Hello beloved family and friends,
I hope this email finds you well! I've been in France for almost three weeks now. My favorite part of the trip so far was hitchhiking from Paris to Màcon, which is about 400 km. I was with a new Kiwi friend named Dominic, who suggested we hitchhike. After standing on one corner for three hours with our thumbs out, being passed by thousands of Parisians, we witnessed three fender benders and got offered several joke rides on Vespas, but no legitimate ride. I remember the point in the morning, after about an hour and a half of smiling and dancing and waving, when I lost all hope in finding a ride. An hour and half later Dominic and I left that corner and made our way, with more difficulty and more obstacles than I expected, south of Paris in hopes of getting to a petrol station on the toll road to Dijon and Lyon. So you can imagine our joy when, after about seven hours of trying to get on the road, we finally got picked up! Our ride was a Polish guy named Michael headed to Torino to drop off the van we were riding in.
Michael spoke enough English to converse with us about a few entertaining topics...hitchhiking across Europe, Polish food, his hatred of the French, and an intriguing account of his personal experience with mistletoe (jemiola in Polish). The entire four hour ride I felt like I was in Heaven. The ride felt more earned and valuable than an €80 train ticket ever could. Also, Michael was being fulfilled in his ability and choice to offer something he had to someone who needed it. My friend and I felt blessed, but I could tell that it pleased Michael more even than it pleased us. It is more blessed to give than to receive, which is a great secret and a law that applies always, whether you use it or you believe in it or not.
So Dominic and I arrived in Burgundy, a region of France, at a castle called Chateau d' Ainè, which was a fifteen minute walk from the tiny town of Azé (Ah-zay). The region is particularly known for good white wine. We were surrounded by small mountains covered in meticulously maintained grapevines. There were sheep or dogs in any spot where there weren't grapevines. I particularily enjoyed watching cats hunt in backyards and one night when I disturbed an owl during one of my rare midnight walks. Azé had a post office, bakery, one restaurant, one tiny grocery store, a bank and a tabac. A tabac is basically a café, magazine vendor and tobacco store with two beers on tap and an espresso machine. The bank was only open between three and four on Thursdays.
At the castle, where I lived for two weeks, the days stayed lively. Our groundskeeper, Laurent (lore-on), was the my favorite French person to date. He took great pride in his work and always had a smile on his face. He purposefully sought a large social distance but remained warm and friendly at all times, despite language barriers. Azé's camp director was a thirty-year-old Bolivian architect who spoke English, French, Spanish and Italian. Sometimes she would shoot off questions in languages I didn't know, or mixtures of languages. Our team of counselors worked relatively well together, and for the most part the campers were great. I was humbled to find out that English was the campers' third language, which most of them could speak with clarity about deeper issues. In the States we admire those who learn a second language as if they've acquired some novelty that's been on the back of our minds too, but we haven't saved up the money to purchase it yet. I like the attitude that the Europeans have about language, and while it is appropriate to their particular geography, it is refreshing and inspiring to be around.
While free time at camp is always limited, and I was usually tired, I must admit that I had many opportunities to keep all of you updated via email before now, but I never took them because these Frenchie keyboards are somewhat hard to get used to. Q is where A belongs, and you have to shift to make periods and commas. Those are small obstacles, but they still hindered me this long. So, I'm sorry for that.
Yesterday I left Azé for Lannemazon, another tiny town, but in the South of France. I left at seven in the morning, and after riding in seven different vehicles of different varieties (car, train, different kind of train, other different kind of train, another different kind of train, bus, taxi) I finally arrived here at 10:30 pm. I missed four of those rides due to train worker strikes, which have affected me both days I've travelled. So, it was a really long day. Ugh. My only expense for the day, which was €0.50, is my biggest complaint about France. In fact, there are just two things I absolutely hate and have no tolerance or patience for here. First of all, in public you have to pay to pee, which enrages me and I don't know exactly why. The second thing is the tiny cups. Everywhere you go and every drink you drink is out of a tiny cup, which doesn't satisfy you and needs to be refilled about ten times per meal. And for some reason ten tiny cups of water don't satisfy thirst as well as one big cup.
I shouldn't focus solely on the negative, though. The cheese here is amazing and cheap, as well as the wine. The bread is really great. The food was sometimes awful at the other camp and at other times it was really good. There was one thing I remember eating I couldn't tell and still can't discern if it was awful or delicious. It was a ball of food matter that had the consistency of cheesy bread but with the flavor of fish. It was covered in a flavorless white sauce. It was very strange. I think the food will be better here.
So this new campsite is very close to the border of Spain, in the Pyrénées, the mountain range creating a natural border between Spain and France. From the site we can see massive steep Alp-ish mountains with ski slopes, which are covered completely with snow. They look too beautiful to be real. We are in a very deep and almost vertical valley. The camp caretaker and site owner is Guy (pronounced Ghee, like McGee and Me minus the Mc and the Me). After only two weeks he's picking up a lot of English, but mostly he speaks to us in whistles and bird calls. He's a short sun-tanned Frenchman with workingman's scars on his hands and arms, intriguing deep smile wrinkles and gray tufts of hair growing out of his ears. He also wants to make sure we get the most out of this place, and is apparently enthusiastically willing to drive us places, provide fishing poles for us, draw us maps and he even talks of taking us skiing. He is also the one who cooks, cleans and keeps the place running smoothly for 8 counselors and 50 campers a week. He is the kind of guy anyone would sincerely hope to meet in Europe.
So, the campers arrive tomorrow for the week. Eleven to thirteen years old. Twelve hours after they leave next Saturday another group arrives for our Easter session, which is eight days long. So I'll be busy for about two weeks to come. Camp is really fun. The days go by fast, but they never feel cheap. Everyday has moments that make me really happy. When something gets across in class or in a skit or at the dinner table, it's very rewarding. Also, the camp is good to it's employees. For example, they bend over backwards to meet site requests and pay for taxis and voyages. My trip yesterday cost the camp €70 for the train and €70 for the taxi from the train station to camp. That's about $190.
So, I'm happy here. I miss all of you. I especially miss baby Max. And I miss huge glasses of water that maybe only need to be refilled once during the meal. Other than those big glasses and all of you, I'm happy and content. It's good to be on some sort of adventure.
If you wish, fill me in on life there. I'd love to hear how things are going!
Alright, I love you all!
Sincerely
Harry
No comments:
Post a Comment