Freshly Played #17: Leonard Cohen

I played Hallelujah for a friend of mine on road trip to Durban a couple of weeks ago, and he thought it was some sort of Christian gospel song. “Can’t be,” I said, “Cohen is Jewish.”

Leonard Cohen, a Canadian, has sung a few songs with Christian religious references in them, but I don’t think he’s praising the Christ figure in any of them. He’s a poet after all, and they’re notoriously ambiguous, nay metaphorical in anything they say. I’ll leave the lyrics further below, so you can make up your own mind. At 78 years of age, he’s still touring and singing. Simply amazing.

There are far too many Cohen songs that I like, but I guess this has to be my favorite.

Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen

Lyrics

I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

There was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not somebody who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don’t even know the name
But if I did, well, really, what’s it to you?
There’s a blaze of light in every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Point and shoot

My Nikon DSLR camera got to become a little cumbersome to lug around when travelling. It’s fine when all I’m doing is observing and taking pictures, but you need something smaller and lighter, especially when participating in certain outdoor activities such as fishing, hiking etcetera, when it can easily be slipped into a pocket.

I recently purchased a Canon point-and-shoot camera which fits the bill for portability perfectly, has all the usual compact camera features and more, and does allow for quite a bit of manual control. It also has a nifty GPS built-in which allows you to track exactly where the photos were taken. It has a 12-Megapixel sensor and an effective 25-500mm optical zoom lens.

I tried it out while fishing, on a trip last week to the coastal city of Durban. Here are some results in the fully automatic mode. I have yet to experiment further with the manual settings.

I reckon I could take some pretty good photos with this little baby once I get the hang of using it. It’s therefore going with me everywhere from now on.

Holidays FTW

I’ve been away on holiday and just got back a few hours ago. For the first time – at least the only time I can remember – I came back feeling truly rested.

Every other time – at least as far as I can remember – I returned from a holiday, whether locally or overseas, feeling very tired and wishing I could go back on holiday again.

I guess the reason for this happy turn of events is that, while away I did pretty much nothing. Nada! Zip! Zero! Or at least as close to nothing as you could possibly do. And if nothing excludes sitting on my fat ass [yes I've noticed it has gotten fatter] watching television and videos, eating, drinking, talking to friends and family [when I felt I had to say something], and a little reading, a little facebooking, a little blogging.

I was in Durban, mere kilometers from the beach, but I couldn’t bother going. I did visit a cousin, and I sat on my fat ass and ate good food, and drank wine, and talked and drank more wine and some Aquavit too. I visited another cousin and did more of the same, but this time whisky was our drink of choice.

My camera and camcorder stayed put in the boot of my car – the whole time I was there. I did not even bother to remove them while unpacking. So no photos this time; just vivid memories of lazing.

While there, I had a birthday and turned 47, but had to be reminded by family that I had only turned 46. That’s kind of disturbing because I’d spent a whole year telling everyone I was 46; even filled out some forms stating that as my age. Boy, was this holiday needed?

I’m going to make a point of doing more nothing on future holidays… if my friends and family will oblige. Thank you very much!

Anyway, I’m back and all ready to get fatigued again. C’mon world, give me your best shot!

Not the fireworks again!

While I was on holiday down in Durban at the end of the year, I made an effort to read a

Image by Camera Slayer via Flickr

particular local daily newspaper, in which I followed what is probably a seasonal debate about fireworks.

Yeah! Yeah! You’ve followed some of those debates too, right? And it was about the same old thing – the environmentalist/animal welfare freaks versus the religious nutters, with the in-betweener’s trying desperately to find merit on both sides, but failing to make any great impression. Yep!

So I thought I might as well give you my few crackers worth too…

A well-organized pyrotechnics display, preferably away from urban areas, once, maybe twice a year, is a wonderful spectacle and pleasing to the senses.

The excessively loud bangs associated with modern fireworks set off in urban areas is extremely irritating and not at all pleasant to the ear; mine at least. What’s more it drives dogs insane and causes them to bark furiously. Furiously barking dogs drive me insane and is also highly irritating to my ears. If it has the same effects on you, then you’re normal too.

So, for the benefit of you curry-munchers in Durban, The Festival of Lights is about lights [the myth anyway]; it’s not about loud bangs. Gott it! The same goes for non-curry-munchers and inebriated assholes who let off loud fireworks for laughs. Get your kicks elsewhere. Try letting out the air on the tyres of every parked mini-bus taxi you see. That could be fun too, and daring.

If you’re a psychotic moron and absolutely have to do it, go out-of-town someplace where you won’t bother anyone. Blow yourself up too while you’re at it. That would create a pleasant balance to all those slave-workers who die every year in Chinese death traps factories making these things.

I don’t give a fucking hoot about your culture, your religion, your fantasies and your need to have some fun, through letting off of fireworks. I DO CARE about my precious ears and the fact that sudden loud sounds irritates me.

Home for the holidays…

One more fitful sleep (yup, it’s really hot, even up here on the Highveld) and I’ll be undertaking my annual road trip down to Durban for the holidays. Hometown!

Before I leave though, I’d like to wish you all happy holidays too, no matter how you prefer to commemorate it. All I ask is that you be good for goodness sake, and hope that you enjoy my favorite rendition of Santa Claus is Coming to Town by Andrea Bocelli.

Santa Claus is Coming to Town

You better watch out
You better not cry
Better not pout
I’m telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
He’s making a list
And checking it twice;
Gonna find out Who’s naughty and nice
Santa Claus is coming to town
He sees you when you’re sleeping
He knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake!
O! You better watch out!
You better not cry
Better not pout
I’m telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town
Santa Claus is coming to town

Remember now, it is possible to be good for goodness sake only…

Shaik rattled, rolled back to sing-sing

M&G, March 15, 2011

Convicted fraudster Schabir Shaik, released prematurely from prison on a highly dubious terminal illness ruling, has been rounded up and taken back to prison.

Apparently this scumbag, far from being terminally ill, has been walking around with great gusto and aggression, beating people up.

But in yet another travesty of justice and what can only be described as an act of incredible disdain for the public, the South African Department of Correctional Services has incarcerated him in an isolated section of the hospital wing of the Westville Prison in the city of Durban, rather than in a cell where he belongs. He might as well have been ensconced in the Presidential Suite of the Hilton.

One can only speculate that his political connections and wealth that were probably instrumental in getting him a “get out of jail free” card, has once again resulted in him being treated with this much deference.

Nearly everyone I know, or have spoken to would just like this piece of garbage locked up for good, preferably with someone called Bubba for companionship.

But the reality is that he may once again use his influence and wealth to escape justice. Heaven knows, there is no shortage of shady Indian doctors, corrupt state officials and dirty drooling politicians waiting for a bit more palm grease.

Some thoughts on the death of my father

Its been just over a week since my father passed away after a protracted illness. Now that the business of laying him to rest, and the memorial service has been concluded, I finally have a chance to pen some thoughts about the experience, which I admit does not make for particularly pleasant reading.

During my years at school, I read a wonderful quip by someone, which goes something like “Death is a dreary, dull affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatsoever to do with it.” Brilliant, isn’t it? Until it comes calling at your door, off course! And now it was my turn to deal with it.

My father had been quite ill for many years. In the last year or so, his dialysis sessions were increased to three times a week, but his condition steadily declined. His death was not unexpected; however it was delayed by his tenacious will to live, quite evidently through a lot of pain. The painful expression that was almost permanently etched on his face, still dog my mind. Amazingly however, he insisted on functioning normally and doing the things that were of quintessence right to the end.

This situation posed a few questions which I tried to analyze for a time, even just prior to his death, but I could come to no real conclusions. The natural evolutionary tendency for humans is to try to survive, even if the body is in revolt. But is it desirable for a person to endure pain and suffering , especially when afflicted with a terminal illness, as in the case of my father? And while its natural for family and friends to hope for someone who is ill, to hang on for as long as possible, is it not somewhat selfish in the case of terminal illness. Is it not possible that our wish for longevity, could place pressure on terminally ill people to force themselves to live a little longer, usually under tremendous pain? And off course, watching someone waste away in pain, is extremely distressing for family and friends; not to mention the burden that care-giving places on them. A vicious cycle indeed!

I received news of him being admitted to hospital about a week before his actual passing on. With the above thoughts playing out in my mind, I delayed traveling down to Durban from Johannesburg, secretly, irrationally hoping that he would pull out of this latest setback, like he had done so many times before. On the advice from my brother that the prognosis did not look very good this time, I finally decided to make the 600 kilometer trip. Again, with irrational hope, I packed just a few jeans and t-shirts, thinking that somehow he would surprise us once again, and I would be happily back on my way to Johannesburg in a few days.

I didn’t get to see him alive one last time. He passed away while I was in transit…

I remember arriving in Durban to the smell of fireworks, and receiving the news from my tearful mother. Strangely I felt no immediate grief. I was actually relieved. Is that wrong? Does being relieved when death ends pain and suffering, constitute immoral behaviour? I should certainly think not. Yes, I’m sad, but I’m happy too, for the end of my father’s pain, and just as importantly, the end of the anguish endured by his family.

The funeral did pose a moral dilemma for me, being the eldest child. I agonized for a little while over participating in the elaborate Hindu funeral rituals, but realized that supporting the family in a time of bereavement was more important than my secular principles. Although I did not participate fully in all the prayer rituals, I did ensure that I gave them my full support and was present throughout. And, the arrival of my father’s only surviving brother from Canada, did relieve some of pressure off me. At times my rational self did get the better of me when I questioned the logic of some of the religious practices, but I relented soon enough.

I volunteered to pay tribute to my father at a memorial service held yesterday, and I managed to write down a few thoughts, but quickly had to scupper that when my sister, suspecting that I would use the opportunity to speak about my religious and political beliefs, asked me politely to refrain from turning the eulogy into a lecture. I had to resort to winging it, and I suppose I did a fairly decent job, since no one in the largely conservative, religious audience, had a heart attack.

For me, life goes on. I just hope that the rest of the family can put this tragic episode behind them fairly quickly and live their lives normally again.

My Latest Road Trip: Part 3

Once again, I’ll attempt to relate my impressions on the final (return) leg of my journey into the East Coast region of South Africa, hopefully with the aid of some photographs.

Having left Storms River Village behind (with a degree of sadness), I headed up to Port Elizabeth. Nothing much to report here. Just another coastal city. I did however stop briefly to admire the new Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium that was built for the Football World Cup that came to an end only recently. I did also stop at the Greenacres shopping mall; it looked quite different from the last time I shopped there many years ago.

I had booked a one-nighter in Grahamstown, being convinced that there would not be much to see, what with the National Arts Festival having concluded some weeks earlier. It seemed to me that Grahamstown revolved around the famous Rhodes University and the large number of top-notch schools (mostly private) that is dotted around this small town. There are some pretty well-known private schools here, viz. St. Andrews, Graeme and Kingswood Colleges and the Victoria Girl’s High School. This must surely be South Africa’s Education centre.

Rhodes University

Grahamstown is also well-known for the relatively high number of places of worship and religious denominations present for such a small area. Apparently there are 52 churches of every conceivable denomination and places of worship for several other disparate faiths such as Hinduism, Scientology, Quakerism, Mormonism and Islam. At this point you’re probably wondering what an Atheist is doing in such a place? Well, I didn’t come here for the evangelism; just the historical interest, and some of these places of worship do have beautiful architecture, which I admire. If you asked me to settle here with all this religious fervour hanging in the air, I’d point-blank refuse; this is something like my version of hell, even if it’s a picturesque hell.

Cathedral of St. Michael and St. George

I also learned that I had just missed Grahamstown’s first snowfalls in about 34 years, by about two months. Apparently there was quite a dusting around 15 June this year. Now that would have been something to see.

Unless you’re a student, there isn’t much to do in Grahamstown. That evening I had the choice of joining the university brats at one of the sports bars that lined what looked like the main street, or take in a film at the local Art Cinema. I chose to catch the early evening screening of the Coen brother’s film, A Serious Man, get some dinner and a swig or two of a full bottle of Jack Daniels I’d been dragging along since Storms River. I’m glad I did.

I left Grahamstown quite eager to get on with my road trip and my penultimate stop, before heading back home to Johannesburg. Port St. Johns is really a nothing-town. The buildings look dilapidated and the streets consist mostly of potholes. But the scenery is absolutely stunning. There isn’t any night-life to speak off, and from what I could make out there were only two restaurants available. However the food was quite good at the one I visited alongside the river on my first night there.

Port St. Johns

Having basically nothing to do that evening, I experimented with long exposure shots of the magnificent vistas available from my cabin overlooking the sea. I’m quite happy with the two posted below, one of which looks to me like a painting.

Port St. Johns night scene

Port St. Johns night vista

2nd Beach is reminiscent of a South-East Asian Island paradise. The coastline is quite rocky, but very very beautiful. I was quite lucky to find two local lasses who were only too keen to show me around the following day, as the deep-sea fishing excursion I was looking forward to, got cancelled due to strong winds. No matter; we had quite a rollicking time, and that near-full bottle of Jack Daniels I’d been dragging along since Storms River, helped to fill in the evening.

2nd Beach

The Wild Coast

Faith Hill

I was told that in the 70′s or even early 80′s there was no bridge on the main road leading to Port St. Johns, across the Umzimvubu River that squeezes past the town into the sea. Apparently ferries were used to get vehicles and people across. I was pleasantly surprised to find that ferries are still used to carry people and more especially school children across, closer to the river mouth.

The Ferry

The drive back to Durban the following day through Lusikisiki and Port Edward was pretty uneventful, even though the roads leading out of Port St. Johns were quite hair-raising. As I got off the highway to the neighborhood where my parents resided, I noticed that the huge inappropriate signboard near the exit, that I’d noticed there when I left for the Eastern Cape, was gone. It had read “Let Jesus Touch You.” Thank goodness…

My Latest Road Trip: Part Deux

It’s been a week since the end of my road trip, but I’ve been somewhat lethargic to write about it. It’s not that it was not good; it’s just that I don’t really know what to say about it. So I’ll just give it a shot; maybe some photos will help.

After leaving beautiful Saint Lucia behind, I spent a few days in Durban, and you’ll remember that I was off to the Eastern Cape and the Tsitsikamma Forests. My stop-over in Beacon Bay, East London brings back horrible memories of the err, uncomfortable drive down to the Tsitsikamma area, probably due to some dodgy Sushi I ate there that night, but I won’t forget the wonderful conversation I had with my hostess at the Parrot Peek Inn.

I’ve been almost everywhere in South Africa, and had the privilege to gaze in awe at some of the most stunning scenic beauty that nature provides, but the Tsitsikamma is beyond spectacular. In fact, I’m going to stick my neck out and proclaim that this region in the most beautiful in South Africa; topping even the magnificent Cape Peninsula. It has everything; rich forests with ancient trees, jagged mountain ranges, flowing gorges and a pristine coastline. The early morning mist hanging thick in the air gives the area a surreal and other-worldly look and feel. It’s quite simply, astounding.

Tsitsikamma Mountains

Tstitsikamma Scenic Routes

For my Tsitsikamma adventure, I was based at the Otters Nest in a little village called Storms River. Tsitsikamma is a Khoi-san word meaning place of water (or place of many waters depending on which translation you trust), so I was a little surprised, when my host Jaco informed me that I was to use water sparingly as restrictions were in place. However, this did not prove to be any problem at all.

Natures Valley

Storms River Mouth

Tstitsikamma National Park

Various activity operators offer the adventurous traveller an abundance of adventure-sport such as hiking, zip-lining (The forest Canopy Tour is a firm favorite), abseiling (also known as repelling), boat tours and bungy jumping (the Bloukrans Bridge claims to be the highest commercially operated pure free-fall jump in the world at 216m, but I have since found that the Verzasca Dam in Switzerland is higher, but only just, at 220m). For the less adventurous, gazing at the majestic beauty around you while getting a massage at one of the Spa’s, is a good alternative.

Canopy Tour

I did manage to drive down the East Coast one day, to Knysna which is also quite breathtaking, although there has been far too much development in the Knysna Lagoon area since I was last there many years ago. However, a boat cruise out to the Heads is always a great way to take in the natural beauty of the place. There is also a wonderful upper-floor tapas restaurant at the Knysna Waterfront, the name of which escapes me at the moment.

Knysna Heads

On my way back, to Storms River, I stopped at Plettenburg Bay, and all I can say about this place is that its absolute rubbish. I suppose it was once as stunning as the other locations on the East Coast, but once the developers got their grimy hands on this place at the behest of South Africa’s rich and not-so-famous, it became a shitty little town, just like Margate on Kwa-Zulu Natal’s south coast. Plettenburg bay has been turned into a home-away-from-home for those with too much money; the big inner-city transported to the coast with all its ugly buildings and conveniences.

Ugly Plett

I won’t forget the wonderful evenings dining out at quaint little restaurants, and especially the evening with my host Jaco and his forester-friend Charles, at the backpackers around the corner from the Otters Nest. What a wonderful evening we had, chatting, drinking and shooting pool with the locals and a bunch of German backpackers, with a warm log fire burning in the bar. And afterwards, a drag of Tsitsikamma’s finest – not exactly Durban Poison, but enjoyable all the same, since it’s been such a long time since I indulged.

I found it hard to say goodbye to Storms River, but Port St. Johns and the Wild Coast beckoned. I will definitely come back to Storms River one day; real soon. There was more to see on my way back North, but that’s a story for another day…

The Lord’s Casino

At the risk of sounding like I’m picking on the church and the religious community yet again, I write this tale of pathetic behaviour out of sheer revulsion over what I experienced this past week. Maybe, I’m just making a big deal out of nothing…

On my last little holiday break down in Durban, I came across a Hindu temple decorated with garish flashing lights, much like a casino. Over the December holidays, while on a second brief trip down to Durban, I discovered a church draped with strings of flashing lights much like the temple, but even more gaudy, and for reasons that will soon become apparent, more casino-like.

While churches have traditionally been the place where one goes to hedge one’s bets about the afterlife, this particular church makes it even more enticing by handing out real money (to place your bet with, if you follow my allegory). Yes, handing out money to the congregants. Not every night mind you, and not a great deal; apparently just on New Years’ Eve. I know this from a member of the family who proudly announced when we met about an hour past midnight, that her pastor had given her and the other congregants ten bucks each.

Ten bucks is not a lot of money. And assuming from the size of the building, that about two to three hundred people attended that New Years’ Eve church service, it must have cost the clergy a few thousand bucks; pocket change compared to what they rake in every year.

However, the intentions behind dishing out money to worshippers, while in normal life is harmless, is surely distasteful in the religious environment. Ten bucks can mean a lot to some people; it could serve the purpose of convincing them that the church is giving back more than the intangible safe passage to heaven. It could impress them so much, their attendance at future church meets, the dreary Sunday sessions, could become guaranteed. The beaming smile and boastful declaration from that member of my family, convinces me of it. People are impressed by the simplest of gestures; and these clergyman know it.

What an indictment on the religious establishment; that they have to entice their dwindling following with cash-backs much in the same way as casinos hand out gambling vouchers. Is this a great marketing strategy, or a last-gasp act of desperation? You decide.