Just
over the Hudson for the sixth and last time on this trip. I’d crossed first down, over the George
Washington Bridge the day we arrived and spent most of my time on the eastern
shore. The other day I drove to
New Jersey for a meeting and crossed like today over the Beacon-Newburgh,
Hamilton Fish Bridge. Coming back
I made my way across the Bear Mountain Bridge which looked so good I fumbled in
my pocket, foolishly and snapped a few photos while driving over. Yesterday we were over in New Paltz and
crossed the Mid-Hudson Bridge twice in one day. And as my kids have probably heard me say a dozen times
before, “Look, who is that?
Right. That’s (an albeit
small and rudimentary painting of) FDR and Eleanor, (beside an even smaller
painting of George Washington.)
And each time I cross, it feels exalted. Never fails.
Newark airport never feels exalted. But it’ll do. Back to Beijing this morning with the family on a
direct flight and as always we’ve covered some ground and as well as some
rivers, 大江南北[1]. I suppose this will be fourteen hours or so. People complain about it but
United’s alright with me. I
fly em’ enough so they treat me right and they hold all my miles. I certainly fly the partner airline Air
China much more frequently, but those are quick flights and the special
treatment bit is less important. Any
way, this is an insipid little eddy. Who cares?
Perhaps more interesting is the bit about Abe’s recent
announcement of sanctions against Russia.
Tough, but not too tough.
Post-Fukashima Japan must look for alternative energy sources and per
the $500B, biggest commercial deal in the history of all commercial deals,
deal, between Russia and China for gas, Japan needs to consider options for its
energy future. Russia must look to
where it can shove a wedge between the U.S. and its allies. If Russia really wanted to force a
wedge they should consider offering up some or all of the Kurile Islands that
mean so much to Japan and which they ignominiously occupied in the final days
of the war they had only entered against Japan a few days prior. Similarly, this might be Japan’s moment
to force the long dormant issue to a head, seeing how they’re being
courted. The distrust between
those two nations is old, but not as immutable perhaps as some in our
neighborhood.
Island hopping; let’s turn to Haiti. I had the good fortune to visit that
island back in 1989. The
transitional military strong man, Avril was in power. Aristide was still,
merely an activist priest, laying low, and the U.S. invasion, the earthquake,
the aftermath were all yet to be. And
down in the city of Jacmel on the south of the island I can remember trying to
get my hands around the country’s music.
I can recall being surprised that it sounded like salsa, which I’d yet
to have developed a taste for.
There on the beach in Jacmel around the very last evening of the 1980’s,
on New Years, the restaurant had done something interesting, wherein there were
two acoustic calypso bands performing.
One would play and then make way for the other. Then the other would return the
favor. This carried on nicely
until one band went on a bit long.
I can still see the face of the maraca player of the waiting band who whose
visage belied the creole, patois version of “the hell with this.” So he and the
lads started up playing before the current performers were done. Eventually the other band yielded, not
before divulging facial frowns and scowls beneath the celestial sound of
uplifting harmonies of their voices.
And then, of course, the jilted band returned the favor when they felt
it was their time, interrupting the performing quartet whenever they determined
that time was up. I’ve never seen
a more compelling “battle of the bands.”
I bought a few albums while I was there, in Port Au Pprince,
and had some downloads of bands like Coupe Cloue that I found here and there but
somehow I’ve never really sampled anything that lived up to the potential of
what one would imagine Haiti had in store, given its history and its
neighborhood. And I note that, to
my discredit, I never really tried, the way I have with just about every other
major neighboring island. So
I was quite pleased yesterday, indeed, I believe I used the phrase “holy shit”
in my thank you letter to my friend who sent me a link on Rdio yesterday to “Haiti
Direct - Big Band, Mini Jazz & Twoubadou Sounds, 1960-1978.” Now we’re talking. This collection leaps right up at you
like a Llegba possession in a Maya Deren dance scene.
My French is poor and my Creole is worse, so I’m not going
to try to suggest what the second song “Choc Vikings” is all about, though it
certainly sounds like a General Mills Scandinavian cereal brand, but I can tell
you that I like it. I’m still
getting my hands around it all but upon the first listening or three it sounds
more like West African music of the time, say from Guinea, that is clearly
influenced by Afro Latin jazz but rooted in something distinct, less polished,
more assertive. I hope this proves
to be the initial flakes of silver, surfacing downstream from some beckoning
Comstock Lode.
Signs for Newark are up ahead. I believe the Polaski Skyway is off to the right. A great name from years of youthful
traffic reports on New York radio.
My driver just informed me that it only runs in one direction. I’ll have to look up precisely who
Pulaski [1]was.
The guy who handled our bags at the check in was from Haiti! He let me slide on the overweight bag. I showed him the "Haiti Direct" album but he didn't recognize it We laughed about it anyway. New York's the best.
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