are you a vegetarian - then read this

meat is meat and a man must eat. i say. had an interesting argument a day or two ago. about vegetarians. with vegetarians. i asked them why. did you know that most vegetarians eat fish. i though that was a meat. i say. the most common answer they give is the cruelty to animals thing. it is inhumane to eat animals that suffered. that was handled in a cruel way. that live under terrible conditions only for man to slaugther and feast. well. i say. they might have a point. but. i ask. if the inhumane thing is the issue. what about child labour i ask. do they wear clothes and brand made and crafted at the hand of an innocent child. your leather handbag madam. stamped by the small feet of a little boy or girl. the perfect close stiching on your most expensive shoes. done by small hands. which is worse i ask. silence. no reply. which is worse i ask. the little boy has a soul. the animal does not. which is worse madam. the child or the animal. had you said you dont like the taste of meat you would have been safe. but no. you opted for door two because you thought it would be the stronger argument. wrong. i ask. which is worse. child versus animal. you chew on that and let me know. me. i dont like meat that much. but i have my reasons the right way round though.

why wine

people have asked me why i love wine so much. it is an easy answer. but also difficult. it depends what you wanna know. i guess it starts at home. my dad being a winemaker and all. so wine has never been a vague concept to me. i grew up with it. over time i developed a sense of appreciation. the drink of the gods. who would not be interested. every bottle a masterpiece. a work of art. time. effort. passion. thought. perseverence. that is what it takes. sometimes more of the one. less of the other. but i think my main reason for loving this product is because i believe what you drink says something about you. it is an expression of who you are. whether you are willing to spend a lot of money on good quality. or not. wines for every occasion. it tells a story. it creates a story. it is a story. every wine has a personality. a sense of direction. an age. a lifecycle. a time to live. and a time when it lives no more. it hass so many faces. many smells. many tastes. layers and layers waiting to be discovered. are you willing to discover. discover with your senses. discover the reality of taste. smell. and the sensation of cream. soft velvet running down your throat. the seduction the bubbles of champagne brings. the genre of loving with a velvety red infront of a cracking fire. a crisp white to refresh after a long sunny day. wine for summer. wine for winter. wine with food. wine by itelf. wine in food. wine that is serious. wine that is playful. wine that wants to impress. wine that just wants to be. wine that wants to be paraded. wine that only wants to be drunk. so lets us raise our glasses and solute a friend. a confident. sante.

roundtrip to nowhere

it was a hot day in the med. we got up later than planned. we got on the train. it went in the wrong direction. we wanted to go elsewhere. so we ended up changing our plans. direction beach. so it was a day of jumping from train to train and bus to bus. eventually made it to the beach. only to realise that the bus for home leaves in five mintues. it was a frustrating day but good none the less. saw little. but had fun watching the two colombians. they are crazy. funny. passionate. good people.

what happens next

i am excited about what lies ahead. the next few weeks are going to be excellent. for the following reasons. i have five weeks left at the language school. then off to supagro. the world cup comes to town. corrida season peaks in nimes. that is bullfighting for those that dont know. my parents are coming to europe for their annual stint in portugal. i am off to paris to walk the street that papi hemingway did. to go and buy a moveable feast at shakespear and co. to see if i can find closerie de lilas. i hope it still exists. and i have a weekend in valencia too that has to happen. so there is lots to be done. no time to waist. watch this space.

holiday fever

it has finally left me. after two months it is gone. perhaps because everybody else is gone. i have said good bye to twenty six friends in four weeks. the northerners have gone back home. the students are on their way back. the streets are empty. the building and reparations are continuing. life is returning to normal. the pace has settled down. less street cafes that stay open till late. the number of umbrellas seem less. and the waiters are friendlier. as if they know that the tourists have all gone home. i am getting use to walking past the epicerie de nuit and being greeted with a bon soir. or when sitting down on a friday afternoon. being served as a regular. pastis monsieur. holiday fever is gone. the chef has arrived.

change of season

the winds of change are dancing the streets of montpellier. people come. people go. i have said good bye to more than twenty people in the last three weeks. the gang is no more. steve and i were the last. now. i remain the last man standing. friends change. new emails. new phone numbers. the black book is doing its work. working overtime. its good. people form all over. people from different demographics. it keeps me sharp. i keep me interested. i keeps me intrigued. i keeps me. so this is to all of you that have come and gone. we will see one another soon i guess. perhaps amsterdam. perhaps in spain. but definitely in sa. two thousand and ten. a tribute to all that has made it unto this blog. your are the class of o seven. salut.

french medical

have you had bad experiences at a doctor. i recall that horrible day in grade one when the big bad docter inspected my crown jewels. stripped down to my tighty whities. i was scared speechless. but i guess that was one of those things. the days of polio and diseases. all had to be checked and inspected. it was the norm. that does not change the seriousness of scary. today i had one more of these. but the french way. for my visa. the pain i had to suffer for three years of fun in the sun. i guess a price worth paying. five minutes in exchange for three years sounds like a good deal right. wrong. the indignation is priceless. it just plain sucks. what for i ask. what do they see. what do they detect in my five minutes of utter hell. i feel like that boy in grade one again.

stevie wonder boy

have you ever meet a replica of yourself. or somebody that could have been you. just that its not. but this person reminds you of the yourself. similarities. mannerisms. the works. it is funny. it feels like living your life all over again. and guess what. it was good. it reminded me of the good and the bad. it came together. it reminded me. live without regrets. live without worries. the mistakes will happen. take them in your stride. and live on. they form you. they shape you. no mess. no fuss. that is who you are. that is what you become. so this post is written for stevie wonder boy. good on you dog. the time was short. but good. and definitely not the last. you owe me bigtime for the space on my floor. if i find your belt i will send it. same goes for the rest. remember what i taught you. the realtiy about buying postcards. and the rest of it. stay cool. say no to drugs. up the irish. you rock dog. thanks for reminding me. i needed it.

rebel indeed

i realised that i have graduated over the last few years from a directionless rebel to where i am now. a rebel with a cause. not to conform to the ways and mindsets of this world. this is me living it out loud.

for alex

this picture is for alex. my spanish friend. she had us all laughing with this phrase while she was here. everyday. all day. all the time. so today in a moment of madness we decided to pay a tribute to her. alex. this is for you. montpellier misses you. we miss you.

forever child

i think one must never loose the childlikeness deep inside oneself. there is a freedom that comes with sometimes being like a child. the big bad world is way to seroius by my standards. i had a day like that and decided to catch it on film. what a great day it was. dispite people looking at you as if you are crazy. perhaps a bit. i suggest the following. a four day work week. a compusory play park at all corporate firms. cookies and milk instead of teatime. more sweets. less health food. be different today. be the child in you. take the world by strom. it will make them smile. i will bet my life on it.

french toilet

this post is not for sensitive reader. after i visited angola i though it can never become worst. i was so very wrong. searching a bathroom that awful day that i had the runners in an african country i though i would never see another day like that. saturday afternoon. baking african sun. stopped in transit. i could not find a toilet anywhere. at last i did. nothing more than a dark hole. so dark i could not see my hand in front of my face. welcome to africa. i will not even mention the smell. as if the door has been closed for a year. imagine that. well now. i have discovered a new fear. it is called the french squat toilet. freakiest thing in the modern world. but not just the squat toilet. public restrooms in general is an absolute nightmare. everytime i have to go angola pops up in my mind. traveling is not for the feint hearted. not in france. definitely not in angola. i will leave you with two pictures and these wise words. ready. aim. fire. bon chance!

a thrilling afternoon

the dance of death.

in the arena

matadores are bullfighter. toros the bull. picadores are two guys on horseback with lances. banderilleros another three other guys. clown like figures that dance around in the dirt. assisting the matadores. mozo de espada is the sword servant. together they make out the team. also called the cuadrilla. a real experience. contraversial i guess. some say yes. others love it. the latter because they understand the art of bullhandling. not that i do. but would like to know more. at first i was excite. the warm sun beating down on the dirt. the sense of adrenlaline filled the air. not a atmosphere of death and blood and fear as most people think. perhaps it is the idea of the art that puts them off. have they ever been to see. real bullhandling. not the cheaper version as in the south americas. no. bullhandling with respect. with anticipation between matadore and toro. few people know that a bull that shows well is sometimes allowed to leave the arena untouched. the victor. in honour. but not yesterday. after the firts bull i was a bit disgusted. but i realised during the rest of the afternoon it was the result of a bad matadore. he made the bulls suffer in a bad way. i soon changed my mind as i started to grasp the drama unfolding before me. the crowd in the arena kept on booing and and gheering him. he was not good. he looked scared. bad movement. hoping around. not standing still. a south american bullfighter i guess. the other one was superb. skill. guile. elegance. he moved a lot less. he showed no fear. dancing with the bull. in silence the arena was paralysed by what they were seeing. not a sound as 10 000 people adored the grace wih which the matadore was playing down his partner. the harmony between the matadore and toro perfect. he played the animal right into his aura. turning his back on the bull. shaving past him. he stands inches from a wearied bull. staring each other down. the beast tired. puffing. bleading. the silence was loud in my ears. the sun hot on my face. the smell of anticipation all around. i sat forward in my chair. watching every move. trying to understand this new form of art. the dust in the arena showing its red stains of the afternoons dramas. the yellow dust scared by another day in the arena.

black.white.

black. white. i love black. i love white. i love black and white.
it makes more sense. you see things differently. it speaks to you.
it has more life. it has more meaning.

black.white

black.white

black.white

my five best

what would the world be with cafe. not much i guess. nothing to drink with your croissant in the morning. i can not imagine that. a world without cafe. how would i ever sleep.

french pudding

the real deal. creme brulee.


an even better deal. tarte citrone.

more madness

life is about people. the people you meet. the people you see everyday. the people you interact with. the people that you choose to ignore.

photo madness

for the first time in my life i have meet people from all over the world. it has left me with curiosity that i think will be incurable. can i get enough. different aromas. different flavours. we are truely a mutli specture of sorts. each unique in its own way. just the way it was supposed to be.






it has been decided. more pictures will be shown.

iz like thizz

iz like thizz...

that is the spanish acsent for it's like this. this phrase echoes through my mind daily. why. i dont know. it just does. perhaps because the girl that kept on saying it has become a very dear friend of mine. i miss her already. she has gone back to spain. her time in montpellier is finish. but it has taught me something. or should i rather say it reminds me daily of a valuable lesson i have learned. this is what i have learned in the last eight weeks that i have been away from home. people is what makes the world go round. i always enjoyed interaction with different people. but being among different culture. languages. races. what a fabulous world we live in. the Creature really knew what He was doing. and i am eternally grateful to be a part of it. all you sceptics out there. wake up. it is time to embrace life around you. there is so much to live for. yes. there are wars. yes there is crime. yes we are all victims. will it ever stop. no. i dont think so. am i too have been a victim of crime. i too have been violated. robbed. attacked. but there a more out there. stick your head out the window for a change. and live. you only have a couple of years anyway. and then do you know where you are going after that. but lets leave that for now. back to the people. being in europe among foreign student form all over made me realise the beauty of diverity. everyone adds a different spice. a new flavour. i stand amazed at what can be done if all stand toghether. perhaps as students we dont have the cares of the world yet upon our shoulder. prehaps that is exactly what the world needs. i dont know. all i know is that these guys and girls have something to offer. they have something to give. we laugh and cry together about the same things. thats what makes us human i guess. we share our views and have our opinions. about war. abortion. the church. you name it. it has been dicussed. at the end we all smile and go our different ways. another demi-citron. another pastis. and all is forgotten. we move on to the next pub. the next bar. the next club. life moves on and we move with it. no stopping. no arguing. no fighting. no time for that. cause life waits for nobody. we can handle the pace. we set the pace. i have gained a lot of respect for many new countires. cultures. their people. we are all the same really. on the surface we seem different. but if you scrath you will see. its all the same. fears. hurts. emotions. joys. happy endings. go. go. go. are you living with your eyes open. are you allowing life to pass you by. or are you grabbing hold of it with both hands. an oppotunity of a lifetime is lost in a lifetime of opportunity.

a moveable feast

if you are lucky enough to have lived in paris as a young man then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you for paris is a movebale feast. these words has echoed through me ever since the first day i read them. words spoken and written by hem. a master of words. inspirational. it struck a cord in my heart. i thought to myself. i want to be able to say words like that one day. and here i am. living my own moveable feast. can i ask for anything else. to be able to create my own feast. sure. am i doing it. you bet. back to hem. he wrote this book years after living in paris. it is written in memoir style. a must read. i am still trying to find a first edition. perhaps shakespear and co in paris is saving their last copy for me. j'espere. i wonder what papi would have said about me writing about him like this. over time i have formed my own idea what he meant by these words. i will forever continue to form and change ideas concerning this. but at the moment this is me. i think this. where is home. what is home. do you have only one. is it a place. is it people. is it a concept. perhaps all of the above. that is what i am living to find out. sure. family is tres important. so are friends. what about meeting new people. new family. can you limit yourself to your geographic area. not in todays world i guess. i have been away for some weeks now. i have seen a lot. i have lived a lot too. seen things. learnt things. tasted things. experienced things. i realise that there are so many explorations waiting. places. people. countries. cultures. will i ever be able to see it all. will there be time. to see. to write. to reflect. what then. where is home. what hass happened to it. what am i saying. home is where the heart is. home continues to move. whether you like it or not. you have a choice. float or grab hold of life. make it your own. thanks vix. carry the experiences in your heart. both good and bad. life without regret. move with the feast. ce la vie.

what is reality

i found myself traveling. traveling the french country side with my swedish travel partner. we think and enjoy the same things. she starts my sentences and i finish hers. a lot of fun. especially if you only know each other for a couple of days. anyways. we went to a small catalane town on the coast. truely amazing experience. this day was a spiritual experience for me. i found myself trapped between two world. both amazing. both pure. i realised my new life in france has set my mind on a new course. i was truely experiencing myself in a new way. i enjoy life here. who would not. soaking up the sun. drinking pastis while starting at perfect blue water. reading hemingway. a moveable feast. this ones for you pappi. i found myself wondering where i go to from here. where will i find myself in a few years time. i was a good question. it made my mind rumble. hem always leaves me with a sense of nostalge. i love that. pondering between the here. the then. the yesterday. i was at my happiest there in some famous cafe. but that raised the trivia in me. where does my two worlds meet. what is my reality. would my spirituality allow me to be. to enjoy. would my dreamworld except my spirituality. how will the two get along. will they compromise. will they give in. are they different in any way. are they different at all. they are both what i enjoy. am i cheating life. the sun was baking on my face. the smell of suncream being my aura. the laughter of children being a sense of euphoria to me. kids with melting icecream. a travel partner that has a lot of questions. i can see it on her face. i can sense it as she sits behind her cafe double. does she have the same trivia. we have not yet spoken about that. i dont think she does though. her thoughts seem to be somewhere else. the beat suddenly changes on my ipod and i awake from my daydreaming. where have i been. am i back. was that reality. or is this. i sometimes struggle to distinguish the two. the music is friendly. gotan project. they are great. another pastis. a walk down the street. towards the sea. a yacht has just pulled in. my icecream is melting too. i am think too much. i turn the corner and found myself watching some old men play boules. i love to watch them. the way they go about their business. so meticulous. so perfect. poetry in motion. their face baked by years of southern sun. their hands wrinkled by the sand and the dust of years of boules. i bet they have asked the same questions. i bet they have lived good lives. i bet they have lived. loved. lost. it is written on their faces. friendly faces. always gazing in the direction of preying spectators. acknowledging you with a smile. a smile that says more than the qusetion asked for. but satisfying none the less. that is perhaps why i watch. not so much the game. but the people. they live. i admire then. they understand living. simplicity. i cross the bridge. stroling back to the cafe. she was still writing post cards. she looks up. smiles. we take our time to get to the station. its a couple of hours back by train. we walk the hill towards the staion. the sun beaming from the mountain top. vines all over. i smile. my heart leaps. my spirit filled with joy. i know what they resemble to me. they are my victory. a story for another day. another day gone by. a day well spent. a day to remember. a day to think about. stop thinking about thinking. live. yes rather live. live and let live.

diversity

i just love diversity. its my favourite new word. why. probably cause i realised that i come for a place where it is most apparent. i had to come to europe to see it. i had to come to this place to be able to see my unbelievable upbringing. what a privilege. who knows what this means. !KE E:/XARRE //KE. it means diverse people unite. how precious. it is the motto of my country back home. it is a bushman dialect. when i read it a couple of days ago i became very emotional. i realised it is our most powered possession. i was preparing a presentation for my fench class. i never knew this to be honest. it made me wonder about its meaning and the strength of this unity. i see it in my school here too. that probably sparked this thought. when we get together like at last nights wine festival there are mutli national groups of people getting together. it is amazing. you have french. you have spanish. swiss. german. english. dutch. irish. colombian. and me. african. white african. african none the less. we speak english. german. french. spanish. dutch. all mixed in one. almost our own language. its fun. we all understand each other. we compare. we ask. we laugh. we joke. diverse peole unite. amazing. you cant get enough of this. i want more. i learn everyday. we learb form each other. what we like. what we love. want we detest. a pity that soon we will be split up again and everyone will return to their own. berlin. valencia. dublin. amsterdam. barancia. sussex. montpellier. imagine that. the world in one classroom. it feels strange. it feels good. it excites me. we are not all that different. might have diffenrent ideas on certain issues. but that makes us human. that makes us diverse.

alcohol unites

a crazy world we live in. went to a wine tasting last night. it was great fun. some good wines. some aweful. but that was not the object of the exercise. an open air tent. lots of people. all enjoying themselves. it is evident on their faces. the way they look around. the way they tapped their feet to the beat of the music. the band playing their hearts out. laughing. crying. joking. dancing. chatting. everybody standing around in little huddles listening to stories and jokes being told. fun. fun. fun. nobody being stupid. perhaps a bit silly. but thats ethanol doing its work. and it struck me how alcohol is the glue that keeps the world together. take five random people. give them wine. give them beer. give them alcohol and they will have a party and be friendly. is this a bad thing. not necessarily. i have lived and seen people react. some behave badly. others handle it well. they become social. they open up. they loose inhibition. funny. why do they need alcohol to show their real selves. would it not be great if we could all just be ourselves. no fear. no prejudice. alcohol unites. the social glue of the world.

pilgrims rest

the place where pilgrims rest. a town glued together by some relics of the Cross. what utter nonsense. yet for thousands of years pilgrims found themselves in this small village. we walked up the hill to the monastery. but not to visit it. for breakfast. behind the big monastery that fills half the space of st guilhem is a square with a massive p-tree in the middle. probably over a 100 years old. we order a typical french breakfast. it consists of a sawn in half baguette. strawberry jam. apricot jam. and strong black coffee. the cobble stones of the square glow in the hot morning sun of the mediterranean. a fountain with icy mountain water dances behind us. as if it is performing for the tourists. delightful atmosphere. a sense of spiritualism fills the air. not the religious type. the good type i guess. i wonder what it must have been like way back when. when the religious folk came to worship three chips of wood claiming to be from the Cross. if ever a money making scheme. we enjoy the tranquillity and laugh about the stupidity of relics. the village suddenly starts to wake as we work our way through 3 baguettes. tables are carried out of cellars. chairs packed out. umbrellas put up. cobbles swept and polished. perhaps the pope is visiting. i guess not. perhaps he has been here. not a chance. we order more coffee and the flying dutchman poses in front of the p-tree. a spiritual experience in itself. can one man be so silly. can one man make you laugh so much. i think laughter has more power than relics. what do you think. perhaps the laughter we left in st. guilhem will take the village to the next level. a new millennia. i truly hope so. long live the pope of laughter. long live the flying dutchman. viva la france. amen