If you are human, your mental activity produces opinions on a daily basis. Whether you assert your opinions or not, and the tenacity of those assertions, is influenced by your gender. In 2024, cis women and non-binary people are discouraged from assuming the position of authority that vocally speaking their minds would have them do. There is often punishment given by the more misogynistic part of the population (all genders have internalised misogyny under patriarchy) to them.

So what to do? It seems like there are two choices: withhold your opinion, remain unseen, aim for malleability and feel down because of it, or express yourself, be seen, attract people who like your style, and feel more secure, confident and agentic.  

If you read my blog, chances are you have noticed that I've been writing for a very long time. I have changed my mind about many things over the decades, but the one constant throughout my practice is that I have kept valuing my thoughts deeply enough to present them to the outside world, with all the openness to criticism that implies in this digital landscape, and all the potential for connection, too. 

It resonates with me that "you cannot be it if you cannot see it," so I am thankful to the cis women and non-binary folks whose writing I'm influenced by and aspire to live up to. Some of these involve Laurie Penny, Virginia Woolf, bell hooks, Naomi Wolf, Moira Donegal, Laura Bates, Jill Filipovic, Roxane Gay, Jeffrey Marsh, Hannah McGregor, Kara Lowentheil, Sara Ahmed, Sisonke Msimang and Mona Eltahawy. (I'm sure to think of many other names soon.)

Thanks to the ongoing nature of my work, I will continue to attract people who share my values, and want to see me flourish. Publishing strong opinions (and speaking them out loud) is something that helps me be the best version of myself.