Saturday, January 31, 2009

Of Dogs and Men—the Flaneur’s Life

As we drift around the Sea of Cortez, La Paz seems to be our base. It is the place where family and friends come and go, where flights and buses leave; we sail in the long narrrow channel (which closes when winds are high) into the windy, current-swept harbour often, and tie up at Marina La Paz, where there are so many gringo boats there is a club house on the dock where people meet for coffee and to exchange books, DVD’s, and information every morning.  This week we are waiting for friends to arrive from Canada.


This afternoon I set off for a leisurely amble through town, with my camera. I guess you could call it a flaneur’s expedition (flaneur: An aimless idler; a loafer. French, from flâner, to idle about, stroll) settting off with no clear purpose, but to observe the goings on around me. I did mean to stop at a couple of places to photograph “death art” but other things happened on this walk, as they should to a flaneur.

First, I met a flaneuring dog—a black lab/border collie thing, I’d seen around town. He was a little scruffy and lean, but otherwise healthy, with a big white smile. He sneezed a few times to let me know he was there, took one sniff of me, decided I was a gringa and likely to be fruitful, then fell into easy step with me. At first I told him to go away “vaya, vaya”, but I think he knew it was half-hearted. If I was Mexican I would have been sensible and shouted or tossed a small rock at him. Instead, I studiously ignored him. He trotted along happily, nosing every garbage bag, investigating every food source, even the house sparrows taking dust baths around the street trees. When we passed other dogs, he looked up at me for support as if to say “I’m with her”, but ultimately, he carved a wide berth around them and eventually caught up with me again.
I said “look, we are not together. Don’t even imagine you are in my company.” I was tempted to stop at a food stand and buy him a treat but I figured that would turn him into a more aggressive mooch in the long run…But he seemed happy with our arrangement, trotting along in a gentlemanly fashion. In the same spirit as the Mexican men who occasionally take an interest in me—polite, watchful. If there’s an outside chance, que bueno, but otherwise, respectful.
I eventually lost him when I slipped into a store, where I finally did photograph what I’d set out to: the many little figures one can buy in honour of the dead. It seems that the Mexicans have a healthy relationship with death, taking pleasure in imagining all of us (from the young woman in her prime, to the dentist and gynecologist) as joyful skeletons. 
But what really caught my interest today were the walls I passed on my walk. I like old peeling walls, which show their layers—they are so much more interesting than perfect newly painted walls. Not to push the metaphor, but what do you think? A wall with a past, showing its history…just makes it more beautiful?





As the sun was setting, I stopped for a marguerita at Hotel Perla, on the waterfront. I was the only customer and the waiter was elaborate with me, to the great enjoyment of his idle colleagues. Will that be a marguerita on the rocks he asked me in Spanish. No, on the veranda I answered. Time to sign up for those Spanish lessons... 






8 comments:

La Belette Rouge said...

I love the idea of a flaneuring dog. It sounds so wonderfully anthroporphic and yet I suppose by nature dogs and all animals are flaneurs. Really lovely story of you and the dog and I love all the surfaces you ahared. Beautiful.

Alison Watt said...

yes, I often wonder about the consciousness of animals--it must be totally in the moment. In other circumstances I might have been tempted to rescue my little friend from the streets. I hope Lily realizes what a lucky girl she is!

materfamilias said...

do you know Mark Doty's great little sonnet, "Golden Retrievals" (I'm sure you can find it by googling) -- not so much a flaneur, that dog, but absolutely in the moment.
Love these photos -- you're going to have so much to translate into paintings when you get back!

Alison Watt said...

materfamilias
I do know that poem--Mark Doty is one of my favourite poets. Will be blowing onto the island sometime next week, hope to catch up with you

materfamilias said...

Seriously? I'd LOVE a visit. I think I've got your annual portion of SADS, with you having thoughtlessly abdicated! ;-)
But I'll snap out of it if we manage a get-together.

Denise Bonin said...

Lots of stuff in this post…

I understand the dog issue. It has happened to me too and I am not a “dog person”, but it is as much about the dog as it is about the person. Some dogs just feel right and sense that you feel right too. And I think that is a good thing – to be loved by a dog (but don’t tell my cats). Thanks for the follow-up story with such a happy ending.

“A wall with a past, showing its history… just makes it more beautiful?” You could substitute a lot of nouns for “wall”… a “woman” perhaps, comes to mind: what do you think? Lovely photos… they remind me of the photos in our annual Greek cats calendar. I particularly love when the cats are pictured adjacent to a repeatedly painted, but not always perfect white or blue wall or door. The history those surfaces have seen.

Now take your drink onto the veranda and admire the friendly dogs against the painted surfaces and not on the rocks.

Alison Watt said...

Denise
hey, nice to see your smiling face on my blog! And in real life this week. Glad you liked the walls--I kept thinking what great abstracts they would make--ahh for a studio...

Julie Zickefoose said...

Convergent writerly evolution: I have a post about the beauty of a rotting car, with similar little abstracts of peeling paint and rust. I love old walls, too. My friend Tim Ryan
http://adventuresoftimtim.blogspot.com
calls it wabi-sabi--the quality of agedness that brings beauty. Nice word! and beautiful blog. Your paintings are ravishing. I'm so glad we will get to know each other on this Honduras trip.