Henri Matisse, The Snail, Bavarians and Augsburg

I remember a school trip - can't remember if it was Junior, or the first year of grammar school - when we were taken to the Tate Gallery. There was only one Tate in London in those days. Matisse's 'L'Escargot' must have made a deep impact on me. I loved the bright happy colours. The simplicity of it. The Education Officer showed us other paintings, like Picasso's Three Dancers. I even bought a print of it in my teens and had it framed. Don't know why. It is a hideous painting. I just recall what the nice woman at the Tate had to say about it. Some kind of love triangle thing. [Gosh, am I making this up? as I really can't be bothered to do the research this minute, to get my facts right.]

Maybe the snail idea is why I came up with a poem in German back in the early 1981. I ended up in Augsburg, Bavaria, after hitching around Europe on my own, a few months after mum died. Aged 19. Haha, the magic of youth. One has no idea what dangers one puts oneself in. More of that later, I guess. [When and where, I'm not telling. It contains highly confidential and mildly shocking information - about me. Gulp.]

Back to the snail.

A woman at the hotel I'm staying at here (yep, India, present day now), Anita from Munich, says that Schnecke (Snail), a form of endearment, is specifically from Augsburg. Well, I never! I've been visiting Augsburg for over 30 years, and I don't remember anyone telling me that. I knew it was a term of endearment - just not the Augsburg bit. [Even in Dahab, South Sinai, some of the German-speaking folk there know me as die kleine Schnecke (the little snail). Including Mahmoud. Part-time model and masseur Mahmoud. He has a massage parlour in the Lighthouse district, Dahab. Hard worker. Good lad. Done his parents proud in Alexandria. He was with Khloud this time last year. And she was the one that gave me a great massage. She is a beauty. Looks like Frieda Kahlo. Both in their early '20s.]

Back to the snail. Sometimes I say: Ich bin die kleine Schnecke von Augsburg, to Bavarians that I may meet on my travels. They always laugh. I like to be a joker, to make people laugh. I do it a lot when I'm travelling. It hides my sadness.

There is also another reason I may identify with the snail. I have moved at least 36 times in London alone. Mr Murphy sat me down and made me try and remember all the addresses I've had, while he wrote down the different residences. Some were worse than squats. Needs must. When I was studying my first degree. No maintenance grant anymore in the early 1990s. That Thatcher Thing. I blame her/it.

Dreadful exercise that was. I knew I'd moved a lot - just not that much. Useful though. Thanks, Mr Murphy.

Back to the snail. Some people think I'm a snappy snap-dragon, fiery tempered woman. Yes, I am. I can be. Mostly, I am not. In moments of stress, I snap, swear, bark, woof, grr. I am also an ultra-sensitive little soul. In the face of danger, like a snail, my antennae flinch, and I retract into my shell.

Thinking back even further. 81 Elers Road, Ealing, London W13 where dad, mum, me, Jimmy all lived in one room in around 1968 - 69. I remember a grey day out in the big garden. It started raining, and mum kept calling me in for supper. I had been collecting garden snails and putting them in a jam jar. I was intent on jam-packing the jar with snails. I put the lid on. I knew it to be wrong. Really wrong. I told mum after dinner. She told me to take the lid off. I had to let all these fat snails out that I'd spent ages collecting. Part of me was sad, but part of me knew I was bad. It was wrong to suffocate living things. Even I knew that.

Come to think of it. The French eat snails. So much was made about snails that when I finally tried them in Notting Hill in the '90s, I couldn't understand what the fuss was about. I loved the garlic butter speckled with parsley. Gorgeous. But the snail bit? Rubbery as fuck.

That's enough about the snail today.

To round up (excuse the feeble pun):

There is a part of me that so wants to ditch this snail thing. It's ancient, old hat stuff. Maybe that's why I made up this little epithet recently back in London. It was partly inspired because Stefan (Swiss German, lived in Egypt for years) who partly owns Jay's in Dahab said on my second visit to Dahab within 3 weeks last year:

A lot of tourists say they'll return to Dahab. And they do eventually. But I have never experienced such a speedy return as yours. You're pretty fast for a little snail.

Partly this, and partly because I love desert climates. Not hot and humid. [Ha, pretty much all the eastern coastal areas of India, and pretty much everywhere I've planned on this trip Kuala Lumpur next, Taiwan.]

"For such a little snail, she can be, as fast as the sirocco."

"Obwohl sie eine kleine Schnecke ist, kann sie so schnell sein wie ein Schirokko."

Translation in German courtesy of Connie of Augsburg. Another friend who has been on a long haul with Mo. Bless her cotton socks. We had a "moment" last year. But she's forgiven me, I think. Thank you, Connie. You do put up with a lot, don't you?

Auf wiedersehen, Pet,
Auf wiedersehen, Schnecke.

xxx

p.s. One thing I don't share with snails: I am not a FUCKING hermaphrodite.