Just memories

              

 Banishing him from her life had been her only ammunition against him. It was better not to see him, she'd told herself endlessly.

That theory rang hollow on those hot, sweaty nights when she spent more time staring at the alarm clock than asleep. In her imagination there was no escaping those flashing deep blue eyes.

Night was when she thought about him, giving him full rein in the hope that he'd remain one of her midnight fantasy heroes and would stop tormenting her by day as well.

At night, she could remember every word he'd ever said to her and in a half-slumber, imagine his arms were around her, holding her, hugging her, making slow passionate love to her. In the daytime, she was ruthless with herself.

She thought to give up on all things she'd fought so long for, simply because he waltzed into her life, nonchalantly assuming she'd dump everything.

And a fling was all it would be, or would it be a deep scar that would ache forever more...she needed more time.

Oysters

It was one of those days  ment to be special, to be rememberd and to be cherrished forever. The temperature was hitting 33 degrees C, the day was full of surprises, the ones that made them ponder, made them go speechless, made them enjoy every single moment, flooding their bodies with overwhelming feelings. Laughter, just slight silence, and then again their voices kept them aware of just how much they needed each other, every minute, every second, every day and night. It was just amazing how much fun they always had together. They decided to go out for dinner, the night was clear and silent as they drove towards the ocean front. Their favorite restaurant. As he drove, she could not stop laughing at his jokes, kissing him , and caresing him, keeping her hand on his shoulder and slightly moving it towards his neck. She was always restless, which was a good sign, because when she went silent, that usually ment trouble. But this was no day for silence. They were just too happy enjoying their company and each other. As he parked the car, and opened the door for her, she found herself in his arms, holding her hands locked behind his neck as he slowly pulled her towards him, sliding his both hands from her back to her hips. They walked slowly towards the restaurant, his hand around her waist and her head just below his chin line, as he slightly kissed her hair. They had their ususal table, always sitting next to each other. Continuing to laugh and talk about their daily events. She would get close to him and put her hand on his shoulder, turning his head with her other hand, so that he would face her, and ever so slighly brush his cheek with her lips. He would pull her hair away from her neck and breath close to her ear and just pass his lips over her neck. The waiter came  ready to take their order, standing patiently and waiting for them to notice his presence, while they hardly even knew he was there. They both sensed his presence, he pulled slighlty away from her, while his arm  remained at her waist, refusing to look at the menu...he just   said: -' One Votka - lime, lot of ice and one martini....' She had taken her sandal off and slowly explored his ankle with her bare foot, reaching under his trousers and just slightly touching his leg. He turned towards her, and gave her that look, she loved so much. then told the waiter that would be all for now. She whispered in his ear, -'I wonder why they never throw us out form this place', and he just murmured near her lips, -'It wouldn't surprise me at all, maybe they're just used to us' Their drinks came, and as they picked up their glasses, never stoping to stare at each other, a slight smile and the first sip. As they placed their glasses back on the table and again drew close to each other, the waiter was again there, waiting for their order...and waiting, when they finally looked up at him and said, -'Just bring us the oysters' They continued talking about their day, while his hand holding her waist pulled her closer, she was touching his cheek with her fingers and drawing lines on his lips, placing her forehead next to his and brushing his nose with her lips. The oysters were served, just as they loved it, on a tray of ice with lime and the usual deco. Her bare foot was exploring his leg just above his socks as he took one oyster and brought it near her mouth...her lips slightly parted, he still held the oyster , then slowly kissed her and only then let the oyster slide in her mouth, letting the small dripps of lime slide down the sides of her mouth, making him go over them with his own lips. Her turn to take one oyster and bring it close to his lips, never stoping to stare at  him, he slowly opened his mouth, while she slighlty tuched the inner part of his lips with her finger, then letting the oyster slide slowly. The oyster shell fell on the table as her arms closed around his neck and they kissed, as if they never kissed before, as if it was their first kiss, as if they never repeated it so often..... He suddenly held her shoulders and forced her to look in his eyes, just another look, just another silent moment, he held her cheeks with both his hands , looked away from her  at the waiter and said, -'Cheque, please!

The Letter

She kept endlessly turning around and trying to fall asleep, there was nothing that would  keep her from looking at her alarm clock, because no matter how often she looked at the alarm clock, the time seemed to change with brainnumbing slowness. Not looking at it was obviously the answer.  She sat up in bed, shook her pillow around a bit and sank back down on to the cool side of the bed, determined not to look at the time. Four minutes to three winked the luminous numbers on the clock....but no sleep was coming to her resque. She sat up again, feverish and furious. She had to stop the boredom, as it was positively sickening. It was no use trying to sleep, she might as well get some hot milk and find something that would get rid of the endless insomnia.  Trying to think how shattered she'd be after a sleepless night, she warmed some milk and brought it up to bed. Propped up with pillows...suddenly the ideas were flooding her with delight. She knew what she needed to do, as she got up and went through her drawers. She rememberd seeing some old envelopes, somewhere there...if she could  just find them now, and that nice paper she kept as  highly valued antique piece. Oh, and then there was this old fountain pen, she kept as a treasure. Would she know what to do. Would she remember how to start a letter, what to say, was her handwritting still readable.Her mind was busy with such toughts while searching through her drawers, then in amazement she found the old pack of envelopes, and just below were some sheets of paper, she rememberd taking them from a Hotel, many years back. Somehow at the same instant the fountain pen emerged and she lifted it, holding it in her hand as a religious relic . So powerful was this treasure search and the idea of writting a letter, that her hands trembled while switching the light on her desk and carefully placing her relics. For a moment she just stood and watched the envelopes , the paper and her old fountain pen, as they glowed in the light. She sat on her chair and placed her elbow on the table, while slightly playing with a lock of her hair, swirling it and tieing knots, then letting them loose. She took her founain pen and wondered for a moment did it dry out, would she be able to use it? Slowly getting the cap off she took a note pad and drew a line, then wrote a couple of numbers...then her name. She couldn't hide her smile or the thrilling flood of emotions that invaded her body, while staring at the black ink on her note pad. She took a sheet of paper, and wondered for a moment what would she write, then just placed her left hand on top of it, and drew a continuing line around her hand. The amazement of what she looked at was, that she actually touched the paper, she actually drew her hand, she thought for a slight moment...this was real, this was a part of her...no typing , no screen, no icons...funny, she felt like going back to the last century, she was fascinated by the long lost beauty of letters, remembering some contained a drop of perfume, some a tear, a dried flower, a lock of hair, a fading photo...and endless words that would travel a long way to that someone dear, someone special. She feverishly started writting, as the words took their own flow on the paper as a wild stream ending in a waterfall...sheet by sheet, for the first time after so many years, she felt she was opening herself, she was being real, she was sharing and opening her soul. The last words, and the first  written  'I love you' in her own handwritting, left her with a cunfusing sensation...she ran and fetched her purse with make up, searching for the right colour of lipstic...she put a couple of shades on her lips...then carefully kissed the paper, leaving a perfect copy of the curves of her lips. Folding the sheets with utmost sensation, she placed them in the envelope, licked the edges carefully and closed it. The night was long gone as the first rays of sun came through her window, she dressed up and ran to the post office. She paused before she handed the letter, she held it with her both hands, covering it and tuching it before it would take its long journey, placed it on her chest, as if she couldn't part with it, then just slowly left it on the counter, payed for the stamps and kept looking at the lady who took her precious letter, stamped it a couple of times, every sound of the stamping shook her body, as she watched carefully what her letter was going through, then saw it thrown in one of the wooded pigeon holes....she turned around and walked out into the sunny street.

AMANTES DE LOS SUEÑOS PERDIDOS

 

It was her  birthday, but she has stoped counting somewhere in her 30s. The first traces of lines were hidden below a large straw hat and dark sunglasses,waring a black and white polka-dots silk dress and her favorite Manolos, she had to break all that fancy style with her own personality adding an orange 'Pucca' bag...it was just one of her ways...just one of her ways.

Arriveing at Genoa airport, mid of May, the crowd seemed like the summer season had begun. She was to meet with her daughter and son, both in their late 20s, rent a car and drive to the Ligurian Riviera, just some 38 kilometers from Genoa, to Portofino, a place she admired, a place where she was at peace.

 She felt a sudden change in her heart beat and her smile was welcomed by their crazy shouts and laughter, as they kept hugging and kissing each other. She was alive and happy again. As they all talked at once as if everyone wanted to tell his own story, joy and laughter surrounded her as they all walked to the car rental and within minutes headed to Genoa.

Just driving through the city she recalled the beauty of Genoa, an amazing city containing many beautiful wonders. Palaces and galleries, bursting with fine art, set around one of the loveliest streets in Italy, Via Garibaldi. Extravagant rococo rooms with wonderful paintings, sculptures, tapestries and Oriental ceramics contained in the luxurious 17th-century Palazzo Reale. She wanted to move on towards their destination, there was no reason to stop now and wonder through the city, taking her straw hat off and letting her shinny blond hair fly as all three of them sang their favorite song that echoed through the autostrada: 'YOU'R JUST TO GOOD TO BE TRUE, CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OF OFF YOU, YOU'D BE LIKE HEAVEN TO TOUCH, I WANNA HOLD YOU SO MUCH, AT LONG LAST LOVE HAS ARRIVED AND I THANK GOD I'M ALIVE, YOU'R JUST TO GOOD TO BE TRUE, CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OF YOU...' which followed by the crescciendo of klapping hands and yelling : 'I LOVE YOU BABY AND IF ITS QUITE ALRIGHT I NEED YOU BABY...' Her smile, not fading away, she listened to their singing and laughter, while they passed San Fruttuoso, she watched the vineyards, orchards and slopes covered in cypress and olive groves of this wonderful fishing village, where she remembered was an ancient Benedictine abbey, and where you could take a boat trip on a calm day and attempt to spot the bronze statue of Christ, immersed 15 metres below the surface in memory of divers who have lost their lives.

How she loved this part of the Riviera, as she took deep breaths filled with the smell of the sea and the cypress trees. She closed her eyes, and kept the glitter of the image ...for just a moment, so that after she's gone, she would recall the smell and the image all over and over again. This was one of her secrets of how she practised to remember places she loved...with their smell and image all together in her treasure box of memories.

As they reached Portofino they drove up the hill towards Hotel Splendido which had one of the most beautiful views overlooking the bay. She loved this hotel with its extraordinary beauty, the quiet, precious, and secluded atmosphere, a combination of intimate style and international tradition. It could tell her things about nature and man which, if accurately observed, could be viewed from a privileged stage, cosy and unobtrusive enough not to encroach upon the scene with the flow of events. It always offered her the atmosphere as the overall image of Portofino which, in a symbiotic relationship with the surrounding environment, through encounters and confrontations with the nature, history life, and the diligent work of man, one may draw back from or be enticed by, enhances the fascination of sensations and seems to offer witnesses to observation .

Always upon her arrival at this fascinating place she would think of…Guy de Maupassant “ A little village spreading like an arch of the moon around this quiet basin… Never have I felt the way I did when I walked into that green indefiniteness, with such a sense of peace and fulfilment".  

          

As they settled in their rooms, she decided to have her Martini on her favorite terrace, and wait for her daughter and son. After a quick shower, she changed into her white long Ozbek dress that gave a rather nice and provocative view of her bare back, she pulled her hair under a large white straw hat with a flower-pattern-scarf hanging and touching her bare back, slided in her Prada's sandals that had the same flower pattern as the scarf, ofcours the 'Pucca' bag, last glimpse at the mirror and she headed towards the terrace.She could feel the sun and the Spring breeze on her face as she put her sunglasses on.

                                 

As she sipped her Martini, the taste of it on her lips brought back more memories, as she slowly slided back in her chair, folding her legs together towards the side...a sudden smile on her corner of her lips, whenever she made this move, she would remember her mom saying:'Never cross your legs in public, its not lady-like'...oh, wasn't she the one who always broke all the rules and went against all manners, or were those some long lost days in her past, has she grown up suddenly...or did she just age...no, she wouldn't think about age, and, anyway she didn't decide to grow up, just yet...maybe later, maybe tomorrow...

So, Portofino was same, it was one of those places that kept its style and tranquility, and strongly fought for its uniqueness, and somehow managed to keep its image throughout all these years. The tiny village of Portofino (which means "port of dolphins") is located just 10 miles down the road from Camogli. The crown jewel of the Italian Riviera, Portofino was always a magnet for jet-setters and celebrities worldwide along with regular tourists who flock here to experience the heady ambience. The term "Upscale" is evident everywhere you turn in Portofino from the fancy designer shops (Gucci, Armani, Hermes) and boutiques to the assortment of luxury yachts and pleasure boats vying for space in the small harbor. Much of Portofino's appeal is due to its magnificent location at a point along the Riviera where the rocky cliffs tumble down to meet the azure waters of the Mediterranean. Houses dot the hillside above the village, and the buildings in Portofino itself are decked out in a spectrum of colors ranging from pink to yellow to orange.

During the day,people like to hang out in the trendy restaurants and cafes around the main square soaking up the sun, a short and easy walk up to the Church of San Gregorio or the longer 90 minute hike to the 13th-century abbey of San Fruttuoso. The famous “Piazzetta”, delimited by the little houses, slopes down and ends in the water of the harbour. To this day, sailors still draw boats out of the water upon it as if upon the edge of a beach.Nowadays it is still of possible to see women working at the lace pillow to make the very famous and refined laces. Portofino is thus a haven of peace in a place of unequalled beauty where, while one is sipping a drink or tasting a typical dish, one can see famous actors and actresses, artists from every part of the world, writers, scientists, men of finance and industry, and the protagonists of our dreams passing by. A kingdom ruled serenely and with a lot of love by king colour and Queen light.

The bay is delightful and sunk in a perennial greenery, and if one walks along the quay, one can breathe the salty fragrance of the sea which combines with that of pittosporo, pine trees, and junipers coming down from the mountain (610 m. above sea level), which is now the Parco Regionale (regional park), which one can reach through panoramic trails.

 The Church of San Gregorio, at the time of the post-war reconstruction, the excavations brought to light a square-planned chapel, which was believed to be the little church around which the Longobardic Arimannia was gathered. A memorial stone placed inside the church commemorates the first reconstruction in Romanesque style of 1154. In 1691 the church was completely rebuilt and, on that occasion, also the road coming up from the village was widened. After being modified and enlarged again in 1760, this road was eventually struck right in the centre by a bomb in 1944. In 1950 the church had already been rebuilt after its former structure, some altars were restored and new furnishings replaced the old ones which had been destroyed. Here are kept the relics of Portofino’s patron Saint, brought here by the seamen returning from the Crusades.

                                      

She heard and recognized the voices and the laughter of her daughter and her son approaching her table. Turning her head towards the sound of their laughter she suddenly cought a glimpse. She shivered. Nothing had changed from a few minutes ago, the sun was still shining, the air was still warm, as her heart stirred with nervousness, and gave a lurch, she saw him sitting at one of the tables. There were a couple of other people there, but she could just see him...how long was it, was it two years or more, thoughts were rushing through her mind, while she tried to controll her breathing and hold the chair with her hands, afraid she would make a move, but she was paralized. He looked at her, and his deep, almost soulful eyes seemed to look right into hers.

Her daughter immediately realized that something was wrong, looking at her mother's pale frozen face and trying to follow her gaze, she saw him too. She knew, she had known for some years now, but they never spoke about it, in the past year, and she respected her mother's silence. She was about to ask her mother if everything was ok, but knowing that there would be no answer, because there was no answer to that question, she saw him stand up, while her mother's face reminded of a marble statue by now, she took her brother by the arm and lead him  through the terrace to a table near by.

 Just as she'd feared, as she watched him walking towards her, she was aware of how deeply affected she was by him. It was threatening to make it almost impossible to be objective, or even altogether rational, for watching him now, she was only able to see him as the man who laughted and teased, the man she talked endlessly with, who made her feel what she thought she could never feel again, glad to be alive at the time she'd actually wanted to give up on everything in her life, the man who she loved and the man who loved her dearly. When he was close enough, she still couldn't stop staring into his deep blue eyes. She felt disadvataged sitting in the chair, but since getting up was an undignified manoeuvre these days, she bore it out where she was. She looked up at him, standing tall and slightly dishevelled in the breeze, and thought all this was just a dream. He was still searching her face, as though making sure of every detail as he sank down in a chair next to her.

She couldn't look away,adrenalin was pounding through her vains now, her breath felt suddenly short and ragged and she finaly looked away, giving herself a moment to assimiliate. She was unsettled by how dense his eyes seemed, feeling unsteady she lifted her head to watch the sun glinting on the sea, while shapeless white clouds scudded through the sky. His eyes were still on her, and for one long excruciating minute she was afraid he might touch her. She looked at him thinking of what an extraordinary way the world sometimes had of bringing people into each other's lives, and how capricious the timing could be. No words were spoken, there was no need for words, they knew it all, how many times have they talked about this moment in their lives...until they stopped talking and left their lives to unfold.

He placed his hand over her and she felt an unstedy beat in her heart, they both smiled, then without really thinking, she reached and put her hands around his neck and kissed him softly, the feel of him kissing her back spread, a warmth all the way through her. Then she pulled away slightly and they gazed into each other's eyes, him still holding her hand, and her with  arms linked behind his neck, untill he took her hat off, going through her hair with his fingers and placing her head on his chest. They sat in silence...time didn't matter, time did not exist anymore. The night was slowly falling over the bay of Portofino, as  their  lives continued to unfold in  a  mysterious way.

                             

I close my eyes and put my arms around you...

There are times when a shadow falls upon our lives, dark  shadow  full  of    moments when we feel sad, when our days are blue, when there is not much  we can do, and most of all when  we feel helpless. Those days are longer than usual, and the nights seem endless...yet we say that time flies, it does, but then when our hands are empty, when we can not reach out, when we are not there to help, to offer our supporting words, when we can not ease the pain, when we look up in the sky and whisper...I wish I could take away the pain, I wish I could be there for you, I wish....I just wish... If I could be two places at one time, I'd be with you. I'd give you my strength, I'll hold your hand while you try to rest and your body aches while your eyes desire to close and get some sleep...and the pain takes your sleep away, the pain echoes through every nerve of your tired body ....you try to fight it, but it doesn't come and go, its just there, taking your breath away , drawing lines on your face. I wish I could jently touch those lines with my fingertips and smooth them, jently stroke your hair and ...just be there. A clear and stary night, every star I see is but one of your painful stars,  my thoughts are thunderstorms filled with dark clouds, lightnings and heavy drops of rain falling on my face as I lift it towards the sky and feel the spring breez through my hair...and the drops keep falling, sliding down my cheeks, helplessly I cry, reaching with my arms towards the sky, hoping they would fade away...as every star is yet another pain. I slowly go back inside and lay on my bed, hugging my pillow, my thoughts are flashes of memories and your words,  your voice echoes in my mind, as I helplessly stare in the darkness of my room...you told me: in my worryless life I worry about you...and I whisper back: ...and I feel your pain.                                                                                                         I close my eyes and put my arms around you...

Memories of Venice

After wandering around for an hour or more, I inevitably found myself strolling through the sprawling cafes and hungry pigeons of St Mark's Square, heading towards the magnificent basilica. The midsummer heat was intense, the crowds sluggish and sweaty.



After joining the line for the basilica, I turned to look back past the Dog's Palace to the rows of black gondolas, the gondoliers, in their striped T-shirts and berets, sang a welcome for tourists.

Inching forward with the line, gazing up at the distant bell-tower of the campanile, where sightseers were drinking in the views.  Then, quiet, not wanting to wait anymore, I started down towards the Gran Canal, and cut along to an arched bridge that crosses over to the white, light and airy palazzio, which has once been the home of the late Peggy Guggenheim. As much as I appreciated the masterpieces of the Renaissance and Rococo periods, and the Gothic magnificence of the churches and museums, stepping into the glossy, sun-drenched rooms of this modernists home was like stepping out of a labyrinthine underworld into the bright, flowering meadow of a nursery rhyme.

There were unusually few people around as I wandered from one room to the next, losing myself in the Mondrians, Kandinskys and Picassos, and then allowing myself a wry glance at the infamous Angelo della Citta.  Then admiring the works of Max Ernst and then Joan Miro's Interno Olandese II. In other rooms yet more abstract and Cubist masterpieces led towards a staircase at the end...

Back on the street again, walking towards the Hotel near the Accademia, longing for a rest in my room which had a restricted view of the Giudecca canal and faded old frescos,  I passed a small piazza, where a couple of artists had set up their easels in front of a church, and the sound of an English rock band thrummed from an empty cafe...I continued across the piazza knowing that I would not be lost, like the many ghosts of this historic city.

The journey of my life will continue...

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Walk down memory lane

On our walk down memory lane we find out that in each of those places we lived, we travelled through, a part of us is left behind. A part of us left just to make room for the memories full of images, words, feelings and flavours. As we absorb them slowly, they nourish our soul and cast a light on our future, rest peacefully,  only to reappear on the surface from time to time...we sight and say "I left a part of me but I took a part of you, a part that brings a whisper of a smile back to my face....does that part of me left behind, bring a smile to your face too..??"

The Years of my childhood in Indonesia

Life was so different***sight***

I spent most of my early childhood in Indonesia - Jakarta. It was long ago in the mid 60s. We lived first in the area of Kebajoran, then moved to Jalan Kemiri No: 14.

Sarina, the first and only department store was just being built. Pasar Baru was the shopping street, just across the canal. Chekini was our green market, and Hotel Indonesia was the only Hotel where we went to the pool and ate fantastic ice cream. It had two bars Nirvana and Ramajana...I was to young to go there anyway, hah. I still remember a beautiful shop with Japanese dolls.

We ate at many Chinese restaurants, and that's when I started loving kodok goreng, as well as nasi goreng, sate ajam, sate babi, krupuk, durjan, mangistan, rambutan...etc.

We had a weekend bungalow at Chibulan mountain...just past Bogor where Sukarno's residence was, and the most beautiful botanical garden I ever saw. Just above Chibulan, much higher, was the mountain of Punchak, still remember the big and delicious pancakes we ate there.

We went to Merak...a beach with neither Hotels or restaurants, just a plain beach with lots of palm trees. Then, yet another one called Plambuanratu...from where you could see in the distance Krakataul,  a volcano , silent but alive, and where it was dangerous to swim, they used to say the current was so strong , the sea would just carry you away...

We visited many places, Bandung, which was then the academic city with many universities. Near by were a few volcanoes, one with 3 craters, where you could go right down to one of the craters and see the boiling bubbles...I remember after that trip we slept at our Chibulan bungalow for 24 hrs due to the sulphur gases.

Then the beautiful pagodas at Borobudur, what a sight, what beauty, peaceful and tranquil.

The island of Bali. City of Denpasar, at that time with only one hotel.Woman were still only in their batiks and top-less, washing sarong and clothes in crystal clear ponds. Beautiful Bali paintings and wooden handy crafts.

I went to American International School, and still remember my friends; Helga from Norway, then Renata, Rebecca and Jennifer, Scott, Vincent...oh , so many. My teachers name was Miss Thompson.

There was a Yacht Club, Jalan Diponegoro was the street where all the Embassies were located, there was a tall statue with  golden fire...the colorful trees of Planboajan and the smell of Kamodja flowers.

I remember there was no chocolate...we had to order it from Australia, and Quantas brought in the supplies once a month, and Osterman...most of the shopping was done in Singapore, where we always stayed at The Goodwood Hotel.

Those were the beautiful days of my childhood, some peaceful times, then the revolution and turbulent times....then peaceful again, and yet so pure, clear, unspoiled and untouched by the civilization.

Today, I can only look back with nostalgia, and say: "Those were the most beautiful days of my childhood, those were the most serene places...what have we done???

 

...to be continued

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