Soulanchor

I have not had much time to calmly write in the past days. I am now at my grandma’s house in the north of Germany and have time to reflect.

*I want to just document that I am sitting in the living room with my grandma; she is watching TV with her headphones, I am typing. Even though I am not watching the movie she is watching, even though the sound is muted for me, she occasionally comments on what is happening, as if I could join in the conversation and comment on the plot of the movie with her. It is very funny to me. I am so happy to be back here, the place where I spent so many days of my childhood and that feels so cozy and homely, like a warm blanket that hugs me.*

There are so many things that I wish I could document and put into words from the three weeks that I spent in Brittany, so many moments that I hold in my heart. I have been keeping a travel journal and wrote down beautiful moments every day to not forget, but let me summarize at least a few of my favorite memories.

I cherish the memories of breakfast with Helene and Dominique every morning. It was such a nice start to the day, chatting with them a little bit, getting updates on what Helene had already done – mostly clear out the dishwasher and put out the pot to heat up milk for Dominique’s café au lait. I really miss Helene’s positive, cheerful attitude and the way she would laugh and get excited about the birds flying around the kitchen, and how she would point out all the new (and old) spots of dirt on the kitchen counter and tell me “ohhh Lena, cochon!!!” (Which, literally translated means pig).

I also am so grateful for all the times that Sophie took me out kayaking. Every time we went, the ocean felt different, we saw different things, we went different places. I’m not sure I managed to captivate how incredibly emotional the immense beauty of the ocean was to me. So many times I started tearing up just because the color of the water was so overwhelmingly full, because the reflection of the sunset tinted everything around us in an orange glow, because the waves of the ocean first made it seem like we were on an amazing adventure in the middle of a storm (going against the waves), and then trapped in the closed palms of a sleeping giant as we were paddling with the waves and seemed to be going nowhere, controlled completely by the enormous body of water beneath us.
It was beautiful to see Sophie play and swim with her baby seal. It was beautiful to feel the seal nibble at my feet in a gesture of trust. And every time again, eating banana bread was delicious out in the middle of the ocean.
The last time that we went out to kayak, Emma came with us again. After having a hard time the second time she accompanied us (I did not realize that she did not know how to steer and let her sit in the back because I misunderstood), Sophie and her went in the big kayak, and I got to use the smaller, one person kayak. It was a very different feeling to be in a boat alone. At first I was a bit unsure, but I soon figured out my rhythm and ways to navigate, and from then on loved the meditative quality of being in control, slipping through the very calm waters. That trip, we did not find the baby seal, but we went to a different rock collection and sat there for a while. I am connected and anchored to that little stone island. I left a part of myself there, and took a part of the island with me. I climbed around a bit, and stood at the side of the rocks facing the open ocean. The water was so incredibly blue. And the clouds so white, and the waves were crashing rhythmically against rocks further out in the ocean. It’s a place I will never forget.
And I will not forget, either, sitting with Sophie and Emma in tranquil silence eating banana bread.

I think I need the ocean to calm my soul.

I got up a few nights to watch the stars over the water. What immense beauty. There is nothing quite like staring up at the sky and realizing how small you are, how much there is still out there to discover, and yet how connected we are to nature and the rest of the world. I stood looking at the sky taking pictures for hours. The first time that I got up I was so overwhelmed with emotions. I hadn’t prepared myself for the sight of so many stars and such beauty. I remember standing at the edge of the little path that lead to the ocean, heart beating, tears in my eyes because again I realized that I still have so much to live for – and yes, there is beauty everywhere – but sometimes it takes the sight of a million stars to remember that there is still so much to see. That moment I was full of gratefulness for life; for my life.

I am also grateful that I got to share the view of the stars. Merci pour marcher dans la plage avec moi, pour dancer, pour rester avec moi et pour touts les instants après…

I have not talked much about the actual work that I did. I cooked a lot, for Sophie, Helene, Emma, Joel, Dominique, and myself. I loved cooking. Even though I got nostalgic many nights, remembering my work in Bolivia, pealing potatoes, cutting tomatoes…little things like that.  I also cleaned a lot, the Windows, the kitchen, the yard. Cleaning was a really meditative thing for me to do – and one of the few things I did not need much French instruction for. Especially getting rid of weeds in the yard was really nice because it was so physical and gave me the feeling of progress after seeing a tall pile of green behind me.

I cherish hearing Emma play piano. She is a genius.

About halfway through my stay, we celebrated a day of art. About 15 local art-students from a public art course came to the Manoir to do work, to later exhibit their art at a party (that sadly I missed because I left the Manoir too early). The day was a beautifully hot day, and I did some art myself. Seeing the (mostly) elderly artists doing their work reminded me much of my old neighbor Phyllis, and how we would sit and do art together when I was a child. As beautiful as the day was, this was also a time of frustration for me because I was growing so comfortable, yet feeling my limitations in terms of communication more than ever. I had made such progress in only 13 days, and yet I hardly understood –and especially misunderstood – much. It was frustrating to get things wrong and I felt bad for my mistakes, even though I knew that I would not do everything perfectly. I am grateful for the patience of everyone who I worked with. I know it was as frustrating for you as it was for me at times. Thank you.

I fulfilled my dream of riding a horse on the beach. This could not have been more peaceful and beautiful. I am so in love with this memory. I had not ridden a horse in years, and here I was, riding bare back and on the beach. The second time Joel took me to take the horses out challenged my courage and fear of falling: the horse I was riding was nervous and did not react well to my (very poorly executed) commands. We were on the path next to the beach, when she started to trot very fast (or maybe even gallop). We had been in the water and her fur and my pants were wet, which meant that I had very little hold and balance. For a few seconds I was scared I would fall, but I remembered that there is not much I can do but go with the motions. As I urged her to slow down, I tried my best to hold on until she stopped. It was an experience of loss of control and adrenalin that I enjoyed even if I was also nervous of falling. It reminded me that even though I can feel in control, I most likely never completely am.

Dancing. Dancing, dancing, dancing. I won’t ever be able to express how much joy I get out of dancing. The night of the art’s day, we also had a little concert. The musicians called for the (very small audience) to dance, and I was shy at first, but then started to dance with Joel and later got everyone up to dance as well. It was so heartwarming to see couples dancing, and then to dance in a big circle. I danced by myself, too, just feeling the music in my body, moving with emotion. That night, I really wanted to dance with Helene, but she was having trouble with her arm. A few days later, just a few days before I left, as the artists were setting up their exhibition, Sophie put on salsa music in the Studio. Helene was in a good mood because her arm was finally getting better. She nudged me with that bright smile of her’s, because she probably saw or felt me swaying to the music. I finally got to dance with her! And I never want to forget how happy and giggly she was when she skinned herself around my arm, how she kept saying “ohh Lena, to dances bien!!!” It gave me life to see her so happy and to get to move to the music.
I also danced along the beach at night, under the stars, with big movements and turns, just to the music in my head, and later to the light of the lantern next to the beach and the music of Systema Solar.

Sheep. I miss them so much. I loved to sit my my room as the sun went down – just around 23:00 – and watch the sheep graze in the last rays of light. The male sheep would come visit me by the door and rub his head against my hand, and occasionally bump me with force. I actually realized that the cat would do the same to get my attention: she would forcefully ram her head against mine! Anyway, the sheep…Mom open a sheep farm in the Bretagne with me? Please?

Running, I took time for myself and my body. I know I feel much better when I run. And I was eating so much! It was beautiful to run by the seaside. I ran in the morning maybe twice until I realized it would be much better to run in the evening. I ran into the dusk, looking at the beautiful reflection of the sky in the ocean, climbing a tree to feel connected to nature, and also feeling rain on my skin as the weather got worse the last two days that I was in Brittany. Running, too, gives me energy. Even though it exhausts me in the moment and it is strenuous once I fall out of a routine. I feel and am so much stronger when I run.

Quimper, the city of little streets and old houses that made me feel so at home even though I had never been. I visited the city one of my last afternoons and it was worth the hour-long bus ride. In a way, this visit foreshadowed my time in Paris: walking around the streets without a clear direction, exploring and curiously seeing where the roads take me. That is really the only way I know to explore a city. I trust that I will get to where I need to be, to whatever it is I really need to see. I always end up finding the most beautiful corners of places. Quimper gave me the opportunity to take in something different than what had become ‘every-day-beauty’ of the ocean, and at the end of the day returning to that beauty, once again tearing up as I walked into a beautiful forest of pine trees that I had never seen before because I got off at the wrong bus stop (on purpose) to walk along the beach back home to the Manoir. While I love the city, nature gives me much more life and I crave the tranquility already. I ended the day eating bread and cheese on the beach, cutting the cheese with a ‘mule’ (mussel) something that Sophie and the others later laughed about a lot. The evening gave me time to reflect on the very little time that I had before leaving. I realized how sad I was to leave this place of beauty, and how attached I had grown to the people around me. I open my heart and take up the world fully. I would not want to live any other way than with complete honesty giving every bit of me, but it hurts so much more to leave. Sitting on the beach watching the sun go down, I admitted to myself, too, that I was scared to lose the peace I had found in the Bretagne. What if I would leave and the inner peace were to go away? I didn’t really want to change the free non-society-conforming-ways I had adopted while living by the beach. I still have not shaved my armpits and wash my hair every 4 days, instead of every other day.

 (Gulvinec)

Emma seemed to have been inspired by my energy. The last few days she kept asking me what she could do to live healthier. I showed her how to yield up some core strength and suggested to drink water instead of snacking. The day after I told her about core strength she proudly told me she had done the exercises. I am so proud of her for being motivated!

My last day at the Manoir was one of such bittersweet joy and sadness. I walked by the beach tearing up, knowing that this would be the last time that I would see this beauty (I came back another three times). I still want to go back. Saying goodbye was sad but also beautiful. I had made little gifts for everyone and written letters in French to share my gratitude for the three weeks.
In a way I wish I could have stayed another two weeks – I think that I would have made so much more progress language wise, but parting would have been just as hard, if not harder.

I took such a risk in coming to the Bretagne, not knowing who I would encounter, not knowing what work I would be doing, not knowing how to communicate. I met the most amazing people, and I carry a sense of peace within me that I did not dream of finding. I found, I think, some of my roots in a place I had never been before, that nevertheless felt like another home. I am adding the Manoir to the list of places I call home. And I will return, mentally and hopefully as a part of my future travels. It is too early for me to know what impact these three weeks really had on my development and on my sense of self, but I feel that something shifted within me. Maybe this shift is not long-term, but to be able to say that I found peace for three weeks is a gift that I did not expect.

I also never though that I would love French so much. Barry, nous allons parler beaucoup le francais et aussi voir les films francaises s’il te plait, d’accord?

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Paris, la ville de mes fantasmes….

I wanted to come to Paris since I was 12. Anyone who knows me well enough knows how much I love ‘Amelie’ it has taken me ten years to fulfill this dream.

The first afternoon and night in this enormous city was a mix of awe and loneliness. It was a shock to come from nature to such business and such crowds of people. It was disorienting at first. And I was so exhausted after walking with my backpack for 4 hours and very little sleep, I think I had a hard time to really take in everything that was happening around me. After setting my backpack off at the hostel, though, I took a little tour of the quartier, and was fascinated by the little cafes and brasseries everywhere. This is special in Paris, I think, and gives the city such an air of comfort…and yet, threat fist night, drinking wine at a little bar, I though “Paris is too big to feel like home”. And yes, that feeling did not go away, as I did not spend enough time in the city to make it feel smaller.

As lonely and lost as I felt that first night, I met so many beautiful people the next day as I walked for 11 hours through the streets of Paris…

Of those adventures I will write another day.

Critique of Donald Miller II

Continuation of Reflections on "A Milion Miles in A Thousand Years"

“I forgive you” (153).

Excuse me?

[context: Miller talks here about forgiving his father whom he has not seen in 30 years and who has been largely absent from his life]

Agree or disagree with me, but forgiveness is not something that just happens within a few seconds, in my opinion. Sure, at an earlier point in the book Miller comments that he forgives his father because he does not even really know what to forgive him for. But if he were completely indifferent about his father he would not have taken so much time to find him, nor would this act of looking for him have been such a large challenge.

I don’t know. Maybe for some forgiveness is this easy, just saying “I forgive you” and voila.

For me reading this one simple sentence however was rather upsetting and I thought that it sounded too simple in the context of the rest of the story.

“Part of our selves is spirit” (153).

Yes. Much of ourselves is spirit, soul, aura. Something like that.
“It was good pursuing a girl” (154).

No no no. Why do you have to pursue a girl? Why objectify women in that way? Pursue a relationship, sure. Pursue the love of your life. Pursuing means there is an object to be pursued – women are not objects.

“The more difficult, the better the story” (156).

YES. It’s better, but also harder. But through harder stories you’ll (we will) also grow more.

“If I hadn’t done to Peru, nobody would have died. And if I hadn’t seen my father, the fate of thousands would not have been affected” (157).

Ok. That’s exaggerated thinking. Yes, Miller here is talking about what makes a story epic. But if you are basing everything off of whether the life of other’s would otherwise be in danger or not you are missing an important aspect of life: that it’s about growth, not about all of a sudden doing something glorious that saves life's every day. That really is the material that movies and superhero novels are made of.

I think the question should much rather be how to live a life that inspires the lives of others and impacts others positively? Will my actions today make another person smile?

And sometimes it is just important to realize that you yourself might die—metaphorically speaking—in the absence of an experience like going to Peru and challenging oneself. Because without such experiences we do stay stuck in our routine, in the comfort zone.

Talking about Bob Goff and his wisdom, Miller cites that Bob said “[I don’t think] we should be afraid to embrace whimsy…that nagging idea that life could be magical; it could be special if we were only willing to take a few risks” (167)

First of all, I want to be Bob. He sent out letters to world leaders and asked them for interviews and then said they were always welcome at his house. He makes (unofficial) peace contracts and asks for diplomacy. And I absolutely agree with his words. Let's all embrace whimsy.

“You can either get bitter, or better. I chose to get better. It’s made all the difference,” said one of Donald’s friends (181).

Let’s all get better. That doesn’t mean that it takes more energy and strength than all of us think we have. That doesn’t mean that it’ll just be a walk in the park or that it won’t take time. But it does meant that the alternative is to get bitter, and I really do think that that is true, that one internalizes all the shit that goes on in the world and become cynical and give up hope that there are still good people out there and good moments to be lived.

Becoming better (whether that meant to recover and revive, or simply become a better person, become even more amazing), does not disregard the problems that we face—it simply means not giving in to problems and giving up before the start, giving in and becoming (or staying) passive. Becoming better means to face challenges with courage.

Victor Frankl states that “life, even amid the absurdity of human suffering, still has meaning” (196). I really want to read Frankel’s book. He was a psychologist who survived the holocaust. “Life is a persuade of meaning itself, and … search for meaning provides the basis for a person’s motivation,” writes Frankl, and I agree (196).

“When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are” (206).

Yes that is true, I think. I think that making an effort to stop looking for perfection and, in turn, cherish humanity and uniqueness in everyone you meet is essential to forming a better community.

“The most human of human beings within twenty miles was sitting across from me” (223).

No, no. However “human” the person was in the moment, this statement disregards the humanity of every other person within that twenty-mile-radius. We are all the most human of human beings if we let ourselves be. It might be easier for some to open up and show feelings than for others, but that in itself does not make them less human.

“It wasn’t necessary to win for the story to be great, it was only necessary to sacrifice everything” (231).

Give it your best. Then, mo matter what the outcome might be, there is something you can say; that you have given your honest best. That’s what my mom taught me.

“I know there are biochemical causes for some forms of depressions, but I wish people who struggle against dark thoughts would risk their hoes on living a good story” (247).

While there is a grain of truth to this statement—that it would be great for everyone to take risks to live more meaningful lives, the issue is that people with depression do not have the energy to take such risks, or feel that it doesn’t make a difference, and that it is incredibly hard to break out of such a cycle of thoughts. This makes a statement like the one above meaningless, since it disregards the difficulty of depression.

I was quite unhappy with the end of this book. It was rather uninspiring. It also bothered me that Miller states that he wrote the book in a rush. It makes the (inspiring) things he wrote feel less meaningless and written without meaning. Maybe I am too critical.

What do you think?

Critique of Donald Miller I

Reflections  on “A Million Miles in  A Thousand Years”
[Spoilers for those who haven’t read the book]

This book by Donald Miller was given to me as a thank you for leading a retreat last October, by my mentor and friend, Lauren. At the time, I was busy with school work and had about 100 other things to read, so the book collected dust on my shelf for a few months until I rediscovered it as I was packing up the things in my room to move back to my parents’ house for the few weeks before heading to Europe. The subtitle of the book is “How I learned to live a better story,” and I thought that it might be just the right read for two and a half months of traveling and backpacking with just the bare minimum (in truth, the necessary) of things in my bag.

As I hadn’t read much for my own (novels or short stories) over the past few months, and have formed a habit of annotating most things I read over the years that I have been studying, I felt the need to pick up a pen as I started reading Donald Miller’s book. There were sentences that stuck out to me that I felt needed to be marked, and sentences that I so strongly disagreed with that I felt needed angry comments in the margins.

Here are reflections on the things that provoked me to think further, both out of inspirations and anger:

“We don’t want to be characters in a story because characters have to move and breathe and face conflict with courage. And if life isn’t remarkable, then we don’t have to do any of that; we can be unwilling victims rather than grateful participants” (Miller, 59).

Miller’s thesis revolves around life as a story, with similar patterns and elements. This fraction rather at the beginning of the book stuck out to me because it reminded me of the feeling that life is uncontrollable. I think realizing that we are al agents, no matter how small the actions we take and the change we initiate, is crucial to living a meaningful life. The phrasing that we are otherwise “victims” is, however, odd to me. Victims of what? Of a life without action, of a life that is remarkable? I think, rather than victims (which requires, in my understanding, another actor superior to us), we fall into a trap of passivity we often build ourselves. I want to acknowledge, too, however that I agree with Miller that it is easier to stay passive than act and work towards change.

“The point of life is character transformation” (Miller, 68).

YES! I agree. The point of life is character transformation. However, character transformation can’t give life meaning, I think. Rather, giving life meaning and working with/toward whatever life’s meaning is transforms one’s character.

“…create stability out of natural instability” (69).

Is what we as human beings strive toward, I think. It seems to be in our nature to find balance and patterns.

“But I knew I had to do something. I needed to live a real story with real action” (77)

[context: Miller describes that he spends much time living in daydreams, not doing much with his actual life, that he is living a boring story, so to say.]
I scribbled in the margins, here, that this is “way to simplistic. There is no way that so little thought went into this conclusion.” It bothers me that Miller spends so much time describing – what seem to me to be - rather mundane scenes, and so little time developing or describing thoughts that I perceive to be rather complex like the one above.

The whole chapter “Listen to your writer” was very hard for me to relate to. Miller intends to dissect what I call intuitions, thoughts we sometimes have that seem to come out of the nowhere, that call for us to do something out-of-the-ordinary, something new, something outside of our comfort zone, or thoughts and feelings that we better not do or say something we were inclined to be. While I call these thoughts and feelings intuitions, Miller states that this is “God writing something different” (87). God, according to Miller, is the better writer of all our stories, and, if we listen to Him, our stories will become better. Miller writes that “[he] started obeying” what God wanted him to do (88). This to me stands in contrast to much of what he was saying before. The word obeying carries with it undertones of submission and the lack of individual agency. I personally can not identify or reconcile with such a theology.
I believe that intuitions come from within us, from a place of knowledge that we all possess, but do not access—or have access to—all the time. Knowing, however, to watch out for thoughts or feeling that come from this place, has helped me to make certain decisions. Realizing that what felt right for this summer was spending more time than usual in France and in Germany, and feeling that Germany feels both more and less than home than in the past seven summers that I have not lived there, was certainly an intuition that I had, one that I chose to follow not knowing whether it would lead me into the right direction. I think that is also the difference between what I believe to be true about these intuitions and about Miller’s theology of God’s guiding story: I think that it is impossible to know for sure whether intuitions will lead to right decisions or wrong decisions, because it is impossible to anticipate the future. It is possible to take a guess, and a risk.

Miller goes on to say that “we change over time and our perspectives sharpen with experience,” and that I do agree with. Again, all experiences are part of our transformation as human beings, if we let them be such and take them in as more than passive bystanders.

Interview with a woman about domestic violence in which she says that “people fear change…[it] represents a world of variables that are largely out of [our] control” (101).
I agree. That is why intuitions that push us to change, or even just outside our comfort zones are terrifying, and at the same time necessary.

“I was still scared” (114).
[context: Miller writes about the experience of finding his father who had been absent in his life.]
My comment: You never stop being scared, not until you [face your fear] and most of the time recognize that what you were scared of isn’t actually scary, and that you are/were actually scared of the possibility that it would be.
In my experience, the anticipation of fear most of the time is worse than the object of fear—the anxiety of not knowing.

While analyzing advertisements on TV,Miller remarks that “most Americans aren't living very good stories. It’s not our fault, I don’t think. WE are sucked into it. We are brainwashed, I think” (122)
Again, it’s fascinating to note the passivity in his statement. My scribbles on the margin: or [living a bad story dominated by stuff rather than non-material values] is part of the upbringing in the US, that is so focused on money. Put another way, it’s part of the culture that capitalism has created, but it is also crucial to note that society forms culture. “Brainwashing” as Miller calls it, removes, again, agency and puts the blame in the hands of an anonymous other. Miller goes on to talk about material fulfillment, and I think that the wish for material possession is as much for personal fulfillment as it is about how others perceive you.

Going back to risk-taking, Miller describes how he signed up to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, and says along the way “we should have followed the river” (which is the shorter, easier way) (141). Most of the times, in my experience, the harder path is what makes a journey worth wile, and most of the times an adventure is, in fact, about this journey much more so than the final destination. Maybe it’s the same with life.

Miller ends the beautiful chapter on Machu Picchu with these words: “IN more ways than I can count, my practice story had changed me. I no longer found myself as incapable of hard physical challenges, and I wasn’t watching as much television anymore. I was chasing a girl now, and it was going well” (144).
[context: just three lines before he wrote that the sight of Machu Picchu “made [him] think about the hard lives so many people have had, the sacrifices they’ve endured” (143).]

NO. No, no, no, no, no. How do you go from thinking about the men/women/human beings who carry rocks to build the amazing structures of Machu Picchu to “chasing a girl” and watching less TV? No. First of all that language is offensive to me (call me sensitive if you want), but more importantly it seems dismissive of the grandeur of the ancient structures of monuments like Machu Picchu. Yes, going there is maybe a good start to living a more meaningful life, but maybe next time take a bit more time to reflect on the meaning of such a journey and challenge and end a chapter in a better way. Especially since Miller later writes that even after his trip he wasn’t finished grieving his father. Why not write about grieving his father in Peru?

Happyplace

Le Fu(e)

Evening View 

Domenique

Martin, Domenique, Helene

Fishermen I

Fishermen II

Art-Contemporain

Evening Ritual

Happyplace

Moments of Joy

It's impossible to share every second of this amazing journey, and hard enough to put the best of moments into words.

Moments of Joy

June 10
1. I walked 5km with Emma to end up in a small, beautiful, old village with old houses and narrow streets, tucked in right along the shoreline of the ocean. I almost started to cry, and did tear up a little bit because I all of a sudden felt so at home. Even the stop signs and cross walks looked so much like home. The feeling of peace and arriving somewhere I hadn’t know existed, yet feel so connected hit me like a blow and took me completely by surprise. How can you feel at home somewhere you have never set foot before? I think it wasn’t the village as such that felt at home, but rather the familiarity of the streets and houses and the feeling of the town that stirred up so many emotions within me.

There were also Creperies everywhere, to my delight. I think I really bonded with Emma throughout the 12km walk. Even though I understood maybe 10% of what she told me, I think it made her happy that I had come with.

2. I braided Emma’s hair after returning from the walk. It was adorable – she told me that she used to braid her daughter’s hair (I was wearing my hair in braids that day), and she got really excited when I told her I could braid her hair (shout out to Kenzie, if you are reading this, because without your lesson on outside-in-hair-braiding I would not have done as good of a job  ). Even more joy brought me Helene’s reaction when she saw the braids: Emma was very happy and thanked me, but Helene was close to jumping up and down because she was so happy and even thanked me. I felt really appreciated for an act that -for me- was such a normal thing. It made me realize the importance of appreciating the little things much more. I don’t ever want to forget the way the four of us (Domenique included) stood laughing in the living room. I felt so appreciated for just being me. And felt more joy than I had in a long time for making Emma and Helene so happy.

3. Sophie and I went Kayaking in the Sunset. Seeing the lighthouse in the sun surrounded by clouds that light up the sky in a soft orange, and Sophie's silhouette against this scenery was beautiful. Sophie seemed totally in her element. We went with Emma, and she did a very good job.

4. I went to take pictures of the dusk-light beach and watched the moon rise orange-yellow like the sun, contrasting the dark blue sky. It’s impossible to describe the beauty in words.

June 11
1. I ate a crepe with chocolate and banana. It was so good. Again, no words to describe the taste.

2. I ripped out so much weed from the garden and the physical work of removing unnecessary “things” felt so good.

June 12
1. It is now a joke that I am very afraid of sardines. Sophie wanted me to take out the intestines of the dead fish so that we could eat them for lunch and as I watched her show me how, I felt all the color drain from my face and felt a little bit sick, too. As I cut open a few fish, she must have sensed my extreme discomfort and started laughing. I probably had a look of utter disgust on my face. She told me it was ok, she would do it.

2. I walked to the beach and geared up at the ocean’s beauty.

3. I sat down on a pier at the beach to read a bit and and an elderly couple came up to discuss the pier amount themselves because they disagreed on its purpose. We started talking because I smiled at their argument, and we had a full conversation in French! I was so proud of myself! Even though I couldn’t understand every single word, I could tell that they were entertained by the fact that I was just here chilling and working at a little vacation home. The husband at some point asked if he could pay me to take a picture of them, peaches I was holding my camera, and I must have looked very confused and the couple started laughing whole-heartedly. They were both very funny and it just made me really happy to see them interact (the husband kept wanting to correct the wife, and the wife kept explaining things to him), and to talk to them, too.

4. Kayaking again with Sophie, we strapped on a little rock island and claimed to the top. The sun was pretty low and everything was orange-tinted or a black silhouette  against the light. I teared up again. It’s just all so beautiful and I’ve missed being at peace so much. I feel so connected and yet so in awe of the enormous forces of the sun and the water and the earth compared to which my little self is just a grain of sand.

June 13
1. I went swimming in the ocean. It felt so good to just float in the salty water.

2. I had a conversation with Tato (Sophie’s daughter) about Social Work and Psychology (all very challenging stuff to talk about in a language you’re not even close to fluent in).

3. I sat with the sheep and ma petite chat (the cat) for a very long time. The male sheep is very demanding and started pushing it’s head against my leg each time I stopped petting him.

June 14
1. I made banana bread with Helene and we had so much fun. She found it hilarious that by the time we put the bread into the oven I was covered in flour basically from head to toe and we laughed so much. As I was sweeping the floor after, Sophie came in and smiled at me and seemed very happy that I was happy.

2. The day isn’t over!

Photo Evidence

La Mer

 Arriving in Paris...

 Just a street in Paris

The Kitchen

The Lama

 Finding Peace as the Moon Rises

Mon amour

 The Harbor

Loving the Sun

 She knows... Lying around in the sun is the best

The Harbor

 The ocean

Le Gulvinec

June 9th - The first two days

June 9th 2017

Manoir du Ster

It already seems like I have been here a week, with all that I have done and learned. 

After walking about 6 km with my two backpacks because I went the wrong way twice from the bus stop, I finally arrived at the Manoir du Ster. I hadn’t really thought about what to expect, other than that there would be a Llama and a few more animals. Manoir du Ster is not a farm, and also not exactly a hotel. It is more like a vacation house ten minutes by foot away from the beach, with a beautiful back yard, and animals walking around freely. Even though the Manoir is one big house, it is sectioned off into different smaller areas, and I assume that each vacation “section” has a kitchen and bathrooms. Sophie, who I had emailed briefly with, greeted me at the door. She was on her way to go kayaking in the ocean and just quickly showed me where my room was – across the yard from the main house (section). In my room there are two beds, an old wooden wardrobe, a little sink, and a little desk – more than what I had hoped for. She told me I could eat dinner with les filles and asked if I could cook rice. Sophie speaks English fairly well and can luckily repeat the important things that I don’t understand. The language barrier makes things more difficult than I thought it would. Sure, I remember that the first weeks in Bolivia I wasn’t able to ask where the trash an is because I didn’t know that basurero is the word for trash can (in French, I have learned, it is poubele. I remember that I would mix up the words for money and plate and I thought at first that the word for knife was the word for spoon. And that was ok, it was funny and normal. I guess that is why I was not prepared for the isolating effect that not being able to communicate hardly at all has. After all I spoke better Spanish when I arrived in Santa Cruz than the little French that I have taught and retaught myself over the last few weeks. I thought that I would get by. And I have gotten by fine the past two days, even though it has cost the people I am working with patience. The point is I would like to communicate. I would like to both understand conversations and then be able to express myself. I am not sure how well I will be able to do those things after the next three weeks, but I will for sure understand and maybe talk a bit better than I do now. 

Birds in the Kitchen

Yesterday morning, right after getting up, Sophie asked me to clean out the bird cages above the kitchen. Imagine this: The kitchen is a rather open space with a family high ceiling and lots of light. Able one side of the kitchen is a second-floor-platform upon which five or six birdcages  stand. A net covers the balcony between this platform in the kitchen, originally intended that the birds – some of which fly around the space – do not come down into the kitchen. There is a large hole in the net, though, so that there are usually five parokees and a parrot flying around in the kitchen. It is fascinating to watch. My new friend, Elene, an elderly woman with a slight mental disability, taught me the names of all the birds right when I arrived, and is also helping me learn the names of kitchen utensils and other objects. She is such a kind lady and has such a positive energy about her that one can’t help but smile and be happy and positive in her company, too. My other tasks of the yesterday involved more cleaning and cooking, so that by the end of the day I was completely exhausted. I went to the beach for a little bit and sat there watching the waves. It was cloudy though, and got quite chilly towards the later evening. 

Une cartouche

When I got back from the beach, we welcomed a new guest to the hostel. Madame Domenique is an elderly lady from somewhere close to Paris, who will be staying at the Manoir for two weeks. I didn't understand much of what she was telling me, just that she has diabetes. I helped her unpack her things and arranged them in he closet for her, because that would have been very exhausting for her. I wish that I could have understood her better and had been able to reply.

When I was done arranging everything I found one last little item, a small pouch in Domenique’s suitcase. I didn’t know what it was so I asked her how you call it in French. She told me that it is une cartouche, a little sowing kit. She told me that I could have it. I didn’t know how to thank her other than saying merci beaucoup many times. This was my moment of sunshine this day.

When we were sitting with Elene in the living room, she told Elene (and me) that her husband had passed away two years ago. Elene did not really respond much, other than changing the topic to something happy, because Domenique was a bit upset. I so much wanted to comfort her and just didn’t know how. I really like Domenique and hope that we can grow a bit closer over the next two weeks. 

Memories of Arterias Urbanas

I swept and rearranged the Patio today, after getting up a bit earlier than yesterday (which is good because I’m also not as tired and exhausted today!). Cleaning up the concrete floor outside reminded me of Arterias in Santa Cruz, and of the many many times I swept the floor in the Taller, mostly without any success. It was nice to reminisce while doing the mindless work of sweeping. Thinking about Bolivia now—there are also five murals on the walls of the Manoir, painted by a Latin American Artist who has also painted murals in Bolivia and Chile and I believe Venezuela. Who would have known that these two places connect so much? The murals are beautiful, full of references to anti gene-mutilation and capitalism, but also to Latin American culture. 

Le Fac et Le Gateau Kayakese 

After lunch today I was lucky to go kayaking in the ocean with Sophie. Without doubt, that little trip has been my favorite of the entire journey so far. Even though the kayak was extremely hard to Cary to the beach, the backpain was worth it once we were in the water and surrounded by nothing but sunshine and blistering water. We paddled until we got to a group of stones quite a ways off the shore. The blue water contrasted the orange water plants, ant the white couldn't reflected in the ocean. It was beautiful. All of a sudden Sophie pointed out a young seal (Fac) to me. The young seal recognized her and came up to the kayak to caress her feet. It was beautiful to watch. Sophie went swimming with the seal, and her normally rather stern face lit up with joy. As the seal swam up to the kayak again, I reached my hand into the water and got to pet its head. 

Before making our way back, we had some tea and a bit of banana bread (gateau) that Elene and I had made the day before. It was delicious. 

I am so grateful to be here. Moments like sitting in the sun in from of my room and seeing young seals make up for all the moments of loneliness