Jacques and Richard are friends of Kates from Vermont who have become friends of mine over the years. I have done some work for them on their home in Royalton.. and old stagecoach inn. An antique house filled with antiques and artwork. That is their passion. Richard has a sign business in NY and has invested a lot in restoring this place in France over the last ten years. It was Kate, actually, who introduced them to this area in the time that she often came here. Jacques has put his efforts into the actual building and spends the greater time over here getting the work done.
The Dordogne is a region in South/Central France that is reminiscent for me of both Vermont and North Carolina. The Dordogne and Lot rivers defined the region as they cut through the ubiquitious limestone. There are many ancient villages, two of which I have gotten a pretty good tour of. It is rather touristic. Lots of 'campings' which are cabins for vacationers who come to be in the country. It is very wooded and lots of agriculture. Foie Gras is a major product of the region. Also tobacco, although that is fading. There is a goose/ foix-gras farm right here in this little hamlet of 6 or 8 houses.
J&R have created a magnificent restoration of an old place here. Only the top rooms in the attic are unfinished.. where I worked a bit with Jacque and Jervais, their carpenter/friend. A few pictures here with help tell the tale.
Richard is brash. He's a New Yorker after all and in business and successful and does not suffer fools. So when I act the fool I am not spared comment. He can and does turn on the charm with people and can be a lot of fun. And he has been very generous and considerate with meals and little things that I might need or want. Not to mention his intervention around my health when I was going to just push on. Jacques is quieter. I have gotten to know him better on this trip than in times past. A gift of working with someone. He has also been generous with his help when I needed transportation or translation.
The area is lovely, but the weather has not been congenial. Cold and cloudy and/or raining. Lots more to see in a touristic way, but I have gotten the flavor of this part of France. I am glad I accepted the invitation to come here and glad that I have a place to move on to. Staying another week or more might not have been for the best.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The tale of the wreck
Since mentioning my accident in a couple emails and getting the reply "What accident!" I have come to realize that I may be blogging in vain, since I did mention it in a couple places. But that's OK. The tale of the wreck has grown, so here it is in it's entirety.
On Dec 8, the fourth night with Benoit and Sarah, I was returning to St. Quentin from Nimes with Benoit around dusk in his old Chrysler van... a lot like mine... I felt quite at home. A young driver at a Y intersection drove right through a yield sign and we hit his left front bumber straight on. Although Benoit second-guessed his choice not to try to avoid the crash, it is likely that if he had swerved the collision would have been to a side panel where either I or the other driver was sitting.. .and much worse. An ambulance came by and the guy leaned out to say "need help?" and I said "nobody hurts, thanks" and they drove away. As it was I thought I was OK, a little shocky and probably a bit whiplashed, but once I found my glasses under the seat I felt I would be fine.
For a couple days I felt OK. Worked on Friday and rested over the weekend. On Monday, toward the end of my last day of work on the Sommiere house I helped Rene carry a couple large blocks up 4 flights of steps to the terrace. Then standing on some uneven stacks of roof tiles (you have to get the picture here) I was lifting my half of the stone (about 80 pounds) up to a spot about 5 feet off the ground when my chest went RIP. It hurt like hell, but I couldn't drop the stone so up it went and I knew I was done.
Since then I have had symptoms of pain around the sternum, stiffness in neck, shoulders and back and generally fatigued. There are some movements that still hurt in the sternum and a cough or hiccup has a painful kick as well. So I came here to Jacque and Richards place in the Dordogne. 6 hours by train and I tried to do the work that I promised to do. Some framing and sheetrock mostly. After one day of needing to stop at 4 and the next day saying I needed to stop and rest (and and then not doing it), Richard said "That's it. You need to see someone. This is a real injury you are dealing with." I could hardly argue with him and it is for the best that they helped me get to an osteopath yesterday and I got a good treatment - pushing and stretching me back into place. Chest, back, hips. When I met the doctor I started to look around to see where the real doctor was. He looked like he was 19, probably in his 20's. I think he did a good job.. spent his time and explained what had happened and what I should do in order to keep healing. Basically, a couple days rest and then listen to my body... don't push.
So, I do not know how much my incapacitation has contributed to J & R's change of heart about staying here through Christmas with me as a guest... and maybe David coming on his trip to France after Christmas.... but, they are going away tomorrow and I am going back to Sauve. Alain, who I have never met...a friend of Patrice... who I just recently met.. has invited me to stay with him... to help him or just to rest. I am very grateful. I thought Christmas would be a hard time to find a host... and it is. J & R was my solution, but since it is not working out well here anyway it is for the best that I am moving on.
I hope the tale of the crash ends soon with me feeling back to normal.
On Dec 8, the fourth night with Benoit and Sarah, I was returning to St. Quentin from Nimes with Benoit around dusk in his old Chrysler van... a lot like mine... I felt quite at home. A young driver at a Y intersection drove right through a yield sign and we hit his left front bumber straight on. Although Benoit second-guessed his choice not to try to avoid the crash, it is likely that if he had swerved the collision would have been to a side panel where either I or the other driver was sitting.. .and much worse. An ambulance came by and the guy leaned out to say "need help?" and I said "nobody hurts, thanks" and they drove away. As it was I thought I was OK, a little shocky and probably a bit whiplashed, but once I found my glasses under the seat I felt I would be fine.
For a couple days I felt OK. Worked on Friday and rested over the weekend. On Monday, toward the end of my last day of work on the Sommiere house I helped Rene carry a couple large blocks up 4 flights of steps to the terrace. Then standing on some uneven stacks of roof tiles (you have to get the picture here) I was lifting my half of the stone (about 80 pounds) up to a spot about 5 feet off the ground when my chest went RIP. It hurt like hell, but I couldn't drop the stone so up it went and I knew I was done.
Since then I have had symptoms of pain around the sternum, stiffness in neck, shoulders and back and generally fatigued. There are some movements that still hurt in the sternum and a cough or hiccup has a painful kick as well. So I came here to Jacque and Richards place in the Dordogne. 6 hours by train and I tried to do the work that I promised to do. Some framing and sheetrock mostly. After one day of needing to stop at 4 and the next day saying I needed to stop and rest (and and then not doing it), Richard said "That's it. You need to see someone. This is a real injury you are dealing with." I could hardly argue with him and it is for the best that they helped me get to an osteopath yesterday and I got a good treatment - pushing and stretching me back into place. Chest, back, hips. When I met the doctor I started to look around to see where the real doctor was. He looked like he was 19, probably in his 20's. I think he did a good job.. spent his time and explained what had happened and what I should do in order to keep healing. Basically, a couple days rest and then listen to my body... don't push.
So, I do not know how much my incapacitation has contributed to J & R's change of heart about staying here through Christmas with me as a guest... and maybe David coming on his trip to France after Christmas.... but, they are going away tomorrow and I am going back to Sauve. Alain, who I have never met...a friend of Patrice... who I just recently met.. has invited me to stay with him... to help him or just to rest. I am very grateful. I thought Christmas would be a hard time to find a host... and it is. J & R was my solution, but since it is not working out well here anyway it is for the best that I am moving on.
I hope the tale of the crash ends soon with me feeling back to normal.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Last night in Sauve
I arrived in this part of France 9 days ago. Seemingly a long time, with 3 days in Barcelona added, less than two weeks. I put down some shallow roots here with Benoit and Sarah and Bertrand am somewhat sad to move on. Tomorrow I leave Sauve by bus to go to Nimes. From there I go to Souillac to stay with Richard and Jacques, our Vermont friends with a partially restored house over here. I still do not know where I will be and what I will do Dec 22 -31. Maybe I will be back here, maybe not. Something will come along I trust. I said goodbye to my hosts, Benoit and Sarah yesterday at the Sommieres house and spent the night here at Bertrand's in Sauve.
Dinner last night with Frank, the Cirque de Soleil acrobat, and his guests and son next door to Bertrand. Frank is back only briefly for the funeral of a colleague who fell from the trapeze some years ago and became paraplegic. He already left again He spoke with me a little about wanting to get things settled with the house so that he can take a pack… a small pack…. and just travel. That is what these people do who I find myself among. I have not decided whether this wanderlust is healthy or neurotic. For myself or anyone else. Frank is probably at least 50 and has a son, Adrian who is Gavin's age but reminds me of Lexi. He's going into grad school for physical training and therapy. It seems that everyone has a son or daughter who makes me think of Gavin and Vanessa (or Lexi). Frank is from Algeria, has a formidable face not unlike an American Indian, a full head of long black hair and looks the athlete that he is. Patrice (Patrick) from Quebec, Frank's old friend of 20 years who has been working on Frank's house in spells over the time and was a carpenter for C, de. S. was there with his wife Phillippa, and son Chili, who I met previously.
The house itself is a great big thing with a number of artistic flourishes and works in progress, but I find myself uncomfortable with the mayhem of places like this where nothing seems to ever get finished. The many ideas floated my direction from Patrice about work I could do back here have ended up in the same mode - great concept - no follow through. But this is also the endearing quality of this place - that people are not achievement oriented or terribly concerned with material things, and put primary emphasis on friendship, laughter, conversation, eating together, music, the arts, and all that. Every evening is a soiree, it seems. So it is not a complaint, only a discovery of what I like or dislike in my own living arrangments. I also met Alison today, an American and a painter who is changing her life around, with a couple children and step children 17 -30, as I might have expected at this point. She has a nice little place with just a few rooms.. and it is pretty much all done inside in a nice way. If I lived here this is what I would look for. There is some outside work that here house needs (as was hinted by one of my agents), but I don't expect it to develop into anything that I would do. She is a fiddler and we met around 7 to so to see if we can put together a few tunes on whistle, or flute, and fiddle. It was a nice time and good conversation with someone who speaks English. I bought a flute from Khaim today, a master bamboo flute maker here In Sauve who travelled, lived and studied in S and SE Asia for many years for Unicef. Worldwide reputation for his flutes. He showed me how to properly play the thing and I think it would be a good idea to relearn my technique as he showed me, but it makes me a beginner again. Sauve is packed with eccentrics, musicians, artists and the such. I listened to a CD of music by musicians from Sauve. Bagpipe, accordion, balkan music, delta blues… an all good.
On Monday, my last day of working in Sommieres, at the end of the day I was helping Rene lift a heavy block into a space in the wall up on the terrace. When I got it to chest level it felt like things were ripping in my chest. I think they were. It reinjured the spot that took the hit from the seat belt in the car accident. So it is good I am having a few days off. It's like a sprain and will heal I am sure, but it is a reminder that I luckily escaped something that could have been far worse. So it goes. Some unpleasant moments, but mostly marvelous discoveries and fortuitous surprises. I learn a little more French every day, but do not have a drive to work at it too hard. I have a long way to go. I hope my 'moi, moi, moi' air kiss greeting technique ala Francais is also improving. It is a lovely thing. Also nice to throw in a good old Yankee bear hug now and then. So 'moi moi moi' to you too.
Dinner last night with Frank, the Cirque de Soleil acrobat, and his guests and son next door to Bertrand. Frank is back only briefly for the funeral of a colleague who fell from the trapeze some years ago and became paraplegic. He already left again He spoke with me a little about wanting to get things settled with the house so that he can take a pack… a small pack…. and just travel. That is what these people do who I find myself among. I have not decided whether this wanderlust is healthy or neurotic. For myself or anyone else. Frank is probably at least 50 and has a son, Adrian who is Gavin's age but reminds me of Lexi. He's going into grad school for physical training and therapy. It seems that everyone has a son or daughter who makes me think of Gavin and Vanessa (or Lexi). Frank is from Algeria, has a formidable face not unlike an American Indian, a full head of long black hair and looks the athlete that he is. Patrice (Patrick) from Quebec, Frank's old friend of 20 years who has been working on Frank's house in spells over the time and was a carpenter for C, de. S. was there with his wife Phillippa, and son Chili, who I met previously.
The house itself is a great big thing with a number of artistic flourishes and works in progress, but I find myself uncomfortable with the mayhem of places like this where nothing seems to ever get finished. The many ideas floated my direction from Patrice about work I could do back here have ended up in the same mode - great concept - no follow through. But this is also the endearing quality of this place - that people are not achievement oriented or terribly concerned with material things, and put primary emphasis on friendship, laughter, conversation, eating together, music, the arts, and all that. Every evening is a soiree, it seems. So it is not a complaint, only a discovery of what I like or dislike in my own living arrangments. I also met Alison today, an American and a painter who is changing her life around, with a couple children and step children 17 -30, as I might have expected at this point. She has a nice little place with just a few rooms.. and it is pretty much all done inside in a nice way. If I lived here this is what I would look for. There is some outside work that here house needs (as was hinted by one of my agents), but I don't expect it to develop into anything that I would do. She is a fiddler and we met around 7 to so to see if we can put together a few tunes on whistle, or flute, and fiddle. It was a nice time and good conversation with someone who speaks English. I bought a flute from Khaim today, a master bamboo flute maker here In Sauve who travelled, lived and studied in S and SE Asia for many years for Unicef. Worldwide reputation for his flutes. He showed me how to properly play the thing and I think it would be a good idea to relearn my technique as he showed me, but it makes me a beginner again. Sauve is packed with eccentrics, musicians, artists and the such. I listened to a CD of music by musicians from Sauve. Bagpipe, accordion, balkan music, delta blues… an all good.
On Monday, my last day of working in Sommieres, at the end of the day I was helping Rene lift a heavy block into a space in the wall up on the terrace. When I got it to chest level it felt like things were ripping in my chest. I think they were. It reinjured the spot that took the hit from the seat belt in the car accident. So it is good I am having a few days off. It's like a sprain and will heal I am sure, but it is a reminder that I luckily escaped something that could have been far worse. So it goes. Some unpleasant moments, but mostly marvelous discoveries and fortuitous surprises. I learn a little more French every day, but do not have a drive to work at it too hard. I have a long way to go. I hope my 'moi, moi, moi' air kiss greeting technique ala Francais is also improving. It is a lovely thing. Also nice to throw in a good old Yankee bear hug now and then. So 'moi moi moi' to you too.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Here and there in the Gard
I have worked for three full days in Sommieres and have gotten a chance to learn the process enough to be given the tools and to work along side them. Bertrand is a great congenial fellow. Rene a little reserved, but I somehow got him talking about his involvement in a troupe that travels with big paper marche puppets. He's never heard of Bread and Puppet… until now. It's a long day counting the drive. Up at 7:30. At work by 9, lunch cobbled together on site, quit at 5:30, home around 6, fix the evening meal, eat at 8 or 8:30, wine and conversation until 10 or 11.
Last night in another medieval village, Saufe, where Benoit has a second house from a first marriage. Beautifully restored with the older part dating back to the 11th century. Dinner with Bertrand and guest. A family, Patrice (guy), wife, from Netherlands and 10 yo son. We shared about living the itinerant life. Me new to it and him well versed. He works for Cirque de Soleil, the connection being a neighbor in Saufe, Frank who is a C d. S. trapeze artist. (Robert Crumb… remember, the 60's comic book artist... is another renowned inhabitant of the village). Patrice has been restoring Frank's house bit by bit over the last 20 years. A great time all around so far. I have gotten to seen these old places from soup to nuts. Beautiful places layered with history. Nothing confined by simpler geometry.. everything looking like it grew organically from the ground. Endless variations on a theme. Tomorrow we put the final coat of lime wash on the restored facade in Sommieres.
I have several people acting as my agent now, helping me set up a situation for the holiday week around December 22 thru 31. The connections and hospitality have been great. I got the bus from Saufe to Nimes today to meet Benoit… a third little place … very rustic… where he is building some display tables. On the way home a car failed to stop at a yield as we were coming back to Saint Quentin de Poterie… home base…. Wham! ,,,,,Nobody injured, but the van is Kaput. It's pizza tonight… with wine, of course. Life has been rich here.
Last night in another medieval village, Saufe, where Benoit has a second house from a first marriage. Beautifully restored with the older part dating back to the 11th century. Dinner with Bertrand and guest. A family, Patrice (guy), wife, from Netherlands and 10 yo son. We shared about living the itinerant life. Me new to it and him well versed. He works for Cirque de Soleil, the connection being a neighbor in Saufe, Frank who is a C d. S. trapeze artist. (Robert Crumb… remember, the 60's comic book artist... is another renowned inhabitant of the village). Patrice has been restoring Frank's house bit by bit over the last 20 years. A great time all around so far. I have gotten to seen these old places from soup to nuts. Beautiful places layered with history. Nothing confined by simpler geometry.. everything looking like it grew organically from the ground. Endless variations on a theme. Tomorrow we put the final coat of lime wash on the restored facade in Sommieres.
I have several people acting as my agent now, helping me set up a situation for the holiday week around December 22 thru 31. The connections and hospitality have been great. I got the bus from Saufe to Nimes today to meet Benoit… a third little place … very rustic… where he is building some display tables. On the way home a car failed to stop at a yield as we were coming back to Saint Quentin de Poterie… home base…. Wham! ,,,,,Nobody injured, but the van is Kaput. It's pizza tonight… with wine, of course. Life has been rich here.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Sommieres
Two days with Sarah and Benoit in Saint Quentin de Poterie. Very at home with these hosts. The first night their Scottish/French friend Angus came over and we hit it off playing guitar and singing together. Sarah is an Artist - from Britain. Benoit, architect now working on a museum display project that I will help with next week. For now I am working with Bertrand and Rene on the facade of a restoration project that Sarah and Benoit have going in Sommieres, a town with a long history. A roman bridge still in use. A couple of gothic towers and an old part of the city with very narrow streets. The river flooded in 2002 up about 5 feet through these streets. Reminiscent of Vermont.
The day begins at 7:30. Up for a simple breakfast. Drive to Sommieres. Start at 9. Coffee break and fix lunch on site. Quit about 5:30 and home to fix dinner, wine and dine around 8:30. It's a full day so I don't have as much time to peck away at a keyboard. Technically, I am only committed to 6 hours a day, but I enjoy being part of the mission.
I have had a chance to learn new skills in restoring the facade of the old house they bought. It is a huge project. Everything needs to be redone. Benoit is very pleasant, but strict in terms of the work. Still he has given me plenty of opportunity to try my hand at things. Rene is the skilled helper. He seems reserved, but today he told me about how he works and travels with a group using big puppets. a'la Bread and Puppet.. which he has never heard of. Again reminds me of Vermont, where every other carpenter is also some kind of artist.
So I will quickly add some pictures here and join the evening activities.
Benoit at work
Looking down the street
Sommieres from au haut
Rooftops from the terrace
Front door, restoration work
Roman bridge
Stairway
The project
Looking up to the castle site
Sommieres across the footbridge
The day begins at 7:30. Up for a simple breakfast. Drive to Sommieres. Start at 9. Coffee break and fix lunch on site. Quit about 5:30 and home to fix dinner, wine and dine around 8:30. It's a full day so I don't have as much time to peck away at a keyboard. Technically, I am only committed to 6 hours a day, but I enjoy being part of the mission.
I have had a chance to learn new skills in restoring the facade of the old house they bought. It is a huge project. Everything needs to be redone. Benoit is very pleasant, but strict in terms of the work. Still he has given me plenty of opportunity to try my hand at things. Rene is the skilled helper. He seems reserved, but today he told me about how he works and travels with a group using big puppets. a'la Bread and Puppet.. which he has never heard of. Again reminds me of Vermont, where every other carpenter is also some kind of artist.
So I will quickly add some pictures here and join the evening activities.
Sommieres across the footbridge
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Train ticket mayhem
Barcelona Sants
Train Mayhem
Gone are the days of the carefree Eurail Pass. Even the Flexi pass, which may have been no great bargain when broken down to cost per day of travel, requires a reservation. I decided to get one, but too late to have it mailed at that point. Fine, Plan B is to buy the tickets as I need them. I have discovered that every arrangement I have made has taken careful checking and rechecking. It is very hard to be sure that I have all the necessary information. Something like Mr. Rumsfeld's "unknown unknowns" that are waiting out there to screw me up. Despite reading and rereading an excellent web article on the subject I have had a hard go of it.
In the case of the train from Barcelona to Nimes it has went like this. RailEurope, the website that US travelers are directed to does not tell you which of the five stations in Barcelona has the train departing to Nimes. It simply tells you it has no itinerary. I had to google somewhere else to find out where to change trains. Still doesn't work. You have to price each leg of the trip separately. Sometimes it still doesn't work. The German site does a great job of giving you itineraries with all the stops and changes, but does not show fares. The Spanish site does a poor job of international fares and cannot connect me to Nimes. The French site works, but requires a return date. To reserve online means printing something out…. very iffy proposition for me. Or using a kiosk like at the airport which requires a debit card. That might work, but sets up a whole new set of possible unknown unknowns. Maybe doesn't cut it. Best option seems to be to go to the station and buy that damn ticket.
So after getting to the new hostel I go to Barcelona Sants Station. Wait at the information line to get oriented correctly. The agent is very short with me and points me to an area where about a hundred people are waiting for tickets. Take a number and wait. On the other side are a few people waiting for service to buy tickets for same day departures. I decide to go ask over there. Maybe I should just come back tomorrow. But will it cost more? Is this one of many train lines that will not have my destination? The woman does not speak English and just shrugs. I go back to the Hostel, grab some pizza on the way, check in, finally get some sleep.
Back at the train station at 4. Where is the ticket machine? I ask. I push the button. Nothing. Someone shows me: Push this one first, then that one. I don't understand it but I get a take-your-number-and-wait ticket. Sit down, pull out the airbook and jot this all down.
Rule of thumb is that it hardly ever works right for me the first time. It may take 4 to 10 tries and asking for help, but if I allow time for the false starts I eventually find the way. End of story. I write out my itinerary and show it to the agent. I get the ticket, don't spend more than the pass and have peace of mind.
Train Mayhem
Gone are the days of the carefree Eurail Pass. Even the Flexi pass, which may have been no great bargain when broken down to cost per day of travel, requires a reservation. I decided to get one, but too late to have it mailed at that point. Fine, Plan B is to buy the tickets as I need them. I have discovered that every arrangement I have made has taken careful checking and rechecking. It is very hard to be sure that I have all the necessary information. Something like Mr. Rumsfeld's "unknown unknowns" that are waiting out there to screw me up. Despite reading and rereading an excellent web article on the subject I have had a hard go of it.
In the case of the train from Barcelona to Nimes it has went like this. RailEurope, the website that US travelers are directed to does not tell you which of the five stations in Barcelona has the train departing to Nimes. It simply tells you it has no itinerary. I had to google somewhere else to find out where to change trains. Still doesn't work. You have to price each leg of the trip separately. Sometimes it still doesn't work. The German site does a great job of giving you itineraries with all the stops and changes, but does not show fares. The Spanish site does a poor job of international fares and cannot connect me to Nimes. The French site works, but requires a return date. To reserve online means printing something out…. very iffy proposition for me. Or using a kiosk like at the airport which requires a debit card. That might work, but sets up a whole new set of possible unknown unknowns. Maybe doesn't cut it. Best option seems to be to go to the station and buy that damn ticket.
So after getting to the new hostel I go to Barcelona Sants Station. Wait at the information line to get oriented correctly. The agent is very short with me and points me to an area where about a hundred people are waiting for tickets. Take a number and wait. On the other side are a few people waiting for service to buy tickets for same day departures. I decide to go ask over there. Maybe I should just come back tomorrow. But will it cost more? Is this one of many train lines that will not have my destination? The woman does not speak English and just shrugs. I go back to the Hostel, grab some pizza on the way, check in, finally get some sleep.
Back at the train station at 4. Where is the ticket machine? I ask. I push the button. Nothing. Someone shows me: Push this one first, then that one. I don't understand it but I get a take-your-number-and-wait ticket. Sit down, pull out the airbook and jot this all down.
Rule of thumb is that it hardly ever works right for me the first time. It may take 4 to 10 tries and asking for help, but if I allow time for the false starts I eventually find the way. End of story. I write out my itinerary and show it to the agent. I get the ticket, don't spend more than the pass and have peace of mind.
Photos
Goodbye Hostel Kabul
An awful night behind me. Back to room. No wallet. !!!!!!!!!!!
I had it downstairs. Look. Ask at desk. Decide that chances are slim I will get it back. Go into action. Cancel debit card on line. I have headache. It's midnight. I go get cash from an ATM from my backup card. Actually not devastated about the wallet. I was prepared for this. No money was in the wallet. I have a backup. Go back to room. Can't sleep. The noise outside and inside invade my room, which is empty all night of partiers gone partying. Man comes to door: "Mr Fischer, they have your wallet downstairs." All is well. It fell out when I pulled out change for the water bottle vending machine and was on the floor. I get out my multi-tool and make a hole in the wallet and tie it to my belt with some cord I brought. When I lost the wallet, for a flash I was thinking "I can't do this. I am too vulnerable... too scatterbrained." But I quickly decided not to give in to it. I just have to accomodate to my absent-mindedness and not give up. So, in the end I have a little more confidence in myself.
The hostel has redeemed itself somewhat as well, but I still can't sleep. Finally get a few hours sleep in the AM.
But I can't do this another night. Online I find another place closer to the train station and try to book a private room. So what if it is more Euros. I need some rest and sleep. Oops. Card is cancelled. I go there, get my room in person. A double: 10 euros. Cheap after all. Kitchen, washer, big terrace, much more congenial. Piano, but impossibly out of tune. I get a couple hours sleep. Get my train ticket for tomorrow. Shop for dinner: bread, smoked salmon, prosciutto, cheese, apple, olives. Leftovers for breakfast and the train.
I enjoy being with some Americans of Chinese descent in the kitchen. Dishes piled up from the slob population. I actually have a fine time washing everything up and putting it away. Weird. No great desire to go out. Guess I am missing domesticity after all. Good thing that this is what waits for me on my next leg.
I had it downstairs. Look. Ask at desk. Decide that chances are slim I will get it back. Go into action. Cancel debit card on line. I have headache. It's midnight. I go get cash from an ATM from my backup card. Actually not devastated about the wallet. I was prepared for this. No money was in the wallet. I have a backup. Go back to room. Can't sleep. The noise outside and inside invade my room, which is empty all night of partiers gone partying. Man comes to door: "Mr Fischer, they have your wallet downstairs." All is well. It fell out when I pulled out change for the water bottle vending machine and was on the floor. I get out my multi-tool and make a hole in the wallet and tie it to my belt with some cord I brought. When I lost the wallet, for a flash I was thinking "I can't do this. I am too vulnerable... too scatterbrained." But I quickly decided not to give in to it. I just have to accomodate to my absent-mindedness and not give up. So, in the end I have a little more confidence in myself.
The hostel has redeemed itself somewhat as well, but I still can't sleep. Finally get a few hours sleep in the AM.
But I can't do this another night. Online I find another place closer to the train station and try to book a private room. So what if it is more Euros. I need some rest and sleep. Oops. Card is cancelled. I go there, get my room in person. A double: 10 euros. Cheap after all. Kitchen, washer, big terrace, much more congenial. Piano, but impossibly out of tune. I get a couple hours sleep. Get my train ticket for tomorrow. Shop for dinner: bread, smoked salmon, prosciutto, cheese, apple, olives. Leftovers for breakfast and the train.
I enjoy being with some Americans of Chinese descent in the kitchen. Dishes piled up from the slob population. I actually have a fine time washing everything up and putting it away. Weird. No great desire to go out. Guess I am missing domesticity after all. Good thing that this is what waits for me on my next leg.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Barcelona 12.2
Barcelona Friday
Six AM. the last stragglers came in and claimed their bed.. a couple. Somehow got back to sleep. 8 AM a wasted looking young man came in and walked here and there among the bunk beds grabbing his crotch. He left to the curses of my roommates. I was ready to throw the bum out. I feel protective. Alba from Columbia and I had a nice chat. Two gals from Texas studying in Prague. A Japanese girl and one other who also speaks Spanish. Plus the couple who were in bed together as I left
Had hostel breakfast. No worse than your average Daze Inn continental breakfast. Packed to go to the beach and swim, leaving everything valuable except a few coins since I did want to worry about things left on the beach. Water was cold. Beachfront in winter mode. A dozen old men sitting and playing dominoes, four at a table. Olympic village and some very modern buildings.
I have nowhere in particular to go and no time to get there. I wandered through Barcelonetta, the old harbor front district with the narrow streets and laundry hanging from the balconies. Old pensioners shuffling along the streets. A small square here and there and another market place inside a very modern building. Wonderful energy of people selling their own wares. Fascinating displays of fresh fish. Huge shrimp, squid, grouper heads. I bought a small pastry to hold me over.
Continued toward Santa Maria de Mer cathedral. Enjoyed the peace and spaciousness of it. As always the gravity defying soaring stone structure. Some came to pray or light candles while I sat or moved about spending time studying the stained glass and statuary in the choirs. Many came in and snapped a picture or two and moved on. Is religion dead? Does it deserve to be? The city out there is dominated by commerce and the striving for a sharper image. Is that better than people dying in religious wars? Columbus, the hero, stands aloft a celebratory tower at the foot of La Rambla pointing out to sea. How much of this city was built with the gold of the Indians? Beautiful buildings everywhere.
And when I see Jesus on the cross I am moved.. again. Am I a Christian? I don't know. I feel somehow that he was trying to show us how to reach beyond and below something that lies on the surface. And nobody got it, really. The Catholic church got it, but used it. We think we are free of all that, but when I walk outside I feel that we are caught in something else just as pernicious, that we go to willingly. And, as ever, will kill to protect. Feels sad. I had a couple coins to give to either the cathedral or a beggar at the door. I gave them to the beggar.
Continued into the Gothic Quarter built upon Roman ruins, with a few towers from the walled city remaining. Next the Barcelona Cathedral. Here were the musicians. Wonderful music from a guitarist here, two there, and a pan pipe player. I'd like to go back to the museum. A chapel from the 13th century. First time I have touched something connecting to the time of the Cathars.
Back to the Hostel. Time for some food. A decent lunch at a cafe with 50 whole prosciuto legs hanging above the bar. Finally back again. Charge computer. Get these blog posts done. Need a nap. Dinner at 8:30 Hostel style. The worst parts of this hostel are what hit me at first. It is actually quite clean, and provides everything necessary. I have started meeting more people, mostly nice. Uniformly young. Many from US. The location is central and being on the Plaza gives even more a sense of place.
I decided to stay here till the 4th and then train direct to my first host in Nimes.
Six AM. the last stragglers came in and claimed their bed.. a couple. Somehow got back to sleep. 8 AM a wasted looking young man came in and walked here and there among the bunk beds grabbing his crotch. He left to the curses of my roommates. I was ready to throw the bum out. I feel protective. Alba from Columbia and I had a nice chat. Two gals from Texas studying in Prague. A Japanese girl and one other who also speaks Spanish. Plus the couple who were in bed together as I left
Had hostel breakfast. No worse than your average Daze Inn continental breakfast. Packed to go to the beach and swim, leaving everything valuable except a few coins since I did want to worry about things left on the beach. Water was cold. Beachfront in winter mode. A dozen old men sitting and playing dominoes, four at a table. Olympic village and some very modern buildings.
I have nowhere in particular to go and no time to get there. I wandered through Barcelonetta, the old harbor front district with the narrow streets and laundry hanging from the balconies. Old pensioners shuffling along the streets. A small square here and there and another market place inside a very modern building. Wonderful energy of people selling their own wares. Fascinating displays of fresh fish. Huge shrimp, squid, grouper heads. I bought a small pastry to hold me over.
Continued toward Santa Maria de Mer cathedral. Enjoyed the peace and spaciousness of it. As always the gravity defying soaring stone structure. Some came to pray or light candles while I sat or moved about spending time studying the stained glass and statuary in the choirs. Many came in and snapped a picture or two and moved on. Is religion dead? Does it deserve to be? The city out there is dominated by commerce and the striving for a sharper image. Is that better than people dying in religious wars? Columbus, the hero, stands aloft a celebratory tower at the foot of La Rambla pointing out to sea. How much of this city was built with the gold of the Indians? Beautiful buildings everywhere.
And when I see Jesus on the cross I am moved.. again. Am I a Christian? I don't know. I feel somehow that he was trying to show us how to reach beyond and below something that lies on the surface. And nobody got it, really. The Catholic church got it, but used it. We think we are free of all that, but when I walk outside I feel that we are caught in something else just as pernicious, that we go to willingly. And, as ever, will kill to protect. Feels sad. I had a couple coins to give to either the cathedral or a beggar at the door. I gave them to the beggar.
Continued into the Gothic Quarter built upon Roman ruins, with a few towers from the walled city remaining. Next the Barcelona Cathedral. Here were the musicians. Wonderful music from a guitarist here, two there, and a pan pipe player. I'd like to go back to the museum. A chapel from the 13th century. First time I have touched something connecting to the time of the Cathars.
Back to the Hostel. Time for some food. A decent lunch at a cafe with 50 whole prosciuto legs hanging above the bar. Finally back again. Charge computer. Get these blog posts done. Need a nap. Dinner at 8:30 Hostel style. The worst parts of this hostel are what hit me at first. It is actually quite clean, and provides everything necessary. I have started meeting more people, mostly nice. Uniformly young. Many from US. The location is central and being on the Plaza gives even more a sense of place.
I decided to stay here till the 4th and then train direct to my first host in Nimes.
Kabul first evening 12.1
Plaza Reial Barcelona
Kabul hostel
Dec. 1
The first concern was whether I could get here without accident or incident. Whether I would be safe and feel safe in this place. Whether I would pull some absent-minded stunt that would make me miserable and mad at myself.
Nothing bad has happened, beyond some minor anxiety and confusion. I arrived before 3 and had to wait to check in. The music downstairs and the general dissolute atmosphere repulses me, but it is quiet in the room and on the roof is a terrace open to the sky. Every now and then loud voices from below drift in. Very nice. A bombproof locker for my things. I found the peace of mind I needed to go out and walk the rest of the tourist boulevard "La Rambla" down to the waterfront. The buildings are old, ornate and elegant. The streets full of people speaking Catalan. Street artists. No musicians. Dozens of places offering 2 Tapas plus pizza or paella for ten euros or so. I looked at the sailboats moored there. Found one wooden schooner among hundreds sequestered behind the fence at the exclusive harbor club. Made it back to the fresh food market off La Rambla. Incredible arrays of meats, fresh fish, fruits, veggies, mushrooms. Dinner is served free at the hostel at 8:30. I had a rich english breakfast at Heathrow, but was quite hungry when I walked through the market. Was a bit overwhelming. I got a cheap baquette and prosciutto sandwich and the biggest persimmon I have ever seen. Must have weighed a pound and cheap at that. I have to go back with a plan.
I do not expect to make friends here. Not my people … and it isn't the language. It suddenly seems like everyone is speaking English. My coed ten bed dorm room is filling up with young women. I hope I can sleep with them all tonight. Joke. (emphasis on sleep) There was an altercation in the lobby when I was down there a while ago. A woman was letting the this guy know that he had been an asshole - hitting on her last night and asking her "How much." He said he was drunk. it was a joke. She wouldn't let it go. He laughed it off. Said it was a joke. He didn't know what he was saying. He was drunk. as he sat there busily downing beers… building up for some kind of repeat I suppose. You get the drift. It is quieter up her on the roof. Two tables nearby. Playing cards at one. Talking pleasantly at another. All speaking English with different accents. The common tongue it seems. I have no hopes of learning Spanish or Catalan. Not an efficient plan, but it would be nice if I had the time
In a couple of days the novelty will have been pretty well used up I guess and I will be ready to move on. I am open to surprises however.
Tomorrow I will either find a good free wifi spot or just pay the 5 Euros for a days unlimited use and get caught up on the blog.
Kabul hostel
Dec. 1
The first concern was whether I could get here without accident or incident. Whether I would be safe and feel safe in this place. Whether I would pull some absent-minded stunt that would make me miserable and mad at myself.
Nothing bad has happened, beyond some minor anxiety and confusion. I arrived before 3 and had to wait to check in. The music downstairs and the general dissolute atmosphere repulses me, but it is quiet in the room and on the roof is a terrace open to the sky. Every now and then loud voices from below drift in. Very nice. A bombproof locker for my things. I found the peace of mind I needed to go out and walk the rest of the tourist boulevard "La Rambla" down to the waterfront. The buildings are old, ornate and elegant. The streets full of people speaking Catalan. Street artists. No musicians. Dozens of places offering 2 Tapas plus pizza or paella for ten euros or so. I looked at the sailboats moored there. Found one wooden schooner among hundreds sequestered behind the fence at the exclusive harbor club. Made it back to the fresh food market off La Rambla. Incredible arrays of meats, fresh fish, fruits, veggies, mushrooms. Dinner is served free at the hostel at 8:30. I had a rich english breakfast at Heathrow, but was quite hungry when I walked through the market. Was a bit overwhelming. I got a cheap baquette and prosciutto sandwich and the biggest persimmon I have ever seen. Must have weighed a pound and cheap at that. I have to go back with a plan.
I do not expect to make friends here. Not my people … and it isn't the language. It suddenly seems like everyone is speaking English. My coed ten bed dorm room is filling up with young women. I hope I can sleep with them all tonight. Joke. (emphasis on sleep) There was an altercation in the lobby when I was down there a while ago. A woman was letting the this guy know that he had been an asshole - hitting on her last night and asking her "How much." He said he was drunk. it was a joke. She wouldn't let it go. He laughed it off. Said it was a joke. He didn't know what he was saying. He was drunk. as he sat there busily downing beers… building up for some kind of repeat I suppose. You get the drift. It is quieter up her on the roof. Two tables nearby. Playing cards at one. Talking pleasantly at another. All speaking English with different accents. The common tongue it seems. I have no hopes of learning Spanish or Catalan. Not an efficient plan, but it would be nice if I had the time
In a couple of days the novelty will have been pretty well used up I guess and I will be ready to move on. I am open to surprises however.
Tomorrow I will either find a good free wifi spot or just pay the 5 Euros for a days unlimited use and get caught up on the blog.
London Heathrow
London Heathrow
A foggy dawn. Just enjoyed a traditional English breakfast. And tea. Nice chat with the waitress about camping in Europe. KonTiki travel groups. She reminds me of Vanessa. I should encourage to try to do something like this herself.
On the plane seated between Brakaj a Mumbai born Texan hotelier. And Hermione. Getting her name was the beginning and end of our conversation, but with Brakaj I had a lovely conversation covering all sorts of topics.
I was reminded that it is supposedly a common thing for a fellow who has fulfilled his domestic obligations to become itinerant. A pilgrim. A seeker after things spiritual. India has both extremes. The ancient and profound spiritual traditions along side raw commercialism and materialism. He has an uncle and family still living on the land and is drawn to return… looking forward to it. His children could care less about India. One a doctor the other an engineer. So it goes. I discovered the same disconnect with Gavin regarding Germany and feel some it the same indifference to that old country myself. No pull to go there this time.
This meal should hold me until I get to Kabul hostel. A little hard to believe that I will be there in Barcelona this afternoon. Feels good to connect easily with those who are open to it.
A foggy dawn. Just enjoyed a traditional English breakfast. And tea. Nice chat with the waitress about camping in Europe. KonTiki travel groups. She reminds me of Vanessa. I should encourage to try to do something like this herself.
On the plane seated between Brakaj a Mumbai born Texan hotelier. And Hermione. Getting her name was the beginning and end of our conversation, but with Brakaj I had a lovely conversation covering all sorts of topics.
I was reminded that it is supposedly a common thing for a fellow who has fulfilled his domestic obligations to become itinerant. A pilgrim. A seeker after things spiritual. India has both extremes. The ancient and profound spiritual traditions along side raw commercialism and materialism. He has an uncle and family still living on the land and is drawn to return… looking forward to it. His children could care less about India. One a doctor the other an engineer. So it goes. I discovered the same disconnect with Gavin regarding Germany and feel some it the same indifference to that old country myself. No pull to go there this time.
This meal should hold me until I get to Kabul hostel. A little hard to believe that I will be there in Barcelona this afternoon. Feels good to connect easily with those who are open to it.
Boston Logan
Boston Logan. The antiseptic order and security of the airport. I am already in the vessel. So many people and hardly anybody looks really happy. I found the card I bought and stamped for Kate in my backpack. went looking for a mailbox. Oops. All downstairs and I have already passed through security ( in my typical goombah fashion ). So I went into the bookstore and asked the clerk if she could mail it. No problem. This is like my dream last worked with Marc where I was afraid to leave my bicycle on the strange street where all the other bikes were so heavily locked. The third way is to ask for help. I think I'm there. In turn I helped a young man from Peru looking for the right bus to the airport. A nice, if brief connection and conversation.
I said goodbye to Vanessa, just barely awake from her nap. The little shitzu Milo happily asleep next to her on the couch. Her favorite TV show is one where they rescue dogs that have been abused. Very sweet and a side of her I did not know from before.
Almost time to go.
I said goodbye to Vanessa, just barely awake from her nap. The little shitzu Milo happily asleep next to her on the couch. Her favorite TV show is one where they rescue dogs that have been abused. Very sweet and a side of her I did not know from before.
Almost time to go.
Boston reverie
Wednesday AM
A walk in Brookline this morning while Vanessa sleeps in. Duct tape on the latch since I had no key. Such a clever chap. Cool and clear this morning after rain last night. Bright blue sky.
Around the reservoir at Boston College. Snow geese on the ball field. Dark ducks with white bills on the water, and at the far end, two ephemerally white swans. All feeding and indifferent to the pleasure I take in seeing them. All busy eating. The girls and boys running. More girls. Vivacious and serious in their athletic intensity. Pony tails flouncing and waving happily behind. All leggy in their shorts, or tight tushies in spandex second skin. Ah desire.
I desire a cup of coffee. it's conceivable, believable and achievable, as not all desires are. Tall buildings rising over the city downtown. Everything raised up with desire. All the busyness and striving. The buildings by the pond are lovely. Stately homes. Lovely stone buildings. Buildings rise and fall. People too, and ducks and geese and swans. Death enters. Of necessity. Everything just rolls over and keeps going.
It is different somehow with people though. We are so discontented. As if there is a goal that can be reached. As if dying was not part of it all along and could some how be vanquished through the excellence of our achievements. So we are compelled to cast away the shadow. To deny the dose of death and dissolution that comes to us every day with our name on it. It has to go somewhere. And it does. And we justify it saying. "It had to be done." The child had to starve. The well had to be poisoned. The bombs had to fall all over the city. The goal is so clear and necessary. The war must be won. And in the achievement of the goal we take pride.
And then there is Jesus, dying, looking down on all of us from the cross saying "Father forgive them."
A walk in Brookline this morning while Vanessa sleeps in. Duct tape on the latch since I had no key. Such a clever chap. Cool and clear this morning after rain last night. Bright blue sky.
Around the reservoir at Boston College. Snow geese on the ball field. Dark ducks with white bills on the water, and at the far end, two ephemerally white swans. All feeding and indifferent to the pleasure I take in seeing them. All busy eating. The girls and boys running. More girls. Vivacious and serious in their athletic intensity. Pony tails flouncing and waving happily behind. All leggy in their shorts, or tight tushies in spandex second skin. Ah desire.
I desire a cup of coffee. it's conceivable, believable and achievable, as not all desires are. Tall buildings rising over the city downtown. Everything raised up with desire. All the busyness and striving. The buildings by the pond are lovely. Stately homes. Lovely stone buildings. Buildings rise and fall. People too, and ducks and geese and swans. Death enters. Of necessity. Everything just rolls over and keeps going.
It is different somehow with people though. We are so discontented. As if there is a goal that can be reached. As if dying was not part of it all along and could some how be vanquished through the excellence of our achievements. So we are compelled to cast away the shadow. To deny the dose of death and dissolution that comes to us every day with our name on it. It has to go somewhere. And it does. And we justify it saying. "It had to be done." The child had to starve. The well had to be poisoned. The bombs had to fall all over the city. The goal is so clear and necessary. The war must be won. And in the achievement of the goal we take pride.
And then there is Jesus, dying, looking down on all of us from the cross saying "Father forgive them."
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Leave the driving ...
I am on my way. I am sitting on a Greyhound bus headed toward Boston. My dear friend Kate saw me off an hour ago with sadness and encouragement. It is night and the bus is bobbing and bumping along Rte 89. Ahead of me is Boston where I will meet daughter Vanessa around midnight when she gets home from her job at the French Restaurant. Tomorrow at this time I will be flying to Barcelona. After a couple days I will move on to the first of 4 stays with hosts in Southern France. Near Nimes, then north of Toulouse. Then south again in the Corbieres region of Narbonne and Carcassonne. In Feb I will fly to the Canary Islands and sail for 4 consecutive one week trips on the Bessie Ellen, a restored Ketch that carries 12 passengers and 6 or so crew.
Behind me now is just about everything that has defined my life for many years. Living in Vermont. Being a handyman. My community of friends. Kate and the farmhouse on the hill. My van. Familiar places, sights and sounds. I have condensed my material goods down to a backpack and will live out of it for the next 3 1/2 months. This is what I wanted. My new laptop (macbook air… just over two pounds) connects me to information and allows me to stay in communication with you. My debit card keeps me connected to my savings, which I have roughly planned to carry me through until I return with a couple thousand left when I get back.
Each extended stay on my journey will involve some exchange of work for room and board. In between I will stay at youth hostels and travel by train. It may work out to about $30 a day on average. Cheap for European travel I guess. Add another thousand for airfare and travel insurance. It is not a vacation, really, although I hope and expect to have great experiences. There isn't a 'back' to come back to. I have pulled up stakes. I sold all of my goods except for a core set of tools, some boxes of personal stuff and some extra clothes. It took about 6 weeks once I made up my mind to do it. Placing craigslist ads to sell my bigger tools. Doing a yard sale. Going through boxes and filing cabinets. Clothing, computers, desk stuff, books. All pared down or let go. Finally, a few items for the bonfire at Thanksgiving, including the little piano I was going to restore one day. At times it seemed to be taking much too long to get ready to go. But then I would take stock of what I was doing… completely retooling my life. Done.
I am opting for an itinerant life for a time. I can imagine coming back to Vermont, but not settling down. Just visiting or exchanging work for a stay for a while. I really don't know. I may go various places where family or friends can use me as a handyman for a while. VT, NH, CA, NC. I may stumble upon something and go off in an unexpected direction. I may try to get a job in Maine for the sailing season and succeed. This trip is gambit. Some structure. A lot of uncertainty. Anxiety that things may go badly. Excitement at the possibilities and everything new. Staying open to the unexpected.
My friend Randi told me "Beware of Geography". In other words. "Wherever you go... there you are." Truth in this. The real terra incognito is within.
That's the shape of things at this point. The explanation of how I came to this and more of what I am aiming for is for another time.
We are crossing the river. Farewell Vermont. I will not miss your cold and snow.
Behind me now is just about everything that has defined my life for many years. Living in Vermont. Being a handyman. My community of friends. Kate and the farmhouse on the hill. My van. Familiar places, sights and sounds. I have condensed my material goods down to a backpack and will live out of it for the next 3 1/2 months. This is what I wanted. My new laptop (macbook air… just over two pounds) connects me to information and allows me to stay in communication with you. My debit card keeps me connected to my savings, which I have roughly planned to carry me through until I return with a couple thousand left when I get back.
Each extended stay on my journey will involve some exchange of work for room and board. In between I will stay at youth hostels and travel by train. It may work out to about $30 a day on average. Cheap for European travel I guess. Add another thousand for airfare and travel insurance. It is not a vacation, really, although I hope and expect to have great experiences. There isn't a 'back' to come back to. I have pulled up stakes. I sold all of my goods except for a core set of tools, some boxes of personal stuff and some extra clothes. It took about 6 weeks once I made up my mind to do it. Placing craigslist ads to sell my bigger tools. Doing a yard sale. Going through boxes and filing cabinets. Clothing, computers, desk stuff, books. All pared down or let go. Finally, a few items for the bonfire at Thanksgiving, including the little piano I was going to restore one day. At times it seemed to be taking much too long to get ready to go. But then I would take stock of what I was doing… completely retooling my life. Done.
I am opting for an itinerant life for a time. I can imagine coming back to Vermont, but not settling down. Just visiting or exchanging work for a stay for a while. I really don't know. I may go various places where family or friends can use me as a handyman for a while. VT, NH, CA, NC. I may stumble upon something and go off in an unexpected direction. I may try to get a job in Maine for the sailing season and succeed. This trip is gambit. Some structure. A lot of uncertainty. Anxiety that things may go badly. Excitement at the possibilities and everything new. Staying open to the unexpected.
My friend Randi told me "Beware of Geography". In other words. "Wherever you go... there you are." Truth in this. The real terra incognito is within.
That's the shape of things at this point. The explanation of how I came to this and more of what I am aiming for is for another time.
We are crossing the river. Farewell Vermont. I will not miss your cold and snow.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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