Holiday: a photo essay

Back from vacation. Rather than bore you with endless descriptions, here are a few of my impressions garnished with some comments.

Yes, one does need an SUV to deal with heffalumps like these that crawl across the road and hog the left lane. You just know that a Smart car would be tantamount to suicide next to that.

Boston, North End, workers. NYC cancelled due to the kidney stone of my SO.

Boston, North End, New England Aquarium: sharks, turtles, seahorses, starfish, lobstahs, horseshoe crabs, harbor seals, you name it... Munchkin and cousin lapped it up greedily,although they had already dug clams, touched a horseshoe crab and chased hermit crabs the day before on the beach.

I have always enjoyed flying a kite. My dragon for this trip.

Eastham. A hidden beach. Coincidentally also the beach where my brother-in-law got married last Sunday, up to his knees in the water. Great day.

Queen Anne's lace. Brewster, Cape Cod Museum of Natural History.

Orleans. The sunset in our backyard.

Our backyard reflected in my "fly" glasses.

Edward Hopper's house in Truro. Some idiot real estate king is putting up a Macmansion on the dunes, killing the most famous sweeping landscape of Cape Cod.

The church near Snow cemetery in Truro.
A storm just weathered. Provincetown. MacMillan Wharf.

Return to Madrid Barajas airport. I found myself sitting next to a young Italian on the plane, decked out in a Harley D. jacket wearing a T-shirt reading "I heart lesbians". Little did the young man know that he was sitting next to two, and that the Italian couple behind us were also lesbians (of the not so child-friendly variety). All in all very funny.

Conclusion: favourite moment of the whole vacation is our sunset glass of wine with our friends M. and S. and their daughter on the sandflats at Skaket Beach in Orleans. Thanks, girls, for making this the highlight of our visit and for offering to marry us there and then.

The cradle of multiculturalism

I sense that some explanation is due, so I'll try to do my best.

Some of you may be aware of the 'Fitna' polemic raging in the Low Countries. I would like to state for the record that I do NOT condone any of Mr Wilders ideas. What this whole polemic and this movie pressed home to me, was that there is a general lack of respect for ideas, lifestyles, opinions and above all, freedom of expression in a certain part of society. Something I take grave issue with.

I use the clip of gorgeous Italian artist Dalida, singing 'Helwa ya Balady', to drive home my point.

Dalida, like my father, was born in Egypt and lived in Cairo for much of her early life. She left in 1954 to pursue her career as a diva/songstress and in time would be elevated to the status of gay icon (before Madonna even hit the scene). My father, like many other foreigners, was kicked out of Egypt in 1956 when Nasser came to power, with two suitcases and a few piasters in his pocket.

What most of this diasporah shares, is their love for their 'native' country. My father raved about Egypt until his last day on earth. The sun had bored into his skin, as was evident, when I visited his body in the morgue and realised that even in death, the sun's life never had left him. The song 'Helwa ya Balady' (my sweet country) was a fixture of Dalida's repertoire until her death, of suicide.

When I asked my father about life in Alexandria (Claude François country) and Cairo, his eyes tended to glaze over. He would tell stories about how the rabbi from the synagogue would ply the children in the street with chocolate when he needed the necessary minyan to be present to start the service. My grandfather, an Italian Jew, lays buried in the Jewish cemetery in Alexandria. My grandmother, an Irish Catholic, was laid to rest in a Catholic cemetery in Antwerp. My three uncles, respectively a Catholic, a Jew and a Muslim, went to the French Collège des Frères and were taught by a Greek orthodox priest.

We were all raised on the principle of respect and multiculturalism. And our family has continued along these principles. A family reunion of the last three generations means up to 12 different nationalities at the table, and three different religions. I credit this spirit for my family's acceptance of my gayness, and our choice to have a child.

Finally, yesteryear's Cairenes and Alexandrians still search for and meet one another all over the world in an effort to recreate what they have lost.

So why is it that the rest of the world cannot follow our example?