In Bratislava

It is raining, when the bus from Vienna Airport drops me at the Danube in Bratislava, close to the old town. The information given by "my" hotel is widely off the mark – it takes about twenty minutes to walk from the old town to the hotel and not the five minutes indicated. Well, precision is mostly a Swiss thing or so it seems.

The next day, I'm wandering aimlessly through the streets. Whenever I'm seeing hordes of tourists, I change direction. Especially the old town is popular with tour groups who have buildings and monuments explained by local guides.

Wandering around aimlessly means: The goal of my walks is not a museum or an exhibition or a famous monument. And, since my interest in history is limited (I regard it as interesting fiction at best), my goal when wandering through the streets is precisely that – wandering through the streets, doing what I'm doing. And that, for me, is the most difficult.

I come across impressive government buildings, parks, a rather big cemetery where the tombstones (with names and sayings in Slovak and in German on them) are scattered all over the place (not in a Swiss order, I'd say), and, at a crossroads, I spot a sign that reads "railway station". I approach a woman in her forties carrying French text books under her arms. She doesn't speak French but English and says she will accompany me to the railway station for she is waiting for her daughter who sits for a Russian exam. As we walk towards the station she tells me that she's from Afghanistan, from the north, the Hindu Kush, and that she came to Slovakia in 1993 to study economics. When we arrive at the station she points to the building and says: 40 years, no innovation.

Since Bratislava is just an hour from Vienna, I expected people more likely to speak German than English yet it was the opposite, And, the ones I got to talk to, without exception, were friendly and helpful. 

I see a young man on his knees taking pictures of this bike. It's his, he says, he made it. In fact, he adds, he re-made it for it belonged to a friend who did not want it anymore because it was old and broken and so he decided to re-do it, to make it new again. He has made six or seven, he enjoys making bikes usable again.

What also surprised me in Bratislava: the fantastic Slovakian yoghurt, the number of Vietnamese businesses, to be told that Czech bottled water is preferable to the Slovak variety, and that two of the hotel's TV channels were Algerian.

The Naked Swiss

Switzerland is an exotic country, I thought to myself when, some years ago, I travelled around the Brazilian Northeast and learned, among other things, that Brazil, like Switzerland, comprises 26 states. In the case of the huge landmass called Brazil, this makes sense, in the case of the small mountainous territory called Switzerland, it doesn't. Or does it? As usual, it depends. Forget about "federalism" and "historically developed" and the like ... and consider this: In order to not feel completely lost on planet earth, human beings look for stability and for ways to keep themselves busy. The Swiss opted for a uniquely complicated solution that has the advantage of being difficult to change .. and that not only attracts foreign businesses and criminals but also provides stable working conditions for bureaucrats and reference points for the entire population.

That is, in short, the way I see my native Switzerland. There are of course many more facets to "my" country and journalist Clare O'Dea, who became Swiss in 2015, made me aware of quite some I wasn't even remotely aware of.

"In writing this book, I was driven by a desire to get the facts straight, and for those facts to be fair and accurate. To really understand a nation, you have to get to know its people, and I hope I've done my bit with the introductions here." Yes, you've done that, Clare, but you've actually done much more than that. While I think myself rather well-informed when it comes to things Swiss I was really surprised to learn that quite a lot had completely eluded me.

Let me give you some examples that I thought particularly fascinating: I had no idea that Swiss photographer Luc Chessex, whose Swiss Life (Editions Payot, Lausanne, 1987) I had very much liked, had lived in Cuba from 1961 to 1975 and worked for several years for the Cuban Ministry of Culture as an official photographer of the Revolution. It was also totally new to me that Swiss author Pedro Lenz, who writes in dialect, had his book Der Goalie Bin Ig translated into Glaswegian dialect under the title Naw Much of a Talker. Moreover: "It was only after spending time in Glasgow and getting to know Scottish writers writing in Glaswegian dialect that he had the courage to get over his complex and attempt to write in his own voice."

Also: I didn't know that Dostoyevsky felt such hostility towards Switzerland (he lived in Geneva and Vevey in the late 1860s). Or that Swiss scientist Hans Rudolf Herren is credited with saving more than 20 million lives in Africa by identifying and targeting a Paraguayan wasp that kills the mealybug. Or ... but read for yourself, it is worth it.

The Naked Swiss is not only highly informative (the myths examined range from 'The Swiss Are Neutral' to 'The Swiss Are Crooked Bankers') and profoundly balanced (as it befits a true Swiss author) but also good story telling. I've especially warmed to the tale of Michel Simonet, a street sweeper in Fribourg, who is also the author of a book about his life (Une rose est un balai) from which the following quote stems:

"A free head and busy hands suits me better, by the way, than the inverse. You think and exert yourself at the same time. Streets and squares are my gym, my solarium on fine days. I sing there like a cicada while working like an ant, with open skies as my only limit, and a direct line to Our Father. (...) This harmonius balance between magnitude and intensity, action and contemplation, enthusiastic élan and habit, know-how and knowing how to be, of public relations and solitude is played out over a full day."

Clare O'Dea

The Naked Swiss

A Nation Behind 10 Myths

Second, updated edition

Bergli Books, Basel 2018

Ulrike Crespo: Danakil

Zuerst waren es die Farben, von denen sich meine Augen kaum lösen konnten. Unmöglich, dass die in der Natur so vorkommen, dachte es in mir. Oder vielleicht doch? Ich erinnerte mich an einen Bildband über Bangkok. über den ich unter anderem geschrieben hatte, der Fotograf habe etwas übertrieben mit Photoshop, denn solche Farben gebe es in der Natur nicht, nur um mich dann belehren zu lassen, Photoshop sei überhaupt nicht zur Anwendung gekommen, diese Farben seien das Resultat langer Belichtungszeiten gewesen. Doch ob künstlich oder nicht, diese Farben haben es in sich, jedenfalls für mich, und es dauert recht viel Zeit, bis ich mich (vor allem von den satten Gelb und Grün) lösen und meine Aufmerksamkeit den Weiten der Wüste in (hauptsächlich) Blau und Grau zuwenden kann.

@ Ulrike Crespo

"Alle Fotografien sind im Januar 2017 anlässlich einer Reise durch Äthiopien entstanden. Die Danakil Senke oder Danakil Wüste – eine Wüste aus Sand, Salz und Lavagestein – liegt auf einer Kreuzung tektonischer Platten der Erdkruste über dem grossen afrikanischen Grabenbruch im Nordosten Äthiopiens. Das bereiste Gebiet, der Dallol, der heisseste Ort der Welt, ist ein Geothermalgebiet in einer Tiefebene, etwa 100 Meter unter dem Meeresspiegel, und befindet sich im Afar-Dreieck im Grenzbereich von Äthiopien und Eritrea", lese ich. Wer – wie ich – nicht weiss, was ein Geothermalgebiet ist, wird bei Wikipedia fündig. 

Das Buch liefert ansonsten keine Informationen zu den Bildern. Wer gerne weiss, was ihm seine Augen zeigen, muss zur nicht gerade umfangreichen Pressemitteilung greifen. Die karge Region des Afar-Dreiecks werde seit Jahrhunderten "vom muslimischen Nomadenvolk der Afar dominiert, das vom Salzabbau und der Aufzucht von Kamelen, Eseln und Ziegen lebt." Mehr erfährt man da nicht, mich stört das, mir ist das zu wenig.

@ Ulrike Crespo

Dem Band ist ein Text ("Mimikry der Wüste") von Alissa Walser beigegeben, sie setzt sich darin mit der Fotografie auseinander. Sie stellt Fragen, denn Bilder laden so recht eigentlich dazu sein. Und sie beschreibt, was in ihr vorgeht, was sie empfindet beim Betrachten dieser Aufnahmen. Auch ihre Beziehung zur Wüste offenbart sie. Ein einladender Text.

Gestaltet wurde der Band von Harald Pridgar. Ich habe mich etwas gewundert, ich bin bislang immer davon ausgegangen, ein Fotobuch sei das Resultat der Zusammenarbeit von Verlag und Fotografin.

@ Ulrike Crespo

So sehr mich diese Bilder ansprechen – das hat einerseits mit meiner Faszination für die Wüste zu tun und andererseits mit diesen "Mondlandschaften", die mit meiner Vorstellung von Wüste wenig kompatibel sind – , mir fehlen Informationen darüber, wie die Fotos entstanden sind, denn mein Interesse gilt wesentlich dem Prozess des Fotografierens: Wie kam es, dass die Fotografin diese Wüste ausgesucht hat? Was hatte sie für Erwartungen? Wurden diese eingelöst? Wie fühlte sie sich während der Zeit vor Ort? Wie empfindet sie diese Aufnahmen im Nachhinein? Etc. etc. 

Ulrike Crespo

Danakil

Kehrer Verlag, Heidelberg 2018

A Visit to Warsaw

How do I get to the old town?, I ask one of the young hotel receptionists. You go to the central railway station and from there straight onwards until you will see a palm tree, turn left and there you are. A palm tree in Warsaw? That surely must be the only one, I say. Very probably, the young man grins.

After some hours of strolling around and looking at impressive architecture (since I'm not much into history, I do not bother inquiring what is in front of my eyes), I'm heading back to the central railway station where I'm asking a young woman sitting on a bench what her favourite park is. She looks at me in wonder. Well, I now say, upon my arrival, a fellow passenger who said to have been many times to Warsaw remarked that this was a city of parks. I wouldn't know, the young woman smiles, for I'm not from here, I'm from Gdansk, a city known for its parks.

Back at the hotel, I decide to ask the palm tree receptionist for parks. He points out two in walking distance. The next day, I discover that the two are rather large and quite obviously popular with dogs, young mothers with children, and the elderly (older than me).

On my way back, I took sidestreets and discovered an inviting neighbourhood with cobblestones and trees, all sorts of restaurants, cafes, and small shops – quite a contrast to the very modern parts of town. 

Nowadays, I pay attention to how I walk. While not so long ago, I almost exclusively seemed to concentrate on getting (usually quickly) where I wanted to, I now focus more on actually being where I am – with amazingly little success, I must admit. By making an effort to stay focussed, I'm however much more aware that I'm mostly not and actually quite somewhere else. I couldn't say what triggers my mind journeys yet while in Warsaw I'm occasionally (this is what I remember) also in Lima and Barranquilla. I enjoy it, and I'm fascinated by it. And no, I'm not interested in figuring out what my mind is doing yet I do have my moments when I think that our cause and effect way of thinking is more than just limited.

In Brazil I've learned to judge a hotel by its breakfast buffet and the one in my Warsaw hotel is excellent. Also, the room (I was given one on the 14th floor with a splendid view) is pleasent, comes with good reading light (a rarity) and so I spend quite some time (I increasingly abhor TV) with the three books that I brought along – one happened to take place in Brazil, another in Washington, and yet another in the Congo. 

The Earth's Circle. Kolodozero

Documentary photographer Ekaterina Solovieva, born in Moscow in 1977, lives in Hamburg, Germany. Her main interest is in religious traditions and customs of rural folk in the former Soviet Union. Her work has appeared on BBC Russia and Russia Today as well as in GEO, Leica Fotografie International, Orthodoxy and the World, and other publications.

The Earth's Circle. Kolodozero documents aspects of life of the people of the Russian North. At the center of this tome is however the rebel and punk Arkady Shlykov from Moscow, who was first met with scepticism but eventually became the much loved and respected local priest.

Ekaterina Solovieva had first come to Kolodozero in 2009 for she had heard stories about a strange punk priest living in the Karelian wilderness. Upon her arrival, the priest was nowhere to be seen, there was however the local celebrity Yurka, drunk, holding a giant knife and telling endless stories until finally „the door flew open, and a huge shaggy red-haired Viking with sawdust in his beard entered the room, grabbed Yurka, threw him over his shoulders, and carried him into the fog without saying a word. That was my first encounter with father Arkady. And that was when I realized that I was in the right place, and that Kolodozero was to change my life.“

The village of Kolodozero in the Russian North consists of a handful of small hamlets, scattered along lakes and rivers. Arkady Shlykov had come here in 2001, together with two friends. The three of them were touring the north in search for the meaning of life. They decided to build a new church in order to replace the old one that burnt down in 1977.

The photographs depict ordinary scenes, landscapes, children playing, the priest reading in the bible (I suppose), kitchen utensils and so on. The pics come without captions, one needs to use one's imagination to interpret what the eyes are seeing. There are also accompanying texts that provide varied infos on the activities of the village people.

For the full review, see here