Quarante ans deja

Dans quelques jours on sera en 2014. Ce sera donc quarante ans que nous avions quitte Marie Curie, une belle date anniversaire que je suis sur sera celebree partout dans le monde ou on trouve des MC. Mais 2014 pour moi représente un autre anniversaire plus modeste. Ce sera mes dix ans  de participation a ce forum. En effet en janvier 2004, je me suis mis devant mon ordinateur et je tapai un texte qui commençais par:"Trente ans deja." Dix ans ont passe comme le proverbial clin d'oeil. En 2003 il y'a eu le grand rendez-vous du château de Montvillagenne. Quand sera t'il cette année?

Dix ans représente une période plus longue que notre passage commun a Marie Curie! Tant de rires, de plaisanteries, mais aussi de discussions, meme des disputes… Maints visages sont apparus et ont disparu, certains très chers et regrettes. Des gens qui se connaissaient a peine sont devenus amis; des gens qui étaient proches se sont eloignes peut être. mais comme chante le Roi-Lion, c'est le cycle de la vie. Ce qui est sur et qui perdure, cest que les amitiés entre MC durent pour la vie.

Parce que désole messieurs dames, mais comme on chante aussi:

J'ai souvent pense 

C'est loin la vieillesse

Mais tout doucement

La vieillesse vient

Petit a petit

Par delicatesse

Parfois je la vois gagner du terrain.

Mais ce qu'il y'a de bien c'est de vieillir, tout doucement, avec vous tous.

Merci de m'avoir lu, répondu et partage avec moi cette grande aventure de la post-Marie Curie qui par des cotes est peut être plus belle que notre adolescence.

Bonne année

DTL TC2

A Walk in Narita

In my travels I like to wander about on foot and explore unusual places. Sometimes it is enlightening, sometimes it is pleasurable, and sometime it is just all of the above and downright amazing. This has been one of those times.

I am sitting in a business hotel near Narita Airport waiting for check-out time. Yesterday I came here because my hotel in Tokyo was all booked up and I had to come out to the airport one day early (Narita is about 60 km from Tokyo). The hotel I checked-in at Narita was outside of town in a pleasant area but isolated nevertheless. I decided to explore the area a little bit so took the hotel shuttle to the train station at Narita City, and started walking toward the nearby Naritasan Buddhist Temple, more to kill time than for anything else.

I am so glad I did. If you are looking for old Japan, the one we know from books and old prints, don't bother going to Kyoto. It is ten minutes away from the busiest airport in Japan.

The road I was on was narrow and lined with small shops and restaurants. The shops were selling Japanese knicknacks and traditional snacks, all displayed with Japanese flair, and exquisitely packaged and presented. There were spice shops, candy shops, snack shops, dry fruit shops, taro treats shops, soba shops, udon shops, a vision from old Japan, all along a spotless narrow street.

At that point in started to drizzle. Fortunately I was able to pick up a cheap umbrella from one of the souvenir stores. A little further down there was a visitor's center with a very friendly English-speaking lady to answer questions. I just asked perfunctory questions -- when is the closing time, is there an admission charge etc…

About 200 meters further I arrived at an ornate Japanese gate that was more imposing than I expected. I walked through, and it felt like I was teleported to another time.

I was in an enormous courtyard, much bigger than I expected, with traditional buddhist structures all around. I stopped at the large incense urn to pay my respect and proceeded further in.

In front of me was a building that fit my fantasy of what Shaolin Temple should be: an imposing pillared structure with large overhanging roofs. I approached and saw some monks inside preparing for some ceremony. I went around the side, took off my shoes and came in to sit down.

Suddenly the world shook -- not an earthquake but from an enormous drum on the side that a monk was beating with all his might. Then a chant arose to almost deafening level then decreased to a whisper as the main attendant seemed to be doing something.

Imagine this: a dimly lit ancient temple, with a droning chant where you can barely discern what is going on. Then suddenly in front a big flame arose in front of the old monk, casting shadows on the pillar. Now facing the old priest was another one making hand gestures over the flames. Several members of the audience walked up and handed what appeared like bags to a monk on the side who then brought it to the monk facing the audience. He elevated the bags, said what appeared to be blessings, and returned the bags to their owners. A smaller drum sounded, the prayers and chants went on for a while, and suddenly stopped. A large screen door opened on the side of the hall, and the monks filed out. I left in a daze.

I will not go into details of the different courtyards, buildings, statues. Suffice to say there was no impression of sensory overload like in many other temples. Here everything fit, and contribute to a sense of majestic repose -- I choose the words with care. In the back of the complex there is a peace tower, that somehow seems to concentrate the energy of the visitor, like the center of a mandala.

But the gardens are what is appealing. I chose a path off a courtyard, and suddenly everything seemed to disappear. I was in a moss-covered path with hundreds-year old trees and small stone ornaments on the side. It felt not eery but otherworldly. I almost expected a spirit to come out and say hello, but I would not be scared, knowing that this was hallowed grounds. A little further I arrived at a small clearing with an old building that looked like a hermitage, next to a brook with flowing water that seemed to sing. If this were not a buddhist temple I would call it a taoist paradise. I felt so at peace, in harmony with the trees the water, even the drizzling rain in the late afternoon. I did not have a camera with me but I told myself to remember this moment as much as I can.

Anyway I walked out of the temple grounds feeling not like a visitor but as a pilgrim spiritually refreshed. On the way back I picked up some traditional Japanese cookies more for the pretty packaging than for anything else.

I learned later that this temple of Naritasan was set up in 940. Do you realize that is the year that Ngo Quyen became king and started Vietnamese independence after the Bach Dang victory? This temple is old! The buildings were built much later on of course, but the whole complex is a harmonious whole.

So if you go through Narita, take some time and see the surrounding sights. It is worth it.

I was inspired by the walk and thought of a few haikus:

Up to the temple
Drops of autumn rain under
My green umbrella

Mossy sycamores
A rustic hermitage
The singing stream

Tall peace tower
Grinning Fudomyo
Falling leaves

How to really enjoy the Three Kingdoms part 2

Further on the campaigns of Khong Minh

On Google Maps. go to satellite view and find again Hanzhong. Then ask for directions to Tianshui. The programs will respond with three alternate itineraries, two similar to the two already mentioned in part 1, and then a third one going Northwest from Hanzhong. Now Tianshui (Thiên Thũy) is the second largest city in the province of Gansu (Cam Túc). In the Three Kingdoms, it is mentioned quite often in connections with the Northern campaigns of Khong Ming. It is in the region called Longyou (Lũng Tây). In one of the campaigns, Khong Minh was able to conquer three commanderies (quận) in this region but had to give them up. Tian Shui is also the hometown of Jiangwei (Khương Duy), the successor of KM. Lung Tay is often mentioned as a granary area where troops can go to gather food supply.

Now start again, and find Jiange (the one near Guangyuan, Sichuan) using Google Maps. Then ask for directions from Tianshui. The itinerary will show up as a line going toward Hanzhong then making a sharp turn toward Jiange. This is the classic invasion route from the North to Sichuan, and all through the Three Kingdoms armies go back and forth trying to attack and protect that route. Tao Thao took it to attack Hanzhong, KM took it in the other direction to attack the North, and Zhang He (Trương Cáp) followed it to his death in from of Jiange.

Jiange is one of the most evocative names: in Vietnamese it is Kiếm Các, or in English Saber Pass. It is the Northern entrance to Sichuan. So famous was it that Sichuan used to be called, for those who read the poetry of Du Fu (Đỗ Phủ), Kiếm Nam -- South of Saber Pass .

Now go back to the itinerary and zoom on the area near Hanzhong where it makes the sharp turn. You will see something called Dingjunshan (Định Quân San). This a famous area for two reasons:
1. This is where the decisive battle took place that gave Luu Bi the control of Hanzhong. At this site the commanding general of Wei, Hạ Hầu Uyên was slain by Hoàng Trung.
2. This is where the tomb of Khong Minh can be found. If you zoom in enough you can see it. Pay your respect.

OK, let me know if you enjoy this stuff. If you do next time I will tell you about Kinh Châu.

Lieu Trai Chi Di

In search of stress relief I was looking for completely escapist
reading materials. Searching the internet I came across an old
classic. After one page I was hooked. I read the Lieu Trai Chi Di as a
teen-ager; now rereading it I was struck by the richness of the
structure and the meaning. Back then, used to kiem hiep, I was rather
disappointed at the lack of action although I was a little intrigued
at the ghost stories. But now after a little bit more life experience
I just love the stories. This is definitely adult reading material.

The first meaning of adult material is of course SEX. And there is
plenty of it. Basically all stories in the LTCD involve sex, most of
the unnatural kind, meaning with vixen (female foxes) and ghosts.
Sometime there are couplings with male foxes too. Reading the stories
the latin words incubus and succubus (look them up yourself or ask the
many latinists on the forum) kept recurring in my mind. Most of the
encounters are not gruesome or unpleasant. As a matter of fact many of
the stories are true love stories: tales of devotion, sacrifice,
fidelity. It almost looked like the author, showing that the technique
is quite old, used sex as a hook to get readers to read further.

The second meaning of adult material is that it is subtle stuff, to be
understood in light of life experience. And that is to me the main
attraction. The different tales of the book produces an entire
portrait of society, with its richness and contradictions. There are
good and bad people; beautiful and ugly men and women; heroes and
villains. An entire 'Comedie humaine' a la Balzac enfolds itself. We
see the preoccupations of the literati: diplomas, good marriage, male
children, and the shortcomings of society: corruption, oppression,
prejudice, all masterfully evoked with a light touch.

The best part is this: a lot of this sound very familiar. The
interaction among some of the characters would not be out of place in
the Southern suburbs of Paris or in Orange County. It shows that a lot
has changed and a lot has not since the 17th century when the book was
written. To the extent our own culture took from China, some attitudes
and values have endured into present day Vietnamese society.

Which means that I fell in love with some of the female characters in
the book. Some of them are paragons of beauty and virtue whom one
definitely wishes to meet in reality. Alas that is why they are
described as spirits in the book. The author definitely loved women
and he seems to have delineated a series of female ideals.

Anyway for those of you (male) guys who have to stay late sometimes at
the office, maybe one night when you are alone a strange and exquisite
woman will appear in the middle the night and without further ado
engage in mind-blowing sex. If that happens report it to me. (It's OK
but just remember not to overdo it so as not to drain your vital
forces with the vixen). I will write an addendum to the LTCD. In the
meantime just enjoy the book.

Kafka without Greek

At last here is my promised analysis of Kafka's Metamorphosis without using Greek words. It is idiosyncratic (sh... a Greek word !) but here it is nevertheless.

The book can be read at different levels. It can be understood as a science fiction novel a la The Fly: person suddenly turned into monster, and how his family and friends react to it. From sympathy to pity to disgust and finally relief when he dies. At that level it is powerful enough. As a matter of fact there is a PBS special with Christopher Plummer playing a professor delivering a lecture on Kafka that ended up exactly like that, exploring the horrors of a monstrous change.

But there is a deeper level of understanding. The monstrosity here can be understood differently from just the Frankenstein kind. Can a person become a vermin overnight? Yes. Think of the Jews in Germany and then the rest of occupied Europe  at the coming of the Nazis. Suddenly respected human beings become nothing, little more than vermin to be exterminated in camps. These people's neighbors react to them is different ways, including all the the sentiments shown by the insects's family in the book.

It is not only the Jews. Think of a high official of the old government in Vietnam after 75. How the old relationships changed in a reeducation camp setting. Or less dramatically, we have all experienced I am sure colleagues who suddenly lost their jobs. Notice the pall and unease that suddenly descended on them. People find it hard to talk to them and tend to avoid them. These are the kinds of metamorphoses that come to me when I read Kafka.

It is so easy for a human being to turn into  a vermin overnight. Maybe Kafka with his Jewish background had a premonition of the 20th Century. His book nevertheless is a devastating reminder of the human -- or is it the insect -- condition.

That is why Kafka is so disturbing.

Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter

I just came across this review that I wrote some time ago, and no it is not Christmas yet but I will post the review lest I forget about it again:


What's really nice about Christmas vacation is that you can really slow down in that blessed period between Christmas and New Year and enjoy a good book. This year for me it's a discovery: a novel called "Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter" by Mario Vargas Llosa. I did not really know Latin American literature beyond Gabriel Marcia Marquez and Vargas Llosa is a revelation.

I knew of him of course as the loser in the presidential race of Peru against Alberto Fujimori. It  is a pleasure to discover a writer and a work that resonates at so many levels.

While it is not obvious at first, the novel is about madness: the madness of art and the madness of love. The narrator relates events from his youth. They involve two main narratives: the love story between the narrator and an older woman "Aunt (actually only related by marriage)" Julia; and the role of a radio serial scriptwriter whose characters spring to life in intervening chapters. The action get more and more crazy and more and more picaresque until it is hard to tell which is crazier: the attempt of the real-life lovers to get married or the completely fantastic happenings of the make-believe characters whose creator ends up in an asylum.

The action takes place in Lima, Peru, a universe that is remote and yet familiar to this reader, Unlike the seemingly classless society of American novels, here is a heavily stratified society governed by tradition, religion and family. Something oddly similar to old Saigon, especially its plethora of aunts and uncles who seem to be everywhere, reminiscent of the innumerable tontons and tatas whose existence and opinions  sometimes forces one into an invisible carcan of conformity. The effect of the love story between the narrator and the Aunt lends a delicious sense of irreverance to the whole proceedings.

Parallel to that, the several stories spun out by the scriptwriter seem to coil end enmesh themselves into more and more fantastic tales, subtly reminiscent of the Arabian Tales. In the main narrative we are led to believe that these are serials over the radio that were the most popular in Peru ever. Something like Nous Deux meets Fellini. It is easy to believe that as the reader is really taken in by this whole set of fantastic tales. There are touches of magical realism or maybe surrealism. There are incest, a priest whose ideas scandalize the hierarchy, a rapist who goes for old ladies, a Lolita, a legendary singer in love with  a carmelite, carnivorous rats, social decline, disastrous soccer matches, earthquake, and love.

Love that transcends all: age, class, destiny. Love of persons and love of art, which can transcend a prosaic profession of small time actors and produce artist.

All of which leave a reader with a numbness similar to what happens after a roller coaster ride. You can't really describe what happened but it has been a hell of a ride, and a lot of fun. It also helps that the author keeps peppering the text with reference to the fifties (of age) as the peak period of one's life.


Highly recommended read.

Back to 1942

I was looking in a DVD rental store, and this movie caught my eye. It was a Chinese movie. "Back to 1942" it said, with a cover that hinted of a good production, with good costumes. The title intrigued me since I did not know what was so good about 1942. Maybe subconsciously I was thinking of the delicious movie "Summer of 42."

In any event I just finished the movie, and it affected me deeply, so much so that I had trouble sleeping afterwards. It is about an unknown event in history, a great famine in 1942 in Henan, China that killed three million people.

The movie was not well reviewed but based on my own reaction I think it was just not well understood in the Western media. One criticism was that it was too Hollywood. What's wrong with that? 1942 is a sprawling epic with a cast of literally thousands, the kind of movie Hollywood cannot make any longer except with computer generated figures. But China still can. Another criticism is that it overdramatizes. Well, how can you overdramatize dying of hunger.

Actually I thought the story was well told, focusing on the vicissitudes of a landlord during the famine. A King Lear-like figure, he has to witness the slow death of his family one by one until he was forced to sell the last member, his beloved and hitherto protected teen-age daughter into prostitution for a few pints of grain. The scene of the daughter on her first day at the brothel was what upset me greatly, maybe cultural resonance (Kim Van Kieu?).

The famine was caused by drought exacerbated like throughout history by war, greed and corruption. The political accusation I thought was muted and the portrayal of Chiang Kai Shek was never disrespectful. (Actually I detect in recent mainland Chinese movies a kind of awe and respect for Chiang). there were actually sympathetic KMT officials. Even the Japanese did not come across too badly. As a result the focus was not on the politics but on the tragedy.

Famine is still a taboo subject both in Hollywood (how many films about that subject matter have you seen?) and in China. So the film can be seen as a breakthrough. The big question that hangs after the taboo has been broken is what about the greatest famine of the 20th century, the one under Mao as a result of the Great Leap Forward. Between 1958 and 1962 more than 40 million (yes!) people died in China of famine as a result of stupid economic policies. Well maybe someone will make a film abut it someday.

In summary, this is a good movie, well made, very educational, but definitely not a pleasant movie.

How to really enjoy the Three Kingdoms with Google Maps

Many people are fans of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Tam Quốc Chí ). However, a lot of the action in the novel feels distant because of the overwhelming number of characters and localities.  The number of characters is of course one of the charms of the novel, but to you can actually enjoy the novel a lot more if you use Google Maps to deal with the localities.

This is possible only because the Three Kingdoms is based on historical events. Moreover, and this is a tribute to the millenary traditions of China, many localities have not changed their names after these millennia.

Let us start with one example. Go to Google Maps, set up satellite view (with labels) and search for Qishan. If the program wants to know whether you are asking for 'Qishan, Baoji' say yes.  The program should respond in an iffy. If you are in a town-level view, zoom out so you can look at an area let say of ten miles across.

You are looking at hallowed grounds, or at least legendary ones. Qishan is no other than the famed Ky` Sơn as in “lục xuất Ky` Sơn.” Here was a fortified city many times occupied by Khổng Minh in his repeated attempts to attack Wei (Ngụy). Here is the battleground where he and Tư Mã Ý dueled with wits and strategy. Qishan is now a small town. To the North of it is Mt Qishan, núi Ky` Sơn, and to the South of it you can see the horizontal trace of the Wei River (sông Vị). On the southern bank of the Wei directly to the south you may see Wuzhangyuan. This is the mythical Ngũ Trượng Nguyên, the Wuzhang Plains where Khong Minh died. If you zoom in you may actually see a temple to Khong Minh on a hill, maybe the same hill where he tried unsuccessfully to postpone his death by magic.

A litle to the West of Wuzhangyuan you can see Chencang. This is Trần Thường where a famous siege took place during the second invasion of Wei by Khong Minh.

Now to get the flavor of what these military operations involved, go back to the original search for Qishan, then ask for Google Maps directions. You should ask for directions from the city of Hanzhong (Hán Trung). This was Khong Minh’s base. Google Maps will answer with two suggested itineraries, one straight North-South and one toward the Nort-East and Xi’an.

Now present-day Xi’an is the former Changan (Trường An). The N-E route is what was suggested by Wei Yan (Ngụy Diên):  a straight commando raid directly to Changan. KM turned the suggestion down, preferring to occupy Ky` Sơn as a forward base first. Hence the North-South route.  Even today you can see what that involves, crossing a huge mountainous area, the Qinling (Tần Lĩnh) Mountains.

Anyway let me know if you like this kind of stuff and I will tell you more.

DTL

My favorite Father's Day picture

A father helping his daughter get some rest during exam hell.

Saigon in the 1950's

Mua Thu Luxembourg

Un beau cadeau!

De : Kim Dang
À : MCp74
Envoyé le : Vendredi 26 octobre 2012 8h07
Objet : Re: [MCp74] Automne au Luxembourg

Bravo TL, Ton beau poeme m'a tellement inspire qu'en voila un cadeau pour toi (la version vietnamienne de ton poeme). Amicalement, DKC Mùa Thu Luxembourg Hoa vàng khoe cánh trong mưa Tay sương nhẹ vuốt, buồn đưa ngang mày Vườn Thu vẫn mãi chốn nầy Như người tình lỡ đợi hoài tin xa Gót chân mau hãy quay về Cùng hàng hạt dẻ kịp mà nghinh Đông Nào vàng, nâu thẫm, màu đồng, Nào là vương sắc vượt dòng thời gian Hồn xưa phảng phất lối mòn Thư sinh đọc sách ru sờn áo lam Cụ già tóc chẳng còn xanh Rưng rưng ngấn lệ, nhìn quanh ngậm ngùi.

Le tombeau du poète

Le tombeau du poete

Il repose la bas au milieu des steles

Derriere un jeune arbre encercle de fer

Une table de marbre ou` une main ou peut-etre deux

Ont laisse' des fleurs et un arbuste

Il est avec son pere

Dont le nom decore de la Legion d’honneur

Precede celui de sa mere et enfin modestement

Le sien

Il est dans un bon voisinage

Colette est la et pas trop loin

A quelques centaines de pas

On trouve Arago et Ledru-Rollin

Et une belle fresque

Ou` une deesse fais passer un defunt au Champs Elysees

Mais mon ami, mon cher ami

J’aurais aime pouvoir

Croiser avec toi la rapiere poetique

Et evoquer les passeuses de riviere de notre pays

Les lunes, les rizieres et les monts

De Cochinchine ou bien d’ailleurs

Au lieu de me recueillir

Dans cet endroit prestigieux ou` les feuilles d’automne

Font deja bruisser les pas

En ce temps gris et froid

Comme une vie peut le devenir

Sans le soleil d’une amitie

Terminee trop vite sans adieux

Automne au Luxembourg

Automne au Luxembourg

Des fleurs dorees s’exhibent dans le crachin

La fine brume automnale caresse les visages

Le jardin est la`, toujours la`

Comme une amante qui attend et attend encore

Le retour d’une ame qui fut aimee

Les chataigners se parent pour la saison

Cuivre, or, marron, jaune, la vie se prepare pour l’hiver

Beaute imperturbable des reines emmarbrees

Bravant la riviere du temps

Dans les allees ou se glissent encore des fantomes evanescents

Un etudiant au caban bleu retire un livre de son sac

L’homme au cheveux blancs essuie une larme au coin des yeux