My uncle and godfather, Jean Jacques Marionneau, who we called Zaza, died in January 2003.
13 years old, I was then experiencing for the first time the lost of somebody close, a member of the family. Being the youngest of 14 siblings and 8 aunts and uncles, I felt like I was the one who knew him the less. I cried a lot, for the pain, the loss, the reminding that all end one day and mostly to everything I didn't know about him, to everything I didn't do with him...
Striking is today the few similarities between his path and mine. Coincidences that I like to notice.
I went on roadtrip to Norway in 2010 following the tracks of him and my father, something like 35 years earlier. I finally ended up in Germany, with the woman I love.
That makes only two, since I'm no cook or no bar tender.... yet.
All this to say, that going to Oldenburg, city where he held a bar in the 70s, was again, loaded with emotions.
Everywhere you put your eyes you imagine how things were 40 years earlier, and most of all, you feel like carrying a part of him with you.
I am proud to know that at this time his pub was famous and loved from students to suit up guys, attracted for the beer, the french cuisine and the good atmosphere that was obviously surrounding the place.
The community was so strong at this time that the people, today spread around the world, keep meeting every third year to share again their memories.
Sadly the place is now falling apart. A fire apparently took half of the last floor. And the bar is now occupied by trash from the owners/renters.
Now this is some kind of end of a road. It is maybe the moment to let the past go.
Or just wait longer. Maybe more coincidences are coming, and if so, they might bring me back again to Oldenburg, opening a gate full of things I have never seen but that I have always wanted to.
