Rusty Old Cars . . .

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What is it about rusty old cars that appeals so strongly to many of us ? Is it a nostalgia thing ? Romantic echos of a bygone age ? Is it the unforgettable memories for those who lost their virginity in the back seats of behemoths like these ? Old cars, like old people, reach a point where they just aren't ever going to go any further. Not a mile more. Too many parts have failed. Rust too far gone to ever be cured by a quick treatment of rust remover and a fresh coat of paint to gloss things over. The end of the road. The end, period. And yet, their abandoned bodies call to us still, from the side yards of dilapidated old garages on backwater roads. Still something profoundly beautiful in their fading carcasses.
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Saw these aging beauties on a trip to Pennsylvania a couple of years ago. On automobile license plates in that state they used to print a slogan on the edges of the plates that said, in poor grammar, "You've got a friend in Pennsylvania". When I found these old darlings not far from the Susquehanna River, I couldn't have agreed with them more.
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Driving On Into Dreams of the New Year . . .

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Back in September, in the back woods of Pennsylvania, driving down a back country road, far at the back of a vacant lot I caught a glimpse of something that flashed a spark of immediate recognition in my mind; I slammed on the brakes, turned around and drove back there. I had no choice in the matter. It was inevitable to me that this was an unavoidable rendez vous with chance, with hazard, with whatever you'd like to call it, yes, the dippity-do of serendipity had struck again.
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Barely visible from the road were three old Volkswagen buses quietly abandoned there. Finishing their days with the vacant expressions of a vacant lot, forgotten, forgotten save for probably the extremely rare passerby such as myself who might actually turn around to come take a closer look. But how could I not ? In another life long ago I owned two of these beasties. Not at the same time. Both of them came to tragic ends. Perhaps they also now inhabit some place like this. I don't know. But I do know there was something quite magical for me in this place.
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While I was there admiring the three VW buses visible from the road, a large four wheel drive pickup truck pulled into the lot, and I admit to having a moment of serious apprehension that it might be a local redneck ready to have me arrested for trespassing, or worse. In fact, it turned out to be the owner of the land, who lived just up the road, where he has a thriving VW repair business. He was quite friendly, when he realized I had a little bit of a passion for old VWs, he suggested I go poke around in the woods up the hill from the vacant lot, where there were a few dozen more old VWs finishing their lives in the underbrush. I didn't need to be asked twice.
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So what better way to head into the new year coming up soon, than to take a little trip down memory lane to a small corner of dreamland, inhabited by dream cars just waiting for someone to stop by and appreciate them. I was pleased, tickled pink in fact, to have been able to play that role that fine autumn day. (and many thanks to you, Craig, if you should ever see this ! )
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Some of the vehicles in question had obviously belonged to Grateful Dead fans. But just as the Grateful Dead died when Jerry Garcia passed away in 1995, so too did the need for so many VWs like these which carried Deadheads from concert to concert, back in those days long ago. "How ya Phillin" is of course a reference to the Grateful Dead bass player, Phil Lesh.
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As there are a few reflections in some of these windows, am including this in the Weekend Reflections series over at James place.
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More Grateful Dead art in a window sticker... dancing bears, terrapins from Terrapin Station, and the raven...
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Still more Grateful Dead VW art . . . VW buses going forever in a circle on a VW window.
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VWs were not the only vehicles abandoned there . . . a school bus was hiding in the trees, ready for another road trip, further on down the road.
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This blue bus was nearly identical to the first one I purchased, out in California. ("I'll meet you in the back of the . . . blue bus, the blue bus...")
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The jungle seemed to be on the verge of winning the battle. In another year or two these beautiful old cars may be totally obscured. I wish I could have brought a few back home with me. They make great lawn ornaments !
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Many different models and colors were available ! All in varying degrees of dilapidation.
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Who could ever forget the dashboards in these babies, and the wacky shifter diagram they had on the ashtray ?
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A pair of hubcaps was lying forlornly in the autumn leaves. With the owner's permission, I did bring one of them back home, it was all I could fit in my bagage. A dead WV souvenir.
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Seen Better Days . . .

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As you know by now, during the last six months which lasted from mid October to early November of this year, France went through a major crisis, and as a result decided to change the government, consequently the former prime minister has become the new prime minister, and the old president is now the new president again. We can all rest assured that there will simply be more of the same for the next six months until Christmas, at least.

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One aspect of this latest crisis, which was crisis number 2742-2010 (the 2742nd crisis of 2010 here, there having been at least 1375 crises linked to the French national football, errr, soccer team earlier this year) was that a relatively small group of people who feel that the retirement age should be advanced to age 47, and who were upset that the old government (nothing to do with the new government) had pushed through a reform which would change the retirement age from 60 to 62, decided to hold the entire country hostage, which is what usually happens during every third or fourth crisis here, and shut down all the gasoline refineries, and blocade all gasoline depots such that no gasoline was available in gasoline stations.

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The end result was that for ordinary citizens who needed to drive to work, it became very quickly impossible to do so. This is normal. This is called "putting pressure on the government". But the new government has put that behind them. For small business people who needed to use their vehicles to make deliveries or go work at customers locations, many of them simply had to go out of business, and become retired early. This was part of what the protesters who wanted earlier retirements intended to achieve. They succeeded.

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For many others, who ran out of gasoline while trying to make one last futile search for the precious liquid at early hours in the morning, they simply had to abandon their cars by the roadside and walk back home. Many such cars were then torched by protesters. That is normal, burning cars has become the French national sport. They are very good at it. If I told you the number of cars burned in France last year, you wouldn't believe me. So I won't. But just imagine a very large number.

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The next few photographs were what could be seen along any French roadside over the past few weeks. This is normal. The new government says they are going to clean up the mess caused by the old government. I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.
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A Lady In Red . . .

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Although I've been married for years and years now
And strangely enough I still love my spouse
It does happen from time to time
While out rambling around
There's a simply crazy feeling that I feel
I swear it's like falling in love
All over again
Head over heels
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It happened in fact just the other day
When I saw a lady in red by the side of the way
Like a siren she called, she honked her horn
I took one look, and I was reborn
There was no way I could turn away
Out of the question, I couldn't go back
I was like a train bound for hell on a one way track
She asked me for a key to put in her ignition
She was dressed in red and headed for perdition
But I couldn't resist, I could only say, "Yes..."
As she stood there by the side of the road
Flaunting her curves in a tight red dress
She was whispering things I couldn't quite hear
Like, "Hop on in honey, have no fear"
Or, "Pump up my tires baby, let's go for a ride"
"Can you find my hot wire and make a few sparks"
"Hold on tight while we drive off in the dark"
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Indeed, she was really something, this lady in red
In my dreams I was thinking : Off we sped . . .
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Some of you may remember this is the same old red truck you got a couple of glimpses of there a few posts back on one of James Reflections Weekend series, but I had to come back to her, and let you know the depths of my feelings for her, by showing you more angles to see her from, more dimensions and hidden secrets which might not have been obvious at first glance. Yes, like many somewhat older ladies, she still had the potential for internal combustion after being offered a high octane drink and getting shown a little gentlemanly respect and tenderness. How I longed to climb inside her and go for a ride.
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Though the lipstick and rouge on her front grill was a bit splotchy, I was still smitten, like a deer in a pair of headlights at midnight, helpless, wide-eyed, hypnotized.
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I couldn't even decide which way to hold the camera when photographing her, I wanted the photos to do her justice, have her looking sleek and lean, so I tried both vertical and horizontal positions with the viewfinder, clicking away, irrestibly driven.
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The closer I got, the more her lovely persona went to my head, like a powerful magnet and good perfume, she held me there, and I started to look very closely at her most intimate secrets and dark openings.
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The tire tossed up on top could almost be a halo, over that windshield of dazzling blue reflections.
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A windshield wiper dangled like jewelry, a pendant flung there non-chalantly, part of her personality.
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From every angle her beauty was shining . . . like a tavern's lights, like a magic lantern, even if the lens was cracked. A lighthouse beacon in the night.
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I dared not remove her radiator cap, fearing to release something akin to the contents of Pandora's box. But I did gaze long and lovingly at her rusty complexion.
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One mirror hung down forlornly . . . but then who does not bear some traces of the passing years ?
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The broken glass did not diminish the breathtaking loveliness of her fender's curving forms.
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The cargo bed was frankly getting a bit overgrown, as you can see here, she really does need a little tender loving care. But one of these days I hope to have her running, purring smoothly like a contented cat, so I can load her up with truckloads of smiles to deliver to wherever you may be.
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PS ... Un très grand, très, très grand merci à Clo pour ce vidéo !
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Economic Crisis : Cars of Our Times . . .

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I had read a certain amount over the past couple of years about the economic crisis which has been hitting the United States fairly hard, but it wasn't until I got there, and got out on the streets that I started seeing real examples of where the crisis has driven many folks. People are driving older cars, waiting much longer before trading in their old cars for a new one. I saw many fairly ancient cars still in service. Perhaps a few of them had been resurrected from the dead even. Nevertheless, some of them were not without a certain charm . . .
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To quote the title of a favorite book of mine, Another Roadside Attraction, it looks like trash removal services have been cut back in many places, no doubt also a result of the crisis. Piles of car parts by the roadside were a common sight.
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I knew the housing sector had been particularly hard hit, and even today on CNN I read where foreclosure sales are booming in the USA, but some of the housing people were living in really surprised me . . .
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Yes, some cars parked by the roadside had definitely seen better days . . . this one is in the fixer-upper category. And I can't imagine things are going to get much better as long as the total US debt (as depicted on the Debt Clock site ) is at 54 trillion dollars and growing. As long as international finance continues to be conducted by major financial institutions as though they are playing in a casino. Crisis ? What crisis ?
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Gabriel Bien-Aimé . . .

Over two weeks now since the Earth quaked in Haiti, shaking the country to the core. Nightmarish news continues to trickle out, while the aid slowly trickles in. There was an interesting story on CNN yesterday about Haitian art, and the impact of the earthquake. Partway down the page the story is on there is an embedded video of a slide show of some examples of Haitian art. Shortly into the video there were a couple of images of cut iron sculptures which I believe were done by one of the finest Haitian sculptors producing that style of art; Gabriel Bien-Aimé. Which brought the memories flooding back of having visited his workshop and gallery in Croix des Bouquets, which is just on the outskirts of Port au Prince. A quick search on the internet turned up this article about him on the Indigo Arts website. And several pieces of his sculptures can also be seen on the site of the Figge Art Museum in Davenport, Iowa.
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Haitians in general are extremely creative when it comes to recycling material of all descriptions to transform it into useful objects again. The realm of art is no exception. Many of Bien-Aimé's cut metal sculptures started their lives as 55 gallon oil drums, or as the sheet-metal on any sort of automobile, bus, or truck from which it could be salvaged after the original function had come to an end. Consequently, the sight of old cars with no sheet-metal on them around Haiti is not unusual; it has been torn off to live again elsewhere in some other role. Old wrecks of cars in Haiti, often left by the roadside where they died, are known as "voitures désolées". This is one good example . . .
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This next one was some sort of small truck or mini-bus, god only knows what happened to it, a mere ghost of its former self . . .
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Another voiture désolée was in the yard of Gabriel Bien-Aimé's workshop, no doubt having served as a source of raw material . . .
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These cinderblock walls were the outdoor gallery where Bien-Aimé displayed his work in February, 1997. Our daughter appearing here was about three and a half. The small rectangular piece just in front of her head of a heron standing on the back of a giraffe is one of a few of his pieces that came home with us. Treasures from an unforgettable trip.
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It seemed incongruous for such beautiful works of art to be displayed on those rough cinderblock walls . . . but that is Haiti . . .
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One of his daughters was as intrigued with a foreign photographer as I was with her . . .
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His truck was emblazoned with his nickname . . . l'Ange Gabriel . . .
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And finally, the artist himself, with one of his sculptures which could almost be a self-portrait. A small corner of his house is visible here. I hope to hell it didn't fall down on him when the earth shook. Our thoughts are with you, Angel Gabriel, aptly named Bien-Aimé... he who is loved well . . .
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