LOVE AND YOU SHALL BE FREE

I honor the divinity that resides within me.” 
― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Benedictine Monks

The articulate historian journalist, Royce offered to take me on a Franche Comté tour, this being his territory.   Who can refuse on such an invite by an intellectual scholar.  His love of food, wine, cheese and women, in that order suits me perfectly.   From Andelot, we traveled to Besançon, the capital of Franche Comté, continued on to Salins les Bains, Dole and finally Champagnole.

Having doused on historical facts, sampled multitude wedges of cheese and sipped many gulps of Appellation Controlé, exchanged our love and friendship, it was time to say our goodbyes.  Clinking our glasses, reflecting on what might have been, we parted ways.  He left for Princeton to lecture on the Government of  Cardinal Richelieu and I accepted an invitation to  Paris to be at the men’s final at Roland Garros. At Charles de Gaul, we said our fond farewells.

For those who only watch sports from the living room, there is nothing to match that excitement, that center court electricity and that overall special exclusivity of an invitation by Longine.  They are the timekeeper and the official partner of the French Open since 2007.

Luncheon in Longine’s tent was an epicurean feast.  Fruit de Mer on ice, Salmon Cream Cheese and Dill Soufflé, Blanquette de Veau, Salad of Belgian endive, Chocolate tart.  This was the nearest I have been of feeling French.  It wasn’t just the food or wine, our hosts, but the ambience, the sport and just being in Paris.

On court, sitting two rows up from the front with the most beautiful Aishwarya Rai,  Longines Ambassador, the audible sounds of grunting by the players is their way to smack the ball with maximum effort and authority. The power felt in each swing draws extreme energy and with it seemingly more force.  With each volley, the grunts released the tension that almost becomes orgasmic.  My fellow seat-mate did not admire such sounds whereas I reveled in each audible shriek.

Nadal's victory at the French Open

The Spainard, Rafael Nadal won the most intense game, I did not realize we had been sitting for four straight hours squeezed in the small green plastic chairs, heart popping at every smash hit he made.  After such a long day, the retreat back to the George V with a Kir Royale at Le Bar set me off for the evening. 

Now for the serious trip down South, Air France drops me off at Nice.  The first night was at a boutique hotel for lovers, Hôtel 3.14 in Cannes. An unusual named hotel but each floor of the 3.14 corresponds to a universe representing one of the five continents. After much conundrum, it became apparent that Hôtel 3.14 is a Pi.  Most hotels leave a flower or a piece of chocolate on the pillow at night, but this was one of France’s Box of Delights.  Nestled among breath mints and mouth spray, there was an interesting battery charged device, ready to buzz at the flick of a switch. There also were stimulating lubricants of dubious nature, one packet for women, one for men. Pictorial sketches included in case creativity left the imagination.  I was being educated the French way, a giant leap from high-school to post-grad division. 

Morning light shimmering on the Cote d'Azure, aptly named because of its intense skyblue sea is breathtaking.

Cruising down the coastline, we were hosted to lunch at Eden Roc’s restaurant by the sea, brushing alongside Hollywood’s Brad Pitt, De Niro and Madonna.  They, preparing for the Cannes Film Festival, and me, just ogling as we sipped Sancerre and crunched on  Salad Niçoise.

The second night’s Box of Delights never got revealed as we were moved to the Hotel Majestic Barrier in  Cannes on Le Croissette.  Perhaps not as exclusive as Hotel du Cap Eden Roc but it had the old fashioned majestic ambience akin to the Edwardian era with its lobby nooks, scattered expensive leather chairs next to a magnificent bar.  First time, and there’s always a first time, I allowed an unknown swarthy olive skinned French speaking stud to buy me an aperitif.  Supremely efficient in his art form, every word spoken, every nuance sprung his secret occupation – Gigolo Suprème of La Cote D’Azur of the French Rivera.  The opposite equivalent to Asia’s Geisha, the European Gigolo cuts to the chase. And I was left in no doubt of his next move.

L'Assietee Provencal rue Quai Saint Pierre

Moving quickly onwards, my cravings for Moules Marinière had become a fixation and an obsession.  Everyone and anyone that encountered me was grilled on which restaurant served the best mussels and it came down to L’Assietee Provençal  capturing my attention and my stomach.   Al fresco dining with views out to the harbor, on the Quai Saint Pierre sipping my champagne as I await my order, basking in the sights and sounds, to my right was someone who looked like Bradley Cooper.   A moment’s excitement and then it was gone as my attention went to the arrival of the Moules Mariniere wafting its aroma as it  sat in front of me.  It could’ve been Brad Pitt or Daniel Craig, or any hunk for that matter, the stomach won over all urges.

Like a kid in a candy store, my eyes were popping out of its sockets to the enormity of the portion.  These French people eat a lot.  The shells glistening with wine and cream, every morsel tasted of simplicity mixed with quality equals sheer excellence. I mopped the creamy sauce with all the bread, sipped champagne, wondered out aloud, if this is heaven, God take me now!  Satiated, the possibility of my entré seemed over indulgent.  A twenty minute interval was needed.

“Un intervalle de vingt minutes s'il vous plait” fluttering my eyelashes.  Voila, he understood. 

Never in twenty-four years of abstinence from all nicotine indulgences did I slip up.  But the twenty minute interval opened up repressed addiction and I succumbed to a Gauloise, inhaling the fragrant smoke, mastering the technique of filtering it through the nose to get maximum aroma.  This is going to be a long, slow and delicious night.

My pillow token at the Majestic Brassiere was classy, a small box of chocolates, a hand written French love poem, and a fresh lavender bag to put under the pillow case enhancing sleep. 

Leaving the Majestic early morning in a convertible white Mercedes,  heading east destination Monte Carlo.  Jacques, the Monegasques guide at my pleasure is born and bred in Monte Carlo.  His family has been in Monaco for centuries. Approaching Monte Carlo on the Moyenne Corniche with Jacques at the wheels is one of the most beautiful highways in the world.    Jacques’ brother Sebastien, Deputy CEO for BNP Paribas, will be joining in the evening’s soiree at the  Casino.

Le Metropole

A little elegance will be required for this evening’s event so it was off to Le Metropole shopping center, home to over 80 boutiques specializing in luxury items. 

 A black Dior outfit with Manolo Blahnik heels and a Gucci clutch set me back a few thousand, but my womanly mind justifies these deficits and gains with equal calmness knowing my luck will be with me at the roulette table.

The Casino

Wish me luck.   

WRATH OF A PREGNANT GHOST ON THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE

EERILY     ENGULFING     ENERGY  

Tonight as I settle into bed at my condo overlooking the city lights on the 18^th floor, I glance to my right, the trendy en-suite bathroom with the blinds fully opened,  showing the toilet, shower and bathtub, prompted me to get out of bed to close the blinds.    These recurring visions of my ghostly apparition sitting on a toilet seat from as long ago as 18 years still haunt me with repeated flashbacks whenever I see a toilet from a  sleeping vantage point

From the day the spirit displayed itself I have never been the same again since.  It was a night in November 1995 in the middle of the Golden Triangle, high in the clouds  1,300 meters above sea level.  Eighteen years on, the memory still so fresh, the goose bumps appear when recalling either in writing  or even recounting the story to a friend.

Ang Khang Royal Agricultural Station

Then a solid citizen in my forties,  all faculties intact and mental health in tiptop condition.  Lucid, commanding eyesight, excellent hearing and a belief in God.  Just to get the record straight, I have not killed, nor have I stolen nor have I  sinned in any of the 10 commandments.  Not a scientist, not a spiritualist – just an ordinary working housewife trying to make a living.  

So let me take you to where it all began.

Working alongside The Royal Project, a scheme designed to eradicate opium by substitute growing temperate climate floral and fauna including fruits and vegetables. This was to keep the hill tribes from going back to cultivating opium for heroin trafficking. 

I had just signed a hefty contract with a large supermarket group in the UK supplying potpourri from the Royal Project.   My target was two 20ft containers per month.  The quantity needed to grow for just one container per month was staggering.  It needed planning and inspection by top Botanists seconded from a leading research University in Agriculture.  The regular supermarket shoppers in the UK and Europe would be astounded by the magnitude of areas taken from opium growing regions and re-directed to grow beautiful flowers for the selection on offer in the rows of room fragrance section.  

These fields were bombed and set on fire to eradicate the  world’s highest growth of poppies. Supported by the US Drug Enforcement Agency,   whole families who farmed the poppies were also eradicated together with the plants.  Since there was no accountability for the hill-tribe nomads, their casualty went undetected for they had no identity papers.

My UK buyer decided it was in his interest to visit the site.  Coordinating the trip with the Royal Project,  we were invited to stay in their Swiss style one bedroom cottages in the hills of Angkhang.  On a clear day from the vestige of the cottage, you can see the hills of Burma to the left, the Laotian hills across the Mekhong River to the right whilst centered in the mountain ranges in Thailand.

Swiss style  Cottage No. 6

Driving up the winding road to Angkhang, the sun having slipped under the first set of hills, the light fading, we were ushered to our respective cottages.  I was given cottage No. 6 fifty meters above my distinguished representative who had the cottage No. 4.   It had several steps running down in both directions towards the central area designated for communal work for agriculturists to detail farmers the  various projects for the day.  It also was where we were to meet for dinner.

Dinner was simple, and we retired early.  The agenda  for the next morning was a 6:00am start.  I was glad that the evening had ended promptly for I had purchased an autobiography about an English wife of a Siamese Prince.  I simply knew it was going to be a great read.  Little did I know that that book was going to save me from what was to be a harrowing six hours.

We said our goodnights and retreated to our respective cottages.   My room was approx. 25sq meters – small but adequate.  Windows on either side, it had two large beds with a side table.  The light was an overhead neon strip, it just makes the room so unbearably bright.  Straight ahead was a saloon-type door latched on by a hook to the bathroom.      I could see that the toilet was behind this door through the bottom.   I unpacked my bag, used the toilet, brushed my teeth and washed my face ready for the night.  The bathroom was dark and I did not feel comfortable in there, something didn’t feel right so I decided not to shower.

Settled into the whicker chair, as reading in this hard bed was not comfortable, I heard scuttling noises and looked up to see at least 7 white mice (I was told later that they were fruit mice.)  They were running along the beams attracted by the light.  This was not fun.   I was not going to be sleeping with fruit mice nibbling at my feet.   I’m not happy at this and was just wondering what on earth I should do ….when I looked up from my book and 10 feet away from me was this woman sitting on the toilet, head bent down, her long hair flowing, her white flowing trousers billowing from the outside wind escaping underneath the crack of the front door.   

My heart raced, it skipped several beats ....  massive amounts of adrenalin surged through my body.     I knew what I was seeing.   There was absolutely no doubt.   I was very scared.    Physically my body went into flight mode, I grabbed my torch and backed up towards the door and decided to run for it.   In doing so I banged into the light switch nestled by the door and accidently turned it off.

I don’t know what I was scared of most, the foreboding darkness inside, or the windy gusts of the darkness outside, bringing on rain.   Standing outside unable to decide what to do, my deep insecurity stopped me from running to the UK representative in his chalet No. 4.  I so wanted to be admired as high quality  professional businesswoman.  It would be amateurish to say I had seen a ghost in my room and that I was scared…. it could also be construed as sexual harassment.  Now that wasn’t going to make me a valid top notch Management team. 

You could imagine my thoughts punishing me for being weak.  A peak through the window with the curtains slightly opened, a stream of light from another chalet was enough that I could see her still bent over the toilet.  I don’t think there are words in the dictionary to describe the fear I had.  I had to suck up all courage, hardened my stance and faced my fear.   Walking back into the room, I switched the light back on.  As with all old neon lights, it flickers like a strobe light before it starts full on and there she was hunched over.   I decided with renewed strength that I was going to shoo her off the premises… mad but true.   I took my right gym shoe off and flung it in her direction hoping to start a confrontation. 

The shoe landed just by her feet.  It managed to nestle by her trouser leg as I didn’t throw it hard enough.   Fearless, I was actually too petrified to use the other shoe. Blood pressure rising, heart thumping, mouth dry, the spirit was using all the force to cower me.  Looking back, I must have been mad to provoke such an evil force.  I shudder even writing about it now, so long ago, but I still feel as if the sighting was last night.

It was now past midnight, the hour in which all ghostly things come alive.   I am sure I’ve been reading too many books, or seen too many films.   The atmosphere was electrifying so I decided to try and read my book to take away the fierceness of the ambiance.   So much for concentration but I got through a few chapters by looking up and keeping an eye on her.  The mice had gone…. This was 1995, no Iphones or laptops or the internet to keep my sanity, take videos or even call someone. 

It became very cold and uncomfortable. The temperature drops even further during the night.   She hasn’t moved.  There is no sound.  But there is an angry energy.  I am so scared.  Some divine knowledge allowed me to figure out why I was targeted by this evil spirit….it was the fact that I was alive and she wanted my life.   I knew if I laid down to sleep, I would have been taken over.   The energy  that was emanating from the toilet had such a strong will.   The will to cower me, frighten me, was so consuming I felt extreme weakness every so often. 

I have never given much thought to God or any religion for I had grown up in a variety of faiths having lived abroad in many countries.  Brought up as a Buddhist at the beginning of my youth, then came the Anglican Church and by the time I turned a teenager my Catholicism was part of everyday life.  Re-posted to another country, I was yanked out of the Convent to join an Islamic school for girls.   So I was naturally confused when it came to the question of God.  The schools taught me tolerance but gave me little faith.   

But that night, all the prayers memorized from when I was a little girl spewed out of my mouth.  I went on my knees, clasped hands, bowed my head, eyes crunched up and prayed so hard.  Out came The Lord’s Prayer, recited over and over, then Buddha’s chant in Pali, after which I recited Allahu Akbar five times.   The bad energy was circling around me whilst praying.  I did not need to open my eyes as I knew she was sill there. Her energy weakened at each interval of prayers.   It took immense concentration, immense blind faith to keep in control.

She stayed in that position from around 11pm until 4:30am.   Sometimes the strength of her will would shake me to the core.   I prayed and prayed.  I  was exhausted and by the time 4am came around, the sun was peaking through the  Laotian mountains. Slowly the sunlight took over the ghastly neon lit room and it was only 4:40am.   Suddenly she was gone.  Vanished.    The heaviness also left the room.  The silence was deafening. 

My nerves were shattered and I felt weak, physically drained but what was pressing was the fact that I needed to urinate.   I was not going to sit on “that” toilet.   My mind was spinning. I was afraid that I could vanish in the same notion if I used the toilet.  I was totally unhinged.     My right gym shoe was by the toilet, still waiting for me to pick it up.   With the dawn rising, I decided to urinate outside in the bushes.  One shoe on, one shoe off, I hobbled to the side of the chalet, hoping no one else was up.  Not much credibility would suffice giving a ghost story as an excuse for  urinating outside.

I grabbed my shoe, snatched my belongings and sat outside by the bench watching the sun rise and  waiting for 6am to come as fast as possible.  By way of showing me that they knew, the staff asked me why I had kept my light on all night.  I wanted to share my experience so badly but was aware it was not appropriate so I smiled meekly and said my book was riveting and I could not put I down.   

They smiled back knowingly asked if I was bothered by the girl in white.  At this point, I visibly crumbled and almost vomited.    I could no longer hold back and asked them who was the girl in white.

Her name was Khian, she was 34 and 6 months pregnant when the first bombs were dropped.  Fires started  in the fields where she was “scoring” the seed pods,  She was burnt to death, yelling and screaming that she was not ready to die because she had to give birth first.  Her last words were well remembered by those trying to douse her down.  She was going to come back alive so she could give birth.

My poor colleague totally unaware of what was developing, delved deliciously into his breakfast and consulted his strategic planning sheet for the next season.  I had no reason to reveal this and the day went according to plan, we boarded the plane back to the city and in no time I was back in my own bed.  I kept my professional integrity and no one was the wiser.

The sighting left me with a renewed strength that was never there before.  Any encounters easy or hard, or unbearable, using my acquired power from turning negatives to positives through sheer mind strength has helped me to succeed.. Fortunately through this ghostly confrontation, I have naturally developed an ability to detect presence.   It has helped me to steer clear of places truly affected by unresolved spirits.   With this incredible knowledge, I am comforted by the fact that there is another life awaiting me, when this present one passes. Because of the level of my serenity, there will be no need to use massive energy to subdue or covet any other life form.