Cinema Of Night

Another strange dream while my tired body lay quietly in the bed - I guess.
In the night from monday to tuesday, July 31:

Bowling Balls In The Living Room

 

I dreamed that my friends Anne and Simon, a couple, took part on a competition. A sports which Simon has obviously brought into the relationship: They had to roll a bowling ball through parcours to the destination - a little hole in an ordinary flat. The flats of the teams were the stadiums.

It was the final of the nationwide championship, I felt in the dream, and it was not in the flat of Anne and Simon. They had to play in a very bourgeois living room. When I came in, Simon had his last throw: The bowling ball had to start on a table. The parcour, out of books and something I've forgotten, should bring it in circles to the hole under the table, hidden between ice made out of nitrogen. The referee, an old woman, often put the pieces of the ice together - with her hands in gray gloves.

Simon got his first two shots. But he also needed the third one, the last. If the ball runs into the hole, they will win, if not, they will loose the whole competition. Simon let fall the bowling ball on the table, in a metal starting-cage. But he couldn't hit the right point. The bowling ball landed in the back part and the starting-cage went to the wrong side. They lost the final.

Now it was fixed that the first match of the next competition will happen in Annes and Simons flat. Always the loser team has to be the host. In my last view I saw Simon answering to a journalist, that they think now to change the place. Maybe even the whole region.

In A Russian Supermarket

To find more stuff for my new series “Tasting Strange Food” I’ve visited a Russian supermarket this Saturday in Trier. The little flat building close to the university was full of people. Most of them seemed to be Russians – so, they talked Russian all the time I was inside.

It was my second time in that supermarket. I knew before about the huge shelves filled by millions of bonbons – all packed in fantastic never seen papers. One of the labels is called “Rot Front”, an old candy-factory which had produced even in the Soviet Union. Please correct me if I’m wrong. And on the way while listening the song “Meine kleine Russin” by Reverend Beat-Man (My little Russian lady) in my car, I looked forward to the typical Russian tasty white ice cream you can buy there for just 29 Cent.

Although it was so absolutely overcrowded inside, I slipped away into my own world by smelling fresh bread they had. By the vain tries reading the boxes of strange things. I wondered how much meat you can pack behind this tiny showcase where a couple – both like balls – were waiting for the butcher sticking his enormous knife into a deep red whatever.

After picking up all my stuff I came to the two cash desks they have. And there I found that little Russian lady, the Reverend had sung about. To her it’s certainly just a job, but to me it told from her calmness deep inside while too many Russians screwed around her screaming, whistling and scolding about everything. It was like art.

Whatever happened, meine kleine Russin kept calm. She let the things switch over her scanner-table like little ships on the Caspian sea. A few words spoken in her low tender voice were enough to let the hectic customers become calm as well. And after a glass had smashed down to the bottom, out of the hand of an man simultaneously holding a little baby, and something like orange colored stewed vegetables suddenly covered the ground, she just looked, made a hand gesture that meant It’s ok, and continued helping the little ships by crossing the Caspian sea. 

I came two times to her cash desk to watch her show. The second time just with another ice cream for 29 Cent as pretence. When she saw me again, a little smile ran over her face and she bend her head. She had already understood.

NEW: Now I know more about the "Russian" Lady. She is Kirgisian and her name is Chopa.

Tasting Strange Food

Part One - Kazakhstan Premium Dark Chocolate

The first meeting between Kazakhstan Premium Dark Chocolate and me ended with some headache on my side the next morning. I can’t finally conclude if there is a connection between the consume and my suffering. But after the second time having some pieces of that 80 percent black block happened the same the following morning.

Only after the third time consuming the rest of the 100-gramms-bar during listening to the LP “45:33” of LCD Soundsystem the next morning was like getting dry after a soft bath with the fragrance of lavender.

When you open the box, the sun joins back to the east where it came from. The chocolate is so dark like a night in the tropics. The bottom is smooth, the side above is structured by some monotonous lines. When you break it, the sound gives you the first imagine of bitterness. Touching it is like holding the hand of a woman who don’t want you to do that.

The box is black nearly complete covered by golden ornaments. Main thing is the big blue part in the contour of the country Kazakhstan. There are lines a bit darker than the rest of the blue imaging the sun smiles to the country. Mostly everything is written in cyrillic letters. So it’s not possible for me to read what exactly I ate there. But it’s sure that E476 went through my body. And I guess it was a lot.

How To Pick Up Latvian Hitchhikers

While Lukas and Gregorius were entering the highway by foot on the same way where cars are rushing likes planes, I picked them up. As they said they had started in Latvia last Monday to come straight down through whole Eastern Europe until I found them now on Saturday eve at the exit of the city of Merzig, direction Luxembourg.

- Where do you wanna go?

- Luxembourg, the city, 

Lukas said quiet busy speaking English. So I decided to let them calm down first with good music. I chose “All I need” played by Air for Lukas’ and Gregorius’ ears and mind, surely tired after a long day hitchhiking, made it loud and put my foot soft but strong on the gas pedal. The next five minuts we three young guys slipped in my black car with shiny chrome lines over the street like on hot butter. Smooth, without saying any words, just enjoying the beginning of the night.

After the song I put down the loudness and asked them, what their final destination is.

- Luxembourg?

- No, we don’t have a final destination,

Gregorius said. They are just going around Europe. But not down until Spain, Lukas answered to another question of me. No, they will see, they are free. They have some weeks, and then they must be back in Latvia in some weeks. I told them about my good experiences by hitchhiking in England some weeks ago, if they want to go there.

Then Cattenom came in our sight, spitting big white clouds with bitter taste into the sky. Like lying clothes making ugly girls beautiful.  I told my new Latvian friends about this nuclear plant and the problems we have with it, asking the French government to switch it off, which is more like praying to somebody invisible who is not part of our religion. And they listened quietly.

After crossing the highway bridge across the river Mosel and entering Luxembourg country, I brought Lukas and Gregorius down to a big gas station. I hope they were lucky to find another car before dusk has ended in the night. I would had bring them to the capital by my own, we missed 30 kilometers. But compared to them I had a final destination - in nearby France and I was in a hurry. What important I had to do in France… that will tell you soon this blog.

---

Follow me on facebook: www.facebook.com/cousteau
Follow me on twitter:      www.twitter.com/amanville

Village Street Art

By joining forces a group of unknown artist are fighting with their pictures, stickers and sculptures to change the grey-minded villages in the deep countryside of Germany, Luxembourg and France into a colourful spectacular place on the stage of a burlesque theatre.

Part 1 - In the middle of Losheim

A green picture on white underground saying "Fuck you"
The unknown artist - expressing his power by spartanous art - has chosen a not so quiet street to print his work. The wall is the sidewall of a house in a little street crossing a big street with lot of traffic. On the big street from the left side cars can see you very soon because of a big open place. By night their lights must have hit the artist and put him in an appropriate spot for his show, which must not have taken longer than five seconds.

The artist has chosen a spray with bright green colour. He decided to spray just by one time. "Fuck you" is put not under but on the hand which form tells a lot about the artists incredible anger. At who? He remains silent. So we will never know.

Wie mache ich Milch aus Haselnüssen???

Um aus Haselnüssen Milch zu bekommen, braucht man einen Zauberstab. Und einen hohen Becher mit wenig Bodenfläche - am besten ein Messbecher.

Zutaten:

100 gr Haselnüsse

Wasser

Mark einer halben Vanilleschote

nach Gusto etwas Ahornsirup oder Honig

Man nehme die Haselnüsse und weiche sie über Nacht in Wasser ein. Dann das Aufweichewasser in die Blumen schütten, mit den Nüssen samt Vanillemark ab in den Becher, etwa 200 ml frisches Wasser dazu und Zauberstab dranhalten. Alles schön mixen und zerkleinern, bis es ziemlich flüssig ist. Dazu dann noch zwei Löffel flüssigen Honig oder Ahornsirup dazugeben, wer es süßer mag. Schließlich noch etwa 400 ml Wasser dazugeben und alles durch ein Sieb in eine Flasche füllen. Im Kühlschrank lagern.

Die Flasche sollte man vorher mit extrem heißen Wasser füllen und kurz so stehen lassen, um Keime abzutöten. Wenn man sie kurz darauf schon braucht, sollte man sie rasch im Eisfach wieder abkühlen.

Und schon wartet selbstgemachte vegane Milch aus Haselnüssen im eigenen Kühlschrank.

Genauso lässt sich auch Milch aus Mandeln machen. Oder aus Cashews.