My French neighbor "cool" is called Marie, a year younger than me and comes “from Aigues-Mortes, Cong!” She accompanied me up there in the mountains in Nagarkot. She is not very pretty, works as a waitress, twelve hours a day, seven days a week and eight months of the year. Is this what is a normal life? We never know the lives of these hard-working waitresses of the small hostels where we stop in the countryside! And this simply because it does not interest us and that we show no curiosity about it. Marie's life, I do not know much except what I've asked her, I speak more readily of mine and realize from time to time that she didn’t said anything. Why are realistic films reserved for intellectuals and Hollywood romances to the masses? Because of the attraction of the exotic or the penetration of a world so different from them? Maybe a bit of voyeuristic side somehow. "Oh! Me Cong, I'm cool, I follow you ... "It's hard to satisfy her curiosity in these conditions. The main pleasures of Marie seem to be her cigarette and her "Walkman". For the rest, it seems she does not have time to think. Can we learn something of the ordinary or do we still need the extraordinary? Marie is perhaps already out of the ordinary, she travels (twice, Martinique and India), and does not speak of her monotonous life, which make her certainly ashamed. Marie is lying two feet away from me (No, no! No double-bed, Two separate-beds, please ...) and I think she enjoys my company more than the snowy peaks of the Himalayas. "Good night, Marie!"
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