From the Notebook Vol. 9

(On a walk to the village.) I suddenly understand it! The phrase ‘the French touch!’* Everything, literally everything in this country is, to an absolutely astounding level, bungled together! I suddenly notice it. And now that I have, I see it everywhere I look. Nothing makes sense. A sidewalk where pieces of rocks are sticking out (they were too lazy to hack it out); a zebra crossing, carelessly painted willy-nilly over the street at the last minute, over manhole covers and all; a wall, plastered only halfway up; a crooked fence with two non-matching halves; irrational holes in the ground; crumbled down curb stones; cover plates rusted and broken; a self-painted nameplate; trees in the wrong place; things grown over, sagged, fixed… improvised. This whole country is in a bizarre way slapped together. And that’s why I love it so much. Everything is interesting and alive, not perfect & boring (like Holland or Switzerland). I should make a separate photo-book of it.

*In the Netherlands, this is a common expression for something done half-assed, carelessly or thoughtlessly, although I’m sure the French call it the Spanish touch and the Kazakhs the Uzbek touch.