2010-01-10

An Ode to Steve & Jennie

Written on January 5th

Now, I would like to tell you the story of 2 remarkable people. Steve and Jennie.

Steve is just over 50 years old (I think) and has led the difficult life of an addict for, I’m not quite sure exactly how long, but between 10 and 20 years of his life. On January the 5th, 2010 he will have been clean of any drugs and alcohol for 11 years. Steve got cleaned up thanks to his beautiful, then 9 year old daughter whom he was solely capable of looking after, and though he still carries the scars of his past life on the coarse surface of his skin, he remains clean and smiles every morning when he looks himself in the mirror and sees his whites of his eyes gleaming healthy, pearly white as opposed to the wretched bloodshot eyes of an addict. Steve grew up in London, driving motorcycles around and crashing cars. He looks like a mixture of Iggy Pop and Axel Rose. Throw in some sarcastic Bowie decadence, a strong Londoner accent and there you go.



Jennie is a beautiful fairy from Essex (but she’s not like other Essex girls!) and a musical genius. It takes her half a second to understand any piece of music and maybe another half of a second before she’s transformed it into something utterly uniquely of her own, so unique in fact that you think she must have written it herself, whether or not it is originally Joni Mitchell, Led Zeppelin or a jazz piece. Jennie is one of the most considerate people I have ever met, one of the most talented musicians I’ve known so far and just possesses that amazing ability to smile in any situation and make everything seem bright and sunny.



The three of us would gather every morning at the Coffee Temple (or Temple Coffee? The signs around the café kept changing around…). Jennie would order a coconut porridge or a banana porridge, or the sometimes infrequently asked for banana-coconut porridge with honey. (I’d join her in the porridge craze to try and convince the owner, a chap from Brighton named ‘Les’lie, that our ideas were brilliant and perfectly doable. Like the banana-frappe with ice cream.) Jennie would have tea with milk, though during my last few days she started having coffee rather often. And cigarettes as well. I think Steve and I must have had a bad influence on her.



Steve and I would start the morning with grumbling, coffee and cigarettes. Regular for Steve, add some sugar, please. Black for me. No sugar. Steve would then attempt to place an order for cheese omelette without toast. But Ram, the little Indian waiter, would most of the time, screw this order up and get him toast anyway only to be smacked in the head by Les. In those instances I would eat Steve’s toast, or order my own with jam or honey. Morning was an important routine. The Coffee Temple attracts a whole lot of visitors from the UK and we would tend to spend about 2 to 3 hours there, sometimes just because it was just plain out nice to hang out there and sometimes because Les, Harry (Harry-Krishna = full name) and Ram would just take forever to serve us, sometimes serving people that had come after us first, which would prove long, irritated discussions and moods that could last for an entire day. Well, at least for me and Steve.



Why am I writing about this?

Because every day with Steve & Jennie was wonderful. From the hours spent at the Coffee Temple trying to figure out what to order when you’ve already ordered everything on the menu a few times around already. Getting roasted (by the sun) on the beach, Jennie driving Steve mad with talks of sun-lotion, swimming in the rather crazy waters around Varkala, Jennie adjusting her bikini subtly after each wild wave, Steve getting thrashed by the waves all the time, laying himself on a towel in the beach instead to smoke cigarettes, (and I’d join him). To figuring out where to have supper, getting lost on the way to somebody’s house, Steve & Jennie bickering, none of them really making sense but both being totally convinced of their personal opinions being correct, me rolling my eyes. Playing the guitar beneath the golden moon, Jennie’s beautiful voice, jazzy, bluesy, deep or high-pitched, sexy, sad, angry and beautiful, her fingers strumming the guitar as if it’s all she’s ever done, (but her instrument of choice is still the piano. Damn talented people…) Steve singing with a voice like Johnny Cash or Bowie, marked by the signs of many cigarettes and maybe a tad too much whiskey in the past as well and a biography filled with much sadness and much joy.

Sometimes Steve would give me a ride on Tony’s motorcycle. We’d escape all the tourists, his long blond mane fluttering in my face, my stomach thrilled as we’d fly down the road, dodge rickshaws, animals, taxis, people, round corners and surpass every other motorcycle. Jennie taught me 7 chords on the guitar just before I left. I have them written down in my journal so I won’t forget whilst I don’t have a guitar within my reach. Imagine how much I would have learned if I’d an interest in learning how to play the guitar in the beginning of my stay in Varkala rather than in the end.



Sometimes I wish I’d struggle more with parting from people. That would be easier for people to understand, whilst understanding why I rarely say goodbye or care about it much is not as easy. It may come across as being simply cold and bad-mannered. I don’t like saying goodbye, not because it makes me particularly sentimental or the likes, but because I know I’ll meet you again at some point. The last two years of my life I’ve had to say goodbye to a lot of people that I love, and though it hurt me a lot in the beginning, with certain people, and I realize this know, I know I will see them again. I’ll be back, or you’ll be back and it’s no big deal. I’ll think about you every day and you’ll think about me, and I am rubbish at keeping contact with people, but maybe it’s okay, because I’m always thinking of you, smiling because I know I’ll see you, maybe not so soon, or maybe yes, who knows?



You’ll have brilliant stories and I will too. And we don’t need to say goodbye, because that feels like something is coming to an end and that’s just not true. Because I’ll see you again before you even have time to miss me.

Until next time, all the love in the world.

2 kommentarer:

Elena sa...
Den här kommentaren har tagits bort av skribenten.
Elena sa...

Vad glad jag blir över att få läsa om positiva erfarenheter du gjort under din resa! Att allt inte bara är en enda kamp.

Har många gånger undrat om de människor man träffar flyktig skulle förlora en del av sin glans om man träffade de oftare.

Somliga söker visdom och andlig utveckling genom meditation, jag gör det genom att utsätta mig för "besvärliga" människor.

En del möten är bland det bästa som finns...