assorted

Not as warm as it used to be, here in Basel.  When it's cloudy and chilly, I have to admit feeling like it's summer (corrupted by the Bay), but when the sun is out, and it's still chilly, I know fall is on its way.  While I was gone, all the plants I'd been growing died (alas), but the one volunteer - hardy little bugger - managed to hold on, and now one of its tomatoes are turning red.  Amazing! 

I'm pretty confident it's going to be inedible; I think that particular tomato has been on the plant for a long time.  Still feels like an accomplishment.  Not my accomplishment, obviously, but one nonetheless.

This little bee seems to have died peacefully on the rug on our balcony.  I'm sure it lived a good life.  Probably even helped with my tomato plant.  Thanks bee.

Inside, meanwhile, we have some double-bass. 
Perhaps it is becoming clear to you how little I'm doing these days.  Recovering from my summer, maybe.  I practice around an hour a day (total... I'm working my arms and fingers back into shape); make food (today I made soup, yum yum), stare at the walls, eat, read, etc.  I did go have dinner the other night with Maria and Sam, Maria made stuffed bell peppers the traditional Translyvanian way, which involves boiling them for 40 minutes in this flour-water-milk-oil-fresh tomato juice mixture in a pot on the stove.  Delicious.  We also watched a lot of folk music from her country on youtube.  Do check out these videos:
Here's a band called Muzsikás performing with the famous Transylvanian singer Marta Sebestyén.  I can't really get enough of this one.  So good.
These people are apparently the most "authentic" musicians still around, seen here, playing a party.  It's this old couple, she's playing a "gardon" (which looks like a rustic cello) by hitting it with the bow, and using snap pizzicato on the strings at the same time.  Wild.

Hey You Breakfast-Eaters

Dinner tonight rocked.

Fresh spinach-ricotta ravioli; giant mystery chard-like green cooked in olive oil, garlic, red wine and rosemary salt, topped with toasted slivered almonds; Duvel.  Balcony, 7 PM.

Recently moved the plants into a sunnier locale, have been rewarded by a comeback from the chard and a tomato hatching from the lettuce pot. Also some very enthusiastic peas.

As a respite from the high-minded (read:dry) Memoirs of Hadiran I've been reading James Fenimore Cooper - The Last of the Mohicans.  It was mentioned in another book I read recently, and I thought I'd try it.  I'm not entirely sure I want to finish; it's filled with the bigotry of its time, and the rancor towards the non-whites in the book proves difficult to swallow.  Also, it goes from one melodramatic scene of handsome men ("he was a perfect specimen") and mind-blowingly beautiful women of strong character in situations of high danger and near death that it makes me a little tired.  It's no wonder the movie did so well; the book is perfect for a screen adaptation.  I'm even more tempted to stop when I look at my magnificent and largely-unread library; I reorganized my room, and stacked all my books (28 now, including the JFC, thanks to two recent and much-appreciated care packages) where I can easily get to them.  Seeing all those delectable titles is enough to distract me from practicing.  Not such a bad thing, as I've recently overdone it; the last bit of work I had caused me fairly acute pain in my right arm, and I've been laying off a bit to avoid injury.  And my "busy month" has not even begun.  Thanks to the folks a new (old) lighter bow is on its way.  What do musicians do who don't have luthier/archetier parents?  It must really suck.

Alternate titles considered for this post:

Ack, this is so good

Why go out when you can stay in

Cooking with red wine: ruining my wardrobe, one shirt at a time

Holy Crap My Dinner Is So Delicious

Mom was right, plants like sunlight

YUM

JFC: Bigot, or just Melodramatic?

What is Duvel's alcohol content?!

Chekhov! Lessing! Tolstoy! Gaskell! Nabokov!

paying attention.

Had two lessons this weekend, one last night, one this morning.  David came to town with his son Adrian (say it with a French accent, of course), who is 9, and who makes very excellent drawings of cars while waiting for Dad to finish up with all the teaching.  I cooked dinner for them last night, and in exchange got a drawing of my own.  Note the vaguely Czech-sounding car name, and the price tag.  Well, a girl can dream.

So, no surprise, I have a few entirely thoughtless habits acquired over the years of playing bass (19 already) and they're hard to shake.  A small example is this thing I do with my bow, a kind of detache accent that makes the overall thing I'm playing inappropriately punchy, and accents notes that are unimportant.  With a good deal of attention and control I'll be able to phase this out in the next couple months or so, I hope.  That bow thing is only a symptom of a bigger problem, though; it is my general attitude towards playing, and has its roots in a generous mix of overconfidence, thoughtlessness, and possibly even laziness (shocking, I know).  I am extremely unaccustomed to paying attention to each note with the depth and breadth required for it to be played truly well and thoughtfully.  Left hand, right hand, finger contact, intonation, bow contact (those two words cannot express how complicated this subject is), length, volume, place in phrase, all of this simultaneously, and constantly.  SO MUCH THINKING!  How is it even possible?  I don't know, but I need to do it.  Maybe once I get used to applying this level of focus to the the things I play I'll be able to relax about it a little, but for now?  Sheeeeeit.

It can be a little overwhelming, but it's not the volume of information that needs to be remembered that is crucial, I think.  Instead it's an overall technique, a more general thoughtfulness.

Of course I think about this stuff now, but in a, let's say, casual way.  Oooh, that note was in tune, hooray!  Hmmm, I'd like it to get louder here.  Gosh, I should practice this scale until it sounds better.  I'm joking, a little.  It makes me think of when my parents came to Interlochen for the family week in the fall, and I took them to meet the weathered, serious, gravel-voiced Professor Bozanic, who taught my Bible as Literature class.  What was it he said about me?  I think it was that I joked around too much.  I can remember my dad vaguely cheering as we walked out of building (his daughter! she has a sense of humor!) but in a way, Mr. Bozanic was on to something.  I still don't care about the Bible as literature, of course.  But it doesn't hurt to apply myself every once in a while.

sleeeepy

Had my second lesson today. It was difficult, and good. You arrive at these ideas in your head about the kind of player you think you are, and it is unerringly positive to have someone take all that apart and show you how to put it back together. I've never really had a regular teacher who spent a lot of time on technical issues: hand position, bow technique, etc. Being here is going to make me a better bass player. Which is, after all the point. Two hours spent concentrating on bow stroke and trying to play in tune; followed by two hours of tandem speaking; then an hour at a print shop, convincing the printer to let me trade work for press time; capped off with a well-earned beer with my teacher and another bass player and a nice bike ride home; brings me sleepily to bed. How pleasant. Sorry for no current pictures (though I am including one taken a few nights ago from the Mittlere Rheinbrücke, of GroßBasel, the old part of town). I'm off to Bonstetten tomorrow for a gig (south of Zürich) and will bring the camera for proper documentation.

ps. It got up to 14 or 15c here today. Warm! I was practically jolly with delight.

rooks on roof

best time of night.

At last, I have something to practice: from my friend Federico I got my first gig, three Bach cantatas with choir somewhere south of Zürich (about 2 hours away). Music seems great, and quite difficult. Getting there is going to be a little bit of a challenge; figuring out where to go, and when, is confusing even when you speak the language.

Studying.

There were also some pants-under-pants questions I received today. I should have been more specific. Fleecy-on-the-inside leggings under pants. The pants have no trouble fitting because I'm still too skinny, duh. If I were a teenager in California I might wear the leggings with a short dress and some Ugg boots. Oh wait, I wore that the other day. And the sad part was that as I was putting everything on, I thought, "It's OK, I'm in Europe." Sellout indeed. Don't give up hope, though; the mental mortification was enough that I came home after my errands and swiftly changed into some rather ill-fitting corduroys. My own lame fashion (read: impeccable moral) compass is still in tact, not to worry.

Hey, is this typeface any easier to read? It's weird how little control you have over things in here.

what a sellout.

my friend said: the people demand your observations and progress reports. It's a little egotistical but less so because you're in the middle of a Unique Experience and I know you won't be a tool and write dull tripe.

Let's hope she's right. I'd like to say before anything gets started that this isn't for me, it's for you, even though we all know that isn't true. Anyhow, write me a real letter, and I'll write you back. I'll save some time for the little people. Ha.

For now, it'll be fake mail.

FIRST POST.

This first bit was a response to something posted by a friend of mine regarding Motiveless Walking, written by Iain Sinclair:
In London, from the first, I walked.
He describes the walk as a narrative, as a moving film made from static images.

The walking hasn't exactly been Motiveless thus far. I've gone out with a purpose, rather than to explore, and in fact have not even been onto the balcony at my apartment yet. (Heavens.) So, Motivated as the following walks were, they were still interesting to me, or at least informative. Here, in order.

1. the grocery store. not a long walk. Almost as close as 7 Monte Vista is to Piedmont grocery, add a 100 feet or so. This was on my first full day here, and I was pretty jet-lagged; I stood in front of weird crackers and couldn't wrap my mind around them, seeing as how it felt like the middle of the night.

2. a different grocery store. Actually the same company ("Migros") but this one had 5 floors, including a basement (vegetables and fresh meat). The other floors had things like stationery supplies (3), clothing that all appeared to be some shade of purple (2), a bakery (2), electronics and sports equipment (4), umbrellas (1). My roommate took me there to buy a mobile phone, as they are called here. As you know. (As I'll be calling them when I return to America and speak like some wannabe from The Continent.)

3. the Schola Cantorum, the school I'll be attending, to meet a bass player. Federico, from Argentina. We went for a beer, he was nice. Next week we are going to travel together to Germany to attend a music festival at which our teacher David will be playing, and where we'll take lessons with this bassist named Dane Roberts. He's from San Deigo but has been living in Europe for 30 years. Anyway, the school seems very nice, I only saw the cafeteria area, and some pretty girls standing around, mostly holding cellos or gambas. We went to some student-y bar for a beer, which was light, and fine. The beer, I mean. Both times I've been in a bar here someone has come up to the table trying to sell things, the first time (this time) it was touristy nick-knacks, the next time (#6) it was a teddy bear on a key chain.

4. flea market at St Peterplatz. There are many, many churches around here, and roads are often named for them. This is an old town; on my way to school (#3) I passed by houses with dates written on them from the 1300s.
The bridge I passed over that night to go home had a 1200 date on it. Indeed. Back to the flea market. I didn't sleep well the night before, woke up at 3 and spent 4 hours trying to get back to sleep, so got (to a certain extent) to see dawn. I guess I fell asleep just before it. When my alarm woke me up at 8, the sun was shining, and I thought that meant that it would be warmer outside. Therefore I didn't wear a hat. Ha! My mistake. I thought my head was going to freeze off. I finally took my scarf and wrapped it around my head, old lady style. The flea market was all around the perimeter of an open area next to St Peters church. The area, criss-crossed by sidewalks and lightly populated by tall spindly trees, has a sidewalk that squares in the park. People had set up all along this sidewalk, and though the things they had were a mixed bag, there were a few things that I might have gotten (art, mostly) if I were still earning money. Nice little paintings and prints. Also a lot of old electronics, crappy figurines, random things... I bought a toaster, and a bike, which was the real reason I went. In a typically Megan move, I found a bike with great style (it's so adorable) that needs some work. Not a ton of work, a new chain, some cleaning and greasing, but still, I couldn't ride it right away, which would have been ideal. In fact, I took the bus home. I could have walked but did I mention how incredibly cold I was?

5. bike repair shop. Not far away (nothing is far away here, the whole town is 190,000) but I had to walk the bike. Got a little lost, and arrived just as they were closing. The guy who helped me was a little rude but pumped up my tires, greased the gears, and told me to come back next week so he could fix the chain. The problem is that Basel has this carnival that happens every year called Fasnacht, and everything around town closes for most of the week. So I can't go back until next Friday. Which is fine, really, since I'll be gone three days next week, but I'd really like to use the bike right away. I did ride it home, but the chain is a little long (and rusty) and it had to click into adjustment once or twice per revolution. It's a little sketchy, in other words.

6. bar: zum roten engel (the red angel) with Céline (roommate) and her friends from school. Yes, I went out three times in one day. The town is small enough to be manageable, so it wasn't a big deal. Today I'm going to try to do everything, out and about, in one trip. We'll see how that goes. Céline's school chums were nice, the evening was mostly in German, broken up for me by one or another of the friends feeling sorry for me and asking me questions in English, or telling me what they were talking about. Swiss German is incredibly difficult to understand. Among the group was a girl from Austria, and it was a relief when she spoke; I could tell where words ended, and the next began. The Swiss, however, flow everything together. It's incredibly confusing. I felt bad for Céline so went home early (around 10) so she could just enjoy herself.

7. the closest to a Motiveless walk I've had so far. In reality I was just waiting for a museum to open, but I took the long way round. Wandered out of my neighborhood, over the old bridge,
across to the oldest part of town, up an alleyway and behind the Rathaus, over to the landmark church in town (Münsterkirche - I guess Erasmus is buried there, whom I mostly know about through that *incredibly* trashy show The Tudors which I watched in full last summer, shamefully. Sir Thomas More, whom thankfully I knew about from photographing his book Utopia at Stanford [which, incidentally, was printed in Basel in 1518], was a friend to Erasmus. What a useless aside), and finally onto a little street by the Rhein that led to the Papiermuhle, or Paper Mill, a museum of papermaking, printmaking, and binding. It's pretty awesome. I saw a certificate inside showing that it won best museum in Europe a few years back. You get to see type being cast by hand, they have all the old machines, and a beater for making paper pulp out of rags, connected to a water wheel outside.
I was fortunate to find a Vandercook inside, hopefully soon I'll be able to persuade them to let me use it.
There are many more pictures from this day on my flickr page. I'm using so many different parts of the internet it makes me a little woozy.

In general, Sunday is very quiet. Nothing is open, except for churches and museums. Not even the grocery stores are open. Crazy, I know. What if you run out of bread?

Speaking of groceries, food is expensive here, and the Migros by my house (even the 5-story location) is limited. I got a tip last night to go into Germany or France, both of which are about 10 or 15 minutes away by bike, to do my shopping; apparently the shopping center in France has a huge farmer's market with nice vegetables, tons of cheeses, and most importantly, Belgian beer, all for much less money than the markets in CH, even using the Euro instead of the Swiss Franc (CHF). The beer selection in Switzerland is limited to the lightest of the light, from what I've seen so far.


AFTER writing the first part of this post, I made the trip up to Germany and back via train, with bass, which was quite a lot of schlepping, as you can probably imagine. And whining. (The Volvo, I miss the Volvo.) Federico made a good traveling companion and helped me in the purchasing of tickets and the navigation of foreign cities. With basses, of course. The course ended up being three days of masterclasses with Dane Roberts, although David taught for few hours as well in the middle. There were opportunities to play many different instruments and bows, I was given the assignment of learning one of the Haydn bass solos (Horn Signal) on the Viennese bass (5 strings, tuned, top to bottom, A - F# - D - A - f, and with gut frets)
which was quite an experience, but rewarding. I may never get the solo out of my head, having played it exclusively for three days. Saw many lessons, and also through David got to see two concerts: one, chamber music, played Tafelmusik-style with the patrons eating dinner on the floor of the small theatre; the other, a Handel opera done in the traditional Baroque style, with the stage lit entirely with candles and the performers using complicated hand gestures to emphasize their words. I don't actually know what the opera was about, as we only saw the last act (the whole thing was 4 hours long) and the supertitles were in German, of course. (How's my German, you may ask? Coming along, but sloooooowly. Sehr langsamer.)

Today (Feb 27) I got my bike fixed, I didn't go back to the other shop (too far, too much attitude) but instead went to one about a block and a half from my apartment, the owner of which was incredibly friendly. He is from Iraq, emigrated 15 years ago after leaving a compulsory stint working as an engineer in the army. Said he left because there's been too much war there. No kidding. Following the bike I went to the farmer's market near my house (with much success) then a resale shop (with even more success -- got some shelves for my room, books in English, and a souffle dish). The weather was good, it made for high spirits. The weather is changeable, but predictable, to some extent; you can expect sun in the morning, a couple days in a row. Clouds roll in around 2, then there will be patchy rain in the afternoon and evening. The third day, it is grey, and lightly rains all day. More than a drizzle, but not enough water to be rain-proper. Today was a mix, there was sun coming in my window but I could see small vertical drops falling on the balcony. So, I went out there, for the first time, to see which cloud the rain could be coming from. I'll just say, it was unclear. There's still a chill in the air but less even than when I arrived. (Thank goodness.)

I say the rain is predictable but I didn't plan for it last night when I went to meet an oboe player from the Schola who is originally from San Rafael. When I left her house, around 9:30, I found my bike seat wet (yes, I had taken my first ride!) and there was a very light rain falling. What followed was something of a comedy of errors. First my satchel slipped off my back, and dangled over the bar. I tried twice to put it onto my back, and meanwhile got myself into the middle of the street. There was no one out, so I wasn't at risk, but I ended up in the middle of the tram tracks. I wanted to get back to the side of the road - these trams stop for no one - and in the process the front tire slipped into one of the grooves and I went down on the right side. Not all that bad, to be sure. The chain came off but since it's brand new I barely got grease on my hands. It did shake me up a little, though. I got home fine, except that the topple must have jarred the front headlight, which, when I went over a bump, flew off and exploded on the street. The back lamp I dropped when I was trying to remount the bike and it stopped working, too; 15CHF, and it only lasted a few hours. Oh well. You can imagine that not a few curse words were said. Comedy of errors indeed.


It's weird how I'm asleep during most of my friends' day, and they're asleep during mine.


Today (Feb 28), I did not leave the house. Instead, I read a book. From start to finish, I mean. The book was OK. (I had got it at the thrift store.) I think after reading W. G. Sebald (The Rings of Saturn was the book I had chosen for my trip out here, which was an interesting choice since every narrative follows a subject to its destruction. Kind of bleak. But so great!) anything is a little disappointing. Shall I conclude here, with this boring bit, my first post? Heck. Why not. It's past dinner time, anyway, and I'm sure you all finished your breakfast long ago.