Hydra

Seeing Leonard Cohen in concert took me back to a holiday some 12 years ago, when I first got close to the man. More or less. To a moment when I learned something more about him and the way he lived.

I went to Greece for a spring holiday, and it was a mixed trip in many ways. I started off in the north, and went skiing for a day near the Yugoslav border. Then down to Mount Olympus, home of the gods, only to get rained off again. At my next destination, Meteora, the weather was lovely, and I visited the monasteries in the sunshine. Further south I stood in the pouring rain in Delphi, watching Hillary Clintons motorcade drive past. And then it was time for some real sunshine, on a Greek island. Hydra seemed the obvious choice. Not too far from Athens, and Leonard Cohen used to live there.

Once on the island, after finding a place to stay and something to eat, it was time to try and find the Cohen house. I asked a few people but no luck. "Somewhere up there" was as far as I got. So I walked a little way up the mountain, until I met someone who did know and who could point me in the right direction. Close to the house the lady who walked up with us introduced us to the lady looking after the house. I looked at the walls, the trees above, the windows and the wires. It wasn't possible to go inside the house, but the lady said that if we came back the next day we could just have a look in the garden if we wanted to.


The next morning we walked back up to the house, where the old lady was already waiting for us. We went into the garden, which was a lovely, quiet corner with some lemon trees. We got to taste the lemons. The lady ended up changing her mind and she showed us something of the house as well. It was a strange experience to be in that small house. It was light, sparsely furnished and spacious. It still looked lived in, because of all the personal items, the photographs, the books, some children's toys, the old guitar. I saw the room where Marianne was photographed, the drawers of the desk that were full of fan letters. I wouldn't mind living in this house.

After visiting the house the lady invited us to her own house for a drink, and we met her husband and her mother. She was a very kind lady, who seemed to enjoy the interest in her Mr Leonard Cohen, and she was proud to be working for him. It was a special day, and a special meeting.

Little Things

Sometimes it's the little things that make all the difference. I really thought I was getting old. Cycling into work, home or anywhere else for that matter, took such an effort. After about ten minutes pedalling my muscles started to ache, I couldn't really go very fast, I could hardly get up into top gear. It felt weird, I think I am quite fit really, but my cycling was proving me wrong.

Then there was a plan to make a cycle tour of some 90 kilometres, and I didn't quite know what to do about that. I mean, if 20 minutes to work was a problem, how was I going to do that? I had noticed, however, that the seat of my bike was a little low, and so were the handlebars. When I was cycling I couldn't quite stretch my legs, but I could just about make my knees touch my nose. So I thought the least I could do was get the seat and the handlebars adjusted. And I did.

And now suddenly, I find myself going at full speed again, I can cycle in top gear, and I can reach my office without aching muscles. I even managed my long cycle tour without any major problems. It was the bike all along, nothing to do with me. And it took me about four months to come up with that idea.

23 July 1911

During the Terra Nova expedition to the Antarctic, Edward Wilson travelled with his two companions Apsley Cherry Garrard and Birdie Bowers to a distant Emperor Penguin Colony to collect eggs. It was winter in the Antarctic, it was dark throughout the day and night, and the weather was atrocious. The journey became known as "The Worst Journey in the World". On 23 July Wilson celebrated his 39th and last birthday, he died with Scott and Bowers at the end of March the following year on his way back from the South Pole.

From Wilson's diary:

"Sixth Sunday after Trinity and quite the funniest birthday I have ever spent. The wind was terrific. It blew almost continuously with storm force - there were slight lulls occasionally followed by squalls of very great violence, and at about noon the canvas roof of the hut carried away and we were left lying exposed in our sleeping bags without a tent or a roof. The storm continued all day with unabated vigour. There was no choice for us now - we had decided this before in the event of our roof being blown off - we had to remain lying there in our bags till the blizzard stopped. We had had two days of it, but here at Cape Crozier Royds in 1902 was laid up with his party for 5 days - and I with mine for 8 days out of 11. So we could only hope that this was not going to continue quite so long. If it did our best chance was to allow the snow drift to cover us up, which it was doing already, in order that we might at any rate keep warm. We could always eat biscuit and cold pemmican in our bags and we all had biscuits in our pockets.

When the roof went Birdie and I were both out of our bags, for we were trying to stop the flap and the chafe of the canvas which began when the snow blocks were blown off the roof. The weakest spot was where the door came, but we had anchored it with very large stones. These stones the wind acting on the canvas joggled about like so much gravel and they gradually shifted out of place. We did all we could to jam them tight, but to no purpose, for while we were still at it the canvas ripped out all along the lee end of the hut with a noise lika a battery of guns going off. In a second the canvas was ripped in about 10 places and it flapped to bits from end to end in a few minutes - leaving a ragged, flapping end attached to the weather wall which then went on bang, bang, banging for hours till the wind eventually dropped. The noise was most distressing, and we hardly noticed the rocks that fell in, or that the sledge was at once flapped off and fell in also across our three bags. We were at once in a perfect smother of drift when the canvas carried away, and Birdie and I bolted our bags taking an enormous amount of snow in with our clothes to thaw out at leisure. We were not really so much disturbed as we might have thought, and we had time to think out a plan for getting home again now without our tent - in case we couldn't find it - and without the canvas roof of the hut which had gone down wind in shreds the size of a pocket handkerchief. We still had the floor cloth of the tent, and this we were lying on so it couldn't blow away. We could build a snow hut each night on the way home and put this over the top; or we could always dig a burrow in the Barrier big enough for the 3 of us, and make a very good roof with canvas flush with the surface - if there was wind it couldn't then be blown away. We had no doubts about getting back so long as this blizzard didn't last till we were all stiffened with the cold in our bags. The storm continued all day and on until midnight unabated."

Cohen Revisited

After the concert in Bruges last Thursday I wasn't too sure about the Amsterdam concert, I guess. I mean, Bruges was a lovely concert, would the second time be as good, or would it be a little disappointing? Well, it was different and the same, and I probably enjoyed this one even more.

The venue was the Westerpark. I never attended a concert there before, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect, how big the venue was, how big the stage. It was a little bigger than Bruges, and a little less intimate. The stage was bigger and higher, and there were no trees lining the area where the audience stood. It was altogether a little bigger and more open.

Getting in was different too, not quite as easy going as it was among the Belgians. No orderly queue, but a row of entrances, which meant a little pushing and shoving. I arrived at the venue early though, so I was in fairly quickly. And I managed to get a little closer to the stage than I was in Bruges. Combined with the stage being a little higher I got to see a little more. There are times I wish I was about 15 cm taller though...

The mood among the crowd was good from the start. Being so far to the front means being among the real fans. A lady close to me was virtually jumping up and down like a schoolgirl. And screaming like one. I mean, I know the man is extremely charming, but still...

No opening act this time, so Leonard started just after 19.30, when it was still completely light, and this meant it didn't get dark until virtually the end of the concert. It was a little cloudy at times, but the sun came out a few times to light up the audience. The only rain we got was when Leonard sang "So Long, Marianne", and it seemed to fit the lines: "And just when I climbed this whole mountainside,
to wash my eyelids in the rain!"

The set was the same as in Bruges, it sounded even more familiar now. The jokes sounded new, and sincere. Mr. Cohen is a wonderful performer and he made the audience feel special. He seemed a little more cheerful than he was in Belgium, smiling a little more. Being a little more aware of what to expect made me more attentive and gave me a chance to listen a little better than in Bruges. I was amazed at one point to find it was time for the interval when I thought the concert had just started. The voice, the songs and the person of Leonard Cohen just kept the attention and made time fly. He was as gracious as he was on Thursday, towards the audience and towards his band. And he was gracious enough to share the meaning of life with his Amsterdam audience too. And I think he really has found it.

The audience was different from the Belgian audience, even though it turned out after the concert I had been standing almost next to two Belgian women who came to Amsterdam because Bruges was sold out. It was quite an international audience, I was close to a woman from Austria and her daughter, to an Italian couple and some
Scandinavians. Plenty of Dutch there too, talking and singing along. The man next to me was a fan of many years, with a loud voice who obviously enjoyed singing along. He couldn't quite carry a tune though, and he didn't know all the lyrics. Another man kept the home front informed, holding his phone above his head during several songs. Again, lots of cameras and phones. This time people were actually talking on the phone during the concert. And so close to the stage.

Towards the end Cohen picked up a single red rose that had been thrown onto the stage, and then went on to pick up an indefinable blue soft toy, which obviously amused him as he kept looking at it. It was a lovely moment on a lovely evening.

The Man is Here

I was in Bruges to see Leonard Cohen in concert. I'm still trying to recover from the experience, I was more impressed than I had expected. The man played for about three hours, sang many favourites, and was in good voice. He is 73 now, but he didn't seem to get tired at all, he stayed on his feet the whole time.

A while ago I checked his website, something I don't do all that often, but it then turned out tickets for a concert tour would be going on sale shortly after. I couldn't believe my eyes, I hadn't expected him to start touring again. And when I read about the concert there was a little doubt too. I have been listening to the man's music for a while now, and it might be hard to live up to expectations. Reading the first reviews in June, hearing and seeing songs through the net I had a feeling I wouldn't be disappointed though.

So I travelled down to Bruges, where he was to play in the park at the Lake of Love, the Minnewaterpark. The kind of venue he seems to belong. I got there round about the time the gates were due to open, but we had to wait a little while to get in. We didn't get bored though, a few nice rain showers to keep us occupied. It did dry up though, and it was quite nice by the time we all got in. During Martha Wainwright's performance there was one more shower, but it all ended with a lovely rainbow, and that was the end of the rain for the evening.

It was a nicely mixed audience, a lot of long time fans and a lot of young people. For a while I was standing quite close to a drunk fan who decided to attract a little attention, by shouting lines from the songs. Cohen took it all in his stride, and when the fan ended Cohens spoken introduction to Anthem by adding the last line, "that's how the light gets in", Cohen responded with perfect timing "precisely".

The stage was positioned near the edge of the park, quite close to a few houses. People living there enjoyed the concert from the comfort of their own home. Must be a nice way. Then again, you don't get to chose what music is played in your backyard. The windows remained open though, and people were there, so they must have enjoyed this one. And the wonderful thing about an outdoor concert in the summer is that you can see the Swifts circling high above the stage and the audience, and here you could see bats flying past the side of the stage.

I stood for three hours watching this man and his band, but it didn't seem half as long. Cohen sang many of his well-known songs, with his deep, moving voice, was very graceful in every respect. He is a professional, he knows how to give the audience what they want. There is some light humour, great gentleness and presence, commitment, and a great deal of charm. His eyes are hidden under his hat for much of the concert, but he does take the hat off so his eyes catch the light.

The concert was an important one, because Cohen discovered the meaning of life, and he graciously shared this knowledge with us. And I guess, maybe, in the end, life really is very simple....

The best news of all, I am about to get my things together to go and see him again tonight, right here in my home town!

Deception

Sometimes your eyes really do deceive you. I was in a meeting at work, and there were some small bottles of soft drinks on the table. From the corner of my eye I could see one of my colleagues pick up a bottle of coke. He started to shake it and then opened it. I was waiting for the coke to come streaming out, without really thinking, but there was nothing. He had picked up a bottle of orange juice that had been standing just behind the other bottle. So you can't really trust your own eyes after all.