阿姆斯特丹

阿姆斯特丹

我想粗谈阿姆斯特丹，因为我刚从那里回来。

Hyson和我从巴黎出发，一起到了阿姆斯特丹。

那是一个美丽，性感的城市。人们在桥头叫卖粉红色羽毛的手铐，鲜花编织的鞭子，鸽子在旁边咕咕求偶，乐此不疲。

Hyson漂亮华丽的朋友们来迎接了。

Hyson稀里哗啦的荷兰语迸射在她们脸上。阳光下的河里，绿头鸭们在围攻海鸥，泛起闪闪的银光。

法式魅力果然很大，即使是法式的荷兰语，法式的荷兰吻。

金发小妞们像一串银铃般，边响边随风扑飞上来。因为这些朋友穿得比较多，以至于与橱窗里的姑娘很不同，不是用顺时针扭和逆时针扭那么简单的词儿就能形容。

“Hello, I am a new bee in Amsterdam.” 我麻木地凑近其中一位的脸。

“Hi! Glad to meet you. I love your French English though.” 耳边有很腻的香水味和伦敦味。

我微惊，“你丫扯淡。” 又低下头，微笑着看着地图。

罪过。如果我的微笑真的是会心一笑，那么就像某些巴黎人和伦敦人，或者北京人和上海人那样自然本能地对视而笑。这种真诚的微笑，比起一个热情的吻，当然是没有文化得多。

我们去喝了美酒，看了可爱的甲虫。



遇见“25块，开发票！”这样的流利的中文，我就说了一句“pauvre con（可怜的蠢货）”。 非常奇妙，这句话和法国总统刚好同时说出，我希望他的话不会被人注意，而我的话会引起很大轰动。

可惜，在现阶段的世界，结果是相反的。

这天早晨，我精神比较低落，睡得很昏沉，据说鼾声很大。

我不能继续作梦，我该离开这里。

我关上了门，衣衫不整地走了出来，从阿姆斯特丹走了出来。

我的耳朵被自己强行人工灌制了准备好的一首歌，« Dans le port d’Amsterdam, y’a des marins qui boivent… »

（在阿姆斯特丹港口，有一群水手在喝酒，他们喝啊喝，喝啊喝…….）

再见，阿姆斯特丹。

Nimes

Nimes is big enough for me. I mean there are lots of arcades, supermarkets and stuff in the uptown. Cars crowd everywhere in this old damp southern city of France.

Further more, there are lots of weirdoes and zombies in these southern regions who have been living during thousands of years since Chinese emperor tackled Turkish harassment for the 248th time. These inhabitants are called Nimois.

When you're in this moldy uptown, it's like this genre of life cannot excite you before it fulfils your exotic curiosity. I get pretty far out, even in the spring sunshine.

Apparently I ain't acquaintanted with the routes. I've got the mark somewhere but I won't tell you where it is because these folks are promenading too slowly and you can stare at their movements so conscientiously to figure out each of their destinations.

These zombies are folks who have just been hit with the fallout, probably from Uzbekistan or pretty much earlier from the ancient times.

Plus some 1000 years' brain damage from Greece and Italy, a lot of the toxins and germ warfare…

Oh boy, my neurotic mentality!

So the plague also, I can smell it but I cannot precise the location because it is fluid thus everywhere. I don't really know what is going erroneous. I just see these French residents I don't comprehend. Maybe it's like they have been genetically malformed or something. It's almost like they've all got some kind of weird disease.

Four euros' business could make them run around and go insane. Plus they don't speak properly they just slur like those Marseilais, but way less fasionable.

Alas! It's bizarre. It's twisted. And these creatures are surreal. I don't know what to call them in a scientific manner, but Nimois are very dangerous. Zombies are just a superstitious term for them. They are not actually whom you know from the culture propoganda. Dead people are walking around but Nimois may as well be exactly sorted in this category.

Anyway they are a threat when you're inside Europe. I mean spiritually, it's like you are going across the wastelands it's nothing but void, or empty dunes with desert, with burned out highways, whatever. And you hear the requiem even when you digest a kebab. Ironically the tourists do have the illusion that the Nimois are happy and everything is peaceful and dynamic. They just can't see the drifting devils because the spring sunshine is too bright; they just can't hear the roaring beasts because it is too noisy in the cafés; they just can't smell the rancide sludge and filth because it is the season of enormous land of lanvender flowers in Provence nearby.

I mean it is not their fault, after all.

And you can tell from the old street lights that you'd be getting close to somewhere different: you'll see this shabby kebab restaurant.

"I'm gonna offer you this plastic bag because you are his wife, hahahahaha!" the man laughed licentiously to my girl.

Wow man! This is hilarious: Now you are talking! His exotic logic makes me excited.

I am caught, I'd say, for the first time in Nimes. But this is a Turkish man, not a French, nor a Nimois. As a far-easterner, should I be proud or sorry before you? Gee, this person understands nothing about his turpitude nor his innocence. He runs a restaurant and he is a virgin of philosophy. That's all.

This city, I mean, this town is too old to be true.


Anyway I'd been humping for a couple of days in Nimes before I retrieved the reality. I mean I started to embrace the spring sunshine elsewhere.

Quimper

 

  A VOUS, les Monanges :

 

Ce qu’il sera toujours dans mon coeur

C’est ma nostalgie pour vous mise à l’heure

La fraternité estompe la frontière culturelle

La réciprocité éprouve la sollicitude maternelle

 

 

         ------  Yan,  Le 15/09/2006

 

 

 

       QUIMPER  Yan, 03/09/2006

 

With my sweet sentiment in the pain

I’m visiting the city of Quimper in the rain

The smile of you is getting dimmer

As the raindrops bring us continuous pitter-patter

 

 

For centuries these stone bridges have lain

On a river flowing with the history chain

I pick up a timid bud of rosy flower

And tenderly drop the petals one after another into the water

 

 

The smile of you is everything delicate without taint

The arc of the bridge is everything desolate but quaint

Under the arc, the flower petals drift away slowly through the river

Taking my affections into the depth of Quimper

 

 

Suddenly every part of me is losing strain

As if a world without you is a world in vain

Please, give me a best laughter

The brightness of your eyes will be carved in my mind forever

 

Quimper, ville d'art et d'histoire:

Située sur la rivière de l'Odet, au fond d'une ria d'une vingtaine de kilomètres, Quimper a toujours été un site abrité et un lieu de passage. Dès la conquête romaine, s'implante au bord de L'Odet, un peu en aval du site actuel de la ville, un petit centre urbanisé autour d'un port ouvert jusqu'au monde méditerranéen. Cette activité deviendra une des constantes de la ville jusqu'au milieu du vingtième siècle.

Un peu plus tard, les immigrants bretons privilégient un autre centre pour leur implantation, en amont au niveau du confluent (en breton : Kemper). Le choix de Quimper comme siège épiscopal favorise le développement de la ville déjà lieu de résidence du puissant Comte de Cornouaille. Dès le 13éme siècle, la construction de la cathédrale et la ceinture de remparts structurent la ville. Le chantier de la cathédrale Saint-Corentin s'étend sur plusieurs siècles pour en faire un des édifices majeurs de l'art gothique en Bretagne.

Au 16ème siècle, après le rattachement de la Bretagne à la France, l'arrivée d'une administration royale se traduit par la construction d'hôtels particuliers complétés au siècle suivant par de nombreux couvents liés à la Réforme catholique. La ville reste cependant une ville de marchands et d'armateurs qui construisent de sobres maisons en pans de bois ou en pierre.