Salut! Files

Emilie Blachère's tribute to Rémi Ochlik: full text

 This is the full text of one version of Emilie Blachère's tribute to Rémi Ochlik, the French photoigrapher - and her boyfriend - killed in Syria last year. It is not quite as she delivered her poem on the BBC. The story appears at Salut!: http://www.francesalut.com/2013/03/rémi-ochlik-emilie-blachère-and-the-power-of-eloquent-grief.html

I’ve never found it so difficult to write. My dictionaries are useless. I can already hear you saying, “Sweet Blachère.” So instead I made a list of everything I loved about you.

My angel, my love:

I loved it when you made lists of things you wanted, and you wanted a Harley Davidson, a loft, a 22,000-euro titanium Leica, and you would say to me, “What? You work at Paris Match, don’t you?”

I loved it when you called me Blachère, or Blacherounette, when you had something you wanted to ask me.

I loved it that you wanted to find a country just for the two of us where we could go every year together on assignment.

I loved it when you talked about the arts, and painting, and literature, and I couldn’t understand a thing. You taught me so much.

I loved it how in the field you would sink into the shadows, making people forget you were there so you could take better pictures.

I loved to see you look every morning at photo sites and hear you say, “Look at what they’re doing. I suck, Blachère.”

I loved it when you recorded L’amour est dans le pré for us and we watched it curled up under a blanket like teenagers, with our kitten between us. You kept saying, “You better not tell anyone about this.”

I loved watching you make me coffee every morning, and after eight months, it was actually good!

I loved it when you said you wanted to have two children, a boy and a girl.

I loved it even more when you pestered me in front our friends about having kids: “Look at Thib, Mat, Fred. Their girls are cool, and they’re pregnant!”

I loved it that you decided you wanted to go to Libya, Nigeria and Burma, then Syria, then Tulles, all within five minutes.

I loved it when you told me, “Blachère, you’re making me childish. I’m becoming like you.”

I loved it when I said that you were the best photographer in the world and you said, “Well, you’re biased.”

I loved to see you blush when I told you I was crazy about you.

I loved our routine, our life together, the nights we’d stay up late watching Dexter. I was smiling so long as I was next to you.

I loved it how at night you would take out your contact lenses and put on your thick glasses. I’d call you Harry Potter and you hated it. You called me Emilie.

I loved it when you told me that you didn’t miss me at all.

I loved it when you told me you were jealous of Eric, of Ivan, of Pierre, jealous of everyone, even Marcelle, my cat.

 

I loved it when you kidnapped Marcelle when I was on assignment and took her home so she would get used to your cat, and we could all live together, one happy family.

I loved it when you were scared to meet my mother.

I loved it when you took me to Honfleur, and we stopped along the highway and ate a Mars bar and drank a Coke.

I loved it when you told me, “I’m ugly, Blachère, you’re blinded by love.”

I loved it when you left your toothbrush at my house. I took a picture of it and showed it to my girlfriends. I almost posted it on Facebook.

I loved how stroked my leg at red lights on your scooter.

I loved it how you held me tight in the morning, then again at night, as if we had been apart for months.

I loved watching you smoke at the window. You were so sexy. But like you said, I’m biased.

I loved to hear you say to Julien, your best friend, your brother, “Look out, Mama Squirrel’s here,” when I was waking up.

I loved it when you said at first, “Julien’s my wife, you’re my mistress.” After two months, it was the opposite. Sorry, Julien.

I loved your timid smile, the way you laughed, your almost feminine delicacy, your juvenile tenderness.

I loved it how you texted me every five minutes to ask me to marry you, with emoticons and all. We promised each other we’d get hitched in Las Vegas.

I loved it how you left me love letters in my notebooks when you came over to feed Marcelle.

I loved your courage, your admiration, your rigor. I’m so proud of you, my angel. I admired you as a photojournalist and as a man. You’ve become so big.

I loved it when you told me, “Blachère, we have our whole lives ahead of us.”

I loved to hear you tell me how everything was going to be alright when I was depressed. If only I could hear you tell me that today.

I loved it so much how on February 10, a Friday, the last time we saw each other, you told me that I made you happy.

I could go on. I would have loved to spend my life adding to this list. Ochlik, I loved you. I hope you know up there that I was more than happy by your side. I was in bloom. With you, things were lovely, sweet, and surprisingly intense. Our time together was magic. We were so happy that we had to protect it from the invasions of our profession, our passion, our second love.

We were prepared for everything, except for the worst. Ochlik, I don’t know how I can go on without you. In Rome, you told me, “love is a weakness.” You were wrong. Today I feel strong. At Christmas you gave me a notebook and told me to, “write down the story of our lives and read it to our kids.” I promise that I will tell the story of that life we dreamed of so often, a life that I’m now going to have to live for two.

I’m not sure if you miss me, Ochlik. I miss you. Madly.

But I know that you are here. Inside of me. Near me. Near us. Today our nickname, Blachlik, makes sense.

One day I’ll join you, my love. But not yet. You would hate to see me give up, let myself fade away. So I’m drying my tears, and watching your favorite movies on repeat, the ones that made you happy, like Singin’ in the Rain, and...

I'm singin' in the rain

Just singin' in the rain,

What a glorious feeling,

And I'm happy again.

I'm laughing at clouds

So dark, up above,

The sun's in my heart

And I'm ready for love.

I’m sure you’d rather see us pay you tribute by staying up all night drinking and smoking. Don’t worry, it will happen, and the night’s not over yet.

My angel, give Lucas a kiss for me. Take care of yourself. Take care of us.

Emilie Blachère

 

The Salut! and Salut! Live mugs

 

There is more to the Salut! empire, small as it is, than Salut! Sunderland.

I am trying to add items of merchandise linked to all main sites, which brings in Salut! Live and the parent blog Salut!

 

 

What you see above is the new Salut! Live mug. The image is my battered old Yamaha guitar and the text gives the address of the site and - in letter which will appear in a bigger font size on anyactual mugs ordered - the slogan: "... because folk rocks" Here are the purchasing possibilities: Delivery in the UK : post free ...

Quantity of Mugs

One Mug £11.00 Two Mugs £21.00 Four Mugs £40.00 Six Mugs £60.00

For delivery outside the UK but within the European Union:

Quantity of Mugs

One Mug £14.00 Two Mugs £26.00 Four Mugs £49.00 Six Mugs £73.00

For delivery in the Rest of the World, outside the EU ...

Quantity of Mugs

One Mug £15.50 Two Mugs £28.50 Four Mugs £53.50 Six Mugs £79.50

No bah humbugs here. Salut! wishes readers 'bonnes fêtes'

AlicePopkorn

 

 

Salut! offers festive greetings to all those readers who visit the site because they believe they will enjoy or be stimulated by what they see here, and to those who arrive by accident and find their visits worthwhile.

To the very occasional visitor whose journey is motivated by negative thoughts, I can say only that pleasing everyone all of the time is an objective that defeats most people.

Come to think of it, they can have a spot of seasonal goodwill from me, too: be merry and if you cannot be merry without getting merry, so to speak, be careful. There is plenty of recent material to read here if your visit is the first, or the first for a while, and you are also welcome to check out what I have been up to at Salut! Sunderland and Salut! Live. Salut! North is still there, too, but has maintained a discreet silence for some time. Those who regret the lack of activity there will easily work out what my parting image represents.

Le Lavandou sky

It is not quite a nightly spectacle. But often enough, this is the kind of thing we see looking out across the hills. When we first bought a place here, it was a flat with an impressively imprenable view of the bay of Le Lavandou, straight acros to les isles hyéroises. We are now above the town and can no longer see the sea. But it turns out to have been a fair exchange. And the pool, finally reopened, the water restored to a state of cleanliness and leaves and silt swept from the bottom, is chilly but nice. It's not big enough to do more than eight or nine breast strokes in a length, but suits me.

Beach boys and girls

This is a selection of photos taken during my farewell party on the beach of The Club, Abu Dhabi. More will be added, as a second file.

More from Damascus and Beirut

First it just a racket, coming from the far end of the tunnel-style al Hamidiyya souq in old Damascus. If this had been England, and a railway station, you'd have put money on it being a trainload of football fans arriving for an away game. As we approached, it was clear they were chanting. But the chants were not in favour of 11 blokes employed to kick a ball around a field. It was a Shiite ritual in which groups of men pound their bared upper torsos with some force; they do not use sticks or whips, but the weals on their backs show it is for real nonetheless. This little group, above, is mentioned in my column at The National. The small girl was wandering in deep distress around the square by the Umayyad mosque when we spotted her. The adults took her under their wing and repeatedly called out - perhaps her name, perhaps just something like "lost child" - until she was reunited with her family. And here is another view of the Beit Jabri restaurant, which I heartily commend to anyone visiting Syria... It was a short trip, so we got around as much as possible...from Mount Lebanon to Jounieh, as much of Beirut as possible (but not nearly enough)... The visit to Chateau Musar, home of one of my favourite liquid accompaniments to food, was a special treat... This is the wine, heroically produced without interruption during the war-ravaged years by descendants of its 1930 creator, Gaston Hochar, that Auberon Waugh's daughter once described as having the taste of a Red Cross lorry trundling through it. I was introduced to it in, of all places, Cardiff in the early 1980s and have been a confirmed admirer ever since. We would have needed to penetrate the Bekaa Valley rather more deeply than was possible to see the vineyard itself. But we did have a tour of the chateau north of Jounieh where the wine matures and is bottled. In terms of photographic souvenirs, I keep returning to Damascus - the old city simply yielded so many opportunities...

Eccie and Tibbs: a rare old Fleet St farewell (2)

**** SEE THE MAIN STORY AT SALUT! ****

Seemed a pity to waste the other photographs from Kelly Scott's album from the Paul Eccleston/Graham Tibbetts leaving do.......

Let's start with Christian Gysin caught in conversation with David Sapsted and Andy Young..... While, not far away, Roly Gribben and Stan Blenkinsop found their bus passes also entitled them to seats....

Eccie and Tibbs: a rare old Fleet St farewell (1)

**** SEE THE MAIN STORY AT SALUT! ****

XXXX Fleet Street old and new assembled in force to give Paul Eccleston and Graham Tibbetts a rousing send-off, under the watchful eye of a camera-wielding Kelly Scott. Without Sappers - David Sapsted - it is doubtful whether the party would have happened. He wasn't leaving - not this time, anyway - but he was called upon to write spoof front pages, drum up anecdotes about at least one of the departing heroes and deliver a speech....

Yet more pictures from Nicole's party

These - unless they feature Nicole - are her own photos, taken in a smash and grab raid on Facebook...starting with woth Tom Horan and Lucy Cockroft

followed by another version of the Richard Alleyne, Richard Edwards, Nicole and M Salut grouping.. and Bryony Gordon with ...

More pictures from Nicole's farewell party

Bryony Gordon arrives with the presents and spoof front page for Nicole Marti's farewell do .... and Nicole ponders how she might break free from the usual huddle of blokes (Richard Edwards, M Salut! and Richard Alleyne)